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chasingpj · 4 years ago

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𝐀 𝐒𝐞𝐭-𝐔𝐩

"We should go pick the strawberries over there. Percy and Y/n can work on the ones here."

pairing: percy jackson x child of hecate!reader

words: 3,887

warnings: none?? pls let me know if i missed anything

timeline: post sea of monsters

if you want to be tagged every time I update this story click here

a/n: hi hi! I was supposed to post this yesterday, but oops. I don't have much to say. again, it's a little bit of a slow start just because I want to introduce characters and establish relationship dynamics before getting into the good stuff. anyways, i hope you like it! i love hearing feedback so don't hesitate to reach out to me!

Part One Part Two Part Three

When you were stressed or needed to be alone with your thoughts, you often found yourself in the strawberry fields, either helping collect the harvest or simply sitting on the grass patches nearby. You usually preferred being in the fields alone, peacefully listening to the chirping of the birds and cicadas while inhaling the scent of sun-baked strawberries. However, there were times where you did stumble upon the company of the girls from the Demeter and Aphrodite cabin. You didn't mind hanging out with them, always amused at their banter and choice of conversation. They were always bubbly, taking advantage of the leisure activity to gossip and have girl talk, and it was nice, even if you were just listening.

Today was one of those days where you weren’t alone in the fields. Standing alongside Silena, Katie, and your half-sister, Lou Ellen, you find yourself zoning in and out of their conversation. Their chattering and giggling serve as background noise as you focus on cutting the strawberries from their stems to carefully place them in your basket.

"Who do you think are the cutest boys at camp?" You hear Silena ask when you decide to tune back into their conversation. A silence falls amongst the group; Katie and Lou Ellen were suddenly hesitant to speak. You look up, waiting for one of them to break the silence because it definitely wasn’t going to be you.

"I know what you're doing! You're trying to find out our crushes," Katie points her finger at Silena accusingly. Lou Ellen nods,

“Yeah, we know your tricks, Silena! You’re gonna try and set us up with people.”

"What? No!" Silena denies, but the smirk on her face said otherwise. "I'm just asking in general! You can find someone cute and not have a crush on them,” she points out. The three of you weren’t convinced at Silena’s claims, and the silence returns. You turn back to what you were doing, not really wanting to trap yourself in this conversation, and you decide to leave the pressure of confession to Katie and Lou Ellen.

"Okay.” Katie turns her body to face you. You hesitantly meet her gaze, already knowing what she's going to confess. "... this might be weird, but I think your brother is really cute," she admits, giggling nervously as she looks at both you and Lou Ellen. You scrunch your nose, shaking your head while Lou Ellen joins your reaction as she gags theatrically. The confession didn't surprise you, but it still felt weird to hear it.

"He's ugly!" You exclaim. Silena laughs, her head thrown back as Katie gasps at your insult about Atticus. Even though this wasn't the first time you've heard this from girls at camp, you still found it strange. Even your mortal friends have told you that they think your brother is adorable. You’ll never admit it out loud to anyone, but you were aware that your brother definitely wasn't ugly. Obviously, he wasn't if almost all of your friends had to mention his appearance at least once. Not only was Atticus conventionally attractive, but he was also a natural flirt, so he got attention from girls fairly easily. So much so that before your mother claimed you, Connor and Travis Stoll swore you guys were going to be claimed by Aphrodite.

You've only seen him flirt a handful of times, usually with the wood nymphs and playfully with the girls from the Aphrodite cabin. It was strange seeing girls flirt with him and giggle at all his stupid jokes because that “smooth” Atticus they meet is so different from the Atticus you saw. The Atticus you got to see was a clumsy dork that obsessed over Harry Potter and had a habit of bursting into song whenever he was bored, most often singing his own rendition of a song from a broadway musical or of a rock song from the 90s.

"No, he isn't! His facial structure is amazing!” Katie gushes. “And he's tall and has broad shoulders. He's also really funny!" You and Lou Ellen stare at her with a straight face before simultaneously bursting into laughter.

“He’s a dork!” Lou Ellen chokes through her laughs, and you nod, agreeing with her.

"Hey! I get where Katie is coming from! As his sisters, you guys are biased. Of course, you’re gonna say he's ugly," Silena points out, and you sigh,

“Live with him in the Hermes Cabin for a couple of weeks, and when you see him in his natural state, you won’t find him cute anymore,” you joke. Katie shakes her head,

“I don’t believe you. I bet he’s even cuter! You’re calling him a dork, but jokes on you, I like dorks,” she says playfully, crossing her arms over her chest, and you smile at her.

“To each their own, I guess.”

"What about you? Who do you think is cute?" Silena asks you. You side-eye the other, and you feel your face heat up. You really didn’t want to be the target in this conversation. Turning back to the bushes, you answer her question with a shrug of your shoulders. Silena scoffs, "there has to be someone! We have a good group of guys to choose from at camp."

"I mean, yeah…" you trail off hesitantly, and you feel the stares of the girls as they wait for your answer. You knew they weren't going to let this go, and so, you sigh softly, taking a moment to find the courage to confess. "I guess Percy is cute-"

"Y/n!"

Your breath hitches in your throat, and your shoulder tenses up at the sound of the familiar voice. It was too much of a coincidence that Percy showed up the exact moment you were speaking about him. The girls laugh at your reaction and your cheeks somehow become hotter as Silena smiles at you knowingly. If she didn't sense your crush before, she definitely sensed it now. Snapping your gaze away from her, you find the courage to turn around.

"Hey, Percy," you say, smiling sheepishly. You fiddle with your fingers as you take in his appearance. Percy was wearing his orange camp half-blood shirt and cargo pants. His cheeks were a little flushed at the summer heat, and you assume he probably came from training. As usual, his dark hair was slightly disheveled, and you couldn’t help your lips curling into a soft smile.

"Hey, I've been looking for you. You left these on the dock," he says, presenting the black pouch filled with your crystals in his hand. You gasp softly as you take it from him.

"Oh! Thank you. I can’t believe I forgot them," You shake your head at yourself as you put them in your strawberry basket in the meantime. You didn’t understand how your forgotten crystals never came to your mind once, especially this late in the day.

"No problem. I think they’re all in there," he smiles at you before acknowledging the girls standing behind you. "Hey, guys.”

He furrowed his eyebrows as they giggle amongst themselves. They murmur a few things to each other before turning their gaze to him again.

"Percy, I wanted to ask who do you think is the prettiest girl at camp?" Silena asks as the girls move to surround him. You're stomach flutters crazily with nerves, and you cringe, feeling embarrassed even though Percy was oblivious to the motive behind the question.

Percy looks around him, shifting his weight from one foot to another,

"This… feels like a trap,” he says slowly, making the girls giggle.

"It's not! We just want to know. Anyone, in particular, stands out to you?" Silena steps closer to him.

"Any crushes?" Katie asks.

"There has to be someone, right?" Lou Ellen smiles.

"Um… I- why are you guys asking so many questions?" He mutters, his shoulders tense up as he avoids the stares of the three girls practically towering over him.

"Guys, leave him alone," you laugh shortly. "You don't have to answer all that," you reassure him, cutting through their little circle as you squeeze between Silena and Katie.

You stand beside Percy, the girls deciding to step down and return to their original places. Silena smiles, and you can't tell what she's thinking, but you knew that the smile playing on her lips made you nervous. You awkwardly exchange a look with Percy, noticing that he was just as flustered as you were.

"You know… I noticed that those bushes over there get a lot of sun," Silena says, breaking her silence as she turns to Katie and Lou Ellen. She points at the bushes about three rows from where you were all standing, and Katie nods,

"We should go pick the strawberries over there. Percy and Y/n can work on the ones here." Silena gives you a smirk, winking at you before turning around and taking the other girls with her.

You resume your strawberry picking, chewing on your button lip. You were hoping that he didn't witness Silena wink at you because if he did, it was then way too obvious that the girls spontaneously set up this. There's a silence for a moment, and you feel your palms start to sweat as you try to figure out what you were going to say to him.

"Where's Ambrose?" Percy asks softly, and you glance over for a second, watching as he picks the strawberries beside you.

"Oh, uh, he ran off a little while ago with my brothers. They're probably playing somewhere." You smile, remembering how Ambrose wasted no time, running over to Alabaster and Ernest the moment they had offered to play with him.

"... how do you play with a ghost dog?" Percy gleams, amused at the idea of playing with Ambrose considering he couldn’t touch many things.

"There's a process where you can offer things to his spirit, so he has a few toys that he can play with," you explain. “He and I play with his toys all the time, but he’s with my brother’s right now, so they're probably wrestling."

"What? Really? I wouldn’t want to wrestle Ambrose,” Percy admits as a short laugh comes from his mouth.

"Yeah, me neither. He would definitely win if we did. Once he was so excited to see me; he jumped on me and knocked me down no problem,” you shake your head. “I think he forgets how big he is, and he ends up getting carried away sometimes.”

You look up from what you were doing, unexpectedly meeting Percy’s green eyes that resemble the color of the Caribbean sea as the sun shines into them. The butterflies in your stomach return, and you’re trying not to focus on the fact that the other was already looking at you. You look elsewhere, suddenly too shy to look at him, but your eyes couldn’t help but flicker back to his face. From this close, you noticed things about him that you didn’t see before, like the scattered freckles on his face, his long eyelashes, and his slightly chapped lips.

“I-” he stops himself suddenly, and your eyebrows furrow. The tension between you both was something you've never felt before. You didn't understand why Percy looked dazed, staring at you as if he found you to be the most captivating person in the world.

You open your mouth, but before you could speak, you see something moving at the end of the bush row. Breaking your gaze with Percy, you notice Silena's focusing intensely on you and him. It suddenly dawns on you that the strange tension was because she was working that love magic that all the Aphrodite children can do. She smirks when she sees that you’ve noticed her, and you swore you saw her mouth a “you’re welcome.” The tension suddenly falls as she hides behind the bushes right as Percy turns around to find out what you were looking at.

You giggle nervously, “um, yeah. Anyways... Ambrose can put up a fight,” you say, trying to revert to the original topic because you really didn’t want to discuss what just happened. You give him a second to get himself together, Percy looking a little disoriented after being under Silena's look magic. He blinks a few times before turning abruptly toward the strawberry bushes. A nervous chuckle leaves his lips, and his hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. He shifts on his feet and nods,

“Yeah, I can imagine.” He clears his throat, his voice coming out a little higher than he had intended it to be. You bite your bottom lip, trying to refrain from laughing, and you hum softly in response.

The two of you sat in silence for a bit before your conversation had picked up again. Surprisingly, even after being unknowingly manipulated by Silena’s magic, Percy moved on quickly from the awkward tension. You found it was easy to talk to him, the two of you chatting as if you didn't just meet yesterday. The two of you talked and laughed a lot, sharing funny stories from quests or about your mortal parents.

You’ve never been a closed-off person, and you were able to share things easily with people, so the conversation flew naturally. You guys talked about the weird perks of your powers. One of the weird perks you shared is your ability to see and communicate with ghosts, and you end up freaking him out with the many stories of your paranormal experiences.

You weren't sure how long you were talking to him, but time felt like it flew by, and eventually, your baskets were filled with strawberries as you finished picking the row. The sun was lower in the sky, and you assume that it was almost time for dinner. You figured you should find your siblings, and Ambrose and Percy had mentioned that he had plans to climb the lava wall with a few of his friends. So you guys placed your baskets in the drop-off section where they package the strawberries, exchanging a short “see you later” before parting ways.

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

The last thing Annabeth was expecting to see today was an out-of-breath Atticus bursting into her cabin, but there he was. She jumps in her seat at the sudden bang, the sound cutting through the silence. Her gaze snaps from her book to the door, concerned for a second as Atticus looks panicked. He lets himself in, scoping out the room in search of something.

"What are you-?"

"Have you seen Harvey?" Atticus asks, frantically looking for his familiar. Harvey is a black-footed ferret that was given to him by his mother. When you guys found out that Ambrose was for you, Atticus was pretty bummed. He was jealous that your mother had given you such a cool gift, and you had assumed that she had seen how upset he was because a few days after Hecate officially claimed you, Atticus received Harvey as a present. The morning he met Harvey for the first time, Atticus was thrilled to wake up with the ferret casually sitting on his chest.

"I'm sorry, Harvey? I don't know a Harvey?" Annabeth turns in her chair to face him, her arms crossed over her chest.

"My ferret, have you seen him?" Atticus drops to his knees, looking under the beds and the nightstands. He just saw him jump into the back window of the Athena Cabin, so he was sure that Harvey was hiding somewhere.

"Um, no?" Annabeth rolls her eyes, finding it rude that he has barged in as if he lived there. Suddenly, a small animal jumps from the top of the bookcase beside her and right on her desk. Annabeth yelps, getting up from her seat quick as Harvey snorts, and he clumsily runs across her papers before prancing across all the desks that were lined against the wall.

"Harvey, what are you doing?!" Atticus exclaims as he moves to stand up. He attempts to meet Harvey at the last desk, but Harvey jumps out of his reach just as he closes his fist to grab him. Harvey zooms across the room, forcing him to play a one-sided game of tag that Atticus was definitely losing. He occasionally slips and stumbles, the snorts that leave his snout starting to sound like mocking laughter.

"What's wrong with your rat?" Annabeth jokes as her eyes follow Harvey around the room.

"He's a ferret," Atticus corrects her, mumbling under his breath. He sighs as he tries to catch up with the animal, failing miserably as not only was he crazy fast, he was able to find the smallest corners to hide in.

"Similar family," she shrugs, smirking at him. "And you didn't answer my question."

Atticus sighs, getting on the floor to try and grab Harvey, who’s tucked in the corner under one of the beds. He squints at the small animal, not sure why he’s acting this way when Harvey was curled up on his desk, peacefully taking a nap about 20 minutes ago.

"He does this sometimes. I don't know. He wants to play, and then he causes chaos," Atticus grunts, almost grabbing Harvey, but he runs out of his reach once again. Atticus groans as he sits back on his heels, pinching the bridge of his nose. He decides he might as well take a breather since he's been chasing him for the past 10 minutes, and he considers that he should stop entertaining him since Harvey obviously saw this as some game.

He sighs softly, choosing to forget about Harvey as he looks over at Annabeth. Her gray eyes are fixed on him as she leans against the edge of her desk. Her curly blonde locks are pulled back in a messy low ponytail allowing the front strands to frame her face prettily. Atticus smiles as he admires her, taking in her appearance before she starts telling him off.

"You look pretty like that," Atticus compliments, his heart skipping a beat as their eyes meet. He watches as her expression softens for a second, her eyes wide at the random compliment. Atticus smirks softly, not surprised, as her face suddenly darkens into a scowl. If Annabeth felt anything for him, she was good at hiding it.

When Atticus had first arrived at camp last summer, Annabeth and he spoke here and there. Their conversations were brief but pleasant, and Atticus found himself wanting to talk to her more often. As his crush for her grew, he had taken it upon himself to harmlessly flirt with her, hoping she’d get the hint that he was interested.

"Like what?" She asks, her chin up as she moves to stand up straight on her feet.

"With your hair in a ponytail like that. It's cute.”

"Hmm. Thanks for letting me know, so I'll never do it like this again,” she says in such a serious tone that made Atticus laugh. There it is. Annabeth was always quick to shut him down, and she never failed to make witty comebacks. He was pretty certain that it was just banter, but it made it hard to tell if she was maybe into him. But he never failed to notice how occasionally, she’d momentarily be lost for words or have a flustered look on her face before it hardened as it did a moment ago.

"You'd be pretty regardless, Chase.” He feels his knees start to ache, and he sighs as he gets back up on his feet.

"Don't call me that," Annabeth says abruptly.

"What? Chase? What do you prefer? Annie? Beth? Anna?" He teases.

"I prefer Annabeth, thank you." She gives him a tight, sarcastic smile, and a short laugh comes from Atticus’s mouth.

"That's not fun, though…" His hand comes under his chin as he studies her. He ponders for a second, trying to come up with a name that he can personally call her. Annabeth shifts, avoiding his gaze as she looks elsewhere. She was weirded out that the other was looking at her for so long, and she tried not to show how flustered she actually was. She grunts,

"What?! What are you look-"

"Goldilocks," Atticus blurts out, his finger pointing into the air as his face brightens, thinking he’s an absolute genius for coming up with that name. Annabeth shakes her head,

"Don't call me th-"

"It's been decided. I will call you goldilocks. No one else can call you that," Atticus cuts her off, the same proud smile plastered on his face even though Annabeth’s eyes narrow dangerously at him. Atticus takes a step back hesitantly. At first glance, she didn’t come off as intimidating, but Atticus knew better. He was always sure not to push her too far because he was completely aware of her ability to kill him.

Atticus suddenly remembers Harvey, noticing how the sound of his little feet pattering along the wooden floor ceased a while ago. He scans the room finding Harvey standing on his hind legs a couple of feet away, calmly watching them. Atticus still couldn’t understand why he had acted so strangely. Familiars couldn’t talk, obviously because they’re animals but their actions are never out of vain. They’re usually trying to tell you something if they’re acting strange, and it takes a while to put the pieces together since there is only so much they can do. After thinking for a second, it dawns on Atticus that Harvey purposely made him come to the Athena Cabin so that he can talk to Annabeth. He smiles to himself, walking toward Harvey. He didn’t run away this time, allowing Atticus to put him on his shoulder.

"He just stopped,” Annabeth points out, her head tilting to the side.

"Probably got tired?" Atticus makes an excuse for him, not wanting to admit that Harvey had decided to be his wingman today. "Sorry for barging in, by the way," he apologizes. “I saw him jump in from the window, and I was worried he’d break something.”

"Whatever. Don’t do it again.”

"Got it. Well, I'll see you around, Goldilocks. Happy studying.” Atticus turns on his heels, hearing a scoff coming from Annabeth as he walks out of the cabin.

"When did I ask you to be my wingman?" Atticus asks Harvey as he walks off the steps of the Athena Cabin. He reaches up, his index finger petting the top of his head. "You're crazy, bud... But she is cute, isn't she?" Atticus laughs, Harvey snorting as if he agrees with him.

masterlist

#my writing #pjo #percy jackson x reader #percy x reader #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson fic #percy jackson fanfiction #percy jackson oneshot #pjo x reader #pjo reader insert

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sevenkittensinatrenchcoat · 3 years ago

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My Tumblr Year In Review Thing, But There Were Technical Difficulties

So, I wanted to post the thing, but Tumblr just kept erroring, and it’s been like five hours now, so I just took a bunch of screenshots of what I wanted to post but couldn’t, so I can share it anyway...Now with commentary!

So, I clearly talk about Cats 1998 WAY more than any other version. There character tags mostly line up with who my favorite characters tend to be, minus Jemima. I’m a bit surprised by how many Skimble and Bomba posts there are, because I don’t think I talk about them that much. But Misto, Munk, Tugger, Jerrie, Pouncival, and Etcetera come up a lot around here and I generally have a lot to say about them.

As for The Long Tag, my grandpa was very sick and suffered from dementia. He passed away in September. I hadn’t seen him since 2016 and I’m not sure my brain has fully processed the fact that I won’t ever see him again. I didn’t post about it when it happened, because this is a Cats blog.

Okay, let’s change the subject and move on to my top five posts AKA Mainly Stuff That I Didn’t Put Much Effort Into That Somehow Really Caught On

Okay, this one had actual effort put in. This was an early post, back when I was trying to rewatch 1998 a zillion times focusing on different characters. I stopped when I got bored of doing the same thing over and over.

Out of all the rewatch posts, I get why this one was the most popular, since I was just sort of riffing the scene and having a great time.

Here’s how I described the scene and it sets the mood:

Since the post is really long, I took screenshots of only a few highlights:

There is no point to this highlight. I just had to include the Tail Spin again.

Because it wasn’t relevant to this scene, I forgot to mention that, while Teazer has the larger half of the brain cell in this scene, Jerrie has it when they’re doing crimes. He’s a criminal savant of sorts.

And now, a joke with some decent comedic timing:

RIP Pouncival

Explaining The Joke: In most productions, Alonzo plays the Rumpus Cat and it goes about as well as it does here, but you’d think Alonzo would be more reliable if you didn’t know that.

I found George kind of boring the first few times I watched the show, but he’s grown on me. This post was from before that happened, so I’m maybe a bit mean to George here.

Note: Cats CANNOT safely drink alcohol. I knew this when I made this post, but the joke was funnier if Munkustrap didn’t.

Okay, time for Number 4:

This was a short little meme post I wrote off the top of my head, but it’s another one that made sense to catch on. Here are some of my favorite descriptions:

The Ballad of Billy McCaw is really weird.

Of course, actors in the same production can give contradictory answers too, but wow has the show changed over time!

Okay, we’re getting to some shorter posts where I screenshoted the whole thing. Number 3:

I saw someone make a post basically identical to this at some point and I hope that post is more popular than this one, because it was there first.

Though it’s easy to make the Tuggoffelees joke of “Misto gets away with shit than no one else can”, having seen other productions where Misto doesn’t get this line, this is actually a difference in Tugger portrayals in original vs. revival choreography. In the original choreography, Tugger doesn’t seem to have a specific response to the comment and the actor just ad-libs it. Most actors play Tugger as being too confident to care that he’s being insulted. But, the Broadway Revival’s choreography plays up Tugger’s vanity, and has him fall into the typical trope of “guy who’s really full of himself is secretly insecure”. So, this Tugger can’t handle being insulted. I’ve seen clips of actors other than Tyler Hanes doing this with the revival choreography, so either it’s not ad-libbed, or every other actor who took the role after Hanes copied it because they thought it worked well.

This is another example of Blankenbuehler choreography completely changing Tugger’s character. I wouldn’t mind so much, but “vain but uncertain” is Alonzo’s thing and we don’t need two characters with the same potential arc. Tugger’s thing, so as not to be confused with Alonzo’s, is usually “seems like a jerk, but is really a nice guy/ seems like a himbo but is actually very smart/ seems irresponsible but is a really good leader when he’s needed”.

Number 2:

Tumblr, I was pandering to you. I realized that if I made a post that was just “these characters are LGBT” and literally nothing else, it’d get a bigger response than any longer headcanon or analysis. I actually feel a bit bad that this lazy post got as popular as it did. It’s not bad, but it was something I made purely to get a reaction and not because I had anything to actually say.

Lesbian Rumpleteazer! Most Teazers aren’t lesbians, because they have to fill in for Etcetera and be Tugger’s biggest fangirl, but Etcetera’s in 1998 and out of all the girls who are fans of Tugger, Teazer is the least blatantly horny during his number. Honestly, I didn’t know who to make the L in this LGBT meme. The queens who are the most easily shippable with other queens are all more easily read as bi. Bomba and Demeter could be read as a couple, but their past relationships with and attraction to Macavity is a plot point. Most productions don’t have any characters who read as lesbian, because all the queens go nuts around Tugger. The ones that don’t are Demeter (already explained), Jenny (who has an obvious crush on Bustopher), and Jelly (I don’t know maybe?).

So, the L was hard but the other 3 were all really obvious.

Gay Mistoffelees! In most of the situations where the tribe has gender roles, Misto is an exception to the rule. His aesthetic includes glitter and rainbows. He spends a lot of time trying to impress various toms while being one of the few toms who never really actively tries to flirt with any of the queens. Add in the fact that I’m pretty sure he’s been portrayed by more gay actors than straight ones and it’s incredibly obvious why he’s usually seen as the Gayest Little Cat.

Bisexual Rum Tum Tugger! He can’t pick one side of a door. Do you really think he could stick to sleeping with one sex without getting curious about “what’s on the other side”? Also, Tuggoffelees.

Transgender Mungojerrie! Misto is the more popular trans hc character, since he had those seven kittens, but Jerrie is my favorite trans headcanon. He’s a calico cat and male calicos are extremely rare. Male calicos are actually more intersex since their chromosomes are XXY. So Jerrie could be many different not-cis things, but my headcanon is that Jerrie was AFAB but Macavity magically gave him a male body. He’s a cat, so transitioning via hormones and/or surgery isn’t really possible, so he transitioned via magic.

Finally, My Number 1 Post of 2021:

Another one where I saw someone else’s post and basically did my own version of it. A former mutual (an anti), made a post describing Cats designs of different eras as:

1981: Human People

1982: Sewer Rats

1998: Teddy Bears

2016: Instagram Models

2019: *redacted*

So, I did the same damn thing with a visual aid, more commentary, and focusing on only one character. 1981 Misto looks human, 1982 Misto looks creepy, 1998 Misto is adorable, 2016 Misto is cool and polished, 2019 Misto is a bit of a mess.

