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snelbz · 3 years ago

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Tempting the Fates {Chapter 3}

Summary: It’s the final semester of Aelin Galathynius’ collegiate career and she is so beyond ready to be done. Her schedule is packed full of nursing classes and labs designed to test her knowledge and hone her skills for the real world and her “big girl” job. However, she needs one last elective to graduate, so she decides to study a subject she’s always been fascinated by: Mythology. Who would have thought that a class about gods and goddesses living complicated lives would end up complicating her own in such an unexpected way?

Word Count: 2807

Chapters will be posted every Wednesday.

Tempting the Fates Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Poseidon

– God of the seas, earthquakes, horses and tidal waves

Aelin had moved past hurt.

Now, she was just pissed.

It was nearly ten o'clock after her second day of classes and she sat cross legged on the couch with Lysandra in her apartment.

Her roommate had been a worthy rant partner thus far. She’d kicked Aedion out and supplied Aelin with an endless supply of alcohol.

“It’s official. I’m sitting in your Thursday class.”

Aelin groaned, taking a long drink from her wine glass. “Don't remind me that I have to go back there, please. The thought of sitting through an entire semester with him as my teacher… Oh, gods.”

Lysandra refilled Aelin’s glass.

“You’ve done the hookup thing before,” Lysandra said, shrugging as she took a drink from her own glass. “Just pretend this is one of those situations and he meant absolutely nothing.”

“That’s impossible, for two reasons,” Aelin said, adjusting the pillow she had squished between her legs. She held up a finger. “One, it’s not like the regular hookup situation where I might see him across campus or in a bar and we can pretend we don’t know each other. This is my professor we’re talking about.” She took a very large drink of her wine and held up another finger. “Secondly, it was supposed to be a hookup, but then he turned out to be perfect and I just…” She let her head fall back against the cushions. “Do you think I just want him because I can’t have him?”

“Maybe,” Lysandra admitted, but she hadn’t ever been in a situation like this. She and Aedion had been inseparable since high school. “What does your gut say?”

“I don’t know, they’re still in knots from where he rearranged them with his huge dick,” Aelin replied, draining her wine glass.

Lysandra nearly sprayed her wine across the couch, but she knew Aelin was well and truly drunk if she was talking like that.

“So, he still means something to you, then?” Lysandra asked. “Even after you found out he’s your professor, and also a little bit of a dick, apparently.”

Aelin shot her a look. “No, I’m drunk off my ass because he means nothing to me. Have you not been listening?”

Lysandra rolled her eyes. “Oh, I’ve been listening. But, after two hours things just start to blur together and not make sense.”

Aelin hit her roommate with her pillow.

Lysandra only laughed. “Maybe sit and think on it for a few days, yeah? Maybe it’s new and exciting and he’s hot as hell, but all that will fade if it meant nothing.”

Aelin nodded, slowly, fiddling with the stem of her wine glass. “And if it doesn’t fade? If it actually meant something?”

“If it actually meant something, then he won’t be forgetting about you any time soon, either,” Lysandra said, sipping from her glass.

She was still on glass #1.

Aelin had lost count of how many glasses she had drained so far.

“Doesn’t make it any easier now,” Aelin said, that hurt creeping its way back in. “You should’ve seen him, Lys. This morning, at his apartment, it was just…perfect. Then when he saw me in class, he was a completely different person.”

“Have you tried to see this from his perspective, Ace?” Lysandra asked, standing and heading into the kitchen. She handed Aelin a cold water bottle when she returned, falling back onto the couch next to her.

“Of course,” she snapped, opening the lid. “And I get it, it’s a big deal, but it’s not like I’m underage. I’m twenty-one, not sixteen. It’s not like he broke the law.”

“No, but I’m sure there’s a bylaw somewhere in his contract that says Don’t fuck your students,” Lysandra drawled, tucking her legs between her.

Aelin mumbled, “I bet it doesn’t say exactly that.”

“No, I’m sure it’s more along the line of inappropriate misconduct, but if we’re getting specific, it wouldn’t be hard for me to find an example,” she replied, leveling Aelin with a stare.

“Calm your pre-law ass down, I get it,” Aelin sighed, drinking from the water bottle. “His aunt is the president of the university. I wouldn’t want him to get into any trouble with her.”

Lysandra’s eyes softened. “He probably just got scared. I hear he’s a new professor. This must be his first year here. Hell, if he’s as young as you say, this must be his first year anywhere.”

Luck. He’d gotten the job purely out of luck, out of his connections to the university, and here Aelin was, jeopardizing his career as soon as it began.

“I’m being a bitch, aren’t I?” She asked, quietly, before draining her glass.

“You have the right to be hurt,” Lysandra said. “I’m not saying you don’t have that right, because I’d be hurt, too. But, I definitely think that this is complicated as hell.”

Aelin nodded, and took a drink of water before pouring the last of the wine into her glass. “We’re going to need another bottle of this, Lys.”

“I would just take you to the bar,” Lysandra said, “but I wouldn’t want to risk you fucking any of the other faculty.”

Aelin’s eyes snapped to hers.

Lysandra sucked in her lips to stop her grin. “Too soon?”

Aelin nudged her best friend, unable to stop her sputtering laughter. “Bitch.”

Lysandra caught her before she leaned back across the couch and held onto her shoulders, hugging her tightly. “I know this sucks, Ace, and I know you liked him. But just give it time. Either you’ll move on, which I can always help with, or something will happen. It’s not like you won’t be seeing him every other day.”

She sighed, resting her head on Lysandra's shoulder. “I know… I know.”

Lysandra reached for the remote, turning the television on. “What would make you feel better? Sappy love story, trashy reality tv, or a horror flick?”

“Trashy tv,” she decided, if for no other reason than it would be easy for her to block out while she still wallowed in her own misery.

Lysandra did as she was told, refilling Aelin’s glass again, and she thanked her best friend.

All the while, Aelin wondered how pissed Rowan was, or if he was feeling the same way she was.

A knock on Rowan’s door around nine-thirty had him closing his laptop and throwing it open. He groaned when he found Lorcan on the other side, walking back inside and leaving his best friend to let himself in.

“Alright, fill me in on Little Miss Perfect you took out last night. She was all you could talk about this morning, and then boom.” He sat down on the couch next to Rowan, noticing the half empty bottle of bourbon and looked at him. “Radio silence for the rest of the day.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he muttered. “Shouldn’t you be going home to your girlfriend?”

“She’s out with Manon,” Lorcan said, blowing off the question. “I’m bored, so talk.”

Rowan sighed, pushing himself up to go into his kitchen. He came back a moment later, two glasses in hand. He supposed he couldn’t continue to drink out of the bottle with company.

After handing Lorcan a half-filled glass, Rowan said, “It’s just not going to work.”

“You decided that quickly,” Lorcan muttered, his eyes remaining locked on Rowan. “Did you google her after she left? Find something cringeworthy?”

Rowan sipped from his glass. “She’s just not who I thought she was, that’s all.”

Lorcan scoffed. “You’re being vague.”

Rowan shrugged. That seemed to be the only answer he was going to give him.

“So what?” Lorcan asked, crossing an ankle over his knee and swirling the contents of his glass. “She lied and you caught her?”

“No, she didn’t lie,” Rowan said, dragging a hand down his face. “But it can’t happen. So it won’t.”

Lorcan raised one dark eyebrow. “First you say won’t, now you say can’t.”

Rowan emptied his glass. “What about it?”

“Well, which one is it?” He asked, leaning back. “Those two have very different meanings.”

“It can’t and it won’t,” he replied, giving Lorcan a pointed look.

Lorcan snorted, but took a drink from his own glass. “You act like she’s one of your students.”

Rowan didn’t say a word. He only stared at his closed laptop.

It took Lorcan a few seconds to understand Rowan’s silence. And a few more before he figured out how to make his mouth work.

And when he did, he started laughing.

“Are you kidding me, Whitethorn?” He asked, clutching his stomach. “You fucked your student?”

“Fuck off,” Rowan muttered, refilling his glass.

Lorcan was hardly able to breathe. “It was your first day at your first big boy job, and you already found yourself in bed-.” His words faded away as his laughter consumed him.

“It’s not like she’s some freshman,” Rowan snapped. “She’s about to graduate. Twenty-one. I just…” Rowan groaned as his face fell into his hands. “Someone had recommended the bar to me and told me the faculty hung out there a lot. I just assumed she was one of them, since she was the one to suggest the place.”

“Hate to break it to you,” Lorcan continued, still laughing. “But, people in their twenties don’t often land jobs at renowned universities. You’re the exception.”

Rowan continued to drink.

“Alright, alright,” Lorcan continued, taking a deep breath. “You’re five years older than her, so what? I’m four years older than Elide. Once you both hit twenty, age is just a number.”

Rowan shot him a look. “She’s a student, Lor. Maeve will fire me in a heartbeat over any sort of misconduct. This…” He just shook his head. “This position is a once in a lifetime opportunity that I probably shouldn’t even have. I can’t ruin it.”

Lorcan knew full well how harsh Rowan’s aunt could be. Before she’d become president of a prestigious university, she’d been the dean at the boarding school he and Rowan had spent their adolescence at. “So either move on or be careful and don’t let her find out.”

Rowan blinked at his friend. He was being so casual about this, when Rowan was freaking out both inside and out, which had required a two hour gym session earlier to calm his nerves.

Lorcan sighed and set his glass down. “Look, I really don’t see the issue here. She isn’t using you to pass the class, right?”

The thought hadn’t even occurred to Rowan, but he remembered the look of pure and utter shock on her face when they’d seen each other in the classroom. “No, it’s a basic gen ed. Plus I really don’t think she’d ever do that.”

Lorcan nodded. “Right. There are much tougher classes she could try and sleep her way through.” At Rowan’s simmering look at his choice of words, Lorcan held up his hands in placation. “I’m just saying, make sure she’s actually doing her homework and studying for her and don’t let Maeve find out.”

Rowan hesitated, but when his lips opened, nothing came out.

He liked Aelin. He really, really liked Aelin. And, yeah, it had been much more than a hookup. When he’d woken up that morning next to her in bed, he felt a sense of peace and satisfaction that he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

Then again, the way he’d snapped at her that morning, knowing that she had only said what she had out of anger - even if she had been correct - would be difficult to come back from.

Rowan had completely shattered her. He saw it in her eyes before she left.

“I don’t know,” Rowan said, at last.

Lorcan groaned before pounding back his drink and pouring himself another. “You’re always going to be the one to stand in the way of your own happiness, Whitethorn.”

He refrained from saying anything. Lorcan had always been the one to hop from girl to girl, while he had always been the one in a committed relationship. After his last relationship had…ended, he hadn’t wanted anyone for a while.

Aelin was the first spark he’d felt since.

“You’re into her,” Lorcan said, staring up at the ceiling to avoid any sort of eye contact while he said something nice. “I can tell. And, if you don’t go for it, you’re going to regret it.”

Rowan knew he was right.

Of course, he was right.

And yet, this job was the first job he had been granted in his field since graduating three years prior with his degree in mythology. Yeah, he may have gotten it because of Maeve, but that didn’t make it any less important to him.

He had the chance to get students excited about something he loved, something he was passionate about.

“Go home to your woman or shut up and turn on the TV,” Rowan muttered, downing the contents in his glass.

Lorcan only snorted and grabbed the remote, fulfilling Rowan’s wishes.

Aelin awoke the next morning with a slight headache and the same dull ache in her chest.

Knowing she needed to move, workout the bad vibes, she tossed up her hair and put on her workout wear before jogging to the gym.

She was still regretting signing up for even one eight am classes, and was thankful her Friday’s were free. She was looking forward to some much needed sleep, which was a lost cause right now.

When she was packing her gym bag, she decided to go straight to class after a quick shower, so she tossed it into a locker after she arrived, locked it up, and put her ear buds in.

The gym was still pretty empty this early, since it wasn’t even eight yet, and most people were too focused on their own workouts to pay attention to those surrounding them. Aelin was grateful for the distraction the gym would provide, and for the physical outlet, as well.

She was just finishing up a mile run on the treadmills when she felt eyes on her. She could tell she was being watched, but didn’t want to look around. Whether it was someone ogling her from across the room or someone from one of her classes, she wasn’t in the mood to make small talk and made her way over to the machines, starting on her legs first. She cranked her music up and kept an eye on the time on her watch.

When there was about forty-five minutes before her first class, she put the free weights she’d been using back in their home and turned to head to the locker room for a much needed shower.

And found who had been watching her during her workout.

Green eyes bored into her own and Aelin felt a blush rising in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the amount of energy she’d exerted this early in the morning.

Ignoring the voice inside of her head, Aelin stopped in front of Rowan, and nodded. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. His t-shirt clung to him, and it was a fact that Aelin could not ignore.

“I was just going to get ready for class,” she said. “Excuse me.”

She swept past him, but his voice pulled her up short. “Aelin.”

She stilled, and slowly turned around to meet his gaze.

“About yesterday,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck. Aelin found the gesture somewhat charming, although she wouldn’t admit it. “I’m sorry. I…didn’t handle the situation right. It all took me by surprise and I reacted poorly. I’m sorry.”

“S’okay,” she said, looking away from him, down at her feet. “I said some things I didn’t mean. I’m…not proud of it.”

He shook his head. “Let’s just…pretend all of it didn’t happen, yeah?”