I see a lot of posts that inspire my own posts, though I avoid directly copying. Depending on your definition, I’ve probably ripped a few people off.

I have seen screenshots where he looks a bit more feline than this, so I was sort of cheating.

This is actually one of the less “cryptid” pictures of this Misto.

The Broadway Revival didn’t really make good use of Misto at times, but the rainbow jacket is definitely a plus.

Explaining The Joke: Yes, I was a bit too harsh here. Misto’s is one of the better character designs in this movie, which is admittedly not saying much, but, outside of the broken CGI, he looks fine. The thing with him is that without his dance role, Misto just seems really watered down. He’s once of the nicer cats in the movie, but he’s more focused on Victoria than anyone else. He only fit the cryptid category by accident because of the CGI. He fits the Baby Misto personality very well, but they messed up his number which ruined the pay-off. His jacket is cool, but not as cool as the rainbow jacket. He doesn’t exactly fail at all these things, he’s just not as good at them as other versions are.

Outside of the lack of dance and overemphasis on Mistoria stuff, 2019 Misto isn’t completely out of character. He’s more genuinely shy, but there are moments of attention-seeking that feel very Baby Misto, such as after the list of types of cats in Jellicle Songs, he adds in “AND magical cats!”. That’s Misto. “Me! What about me and how awesome I am! I’m a special magic boy gdi!”

Even though the “terrible bore” line is now directly only at Victoria, the original meaning of the line (”Stop paying attention to him and go back to paying attention to me!”) is still there. As a side effect of making Victoria the protagonist, a lot of stuff that’s usually addressed to everyone ends up being addressed solely to her. Misto’s competitive nature and seeking the attention of everyone becomes mainly about Victoria, because she’s the main character. Any problems in Misto’s characterization are an extension of larger problems in the movie’s structure.

I hate on Cats 2019 a lot, I know. I think that by whatever objective standards art can be measured by, it’s a bad film and a bad adaptation of the source material. But, if you like it, ironically or not, fine. You can find happiness in a place where I can’t. Good on you. When it comes to the humans I criticize in this movie, I think most of cast did the best they could with what they had to work with. I still don’t like Blankenbuehler’s choreography and I think Tom Hooper lacks a basic understand of the appeal of musicals, but I don’t think their bad people. How could I know? I’ve never met them. The only actors I poorly of from this movie are Rebel Wilson and James Corden. They played themselves instead of their characters and I never got a sense that they actually cared about the show or the movie. But, the worst thing is that they blamed everything on the visual effects and threw those people, more people who did the best they could with out they had, under the bus.

So, here’s a long, 2021 Is Almost Over Let’s Recap The Year post. What you’ve learned is that I lie, cheat, steal, pander, and I’m generally kind of a dick, but at least you think I’m funny. Hopefully Tumblr will actually let me post it.

#my year in review #cats musical #cats 1998 #Mr Mistoffelees #munkustrap #rum tum tugger #Mungojerrie #Pouncival #skimbleshanks #cats etcetera #Bombalurina #cats 2019 #i'm cynical as fuck

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isitgintimeyet · 4 years ago

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Just a Friend

Hope you enjoy the next chapter of this story. Thanks to you all for reading this. You comments are lovely to read.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta

AO3

Chapter 5: From Facebook to Friends

When I was a little girl, Uncle Lamb would sometimes take me into university with him. I would creep into the lecture theatre and sit at the back watching him as he enthused about Phoenician trade routes, or long gone military strategies. I didn’t really understand what he was talking about, but I loved it anyway. The passion he had for his subject matter thrilled me.

And once the lecture was over, I would join him in his office and we would squeeze together in an old armchair, drinking hot, sweet tea while he tried to explain the principles of a three thousand year old civilisation in words a seven year old would understand.

The armchair is now in my office at the hospital. It looks more than a bit incongruous amongst the standard NHS furniture. The rich green velvet fabric has faded to a shabby eau de nil colour and years of shuffling bottoms have left a large depression in the seat cushion. But I won’t have it reupholstered. I love it as it is. It’s a great reminder of my wonderful uncle. I sit in it and somehow it comforts me, like a soothing hug.

**********************

I glance at the clock as I walk into my office, paper cup of hot, sweet tea in hand, and head straight for Lamb’s chair. Gratefully, I sink into its depths and take a tentative sip of the steaming liquid before closing my eyes for a moment. The surgery was long; much longer than anticipated—having taken all morning and most of the afternoon, in fact. It had also been far more complicated—my original plans for keyhole surgery had to be changed, but, eventually, we completed the operation successfully. I’m always proud of my theatre team, but never more so than in situations like this.

And now, after hours of concentration, I feel in need of some light relief. I can go home, have a wonderfully reviving shower and then what? I know that Dougal is taking Geillis out for a meal tonight, so she’s not available. Mary and Anna are both working nights this week, so no joy there. Other friends live too far away for an impromptu midweek activity. I could go to the gym. I should go to the gym. Or… more likely, I’ll go home, have cheese on toast, a glass of wine and watch ‘The Devil Wears Prada’ for the fifteenth time instead.

I reach for my phone to check for messages. A notification for a Facebook friend request appears on my screen. I very rarely get new friend requests—other than the odd random gentleman hoping, I presume, to make some sort of connection. I always delete immediately.

And, yes, the request is from a gentleman—one Jamie Fraser. The profile picture is definitely Samsonite Jamie, even wearing the Scotland rugby shirt I fingered whilst foraging through his suitcase. I click accept. Why not? I don’t think I have anything too embarrassing on my posts. In fact, I don’t use it very often at all.

Neither, it seems, does Mr. Fraser. His cover photo shows a very youthful bunch of Scottish rugby supporters and his recent timeline seems to comprise mostly of being tagged in photos by Laoghaire Mackenzie. Is it my imagination, or does he have a resigned look on his face on each of their ‘selfies’?

My tea is cool enough to drink now without scalding my tongue. I put my phone down and take a large gulp whilst considering tomorrow’s workload. My job is a series of highs and lows. Today, for example, started as routine, slumped to a worrying low, before peaking at a very relieved high. Tomorrow appears to be an easier day, certainly—a review of patients’ case notes in the morning followed by an outpatient clinic in the afternoon. All follow up patients, and all doing well as far as I know, so tomorrow is shaping up to be a very good day.

I open up my phone again. Facebook messenger is encouraging me to ‘say hi to your new Facebook friend.’ Without thinking, I send a little waving hand emoji to Samsonite Jamie.

I have no sooner put the phone down than it pings. Waving hand returned. I smile. What are we… thirteen years old? Next I’ll be asking him out for an Irn Bru and a bag of chips.

Ping again.

You owe me…

Shit! The stain on his t-shirt, no doubt. I watch the dots on the screen. Perhaps he’s calculating the cost of a dry cleaner, or a new t-shirt.

You promised me an ice cream.

You up for buying one for me tonight?

I hesitate for a moment. I hope Jamie doesn’t think I’m after him or anything like that. I mean, he’s not really my type. As I’ve said before, I’ve always been attracted to academic, cerebral kind of men like Uncle Lamb, rather than Viking marauders.

And I’ve never subscribed to the idea that men and women can’t be friends. One of my closest friends at university was a man—Joe Abernathy. If it wasn't for the fact that he is currently three thousand miles away, working in Boston, I would be arranging platonic ice cream outings with him.

So, deciding I have nothing to lose, I type my response.

If you can get to the kiosk by 6:30, it should still be open

A brief pause, then the response.

Great. See you there?

****************

Even at a distance, I recognise him sitting at a table next to the kiosk. No white t-shirt today, it looks like some sort of check lumberjack shirt. I breathe a sigh of relief. Not what I would call ‘first date’ clothing. Which is handy, seeing as I’m wearing ripped jeans and an oversized Aran jumper. I’m clean, presentable and fresh-smelling but definitely not dressed to impress.

He stands up when he sees me and greets me formally with a handshake. His hands are warm and dry—no nervous, sweaty palms here, which is another good sign. His shirt is blue, red and cream flannel and actually quite hideous.

“I hope this ice cream lives up tae ma expectations,” he says with the merest hint of challenge.

I crane my neck and look him straight in the eye. “No doubt at all. Cherry bakewell, is it? Double cone?”

“Aye. With a flake too. Compensation, ye ken.”

He stands aside to allow me to make the purchases. Before accepting the cone, he picks up half a dozen or so paper napkins and stuffs them in the pocket of his jeans.

“I’m prepared fer ye now. Do yer worst, Ms Beauchamp.”

I ignore his clear inference and follow him to a nearby bench.

“I can manage to eat and walk at the same time, you know,” I say in mock indignation.

“Hm,” he replies. “All the evidence sae far suggests the contrary. I need proof afore I believe it.”

There’s a moment of silence as we both focus on our ice creams. I lick neatly all the way around, trying to prevent any rogue drips trickling down the cone. Jamie pulls the flake from his cone and consumes it in two mouthfuls. He looks at me and laughs.

“Caught me. I’m a bit of a bugger fer chocolate,” he mumbles before swallowing.

“Right,” he continues, much more clearly now. “I suggest we get all the boring stuff out of the way. Ye ken, name, age, family, job, blah, blah blah. I’ll go first, if ye like.”

I nod my agreement.

“Sae, I’m James or Jamie Fraser. I’m thirty years old. Since our last conversation I am most definitely single. I live in Glasgow, obviously, but grew up on a farm near Inverness. My parents still run the farm. I have one sister, Jenny, who’s married tae Ian, my childhood friend. I have one nephew—a grand little lad known as Wee Jamie and a wee baby niece, Maggie . And I dinna think it’ll be long afore they’re joined by others. They all live here in Glasgow. My job, weel, I have a business—FraserFood—recipe boxes delivered tae yer door.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard of that. ‘From farm to fork.” That’s you, is it?”

He smiles proudly. “Aye, it’s me and ma family. Looks like ma marketing manager is doing a fine job, then.”

“Oh, forgot tae say, after the blah blah, ye have tae tell one confession. Only a wee one, mind.” He takes a large mouthful of his ice cream.

I purse my lips. “Really, and what if I’ve nothing to confess?”

Jamie snorts with laughter and does a funny sort of blink, screwing up his face and closing both eyes. Is he trying to wink? If so, he’s failing miserably. I try to look angelic and sin free. Judging by the look of scepticism on his face, It doesn’t seem to be working.

“Sae, my confession is, dah-dah-daaaah,” he does a fake fanfare, trying to build suspense. “I wanted tae be yer friend on Facebook because I wanted tae see if there were any photos of ye in Barcelona, with all yer...er… accessories.”

I feel myself redden. I’ve just remembered catching Geillis on Facebook the other day at work and I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming next.

“Verra interesting… in particular, the one with ye and six penis shot glasses. How d’ye manage tae get two of them in yer mouth at the same time?”

I inwardly curse Geillis and her desire to live her life through social media.

“Excuse me,” I reply somewhat primly. “I don’t think we’re at the Q and A stage yet.”

“So,” I continue in a lighter tone. “Me. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. I’m thirty two and I’m a paediatric orthopaedic surgeon, here at the children’s hospital. I love my job so much, I can’t begin to tell you. As of two weeks ago, I am thankfully single. I was born in Oxford and moved up here when I was twelve, when my Uncle Lamb became a professor at the university. He brought me up, you know. Raised me when my parents died in a car accident... I… er...I was four at the time.”

I can feel Jamie looking at me, but I can’t raise my eyes. Telling people about my parents never gets any easier, no matter how many times I say those words. I concentrate on picking bits of wafer off my cone and throwing them to the ducks loitering nearby, waiting for some sort of treat.

“So it always was just my uncle and me.” I carry on talking. “Then he died… seven...seven years ago…” I can hear my voice start to crack as I fight back tears. A hand creeps into my vision and I gratefully accept the proffered paper napkin and wipe my face.

“Och, lass.” He says softly.

I clear my throat. “I'm sorry. We were having a nice conversation and then there I go, getting all teary. It’s just, well, we were a team, Uncle Lamb and I… the two musketeers. He was my hero.”

Blowing my nose in a most unladylike way, I toss the napkin into the neighbouring bin.

“And that’s pretty much me. As for a confession, well… I suppose it’s kind of one.”

He raises one eyebrow quizzically, making a better job of that than the whole winking lark, I think.

"Ok, well, when I had your case, I tried to ring before I emailed you. I called the number in your case… twice. A woman answered and told me I had the wrong number—"

"Laoghaire."

"I know that now. But she obviously knew how to get onto your phone."

"Why did ye no' tell me?" He smiles as he says this. It's not a reprimand.

"I would have but you seemed to be coming to a conclusion anyway. No need to add more fuel to the fire."

"Happen ye're right."

He notices me shivering and gets to his feet. “Aye, there’s a bit of a chill. Fancy a wee walk tae warm up and we can carry on wi’ round two. It’s a quick fire round.”

I stand up and we move away from the pond. The ducks have already lost interest in us since they realise that we’ve nothing more to offer them. It’s pretty quiet in the park now, the cooler evening air seems to have kept people at home. The gravel crunching loudly under the soles of our shoes, I glance down and notice Jamie’s doing a sort of awkward stuttering movement with his feet. He’s clearly trying to match his stride pattern to mine. Which isn’t easy when his must be a good few inches longer than mine. Nice, considerate gesture, though.

“Sae, quick fire questions and answers. Ye can go first,” he says generously.

It only takes me a moment to think of a question that I have been wondering about ever since I explored the contents of his suitcase.

“What were you doing in Barcelona? I mean the contents of your case weren’t really fun-weekend-away stuff.”

“Nah, ye’re right. It wasna a holiday—flying visit only. I was there on business—talking tae a food wholesale company. Serrano ham, chorizo, saffron, that kind of thing,” he explains, a look of excitement on his face. “We’re expanding our range, starting with Spanish influenced recipes. A full three courses ready tae prepare, plus wine delivered straight tae yer door. Dinner party FraserFood style.”

He can’t stop smiling as he talks about these plans. And his hands move animatedly as he continues to elaborate on his new venture. His business is obviously his passion. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t got the desire for a relationship with a girlfriend—FraserFood seems to be his one love. No girl could compete.

He stops talking for a moment. “And here I am, boring ye.”

I shake my head. “Not at all, it’s really interesting.” I don’t have to lie. It’s the truth. My mouth is watering at his description of albondigas and flavoursome chicken and chorizo with cannellini beans. I’m ready to sign up for this delivery service any time.

“Sae, ma turn tae ask a question. Tell me, d’ye like this shirt?”

I try to stifle a laugh. The question is so unexpected and the shirt so awful. Trying to be diplomatic, I search for the right words, evading the actual question. “I’ve only seen you in white tops before, no colours.”

He sighs. “Ye’ve only seen me twice afore... anyway I dinna think ye need tae say any more. I ken ye’re being polite, but ye’re a terrible liar. I can tell by yer face ye dinna like this shirt. Laoghaire hated it, always made me change it. I did wonder if that was jes’ her being difficult. But apparently no’.”

“Sorry, I didn’t want to be rude.”

“Ye dinna need tae apologise, Claire. Being honest is a good thing, is it no’? And friends should always tell each other the truth. And that’s what I think we’re going tae be, Claire— friends. D’ye no’ agree?”

I crane my neck and look Jamie straight in the eye. “Yes, I do… friends.”

#outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #Just a Friend #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #Chapter 5

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windmaedchen-fairytail · 3 years ago

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Hello, i like your stories about Dreyar family members, but what about Ivan's mother? What was her character?How did she meet Makarov?Where was she from?As for me, I think she's from a gypsy camp. I made such an assumption on the color of Ivan's skin and hair and his ears. (as far as I know, gypsies have elongated ears). Although I may be wrong. As for the character, I do not know, but for some reason it seems to me that she was proud and defiant.However, over time, her character became softer.

And when I imagine her to myself, I see her like this:

What do you think about my theories ? What are your ideas about her? How do you think she met Makarov?

I want to know your opinion about it.

With love💖

Heya, thanks for getting in touch! ;) It took me a moment to think about this properly, so apologies for the late-ish reply.

The image you sent IS SO similar to the lady I declared being my model for Ivan's mom! That's so cool! xD

It's the Yoga-lady from an app called Down Dog and I love how sweet and kind her face looks. I've wanted to do something with this inspiration for ages, but there was always other stuff to sort out first... anyway...

Your idea about the gypsies is super intriguing. Given that Ivan doesn't got his appearance from Makarov, it (sort of) has to be his mother who is the "dark" one. Who might she be? Ivan's clearly no typical northern european white man but he isn't really POC either. He reminds me more of a mediterrainean and/or eastern european male, which is kinda still white but also not? Don't pin me down on any wording here, I am not so eloquent, forgive me. But I am certain you know what I mean. Hence his mother's origin being a gypsy tribe fits perfectly, who have their origin looooooosely from somewhere in that area. xD (Super loosely so chances are high I actually have their real origin included in my estimation... LOL )

As for any precise ideas about her story, I'll actually make another post but I'll tag you in it. ;)

Edit: Somehow I forgot to respond to some of your comments. XD Your version of her sounds a little more feisty than mine. A perfect foil to Makarov's firey character then. What did you think caused her absence later on? Death or separation? Did Ivan know her?

#fairy tail #asks

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phantom-curve · 4 years ago

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find the strength, find the melody pt. 6

okay so I wasn’t originally going to include the entire scene in Lessa’s office but, once again, my words ran away from me. now you get this beast of a chapter. it’s the longest one yet, coming in at a whopping 4,383 words so think of it as an apology for letting my other fic take over for a sec and also taking like a million years to post this.

I started working on Luke’s POV because I am nothing if not a fan of jumping the gun, and his writing style is so different and living in his head is such an adorable journey of Julie Molina obsession. really excited for you to see some of the stuff that’s been going on for our sweet lil soft boy. also, if you notice the dialogue style changing a little bit in this/future chapters it’s so I can have the same scenes without a ton of repeated dialogue in Luke’s POV.

writer’s block anecdote of the day: I keep flipping Luke and Alex’s name in Luke’s POV because one of the main OCs in my novel is actually named Alex and has been since I started working on this novel a literal decade ago. oh and there is also an OC named Owen. someday I’ll learn to give my characters unique names, but not today!

taglist: @blue-hat-girl, @lwhoscribbles, @bluefyoto94, @5sosmukefan, @moonlightxnder, @leahthewonder, @kat-maybe-not, @lukewearingbeanies, @imastrugglingartist

Once they were close enough to risk running into other students, Julie dropped Luke’s hand. She made a point of ignoring the frown he gave her, using her now free hand to reach up and adjust her hat. Only, her hat wasn’t there. Her hands landed on loose, untamed curls instead and she immediately turned to Luke with a small amount of panic already building in her chest. He gave her a funny look, and then seemed to notice her hair and somehow understood completely. His hands reached up to lower hers. He let his grasp linger for just a moment before letting go, leaving her hands to dangle limply at her sides. Only his gaze held her in place.

“I never really liked that hat. Your hair is too pretty to cover up like that.”

He said it like a fact. The sky is blue, the sun is hot, your hair is too pretty to cover up. Julie felt a swell of emotions rise again, threatening to overwhelm her. But then he was off towards the front of the school throwing a very casual, “You coming?” over his shoulder at her. She raced to catch up, emotions beaten back for the time being.

They joined the surge of bodies filtering through the front doors. Alex and Reggie stood off to the side inside the entryway of the school. It was impossible to miss the tall blonde in his light pink sweatshirt standing next to the shorter boy in leather. Luke didn’t hesitate to weave his way over to them, but Julie hung back. She wasn’t really sure what was going on between them, wasn’t sure if she felt comfortable enough to just tag along behind him. She caught sight of Flynn’s hot pink beanie bouncing in the distance and let out a sigh of relief. She could separate from Luke here, talk to Flynn, get some perspective on this whole situation.

Luke glanced back at her then. She saw the question in his eyes, felt her heart race when he gave a little side nod like he was inviting her to join him. She swallowed and gave him a half-hearted smile before jerking her thumb over her shoulder in Flynn’s direction. He frowned, but she was already turning away. She pretended she didn’t hear him call her name, slipping into the crowd of students, letting it swallow her up so she could disappear from his sight. Eyes locked on Flynn’s back she moved farther away from the Sunset Curve boys. Flynn only jumped a little when Julie snuck up behind her.

“Jesus, Jules! You scared the shit out of me!”

Her best friend’s familiar voice washed over her like a comforting blanket. All at once, Julie was word vomiting the entire night.

“Flynn, oh my God. He had Mom’s song and he saved it for like, a whole year, and then he gave it to me yesterday, and holy shit I forgot how beautiful it is. And you’re not gonna believe this but I played, like I actually played the piano and sang, and it was like homecoming, it was like the biggest rush, like my mom was right there in the studio with me. And then, oh my god, now you’re really not gonna believe this, but oh my god, then Luke freaking Patterson showed up out of nowhere and he uh might have stayed on the pull-out couch, and then he uhm he made me breakfast this morning? And we walked here together?? He was like...doing this thing where his eyes were going all starry and soft and he was saying really sweet things and it was...a lot and I really don’t know what’s going on with that but uhm I’m kinda freaking out. Also, hey good morning, how are you?”

If Flynn’s mouth opened any wider Julie thought she might unhinge her jaw. In a sea of bustling students, it felt like they were in a bubble all their own. She anxiously fiddled with the bracelets on her wrists as she watched the gears turn behind her best friend’s eyes. After a full two minutes of silence, Flynn’s hand flew out to latch onto Julie’s bicep. Without a word she dragged her down the hallway and into an empty practice room. Flynn released her grip, Julie rubbing at her arm, jeez Flynn was strong!, while the other girl closed the door and flipped on the light that indicated the room was in use. She whirled around, her eyes drilling into Julie’s.

“You’re gonna start at the beginning of that whole mess of truth bombs and spill every last detail about exactly what happened with Luke ‘freaking’ Patterson. Right now. Starting with the bit about your mom’s song.”

Julie took a deep breath and slowly walked Flynn through the events of the last few days, from the moment she had run into Luke after her meeting with Ms. Harrison to when she ran away from him this morning as he was calling her name. Distantly, she was aware of the bell ringing, but it was only homeroom anyway. What did that matter when she was having an existential crisis? Flynn’s mouth only hung open a little bit by the time she was finished telling the story again. Julie felt her shoulders slump. What an emotional rollercoaster. Flynn was quiet for a long moment. Then, she smirked at Julie with a knowing look in her eyes.

“Hmph. Looks like my girl’s got a crush, and his name is Luke. I cannot believe you’ve been holding out on me like this!”

She was teasing, her tone light with a little bit of a mocking sing-song quality to it. But Julie could hear the undercurrent of worry running through her words. She had become quite adept at detecting that particular vocal quality in the last year. She sighed.

“Whatever. Can we focus on the more important revelation that I played the piano and sang again?”

Flynn, best friend that she was, gracefully allowed the subject change.

“Jules, that’s amazing! I’m so happy for you! How did you feel? Alive again?”

Julie laughed, the sound feeling easy and light as it left her chest.

“Yeah, actually, that’s exactly how I felt. It was...honestly, it felt magical. It really did feel like my mom was there with me. There was this sense of peace that just felt...”

She shivered, remembering the sensation of ghostly arms around her shoulders.

“I can’t really describe it. But it was like something just clicked, and I realized that the best way to remember my mom and honor her is through music. The music we made together and the music I’ll make in the future. Rose Molina’s musical legacy will live on in me, and that feels pretty special.”

She couldn’t keep the smile from her face or the happiness from her voice. Peace really had been found out in that studio last night. Julie felt more ready than ever to move out of the darkness she’d kept wrapped around her like a shield for the last year.

“That’s beautiful.”

Flynn pulled Julie into her arms, the two girls sharing a long hug. The bell rang, signaling the end of homeroom, before either girl could say anything more. They left the practice room together, splitting up when they reached their respective classroom doors. Julie swallowed thickly as she settled herself in the back of her Calc class. This was one of the classes she shared with Luke, although she had conveniently forgotten that fact until the moment she sat down at her desk. He appeared in the doorway within seconds, giving her no chance to properly prepare herself. His eyes lit up when he saw her, and he started to make a beeline for the desk next to hers before their teacher caught him.

“Patterson! You know the deal.”

Not even Luke’s best pout could win over Ms. May. She simply raised a brow and pointed at the seat he had been assigned at the front of the classroom. Julie let out a small sigh of relief. It was hard not to smile at Luke’s dramatics as he slumped over and slowly shuffled his way to his desk. He dropped into his seat with a loud huff, glancing over his shoulder at Julie with forlorn expression. She rolled her eyes, smothering her smirk behind her hand. The bell rang again, and he turned his attention to the front of the room as Ms. May called the class to order.