She swallowed roughly. “All of it?”

Rowan sighed. “Just because we apologized doesn’t change anything, Aelin. You’re still my student.”

She nodded, not looking at him. “Right. No. I get it. I have to get ready for class.”

Making to slip around him, she got two steps away before his hand wrapped around her wrist. “Aelin, I’m… I’m sorry. I wish it wasn’t— I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

Daring to take a chance by looking back at him, it nearly destroyed what was left of her when she saw the sincerity in his eyes. “But wishing doesn’t change anything, does it?” Aelin pulled her wrist free. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

Rowan said nothing, but she saw that her shot landed in his eyes.

She shook it off, though, hurrying away, toward the showers.

Aelin knew one thing was for certain: no matter how much she cared for Rowan Whitethorn, there would never be anything between them.

Even if she wanted there to be.

#snacmc ttf #tempting the fates #rowaelin ttf #snacmc collab #throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius

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jocia92 · 3 years ago

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(Google translated)

Dan Stevens, who grew up in Wales and south-east England, spent his summer holidays at the National Youth Theater at the age of 15, and he was drawn to the stage while studying English in Cambridge. Since his big breakthrough as Matthew Crawley in the hit series “Downton Abbey”, he has also repeatedly appeared in films such as “Inside Wikileaks - The Fifth Force”, “At Night in the Museum: The Secret Tomb” or “Beauty and the Beast” . Most recently, Stevens played the Russian Schnösel singer Lemtov in the Oscar-nominated comedy “Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga” from Netflix. At the beginning of June, the German film “Ich bin dein Mensch” by Maria Schrader celebrated at the Summer Berlinale Premiere, which starts on 1.7. comes to German cinemas regularly. Stevens plays the role of a love robot in it. Unlike on the screen, however, the 38-year-old prefers to speak English in the zoom-conducted interview. He chose a brick wall with a lion motif as the digital background. No allusion to the song “Lion of Love” from “Eurovision Song Contest”, but a photo of the famous Ishtar Gate in Berlin’s Pergamon Museum, where “I am your human” was filmed last summer.

Mr. Stevens, in your new film “I am your human” you play a humanoid robot that is entirely geared towards fulfilling the romantic needs of a skeptical scientist. You yourself recently described the film as “delightfully German”. How did you mean that?

I wanted to say that here pretty big questions - such as what actually makes a person or how much perfection love can take - are negotiated in a very light-footed, elegant and sometimes humorous way. In my experience that is a very German quality. At least I have often seen with many of my German colleagues and friends that they are very good at not discussing difficult issues exclusively deadly serious and melancholy.

Where does your personal connection to Germany and the German language come from?

My parents had friends who lived in Bielefeld and we used to visit them in North Rhine-Westphalia during the school holidays. Traveled from England by car! That’s how I learned a little German as a child, and later I learned it as a subject at school. I even did a short internship there through our friends in Bielefeld. I really love the language. Funnily enough, I was later able to use my knowledge of German professionally, because my first film was “Hilde”, in which I was next to Heike Makatsch played the British actor and director David Cameron, who was married to Hildegard Knef. After that, I always hoped that there might be another chance to speak German in front of the camera, because playing in a foreign language is an exciting challenge. When the chance arose to shoot “I am your person”, I could hardly believe my luck.

Did you know the director Maria Schrader who gave you this chance?

Funnily enough, when the script for the film landed on my table, I had just watched the Netflix series “Unorthodox”, which she directed. I had also watched a few episodes of “Deutschland 89”. In general, I knew that she was a great German actress, not least because friends who knew their way around the German theater scene often raved about her. Working with her was a joy now. Her understanding of actors is quite instinctive and brilliant. I have seldom seen someone who can help an actor who is having difficulties with a scene with such simple means.

The fact that you had already seen “Unorthodox” shows, of course, how quickly “I am your person” must have been implemented in the past year …

Oh yes, that was really quick. In March I was still in New York and was about to premiere a new play on Broadway. But then the pandemic came, everything was canceled and I flew back to my family in Los Angeles. A few weeks later, Maria and I met each other via Zoom - and shortly afterwards I was sitting outside in a café in the Berlin June sun for the first time in months to discuss the upcoming shoot with her. That was pretty surreal because I hadn’t actually left the house since March.

Is it correct that you oriented yourself to Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart to portray the romantically programmed robot Tom?

In any case, these were role models that Maria and I spoke about. When you think of the game between the two of them, you always see an enormous clarity and directness. Cary Grant, for example, was always quite funny, especially in his romantic roles, but also flawless in an almost artificial way from today’s perspective. I found that very suitable for a robot. Apart from the fact that the ideas that Tom and his algorithm have of romance and love are certainly also shaped by the classic romantic comedies from Hollywood. Oh, the woman is sad, so I’ll bring her flowers! Such automatisms from the stories from back then were very appropriate for Tom now.

Keyword role models: Who shaped you in your career as an actor?

There were of course many. Jimmy Stewart was certainly something of a role model. My mom and I watched a lot of his films when I was little and I was always impressed by the kind of sweet tragedy that went into all of his roles. But maybe Robin Williams’ work influenced me even more. I always found the incredible variety of his films remarkable. He could make his audience laugh hysterically like no other, but also move them to tears in other roles. I always wanted to emulate this range.

In fact, the range of your roles is enormous and ranges from the Disney blockbuster “Beauty and the Beast” to a comic adaptation in series format such as “Legion” to bulky independent films such as “Her Smell” or the horror thriller “The Rental “, Which we just released on DVD. Is there a method behind this diversity?

Not in principle. I like variety, but I’m not just looking for roles that are as different as possible from one another. Rather, there are always similar factors that I use to select my projects. Sometimes there is a certain director that I really want to work with. Or the role itself is irresistible because it presents me with acting challenges. And sometimes a script is just fantastically written and I am interested in the topics it is about. With “I am your person” it was definitely the latter, especially since the timing was just right. In 2020 there were so many societal questions that ultimately touched the core of human existence. Such a script, which deals with something very similar in a light-footed way, was just fitting.

A few years ago you said in a questionnaire from the British Guardians that your greatest weakness was not being able to make up your mind. So every time you are offered a role, do you ponder whether you should accept?

No, no, when a script appeals to me, it actually does it very quickly. It’s such a gut feeling. If I’m unsure and skeptical, that’s a good indicator that this is not the right thing for me. That with the difficulty in making decisions related rather to something else. For example, it takes me forever to order in a restaurant because I can never decide what on the menu appeals to me the most.

You became famous with the role of Matthew Crawley in the series "Downton Abbey”. Did you immediately suspect at the time that something big was going on?

At first we were all pretty clueless. There are really many British history series, and we were one of them. When the first season aired in the US and was a huge success there, it was pretty unexpected. I never expected the impact the series would have on my career.

Barely ten years later, are you still being asked about the role?

Oh yes, regularly. Probably nothing will change about that either. I got out after three seasons!

In the meantime, however, the flamboyant Russian singer Alexander Lemtov from “Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga” should also be a character with whom you will be immediately associated, right?

Right, it has been mentioned more and more recently when people recognize me on the street. This charming, silly film obviously had a nerve with the audience last year in the middle of the corona pandemic. Especially since the real Eurovision Song Contest had been canceled.

The film was the number one topic of conversation on the Internet for a while - and Lemtov GIFs and memes were everywhere. Did you follow that?

It was really hard to avoid it. I wasn’t looking specifically for what people were posting. But of course my friends passed a lot on to me, and there were already some very funny Lemtov things. But he’s also a figure made for GIFs.

Another question every British actor under 40 has to put up with these days: Would you like to become the next James Bond?

Oh, of course, everyone gets to hear this question again and again who meets certain criteria. But it is completely hypothetical. Although a few years ago I read in an audio book by Ian Fleming’s “Casino Royale”.

You mentioned earlier that you and your family have lived in the United States for a long time. How big is your homesickness?

I actually feel very comfortable in Los Angeles. But every now and then I miss the sidewalk culture of European cities. People on foot, street cafes, things like that. Last year the longing for it was particularly great, although it was of course clear to me that there was a state of emergency in Europe too. In any case, I found myself reading books that were set in Europe and made me homesick. Which is why the unexpected trip to Berlin was really a boon.

You are also an avid cricketer. That’s certainly difficult in Los Angeles, isn’t it?

There are quite a few cricket clubs here. The only problem is that the few people who do the sport here are so good at it that I have problems keeping up. That’s why I always lose sight of the matter here a little. Even as a pure TV viewer, it is not easy to stay on the ball, because of course there is no cricket broadcast here at prime time. But as soon as I’m home in England in the summer, I really want to play again!

#ich bin dein mensch #i'm your man #dan stevens #maria schrader #faz.net #interview #long post

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thetravelerwrites · 4 years ago

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OkCryptid: Pevik Pikecarver (Goblin) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Male Goblin/Female Human Additional Tags: Exophilia, OkCryptid, Dating App, Goblin Content Warning: Adoption, Sex Words: 3159

A sweet commission for @mxnsterbabe! A woman uses the "Blind Date" function on the OkCryptid app, and is surprised by who she's matched up with. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

OkCryptid was becoming the most popular dating app on the market. It was free, easy to use, and had rave reviews from it’s users. There were no end to the happy couples, or poly relationships, that sang it’s praises. You’d never used an app to date before, but your recent disastrous attempts at dating had caused you to consider it.

You weren’t even sure what you wanted, honestly. You scrolled through the profiles with no real interest. You must have swiped through a hundred profiles before a graphic popped that said: “Can decide? Try the Blind Date Option! Click Here to Try!”

Why not, you thought? You clicked it, and it took you to a form page to put in days and times you’d be available for a date. After filling it out and clicking “Next”, it took you to another page that asked which locations you were willing to go to for this date. You picked out a couple of cafes and restaurants you liked, and clicked “Match Me.”

There was a loading wheel, then a message that said, “At the moment, there are no matches that have selected any of the times and locations you provided. We will send you a message with a date and time as soon as a match is available!”

Well, that figured. You closed the app and put your phone in your pocket, turning your attentions to other things.

It wasn’t until three days later that you got a notification, which you ignored at first since you were at work. It wasn’t until you got into your car and took a moment to check your email that you saw it.

“A date has been made for the 23rd, 6 PM, at the Rosemary Gardens restaurant. To accept, click ‘Date’. To decline, click ‘Pass’.”

There was no other information. After a moment of deliberating, you clicked “Date.” It was followed by a message that said, “Congratulations! Pevik will meet you at the Rosemary Gardens Restaurant on the 23rd at 6 PM!”

Pevik? That was an unusual name. You had no idea what to expect. You had to resist an overwhelming urge to Google the name and see what came up, or at least search OkCryptid for people with that name. The whole point of a blind date was to go in blind. Peeking was against the rules.

The 23rd was only four days away. You could wait. Maybe.

The day of your date with Pevik arrived and you had to admit you were a bit nervous. The not-knowing aspect of a blind date was always a little nerve-wracking. Should you be casual? Dressy? What if they were allergic to your cat and they had a reaction to the fur on your clothes? What if they went into anaphylaxis and died? Could you forgive yourself or your cat for killing someone?!

Okay, that probably wouldn’t happen…

But it could…Where was your epipen…?

Rosemary Gardens was a trendy place that required more presentation than jeans and a t-shirt, so you wore a simple sundress and cardigan, easy and cute. Light makeup, a bobby-pin or two, just to keep fly-aways out of your eyes. Nothing flashy or fancy, since you’d gone on disastrous dates before dressed to the nines and it had been a mistake, to the say the least. Red wine is virtually impossible to get out of silk chiffon.

You got there a little early, but when you told the hostess that you were going to be waiting for someone, she said, “Oh, are you here for Pevik?”

“Yes,” You said, surprised.

“He’s already here,” She said brightly. “Right this way.”

You followed the woman to a table across from the bar, and sitting there was a goblin. He had short black hair and long ears. His eyes were the typical yellow with slotted pupils and he had a cute little button nose. He had on black slacks and a blue button-up shirt on with shiny black shoes.

You managed to hide the fact that you were a little disappointed. You typically preferred men who were taller than you, and this guy was only slightly taller than your waist, at your best guess.

He was clasping and unclasping his hands over and over, but stopped and perked up as you approached, a smile spreading across his face. You could see small bottom and top tusks just poking out from his lips.

“Are you my date today?” He asked.

“I am,” You said, sticking your hand out and introducing yourself.

“Pevik,” He said. “Pevik Pikecarver.”

“That’s a unique last name,” You said as you sat.

“It’s Orcish, actually,” He said shyly. “I was adopted as a baby by orc dads.”

“Oh!” You said. “Wow, that’s amazing.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I get that a lot.” He looked up at you through his surprisingly long lashes. “I’m not exactly what you were expecting, huh?”

You shrugged a little guiltily. “I guess not.”

“I know. You were expecting me to have blue eyes, right?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. Poor guy. You imagined he got a lot of rejection but still had a good sense of humor.

“I get it if you’d like to end this early--” He started, but you interrupted him.

“No, no! I’ll admit, I had different… expectations, but you seem really cool. Let’s keep it going, if that’s okay?”

His smile widened and he nodded.

He was a social worker who insured elder care workers were qualified to do their jobs, in both retirement facilities and home care. He enjoyed his job because it reminded him of his dads, who had adopted him very late in their lives. You were sad to learn they had both died recently, making him feel very lonely. Usually he spent most of his time at work and with his two cats, Jenga and Fifi, who he inherited from his dads.

He asked you about yourself, eager to learn about your life and hobbies. The two of you had a lot of things in common, including tastes in music and movies, although he thought the depictions of goblins in fantasy films was super racist. You had to agree.

By the end of the date, the two of you had been talking for hours and the restaurant was about to close.

“I didn’t realize how much time had passed,” He said, staring at his watch. “I should go, I’ve got a lot of paperwork at home that needs doing, but I had a great time.” He seemed to want to say more, but was hesitant.

“Me too,” You said. “Do you want to do this again sometime?”

“Yeah, absolutely!” He said, brightening. “Anytime you want! Just let me know when you’re free.”

You laughed again. “”Don’t sound so eager! Let me give you my number.” You held out your hand and he handed you his phone. You put your number in it and texted yourself. “There. I’ll text you soon, okay?”

“I look forward to it,” He said, walking you to your car. “Take care, okay?”

“I will,” You said, wishing him a goodnight.

You texted him when you got home, letting him know you’d made it safe. You weren’t sure why you felt the need to do so, but it felt nice. He responded he had gotten home as well and wished you a good night’s sleep. You went to bed feeling a little giddy.

You woke up to a good morning text from him the next day and smiled all through your morning routine for work. You didn’t expect this…reaction…from one date. Pevik was admittedly not your usual type, but there was just something about him that made you… feel good. There wasn’t an initial spark, sure, but after spending all that time talking with him had completely changed your perception. Maybe it was his unwavering attention or his sweet disposition or sense of humor. Whatever it was, you were looking forward to seeing him again.

Your next day off was Tuesday, and even though he was working ten hour days for the whole week, he still wanted to have dinner with you.

>Won’t you be tired? You asked him through text.

>Not if I’m with you, He texted back. >How could I be tired when I have you there to invigorate me?

>You’re so silly, You said, grinning at your phone.

>Hopefully in a good way, He replied. >My lunch break is over. I’ll see you tonight at seven. I can’t wait!

>Neither can I. Have a good day at work!

>I will.

He met you at a cafe that Tuesday still wearing his work badge on his button-up shirt.

“Sorry,” He said, taking it off and stuffing it in his pocket. “I came straight from work.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” You said. “We could have made the date a little later.”

“Nah, if I sat still, I’d have fallen asleep. Besides, I was excited to see you again and I didn’t want to wait.”

You could feel yourself blushing and tried to keep the smile off your face.

“I must seem like a weirdo,” He said, kicking his feet a little in embarrassment. “Being so happy to see you all the time, I mean. I know I should be kind of aloof and cool, but I can’t help it. I just feel like a puppy left alone for too long.”

“No, it’s really sweet,” You assured him. “Honestly, no one has ever showered me with so much attention before. It’s kind of nice. I expect guys to act aloof and disinterested at first, so it’s refreshing.”

He laughed self-consciously. “I’m glad. I’m always concerned that my enthusiasm is grating on people.” The two of you sat and ordered your coffee and treat from the waitress.

“I was thinking, actually,” You said slowly. “I hope this doesn’t seem forward, but I have the weekend off and was thinking of cooking for the first time in a while. Like, a full spread. I don’t often cook because it’s just me, but I’m pretty good at it. Would you like to have dinner at my house?”

He gulped but nodded. “Yes, that sounds lovely, thank you.”

“Well, don’t thank me yet. My cooking is either incredible or horrifying nightmares, and there is no in-between. No guarantees which one you’ll get.”

He laughed again. “Well, no one’s perfect.”

After coffee, he was walking you back to your car when you saw a bench.

“Hey, can you stand up on here for a sec?” You asked.

He hopped up effortlessly. “Sure, what for?”

You pinched his chin in your fingers and kissed him. He took your face in his hands and pulled you in closer, and you could feel his small tusks between his teeth. It was exciting.

That Friday, you were in your kitchen, stirring red sauce in a saucepan, when there was a knock on your apartment door. Your heart rose up in your chest and you went to open the door. Pevik stood there with a really beautiful bouquet flowers.

“Not to be cliche, but,” He said, grinning. “For you.”

“Thanks,” You said, taking them and sniffing. “Let me see if I have a vase.”

You did not have a vase, but you did find a liquor bottle with a wide neck and used that to decent effect.

“I was praying you weren’t allergic to any of those. I couldn’t ask without being obvious, so I also got this,” He pulled a bottle of Benadryl out of his pocket. You laughed out loud.

“Very thoughtful,” You said, taking it. “It reminds me of just before our first date and my wondering if you’d have an allergic reaction to my cat’s fur and if I should bring my epipen.”

He laughed with you. “So, what’s on the menu tonight?” He hopped up on one of the stools at the bar in your kitchen.

“Stuffed bell peppers with a spring greens salad,” You said.

“That sounds amazing,” He said. “I eat way too much take out, but I never have time to cook.”

“Well, maybe I can cook for you more often. We could even cook together.”

He smiled. “I love that idea.”

You pointed to a stepstool you bought recently. “Want to help me stuff my pepper?”

He snorted and struggled to keep a straight face. “Sure.” He grabbed the stool and stood up next to you, taking one of the knives from the block and cleaning out the peppers. On the stool he was only slightly shorter than you, perfect height to lean in for a sneaky kiss on the cheek, so you did.

He jumped but gave you a startled smile, returning the kiss. The two of you worked together to finish dinner, stealing kisses as you did. When his hands weren’t occupied, he lay one of them on the small of your back, stroking up and down your spine a little. It made you bite your lip and squeeze your legs together.

The tension between the two of you was getting thicker by the minute, and by the time you both had sat down to eat, you were throbbing between your legs and shooting him sultry looks. You ate in relative silence because you didn’t trust yourself to talk, but your unshod foot found it’s way up his leg and between his thighs.

Halfway through dinner, he couldn’t take it anymore and threw down his silverware, standing and coming around the table to kiss you roughly. You pulled him into your lap and began unbuttoning his shirt as his lips made their way to your neck and collarbone, palming your breasts through the fabric of your blouse.

“Bedroom?” You asked breathlessly.

“Oh, gods, please,” He wheezed back, and you lifted him, carrying him to your room. He was heavier than he looked, but he was still light enough to carry a short distance. The both of you fell heavily on the bed with you on top of him. He pulled your blouse off just as you unbuttoned the last button and tugged the hem of his shirt out of his pants. He rolled you, straddling your legs as he undid your pants and helped you get them off.

Undressing each other took no time at all, and you lay back on your pillow as he kissed his way down your stomach. The pressure of his tusks pressed against your skin was like small charges, electrifying your body. His hands massaged your thighs and opened you up as he got lower, his long nails poking you slightly as he went.

“You’re okay with this, right?” He asked softly, his thumbs rubbing circles so very close to your swollen entrance. “I’m not moving to fast, am I?”

“If you’re moving too fast, I am, too,” You said. “It’s okay. Trust me, I’m perfectly happy with how things are going right now.”

He chuckled. “Just checking,” He replied before lowering himself down. His tongue licked one long strip from bottom to top before the pointed tip of it circled your clit, flicking it once or twice to make you whimper. Then he licked his thumb and used it to rub your bud up and down while he pushed his tongue inside you, moaning against the skin, contracting it against that sweet spot. You cried out and gripped his hair, rocking your hips back and forth.

Your breasts shuddered with every quivering breath that escaped your lips as he took his time pleasuring you. He was a little rusty, but he was more than happy to take direction, and your mind blanked as a rush of ecstasy washed through your body. You were completely unable to control the sounds that came out of you.

You lay on your pillow looking down at him as he got up on his knees, pushed your legs back, and lined himself up with your body, slowly pushing his cock inside, groaning and shutting his eyes.

“Oh, gods,” He whispered. “That’s so good. You feel incredible.”

“I could say the same to you,” You replied breathlessly. He wasn’t long, but definitely girthy and stretched you open pretty wide without being uncomfortable.

He opened his eyes and looked right at you, as if confirming that you wanted this. You bit your lip and fluttered your lashes a bit in a way you hoped looked appealing. He smiled and began to thrust, bending to kiss your belly and breasts. He gripped your hips hard and slapped his body against yours pretty hard with each thrust. It was exhilarating and you pressed your ankles into his buttocks to drive him faster.

He definitely took the hint, and your bedframe was smacking the wall with the intensity of his movements. Time completely blurred and it was as if the two of you were in a bubble in which nothing could enter in or leave until you both were sated. You couldn’t remember if any words were said from that moment on, whether by you or him, and fell into the fog of the best sex of your entire life.

You weren’t sure if you fell asleep or passed out, but there was definitely a moment were you simply weren’t conscious anymore. When you came back to the living world, a soft morning light was filtering in through the curtains of your windows. Pevik was asleep against you, his head on your shoulder and an arm around your waist. He looked adorable sleeping. You had thought to extricate yourself to start breakfast, but you woke him.

“Good morning,” You said as he began to blink blearily.

“It is a most excellent morning,” He said, smiling his toothy smile. “Last night was… beyond anything I’ve ever experienced. I think you’ve spoiled me for any other woman.”

“Well, hopefully, you won’t be needing another one,” You said. “In fact…” You grabbed your phone from your bedside table and clicked open the app.

“What are you doing?”

“Uninstalling it,” You said. “I’ve got you now. I don’t need it anymore.”

His grin widened. “You know what? You’re right.” He retrieved his phone from his pants pocket and uninstalled the app as well. “It served it’s purpose. No point in wasting the memory space.”

You lay back down on the bed with him propped up on one arm, looking down at you.

“I’m glad you decided to give me a chance,” He said to you, kissing your shoulder.

“I’m glad I tried that blind date thing,” You replied. “It’s hard to believe that if I had clicked a different button, we may never have met.”

“Life is funny that way,” He said.

You smiled softly at him and gave him a sweet kiss. “Right now, life is telling me we need waffles.”

“It’s important to listen to messages when we receive them,” He said magnanimously, then chased you into the kitchen, tickling you as you went.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #OkCryptid #Goblin #Dating App #Monster Boyfriend #Pevik #Mxnsterbabe

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captainkippen · 4 years ago

Note

idk if you're still taking prompts but, TJ as a tattoo artist and Cyrus getting his first tattoo. i love your writing so much, my friend and i just spent an hour talking about how much we love 1986 and best laid plans kskskskss

This ask is literally like over a year old, I’m so sorry. Thank you for your kind words about my fic though!

The Sun Sets Of Itself

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Cyrus said, peering into the studio.

Behind him, Buffy and Andi shared an unimpressed look. They’d been through this entire song and dance at least three times since they got on the bus to get to the shop, and that had been after the several months of Cyrus going back and forth on whether it was a good idea or not.

“Dude, if you don’t want to do it you don’t have to,” Buffy sighed.

Cyrus worried at his lip for a moment, eyes flicking up to the intricately painted lettering.

‘DARKSIDE TATTOOS.’

The studio had a five-star rating on Google. Its reviews all said the shop was clean, the staff polite and the artwork itself was of excellent quality. Cyrus had spent weeks pouring over their Instagram, checking out the individual artists and stressing out about the exact wording of his booking email. It was perfect.

“But I do want to,” he said.

The girls groaned. Andi looked heavenward with an expression on her face that said Cyrus might die by her hand if he didn’t walk through that door in the next ten minutes.

“Look,” she said. “Like Buffy said, you don’t have to, but you know if you don’t you’ll end up regretting it. This was your idea dude.”

It was true. He had wanted it badly enough that he’d gone to his Rabbi to talk through it. The idea had been sitting in his head since he was thirteen; a rose for his Bubbe, just over his heart, with her favourite phrase written underneath in Hebrew.

“Okay,” he said, bracing himself with a deep breath. “Okay.”

A small bell tinkled overhead when he pushed the door open and within an instant, a blonde head popped up from behind the desk at the front. The girl raised an eyebrow at the three of them and zeroed in on Cyrus.

“Cyrus Goodman?” She asked.

He nodded mutely.

“Awesome! Okay, I just need you to sign these forms for me before you can get started. Do you have your I.D on you?”

He pulled his driver’s license out from his pocket and handed it over, taking the clipboard of papers from her as she checked it over. After seeming to decide that he was not, in fact, lying about his age, she turned and bellowed towards the back of the studio.

“TJ! YOUR TEN THIRTY’S HERE!” She then turned back to him, smiling sweetly. “You can take a seat over there. He’ll just be a minute.”

Cyrus spent the next ten minutes sitting with Buffy and Andi on a small rustic bench, bouncing his leg restlessly and taking in the artwork that filled the walls. It was obvious that each wall was dedicated to a different artist, the styles all unique and eye-catching in their own way. There was a small collection of framed watercolour pieces above Andi’s head that had captured her interest and, across from them, several traditional pin-up pieces were displayed. The longer they sat the more tattoos Cyrus wanted, but the more terrified he got at the same time.

“What if this is a mistake?” He whispered to Buffy. His attempts at subtlety were lost, though. From where she was filing her nails at her desk, the blonde girl looked up and smirked. She was quite scary, actually.

“You’re overthinking it again,” Buffy hissed back.

He sighed. She was right. What he needed was a distraction. Maybe he should’ve brought his knitting with him. He still had a sleeve to go on the sweater he was making for Bex, after all.