He didn’t stop sneaking looks back at her the entire class period though. It made her want to squirm in her seat every time she dared peek at him and caught him watching her in return. He would always give her one of those soft, sweet smiles and then turn back to his work. It was unsettling, especially when she thought of how he hadn’t paid much attention to her in this particular class before today. Although, now that she really thought about it, maybe he had. Julie had basically been living in a fog of grief for the last year. The school could have caught on fire and she probably wouldn’t have noticed it until her clothes were burning.

She was almost grateful when one of the front desk aides appeared in the door to their classroom. Kayla made direct eye contact with her before knocking on the door frame to get Ms. May’s attention.

“Julie Molina is needed in the office.”

A tense silence fell over the classroom. Every single student remembered the last time Julie had been called down to the office in the middle of a class. Even Ms. May’s eyes flickered with pity for a moment before she gave Julie a gentle smile and nod. Julie stood slowly, forcing herself to keep her breath even as she gathered her books and papers into her backpack. 22 pairs of eyes watched her slowly make her way to the front of the room. One pair burned hotter than the others. Julie met Luke’s eyes for the smallest fraction of a second. Just long enough to see the concern rise up in them. Then she was out the door, walking the uncomfortably familiar path to the front office.

“It’s Lessa. And I think your dad.”

Kayla’s quiet voice startled her. She looked to her left, surprised to find the other girl keeping pace with her. Julie had thought she would walk ahead or peel off to deliver other messages. Instead, she got a small but genuine smile.

“Look, I know things are weird because of the Carrie thing, but I just didn’t want you to freak out too much. Frankly, I think Lessa’s kinda a bitch to pull you out of class like that. She’s an idiot if she doesn’t remember...well anyway. It’s something school related, not like a family thing.”

Kayla briefly squeezed her bicep, almost like she wished she could give Julie a hug. Then she was off down a separate hallway, waving the stack of messages in her hand at Julie as a goodbye. Julie watched her go for a second, feeling off balance and surprisingly emotional. Kayla was a Dirty Candy girl. In the battle lines that had been drawn between Julie and Carrie, Kayla’s position was as obvious as Flynn’s. For all intents and purposes, she shouldn’t be looking out for Julie, and yet, she was anyway. Julie wondered how many small protective moments she had missed from her classmates in the last year. Maybe she hadn’t been quite as alone as she had always felt. She took a deep breath and finished the walk to the front office, a little more ready to face what was on the other side.

Knowing it was school related and that her dad had been called down sent a shiver of apprehension down her spine for a different reason. It had to be something about the music program. Not for the first time, Julie regretted keeping it from her dad for this long. She was out of time now. At least she could thank the universe for small favors. If it had been her Tía in this meeting, Julie’s life would be over. Her dad was more understanding. They would be able to get through this. Julie forced herself to square her shoulders and enter the office with more confidence than she felt. Her mom’s words echoed in her mind you can do it. It was all the strength she needed.

At least until the door to Principal Lessa’s office was closing behind her, and she was face-to-face with her heartbroken father.

“Julie. Take a seat, please.”

Lessa’s voice lacked its usual bite. She just sounded tired. Julie felt that down to her bones. She slipped into the seat next to her dad without a word.

“I’m going to get right to the point. Two of us,” her eyes narrowed slightly on Julie who shifted in her seat in response, “knew this meeting was coming. The other one of us has now been informed as to why it was called.”

The weight of her father’s stare was crushing her. Julie didn’t have to look to see the disappointment there. It was rolling off of him in tsunami sized waves. Lessa continued talking despite the uncomfortable tension growing in the air.

“Now. We have several options. As you both know, Los Feliz is at its core an arts academy. We ask that our students participate in at least one of the arts programs. Participate being the key word there. Julie, it’s clear that participation in our music department isn’t something you’re able to do right now. While we were able to offer you a grace period, we have other students applying for the position you aren’t using. It’s only fair to allow them the chance to participate if you won’t.”

Julie was not going to cry. Not here in front of Principal Lessa and her dad, trapped on school grounds where everyone would see her when she left. She bit the inside of her cheek as hard as she could, letting Lessa’s soft but firm voice wash over her without absorbing anything she was saying. She caught bits and pieces: Lessa offering her a spot in the less desirable subset of illustration in the fine arts department with a chance to reapply for the music department the following semester, her dad requesting information about the new program as well as copies of her transcripts in case they decided to move schools, Lessa’s voice softening as she apologized, her dad’s growing even softer as he thanked her for everything the school had done so far. Then the meeting was wrapping up, and her dad was shaking Lessa’s hand, and Julie was focusing on her backpack so she could get the hell out of there. She barely caught the sad smile Lessa gave her as she said, “Good luck, Julie” in that same goodbye tone Ms. Harrison had used on Monday. Julie had never been so desperate for her old hat to hide behind as she was in that moment.

She shuffled along behind her dad. It was obvious the school day was over for Julie. He was quiet as they made their way out of the office and into the empty hallway. Class had been dismissed while they were with Lessa. Julie was thankful there weren’t any other students around to witness her downfall. Her dad almost made it out of the building before rounding on her. Almost.

“I cannot believe you tried to hide this from me! I thought I raised you better than that, mija. You’re lucky your Aunt had a work meeting she couldn’t miss. Why didn’t you come to me?”

It was the overwhelming disappointment in her dad’s tone that did Julie in. She had never been able to stomach letting her parents down. If Ray’s voice was any indication, she may have reached the rock bottom of let downs.

“I’m sorry.”

She was. She truly was. She didn’t know why she had kept it from her dad except that if she had told him then she would have had to admit it was real. She hadn’t wanted to face that reality just yet.

“I just don’t understand, Julie. You still like music, right? Is it the school? We can find a different music program. You don’t have to stay here just because your mom loved it so much.”

Julie opened her mouth to argue that actually that was exactly why she had to stay here, but a different voice cut her off. An annoyingly familiar voice that had her heart racing and her palms sweating.

“Julie!”

She nearly groaned aloud. Never before in her life had Julie wished to disappear as much as she did right now. Just open a hole in the floor and jump right into it. The absolute last thing she needed right now was Lucas freaking Patterson getting in the middle of this dressing down. Hell, she didn’t even want him witnessing it let alone trying to get involved. She clenched her jaw, ignored her dad’s pointedly raised eyebrow, and turned on her heel to meet the teenage boy that suddenly seemed to be haunting her every step.

“Luke. Hi.”

She kept her voice flat, the go away clear in her tone. His steps faltered for a second, but she could tell by the way his shoulders bounced that he wasn’t going to be so easily deterred. She had run away from him this morning and been saved multiple times in Calc. He wasn’t going to let her avoid him anymore. He approached her and her dad with all the cool confidence a 17-year-old boy in a band could muster. Her mouth almost fell open when he bypassed her completely to stick his hand out towards Ray.

“Luke Patterson. You must be Mr. Molina. It’s very nice to meet you, sir.”

His smile was genuine and charming, his lyrical voice all too polite. Julie wanted to scream as she watched her dad fall for it. Could she not have one single embarrassing moment to herself anymore? Was she doomed to play out the moments she came off looking the worst in front of this cute boy for the rest of her life? Her dad’s eyes lit up as he shook Luke’s hand. Julie wished she could bash her head against something.

“Patterson? Mitch and Emily’s boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

Only Julie caught the way his smile tightened and his shoulders raised defensively at the mention of his parents.

“Wow, you’ve grown quite a bit since the last time I saw you! Good people, your parents.”

Julie rolled her eyes at the dad-ness of it all.

“I forgot you were in the music program with Julie...”

She couldn’t help but cringe as her dad’s words trailed off. That statement had been enough to remind him why he was here in the first place. He turned away from Luke to give her another heartbroken look. She hung her head to escape the censure behind his eyes.

“I am. Actually, that’s why I was trying to find Julie! She was late for rehearsal.”

Julie whipped her head up to glare at the boy still bobbing in front of them. He was trying to cover for her not knowing Lessa had blown that opportunity sky high not even 5 minutes ago. It was sweet in a misguided way, but it was also a painful reminder of all the things Luke had that she didn’t.

“He knows I got kicked out. You don’t have to lie for me.”

Her voice was sharp, and she was fully prepared for the kicked puppy look she was sure he would give her, but instead his smile only grew. His bouncing became impossibly springier, like gravity just didn’t apply to him. And then he winked, actually winked, at her.

“Awh, c’mon, Jules!”

His whine was just the right amount of playful, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Her heart did a weird flip in her chest.

“I know it was supposed to be a surprise, but the poor man is clearly suffering! We should let him in on our little secret.”

Julie’s glare intensified as she ignored the way the words our little secret hit the softest part of her heart. What the hell was he playing at? He winked again, something that should be outlawed given the way it made her stomach drop and knees weaken. Then he held up his hands in a half-hearted I give up gesture.

“Okay, okay. You don’t have to tell him about the plan to get you back into the music program if you don’t want to.”

If this were a cartoon, Julie was sure her eyes would have popped out of her skull completely at those words. As it were, she settled on doing everything she could to keep her jaw from dropping. She had absolutely no clue what he was going on about, but he clearly had some sort of agenda. There was a script to this encounter, she just hadn’t been given her lines. She saw her father shift out of the corner of her eye, arms raising to fold across his chest as he took in the scene unfolding between the two teenagers. Luke was still talking, apparently deciding to capitalize on Julie’s stunned silence.

“I just think it would be helpful if he knew about it. Then we wouldn’t have to sneak around so much. I know you wanted to have it be a big reveal, but we can still surprise your aunt!”

Her dad turned to her with a raised brow, confusion and the smallest seeds of hope growing behind his gaze.

“¿Mija?”

Julie wanted to punch a locker and also vomit. What the actual hell was Luke Patterson doing? She had no frame of reference for whatever game he was playing. No way of knowing if it was serious or some sort of prank. She looked away from her dad to meet Luke’s eyes. He gave her a small, pleading smile, silently begging her to trust him. His eyes became impossibly gentle and she saw that same boy from the studio last night and the kitchen this morning peeking out at her. Ultimately, it was that intimate reminder of his softer side that made her cave.

“It’s nothing, Papí. Just some hair-brained scheme Luke came up with.”

She raised her brow in a challenge, communicating with that one twitch that she wanted to see his endgame here. His face lit up like the 4th of July. She was sure if they had been alone he would have let out a victory whoop. He rocked back on his heels, hands in his pockets, biceps flexing in his best cool kid impersonation.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Molina. We’re getting just as much out of this as you are.”

She didn’t have time to snap back that she wasn’t sure she was getting anything out of whatever ‘this’ was before he was plowing ahead.

“See, my band and I lost our fourth member earlier this year, and we have our Junior Showcase coming up, but man, it’s been a serious struggle to find our sound without Bobby, and we really gotta nail this Showcase. It’s like the one where managers scout out who they really wanna pay attention to as a senior, so we gotta be the best.”

Julie saw where he was going with this before he actually got there, but it was too late to stop him. That was what she got for playing along with his stupid game in the first place.

“And see, I finally figured out that what we really need is someone like Julie to elevate us to that level. Your daughter is a freaking wrecking ball of talent, Mr. Molina. It took a lot of begging, but she finally agreed to play with us. There’s no way Lessa won’t put her back in the music program after we play together.”

His grin was a mile wide, pride shining from his pores. He was 100% sure of this plan, she could see it in the way he looked at her. Absolute blind faith in her. It was as flattering as it was terrifying.

“I see.”

Her dad’s voice was shockingly contemplative. Like he was actually considering supporting this crazy idea. He looked at Luke thoughtfully.

“Do Principal Lessa and Ms. Harrison know about this plan?”

Luke’s hand raised for one quick nervous scratch at the back of his neck. He gave her dad his most charming smile.

“Sometimes you’ve gotta go into ambush mode. Swing that wrecking ball of talent and smash some rules, eh?”

If it were any other parent, that line would have probably been the worst possible thing to say. But this was Ray Molina, whose first date with Rose had involved a small amount of breaking and entering as well as a large amount of running from cop cars and stealing kisses while hiding in alleyways. Rose had never met a rule worth following, and it was part of the reason Ray had fallen in love with her in the first place. Luke had sealed the deal without even really trying. Julie was doomed.

“I like it.”

Ray’s smile was almost as large as Luke’s. It was scary how similar they looked right now, enthusiasm shining in their eyes with an intensity that was borderline maniacal. There would be no getting out of this now.

“Why don’t you boys come over to the house after school? You can practice in our studio.”

Julie didn’t even get a chance to open her mouth before Luke was agreeing. She watched him shake her dad’s hand once again, some weird kind of bonding look passing between the two of them. Her dad wrapped a tight arm around her shoulder, and then turned them both towards the front doors again. Julie cast one final look at Luke over her shoulder, heart skipping a beat as he bit his lip and gave her yet another wink.

“See ya later, boss!”

Had her dad not been holding her up, Julie would have melted right into a puddle of mush. Yup, she was totally and completely doomed.

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taglegend · 4 years ago

Photo

Tag Fact #3 - I’ve come to realize I’ve always been a fan artist more than I thought. so here is a timeline of influences that shaped my childhood to now. from nostalgic times, to sad changes, to great loss, to strange rises to fame and phases, to stepping stones and finally a laughing place. all the things that make up your favorite fan artist Tag.

1. Rayman (bumped into this in the year of 1999) was actually the first fandom (with crossovers) I bumped into when I was 9. although the internet wasn’t available at the time it was still fun to dwell in home amusements. I remember the storylines and the OC’s I made but they’re kind of embarrassing and it’s probably a good thing there was no internet. I’ve done fanart and comic crossovers of Rayman with Calvin and Hobbs and Nights Into Dreams, spinoffs of Sonic the Hedgehog OC’s, Yoshi with Pikachu, and the Pokemon/Digimon craze with OC’s and other Nintendo comic shorts. but the drawings and comics are long gone and disappeared in the garage in a backpack due to suspecting my sister’s dad accidentally throwing them away. years later towards the year 2018 (now 28), we decided to move to North Carolina and it was my chance to find them again. unfortunately the backpack was gone just like I suspected (my main stuff), but for some reason I found my Pokemon/Digimon fanart, a good batch of Super Mario drawings (vaguely remember doing these), my sister’s drawings and some other neighborhood kids’ drawings in a dirty box. I was partially happy I found something at least but it was the backpack I wanted the most. sometimes I regret not looking for the backpack (’cause I was too busy being a kid) but it’s alright, noone needs to see that shit anyway, ha ha. anyways, I recall being a fan of Rayman from 1999 ‘til 2002.

2. Sonic Adventure 2 Battle (bumped into this in the year of 2003) my second fandom I bumped into when I was 12 going on 13. at the time, my sister and I both liked the Sonic The Hedgehog Franchise based on the Battle remake and ended up making our own secret fanart club that consisted of only us two members. she liked Sonic (and that was her boyfriend, ha ha) and I liked Knuckles (and he was my boyfriend, ha ha) and we were crazy in love about Shadow’s backstory. we listened to the game’s soundtracks as we drew fanart and comics after school and man, those were good times. however, as we grew older towards the year of 2005, we ended up having separate rooms and I believe it played a part in disconnecting on the same interest. then one day, I asked her why she wasn’t into Sonic anymore and she replied, “Because I grew up.” I was sad after that and slowly observed that she was influenced by the emo culture and the new friends she’s made. I was the only member of our little club for a little longer...but eventually I moved on too. I still have some surviving fanart we did together but it doesn’t mean shit anymore since she turned out to be an abusive mother from the last I’ve heard of her.

3. Gorillaz (bumped into this in the year of 2006). as the Sonic years were at its end, I first heard the song “Feel Good Inc” on Music Choice and seeing the first image of them as displayed on this post (except the fan-made background doesn’t count since I can’t find the original artwork). this was my third fandom and later had proper access to the internet to the website I still currently use called DeviantArt. at first I liked 2D but eventually fell for Murdoc and developed a spiritual connection towards the character as obviously seen in my old fanart and rare photos of my devotion shrines on Valentine’s Day and his birthday every year. for the longest time since being a permanent fan from 2006-2017 (11 1/2 years) I had no knowledge that it was a political propaganda band and other realizations I don’t want to talk about. I only followed them because it was a cartoon and not the bullshit behind the musical project. the world I’ve built and support for them for all those 11 1/2 years shattered the fuck out of me and I just wanted to be left alone to find myself again, somehow. activity stopped on all my profiles, the flow of fanart stopped since I now cringe from the fan service and felt I was used for my talent. I didn’t want to be reminded of it all so I took down all my Gorillaz fanart and archived them for old followers’ nostalgia but also in the hopes they’ll be forgotten in my timeline. I ceased to exist in the fandom for huge personal reasons but it’s best to not say why. I know for sure that the fandom wonders what happened but it’s none of their business. THE END.

4. Waluigi (although I knew he’s been around since 2000 during childhood, I took deep interest once I revisited the character again in the year of December 2013). as silly as this sounds, when I revisited him again, the character was so bizarre that I ended up staying up 3 nights and 3 days in a row just looking all over the internet on everything about him and the questionable “hush-hush” absence of a backstory. despite there being no backstory he slowly gained a cult following and in many ways it’s a good thing. however, since the early 2010′s tension has been building up between Nintendo and its fans about him starring in a main game but everyone hasn’t fully gotten it in their heads that it’s not gonna happen. as long as Nintendo is in control of that, the fandom will not win, I’m sorry to say. on the other hand, if it’s going to be this way, then that’s what fanart and comic projects are for. as for me, I am doing my very best to get my comic project “Waluigi Land” going. again, I apologize if it’s taking very long to get Chapter 2 going if you’ve been keeping track but aha moments need to develop before I start permanent drawing (since concepts, character design and storyline needed improvement badly). as of right now I am still a Waluigi fan and I will not quit on him.

5. Turbo from Wreck-It-Ralph (although it debuted in 2012, I watched the movie two years later into the year 2014). for some bizarro reason, I had an unhealthy obsession with this character to the point where I dressed up as him for Halloween 2014. only 2 fanarts of him and the Turbo Twins exist on my profiles, mainly because my mind was more focused on just ‘thinking about him’ or ‘being him’ rather than drawing physical drawings. luckily, this supposed alleged fandom didn’t last long a little after Halloween so I chalk it up as a very short phase. to this day I don’t know what has gotten over me about him. the only thing I can think of now is that I think it’s because the character had yellow eyes and teeth but I don’t know. now that I think of it, that little fucker was ugly as hell and I STILL don’t know what had gotten over me. one day, my brother mentioned what that was about, and I said to him, “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

6. Undertale (although it debuted in 2015, I later took interest in it in 2016). It was all about Sans and Papyrus. I couldn’t get enough of the skeleton bros. eventually Toriel and Mettaton EX became my favorites but it took a long time to draw more of all 4 of them because I had other important things to do in my life plus I was still waiting for the next Gorillaz album to revive my imaginative juices (or so I thought). I really want to have this as one of my frequent fandoms but I just don’t have time for it anymore. it’s still in the back of my head to want to draw them but at this point I still have other better interests to be in. and besides, I’m lazy just like Sans.

7. Cuphead (June 28th, 2017 was the official day I called quits on the British-based band Gorillaz due to the bullshit behind it. since that date I was lost, had no inspiration to look forward to and no cartoon guy to make me smile...but lo and behold of the same year, I took an interest in playing the game Cuphead and man...that shit was a frightening exaggerated metaphor for being on that one drug (forgot the name though) and having sex at the same time but man that was the best fun I’ve had in years. I mean, it’s like, enemies are just so happy to murder you and that scared the shit outta me. and the facial exaggeration?....I think I should stop, ha ha. anyways, the Moldenhauers saved my ass from spiraling down, they have no clue. anyways, eventually I became a permanent fan of their work so to ease the hurt and erase my past from the G-fandom I had to re-wire my brain into a different cartoon category that’s a rather more American, so anything Toon related like Roger Rabbit, Felix the Cat or another favorite that’s a western-based cartoon makes me feel better, especially my new man .......King Dice <3 <3<3<3. however, there was something about this new fandom category I still didn’t quite understand until the date March 14th, 2020. I finally understood what it was but I feel I shouldn’t bring it up. anyways, Cuphead and anything western or rubber hose is my last stop in inspiration for the remaining years of my life. many say never say never but I believe I’ve found my laughing place and that’s all that matters.

#tag facts #influences from cartoons #likes and dislikes #thoughts i have about characters #toons #rayman #sonic the hedgehog #gorillaz #waluigi #turbo #wreck it ralph #undertale #cuphead

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snarkwriteswrasslin · 4 years ago

Text

alpha - drew m / roman r. [m]

Note:

Okay, so I’ve seen a few of these floating around now and then and I know that as a reader, I personally enjoyed the experience. And that little showdown between Roman and Drew really... Got to me and lives in my head rent free. My original idea for this was so much different than what this is going to shape up to be, but honestly, I feel like it works better this way. As much as I dislike even thinking Randy Orton’s name. Adding that particular variable into the mix made this a lot smoother than my original idea.

I’m actually really excited about this. It’s a choose your own smutty ending. I think the first person I saw trying this was @glowrioustrash and it was last year, for Halloween, I think? I enjoyed reading that, so I kinda wanted to try my own hand at it then. I just never got around to it. I even asked them if it was okay if I did it, back then, I think? Anyway... Last night’s Smackdown just gave me ample inspo to FINALLY get off my ass and try it, and make it a part of my year-long smut one shot series. Bet ya’ll thought I completely forgot about those, huh? Well I didn’t. So... here we are.

This part is the beginning to both of the smutty parts I’m going to write for this, so it’ll be linked on either post and either post will be linked here, once I have them all done and posted on the blog.

LIFE EDIT: Eventually, loves... I’ll get around to posting the smutty conclusions to both men. When I do, those will be linked to this post.

Enjoy this teaser, hopefully?

HUGE SHOUTOUTS TO : @wrestlingismyguiltypleasure and @schizoauthoress (your suggestions and that helpful input at the end, ahhh.. i owe you my life) as well as @wardl0w because I have probably bugged the living hell out of all three of them as I attempted this and they were seriously huge helps to me with this.

Characters / Pairings:

Drew McIntyre / Female!omega reader - version 1, coming soon

Roman Reigns / Female!omega reader - version 2, coming soon

Warnings:

This is an attempt at me, writing alpha/omega again. So there will be knotting, mate bite marks, etc. In addition to that, there will be smut in the second part of these, whichever man you guys choose. There’s also hints of unwanted confrontation between Orton and Reader to start this off with and it gets... handsy, ewwww. But I had to have a way to work in both guys and make it work, so.. here we are. There’s also gonna be swearing. If I need to issue any other warnings those will be on the follow up posts.

Tagging:

@kyleoreillysknee @rampagewriting @writertoo18 @thatnerdwriter @wrestlingismyguiltypleasure @chasingeverybreakingwave @waywardwrestlewritingwaif @sassymox @champbucks @hungmanhorsecarriage @wardl0w @ryantaylorgirl @dilfmoxley @hotyeehawman @darbysallin @gabbynorth98 @bec0m

@linziland13 @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch

Other Stuff:

[ about my writing - masterlist - tag list doc ]

[ Roman ] or [ Drew ]

The scent was absolutely intoxicating. So understandably, when it filled my nose for the fourth time that night, I found myself standing. Making my way out into the hallway. Shoving people out of my way. Now, I wasn’t running or anything, because my grandma always told me it’s better to be chased than do the chasing but… I was power-walking.

And, as per usual, not paying a lick of attention to where I was going or my surroundings. I was solely focused on this mysterious scent because deep down inside, I knew exactly where it was going to lead me and damn it, I might put up one hell of a show about being independent, but heat cycles are hell and yeah, maybe I get lonely as of late. Maybe I’ve been longing to find my Alpha. Maybe I want the comfort of knowing that I’m not doomed to be forever alone and I do have a mate out there, somewhere...

It hit me then, around the same time that my thighs absolutely flooded with slick and I started to feel all woozy. I hadn’t taken suppressants. In fact, I had somehow managed to completely forget about my heat cycle’s speedy approach.

I mean, between moving and getting called up to the main roster, life has been a whirlwind for me lately. And tonight I hadn’t taken them before I came to the arena because I was excited. Tonight was my first night on the main roster. And in the excitement of that, I’d forgotten my suppressants… again.

To be fair, I haven’t ever really adhered to taking them steadily to begin with, so there you go...I never really had anyone constantly riding me to do so growing up. I was mostly left to my own devices, free to do what I wanted and make my own choices. So, yeah, this isn’t my first rodeo with a surprise heat cycle.

I shoved all the thoughts out of my noisy mind, pausing my walk to attempt focusing. Centering myself so that I could really fix on the scent and the direction it came from. And in my distraction, that gave Orton the perfect opportunity to slither up and corner me before I even had a chance to properly respond.

“Doll.”

“I have a name, you prick.” I rolled my eyes as I shrank away, nose wrinkling at the oversaturation of his scent as it invaded my nose and momentarily drowned out that heavenly aroma I’d been attempting to follow before I got distracted like a dumb bitch.

He chuckled, putting himself closer to me. Leaning down a little. And the audacity of this fucking man, he even had the nerve to reach up and move my hair away from my neck, his nose burying there as a lewd growl rose up from the depths of his chest.

I shoved at him and cleared my throat. “I was kind of in a hurry, do you mind knocking it the fuck off, jackass? Go sniff someone else, ew.”

“C’mon now, hon… You know what’s happening to you. You know you need me.”

“Like I need a bullet wound to the head, Orton. Fuck off.” I tried to duck beneath his arm but his other hand caught on my hip, keeping me pinned between him and the wall. By now, the scent of him was so overpowering and gross that my stomach was lurching. My consolation thought as I began to panic a little and tried to think of a quick way out of this confrontation was that maybe if I just threw up on the asshole, he’d get away.

Somehow, I didn’t see that happening. Orton doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who picks up on cues, verbal or non-verbal. Likes to assert that dominance he fancies himself to have.

He chuckled again.

Then suddenly, the scent was back and it was overpowering his stench. ,, Thank God.” I thought to myself, daring to mutter the words under my breath. I found myself peering over Randy’s shoulder, waiting on whoever the intoxicating scent I’d been following originally to show themselves.

And when he stepped out behind Randy and into view… If I thought I was wet before, whew… I was absolutely flooded beyond all hope now. I swallowed hard, biting my lip, locking eyes with him. Randy seemed to realize that my attention was wandering and this of course, only made him up his game.

His hips brushed boldly against mine and I cringed, pretending to gag when I felt the way Orton strained at his trunks. At the moment, Randy was completely and blissfully unaware as to what fate awaited him if he were stupid enough to turn around and honestly?

I’m enough of a bitch that I was hell bent on not alerting Randy to it, either. Instead, I took a few shaky breaths and stared up at him defiantly. “Why do I need you, Orton? They make vibrators bigger than that fun sized Tootsie Roll I’ve heard you’re packing every day of the week. I don’t need you. Or anyone.”

I knew that part was a lie because as all this was going on, my body was in a literal frenzy at the sight of my Alpha. My skin was tight, I could barely breathe. I was doing good to think straight and form words, honestly. I was a split second away from being overwhelmed. Because thanks to my Alpha showing themselves, my heat cycle went from a mild annoyance to almost intolerable within a split second.

I needed to get away from Randy. I needed to get somewhere and calm down. But I wanted to stay exactly where I was, curious to see if my Alpha was here for the reason I’d ventured out of hair and makeup in the first place.

So far, all he was doing was standing there. Watching my little confrontation with Randy. The tension in his body quickly gave away his feelings on the matter, however. And that’s what kept me quiet. Allowed me to let Randy keep digging his own damn grave.

Because it amused me.

And I needed to know that my Alpha was actually a good Alpha. I needed to know he’d protect me, no matter what. I also needed to know that he knew when to fuck off and allow me to handle things on my own.

I wanted to test his boundaries too, if I’m being perfectly honest.

Randy bit his lip, staring down at me as if I were food and he was a starving man. He raised a hand and rubbed his chin in thought, eyes not leaving mine for a second. “Why do you need me? Well, it’s like this, doll. I want you. And you’re not in the mindset right now to turn down any Alpha who offers himself up, just goin off of that sweet little scent you’ve got yourself right now. Just drop the act, princess. You and I both know that if you don’t find an Alpha, things are going to get real messy back here. Real fast. And I don’t think you want that now, do you hon?”

,, what I want is for you to back the fuck away. Find a tube of toothpaste or some cologne or a shower, something… anything to rid yourself of the stench you’ve got yourself.” the thought came but I was treading carefully, so I kept it internal, choosing only to give a soft laugh and roll my eyes at Randy instead.

“You know exactly zilch about me and my ‘delicate state’, first of all. Secondly? I wouldn’t choose you for my Alpha if you were the last one on earth.” I managed to get the words out. I managed to keep my eyes off of my actual Alpha, who still stood by watching intently, fists clenched tight now.

When he gave a quiet growl and started to approach, the flood in my panties only got so much worse.

And naturally, Randy thought this meant that something he’d said was getting through and that I was just playing hard to get… He pressed me against him, a hand going to my cheek as he gave a smug grin and let his gaze settle on me thoughtfully. “I knew it.”

“Like I said, Randy, you really don’t have a single fucking clue.” I tried to squirm free from his grasp but the fever raging in my body and the overwhelming scent of my true Alpha as he grew angrier and angrier combined with the slightest panic I was feeling at being fucking cornered like an animal by Orton, those were all working against me and I couldn’t extract myself.

His answer was to smirk and chuckle again. “You realize I can scent you and I know exactly what’s on your mind right now, right?”

“Good, then you know I want to stab you in the eyeball with my stiletto. Or reach down, grab that little shrimp dick of yours and twist til it comes off in my hands?” I quipped, a sweet smirk on my face as I boldly met his gaze. When I picked up on him, slowly inching his face closer to mine, I swallowed hard. It felt as if my throat were closing up and it was quickly becoming clear to me that if I thought I had this under control, I really didn’t. Randy wasn’t going to stop or go away. And he wasn’t going to let me get away either.

Desperately, I found my gaze shifting over Randy’s shoulder. I locked eyes with my Alpha and mouthed, “Any day now?…” almost impatiently. I wanted Randy the entire fuck away from me. And I was really starting to realize that I couldn’t achieve that on my own. I was fully in over my head.

Typical of me, I’m afraid.

I have to admit, the fact that my Alpha had yet to actually do anything had me in an internal uproar. It had me thinking that maybe I’d gotten the wrong read on him when I watched an earlier promo in the night.

Before I had a chance to consider it fully, that my Alpha might not be a good guy either, two things happened. One, Randy’s hand left my cheek and his mouth closed in even more, rough lips almost about to brush mine and disgusting stench for a moment blocking out the scent of my Alpha. His hand settled on my hip and he was pulling me against him.

I planted a hand firmly against his chest, palm down. “What the--?” I didn’t even get to finish my sentence because from behind Randy, my Alpha’s throat cleared.

Randy grumbled to himself, picking up on the presence of my Alpha. But it was too late.

My Alpha locked eyes with me and nodded, indicating that I needed to move now, while Randy was distracted, and trust me, I wasted absolutely no time doing that. I extracted myself from between Randy and the wall I’d had my back pressed against and not even a split second later, my Alpha’s fist went smashing into Randy’s face and he had him pinned against the wall, a forearm across his throat.

And I didn’t think, I just ran.

I ran until I was out in the parking garage and then I stopped, catching my breath. It passed through my mind that maybe I should go back inside and at least attempt to be there when the brawl taking place in the hallway was over, but honestly?

I needed to get myself together. To get calm. To process and catch my breath and try to puzzle everything out.

And yeah, maybe parts of me were curious. Wondering if my Alpha would seek me out, or whether the incident in the hallway was just him stepping in because I asked…

The door to the garage flew open a few feet away and I rose up slightly, eyes darting around. The scent of my Alpha filled my senses and I bit my lip, taking a few shaky breaths right as he started to call my name. I opened my mouth to answer but nothing came. His footsteps were getting closer and closer.

My heart was racing and his scent hung heavily in the air around us, making me dizzy as the heat took over in my body. He touched me, and almost the instant I felt his hand on my shoulder, I could feel my body cooling down. This wave of relief washed over me and all I could think was that if this is what his touch felt like, I’d absolutely love more of it.

I inhaled deep, preparing myself to turn around…

[ roman ] [ drew ]

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charrfie · 4 years ago

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Alright now that its officially Forzen Friday let's try this post again since it didn't show up in the tags last time-

I'M FINALLY MAKING A FORZEN HC DUMP (kinda AU-ish territory but not really idk exactly) AND NONE OF YOU CAN STOP ME

There are also a few other hcs sprinkled in here related to other characters (like Darnold and Sunkist for example) but Forzen is the main focus!! Despite him being a minor character I latched onto him and fleshed him out sm yall have no idea

Everything under the cut bc this shit is gonna be LONG (and there's also some more doodles that take up a bit of space!)

Also uhh if people like this I might take one for another hlvrai character later bc I have a lot to say about everyone!!

Forzen moved from France to the US with his parents when he was around 12 or 13 (yes, I'm aware that Scorpy and Holly are French Canadian and not France French but that doesn't mean Forzen can't be, I'm just being sure to say this now before someone says something to me about it)

He wanted to go to college and eventually become a game dev, but he didn't have the funds or the support for it (his family thought anything to do with games would amount to a career that would go nowhere).

Because of this, he instead was recruited in the US military. He originally had no intent to join, but after constantly being harrassed recommended to join and being entertained with the concept of being able to afford and pay for college, he caved (hence him telling the science team that his only goal is "to graduate").

He doesn't like his job very much if that wasn't clear.

And neither do most others that have the same job like him.

He was put on a "team" of his own, Team Nice, which was likely arranged as a guaranteed way to get Forzen in the way of danger, and with no one else fighting beside him, he would be easily dealt with- no one would have to worry about him bothering them again. However, he somehow manages to survive all of this, of course. Somehow. He likely knows the real reason he was assigned his own team (if you can even call it that), but refuses to fully acknowledge it for his own sanity, and instead pretends that he's some big, important person on a team that ranks so highly, he's the only one qualified to be in it. (I apologize ahead of time for giving one of the most shitposty and throwaway characters in hlvrai this much depth and angst, there was just potential there leave me alone)

Fast forward to the actual events of hlvrai though. This hc is a little outlandish but I really like the concept!!! So, at one point, Forzen is killed, presumably by some kind of creature that was out and about due to the RenCas. The science team + Benrey stumble across him (act 2 part 2 at around 13 min in for anyone curious), and Benrey decides to use the healing beam Sweet Voice on him. While Benrey and Forzen may not be on good terms anymore, Benrey still very begrudgingly cares about him and didn't want to see him get injured or die. Forzen wakes up a minute or so after the science team exits the room, assuming that he just passed out, nothing more, and goes along with things as normal.

He meets Darnold a while after his first (concious) run in with the science team. Darnold has recently dealt with the science team and helped them out, but is pretty bummed that he couldn't travel with them, as everything was far too scary and dangerous for him. Forzen, wanting to escape Black Mesa and the military altogether, ends up making a deal with him that he'll handle all the dangerous stuff if Darnold can show him a way out.

Now, meeting Darnold is a very new experience for him, since Darnold actually enjoys his company, and actually wants to befriend him! At first, Forzen openly tries to act as if Darnold is a huge deal to put up with- he goes along with with the whole "if you're escaping outta this hellhole with me, you better keep up" kinda deal (despite the fact that he kinda NEEDS Darnold to escape and show him the way out). His walls are still very much so raised, and he doesn't let his guard down as he's not used to others caring about him and his safety. But as time passes, he begins to realize that maybe Darnold DOES want to be his friend, and the tough guy act becomes less apparent.

To preface this next one- Sunkist sensed that something was up (he has a next-level sense of danger when it comes to Tommy's safety) and got to BM as fast as he could, searching every hallway for his boy. This is when Forzen finds him!! He figures that taking Sunkist as a hostage would be enough to get extra info out of the team that's been practically plaguing him lately.

Darnold doesn't know about Forzen's plans to take Sunkist hostage, so is completely fine with traveling alongside him. At one point though, Forzen and Darnold get separated (Forzen occupies him, makes sure hes safe and then runs off to deal with Sunkist). Darnold immediately uses his surroundings to model a quick little teleporter device to get Forzen back, because, you know, the man's a genius. Idc if its logical or not just go with it shhh I've gotta fill in the plotholes with something. That's why Forzen disappears all of a sudden after he's cornered by the science team. He just pops back in front of Darnold suddenly, all confused and loopy from the whole teleportation thing.

As things begin to wind down, Darnold and Forzen make it out of BM and start making a break for it, no idea how they'll get away from BM and to safety somewhere- they didnt really think things through.

Fortunately (or unfortunately for Forzen really), however, G-man picks both of them up. He means to drop Darnold off at Tommy's party, as he observed that Darnold helped his son to safety and is grateful for it. Forzen, though, he intends to "deal with" for messing things up so badly with Tommy, Sunkist, and all of Tommy's friends. This is where Darnold finds out about everything Forzen did and frankly gets really pissed with him since he thought he only had good intentions??? Luckily though, Darnold convinces G-man to give him a second chance, let him go to Tommy's party and apologize, and try things again. G-man, for some reasons agrees- probably bc hes in a good mood, as it IS his son's birthday.

The party is pretty uncomfortable to say the least. Tommy's extremely hesitant to talk to Forzen, but he does, and they end up on neutral terms by the end of it. Uneasy, but neutral. Tommy and Darnold hit it off though, and Tommy opens the invitation to Darnold that he can visit his place anytime now that everything at BM is over with.

As everyone's getting ready to leave, Forzen mentions to Darnold that he doesn't have a place to stay, seeing as the entire military was kinda. Yknow. Wiped out. Obviously wouldn't wanna go back to check anyways. And he has no interest in going home to his parents. So Darnold agrees to let him stay with him since they've become good pals over the course of everything.

Over time, Darnold visits Tommy more and more often. He starts bringing Forzen along, which Tommy is iffy of at first, but their dynamic starts to change and become more comfortable once Tommy sees that Forzen isnt interested in being enemies anymore.

Sunkist and Forzen still don't get along for a very long time. Or, well- it's moreso that Sunkist is very wary about Forzen, despite him not doing anything to harm either Sunkist or Tommy.

Oh yeah and almost forgot to mention one of my favorite hcs (that I PROMISE you started out as a joke but then I got attached) is Sunkist can talk!! So his first spoken interaction with Forzen after Forzen comes over to visit for the first time is literally just him being all threatening and laying down the ground rules bc he doesn't want Forzen to hurt Tommy at all in any way. And of course Forzen about has a heart attack bc "HUH??????? THERE'S A DOG THAT IS SPEAKING HUMAN WORDS TO ME"

UHH I HAVE MORE (I've written out so much shit about dynamics and what I'd think would happen even after all of this) BUT I DON'T WANT THIS TO BE TOO LONG like it already is SO I SUPPOSE I'LL LEAVE IT AT THAT FOR NOW!!!! I hope this isn't too ooc either, I just have Emotions about this series and write too much so why not share it yknow

#forzen #hlvrai forzen #hlvrai #hc time #PLEASE let this show up in the tags this time i will actually cry if not i spent so long on this

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eldritchteaparty · 4 years ago

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Chapters: 9/20 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane, Melanie King Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter Summary: Jon returns to work, and Melanie King interviews for a position as archival assistant that Elias forgot to mention he had posted. Martin cuts Jon's hair.

Chapter 9 of my post-canon fix-it fic is out and yes, I jumped on the haircut fluff bandwagon.

Read above at AO3 or read here below.

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters is here.

***

Jon returned to work the day after they learned about (or more rightly, remembered) the Leitners. Martin had very mixed feelings about it. Even though Jon was eating again and getting enough sleep and making a show of taking his vitamins, Martin wasn’t sure he’d ever feel like he had taken enough time to recover. More than once, he found himself daydreaming about what it might be like if Jon just decided he was never going back to the Institute. Sure, Jon had said it wasn’t an option, but that was before—well, before now. Maybe, if things weren’t going like he’d assumed, he could be convinced to work somewhere else and finally get away from all of this. Or maybe work nowhere, if he wanted. Martin could make that work. He’d taken care of two people on one job before.

On the other hand, the Leitners had really shaken him. It felt like the Institute was sitting on a bomb that could go off at any time if someone took a wrong step—and most of the people walking on it didn’t even know it was there. If it ever had felt as simple as just leaving, it certainly didn’t now. And as long as that was the situation, he needed Jon there. They all needed Jon there.

He’d actually assumed Jon would head straight for the Leitner Room when he got back, but he didn’t. When he asked him about it, Jon’s answer was that Martin had already been there, and there wasn’t any point. That caught Martin off guard—after all, this was the man who not even two weeks ago had re-read every document Martin had tried to read for him—but when he pointed that out, Jon shrugged.

“Maybe I’m trying something different.”

Martin gave him a look. “Really?”

“Why not?” Jon gave what passed for a smile with him this week, and Martin felt like he had to accept it. “Besides, we don’t want to risk drawing attention to them. I think that’s the worst thing we could do.”

The rest of the week was mostly uneventful. Even Jon spent some time in the stacks helping out with client requests, which they somehow had still not caught up on. The only thing that stuck out was that once, on his way out of Sasha’s office, Martin found Jon at his desk going over several page of hand-written text and decided to ask him about it.

“So… Sasha said that people were still coming by with—stories, I guess?”

“Yes.”

“Is that one of them?”

“Yes, I’ve been reviewing them. Sasha really doesn’t like reading them herself, so I’m—” He looked up at Martin. “What?”

“I just didn’t realize. That’s all. That—” Martin frowned down at the papers in front of Jon. “That looks an awful lot like… well, a statement.”

Jon followed Martin’s eyes back to his desk. “I suppose it does. I hadn’t thought about it.”

Martin found the resemblance vaguely troubling, though he couldn’t put his finger on why it stood out to him. Nothing had changed, really, it was just about what it looked like. There were certainly enough other pressing things happening.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mention it,” Jon said, putting his hand on Martin’s arm.

“No, it’s—it’s fine. I guess I should have assumed people were still coming in… I don’t know why it’s bothering me.” He shook his head and squeezed Jon’s hand briefly before turning to head back to the stacks. “I know you’d tell me if there was anything serious. Well, it’s all serious, but anything we could—you know what I mean.”

“Martin, I—"

“No, it’s really all right. I’m just worried about everything, I guess. Sorry for interrupting.”

“You weren’t,” he heard Jon say behind him as he left.

Otherwise, though, things almost seemed to be looking up. Even Tim, spotting Martin on a ladder while reshelving some heavy volumes, commented that Jon looked better.

“I mean—I feel like he does?” Martin agreed, straining to make room on the shelf at an awkward angle without dropping the book in his hand. “I think some—time off—actually did him some good.”

“Or maybe he was so heartbroken about missing our lunch together that he decided he couldn’t stay home another day.”

“I’m sure that was it, Tim.” Martin rolled his eyes as he finally managed to squeeze the book onto the shelf.

Tim was ready to hand him another volume from the cart when he paused, looking up at Martin and down at the cart again. “Wait, was that number—did it end with .5268 or .57?”

Martin looked back at the book he’d just placed on the shelf. “Let’s see—damn it, it was .57.” They hadn’t been paying attention, and they’d managed to miss the poorly placed divider on the cart. Now Martin was going to have to get the book back out of the shelf he’d only barely managed to squeeze it onto, although that maybe explained why it had been so difficult in the first place.

“Sorry,” Tim said. “That was my fault.”

“No, not really. I could have caught it too.”

“Be careful.” Tim shifted to the other side of the ladder as Martin leaned precariously toward the book that now didn’t want to come back out. “You know, Jon’s lucky to have you to take care of him.”

Martin was glad he could blame the color in his face on his efforts to pull the book.

“Are you taking care of yourself?”

“Um—what?” He almost had it now. “I guess? Yes? What are you getting at?”

“Just that I’m still here to listen. If you want to talk about—what happened.”

The book finally came loose, and Martin barely managed to hang on to it and keep his balance on the ladder—but he did. “Here,” he said, tossing it down to Tim once he’d regained his footing. It was his only answer.

***

Even the weekend felt better. He was finally relaxing a little bit about the Leitners—after all, they’d been there for several months and nothing had happened yet, and they were flagged now if anyone asked about one. There were very few people with a key to the room—just the others in the archives and maybe Elias—and none of them were likely to take a sudden interest in them as long as they didn’t attract it.

Jon stayed in bed with him. They went to the store. They made breakfast together—well, Martin made breakfast, but it was a real breakfast with eggs and bacon, and Jon watched him make it with more admiration than it deserved. At some point, Martin borrowed Jon’s trimmer, the one he used on his beard, and finally gave himself the haircut he’d been needing. It felt nice; it felt like a normal thing to do. Afterward, he checked on Jon in the sitting room and found him reading.

“Reading anything important?” Martin asked from the doorway.

“Just a book,” Jon said, briefly holding up a small, worn paperback that Martin recognized from his bookshelf. He walked up behind the couch to look over Jon’s shoulder.

“Like—a normal book that regular people read?”

“A normal book, at least,” Jon said, temporarily closing the book on his thumb to look at Martin. “Oh. You did it. Your hair, I mean. It looks—it looks great.”

“You think?” Martin ran his hand over the shortest part, where he could feel the bristle of the fresh cut against his fingers. “You know, I think I finally found a couple grey hairs this time.”

“Get over it.” Jon lifted his thumb to check the page number and then let the book close entirely before turning to rest his head on his arms on the back of the couch. “You do not get to talk about grey hairs.”

“I wasn’t complaining, I was just mentioning it,” Martin protested. “And I like your grey, it makes you look—”

“Do not say distinguished,” Jon groaned. “Everyone always says that.”

“All right—I won’t.” Martin bent down to kiss Jon instead. Jon started to kiss him back, but Martin stood up. “No, I don’t want to distract you.”

“Oh.” Jon raised his eyebrows. “Is that how it is?”

“Yeah. It is. It’s been forever since you’ve read just a book, and—well, it was something you said you missed.” He kissed Jon one more time, but this time on the top of his head. “And… thank you.”

“For what?”

“For—for trying.”

Jon looked surprised for a moment, and then his face softened. “Martin—”

“Nope,” Martin said, backing away from the couch. “We’re done here. You read. I think I may actually go give poetry another shot.”

“Really?” Jon asked.

“Yeah.” Martin shrugged. “Some of my—his—notebooks were in the stuff from storage. Thought I might go through them and see if it’s any good. It’s not like I was doing a lot of writing—well, there.”

“All right.” Jon sat back on the couch, but turned to look at Martin one more time before opening his book. “You know—if you write anything you like, I’d—”

“Oh, don’t worry, I would never put you through that,” Martin joked. “Just—enjoy your book.”

Martin didn’t end up writing anything—just a line or two that he didn’t like anyway—but going through the notebooks was fascinating. He remembered writing most of the poems in them. For some of them, he could even pinpoint exactly what he had been thinking about when he wrote them, or what had inspired them. He wasn’t afraid anymore that he was losing memories; he found he could navigate memories from the two existences almost side by side now, if he tried. It wasn’t a perfect description, but it was sort of like comparing two different edits of the same document.

He didn’t really identify with the version of him that had written the poems in that notebook. In a way, they annoyed him; it felt like going back and reading things you wrote as a child. He had outgrown them, maybe. He felt like there was simultaneously so much more and so much less to everything he’d tried to capture than he’d understood at the time.

Still, that didn’t stop him from wishing he could have been that person, or stayed that person, or become that person—he wasn’t sure how to think of it, but there it was. He’d liked writing that poetry; it had made him happy, inane as it was. He wanted to like writing it again.

***

Of course, Monday brought another unexpected turn of events. It started with Elias walking into the assistants’ office while Sasha was briefing them on the day’s activities. He looked tired after the weekend, which Martin realized was typical for him, but also vaguely enthused.

“Everyone,” he announced, “I’ve brought someone by that I’d like you to meet. A candidate for our new archival assistant position.”

“Wait,” Sasha said, crossing her arms. “What new position?”

“The one you asked me to advertise.”

“Well, yes, but that was like eight and a half weeks ago. Things were—different. We have Jon and Martin back now, thank god. And you never got back to me, so I just assumed you were ignoring me.”

“I have never once ignored you.” Elias shook his head at Sasha in feigned shock. “And to prove it—you just told me last week you were still behind on the archiving work, and that you weren’t comfortable following up with the reports we’ve been receiving.”

“Technically what I said was that I don’t think we should be dealing with them at all, they’re really not what an archive—”

“And as I told you, although only god knows why, some of our patrons are quite interested in those reports. So, we will keep dealing with them, but this”—Elias held up a finger—“is where our candidate comes in. Look, Sasha, I really think you’ll like this—and as always, I promise you’ll get final approval.”

“All right,” Sasha threw her hands up. “Bring them in.”

“Rosie,” called Elias, “please show her in.”

Before Martin could process it, he found himself staring at Melanie King.

“Melanie,” he said, surprised.