Just as he was pondering how well knitting might have distracted him from the thought of permanently etching a piece of art onto his chest, a rather different distraction showed up.

“Cyrus Goodman?” Came a voice.

When he looked up, his jaw dropped. Standing there waiting was the prettiest guy Cyrus had ever seen. He looked like he’d walked straight off the cover of an alt-rock magazine. Tattoos covered his arms and neck and his hair was carefully shaved into a sharp undercut. He even had the gauges in his ears that Jonah was always saying he wished his mom would let him get. Beneath the fluorescent lighting, his green eyes seemed to glitter. Cyrus was aghast.

“Catching flies there, Cy,” Andi murmured, and he snapped his mouth shut.

“I’m TJ,” Tall, Punk and Gorgeous said, offering Cyrus a hand. “You ready to go?”

When Cyrus had finally gotten himself together enough to greet TJ properly, he’d followed him to his section in the back.

“Are your friends coming?” TJ asked.

Buffy had interjected quickly enough with her, “It’s cool, we’ll wait here.” And Cyrus wasn’t sure if he was grateful or not. On the one hand, he didn’t need to embarrass himself in front of all three of them, but on the other… he kind of wanted someone there to tell him to stop being a weenie when the needle started up.

TJ smiled at him all the way through agreeing on the design he’d drawn up, Cyrus taking off his shirt and getting the near purple outline copied onto his chest. Cyrus thought he might vibrate out of his own skin.

“I’m glad you messaged me for this,” TJ said as he prepared the ink.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I really like doing flowers, especially when customers let me do the whole design. They always turn out exactly how I pictured them.”

Cyrus laughed nervously. “That’s good. I really like what you came up with - the gold detail on the petals was a nice touch.”

TJ grinned as he pulled out the gun.

“You ready?”

No.

“Sure,” Cyrus squeaked.

“Tell me if you want a break.”

The pain wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. After a moment he even found himself relaxing. For some reason, he’d assumed that it would be a silent encounter, but TJ chattered on as he worked. He asked about Cyrus’ degree, getting excited when he mentioned film and going on a tangent about Fight Club. For a brief moment, Cyrus was worried he was about to reveal himself to be one of those men who called other people ‘snowflakes’ unironically, then found himself surprised and delighted when TJ started talking about the inherent homoeroticism of Tyler Durden’s character. After a while, Cyrus found himself chatting back just as happily. He hadn’t expected the two of them to have so much to talk about.

“So, what does it mean?” Asked TJ, after finishing up a long-winded rant about the coffee he’d spilt all over Amber - his sister and the girl at the front desk apparently - earlier that week on one particularly bad morning.

“Huh?”

“'The sun sets on its own.’ Is that right? I ran the words through a translator, but the internet screws it up sometimes.”

Cyrus smiled, trying to glance down at the tattoo without moving too much. TJ had just started on the words.

“Almost,” he said. “It’s ‘the sun sets of itself’. It’s an old proverb from the Talmud. My Bubbe used to say it to it me a lot when I was worried about something. I think she meant it kind of like 'life goes on’, but I don’t know if that’s actually what it means though.”

TJ nodded, smiling back. “That’s pretty cool. Is that why you’re getting this, then? For your Bubbe?”

“Yeah, she died a few years ago but I figured it would be a nice way to honour her. She was really into art.”

“Sounds like a cool lady.”

“She was.”

When they finished up, Cyrus was surprised to find disappointment settling in. Not with the artwork, which looked just as wonderful as he had hoped, but with the fact he had to leave. TJ’s smile and warm manner seemed to be strangely addictive. He wanted to know everything about him.

“Think you’ll be coming back anytime soon?” TJ asked, leaning against the desk as Cyrus handed a wad of bills over to Amber.

“Definitely.”

“Thank God,” TJ said, looking genuinely relieved. “I was worried this would be my only chance to ask you out.”

Cyrus left the studio bright red, grinning and with TJ’s cell number programmed into his phone. Buffy and Andi could tease all they wanted, but getting a tattoo had definitely been a good idea.

#andi mack #tyrus #my writing #tj kippen #cyrus goodman #buffy driscoll #amber kippen #Anonymous

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Klaine Advent Drabble 2020 - “Up in the Air” (Rated PG13)

Summary: Kurt is heartbroken after his plans for a romantic Christmas with Blaine are demolished when he gets locked into a flight he'd been trying to switch. Blaine reassures him that it will be okay, that they'll have their romantic celebration when Kurt's feet are back on the ground. But is Blaine possibly hiding a secret that just might sweep Kurt off his feet? (1638 words)

Notes: Written for the @klaineadvent Drabble Challenge 2020 prompt 'join'.

Read on AO3.

“Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!” Kurt grumbles, rushing down the corridor that leads to his gate with his carry-on in tow and his heart pounding, trying to give off the impression that he’s not rushing.

Appearance is everything in the flight attendant game.

He was supposed to get an hour sit before this flight, but the one he was on was late by close to forty-five minutes! He has roughly a minute-and-a-half to reach his destination, covering the distance of two football fields, and that’s not the crappiest part of his day.

“Pick up pick up pick up pick up! Blaine! Ugh!”

This is the fifth time he’s tried to get a hold of his boyfriend to tell him the bad news. Try his hardest, he couldn’t trade this flight out for one that leaves after the holiday.

His plans to join Blaine for a romantic Christmas have officially been canceled.

“Pick up pick up pick up pick up,” he chants as he checks in with security and heads for the boarding area.

“You’re late,” his friend Monica teases.

“I had three seconds to make it here from the complete other side of the airport,” he replies with a forced smile for the waiting passengers. The flight attendants can get away with making snide remarks as long as they keep a smile on their faces.

“At least you did it in flats!"

"Wah wah wah," Kurt teases back, giving Blaine’s number one last try before he'll need to turn off his phone and stow it away for the duration.

He's in for a long night - a soul-crushing series of flights, each one taking him farther and farther away from the man he loves.

Finally, Blaine picks up.

“Hey! Kurt! I was hoping you’d call!”

He sounds eager, Kurt thinks. Shit! “Hey.”

“Are you okay? It sounds like you've been running.”

“I have.” Kurt stops in the crook of the tunnel, out of sight from both doorways, to catch his breath. He has one precious minute before he has to perform his pre-flight checks with the crew. And here he is, spending it breaking a wonderful man’s heart. “Look …” He squeezes his eyelids tight, on the verge of frustrated tears “… I’m sorry, Blaine. It’s not going to happen.”

A moment of confused silence. Then realization. “Oh, no! Shoot!”

“I warned you there was a four percent chance it actually would. It’s impossible to make plans over the holidays. It would have taken a miracle.”

“Yes, but, Christmas is the time for miracles.”

“I know, I know,” Kurt says in a shaky voice. “Don’t make me feel worse than I already do.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Blaine says in a soothing voice. “I understand.”

“I know you do.” Kurt sniffles, pulling a handkerchief from his inside jacket pocket and dabbing under his eyes before they can get puffy. “It’s just … I know how I am. I’m the clingy, jealous type. I want to see you 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I don’t want you to resent my work. Or me.”

“Kurt, I could never resent you! I knew what I was getting into. This is one trip you couldn’t switch, and I understand why. This is just a hiccup. That’s all.”

“A hiccup on one of the most important holidays of the year.”

“There will be plenty of time after the holiday rush for us to spend together. I’ll see you soon. We’ll lie in bed together, hold each other in our arms, and it will be better again. You’ll see.”

Kurt nods in response even though Blaine can’t see. “I’m trusting you.”

“I appreciate that.”

Kurt hears footsteps hurry down the ramp, Monica whispering, “Hurry up, Kurt! We have to go!” as she passes. He watches her disappear around the corner and onto the plane. He sighs. “I love you, Blaine.”

“I love you, too. Have a good flight.”

“I will,” Kurt chokes out, blowing a kiss into the phone. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

Kurt hangs up and shoves the phone into his pocket. He grabs the handle of his carry-on and continues on his way. Halfway down the ramp, his phone buzzes in his pocket. Before he even takes it out to check it, he knows it’s a message from Blaine.

He should have waited until he got on the plane where there’s a bathroom to duck into because it unravels him more than he is.

I love you, Kurt. And I’m pretty sure I always will.

***

Kurt doesn’t want to be here.

He doesn’t want to be flying over Miami on Christmas Eve.

Not when he has a sexy man at home waiting to see him again.

Kurt loves his job. He really does.

He stumbled into it unexpectedly. It was supposed to be a stop-gap while he worked his way to Broadway - something to pad his bank account, keep food in his belly, and a roof over his head while he got to experience life, hone his craft. And even though he's held on to his dreams of Broadway fame, this job stuck. He has never regretted a single flight in his entire career …

… until this one.

God, what he wouldn’t give to be at home right now, watching cheesy movies on Lifetime, snuggled in Blaine’s arms!

Kurt doesn’t pay much attention to the passengers as he maneuvers the beverage service down the aisle, dishing out Diet Cokes and mini bottles of vodka and Crown Royal. He makes eye contact, nods and smiles, but that's it. He can perform this part of his job on autopilot, has perfected the art of appearing engaged while, in his mind, he goes over notes for an audition or takes a stab at writing his memoirs.

He knows the bare minimum about the passengers on this side of the plane from the things they let slip out of excitement or need - an older lady flying to see her daughter for the first time in ten years, an unaccompanied minor, a row of sorority sisters on a holiday excursion. Everyone is mellow, polite when he stops to ask them what they want from the cart. But there’s always one clown in the bunch.

And Kurt finds his sitting in Row 27, Seat E.

“Soda?” Kurt asks. “Coffee? Tea?”

“A medium drip, please? Or maybe a flat white?”

“A-ha. That's one coffee black for you,” Kurt says, his tone chipper, but sharp around the edges, barely glancing at the man as he hands over his drink.

"Perfect. Thank you, Kurt."

"You're very welcome." Kurt internally groans when the man uses his name. The airline requires all customer-facing employees to wear a name tag for passenger comfort "in a time of need" (or so says the employee literature). In this age of social media, it's used more by the Karens of the world to flame what they consider 'inappropriate conduct' without impunity. All claims are thoroughly investigated, and require passenger and employee corroboration before disciplinary action is taken. But it's gotten to the point that he doesn't Google his name and the name of his airline in the same sentence anymore.

It keeps him sane.

Kurt doesn't mind passengers knowing his name.

Just so long as they never use it.

But this man said Kurt's name like he owns it, and that Kurt doesn't appreciate. Not from strangers.

Kurt's eyes flicker up once it hits him.

He knows that voice.

But how in the hell can it be here?

'I'm projecting,' he thinks. 'I miss my boyfriend, I wish that he was here, but he's not here. No. I'm not going to look at the occupant of this seat and see ...'

“Blaine?” Kurt stares at 27E perplexed. It is him! Unless there's been a gas leak the pilot hasn't told them about yet, Blaine is sitting right there, looking as adorable as ever! Maybe more so, his smile bright and goofy with his master plan revealed. “Blaine!”

“Well, well, well ...” Blaine turns in his seat, attempting a casual recline against the rigid armrest, masking the pain on his face when its sharp edge digs into his back. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“I didn’t know you’d be …! Wha---when did you even get a ticket?”

“A few days ago. Your friend Monica helped me with the details. I had to grease a lot of wheels, seeing as most holiday flights were already packed, but I’m on every one of your connections. I figured we can spend your layover together.”

“And what if I had managed to get the time off?”

“I would probably be out close to a few thousand bucks, but it was a chance I was willing to take.” Blaine tilts his head down so he can look coyly up at Kurt through long, thick lashes. “Are you surprised?”

“Yes! I … I don’t know what to say!”

“Say that you love me," Blaine says sincerely. "Say that you’ll have a little more faith in me.”

“I do have faith in you. It’s just sometimes … I don’t have all that much faith in myself. In my overall appeal.”

“Well, your overall appeal is so strong, I spent a small fortune to take this journey with you.” Blaine chuckles when he notices they’ve garnered attention from other passengers, wondering what happened to the drink cart but watching quietly to see the drama unfold. “So why don’t we enjoy the journey? See where it takes us?”

Kurt grins, his cheeks burning when the sorority sisters occupying the seats behind Blaine awww, and the older woman claps.

Kurt rolls his eyes when other passengers join in.

Only at Christmas, he thinks.

Then again, isn't this what he wanted?

His cheesy Lifetime movie?

His improbable Christmas miracle?

Kurt smiles. “That sounds like a plan.”

#klaine advent 2020 #klaine advent: join #klaine fanfiction #klaine fic #klaine

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holisticalecsecareanu · 4 years ago

Link

This interview by ERA News Beta speaks to Alec about a varied number of subjects to do with his film casting and debut in GOC, but farther than that, Alec speaks in great detail about his journey in Romanian theatre, his views on the state of Romanian theatre today, his acting philosophy.

I found this an incredibly revelatory article about Alec because you don’t fully realize, until an interview like this, the depth and breadth, not only of his intelligence, but of his strong beliefs and views regarding his chosen profession. It’s very different going from little snippets in interviews where Alec discusses mostly just one project, to this really comprehensive presentation of who he is as a person and an actor. Also, obviously being able to discuss such complex subjects in his native language, I believe, really allows him to open up more comfortably.