“Oh—” Melanie turned to look at him, and her lack of recognition brought him back to the moment. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

“Um,” Martin stammered. “Well—no. I guess maybe I just—feel like I know you? From your YouTube channel.” He laughed uncomfortably.

“Oh, right,” Melanie appeared equally uncomfortable. “I get that sometimes. Um—well, not all that often, actually. Sorry, tell me your name?”

“I’m—I’m Martin Blackwood. I’m one of the assistants here.” He belatedly stepped out from his desk to shake her hand, and she smiled again.

“And I’m Tim Stoker.” Tim’s relative comfort as he also shook Melanie’s hand seemed to put her at ease, at least until she rested her eyes on Jon. He was still sitting at his desk.

“Jon,” Tim prompted him.

“Hm? Oh, right, I’m—”

“I’m guessing you’re Jonathan Sims,” Melanie said.

“That’s—” He seemed mildly surprised. “Yes. I am.”

“My partner, Georgie—Georgie Barker—she’s the one who saw the ad. Said she’d heard someone she used to know might be working here, and well—anyway, we talked about it, and eventually she convinced me to put in my application.”

Jon realized she was waiting for him to say something. “Oh,” he managed.

Her smile faded slightly. “Well, nice to put a name to a face, anyway.”

Elias gestured toward Sasha. “And this is Sasha James, our head archivist.”

“Hello, Ms. King,” Sasha said warmly as she stepped forward. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“You too.” Melanie took the hand Sasha offered to her. “Mr. Bouchard—Elias—was just telling me about the work you do here, and if you don’t mind, I’d love to chat with you about it.”

“Of course,” Sasha said, leading the way to her office. “Come on in.” Elias followed behind, and they closed the door behind them.

Martin immediately pulled a chair over to Jon’s desk, leaning close and speaking quietly so that Tim couldn’t hear. “What do we do?”

Jon considered. “Nothing, I suppose.”

“But, well—can she—I mean, if she signs a contract, will it be like—”

“No,” Jon shook his head. “No, definitely not.”

“Are you sure?” Martin was still worried. “How can you—”

“I’m sure,” Jon said definitively. “No one’s getting stuck here. Look—that was all Jonah Magnus’s doing, completely. He doesn’t exist here, and when he did, he certainly didn’t have the ability to trap people in his employment.”

“Hm.” Martin still wasn’t entirely convinced.

“Martin, it’s fine,” Jon said, taking his hand. “If it weren’t—if I had any doubt—I’d stop it. I’d find a way. I wouldn’t let her go through that again.”

Martin nodded; Jon’s confidence, at least, gave him confidence. He went back to his desk and continued organizing his tasks for the day, although he was so distracted he hadn’t made much progress when Sasha’s door opened again. She walked out and closed it behind her, leaving Elias and Melanie inside.

“What do you all think?” she asked.

There was a brief silence, and then Tim spoke up first. “It’s a surprise, for sure, but if having someone else around helps you out, I’m all for it.”

“Well, she certainly doesn’t have the sort of background we usually look for, but as Elias pointed out, she has a lot of investigative experience.” Sasha leaned back to sit casually on the round desk in the middle of the office. “Normally that’s not something you’d need in an archive, but as long as we’re being asked to start following up on some of these statements—”

“I can follow up on those,” Jon interrupted. “She doesn’t need to—"

“Jon, onsite research and interviews are exactly what she does.”

“Yes, but as you’ve said, her credentials aren’t—”

“Oh, you’re a certified private detective?” Sasha asked with a note of sarcasm.

“I just meant for an archive—”

“I understand, and credentials are important, but I think we can also all agree that Martin, for example, has become an excellent assistant.”

Tim snorted. “Jon, I dare you to argue.”

Jon ignored him.

“Anyway, Jon,” Sasha continued, “I haven’t forgotten you’re interested in the statements too—I was going to ask you if you wouldn’t mind helping Melanie get adjusted. You know, help her out a bit. That’s assuming we go ahead with the offer and she accepts.”

Jon thought for a moment, then sighed. “All right. Yes.”

“Good,” Sasha said. “Martin, any thoughts?”

“Um—no,” Martin said. “I’m sure she’ll be—she’ll be fine.” Jon had said it would be fine.

“All right,” Sasha said, standing up. “I’ll tell Elias to make the offer.” She disappeared back into her office.

When they came back out, Melanie was smiling and chatting happily to Sasha about an episode of Ghost Hunt UK she and her crew had filmed in Glencoe. Part of Martin was still very nervous for her; the Institute clearly wasn’t the safest place in the world, even if she wasn’t caught there. Another part of him, though, maybe a bigger part, had missed her, and he would be glad to have her around—and seeing her and Sasha together gave him hope, somehow.

“Oh,” Melanie turned just before she and Elias left the office together. “Jon, Sasha mentioned that you’d be helping me get comfortable with things around here, and well—I’m looking forward to working with you.”

“Yes, of course,” Jon said, not looking up from his desk.

This time her smile vanished. “I’m sorry, did I—did I do something to offend you?”

Now Jon looked up. “What? Why would you say that?”

“It’s just—I feel like you already don’t like me.”

“I—no,” Jon said. “I’m—”

“He’s been ill,” Sasha said. “He’s still recovering. Please excuse him.”

“Oh,” Melanie said, but she looked doubtful. “In that case, I hope you feel better.”

“Right,” Jon nodded. “Thank you.”

After she left, Sasha turned to the assistants. “As you may have gathered, she’s already accepted the offer, and she’s quite happy about it. She’ll be starting on Thursday, and I’d like to suggest that instead of lunch this week, we go out to dinner that night to welcome her. Please try to make it, if you can.”

Martin wasn’t sure if he was dreading it, looking forward to it, or both.

***

“Ready for supper?” Martin asked when they got home that night.

“Actually, first—I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor.”

“Sure,” Martin said. “What is it?”

“Would you cut my hair for me?”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Martin crossed his hands in front of his chest for emphasis. “I’m no good with scissors. I mean, I could try to trim the ends if—”

“I meant like yours. Well, not exactly like yours, that’s just—” He cleared his throat. “I want it short.”

“Why?” Martin asked, taken back.

“Would you hate it?”

“No!” Martin said immediately. “No, that—it’s just a big change.”

“Yes, exactly,” Jon agreed. “I think that’s why I want to do it. I mean, I won’t insist if you don’t—”

“No, it’s—if you’re sure, I’ll do it.”

They brought one of the chairs from the balcony into the bathroom. Jon reached back to pull the tie out of his hair, but Martin got there first. He tugged it loose, straightening out the strands that got caught on Jon’s shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re ok with this?” Jon asked again. “I think you’re more attached to it than I am.”

“Not really,” Martin lied, thinking about how he’d taken to brushing it out of Jon’s face while he’d been so out of it. He did kind of miss those moments. “I mean, it doesn’t actually matter how I feel, but—well, ok, give me a moment to say goodbye.”

“Whatever you need,” Jon said with amusement.

“No—no, I’m good.” Martin sighed and pulled it back again, this time into a low, loose ponytail. “So we’re absolutely going to get hair everywhere. I usually just take off my shirt and then jump under the shower afterward, but we could try a garbage bag or something—”

“I don’t mind.” Jon started to unbutton his work shirt, but then stopped. “You’re ok with it?”

“Why wouldn’t I—oh.” Martin suddenly realized he hadn’t seen Jon without a shirt on since the hospital after Hill Top Road, evidently not wanting to expose his scar again. “Jon, it’s—it’s fine. Sorry I didn’t realize before now.”

Jon still hesitated; Martin bent down and kissed him, reaching to undo the button under Jon’s fingers as he did. “Really, it’s fine. Just don’t black out.” He was trying to add some levity, although he wasn’t sure he pulled it off.

“I think I can manage that.” Jon finished unbuttoning the shirt; Martin took it from him as he pulled off the t-shirt underneath, and tossed them both out onto the bed. He deliberately avoided looking directly at Jon’s chest so as not to worry him.

“You’re really, really sure about this?” he asked, twisting his hand into the ponytail. “I mean, once this is gone—it’s gone.”

“Yes.”

“All right.” Martin took a deep breath, and with the scissors they’d borrowed from the kitchen cut his way through Jon’s hair, just above the tie. “There it is.”

“Oh god.” Jon wasn’t even looking at the hand Martin was holding up—he was looking at his reflection in the mirror and the uneven chin-length mop of hair that was left behind.

“We could leave it like that.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I’m kidding. Here.” He set the hair down on the counter. “Although it is kind of rugged. With your beard, you’ve got a sort of lumberjack thing going on there.”

“Right—very rugged. Until I stand up.”

“Nothing wrong there. You’d be the world’s most adorable hipster lumberjack.”

The look Jon gave him in the mirror said everything.

“All right, all right—here we go.” The trimmer buzzed to life, and bit by bit, the remaining length fell away.

“Where did you learn to do this?” Jon asked.

“Oh—I had a—a friend who taught me years ago. I used to cut his hair.”

“A friend?” Jon asked.

Martin realized he’d stumbled over that pretty badly. “A boyfriend.”

“You can say that, you know. You don’t have to hide it.”

“No—I know.” Martin stopped cutting for a moment to switch out the guide. “Or I assumed, I guess. It’s just that we’ve never really talked about any of that stuff. Well, I know Georgie, obviously—knew Georgie? But that kind of just happened. It felt weird just now.”

“Well, next time it doesn’t have to.”

“Thanks. I—I really do appreciate that.”

Jon nodded. “I’m sorry that—we really did everything backward, didn’t we?”

“Couldn’t be helped.” Martin flicked the trimmer on and off to make sure the new guard was attached properly. “I mean, there are definitely things I wish were different, but it’s not like I regret it.”

“Me neither,” Jon said.

“Besides, we’ve got time to make up for it now.”

Something about the sad smile Martin saw reflected in the mirror made him lean down and press his mouth to Jon’s bare shoulder. It was nice for a moment, but he quickly found himself spitting out hair clippings. “Ok—I do regret that.”

“Oh god, sorry.” Jon turned to try to help him brush some of the pieces off his face.

“And that is why we took the shirt off in the first place,” Martin said when they had gotten most of it, still grimacing. “Anyway, I’m almost done here—just want to get a little more off the top.”

Jon nodded and turned back to face the mirror again, and Martin continued, mulling over the day’s events.

“Jon,” Martin said, “what was with you and Melanie today? You really did seem like you didn’t want to talk to her. Are you that upset about her working on the statements?”

“No, it wasn’t that. I mean, I don’t like it—I’d rather handle it myself, or with you—but that wasn’t it.”

“But I’m right, aren’t I? There was something.”

Jon hesitated, but finally answered. “I think it’s better to—try to stay unattached.”

Martin turned off the trimmer again. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before. “That’s why you’ve never taken Tim up on drinks, too, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Jon, you—you need friends.”

“They don’t need me. And they certainly wouldn’t want to be friends with me if they knew what I brought here.”

“Jon—”

“It’s just better if I keep my distance.”

“Well, I disagree. And I hope you’ll at least come to dinner on Thursday.” Martin could see there wasn’t a point in arguing at that moment. He turned the trimmer on for one last touch up, but didn’t spend much longer on it—he was pretty pleased with it, overall, and it was easy to ruin a good cut by being too picky.

“What do you think?” he asked when he was finished; he was actually nervous to hear the answer.

“It looks great,” Jon said, turning his head in the mirror to look at both sides. “I can’t believe you did this.”

“It really wasn’t that hard,” Martin answered, but now that he knew Jon liked it he had to admit he was feeling pretty proud of it.

“Do you like it?” Jon asked.

“I do.” Martin set the trimmer down and stood back to look at it from farther away. “I’m definitely going to have to get used to it—but I mean, this is easier now.” He stretched his fingers out to scratch the back of Jon’s head.

“Oh,” Jon said, tilting his head back a little. “That’s—that’s quite nice.”

“You know—” Martin started to say, but then stopped as he felt himself blushing.

“What?” Jon said. “Everything all right?”

“I just—I know we don’t usually say stuff like this, but… well, I’ve been staring at you for thirty minutes straight, and you—you’re really quite good looking.”

Jon looked at Martin with his mouth slightly open, but quickly regained his composure. “You don’t have to say it. It’s obvious you think it.”

“Well.” Martin dropped his hand indignantly. “In that case, maybe I—”

“I mean, I can’t think of anything else that would have attracted you to me, so by process of elimination—”

“Oh, shut up.” Martin leaned in and kissed Jon hard, pressing his hands into the now-short hair at the sides of his head. It had been a while since they’d really kissed, maybe since they’d made up after their argument, and Jon returned it with equal insistence. “I can’t believe you turned that into an insult.”

“Sorry. You’re right, I’m not used to it.” Jon kissed him again, gently this time. “Shall I try again?”

“All right, but me too.” Martin tilted Jon’s head up by the chin. “You’re hot.”

Now it was Jon’s turn to blush, but only for a moment. “So are you.”

“No, you can’t just say that. You really are hot, I’m—” Martin cut himself off, realizing the hypocrisy of what he’d started to say. “All right, this is hard.”

“Maybe just back to this again?” Jon reached to kiss him one more time.

“All right. Until we get more practice.” He couldn't help running his hand through Jon's hair as their mouths came together again.

He could definitely get used to it.

#the magnus archives #tma #mag pod #tma spoilers #jonmartin #tma fanfic #my writing

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 5 years ago

Text

They Don’t Know You Like I Do

This is a reupload, a throwback. It was originally written in 2019 and posted on my old account calumh-excess. I hope you guys enjoy.

In the same universe as We’re Outsiders.

Sandra should be out of his league. But with a good heart and an open mind, she gives Ashton a shot. That’s all he needs.

Greaser!AU.

Enjoy my masterlist.

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_________________________

When there’s a knock at the door, Ashton’s a little confused. Though, knocks are more frequent now if he has to be honest. He racks his brain for who could possibly be at the door. It’s not Luke. He had to run some errands for his parents. It’s not Calum. He’s at work; left early this morning. Calum did agree to be at the race. And unless Calum forgot his keys, Ashton is sure that Calum wouldn’t be showing back to the house.

So Ashton finishes zipping up the boot and walks to the door. Cookie stands on the other side, grinning. Her siblings attached to her hips. He grins at the sight. It’s very common on Saturday mornings for her to show up at his doorstep, whether Calum is home or not. More often not, since Saturdays seem to have picked up at the shop and Cookie seems to be able to sneak away before the morning rush. “Know your boy toy’s not here right?”

She rolls her eyes, extending out the glass dish. “I know. I did talk to him last night.”

Ashton takes the dish; it’s heavier than he anticipated. It smells good though. He won’t lie. The deep inhale almost makes his stomach growl and his mouth salivate. “Thanks.” They don’t need to be taken care of, but it’s nice. She always brings enough for not just Ashton and Calum, but also Luke and Michael. “One of these days I’m gonna get that recipe.”

“Oh, hot stuff, we’d have to be married for that,” she teases laughing.

“You say that like I won’t snatch you up from Calum.”

His only acknowledgement to the tease is a smile. “Got one more in the car. Can they sit inside for a second? If you’re not busy.”

“Yeah, they can sit inside for a minute.”

Teresa, Cookie’s sister, taps Ashton on the leg on the way in. A game they seem to always play where he attempts to dodge it, but never seems to skirt out of the way fast enough. Ashton buckles a little at the motion, careful of the food he’s still holding, and drags himself to the kitchen table. “I oughta report this!”

Her brother, Curtis, settles onto the couch. He’s always been quiet. But he smiles at the exchange and settles into the cushions. Ashton leaves the dish out. He’s glad Cookie came by. He wanted to ask her for a favor and had planned to stop by her place or the diner before heading out for the race.

The door creaks open again and Cookie walks in, heading straight for the kitchen. She doesn’t linger long on the fact that there aren’t many groceries left. She just slips the glass dishes in and prays that they can get back on track soon.

“You know,” Cookie starts watching her sister and brother pick up the deck of cards at the dinning room table and Ashton stand in front of her. “I could get you in at the diner. My folks ain’t that bad.”

Ashton shakes his head. He knew long ago when he lost his job that Cookie could help him out. Somehow it felt wrong, felt like he would’ve been intruding. Besides, he wouldn’t be down for long. “I appreciate it. But I don’t wanna put your folks in a tighter spot. If I start working there and someone hits the roof, y’all take the hit. Not me.”

“World won’t be so black and white one day.”

“Sometimes I think I could be doing more. More than just surviving and more than just hoping for you.”

“If you got marching boots, I know how to get you in.”

It’s only a nod. They are silent, even as cards shuffle in the background. But Ashton knows, by way of the stirring in his chest, that he’s going to be asking about that march.

“Well, I ain’t mean to take up too much time,” Cookie starts, seeing the current round is coming to an end.

“Wait before you go, can I ask you a favor?” It’s not exactly the smartest thing in the world he’s done for cash, agreeing to a race.. Though he’s smart and never gets tied up for people that race for pinks. “I need some help.”

Cookie leans back into the fridge, the white Keds on her feet matching the tile as she crosses her ankles. “Help how?”

Ashton knew he shouldn’t have promised Sandra that Cookie would’ve been there without actually asking Cookie. However, by the time Ashton managed to get home, Calum had already gone to bed and Ashton for sure was not about to call up to her house at that time of night. He was just trying to get Sandra to see that he was just a guy, not the label that people had put on him.

“I have a race.”

Cookie nods. “If you telling me Teresa actually hit you that hard that you can’t drive no more, I oughta sign that girl up for boxing or something,” she teases.

Ashton has to laugh with a shake of his head. “God almighty, no.”

“What’s about this race and needing help?”

“I need you to tag along. I told this girl they were cool and I just need you around so she doesn’t flip.”

It’s a heavy sigh that expels from her lungs and Ashton all but slides to his knees as he grabs onto her hands. “Please, Cookie? Please?”

“These ain’t no family affair. I’ve got my brother and sister. It’s technically illegal.” While Cookie didn’t hold too fast to the rules that governed them, she was not about to act fast and loose in front of siblings. They have fast lips.

“I’ve never seen a race,” Teressa cuts in. She’s dealing out half the deck between her and Curtis.

“See!” Ashton says, lips rolling over as he pouts. “C’mon. Just the one solid. Please.”

“And there’s a reason you haven’t,” Cookie replies. If she gets in trouble on her lonesome is fine. Her parents will flip, they’ll give her a lot of noise. However, that was her fault. If she gets into trouble with her sister and brother around that’s a whole new can of worms. One she’d rather avoid. There’s so much pleading on Ashton’s face though. And of course it had to be a girl too. Races aren’t scary, but they can get nasty.“You ain’t racing for pinks are you? Hate to leave you stranded.”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m in no position to race for pinks.”

The house is in decent condition, but he’s between jobs and needs to find a new source of cash fast. His cars the only thing he’s got going for him. He was let off from his previous gig because the owner was worried about his rep. Not that Ashton wasn’t hard working and diligent at whatever he put his hands on. He busted his ass at work. The owner was looking at a ‘bigger picture.’ It’s bullshit if Ashton is asked. He didn’t throw a fit in front of the owner. He thought about it. He wanted to, but he didn’t want to ruin his chances. He quietly took the week’s pay and left the office. He’s got good word from this boss to another place. Ashton’s worried that his reputation is going to precede him all his life though.

Ashton finally continues, “Please, I need your help. I need the bread and she’s--she’s different, Cookie. She’s giving me a shot.” He’s totally smitten, but he wouldn’t completely admit that. Sandra didn’t exactly grow up on this side of town. None of the guys can help him out. Cookie’s his only shot.

It’s one of her few days where she doesn’t have to be on shift during the morning. She had really just wanted to hit the store to see if the hair grease she needed has been restocked and she wanted to just not think about anything until work.

“Look,” she points over to Teresa and Curtis, “y’all gotta keep tight ships on those lips.”

“Thank you!” Ashton shouts and her siblings chorus.

“And you,” she starts, finger singling him out. “I beat feet after it’s done.” Cookie agrees. “But if there’s any heat, I am not hanging around.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Ashton gushes, wrapping her up in a quick hug. “And I totally understand about the cops. I’d literally do whatever to shake your trail. You know that.”

“I know.I know. You surely know how to put a girl in a pickle.”

“It’s a specialty,” Ashton returns. His grin wide.

The kids continue their game of War before Cookie’s pulling out of the driveway first and waiting for Ashton to lead the way. Admittedly, Ashton didn’t tell Cookie that Sandra was a Soc, a Prep. But maybe she had figured it out by the way he talked about her inexperience with races. Most people would probably laugh at the fact he’s into a Soc. And he knows Cookie would never judge him, but sometimes even he felt a little shame in it. But Sandra is a saint and Ashton is in need of a blessing.

His logic isn’t flawed, but it is a little wishful. If he wins the race, Ashton can show Sandra his world’s not all that bad, it’s not all dangerous. It has it’s danger for sure. But if he could just get her to see the good, then maybe he had proven that the labels were unjust. And it’s twisted thinking he knows. Sandra already seems him as a good person, she already sees something in him. But it’s the outside world. It was always going to be the outside world it seemed that would be in the way. It reminds of how he was with Cookie and god, it makes him feel like an asshole. He could be the first person to admit that. He would be the first to admit that.

When they get the makeshift track, old back roads that lead to the deserted factory, Ashton spots the boys. They rush up from the dirt sides. Calum checked the car before he left this morning. But that was then and now it needs another glance, checking for holes in tires or rocks in the tracks.

Ashton finds her, Sandra, in her red dress with black polka dots. She waves, but doesn’t make a move closer from her car. She swore to Ashton she would find a way to the race. He insisted that they could meet somewhere, but when she looked down, biting the side of her lip, he knew not to push it. He walks over, cheeks lifting into a grin.

“I feel so overdressed,” Sandra whispers, tucking more of her hair behind her ear.

“Nah, I dig it.” It’s who she is and Ashton can’t stop the thundering of his heart.

“You sure this isn’t an issue? Like I thought pinks would be involved and everyone here looks,” she doesn’t finish the sentence. This isn’t her crowd. She knows it; Ashton knows it. Ashton’s sweet though. Always helps her grandmother with the bags to her car. He even referred them to a great car shop. One of his friends works there, always looks out for them and makes sure to work on their car exclusively. He’s for sure a fun time, always laughing at something, always making up a new gig when there’s only her in the store and the radio’s playing a good song. But this isn’t her crowd. She’s not sure how they’re going to accept her.

“Hey, my guys are cool. Stick with them and there will be no issue,” Ashton urges.

Sandra goes to speak, but then she notices a girl with a fro walking up to her, lips painted red. It’s a bold choice, but she wears it well. Ashton’s thankful that Cookie’s approaching. “That’s Cookie. Calum’s girl. The guy that works on your grandmother’s car. I told you she’d be here.”

Sandra nods, a smile lifting her lips. It’s a little bit more comforting to have someone else on Ashton’s side, that’s not a Greaser as company. She thinks the whole Greaser versus Socs is ridiculous, but she’s not naive to think that the lines don’t exist for everyone else. “You Ashton’s girl?” Cookie asks, knowing the true answer. But it’ll make both of them turn red and Cookie can’t pass up on that opportunity.

“Oh, no,” she mumbles as both their cheeks turn beat red. There’s a blashful glance between both of them. Ashton’s hoping Cookie’s teasing isn’t too much but he does like the sound of her being his girl. He needs to win this race, make a good impression and keep Sandra around. That’s all he wants.

“Alright, Ms. Red, you guys are just friendly. I get it. Mind if I borrow the pretty lady for a moment?” Cookie extenders her elbow, waiting for the gentle grip to move them out the way of the race.

The touch is light and they walk up to the side of the road. Cookie can feel the nerves off Ashton’s girl. She keeps looking over her shoulders. Like she’s afraid something is gonna jump out at her. “First race?” Cookie asks.

The girl nods, ends of her hair flying up in the wind. “Ms. Red? That’s a new one.”

“What’s ya name? Maybe you’d like that more.”

“Sandra. But I like Red better. You’re the one really wearing the devil’s paint better than I ever could.”

“Then Ms. Red it is. And nothin’ wrong with a little make up.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I just--,”

“Don’t have a cow, sweetheart. Just kidding around.”

They reach Cookie’s car, her siblings eying the girl on her arm. They’re suspicious of every new person they meet. It took them ages to warm up to Luke, Ashton, and Michael. She can’t blame them. Every white person to cross their path has only ever spit on them. She’s praying that they don’t hold such skepticism in their heart all the time. “Teresa and Curtis, my sister and brother. Ms. Red.”

Both of them give curt nods. Cookie goes on to introduce the rest of the crew before hopping into the backseat of her car with her siblings, she sits on the edge of the door, feet planted on the seat. Curtis sits between her legs. Teresa right in front of him. “Take a front row seat,” she offers to Sandra waving to the passenger side seat. Calum leans up against her car, right behind Cookie and her siblings, his hands buried in his pocket of his work pants. The switchblade curled into his fingers.

Sandra doesn’t miss the tension. She looks up to Cookie, the fear flashing over her face. “They don’t bite. Well, for anklebiters, they don’t,” she assures.

“You’re going to regret that,” Teresa interject, lightly tapping her sisters ankle. “White people just never done us no good.”

Kids, they’ll always be honest. “Tes,” Cookie warns. The tension is still thick, but the engines roar and Sandra jolts at the sound. “Get in, Red unless you want dust on that pretty little dress.”

“Thank you.” She smiles, climbs into the car and then kneels on the seat to watch them. Another girl, from the opponent's side, stands in the middle of lanes, scarf in her hand. She holds it above her head. She holds it there for a moment. Ashton revs his engine, just get get under the guy’s skin. “The car’s a lot louder,” Sandra comments. It’s to no one in particular. Curtis climbs to the passenger side of the back seat and stands, looking over the door.

“Ashton’s engine is souped up thanks to Calum,” he says as the rumble settles. “Nothing illegal. Just gives him more speed from the start and he can maintain it for the entire race.”

“Hey, look at my man paying attention,” Calum laughs, holding his palm straight up for Curtis to slap it. They go about their handshake, a series of slap, pumps, and snaps.

Curtis looks up to Sandra. “We ain’t trying to be mean. We just...sissy, what’s the word? Scared, but like not scared scared.”

“Worried or maybe concerned,” comes from both his sisters.

“Concerned,” Curtis repeats to Sandra. She nods. It makes sense all things considered for them. They have to be cautious to some degree. It’s a matter of life or death. Cookie’s teasing and offering of her car makes Sandra’s less anxious though. She’s completely outside of her realm and needs an anchor. They’re nice. “Nice dress too,” he concludes. “Sissy has a skirt like it.”

Before she can express her gratitude, engines growl to life yet again and Sandra snaps her attention to the road. Ashton doesn’t press down hard on the gas; he, in fact, gives the initial lead away. He can come behind and cut to the inside on the turn. He’s not worried about a lead. He’s got a plan. He always has a plan.

Sandra grips at the door, heart thundering in her chest. “C’mon, Ash. Take him.” The words are falling from her lips before she’s even realized it. After the initial kick up of a dust cloud, she can make out Ashton sliding inside. The first turn comes up and he cuts to the inside. There’s a tap to his bumper, but he tries not to show it. Keeps a steady hand on the wheel to correct.

There’s cheering, but it’s hard to catch it over the rumble of the engines. Sandra can feel it bubbling in her chest as she wants to join in again. She wants to scream his name. She wants to let him know she’s rooting for him. As the second straight away comes up, Ashton falls back just a little. The noses of their cars keep trading places.

Her pulse quickens, veins pumping against her skin. But Ashton looks so calm as they round in for the second lap. “Leave him in the dust! Burn rubber!” Sandra screams. It feels good to let the primal shout leave her lips. Louder shouts from Cookie and Ashton’s group start to cut through the rumble. The entire side of the road is almost as big of a roar as the cars themselves.

Ashton slips in front and hauls ass, pressing harder onto the gas. It kicks up another sputter of dust. As the last straight away comes up, Ashton keeps the car going as fast as it can. He doesn’t even stop until he blows past the start line. “Yes!” Sandra cries, pumping her arms into the air. As the drivers meet, shaking hands and exchanging cash, she climbs out of car and rushes over to Ashton.

“That was incredible,” she gushes. Her heart is still racing. He notices the childlike awe lighting up her eyes.

“Aw, shucks. It won’t nothing,” he replies, cheeks warming as her compliment. That was admittedly a tame race. They can get uglier, there can be scraps. But it’s a relief it didn’t happen. He didn’t want to show her that. He’s careful to stand in front of some of the nicks on the car He knows they traded taps on the course.

“It was pretty amazing to me.” The rest of them walk over, to congratulate Ashton. Cookie, much to her word, leaves after giving her cheers. Calum follows directly behind her, wanting to make sure she gets home safe.

“We ought to celebrate!” Sandra grins, brushing her hands over Ashton’s. She notes the rings adorning his fingers and plays at the pinky ring. “My treat! I’ve got a little of an allowance. What do you say?”

Ashton, flustered at the feel of her fingers over his, nods. “But I can cover myself.”

“Nonsense, you just won! No need to spend the earnings already.”

“I can’t.” He can pay his way through the world and he for sure doesn’t want to seem like he’s too willingly to take advantage of her niceness.

“Ice it. You’re getting a treat! And don’t think you can run off either,” she warns, walking back to her car.

Holding up his hands, Ashton knows he’s a goner. Hook, line, and sinker, there’s nothing he can do to save himself. The smile rests on Ashton’s face makes his whole body warm. “I’m listening. No runnin’ from me, ma’am.”

The rest of his guys cheer on his victory but soon it’s wrapped up and he climbs into his car, preparing to follow behind Sandra. Down the streets, Ashton realizes that he’s going further north. The anxiety starts to hammer at his chest and his fingers tremble. God, he doesn’t need trouble. Not right now, not after such a great victory.

Staring up at the sign of the parlour, Ashton’s takes a moment to exhale. He can’t afford trouble. He won’t get into trouble. He won’t. He’s going to just go inside, get a quick treat and then go on about his day. He parks right next to her, climbing out of the car. Eyes are already burning holes into his skin. He tries to swallow that bit of panic that his chest.

The leather jacket feels less like an accessory anymore. It’s armor. He wears it so they know. So they don’t start shit. He wears it so when his shoulders fall, the bulk keeps them wide. Even if he’s not looking for a fight, it looks like he’s ready to scrap.

“What’s your poison?” she jokes as they walk in together. “Stud like you maybe it’s chocolate.”

Ashton laughs softly, shaking his head a little. “I’m actually pretty square. Vanilla’s my vice.”

“Mr. Big and Bad goes for vanilla.”

“He does. Can’t tell anyone though.”

“Secret’s safe with me,” she winks, walking up to the counter to order the shake and even a slice of something for him as well. It’s as she leans against the cool material that she notices the distinct sneer on one of the waitress’ face. It dawns on her. She’s brought him to her side of town. But they don’t know him like she does. So she juts out her chin, reaching into the pocket of her dress. She plays at the bills and finally they girl walks down.

Sandra doesn’t let her open her mouth. “Vanilla milkshake, two straws. Slice of chocolate cake if there’s any left.”

“Anything else?”

A shake of the head no and she turns around to see Ashton, smiling up at her. He digs into his pocket and finds some change before walking over to the jukebox. He looks through the selection. He could be a sap. But right now he feels like making a little scene. He slips in the coin and presses for “The Twist”. Ashton snaps his fingers to beat, looking over his shoulder to her. She leans against the counter, laughing, hair flying in the ponytail.

Ashton starts tapping his foot, shuffling closer to her. People, he’s learned, are always staring at him. He’s gonna give them a reason to stare now. Sandra is beside herself, watching him singing along, while twisting himself side to side. The only thing that matters is her smile, her laugh. Ashton likes being a bit of a goof. He likes to have fun. He knows his life has never been easy, but there’s no reason not to smile. He makes it a goal to make someone smile each day. They deserve, everyone deserves a bit of kindness in the world. He thinks himself to be lucky to give that to anyone. Sandra admires that in him. This drive to give everyone a little piece of happiness.

When Ashton slides his way up to her, holding out his head, she doesn’t hesitate to give into his antics. They dance in the middle of parlour. She holds onto hands, bending her knees. It’s easy to twist her torso side to side. She’s never been able to do this before. To just let herself go. It’s normally so much emphasis on being a lady, being prim and proper. She’s never really ascribed to you, in a way that she wholeheartedly believed. But she was well aware of the society she was in, the role she was told she had to play.

But she didn’t have to play games with Ashton. She didn’t have to pretend. If she wanted to swear, which she never did anyhow, she knew she could. If she wanted to let her hair down, she could. If she wanted to sit unladylike, she could. She was not restricted with him. And that freedom, the vulnerability, made her fall even more in love with him. God, was she in love with him?

“Uh, you want this shake or not?” the girl behind the counter shouts. “Been waiting for forever over here.”

Sandra walks over, sliding the cash across the counter. “Sorry. Just havin’ some fun.” Another set of hands slide in around her and grab the glass and the plate. She immediately notes the slender fingers, the rings.

“Just a little dancin’ sweetheart. No need to get heated,” he says before going back to their table. He notes one shake and the two straws. “Bold, are we?” he teases, handing one to her.

“What can I say? I’m livin’ on the wild side.”

Ashton brings a piece of the cake to his lips while speaking. “Yeah, so wild your hair’s still up.”

It’s not a challenge, just a tease. But Sandra brings a hand to her hair, untwist the elastic around her hair. Her hair falls down over her shoulders as she shakes it loose. “Anything else to say, Stud?”

No, he’s got nothing else to say. That’s the thing about her, behind her button nose and blue eyes are a curiosity, a yearning to live life the way she wants to, not the way she’s been told to live it.

Outside at their respective cars, Sandra slips her hair tie from her wrist. The bow sells it, makes his heart warm more than he’s willing to admit as she slides it onto Ashton’s wrist. “Something to remember me by,” she grins softly.

“I’m always thinkin’ about you. So it’s not hard.”

“Smooth talking there.”

Ashton brings his fingers to her cheek before tucking just a little bit of her hair behind her ears. “When can I see you again?” Tomorrow’s her grandmothers doctor’s appointment. She starts her new job the day after. He’ll be okay even if it’s just for a quick moment to enjoy her company.

“I’ll ya a ring, okay?”

He nods, “Okay.”

_______________________________________________

He knows Sandra’s grandmother’s car when it pulls into the gas station. He managed to snag this gig at the gas station. It’s not a lot, but it’s something. He doesn’t quite want to go into the factory just yet. He knows it’ll make him the most money, but he’s gonna clean up his act before doing that. She smiles at him, as he closes in on her hair. She’s still has her driving gloves on. “What can I do for ya, Ma’am?” Ashton teases, opening the gas cover.

“Fill her up.”

“How was work?” She’s a secretary at the firm in town. Not a lot, nothing to write home about but it helps out. Every cent does now for her and her grandmother. Her grandmother’s not sickly. Just getting up in age, requires a lot more attention.

“Long, just glad it’s over.” There’s a moment of silence. “Grandma wants to meet you,” Sandra says. Her voice is soft.

Ashton’s been dreading this. Her grandmother isn’t fond of people like him. Though she smiled in his face when he carried her bags, Sandra tells him that always sneered at home. Always said boys like him were no good. “Thought she hated me.”

“She likes you. Likes the man that makes me smile. But she doesn’t like how she’s never met you, according to her.”

“But once she finds out it’s me, she’s gonna blow her top.”

“No, she’s not. She won’t. I promise.” He finds that hard to believe. He wants to believe her. She seems so earnest. But Ashton knows that older people are set in their ways. He finishes filling her tank, taking the change from her fingers. “Hey, hey,” she urges, gripping his chin. “She’s gonna love you. Because you’re incredible and she just hasn’t seen that. All she’s seen is the leather jacket, the hair. She’s only heart stories. But she’s never sat down with the real you.”

“Most people don’t need to sit down with the real me to judge me.”

“She’s gonna love you.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can.” It hurts to see him pull his chin from her grasps. It’s not hard, not a jerk, just a soft turn to his head until her fingers fall from around his skin.

“How?”

“Because she don’t know you like I do. She’s gonna love you because I love you.”

His heart beats against his ribs. They’ve been seeing each other, including tucked into dark corners, for only a few months. But to say that she loves him, that’s a whole new thing. “You love me?” The question exhales from his lungs so softly she barely catches it.

With a nod, she grins. “Yeah, yeah I think I do. I know it’s only a few months, but call me young and dumb--,”

Ashton interrupts her with a kiss. “No, be young. Be dumb. We only get this shot once.” The words press against his lips. He should take his own advice. “I love you.”

Lip tucked between her teeth, she looks to the ground before glancing back into his hazel eyes. “So, my house. Saturday. 6:30?”

“Your house. Saturday. 6:30.”

________________

When Ashton stares up at the door, he swears for a hot second he might vomit. He tries to keep it down. These are his good penny loafers. He’d hate to ruin them. But there is just something in his gut that tells him that this dinner is a bad idea. It takes him another minutes to finally lift his hand to knock. There’s a moment before the door cracks open and Sandra is standing there, in a powder pink sleeveless dress, hair pulled back from her face.

“Oh is that him, dear?” Her grandmother calls, the voice far away.

It takes everything in Ashton to step through the threshold. When she finally rounds the corner, her smile falters. There it is. There’s the passing look of judgement clouding her face. “Hi, ma’am. How are you?” He asks, extending his hand.

She doesn’t reach for it. “Good, thank you.” Her gaze lands on Sandra. “Sandy, can I speak with you? In private?”

The two woman walk down the hallway and Ashton stands, right near the door. He could bolt. He could leave it behind. But he stands there, knowing the hushed whispers being exchanged are about him, are about her and him together. The voices get a little louder. He caught “not good” amongst the hurried murmurs. He knows he shouldn’t interject. It’s not his place. He steps through the living room. They’re huddled together.

“Ma’am, I don’t mean to be rude,” he starts. “But I care deeply about your granddaughter. I know the reputation that I have. And I earned it. I won’t lie.”

“You say that like I should give you a shot,” her grandmother snips.

He shrugs. “I’d like one. I’m not the type to make excuses for myself.”

“I know about boys like you. You’re scared and you’re angry. And you take it out on anyone that looks at you the wrong way. You hang out with all those other boys too, all they do is drink and get into fights. Even the girls they associate with get into trouble too. You’re kind are no good.”

“Yeah, yeah maybe I am scared and maybe I am angry. Yeah, I’m a lowlife in your eyes. But I’m the lowlife that carried your groceries to your car for a year. And I’m the lowlife that that keeps the tank full even if Sandra can’t afford it at the time. I’m greasy and not the goody two shoes you’d want for her. Yeah I’ve been in my fair share of fights and yeah I’ve put some people in serious hurt. But I’m not so bad. I’ve been you, okay? I’ve been on the other side of this conversation where you’re so worried about what others are going to think. And all you can see is the trouble I’ve been in.”

He continues after wiping at his nose with the pad of his thumb. He’s riled up. He feels like an ass. Is this how Cookie felt? He can’t change that. He does right by her. He gets her now. “I know the bad I’ve done. But I know the good too. You think me heartless. I wish I was heartless. I wish I didn’t give a shit so much about so many things. Took a friend in because his parents abandoned him. I was barely scraping by for myself, but I took him in. He needed to finish school. I didn’t. I dropped out. Had to. But him, he’s smart. He deserved a second chance. And his girl, she’s brilliant. I mean, the mind on her- I wish she could go to college. But she can’t. Her heart’s too tied to her family. Oh, and she’s Black. So it’s not like anywhere is going to give her a second chance.

“And my friend, Mike, man’s a wizard at the guitar. I mean, that man is bad at the guitar. But he hates playing in front of a lot of people. He could’ve been gone. Luke, Luke’s got some pipes. But he won’t sing unless Michael plays and because Michael doesn’t play all that often, they’re both here. They got families they care deeply about. They got families that they gotta provide for. So you can think of us what you want. You can think us all bad. But you don’t know us. You think you know us. You only know what others have told you. I really don’t mean any disrespect, Ma’am. But I just want you to consider that. Consider people are more than what you know of them.”

He looks to Sandra, who’s wearing a smile on her face. This is the Ashton she knows. Not one to hold back his tongue, one to always fiercely protect the ones closest to him. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll be staying for dinner.”

She watches the way he pops the collar on his polka dotted button up. She’s know sure where he got it. But it makes her immensely happy to know that he matched a dress of hers. His shoes are silent over the hardwood floors. Sandra turns back to her grandmother. “You always taught me to be kind to everyone, to keep in mind everyone has their own story. But you couldn’t even take your own advice.”

“I was kind,” her grandmother retorts.

Sandra shakes her head. “You know what I mean.” She hoped her grandmother would change, she thought she could get the opinion to change. But maybe her grandmother would destined to always be stuck.

“You can’t keep seeing that boy. He’s no good.”

The words mean nothing to Sandra. Her grandmother relies on her. She’s not a child. Holding on finger up to her grandmother, she races outside, finally hearing the car engine roar to life. The evening has a slight chill but it doesn’t stop her from racing to the driver side door. Ashton rolls down the window. It took him forever to even gain the courage to turn over the key in the ignition. She’s probably come out to tell him this is it.

“You didn’t have to come out to tell me. I know,” Ashton says, staring straight ahead.

“If you thought I came out here to tell you it’s over, you’re wrong.” Her voice is soft. She reaches through the window, playing at the collar of his shirt.

“What?” He’s positive he didn’t hear her right.

“She’s older. She doesn’t know you like I do.”

“But that’s your--,”

Sandra cuts him off. “I know who she is to me. But I’m an adult. I want to be with you. And she can’t stop me. Give me a minute, alright? We’ll go somewhere else.”

When her lips brush over his cheek, Ashton can only nod at her request. She walks back into the house. Her grandmother sits at the dining room table, hands clutching her cane. “You can’t keep seeing him. I forbid it.”

“Grandma, I love you. But since you refuse to sit down and have a conversation with him, I don’t think your advice is the most well informed. Now,” she starts fixing her grandmother a plate. “You’re gonna eat. I’ll be back to clean the dishes. But you just relax.”

“Where are you going? Not out with that boy, I know.”

“His name is Ashton. As I’ve told you before plenty of times.” The plates makes a soft thud on the placemat. “Eat. I’ll be back.” She puts the rest of the food up. Her grandmother watches, shouting at her that he’s no good. But no one’s perfect. And she if wanted perfection, she’d never find it. Maybe that was part of her grandmother’s problem. She craved perfection so bad, craved to fit in, to not shake the table that she never saw how unstable the table was in the first place.

“Enjoy your dinner!” Sandra shouts, throwing a sweater over her shoulders and grabbing her keys. Ashton is still waitin in the car. She climbs into the car. “Let’s drive,” she giggles.

“I got a destination in mind. Bit of a tradition. Hope it’s not too square.”

“You? A square? Never.” The drive isn’t very long. The skating rink comes into view and Ashton spies Calum’s bike still around. They still have a little bit of time. They have to go to the rink on the West side. Too many people stared at them, a group of white boys hanging around and friends with folks like Cookie and Calum. And it’s not to say they didn’t get looks on this side either. It’s not to say that Cookie’s unfortunately gotten into with a few of her own, but it’s generally safer.

“When we’re not supposedly running a muck of the town, we’re skating,” Ashton says.

“How’d you know I was a great skater?”

“You might’ve mentioned it once or twice.” She’s mentioned it more than that actually. But it’s not like Ashton’s keeping count. It’s not like he goes home and gushes to Calum probably too much about Sandra.

The pair walk inside and grab some skates. It takes a moment of wondering before they spy the rest of Ashton’s friends. Cookie spots them first, smiling. “What happened to the red, Ms. Red?”

“Let him borrow it for the day,” Sandra returns, rushing over to help take the pitcher from her hands. The table cheers, noticing the pair.

“Thought you had a fancy dinner?” Michael questions as they settle and tie up their skates. Ashton shakes his head. Michael catches on to the sour expression. That topic is canned without hesitation. They all knew about Ash’s concerns. They’re not really shocked, if they’re honest, that things went sour. It sucks nonetheless. They had hoped for Ashton Sandra’s grandmother wouldn’t be such an issue.

Ashton gets to his feet first and takes her hand. They step out onto the floor and she glides off. Ashton’s not a terrible skater, but he’s not the best either. She turns around and sees him pushing off hard. “Alright there, tough guy?”

He laughs. “Keep yappin’ that’s fine!”

As they come around a second time, the song shuffles. Everyone recognizes the start to Put Your Head on My Shoulder. People start pairing off. Ashton spies Calum and Cookie finally coming back out. Sandra slows into his side, fingers brushing over his. “You look as coordinated as a baby giraffe,” she teases.

“Keep talkin here, just keep on.” There’s a moment of quiet between them as the laughter dies down, gliding next to each other. A little slower than the rest of the crowd, but neither of them cares. “Sorry about being frosted back there. I just--people don’t understand. And sometimes they don’t want to. Which is frustrating.”

She nods. “I get that. I’m sorry she refuses to listen. I wish I could get through that thick skull sometimes. She means well, but sometimes she can do harm.”

Ashton stops along the wall, pulling her gently into him. “It happens. But you chose me. Over everything.”

She shrugs. “Easy choice, if I’m honest.” Ashton cups her face, fingers gently brushing over the soft skin. He’s lucky to have her. He’s lucky she chose him.

“Aren’t you worried?”

“I’ve got a lot of things to worry about. But not you.” Ashton leans in, just a smidge, lips capturing hers for a brief moment. His breath leaves him. He’s sure time is either paused or sped up but he doesn’t care. There are some wolf whistles that pass by. And both of them know it’s his friends. Sandra buries her face into Ashton’s shoulder, the heat flooding her cheeks.

“You guys are assholes,” Ashton laughs, watching Luke, Michael, and Calum pass by. The song fades out. Something more upbeat turns over the speakers. He coaxes her out from his shoulder. “Don’t mind them.”

“I mean, kind of hard not too.”

“But you got me, baby. You got me.”

Her eyes twinkle and she cups his cheek before kissing him. She does have him. That’s a comforting thought, one that makes her feel safe. As their lips part, Sandra exhales a bit breathy. “C’mon now before your knees knock and you fall.”

“You got jokes now,” Ashton hollers after her figure, skating away. “Now you got jokes. I see how it is.”

The evening is filled with too many orders of cheese fries to be healthy, too many refills for Cokes. They sing along to the speakers and Sandra laughs, hooking her arm through Ashton’s. “You didn’t tell me you could sing.”

His smile is bashful, face turning red. “You ain’t ask before.”

“The four of you ought to start a band or something,” she concludes. She’s heard the stories of Michael’s historic guitar playing. Stayed over at night, once, to listen to the four of them act a fool, singing until the wee hours of the morning.

“Good luck with that,” Cookie interjects. “All of ‘em hardheaded. Mine especially.”

“But you love it anyway, doll,” Calum returns, kissing her temple.

The group decides as the twilight is swallowed up by night to turn in. Outside, they split off in various directions towards their cars. “Make sure you get your red back,” Cookie hollers, trailing behind Calum. “You look betta in it anyways!”

The group howls at the comment. “Nah, baby, it’s a team effort.”

In a flash, Cookie runs up, laughing, leaving Calum to wait at the bike. “I know that’s right. Good seeing you again,” she adds on sincerely. “I mean it, too.” Since the race, Sandra’s tried to talk to Cookie more, tried to ease the tension that inevitably may not disappear completely. But they can try. “Mrs and Mr. Red,” she laughs with a wink.

“See how she put Mrs, first,” Sandra grins.

Ashton nods. “Yes, yes, I most definitely did.”

Ashton pulls into her driveway, staring back at the same doors that shut him out. It’s okay. That door need not ope, he concludes. Sandra stretches across to give him one last kiss. It deepens when Ashton takes hold of her face. It’s not a kiss that conveys the passion that’s brewing in the both of them. It’s not a kiss that’s light and airy. It’s a kiss that spells how desperate they are for the other to know, deep down, this is real.

As they part, Ashton pulls off one of the main rings he wears and plucks the necklace off from around her neck. Threading the chunky gold metal onto the dainty chain, he rehooks the necklace around her neck. Sandra drops her hair around her shoulders to take a look at it sitting over the powder pink to her dress. “Something to remember me by,” he explains, from his wrist, she can see the hair tie still. How did she miss that?

“I could never forget.”

She climbs out of the car and he watches to make sure she gets inside. As the door closes behind her, she grins to herself. Making choices is scary. She knows her grandmother will not be quiet about her stance. But this is the first choice that was solely hers to make. And she’s proud of it.