He has a -LOT- of strong feelings and responses to the questions the interviewer asks and he expresses them eloquently, intelligently, and also pretty bluntly, sometimes. It shifted, a little, and not in a bad way, who he is in my head, or rather, it fleshed out who he is in a way that all the quick sound bites and magazine interviews don’t.

I know, from this, that he will never strop striving to push himself and his abilities, to discover new and different ways to learn in his craft. This interview also goes a long way towards explaining how Josh, Francis, and he, formed such a bond, because I believe they also hold these beliefs and commitments to the roles they take on and the projects invest in. It’s almost like kismet because what are the odds that these three individuals would have the same kind of approach to the story they were telling? I think that is why God’s Own Country is such a superlative and luminous film.

Also, the Fight Club production sounds KICK ASS and I wish I had seen it and I can’t believe someone didn’t tape it!

And, yes, that photo, because it never, never ceases to rock every aspect of my world.

This interview is in Romanian but, at least on Google, there is a Google translate button that appears. I have also provided the Google translated version below; am not able to vouch for it’s accuracy, but at least it is something!

Thank you if you’ve read this far. :-D

Google Translation of Interview Below. :

The first British film brings a London agent to Alec Secăreanu

There is also news that one of the young aspirants managed a movie in Hollywood, and for a second people hold their breath, dismayed, wondering "what the hell is this?", Before the engines start again. and to see life beyond its course - Radu Iacoban once said to me, referring to an entire generation, actors who are making their way to a glory that neither they nor we know much about yet . It could have the American endorsement or the greatness of the European trophies, in any case it will no longer be possible to rely on the applause of those who built their illusions in the theaters where they were taken by force or on the admiration of those who dreamed of the two hours of the program. television of yesteryear.

Alec Secăreanu is not one of the 10-15 actors who appear constantly in the distribution of each of the films of the new wave, fueling the impression that only a few people have managed to finish the theater institute in Romania lately. But it has the merit of entering Tyler Durden's mind. And to enter Tyler Durden's mind is courage, especially since it is a dark mind, split into two completely separate universes, and in each of them reigns revolt in all its forms, revolt against the system, against consumer society, against to an absent father and, therefore, against God himself. It's an even greater courage to do this after a perfect director has already passed by, who explored his corners, in tandem with an iconic actor.

The first six rounds of Fight Club demonstrations were, at the end of last year, an absolute success in Bucharest, so the complete version follows, with sophisticated projections made by Les Ateliers Nomades - the company that made the famous mapping on the Parliament Palace - and imagined stunt figures under the guidance of experts from the Gladiator Association, which works in the good tradition of its illustrious founder, Szobi Csech. It's like we lost sleep. Anyway, Tyler Durden doesn't sleep either… Alec Secăreanu certainly sleeps quite a bit himself, since in the meantime he finished filming the first feature film in which he took the lead role, a kind of Brokeback Mountain with a farmer from Romania, the debut film of the British director Francis Lee.

There were nine weeks of filming in Yorkshire, enduring the "bipolar weather" of England, during which time he learned, among other things, to cut the hooves of cattle, to make cheese, to witness the birth of lambs. Oleacă already knew from the Fight Club. And in few percussions I surpass him, after Alexandrul Dabija's Requiem, from the National Theater in Bucharest. In addition to stories about the British system, a show business performance machine, news about new theatrical productions in Bucharest or evaluations of Romanian theater in general, from Alec Secăreanu I found out that there is an online radio that takes you far, Nice Cream FM , and something even more interesting, that there is Radiooooo, with five "o's", which allows you to choose from the map of the world what kind of music you want, in decades, from the beginning of the twentieth century to the present. «You can understand your decade and your country and listen to, say, Mongolian music from the '60s. It's something like Wikipedia, users are still uploading music, so they've already reached an impressive database, "says Alec.

Rep: Actors of your generation make most of the film and most make film outside. Ana Ularu, Iacoban, Bucur… a long series in which you have just been included, in the most honorable way, with a British production, a kind of Brokeback Montain as far as I understand, a love story that happens on a farm and involves a character born in Romania

Alec Secăreanu: The first feature film in which I had the main role, "God's Own Country" is Francis Lee's debut film. I really wanted a Romanian for the role, because the character in this story is Romanian, and the director wanted everything to be as authentic and organic as possible. Of course, the character has only a line or two in Romanian, not at all significant, by the way, for the story, so they could take absolutely any other actor who speaks English with an accent. But he wanted everything to be organic. The casting director from Romania gave more than 40 rehearsals and, a few weeks later, the director came to Bucharest and wanted to meet about 13 of us, a group from which he chose three actors. The three were in London for a final test, a so-called chemistry test with the other actor, the one who had already taken the role.

YOU HAVE TO HAVE EXTREMELY STRONG NERVES THOUGH, ESPECIALLY WHEN THE STAKES ARE HIGH. PROBABLY THE FIRST THING YOU NEED TO GET USED TO AS AN ACTOR IS TO BE REJECTED. YOU GO TO DOZENS OF CASTINGS, TO HUNDREDS OF CASTINGS, YOU GET FIVE OR TEN PERCENT OF THEM, TO THE OTHERS YOU ARE REJECTED AND, MOST OF THE TIME, IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT.

They are simply looking for something else, the sooner you understand this system, the better. To keep your lucidity and show signs of mental health. And you have every reason to protect your health, since, in the end, the tool you work with is yourself and, if you break this tool or if it is defective, it no longer serves you properly. My character's name is Gheorghe Ionescu, he is a young Romanian farmer who went to work in England, who ends up working somewhere, in an isolated complex in Yorkshire, and there he meets a guy, the boy of the farm owners. An unexpected meeting for both of them, surprising, a friendship and a fascination are linked and the two end up living a love story, although neither of them identifies as a gay person. In fact, the film does not want to be a gay movie, but, rather, a story about people, a plea that some encounters are love. A very interesting creative connection was created between me, my colleague, Josh O'Connor, the director Francis Lee and Joshua, our operator.

We had two weeks of rehearsals, in which we discussed very well each stage of the script, each sequence, what happens to the characters, the history of each of them. When I started working, everyone in the frame knew what to do. I filmed a lot of exteriors, on which occasion I got to know very well the weather in England, which is dementia, you

have four seasons in one day, it starts with snow, followed by a storm, then hail, then the sun rises, then again it snows a little and so on. In fact, the weather was a real problem at the connections, because I was starting a frame in the sun and when I resumed it, it was snowing outside, so things didn't fit.

THE TWO WEEKS OF REHEARSALS HELPED ME BUILD THE CHARACTER, BECAUSE I HAD TO WORK ON THE FARM, I LEARNED TO WORK WITH COWS, SHEEP, TO WITNESS THE BIRTH OF LAMBS, TO CUT THE HOOVES OF CATTLE, TO MAKE CHEESE , LOTS OF THINGS. IF THIS THING WITH ACTING DOESN'T WORK… I LEARNED SOME EXTREMELY USEFUL THINGS, WHAT CAN I SAY.

Rep: I understand that the benefits were even greater, you chose an invitation to the British actors' union and a London agent…

Alec Secăreanu: I had the opportunity, for nine weeks, to work in a healthy system from the ground up, starting from the way the union works, to the fact that the actors from the British schools learn notions of personal discipline from college, in a broader framework for the management of the profession. I was treated as a member of their union. A month and a half after I finished filming, my agent received an email from the union asking if I had been paid for the work done, so that the warranty that had been withheld from the producers at the time could be released. in which they announced the film. What can I say… welcome to Romania!

I told them that I am not part of this union, they told me that such a contract in the UK guarantees me these rights and allows me to become a member. I'll be back on the 20th for a series of meetings, and we'll probably finish the talks on this occasion. In the meantime, I also have an agent in London, in addition to those who represent me in Romania. I started the relationship with my agent from Romania, Alexandru Harsany, from RAA (Romanian Artists Agency), two years ago, when I was just returning from Venice, where I stayed for about three months, at the Art Biennale, where I was a performer in an installation built by Alexandra Pirici. Alexandra…, a perfect artist… two days ago completed a performance that will be presented at the Tate, in London…

Returning to my professional path, my stake, I once told my agent, is to work abroad, because in the country, unfortunately, you have nothing to do. You just have nothing to do. Seven to eight films are made a year, which usually have the same cast. In fact, if you look at Romanian films from the last ten years, you might get the impression that only 15 actors have graduated from the University of Romania lately. Beyond this shortcoming, there is no market, the options are few, I do not understand how many of my colleagues manage. Well, I'm in this situation too. Outside, once you have a major project, some doors open, everything goes on.

HERE, I HAVE COLLEAGUES THAT PEOPLE RECOGNIZE ON THE STREET, BY SUBWAY AND BY BUS, WHERE THEY ARE MAINLY BECAUSE THEY DON'T HAVE TAXI MONEY. IT'S FRUSTRATING.

I worked with my agent in Romania, I updated my casting photos every six months, which means to make available to potential producers a picture of the state, in which you must be relaxed, not to frown and to highlights your features as best you can. We have updated, to the necessary standards, the video materials or CV presentations, ie that series of things without which you have nothing to look for at the door of a casting director or an agent. While filming in England, the producers there issued a press release announcing that they were filming and that they had a certain distribution. At time number two, Alexandru's mail exploded, hundreds of requests, questions and offers came, sent by casting directors, agents, an entire machine was set in motion.

During the filming in London, I had five days off at one point, and the producers arranged for me to meet with some other directors, agencies, to see how things worked. They are somehow looking for unpolished stones, hoping to find the next great talent. We don't have this culture. I know only one casting agent who goes to shows or to UNATC, to see new faces, and that is Domnica Cârciumaru. The others always work with the same people, and that's especially because they don't know other people, they don't look to see what actors there are on the market, they don't care. Romanian agencies do not have casting databases, for example.

There are real platforms out there for that. Our casting directors work from project to project. 'What I need, a 40-year-old woman. Where else have I had a 40-year-old woman? Aha, in the gum commercial. Well, let's call that one too - that's how things work. In London I had meetings with three agencies and I opted for a rather large one, The Independent, which deals not only with actors, but also with directors, screenwriters, a total of about a thousand people. I liked that it works as a boutique agency, they have 40 agents, every week they meet and discuss the projects that are on the market and to which they have access and then they try to promote the people they represent. In addition, this agency is open to the States. We will see…

Rep: Returning closer to home, you have a few shows in Bucharest, including Fight Club, one of the revelations of last season. The first six rounds of Fight Club demonstrations were an absolute success, so the full version follows…

Alec Secăreanu: In addition to the most recent premiere, Fight Club, we have an extraordinary show at Godot, «Flowers, Girls, Movies or Boys», which we have been playing for ten years with great success. It is one of the first texts written by Mimi Brănescu, he being a basic actor, but lately he has reshaped himself on dramaturgy and screenwriting. A show about relationships, which follows the evolution of two couples, from the moment when future lovers know each other, until a little later, when they may lose love. It's a good, funny text, it catches the audience very well. I'm one of those lovers, a filthy neighborhood wannabe, the kind who feels like he knows them all, and obviously he's not.

His evolution is very interesting, he hits a person he underestimates, in any case he did not expect to have such an impact on him. The girl is from another social class and this very conflict between social classes arouses him and makes him get closer. In time, however, the two realize that they do not have much in common.

I KNOW, I KNOW, THERE'S A THEORY THAT OPPOSITES WOULD BE DRAWN, BUT THEY'RE MOST LIKELY DRAWN TO THE POINT WHERE THEY REALLY HAVE NOTHING IN COMMON. THEY MAY NOT EVEN MEET AT ALL, AND THAT'S THE STRANGENESS OF THE COUPLE WE'RE TALKING ABOUT.

I have another show at the National Theater, Requiem, directed by Alexandru Dabija, entered the seasons last year, things are going well. We expected him to be selected in the National Theater Festival, but it seems that was not the case. It is a text Vişniec, first placed in Romania, with references to an area that seems to be of great interest to Dabija now, more precisely the area of war, the world of soldiers. Vişniec was also interested in this form in one form or another, if we think of "The Woman as a Battlefield in the Bosnian War".

most spectacular staging of this text. There was another show, once in France, he told me that he had seen it, but that it is much more extravagant. Dabija thought of an image show, there are costumes, there is scenery, there are quite a few actors on stage, about 20, some of them employees of TNB, most of them - collaborators. It is sung, it is sung beautifully, the music is by Ada Milea, some songs are really very nice, it is a kind of music specific to the instruments with which it is played: an accordion, a big drum - where I play… We have some marches and various others pieces that lead to the military music area.

I play the role of a soldier who still believes in victory. The story takes place in a cafe Chez Vişniec, a place where soldiers meet who are preparing to return home, who dream of the triumphant march and the glory of reception in their cities. All sorts of people gather at this cafe, some who have never believed in victory, others who have believed, there are some who still believe that victory is possible - all sorts of psychologists synthesized from this theater of war.

What did not delight me about this text is the fact that the characters do not have an evolution from one end of the show to the other. A logic does not have to exist, it is an area of the theater that Vişniec has accustomed us to, but the characters, although very vehement, with a very strong speech, were suitable for a well-deserved development.

Rep: Do you believe in victory? Or have you not fought your big battles so far?