#ashton irwin #ashton irwin fic #ashton irwin fanfic #ashton irwin imagine #ashton irwin blurb #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer imagine #5sos blurb #h writes #greaser!AU #calum hood #luke hemmings #michael clifford #5 seconds of summer fic

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chemicalarospec · 4 years ago

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Genuinely Don’t Say Anything Interesting Here But I Like Talking So Thus I’m Posting This

okay I did like nothing productive today but have a ramble on youtube fanbases, specifically the new gen of mcyt. This was two posts and then I made it one so sorry when I repeat myself. I did edit it tho lol. But that means I also inserted more, so this is just all over the place now.

me from the future: oh god. all over the place. wait wtf this is so long. I don’t even have much to say I just like writing the same sentence three different ways and refusing to cut any of them. I’m sorry; I don’t know how to edit; this is informal AF. (can I use three semicolons? at least one of those is wrong anyways lol.)

edit: I’m so sorry I forgot about having a “read more” last night laksjdflksjad. Also idk if I even agree with myself lmao.

it’s so funny how mcyt is like The Thing now. It’s not cool to like it anymore lol, cuz everybody does. (This is a me thing. I like being special lol. I also self-define “cool” so you should not take it to heart when I say it’s not cool.)

I mean, just thinking about the Dream SMP as something I *do* want to get into, it doesn’t feel like “our thing” -- it’s has the feel of a HUGE fandom. Seriously, I’m in the phandom, which ngl has been dead since 2018, and the fanbase for the SMP has a much different, bigger feel. Idk what i’m getting at, it feels imposing? looking at the Dream SMP fandom seems similar in scope and slightly in atmosphere to pre-2019 phandom, at least to me, and it’s actually making me grateful that I joined now and not all that time ago.

Also I brought up the “our thing” bit because of the mcr post that goes “funny how MCR seems like our little secret and the biggest thing in the world at the same time” and I kinda thought that was just how all fandoms worked? idk I was going to assert that the truth is different but I thought some more and now I’m not sure.

but yeah I like the “our little secret” feel and somehow the phandom has (re)gained that while technoblade (and the new gen of mcyt as a whole) is loosing it.

I mean, I’ve been watching Technoblade since the bedwars winstreak. He had less than a millions subs but most people I brought him up to actually did know who he was. He was big but he wasn’t *famous* -- we all knew about him and we all cared. Like the only person who knew who he was and didn’t care had a little brother(s?) that loved him (wait why is this all in past tense this is all still true). (Yes AFC this has become a callout post for you mocking techno lol.) (If you’re still reading my miNeCRaFT yOuTuBeR fAnBaSe MEta. cringe culture is dead tho; I don’t have to say it like that.)

Anyways, I didn’t follow Technoblade’s Dream SMP streams and now I feel like I’d just be tagging along if I did get into it. (also didn’t watch SMP Earth lol.) This is because I’m a gate-keeping jerk. Or hate missing out. One of those two things.

(awkward transition where I don’t know how to make my tangent meaningful and have to make it back to the original train of thought I violently interrupted)

As a long time Techno fan, I’m really proud of the growth he’s experiencing, but a little sad too as the community is being -- well, I don’t want to say “infiltrated,” as I don’t want to shade anyone who was simply late to the party -- perhaps diluted? overwhelmed? yeah, overwhelmed by newer fans, and becoming “unmanageable” in a sense; it feels like we’ve lost a bit of our sense of community with the influx of new fans -- no shade to any new fans! This is just the way fandoms work. When the crowd is larger, it becomes harder recognize each member as a person, even if everything else is the same. (”The death of one man is a tragedy, the death of millions is a statistic.”) (look this is how my brain works deal with it)

I just really like this small community feel, and it’s a bit daunting looking at the smp fandom.

Also the growth Dream experienced this year is genuinely ludicrous. I mean, the wide appeal of shipping is part of it, not going to beat around that bush, but there’s just so much and I wanna read an essay from a long-time fan who saw it on why he’s got so much growth.

I really hate to shame fans and stuff, but part of it, at least for me, is that most of these new fans probably aren’t “minecrafters” like we were. I doubt the majority of them grew up on Stampy, DanTDM, and whatever the other ones I didn’t watch were. I mean, some of this is because Child. For them, the distinction is really pre-quarantine post-quarantine i guess? Really, whether they played Minecraft or not. Again, I know it’s bad to shame fans, but apparently I’m just a terrible person and I feel like it’s more shallow or disingenuous to get into MCYT when it’s popular without already being into Minecraft.

WAIT that’s it -- Minecraft community, as a whole, is special. It’s a LARGE umbrella of fandoms in general, but that’s the thing: they’re all more communities than fandoms -- from the casual builders to the pro parkour players to those who watched the og youtubers to those who followed the Great Potato War, there was Minecraft Culture.

And the expanded fandom that’s sprung up around the Dream SMP and possibly Dream in general (???) is more of fandom. It feels like a fandom. People treat it like a fandom, they talk about it in fandom spaces, it is fandom, a modern fandom. Not a quaint “little” Minecraft community.

I’m not going to say it’s because of the shipping, but... I have no data but at least I can say that it certainly creates an appeal for Fandom People as opposed to Minecraft People. And then also it’s just a fandom thing so it makes the space more fandom.

Also I realized this is all based upon a feeling, so where did the feeling come from? I was reading in-fandom texts a lot today, and I think the storyline actually might have something to do with it. Also maybe the “talking behind their backs”? I can’t be bothered to remember what I’m comparing to what at this point but that’s definitely done in a lot of other spaces I’m in, so idk.

OH FRICK I’ve mostly been *in* the fandom spaces for real things lmao. (Read: I’m 100% making up everything at this point.)

(awkward transition because I inserted the last two paragraphs later on)

And really, I played minecraft today for the first time in months. But it’s still with me, you know? The memories of being introduced to it, growing up with it. Going to the Nether with my cousins, my uncle’s giant survival mode cathedral. Mojang being bought by Microsoft and everybody hating it. (... me, my brother, my two friends, essentially... how did we even know??)

[I had part about the minecraft.net writers here but it was completely unrelated so it became it’s own post. I should do that more.]

(With every sentence the target audience of this post gets smaller.)

What was I saying? I’ll just wrap up.

TL;DR: Dream SMP fandom feels like a fandom and not a Minecraft community and while that’s not necessarily a bad thing, I’ve realized I prefer a community feel, which makes me grateful I joined the phandom now. Also I shouldn’t be allowed to post things past 9:00pm.

Oh my god I’m so sorry to all my mutrals. My tired loquacious reflex has kicked in. This is essentially a dan and phil stan blog, and though I know a few of you know what I’m going on about, I’m so sorry to the rest of you.

Well, at least *I* think I’m a fascinating person with interesting things to say hahahahha.

This is like a diary post. Should I post this? Yeah, other people should share my thoughts lol. OH NO: Late-night Tumblr fandom ramble posts are the new social-justice tirade/generally useless blog-like Goodreads reviews. At least it’s what Tumblr’s made for :P.

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wildbootsappeared · 4 years ago

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Continental Divides Chapter Discussion #0: Humble Origins/Editing and Rewriting

I recently enjoyed hearing Negrek talk about the behind-the-scenes of the most recent chapter of Salvage and was inspired: I figure some of you might be interested in hearing some of that type of thing for Divides, too. CD touches on some pretty complicated subjects (historical events and politics and glazed-over-science) that are worth teasing apart a little more. So I’m going to start slowly adding in some chapter reflection posts! Keep in mind that these will probably be full of spoilers, and you’ll want to get caught up before you read em.

If you want to hear me talk about something specific, feel free to shoot me a question.

(By the way, if you’re not reading Salvage yet—fam, get on my level. I’d describe it as a black humor odd-couple tale of … friendship??? Hm, that’s definitely not the right word, is it? Anyway! Featuring: an absolute goblin of a pokemorph, dismemberment, corruption, and Very Good Decisions. And lovely prose, by the way.)

With that, let’s get into it!

(CD spoilers below!)

Art by Giulia Bernardelli

From Humble Origins

I’ve mentioned before that Mark and Natalie were my first original characters. They were side characters in my first ever fic from … god, 2003 or 2004-ish? So in many ways, they’ve grown up with me.

I learned about fanfic shortly after Ruby and Sapphire came out in the US, so of course baby OSJ had to try her hand at a Hoenn journey fic. I’m really sad that I don’t have a copy of the original text anymore because it was hilariously bad. You see, Brendan and May had to run away from home (instead of just … journeying like every other trainer?) because they were IN LOVE (after, like, a day and a half at most) but their parents WOULDN’T LET THEM BE TOGETHER. The story featured dazzling moments of creative genius like … Brendan and May “sneaking” into Rustboro at the wee hour of 10 am, whereupon May ran into a lamp post somehow.

Later, Mark and Natalie appear to yell at our poor heroes and then at each other. Lots of yelling. In their first inception, Mark and Nat were basically discount Jesse and James but with less dress-up and queer subtext. Mark had a glorious moment of running while dragging his feet (?). Also, during a double battle against Brendan and May, I forgot about his zubat, so it fainted because “it was tired from flying,” despite having no feet and despite taking zero hits during the fight. Then Mark took shelter from the rain under a tree, where Natalie yelled at him some more and decided for both of them that they had to team up “temporarily” to get the red and blue orbs back from those meddling kids or something. I had grand plans for this whole plot where Natalie would kidnap May to get the orbs, but then May would end up in Magma’s hands (like a human hot potato), and Brendan would have to rescue her??? Something, something, Mark and Natalie see the error of their ways and team up to help Brendan and May … do stuff?

Anyway, I never finished it, and that’s definitely for the best.

I did revisit Mark and Natalie a few years later, though, this time for a story of their own called Out of Hand. I didn’t finish that one either, but I do have the original text this time (plus snarky comments and a “review” from me ten years after the fact). I can’t honestly tell you it was … good. Maybe good-for-a-highschooler. But! When I stumbled upon it again in 2018, there was enough in it that almost worked that I started to think about how I’d handle those themes and characters as an adult.

A lot has changed since then, but that 2010 draft of Out of Hand established some of the skeleton of Continental Divides. For example, that was when Archie became Natalie’s brother to help explain how she got involved in Aqua. I decided to keep that structure because it was a good way to let Natalie start as a neutral party/reader proxy and then quickly become embroiled in the conflict. It was also the first time Mark’s sister appeared, though I don’t think I’d decided what to do with her at the time except to use her as decorations in his angsty dreams, haha. His smoking habit also started in 2010. I, too, thought he’d quit “years ago,” in literal real time. Jokes on me—it turned out to be a useful way to signal the start of him losing control, the negative influence of Cora/Magma in his life, his hypocrisy, and his guilty feelings about things he’s burned. Scarlet appeared for the first time in this draft, too. I think I was equal parts trying to humanize Archie and to write my way through feelings about growing apart from/pining for someone. Her backstory took up a disproportionate number of pages in the old draft, but I liked the idea of keeping her around as a figure who could complicate Natalie’s relationship with Aqua and with Archie. The 2010 has a couple fights between Mark and Natalie that I respect for bringing real danger to the protagonists ... but also can’t help laughing at. They literally fight until they tumble over a waterfall, like a cartoon. Silly as those scenes are, you can also see how they laid a foundation for scenes like the fight in Chapter 9.

CD is basically me responding to Out of Hand with, “I see you and I raise you.”

2010-OSJ had some vague feelings about inequality and environmentalism, but none of it was very well thought-out. She mostly wanted to tell an enemies-to-lovers story, in part because she thought she was living in one IRL. Nowadays, I’ve got a lot of feelings about climate change, political divisions, activism and responsibility, corporations, policing, and whether or not violence is a good answer to certain kinds of questions. Hoenn is a safe space to explore those feelings. (It’s got pokemon, so it’s inherently more fun, right???)

Kyogre and Groudon are such obvious parallels to sea level rise/more intense storms and rising temperatures/wildfires respectively that I couldn’t resist. And in Magma/Aqua I see a lot of parallels to political conflicts happening in the US right now. The far left and the far right don’t share a vision of what a “better world” would look like, but they do share a mutual mistrust of “the swamp” and all the ways the government tag-teams with corporations to dunk on ordinary people. I’d love to believe that someday we could team up across the aisle to fight corruption together. It’s certainly hard to imagine how we could get to a better world with one half of the country pitted against each other … Something has got to give eventually, probably not peacefully.

My versions of Magma and Aqua aren’t exact parallels to the US political left and right—both are pretty left-leaning, for one—but I still find a lot of hope in the idea of two enemies from rival factions learning to (eventually) care for one another and work together towards common goals. At the very least, it’s something I can manifest and control on the page, and that makes me feel better about all the things I can’t control.

Editing and Rewriting

My first attempt at Continental Divides was inarguably an improvement on earlier versions of Mark and Natalie … but it still took quite a bit of rewriting to get to the draft that’s available to read now. The first draft in 2018 opened with what’s now Chapter 3, the protest in Rustboro. I had the right idea with “starting at the beginning,” but starting with an action scene was the wrong move: we didn’t know enough about Natalie to care when she was in trouble or to understand why she was making any of those choices. Moreover, even though the political content is important, this is ultimately still an enemies-to-lovers story: the beginning needed to center Mark and Natalie’s relationship. You know, to establish some interest before it all implodes. The next attempt ran a little long, though, and the current version condenses their initial meeting and Nat’s backstory much better. Maybe the next time I start a new project I’ll have an easier time knowing what makes a good starting point, but this time there was a lot of swinging back and forth to find a balance.

If you’re interested in seeing how my first chapter changed over time, you can see that here.

I’m really happy to have a first chapter I know is a solid representation of the subject matter, tone, and writing level of the later chapters. Getting stuck in an editing loop is a real danger … but if you’re ever going to edit part of your fic, let it be the first chapter. A good first chapter is critical to keeping potential readers onboard. I can tell from feedback that I’ve stuck the landing now.

Hope you enjoyed this not-so-little reflection on the origins of this story!

Some music (Spotify links):

Night of the Long Knives - Everything Everything

MMMMHMMMMM - Four Fists

#continental divides #pokemon fic #pokefic #pokemon fanfic #team magma #team aqua #fanfic #writing about writing

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vanchlo · 5 years ago

Text

The Assistant / Chapter Thirty, “Close Calls”

All chapters can be found here!

Inspiration tag for the story!

I recently completed a character survey from Becky’s POV that you should check out!

Warning! This story contains mentions of: cancer, vomiting, chemotherapy process, and brief mentions of blood.

Sneaky peeeeeeeek!

I want to tell him, but I don’t know how to. I don’t know how to put into words that I’m breaking more and more every day. The paradox of being happy and sad that I’m here with my dad for his next round of chemotherapy. And I sure as hell don’t know how to put into words to Harry that his one in a million hugs could fix everything, if only for a little bit.

But I can’t, and I don’t try to put the feelings into words. I sit there and cry inside of my car until I can’t anymore. And until I find enough strength to sit up and leave, knowing that I won’t call him back.

Snowflakes flutter in front of my eyes, painting the world white. Cars zoom past on the streets down below, the size of my fingernail. Yeah, it sure looks like the first of February out there, the thought sounds inside of me. The festivities of Christmas are long over as a new year has begun. Thinking of what comes next leads to a disorganized mess behind my eyes. I try to rid my thoughts of it with a hard blink, but instead it brings something else forth.

February 1st.

It’s Harry’s birthday today.

He’s 29. Shit.

Flipping my phone over in my lap, my thumbs get working fast. But once that empty conversation is in front of my eyes, I stall. Before I chicken out, words appear on the screen quickly.

I read them over and wonder how they sound. Or, more like, how they would sound to him. Do they sound too personal? Do they not sound personal enough? Or am I worrying too much and it’ll just blend into all of the other birthday texts he’s sure to receive?

“I think if you stare at that thing any harder your eyes are gonna pop out of your skull, Ree.”

I raise my head to find the voice who said that. My dad. He smiles tiredly at me a few steps away. I laugh, realizing he’s right.

“What’s got your attention so peaked anyways?” he asks. His eyes framed with exhaustion stay for only a second. They return to the Arsenal football match playing on the telly.

“Um, just trying to write a text to somebody. But I don’t know if it’s good enough.”

“Don’t think about it so much, sweetie. I mean it, you’re probably thinking too hard about it,” he comments, scratching at the blue wool hat covering his head.

Sometimes I still expect to see the IV tubing dangling from his skinny arm. Like all of the other times at the beginning. Patches of faded red cover the insides of his arms from them now. You wouldn’t notice their small marks, but I know they’re there. The seconds of relief from their absence is whisked away when he tugs at his shirt. The moving of the material reveals the tubing leading to the port in his chest. The one I forget has been there for months when his shirt covers it.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I tell him, and go ahead and hit Send.

Hi. I’ve been thinking of you. I hope you’re doing alright. Just remembered it was your birthday. Wow 29, huh? Damn you really are getting old, you geezer. You better hurry and claim your senior discount now. No, but really I hope you’re having a good day, Harry. Enjoy your day. Have some drinks and do something for yourself, something you enjoy. I hope 29 is a fantastic year for you. Hopefully you’re not as run down yet as Chandler is.

I tap Send again, watching the clip from F.R.I.E.N.D.S go with the text marked by a heart. A smile pulls up my cheeks, thinking of the scene.

The three guys are sitting on the sofa in Central Perk and Chandler talks about not being 21 anymore. He’s 29 now and just wants to relax and go to bed at his bedtime, according to him.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” my dad comments, bringing my eyes back to him. A small smile pinches his sallow cheeks. I nod, thinking of those words, but in a different way. If only that could be said about everything.

Setting my phone down, I try to watch the match with him. I’m glad it’s taking his mind off of the poison coursing through his veins. But I’m distracted by the anxious excitement of waiting to hear a ding from my phone.

Point after point is scored and it doesn’t come. And I try not to be disappointed, but I think I’m getting rather good at being disappointed lately.

The last words of a Katy Perry song trickle from the speakers as I put the car in park. A soft glow pours out the living room window, waiting for me.

6:13 pm, the digital clock reads.

I let my head fall back to the head rest. The events of today and their emotions flood my thoughts. As well as the things I still need to do tonight. Bring in the groceries. Put them away. Make dinner, even though he’ll eat 5 bites that he’ll throw up. Sweep and mop the kitchen. Disinfect surfaces. Find time to vacuum when he isn’t sleeping. Change his bedsheets. Do la-

Brrrrrrrrrrring!

The incessant words forming inside of my head cease. Looking over to the passenger seat, my phone buzzes face down. I pick up and answer it without looking.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Becks,” a refreshing voice answers. It almost removes the heavy words inside of me, but not quite.

“Hi, Harry. How was your birthday?” I answer, peering down at my lap.

“It was pretty fantastic, thank you. ‘m sorry I didn’ get t’ yer text yestaday. Tha’s why ‘m callin’, an’ ‘cause I got yer gift. I love it, it was so nice o’ you! I don’ have this Fleetwood record yet, so thank ya very much. ‘s in incredible condition, too! Hope ya didn’ have t’ pay too much. I know how pricey original records can be,” his syrupy voice utters with extra sugar today. It fills me with comfort, but he also picked the worst time to call. Although, maybe it would help to get out of my head for a few minutes. If I can.

“Yeah, you’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it. I uh, wasn’t sure if you had it or not,” I reply slowly, unsure of what to say. I find it hard trying to pick out words from my head as so many others are whirring around. Playing with the zipper on my coat, I wait for his reply.

“I can’ wait t’ listen t’ it. There’s not a scratch on it, ‘s unbelievable. I got sum drinks with sum mates last night afta work, so tha’s why I forgot t’ text back. Had lots o’ fun tho’, an’ ate sum good food,” he narrates for me in an animated voice.

I nod at his words, wishing that would suffice. But I have to talk, even though yesterday I would’ve jumped at the chance to hear his voice. Well, I still would today. Just minus the jumping part.

“Good,” is all I say, amidst the lump building in my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to breathe. But it doesn’t help, it never does. “I’m glad you had a good time,” I somehow manage. Cursing myself, I know he heard my voice crack at the end. Because so did I.

“Becks-.”

“I’m glad you had a good birthday with friends. It did sound fun. Um I’m sorry, but can I call you back? I was just going to run into a shop quick,” I cut him off, the lie knitting together fast.

“Ya sure, an’ thanks. ‘ll talk t’ ya later, Becks. Drive safe,” he replies, something amiss in his voice. But I can’t listen any further than that, or else the guilt will make the tears come sooner.

“Thanks, Harry. I will, and happy birthday,” I finish, not giving him a chance to reply before I hang up.

Because the tears already arrived at my last word. And he sounded so happy, and I couldn’t ruin it. Over the course of the few texts we’ve sent back and forth in the last month, it was the happiest he’s sounded. And I didn’t want to share my dark cloud, and reveal that I’m in the lowest of my lows. Another side of me selfishly wanted him to notice, almost begged him to. And that part is disappointed that he didn’t, but the other part knows that I can’t expect that. Or at least it tries to.

It’s going to take everything inside of me. To lift my head from the steering wheel and walk back into that house. And to do yesterday and the day before, all over again. Dole out the meds and write them down. Clean up the vomit. Cook the meals. Clean and clean. Endure watching the pain and suffering I can’t do a damned thing about. And on top of it all, try to deal with my own pain and suffering. Not to forget, the schoolwork.

I want to tell him, but I don’t know how to. I don’t know how to put into words that I’m breaking more and more every day. Or the paradox of being happy and sad that I’m here with my dad for his next round of chemotherapy. And I sure as hell don’t know how to put into words to Harry that his one in a million hugs could fix everything, if only for a little bit.

“Hey, Becky. Could you do me a favor, love?”

The pictures of puppies I was looking at suddenly feels illegal. Closing my laptop, I look up and find Sophie standing in front of me. I still think for a split second that she’s the mom from The Princess Diaries when I look at her, even after a year of working here.

“Y-yeah yeah. What do you need, Sophie?” I ask, trying to sit up straight, for once.

“Could you run this down to the post room for me, please? I need it sent out today, and I have a video conference in a minute. I’d wait on it, but I know they pickup the post in about 20. I won’t make it since my video conference is an hour long,” she says, her lips lined in scarlet grimacing. She tugs at the end of her corkscrew brown curls, a nervous habit of hers. “I hate to be one of those bosses that makes you do stupid stuff, but-.”

“Don’t mention it, Soph. A little walk would be nice, anyways,” I insist, taking the large white envelope from her. She thanks me with a smile and a handful of ‘thank yous’ before leaving.

Standing up, I feel my joints wake back up with a few cracks. I smooth down my maroon blouse over my black dress pants. A shiver tickles my spine, and I decide to slide on my zip up black Columbia. The last thing I do before leaving is to grab my steel water bottle to fill up.

“Be right back,” I let the girls know at the front desk. They nod with a smile before resuming their hushed conversation.

My pointed flats hardly make a noise on the tiled floor. It’s hard to look for a noise with the wind whipping around the snow outside. Just looking out the windows lining the hallway makes me feel cold, colder than it should be in March. And regret choosing these shoes this morning. I reach a corner and take a left, thinking back to when I first started and always got lost. I pass a handful of people on my way, familiar and not, and we exchange smiles or nods. I pass the doors for Human Resources, and wave at a friend. A gruff bailiff passes without either, but he was a little too scary looking to make eye contact with anyways.

I reach another corner, knowing the post room is only two turns away now. I take a right, but a few steps in, I hear voices. And laughing. My feet stop at the sound, and I turn around. The large doors to Courtroom 5 are down the hallway behind me. A clump of people stand across them talking, leaning against the wall under a clock. One of the laughs stands out to me from the others, like a musician can recognize a note. I can only see the backs of heads of those facing away from me. They shield the others from my view. My head goes from side to side with dismissal as I turn back around. But I don’t get very far, because I hear something they say.

A name.

It’s like it takes control of my limbs, and again I’m spinning around. I make it just in time to watch a figure break away from the group. Smiling and shaking hands, a laugh tickling their lips. And walk over to the drinking fountain. It’s Rose, one of the lawyers from Harry’s firm. Hmm, I think silently before walking away for real this time.

I soon find another water fountain and I decide to fill up. Luckily almost all of the ones I come across here have the nifty water bottle attachment. It was always a pain any place I’d go trying to fill it up directly from the spout. With the thick envelope under my arm, I screw the cap back on. Slipping my finger through the little handle at the top, I take off. But once again, I don’t get very far. Because this time I almost run into somebody.

“Sorry,” I automatically say before even taking a look at the person. But I don’t need to look when their voice tells me what I’m looking for.

“‘s alr- Wait, ‘s that you, Becks? Well hi, love,” Harry coos, his words catching.

“What, I don’t get an ‘it’s alright’ just because I’m not a stranger?” I joke, looking into his brilliant green eyes.

The skin around his eyes crinkles as amusement paints his face. Nodding, his growing curls dance a little on his head. “Yeah, I guess ‘s alright ya almost plowed me ova,” he jokes, his straight white teeth showing behind his happy lips.

Scratching at the back of his neck, his navy blazer pulls to the side. I see more of the cream button down underneath decorated with small navy polka dots.

“Hey, I could say the same thing about you,” I argue, trying to calm the happiness budding on my lips. But my control doesn’t last very long.

Harry replies with a breathy laugh, dropping his hand. “Oh hush, you. Now, what’re ya doin’ here, love? I hope yer not here fer a hearing,” he asks, swinging the leather messenger bag to his side. Probably heavy from his files and laptop, from the look of its bulging seams.

“I uh, work here,” I tell him slowly, my words escaping me. My fingers wrap around and lift the sleek card resting on my chest.

His moss green eyes fall to the lanyard hanging around my neck holding the access card bearing my face and name. I receive my answer when his expressive eyebrows shoot to the sky in surprise. “Here? Really, doin’ wha’?” he questions.

“Um, I do some clerk stuff back in admin,” I reply, watching his expression relax into a content smile.

“Tha’s great, Becks. That’ll look really good on yer resume when ya graduate. Good fer you, ‘m proud o’ you, darlin’,” he comments, patting my arm. I hardly know what to say with everything jumping around in my head all of a sudden. The arm pat. The beaming pride coating his features. The part where he said he’s proud of me, for the second time now. Okay, chill out, Becky. You can’t lose it, not yet. “An’ ya like it here? Are ya learnin’ more ‘bout law?”

“Yeah, I really like it. I work with a small group of people, and we get along really well. I mean there’s always that one coworker you don’t like, but what can you do?” I try to laugh, but I’m afraid it sounds fake. It’s okay though, because his laugh covers the doubt I hear in mine. And the nerves. “And I am learning, too. My boss is really great and I think she uses me being in law school to her advantage. It’s a match made in heaven, I guess.”

“Good, ‘m glad t’ hear that. ‘m happy t’ hear well, that yer happy,” Harry tells me with a smile framing his words. But when I look at it a second too long, I see the sadness in it. Suddenly, I regret my words, and how they sounded like he wasn’t a good boss. Or that I didn’t like it at his firm. But he doesn’t let me get too far into my thoughts, luckily. “How’s yer dad doin’? I haven’t heard from ya lately, but I undastand yer prolly real busy.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” I apologize, looking away with warming cheeks. But his automatic ‘’s okay’ and squeeze to my arm makes me look back at him. “Things have been pretty crazy with classes and being there for my dad. He started chemo again the beginning of last month, since they didn’t get all of the tumor, like they hoped they would. But I guess most people still do it to ensure it’s gone, or something like that. I can’t remember.”

“Stop, ‘s okay,” he says firmly, his eyebrows raising a tick. “How’s he handlin’ tha chemo? ‘ve heard that stuff’s pretty shitty.”

“Yeah, it is. It makes him really sick. It’s hard because sometimes he has to wait to do an infusion of it, because some levels of his are too low. Or they want him to be at a certain weight, even though the chemo makes him lose weight,” I explain, the words coming out effortlessly. “It’s hard to see him like this, and to still be a student and an employee during all of it. But my professors and boss have been really understanding and lenient.”

I bite back the tears, hoping they won’t fall without my permission. But one breaks loose from the gate as I stare at the floor. My flats are separated from his brown leather chelsea boots. Then after a blink they no longer are. I don’t make the decision to look up, but it’s made for me when I feel his thumb wiping the tear away. Peering into his gleaming green eyes always seems to make time stop. A warm smile places dimples in his cheeks, and does something to me. Like it always does.

“‘s okay. I can’t imagine how hard ‘s been fer ya, Becks. Why didn’ ya ring me? I woulda listened,” Harry asks me, his hand regretfully belonging to himself again. But there isn’t annoyance or anger in his voice. There’s emotions from the other side of the spectrum heard there. Like regret and sadness, and others I can’t fathom right this second.

“I wanted to, but I didn’t know what to say, or how to say it. Plus, I hate to be a Debbie Downer,” I confess, admiring the length of his dark eyelashes when they tickle his skin.

“Yer notta Debbie Downa, Becks, whateva tha bloody hell that ‘s,” he insists. A hint of his giggle meets my ears when I look at him weird due to that revelation. “Ya can call me anytime, ‘kay? Whether ‘s happy or sad, ‘d wanna hear ‘bout it.”

I nod at his words, savoring the sound of his voice. And what it said. His minty breath strokes my cheek as he’s close enough to touch. The words get lost in my throat as his familiar smell wafts over me, catching me off guard. “Thank you,” I mumble thoughtfully, seeing his head move in answer.

“What’re ya takin’ this semesta fer yer LLB tha’s so tough? I mean, I know all tha courses can be, but ‘m curious. Ya must be onto tha heavier courses by now, ‘s that right?”

“Well, I’m still catching up to where I should be as a kind of sophomore. Because they changed the degree around since I’ve been gone, so that’s kinda why I took Crim later than usual. But right now I’m taking Banking Law, Family Law, and Environmental Law,” I answer, watching my words register with him. He nods at certain parts, his brow knitted together as he pays attention to me, like there’s nobody else in the entire room.

“Ugh, those don’ sound any fun. I rememba takin’ those, or what were tha equivalent t’ ‘em when I was in uni. They’re tha ratha borin’ ones, an’ Family’s sad, too,” he comments, a look of disgust playing with his features. It’s amusing, but I get away with not letting it show on my face. Reaching to scratch his chin, I notice the stubble there. And the pops of color on his fingernails. Both fitting, I must say.

“Yeah they’re super boring. I’m surprised you even remember them, seeing as you’re 29 and everything,” I joke, earning a well deserved eye roll from him. But he can’t get rid of the grin showing on his raspberry lips. “Hey, I like your nails. It looks like you did a pretty good job, better than I could even,” I laugh and it grows harder when he holds them out for me to see. A wine red and turquoise blue decorate his fingers. But what gets me is that he puckers his lips, modeling like Zoolander.

“Thanks,” Harry titters, looking down at them. “Me little niece picked out tha colors an’ helped me paint ‘em tha otha night. But I think they’re growin’ on me. Already chippin’ tho they are, whatta shame.”

You let your niece paint your nails?

Wait, you’re an uncle?

Okay, the thought of you with tiny children is not helping things.

“You sound like a fun uncle.”

“Ya, I hope so. Harper says I am anyways, which ‘s quite tha compliment. Also, stop callin’ me old. 29 isn’t old,” Harry whines, sticking his bottom lip out at me.

“Oh stop it, you baby,” I giggle, and soon his joins mine. For a couple of seconds, we’re just looking at each other laughing and things couldn’t be better. But I’ve learned that good things can never last, and soon enough we’re interrupted by a voice.

“Harry, are you coming?” Rose says from across the hallway, a ‘hello’ to me following. The sweet sound coming from his lips soon fades as he looks over to her and nods. Pushing his sleeve back to look at his watch, he clucks his tongue.

“‘m afraid I can’ talk any longa, Becks. ‘m sorry. Rose an’ I are workin’ togetha onna case. It starts in half an hour, an’ we gotta go ova sum things befo’ it all starts,” he explains regretfully. I nod, acknowledging his words. And try as I might, I can’t get rid of the disappointment growing heavy in my gut.

“Yeah o-of course, don’t let me keep you. Good luck, Harry, knock ‘em dead,” I wish him with a small, but sad, smile.

A hint of one inches up his cheeks before he says, “Yer not keepin’ me, I dunno why ya always say that. I enjoy talkin’ t’ ya. ‘s nice t’ catch up again,” Harry tells me. As if in slow motion, I watch him take another step closer to me with outstretched arms. I follow suit and soon find myself in one of his hugs. “Ya ring me if ya need anythin’, ya hear me? Even just t’ talk. Maybe we could get coffee or tacos sumtime.”

The moment in his arms doesn’t last long enough, although I’m sure any amount of time wouldn’t be enough for me. Soon, I’m leaving the safety of his arms and again, I’m alone. “Of course. Thanks, Harry.”

“Welcome. Tell yer dad an’ Robbie ‘m thinkin’ of ‘em,” Harry rasps, and I just nod. “An’ take care, Becks. Good luck in yer courses, I know ya’ll do well.”

Happiness seeps through the sudden sadness with his kindness, and I muster a smile. And another thank you.

“Have a good day, love,” is the last thing he says, before he turns to walk towards Rose who waits for him.

“You too,” I mumble, watching him walk away.

Bittersweetness lines my thoughts, wondering if the sadness is worth getting to see him. And that hug. God, that fucking hug. They do fix everything that’s wrong, if only for a couple of seconds. It makes me wonder how much happier I’d be if I could have one of those every day, as a respite from the chaos of life. But that would only be in the case of if I was his-.

Yeah, I’m not going there again, I tell myself. And with that, I finally continue my journey to the post room, unsure of how I’ll be able to top that.

For the rest of day.

Week.

Maybe even, month.

The butter melts on my tongue and next the pillowy bread does too. I close my eyes and smile at the taste. Like home. Opening them again, my eyes flit over the half dozen crock pots and several other plates. Frowning, I can’t stop thinking about the meatballs, the macaroni and cheese, the sugar cookie fruit pizza, and the homemade bread.

But with a longing sigh, I walk away and leave the break room. Excited coworkers of mine pass me on the way to the food. My desk eyes me from across the room, but I ignore it. Soon, I find myself in the hallway. Twenty minutes left of my break after scarfing down the monthly potluck meal. It only gets better each month, and makes me wish it was weekly. The last bite of airy bread passes my lips. I wipe my hands on the napkin and toss it in a bin. The new storm delivers snow outside of the hallway-long windows. Although they’re frosted from the chill, I can still just make out the falling flakes.

My thoughts of snow are whisked away by the shuffling of feet. And hurried voices. It takes me a moment to figure out where I’ve gone off too. Soon, I realize I’m back by Courtroom 5. And that the people are bustling inside the doors to sit in the gallery. And watch. The sleeve of my zip up glides over my watch, revealing the time to be one o’clock. Quickly, thoughts come together like puzzle pieces in my head.

My break is over at 1:30.

It’s Friday, so it’s not like I really have anything important to do when I get back.

Sophie has been bothering me for ages to go and learn from the teachers I have just down the hall.

So she won’t mind.

And the only teacher that I can think I want to learn from is in there right now.

About to argue a case that appears to be available to the public.

I don’t remember telling my feet to move, but suddenly I’m behind an older man. And the scene in front of me changes drastically. It fills me with nervous excitement at the sight of the judicial panel, the jury box, and the witness stand. But I don’t have time to gawk, because the chatter around me is quieting down. I quickly find a seat towards the back of the seating in the gallery.

Silence follows the clanging of the doors shutting. Within a few seconds, everybody rises when the judge enters. But the rest of the room - the jury made up of all kinds of faces, the bailiff, court reporter etc. - melt away when I see that head of curly hair. I’d know it was him if we were in a crowd of people, but any doubt I had from afar is washed away when he speaks.

Harry and Rose take turns delivering their opening statement. They’re defending their client, the plaintiff, who from the sounds of it, was harassed by the defendant. It kills me to watch the opening statements unfold, even if all I can see is the back of the girl’s head. The hush over the courtroom is chilling, and goosebumps grow on my arms at the sound of Harry’s tone. His professional voice that I’ve yet to really hear before. Because although I worked for him, I was only his assistant. I never got to tag along to trials, or hear much about them. Yes, I did some of the dirty work for them, but I only saw the outside. I heard about how good or bad it was going, and then was dealt with the good news or bad news of the verdict. No more than that.

It’s awe inspiring to witness him arguing the case firsthand. The way he uses his hands to speak, or the times when his voice does all the speaking he needs to. His eloquent choice of words drills the emotion home, and is accented by the expression on his face. It’s often neutral, but at times, I watch him struggle to hide the effects of the words playing on his face. I find myself having a hard time doing the same when he returns to sit next to the plaintiff, patting her on the back during difficult moments. Unbeknownst to me, the defending lawyer may have been practicing for two years or twenty. But their skill wanes next to Harry’s, even though he’s been practicing for less than ten years. I can’t stand to watch the discrepancies and weaknesses in his arguments. Luckily, my break is over and I don’t care to waste my time watching Mr. Bow Tie over here.

I quietly leave a few minutes into his opening statement, hoping one day I can evoke as much emotion as Harry with my words. And hide from my face all of the ones that I’m feeling inside. Walking back to my department, a smile curls the edges of my lips. But then it falls, because I realize the mistake I made.

I just fell a little bit harder. Again.

“I’m gonna bring the dishes down,” I mumble, watching him nod at me.

The wooden steps creak with my weight as I juggle the tray of barely touched food. A bowl of chicken noodle soup. A piece of toast. And apple slices with peanut butter.

Options, options, options.

The plastic tray hits the counter with a hard slap, and an accentuated huff. I bend down and grab tupperware from the drawers. As I pour the soup into a container, the slam of a door upstairs makes me jump. My thoughts fly to the soup spilled all over the counter, but they stop when I hear another noise. Besides the tv in the living room, it’s the only other one I hear. It pulls my feet out of the kitchen and through the living room until I’m at the stairs. I take the steps two at a time until I’m at the top. The terrible sound carries down the hallway, leading me to the bathroom door.

I nervously rap my knuckles against the door.

“I’m fine,” my dad says from the other side, coughing.

“Dad, they said if it gets bad-.”

“It’s not bad yet,” he interrupts. There’s a pause when he blows his nose. “Please, Ree, I just want to be home. I hate having to go there.”

“I know, dad,” I reply, sighing when I hear him start to vomit again.

Walking away, I give him privacy. And my ears a break from one of my newest least favorite sounds. My fingers drift to my back pocket, sure of their actions before I am. Exhaling, I take a seat on one of the stairs.

It rings and it rings.

“Come on, pick up,” I mutter, bouncing my leg.

Kneading my temple, I listen to it continue to ring. And ring. Finally, it stops. But I’m not greeted by the sound I want to hear. Instead I hear their voicemail, making me groan. I listen to the old recording I’ve heard time and time again, but this time I just want it to go away. So I can hear the instructions, and that final beep.

“Hey, it’s me. J-just call me back when you get this, please,” I say quickly, the words running from my lips. Alongside the tears.

Dropping my phone onto my lap face down, my head falls in my hands. Noises surround me. Those of everyday life bustling around me. The sound of the laundry machine whirring downstairs. The hum of the tv. And the ones I try to ignore coming from the door behind me. The sound of the crying. And the vomiting.

I can’t keep my hands still. They go to rake through my hair. To cover my face. To play with my fingers. To make fists. I even try to sit on them, and it doesn’t help. And I can’t stop bouncing my legs, as my nerves jitter from the thoughts.

The worries.

The uncertainty.

It feels like an hour before I hear my twinkling ringtone. But when I see the time on my phone, it’s only been eleven minutes. I barely take the time to look at who’s calling before I answer it.

Clearing my throat, I say a shaky ‘hello.’

“Hey, I got yer message. ‘m sorry I didn’ answer, I was inna late meetin’, but I can talk now. ‘s everythin’ okay, Becks? Ya don’ sound so good, love,” he inquires. His caramely voice is the first comfort I’ve felt all day. My respite from this mayhem.

“No, I’’ll um, let you go. I don’t want to interrupt your meeting. I can call later,” I insist, guilt weaving its way into my words.

“No, yer okay, Becks. I stepped out. It wasn’t anythin’ important, anyways. I can have Myles tell me later. Now, wha’s goin’ on?” he tells me, but it doesn’t revoke all of the guilt consuming me. I grimace at the pain from my chapped lips when they smash together, salty tears flowing over their cracks. “Becks, talk t’ me, please. Yer not a botha, not ever. Please tell me wha’s wrong.”

“Harry,” I begin, not capable of any other words. Because that one has been constant in my head for the last twenty minutes. Ever since it started. It’s the one I’ve been holding in, and not been able to say, until now.

“‘m here, Becks,” he says. Never did I think three words could be so comforting. And at the same time, hurt so much. Because they’re true, and then they’re not. I want them to be true so badly I feel it in my veins.

“M-my dad . . . he won’t stop throwing up and I don’t know what to do. He had chemo yesterday, b-but it went fine. And then we had dinner tonight, and he hardly had three bites, before he got sick. It’s been like that all day,” I confess, leaning against the staircase railing. Letting it hold me there, because nobody else can. Because I can’t do it for myself anymore. “This happens sometimes with the chemo, b-but . . . . . it was getting better recently. I think I should bring him in like they said, but that means staying the night in the hospital. Again. I’m just so tired, Harry, I want all of this to be over already. I want him to be okay, and I want to feel what it’s like to be okay again.” I can’t get out another word, because the tears consume them. And the anxiety. And the exhaustion. My head falls to my knees and the hand cupping my mouth slides away.

“I think ya should bring ‘im in, Becks. ‘Specially if they said so. Don’ want ‘im t’ get dehydrated, that certainly won’ help things,” Harry murmurs, his voice quiet and controlled. “I know ya don’ wanna be there ‘gain, ‘specially twice in tha last two days. But he needs their help . . ‘s there anybody who can come an’ be with you? Maybe that aunt o’ yers who was at tha hospital that night? Robbie, or Skye? But I s’pose they’re 3 hours away in London . . . ,” Harry sighs, his words trailing off into the air. For some reason I nod, glad to hear that my reasoning for not wanting to ask them to come is valid.

“Yeah, it’s just me here. That’s how it’s been. Robbie and I switch off . . . But my dad doesn’t want me to bring him in, he hates going there. Being poked by them and everything. But he hasn’t been able to keep anything down all day,” I cry, the tears soaking the knees of my ripped jeans.

“Ya hafta bring ‘im in, Becks. What if ‘s sumthin’ else, like tha stomach flu or sumthin’ worse? He needs t’ be able t’ eat an’ drink in order t’ get betta,” he urges, and finally I decide to listen.

Nodding at his words and the truth they hold, my lips part, “I know, you’re right. I-I’ll bring him in. T-thanks, Harry, for answering your phone.”

Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I sit up slowly. “Course, Becks. ‘m sorry I was a li’l busy when ya first rang . . . Um drive safe, ‘kay? Maybe bring yer laptop t’ do schoolwork or even jus’ t’ watch Netflix. Sumthin’ t’ distract yerself - a book, or headphones fer music.” His suggestions meet my ears, but they go through one and out the other. They’re not the kind of distraction I want, I think selfishly, but the kind I want, I can’t have. Because it’s you.

“Yeah, I’ll bring something. Thanks, Harry. Have a good night,” I say in almost a whisper, exhaustion stealing my words.

“Yer welcome, Becks. Lemme know what happens, ‘kay?”

I mutter an ‘mmmmhmm’ before hanging up, and trudging up the stairs. Listening for the sound again is hard, because I don’t know what I want to hear. Part of me doesn’t want to hear the vomiting, but the other part oddly does. Because if it stopped then he’ll try to convince me that we don’t have to go in. But I hope it hasn’t, because there’s something at the back of my head telling me we have to. Making me think we need to, because something’s wrong. And I know that if he’s stopped, he’ll tell me that there’s no reason to go in.

My gray striped socks stop on the hardwood floor in front of the door. I knock before I can convince myself to wait. “Dad?”

No answer.

“Dad, I’m bringing you to the hospital. Something’s not right, I just know it. You need to be looked at, and they can help,” I plead from the other side of the slab of wood. A sigh meets my ears and the shuffling of a body.

“Okay,” he relents. I push the door open and am met with his tear-stained face.

Trying to ignore the smell I’m by now used to, I wet a washcloth at the sink. Returning to his side, I bend down and wipe his face with it. And then his mouth. Tossing it in the laundry bin, I wash my hands. Watching him as I do so, his frail figure is slumped against the closed toilet. Embarrassment blanketing him like a sheet.

“It’ll be okay,” I try to tell him. But as I watch his barely there nod, I’m not sure if I believe it either. “Let’s get you downstairs to the car,” I say, drying my hands.

It takes us awhile, to stand up together. To get down the stairs, one step at a time. To slip on his coat. To grab my things. And to drive to the hospital as he threw up into a bucket beside me. But we got there, and the worst part still awaits us.

It pains me to leave his side, but I can’t handle watching them stick him with needles. Or the blood. Not after everything that’s happened in the last 7 months. Combing my hair out of my eyes, I begin my walk down the hallway. Yet another one.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” I respond to the voice I could pick out of a crowd. I try to prepare my words, but I’m not sure what to say. I’m so tired. “I’m at the hospital with dad. Everything is okay. But he hasn’t been able to keep anything down all day, he’s been throwing up off and on. And after dinner, it got worse. They’re taking some blood now to run it for labs. I’ll let you know what I hear.”

“Shitttt,” Robbie replies, holding out the last syllable. Just like our dad. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Ree. I’m surprised he let you take him in, but thanks for doing that. Yeah, I guess all you can do is wait until they have the tests back. Hopefully you two can go home soon,” he says quietly in a tone the polar opposite of the one he answered with.

I echo his words with a ‘me too’ before there’s nothing else to be said. And I let him go. I call Skye too to tell her, and because I can’t go back yet. I just need some time. She talks my ear off, but I’m grateful for it. She tells me about work, her newest boyfriend, the weather, and a show we’re watching together.

After I finally get away from her jabber mouth, almost half an hour has passed. I find my way back to his room in the Emergency wing. As I walk in, he shoots a tired smile at me. One I can barely make out amongst the dark room.

“Early bedtime?” I ask, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He nods, barely able to keep his eyes open.

“Yeah. They did all their tests, and said it would take a little while, so fluids, anti-nausea meds, and naptime it is.”

“Good,” I respond, wrapping my fingers around his. Squeezing them, his dusty lips offer a laugh. Or the closest thing to one. He tries to squeeze back, but I barely feel it. It’s nothing compared to when he’d nearly break my fingers giving my hand a squeeze. Somehow his hands look older than the rest of him as I look. His skin wrinkles among his bulging veins, liver spots, and freckles.

“You should too, baby girl,” he replies, surprising me. My eyes return to his face where he’s opened his eyes to look at me. “You look exhausted too. Get some sleep, I know it’s been a lot taking care of me for this long.”

“Dad,” I begin, an argument forming in my voice. But I don’t get any further than that.

“You know it’s true, and you’ve been doing a fantastic job. Don’t let yourself think any different,” he insists, the area above his eyes raising. But it doesn’t have the same effect with his dark eyebrows absent from his expression. A whimper escapes my lips as tears obscure my vision. Lifting our joined hands, he brushes the back of his hand over my cheek. “Come here, my baby.”

It confuses me when his clean scent doesn’t surround me. But it’s there in a hint when I bury my face into his neck. His right arm pulls me against him, and I cry into him. It’s one of the only times I can remember doing this since this all started. I want to stay strong in front of him, but sometimes it’s too hard. I feel a warmth on my forehead, and my lips break into a smile at his trademark forehead kiss. “Get some sleep, sweetie. They’ll wake us with the results if they need to,” he tells me. I nod into him, feeling him scooch over for me to lay more comfortably beside him.

My words are taken away with a whooshing sound just as a ding meets my ears. A bubble appears at the top of my phone screen. With widening eyes, I hold down the bottom button for volume on the side of my phone. Peeking across the room, I exhale watching his chest lift and fall with every breath, his snoring greeting the air. My attention returns to the dings coming from my phone. I read the first one.

Me - a few minutes ago

Tests came back positive for some type of bacterial infection in his digestive tract. Starting antibiotics now. Keeping him overnight and until further notice for observation because infections can be scary with weak immune systems like his.

Harry

thx for the update. glad 2 hear it isnt anything 2 serious. its a good thing u brought him in when u did becks. thinking of u and him.

Thanks so much, Harry. I’m glad I did too. Looks like I’m sleeping on the couch again, yay!

Harry

get some zzzz’s love. might be a long nite. dont forget 2 eat.

Goodnight

My eyes don’t want to believe the clock when the growling of my stomach wakes me. Shuffling into the hallway rubbing my eyes, I swear under my breath.

“No fucking way it’s only 11 o’clock. Why can’t it be 8 am or something?” I groan, trudging down the quiet halls of the oncology wing. But I’m glad for the quiet compared to the craziness of the E.R. earlier.

Dropping my hand, I’m welcomed once again by the stinging fluorescent lights. And the packaged foods waiting for me behind the glass. Pulling my wallet from my back pocket, I scan the many choices. Hmmm, salted nut roll for once, hostess cakes, sour patch kids, hard pretzels, jelly beans, or Cheez-Its? I wonder to myself, blinking the sleep from my eyes.

Another ding meets my ears. But when I lift my phone to my face, there isn’t a new text popping up on my screen. There are some, but they’re from an hour ago or longer. Weird, I think, staring at the screen and reading the words.

There’s a cough as somebody clears their throat. “We’ve gotta stop meetin’ like dis,” they almost laugh, making me turn my head without a choice.

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