Alec Secăreanu: No, the great battles did not take place. But we started with a few fights, some of which we lost, others we won, others are still contested. I lost, for example, the struggle with the idealism I had at the end of college. I was very disappointed when I finished college, very disappointed… I had high expectations from the Romanian theater market, I hoped to have a vision, a coherence, a general enthusiasm. Of course, everyone wants to be part, at some point, of a movement that means something. I'm still part of the independent theater area, so I never relied on the state theater to do anything for me.

BY THE WAY, I THINK THAT THE STATE THEATER HAS ENTERED A KIND OF SHADOW CONE, IN THE SENSE THAT, AT LEAST THAT IS MY IMPRESSION, IT HAS BECOME MANNERIST, IT HAS NO IMAGINATION, IT HAS STUCK IN SOME RECIPES THAT SEEM TO WORK AND, WITH FEW EXCEPTIONS, NO ONE SEEMS WILLING TO DEVELOP NEW THEATRICAL EXPRESSIONS.

And in the latter case, the high hopes and high expectations were primarily for them, because they manage the funds needed to do that. Every year they have to put on a number of shows and I look in amazement that they are not trying to discover anything, they are systematically going to areas where they have been before, they only walk on dirt paths. It's not the commercial that has to bring the world to the theater. There may be a commercial area, but I think it is our duty, of artists, actors, directors, to push the boundaries a little, to invent new ways.

But the independent theater is currently identifying itself as an area of precarious means. You do shows that catch the audience - logically, otherwise you can't finance yourself, the setting is, most often, modest, consisting of two chairs and a table - since there is no money for something more sophisticated, the costumes are also as they are - most often the actors come with their clothes from home. It's a poor theater, let's face it. If you try to look for what is happening in the independent theater, the first time you notice the lack of funds, and you notice it as a spectator and it would not be your job as a spectator to see things like that. It can be seen that the director made a kind of compromise with the money to make this show. While in the state theater a lot of funds are lost.

There are exceptions, of course, but my huge frustration is that you see shows with extraordinary budgets and you don't understand why the money went for such a show, which doesn't bring anything new. While in the independent theater there are so many ideas and so much desire to work, but there is no funding for their realization. I was really talking to someone the other day, because we're looking for funding for Fight Club, and I was asked, okay, beyond funding, what's the business? Let's get along, we're talking about an art form, and monetizing art in this brutal way is harder to imagine, because our stake is to try to develop new theatrical languages, we need grants, state aid, maybe even the private area, the effort is not made for a show to be sold like this, to fill the halls.

If you want that, you have a party, you call the world, you play a few more instruments, you say three more poems and that was it. Either way you want to go, the discussion inevitably reaches the area of the diseased system, which you have little to do, except to try to build it from scratch.

I have a cultural association with some colleagues. We realized in 2007, when we finished the University, that there is no point in hoping, that we will not receive any kind of help from the theaters, where even now the places are blocked.

I WOULDN'T SAY THEY AVOID YOUNG PEOPLE, BUT RATHER THAT THEY ARE WARMER WITHOUT US. THERE ARE A LOT OF EMPLOYEES IN THEATERS WHO DO NOTHING, BUT KEEP THE SEATS BLOCKED, TWO OR THREE SEATS APPEAR ONCE EVERY THREE YEARS.

IT'S A KIND OF SLAVERY, PEOPLE WORK IN A WELL-GROUNDED SYSTEM, WHICH NO ONE REALLY WANTS TO CHANGE.

In fact, the same situation is in every state institution, many people who receive a meaningless salary. And these are not theater companies, to say that they are families, but they are state institutions, financed from the budget. One is an independent, self-financing theater company and theoretically is allowed to do whatever it wants with its money, and another is a budget-funded theater, obliged to function for the public and to educate it, to arouse it, to motivate it. . If you put the same pieces of Caragiale and Chekhov every year, and only that, and only that…

Rep: There are all kinds of public calls lately for the elimination from the scene - from various scenes - of the generation we call, coded, "golden", as we saw calls of some intermediate generations, I would not know how to define them , to finance somewhat less intellectual productions, which have at least some connection with the public. Where is the truth? And with the golden generation, what should be done, ideally, from the point of view of the new wave you represent?

Alex Secăreanu: Who else is today a consumer of magazine theater, for example? They are nostalgic, and they know where to find their shows, and they somehow look for them by virtue of inertia. I have no problem taking care of established actors. I appreciate them as history and there are some from which I had a lot to learn, because they are better than me. Victor Rebengiuc, for example, with whom I worked for a short film called Casting Call, written and directed by Conrad Mericoffer, is a man from whom I learned a lot. The story follows an elderly actor, who is called to a casting, but it is not necessarily about the elderly actor, but a generic meditation on the condition of the actor, because we are all, in fact, in the same situation. I played, Paul Ipate, Victor Rebengiuc and Sergiu Costache.

I learned a lot in the short time I spent with Rebengiuc, how to behave in a team, how to approach a role…

IT'S LIKE CHESS. IF YOU PLAY WITH SOMEONE WHO IS BETTER THAN YOU, YOU LEARN FROM HIM. IT'S NICE TO HAVE SOMEONE BETTER BEAT YOU, BECAUSE YOU LEARN FROM HIM.

There are cases, however, in which it would be in the best interest of the actors in question to give up, as is the case of Radu Beligan, for whom I have a huge respect, but who has advanced a lot in age, goes through natural stages of life, to simply remember the lines, it is simply no longer possible. What we want from this story is already doing him a disservice. It's just an example. With reconfigurations and reinventions it is harder… but actors like Victor Rebengiuc and Marcel Iureș believe that they went in different ways from the very beginning, they wanted more than they were offered and they looked for more.

In this profession you never stop searching, because as soon as you get the impression that you know them all, you enter a very dangerous area, an area where you don't come up with anything new, and the viewer feels that. You have to surprise him, he has to see you doing something new, otherwise there is no stake.

Rep: Fight Club… You were able to get into Tyler Durden's mind, a courage, probably, after his twisted imagination was once explored by David Fincher, with the iconic film released in 1999. What you found there ?

Alex Secăreanu: Fight Club… is a story that, for me, started many years ago. I read Chuck Palahniuk's book in 2006 and I thought that this book must be a theater show. The idea bothered me for many years, until last year, when the stars lined up, I said it would be time to do it, especially since I found an exceptional team. We developed ideas, we had a lot of meetings in which we kept challenging the imagination, to see where the story can take us, and finally we were ready to put everything into practice. Sure, we hit the funding. Arcubul financed us for the show, which is a complex one, with multimedia elements, videomapping, fight scenes, music,

It was a test for us first of all, to see if our ideas work, if the team works. After the first six rounds, we realized that we are on a very good road, which must be continued. We can bring new elements to the theater, we can develop new languages in the theater, we wanted from the beginning to make an experience for the spectator, a one hundred percent experience made for him. We wanted the spectator, when he left the theater, to feel that he had received a punch in the stomach. We got pretty close to the goal, all the people said, after the show, that they lived that thing that we felt when we were little and we watched a karate movie, and after the movie you wanted to jump around the house, to give more and you a fist, try another scheme.

He left absolutely no one regardless of this show, which is very important. We need some more money to set it up the way we thought it would. The amount is not large for a state theater, but huge for an independent theater. About 60,000 euros. Usually, in the independent theater you say, come on, how much do we have, 5,000 euros? Let's do it, we come home with more clothes, we cut another set, we give up that one, the other one and we did the show. When you have thought of an artistic approach in a coherent way, you cannot make concessions like this. You can not. There are elements, means that you absolutely need to build your convention fluently, to say what you wanted to say.

THERE ARE ALSO PRODUCTIONS AT TNB OF ONE MILLION EUROS, APUS DE SOARE, THIS ONE FROM TEN YEARS AGO OR WHEN IT WAS MADE, TWO SEASONS WERE ALSO PLAYED AT REVEDERE.

There is also a record amount for a show that has never been played before. I don't know how much the funding was, but let's remember that in the year of Caragiale, a theater wanted to do D'ale Carnavalului somewhere, at the Metrorex Halls. They equipped a hall with bombers, cars, an entire fair built from scratch, and the show was never done again

#alec secăreanu #alec on stage #interview #fight club #fight club: play #he's so intelligent #how is that fair #goc #god's own country #goc film

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obxparadise · 5 years ago

Text

Rebel Love Song

JJ Maybank x Female Reader

Word count: 3,836

~JJ’s had enough of his abusive father and life on the Cut, so he tries to convince you to run away with him~

Song: Rebel Love Song by Black Veil Brides

A/N: Leave a comment please :)

*GIF is not mine, but found on Google. Creds to the owner!*

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

I cannot hide what’s on my mind

I feel it burning deep inside

A passion crime to take what’s mine

Let us start living for today

“You are a worthless piece of shit.”

“Shut up!”

“Your mama knew!”

“Shut up!”

JJ’s fist strikes his bedroom door, although he wishes it were his father’s face. It probably wouldn’t be as painful, and he’d feel good about it. But his dad would retaliate like he always did, and JJ’s face couldn’t handle another black eye or split lip. Luke had already done a number on his face twenty minutes prior.

Luke turns up the volume of whatever rock song is playing throughout the house, and JJ clutches the sides of his head, digging his palms into his temples, the thoughts in his head drowning out the song. What the hell was he listening to anyway? Judas Priest? Black Sabbath? He had no fucking clue.

He should be used to it all by now. The loud music. The constant drinking. The verbal violence. The physical abuse. The mental manipulation. It’s been going on for years. And there’s no way to stop it.

The cut on JJ’s lip burns as a salty tear mixes with the dried blood. He drags his fingers across the bottom of his lip, wincing. Thirty grand in restitution for a boat he didn’t even sink. He should’ve seen the punch coming, anticipated it as soon as he slid in the passenger’s seat of the beat up pick up truck. But it happened so fast, over and over, until Luke’s knuckles were painted red with blood.

He doesn’t regret taking the blame, though. Even if he now has to scramble to come up with thirty thousand dollars, JJ’s glad that he did the right thing for once in his life. Pope was a good kid, had too much to lose. But JJ? He had nothing.

The music dies down in the living room and JJ peers toward the door, heart hammering against his chest as he waits for Luke to bust into his room. His fists are balled by his sides, ready to attack if necessary, but the door never opens.

JJ takes it upon himself to crack open the door, just enough for him to peer out into the living room and see Luke passed out on the sofa. Empty beer bottles are scattered along the coffee table and a pill bottle is just barely sitting in Luke’s hand that dangles off the couch. Just another typical Tuesday in the Maybank household.

It’s times like these JJ wishes he wasn’t an only child. Although he’s glad no one else is subjected to Luke’s abuse, the house gets lonely. Talking to his father is impossible. His mother is nowhere to be found, and he resents her for leaving him to live with a monster, to fend for his life.

He could always talk to his friends, though.

Ah, scratch that. They’re all busy tending to their own lives.

Pope’s in and out of scholarship interviews.

Kiara’s working overtime at the Wreck.

John B is glued to Sarah Cameron’s hip.

But there’s one more person left. One person that would always make time for him. One person he could confide in no matter the circumstances.

JJ retrieves his phone from the back pocket of his shorts, typing out a quick message.

Can you meet me at the dock?

He smiles as your name pops up on the screen, promising to meet him in ten minutes.

You watch from afar as JJ stands at the edge of the dock throwing rocks into the bay. The sun has begun to set, the sky now painted a light orange and pink, and there’s a slight chill in the air thanks to the open water. Tugging the sleeves of your hoodie down to cover your hands, you shuffle quietly along the wooden boards.

JJ’s body instantly relaxes when your arms circle his middle, forehead resting against his back. The cologne on his body mixed with his natural scent is what keeps you still against him until he turns around to hold you. He needs this hug. You can just tell.

“I owe thirty grand for sinking Topper’s boat.” His voice is defeated, arms limp around your body.

Wherever trouble was, JJ found it. He was always getting into scuffles with the teenagers on the other side of the island, parents turned their noses down at him, and the cops had no problem blaming JJ for crimes he didn’t commit. The boy was an easy target.

You shake your head, refusing to believe his story, but asking the question anyway. “Why’d you do it?”

JJ pulls away, stuffing his hands in his pockets, eyes downcast on the dock. He doesn’t want to tell you the truth, but you have a guess as to who he’s protecting. “Just sick of everyone treating us differently because we live on the poor side of the island. Money isn’t everything, but it’s all these people on Figure Eight know.”

He’s not wrong. The rich kids on Figure Eight can’t separate fantasy from reality. They’ve never known struggle. They’ve always had designer clothes, food on the table, a roof over their heads, plus the perks. Motorcycles. Boats. Cars. Status. Friends. Opportunities. So much more than the average person could afford, or wish for.

And you were one of them.

It’s a wonder how you and JJ became friends. You knew of his hatred for rich kids before you’d even met him. But JJ saw something in you. You weren’t like the rest of them. You had a pure heart, kind soul. Being rich wasn’t a personality trait for you.

“I just,” Dragging a hand through his hair, JJ gazes at you sadly. His frown tugs at your heart. “I just want to get away, you know? I can’t hide it, but I’ve had thoughts about leaving the Cut, the OBX in general.”

Now that’s something you never would of thought would come out of JJ’s mouth. He lived and breathed the Outerbanks. He didn’t know anything else.

“Where would you go?”

He takes a seat on the end of the dock, feet dangling just above the water. You join him, sitting close, head on his shoulder, toes skimming the cool water. “Paris. England. The Yucatan,” JJ chuckles, nudging you. “That’s long term.”

“What about now?”

JJ exhales, thinking hard. “Maybe Florida. Or Texas. California, possibly. I want to go somewhere warm, like OBX, with a beach and some palm trees,” JJ looks down at the top of your head, resting his cheek on your hair. Your presence calms him. “And I’d take you with me.”

He knocks the breath out of you. You were never one to plan for the future, but the future is all JJ can think about it. And he sees you in his future, wherever he decides to be. How could you possibly tell him that the life that was destined for you would always be in the Outerbanks, breaking his heart in the process?

“Don’t you want to start living? The way we want to?” JJ asks softly, fingertips grazing your leg. Goosebumps rise on your skin at his intimate touch.

“I already am,” you say, considering his words. “My life is here, JJ. I can’t leave it behind.”

“No, it’s not,” JJ retorts instantaneously, voice unwavering. “This life you’re living? It’s not yours. It’s your parents’.”

Bringing your knees to your chin, you reposition yourself to look at JJ, whose staring out at the bay, blue eyes scanning the water, tuffs of blonde hair dancing in the breeze. It’s the first time that night you really took notice of his face. Dried blood dots the corner of his mouth, and a purple bruise rings around his eye. There’s a tick in his jaw and his fingers drum quickly on his leg. He’s tense. “How so?”

He’s never been anything other than blunt. He hides nothing, letting you know how he thinks, what he feels. “Because you don’t stand up to them. They drag you to yacht parties on the weekend because you’ve never told them who your real friends are. They think Susie Milligan and Delia Pratton are your best friends, except they have no idea that you can’t stand them and would rather be surfing with Kie and John B. They make you stay in and study your dad’s old college textbooks, convinced you’re going to be the world’s greatest attorney, but you complain to Pope that the material is dry and you’ll never be happy working as a prosecutor.” Pulling a cigarette from his pocket and then lighting it, JJ takes a drag, puffing out the smoke before turning to face you. “You let them dictate what should be your life. What is it that youwant to do? You never talk about the future, but one day it’ll be here, and it’s sooner than you think.”

His eyes are focused as he waits for you to consider his question. The truth is, you know what you want, but you’ve never said it aloud. No one ever cared to ask, except for now. Except for JJ.

“I want to be a marine biologist,” you’re confident in your answer, and it leads you to spill more. A weight lifts off your shoulders. “I want to go to school in Hawaii or Australia and learn about animals, nature, sea life. I want to surf, fish, and wear flowers in my hair, embrace my free spirit.”

JJ’s smile encourages you. Opening up to him is so easy because he understands. He listens. And he wants the same freedom as you do. The only difference is, JJ will chase after his dreams.

“I want to learn how to play guitar, climb a mountain, run a marathon, learn Chinese, ride in a hot air balloon,” you take a second to catch your breath, feel the chill of the breeze on your legs. “I want to find love. Maybe get married, have a kid or two. Adopt five kittens. Build my own home with a pool that has a waterfall. I want to try escargot, visit a rainforest, and see the Northern Lights. I want so many things, JJ.”

“Then let’s do it,” JJ says, standing and pulling you to your feet. A smile lights up his face as he grabs your hands in his. It’s the happiest you’ve seen him in the last hour, but it contrasts with what you feel inside. “Let’s start living.”

Never gonna change my mind

We can leave it all behind

Nothin’s gonna stop us

No not this time

“Hawaii, huh?”

You look up from your soup. Kiara leans against the bar top, watching you curiously. JJ has gone off to the bathroom, the perfect opportunity for Kiara to grill you with questions.

“He seems pretty adamant,” she remarks, flipping hair over her shoulder. “What’d you say?”

The spoon clinks against the metal bowl as you set it down, dabbing your lips with a napkin. “I didn’t answer.”

“Don’t you think you should?” Kiara asks, playing with the beads on her bracelet. “From what JJ said, he seems pretty sure that wherever he goes, you’re following.”

“Oh, he’s set on us moving to the west coast, but I can’t just leave the OBX,” you counter, shoulders slumping. “My life is here.”

“Then why did you tell him all the things you wanted to do if you don’t ever plan on doing them with him?”

The million-dollar question.

“Because I knew he’d listen,” you say quietly. “I didn’t think he was serious about us leaving together, though. We’re sixteen, Kie. What sixteen year olds do you know drop everything and leave their home behind? And besides,” your laugh comes out strangled, “My parents would never let me leave. You know how they are. They don’t even like that I’m friends with JJ. They think he’s trouble, a bad influence. How do you think they’d react if I just up and left with him?”

Kiara leans in close, whispering, “That’s why you don’t tell them.”

You roll your eyes as Kie laughs. “I’m not going to change my mind on this, Kiara.”

Her face turns serious as she chews on the corner of her lip. The gears turn in her head as she contemplates. “Would it matter if I said JJ’s in love with you?”

Your eyes roam her face, waiting for a laugh, a smile, a teasing wink, but her composure is kept intact as she stares at you. Your face falters. “He—what?”

She nods. “What boy asks a girl to travel the world with him if he’s not in love with her?”

Color creeps up your neck, mouth dry, heart beating irregularly. Your body is jelly, almost sliding off the bar stool, but you slink back further into the chair, hands gripping the arm rests. “Are you sure?”

“If I was a gambler, I’d bet it all. That’s how sure I am.”

“I—no,” you dig in your purse for some cash, slapping the bills down in haste. “I’m either going to disappoint JJ or my parents, and I can’t disappoint my family. So, no, JJ being in love with me doesn’t change anything,” you say, exhaling a breath. “I’m not going with him.”

“Well, that’s good to know.”

Kiara’s eyes expand, and you freeze. JJ’s boots pad against the floor as he pushes through the front door, angrily stomping into the night. You thank Kiara for the dinner before rushing outside to chase a visibly irritated JJ.

“JJ, wait!” Your hand clamps down on his shoulder, spinning him around. The look on his face is disheartening. You try to cradle his cheeks, something you normally did to comfort him, but he pushes your hands away. “Please, stop.”

“You were never planning to come with me, were you?” JJ questions, twirling a few of the rings on his fingers. “You were just…what? Entertaining me?”

“JJ, my life is here, in the OBX!” The words that use to flow perfectly off your tongue don’t even sound right anymore. Part of you doesn’t believe them. “I can’t just leave it all behind. And my parents…God, JJ, they’d never let me go with you. I mean, we’re so young.”

JJ nods, although he doesn’t understand. He knows you. He knows your heart. He knows where you really stand. But he can’t persuade you anymore than he’s tried. “I’m taking my dad’s boat and I am leaving tomorrow. I’m getting out of here because I know what I want and nothing is going to stop me.”

JJ turns, and your heart squeezes as you watch him leave. Your fingers twitch, begging to reach out to him. This can’t be it. He can’t be leaving you. “Is it true?”

He stops in his tracks, glancing over his shoulder. “Is what true?”

You choke back a soft cry, voice croaking. “Are you in love with me?”

JJ faces you, staring absentmindedly. He wants nothing more than to hold you in his arms, kiss your breath away. But he keeps his distance, shoving his hands back into his pockets, whispering, “It doesn’t matter, because it wouldn’t be enough, anyway.”

Back home, you’re surprised to see your parents still awake, chatting softly at the island in the kitchen. You hastily wipe away any leftover tears before they can hound you with questions.

“You’re home late,” says your father, giving you a look. He’s the stricter parent of the two. “I assume you have a good reason?”

You keep the conversation short. “I got caught up talking to JJ. I lost track of time.”

Your mother wrinkles her nose, wine sloshing in her glass as she takes a sip. “How many times have we told you to stay away from that boy, Y/N? He’s trouble.”

“He’s not trouble,” you fire back, wishing you had come up with a lie instead of telling them the truth. “You’re just judgmental.”

“That’s enough,” your father snaps. He runs a hand over his tired face. Being an attorney has aged him ten years. And to think he wanted to send you down the same dreadful path. “I’m having lunch tomorrow with DA Lance Nicholas. I figured you could come along, ask him some questions--.”

“No.”

Your mother stares at you quizzically. “No?”

“Is tomorrow a bad time?” asks your father, loosening his tie. “I’m supposed to meet with him next week as well, if that’s better for you.”

You feel the rage building up inside of you as you remember JJ’s words. You let them dictate what should be your life. What is it that you want to do? “No, dad, there will never be a time that’s good for me to meet the DA, because I don’t want to meet him. I don’t want to be a lawyer.”

You’re sure they’ll yell, give you a hard time, but the laughs that come out of their mouths are surprising. You don’t understand why they’re laughing, but you’re determine to stand your ground, speak up.

“You’ve never once asked me what I wanted to do with my life.”

“Well, yes, because—.”

“Because you planned it for me.”

Your mom glances at your dad, unsure of how to continue the conversation. “Sweetie--.”

“I’m not going to law school,” The light dims in your father’s eyes, face growing red as your tone grows serious. He’s silent, but it doesn’t scare you. “Because I want to be a marine biologist.”

“Honey, listen,--.”

“I want to travel, see what the world has to offer me. I’m tired of being your puppet. I’m tired of pretending to like Susie and Delia. I’m tired of going to stupid yacht parties with out of touch rich people. I’m tired of reading college textbooks about a career I don’t even want while I’m still in high school. This is my life, and you don’t get to choose how I live it.”

Your mom speaks up after what feels like an hour of silence. Her eyes are full of sorrow, voice low, disapproving. “What happened to you? You’re so…outspoken.”

“It’s that damn Maybank kid,” your dad’s forceful voice cuts right through you. He slams his fist on the counter, startling your mom. You stand your ground, unflinching. “I always knew he’d corrupt you sooner or later.”

“Corrupt me?” A laugh escapes you. He can’t be serious. “He helped me, dad. He taught me to stand up for myself, which is what I’m doing right now. He taught me that there’s a life outside of our world in Figure Eight. JJ helped me realize that I don’t belong here,” your mother’s face drops. Guilt briefly flickers across your face. “I belong with him, wherever he goes. Whether it be California or Texas or Hawaii. I belong with him.”

“You are sixteen years old,” your father reminds, looking at you in disgust. “You have no clue what you’re talking about or what you are doing. Go on, get out of my sight.”

You shake your head, turning your back on your parents. It didn’t matter what they said. They wouldn’t be able to stop you from chasing your dreams, from living your life the way you wanted to. They could say you were too young, too naïve, until they were blue in the face. But you know what you want, and no one, especially not your parents, would stop you.

So take your hand in mine

It’s ours tonight

This is our rebel love song

Staring down at the note in your hand, you exhale a sigh before dropping it on the kitchen counter. You sign it with a kiss, letting your family know you love them, before venturing outside, quietly closing the door behind you.

The last night in your house was spent packing, constantly checking that your bedroom door was locked to keep the helicopter parents away. There wasn’t much you could fit into the duffel bag, but you squeezed as much as you could, the contents varying from clothing to toiletries to small mementos you didn’t want to leave behind.

The plan was to surprise JJ at the dock. Tugging your duffel higher onto your shoulder, you walk with a content smile.

When you reach the dock, your heart rises to your throat. JJ stands with his back to you, one foot on the dock, the other in the boat. He’s ready to take off, and your legs break out into a sprint, daring him to leave you behind. “JJ!”

The voice makes his ears perk up. He turns, wide-eyed, smile brighter than the gleaming Carolina sun. JJ’s heart swells as he watches the girl he loves run after him, one hand waving frantically in the air, the other tugging the bag higher on her arm.

“JJ, wait!”

But he’s not going anywhere. He’d never go anywhere without you.

You drop the bag onto the dock, launching yourself into JJ’s body. He wobbles slightly, arms coming around your middle, pulling you as far into his chest as you’ll go. You fit perfectly.

“You came,” JJ breathes into your hair, kissing your forehead. The soft pecks are quick, friendly.

It’s not enough for you, though.

You grab his cheeks, pressing your mouth to his, hard. Your heart reacts, beating wildly. The feeling in your body, the sensation you get from kissing JJ, it feels like sunshine. Warm. Blissful. Happy.

There’s no hesitation as JJ kisses you back. His hand creeps up your spine, pressing you impossibly closer to him, almost as if he’s testing to see if you’re real.

It’s all real. You, the kiss, the moment.

He pulls away, slightly breathless. His eyes flicker to the dandelion lying on his drawstring bag, and a smile tugs at his parted lips. He’d picked it for you on his way to the dock, just in case.

“It’s true,” JJ says, reaching down to tenderly pick the flower. Doe-eyed, you watch as he tucks the dandelion behind your ear, shielding the stem with a few strands of your hair. “I am so deeply in love with you.”

“And you were going to leave without ever letting me know.”

“A part of me hoped you wouldn’t let me leave without you,” JJ answers, helping you settle into the boat.

“You’re right,” you smile. “I couldn’t let you leave without knowing I’m in love with you, too.”

The kiss that follows is better than the first. It’s softer, more intimate, and it feels like a rainbow.

It completes him.

It completes you.

After grabbing your bag from the dock, you help JJ untie the boat before joining him at the wheel. The boat rumbles to life, sailing slowly across the open bay. A new life is just in the distance.

“You ready?” JJ asks. There’s nothing in his eyes other than hope, nothing in his grin other than happiness.

Taking his hand, you smile. “I am now.”

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demivampirew · 5 years ago

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Keep Calm and go to London chapter 17

Synopsis: This is the story of (y/n), a successful actress, musician, musical producer and songwriter. After battling depression and breaking up a long relationship, she seeks for a change of air, escaping LA for a while going to visit some friends in London and there she meets Henry. -Disclaimer: some chapters are mostly smut.

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 (smut)

Chapter 6

Chapter 7 (smut)

Chapter 8 (smut/roleplay)

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12 (smut)

Chapter 13

Chapter 14 (smut)

Chapter 15

Chapter 16 (smut/ s&m)

Triggers: Crying; talking about depression, low self-steem and body image issues; talking about toxic relationships.

Tag list: Here’s the incredible people who showed me support (thank you so much for that) and people who asked me to tag them too ☺️ (I think I will write a few chapters of this story, if you want me to tag you, tell me ☺️ ) @cavillanche @mary-ann84 @henry-owns-these-tatas @yespolkadotkitty @dancingwendigo constip8merm8 penwieldingdreamer iloveyouyen littlefreya wondersofdreaming alyxkbrl solariumss sweetybuzz25 @thethirstyarchive @agniavateira @honeyloverogers @hell1129-blog @lunedelorient @michelle-1185

Henry was playing games while you played with Kal, making the little bear follow you around the house. It surprise you the amound of energy that the puppy had. While running, you got caught in the the door knob of one bedroom and ripped the t-shirt you were wearing, living a little hole in it. You cursed because that was one of your boyfriend's t-shirts. You were in trouble, for sure. You put your best sad kitty face and went to Henry to tell him about the t-shirt. He was sitting on the couch with his laptop and closed it after you sat next to him, pointing out that you have something to confess. He put his whole attention on you as you showed him his peace of clothing and apologized, assuring him that you'd tried to fix it. He looked at you with a cute smile and told you that was ok. He was not mad at you at all, "it's just a t-shirt" he said and gave you a kiss on the cheeks to make you feel better and proved to you that he wasn't angry at all. You hugged him and kissed him. He was the best. - I'm still sorry, though. I know you love this t-shirt.- you apologized once again. - It's kind of special.- he admitted. - Where did you bought it? I can replace it, I'll buy you the exact same one if I find it. - I didn't bought it; it was a gift. - From Charlie? Maybe I could send him a direct message in Instagram and ask him where he bought it. I will ask you his phone number, but we haven't officially met yet so he might find it weird if I text him. - No, it wasn't Charlie.- he answered and then took a deep breath before speaking again.- An ex-girlfriend gave it to me for a birthday. - Oh, I see.- you replied and went silent for a moment. - Was it Lucy? You questioned curiously. He raise an eyebrow and looked at you. - No, not her. - he said with a suspious tone. - Tara, Gina? -you asked again. -Sorry, I'm really curious - you said smiling - Tara. - he informed you - Wait, how do you know my exs's names? I never said her names to you? - he pointed out and you blushed of embarresment. "shit" you thought. - Have you been googling me by any chance? - I had to make sure you were not a serial killer - you joked, making an "ops" face. - I'm curious. I wanted to know how were the girls that you dated before me. - That's ok. I must admit that I googled you as well. - And what did you found out about me? - you were dying to know - That you have more money than me; that you're on the top 20 of Forbes lists of most influencial people; that people adore you on the internet. Basically, that you're ten times more amazing that I thought. Oh, I also found out that you have a college degree from Harvard. - Yep. While it cost me a lot. I practically did not sleep for like 5 years - you joked. It was kind of true, though. - Did you not expected you girlfriend to be the kind of person who goes to college? - I didn't imagine that giving all the work that you've done in your long career you'd had found to study for a degree. - he explained - I'm awesome - you said proudly - Giving my impressive career and my high grades in highschool, I was accepted at Harvard. I had to arrenge a few things to make the time, but I reached my goal. So, now you're in front of a Master of Arts and Doctor of Philosophy. - My baby is smart, damn! - he replied proudly. You gave him the brightest smile. - I found out that you were enganged once.- you continue the topic discused before. - Yes. It didn't work out, though. - Yes, I figured that out. Otherwise, it'd be an interesting situation the one that we're in right now. - Yes, it'd be for sure- he admited while laughing for your comment. - Do you missed them? - you questioned. He gave you a look, trying to see what you expected of him by those weird questions. - Come on, I know that you have a past. I have one too. I won't judge you. I just want to know how you feel about them. Do you still care for them? - Yes. - he admited.- But I don't do it in a romantic way. They were people important to me. Now they're part of my past, but I still want them to be happy. Sometimes I missed them a bit, more nostalgia for the good memories than anything, but I wouldn't go back with any of them, especially since I've met you. Now, I only have eyes for you. - he assured you, kissing your hand. - I understand.- you say smiling.- I still miss Jared sometimes. Like you said, I don't want to be with him at all and I only have eyes for you, but he was a great part of my life. He was the first man I've been with and, until you showed up in my life, he was the only one. - you confessed. You've talked before about having intimacy with few men, but never actually told him that was actually only one man before him. He looked at you surprise. - You are telling me that you only been intimate with two men and I'm one of them? -he asked you, speechless. - Yes. Before Jared I was afraid of being intimate with someone because I've always had body image issues. I didn't felt comfortable with my body and didn't want anybody to see me naked. When I started to date him, I wasn't ready to sleep with him and he respected that. He actually waited a whole year for me to finally be ready to have sex. I think that was another reason why even though it was clear he was not a good boyfriend, I stood with him. I always remembered that he promised to be patient and wait and not force me and he kept his word. After our first breakup, I was in that angry stage of "I hate all men", then soon enough I went to the "I don't hate men, but I don't have time to date either" I concentrated in study and work. Then, when I got back together with him, at first we'd had sex all the time, because despite the fact that I took care of my own pleasure during my time alone, I enjoyed to be intimate with another person that I cared about. But soon enough, things started to go South for us, and we barely had sex or was boring sex and I did most of the work. On one occasion, after a month of not doing it because he was working in his latest album, I put on a sexy lingerie and try to seduce him and he completely ignored me, like I wasn't even there. That broke me. By that point, I was already having body issues again, but that finally got to me and, until I met you, never again felt confident with my body or felt sexy. Knowing that a man like you was interested on me, made me feel great and then my confident side came back to me. - you explain, smiling at him. He kissed your hand again. - You know, I used to like him. I've met him twice and seemed like a nice guy. Now, I kind of want to punch him for hurting you. - He didn't do it un purpose, though. I know, so typical of me to deffend him, but that's true. I've known him for a long time. We were friends before and went through difficult times together until one day our friendship turned into something else. But now, I think those hard times we went through and that we've been surporting each other is the reason why he wanted to be with me. Why everytime we fought and I said that I was leaving he'd beg me to stay... because he knew that not matter what, he could count on me to be there for him. He clearly lost all the love and desire that he once felt for me, on the last period of our relationship I was just his support system; the one person he could count to help him when he need it. He's not a bad guy, but he was selfish. He concentrated on his needs and did not think on what I need it or what was the best for me. When I was diagnosed with major depression last year and was on those periods in which I would cry for entire days, for the first time in our entire relationship, he cancel a few plans to stay with me and hold me while I cried. But he didn't do it for love, no; he did it because he felt guilty. At that moment, he realized that he probably should have let me go, but he couldn't do that. As much as he'd love to have his single life back, he wanted me to be there for him, but he also knew that as soon as I walked out of the door, he would never see me again. So he kept me, unhappy and miserable until I finally realized myself from that toxic life I was living. - you finished and looked at your boyfriend's eyes. Henry was stroking your face and your hair. He looked worried and sad for hearing all you went through. - Your ex girlfriends were lucky. - you told him smiling - They had you. - I'm not perfect. I made mistakes as well, but I always try to look after their needs as well as mine. - That sounds like perfect to me. Perfection is not about not making mistakes, but recognize that you make them and try to correct them. Is not bad to look after your needs, we all need that, it's part of loving yourself, but, in a relationship, you have to care for your partner's needs as well. So yeah, you're the perfect boyfriend.- you assured him and he smiled. - I've seen photos of them and I must admit they're pretty, at least base on looks. The blonde one, Tara, if it wasn't weird, I'd totally high-five you for getting that chick. Even I must admit that she's hot. Although, I'm hotter than her.- you smile devilishly. - One houndred percent, baby. - he agreed. - They must have been really special to you. All of them. I saw the pictures. You'd take them with you to premieres and be by their sides, looking at them with proud. You'd post pictures or videos of them, and even if you're not longer together, you never deleted those things. That proved that they were special to you. I'm really jealous of them. - you admited - Not jealous because they were with you, like I said before, I know you have your past and that's ok, the important is that you're mine now. I'm jealous because I would have loved to be with someone that did those things for me. I'd had been great if my ex took me with him to an event or came with me to one of my premieres or award shows. Or took my hand in public. When I won my last two Oscars, he was there, but he didn't sat with me. I had to hug a friend to celebrate the fact that I won. You didn't get mad at them and ignored them for suggesting going out and getting caught by paparazzi. You would not tell them that you could spend time with them or have sex due to the lack of time and the hang out with your friends and former lovers instead. Why I could not have their luck once? Just once I'd love to know how it feels to be with someone who would proudly walk with me, go out with me or take me to places, happy to know that I'm by his side. Just one time I'd like to know who it feels not to be scared that your partner is going to be mad if someone for being seen together or acted as if he'd ashame and embarrased if people knew we're together, as if he could do so much better than you... just once I'd like to know how that feels. - you said and could not stop the tears. The tears covered your eyes and cheeks. The lump in your throat hurt badly. Henry grabbed your shoulders and pulled you closer, making you rest your head on his chest as he stroked your face and hair. He knew that you needed to let go of your tears in order to feel better. He promesed you would heal. He'd make sure that your future is bright and full of smiles instead of tears.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #demivampirew

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thevoidable · 5 years ago

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How and why Dabi is still alive - a theory

Now, assuming the Dabi is a Todoroki theory is correct, there’s always been one big, persisting question since we got a certain confirmation several chapters ago in the manga: just how is Dabi still alive?

That’s the question I’m hoping to answer or at least provide some more insight on by the end of this post, and what I’ll be doing is going in-depth about the cremation process and digging into context clues within the manga, so, major manga spoilers and TWs ahead.

Before we look into how Dabi is still alive, we must first answer how Toya himself actually “died”. As I previously mentioned, chapter 249 gave us confirmation that the Todorokis all firmly believe that Toya is dead, but it was still left unclear on just what was the cause, and most of us had the idea that Endeavour had possibly killed Toya during training.

But then, chapter 252 gave us another vague yet crucial detail:

Endeavour was not directly responsible for his death, but the way this is worded still implies that he is somewhat part of the reason. So, if Endeavour didn’t kill him, what did? Previously in chapter 250, Fuyumi mentions the following:

So, we know that whatever happened to Toya was after the kettle incident. Now, given all the build-up of him being the eldest (therefore him seeing and experiencing the most), suffering through Endeavour’s abuse, and then his mother snapping and becoming potentially just as dangerous, the most likely cause of death for Toya is, unfortunately, suicide. Everything was just too much for him at that point and he, too, snapped. It’s likely that he hid away in an empty room and burned himself alive, and by the time Endeavour (or possibly any of his siblings) found him, it was too late.

So now that we know how Toya died, we can finally start getting to the juicy part, but before we do, I would just like to quickly bring up Dabi’s Quirk and how compatible it is with his body, because that’s going to be important later.

During Dabi’s fight with Geten, we got confirmation that his flames are indeed detrimental to his own body.

Paired with Endeavour’s words said to Shoto during training, and Natuso, Rei, and Fuyumi’s conversation in chapter 187,

it’s easy to put together that Toya inherited a body more suited for an ice Quirk. Given that, it’s still very impressive that Dabi is getting away with the burns that he has and isn’t just straight up dead, so just how hot are his flames? With a quick Google search, blue fire burns at a whopping 1400 - 1650 degrees Celsius (2600 - 3000 degrees Fahrenheit), which means that despite his disadvantage, he still has an amazingly strong resistance to extremely high temperatures. Not only that, but his body is also very likely to survive extreme cold temperatures too, so in a way, Toya essentially has a very flawed version of Shoto’s body and Quirk.

Alright, back to our regularly scehduled programming. So, Toya burned himself alive, and now Endeavour has to deal with the aftermath. What does he do? Something that I’ve noticed which is incredibly strange is that none of the authorities have been able to figure out Dabi’s identity at all - as of right now, every single core League member has been revealed except for Dabi. If Dabi is Toya, why has no one been able to get DNA tests, fingerprints, etc.? If the other members can be figured out, then Dabi should be too. ...Unless Endeavour had wanted to erase Toya from public existence entirely. It’s entirely possible that Endeavour contacted the Safety Commission to help him cover up his son’s death and make it as if he had never existed in the first place. Back then, Toya was seen as nothing but a mistake, a failure, so with him dead, it was easy for Endeavour to just sweep him under the rug and move on with his successful son. The Safety Commission would have handled erasing any and all data on Toya, which would explain why investigations regarding Dabi’s identity are coming up dry (oh the irony). So, with his digital existence erased, what about his actual physical one? Considering that around 99% of deceased in Japan are cremated, and Dabi’s name itself means “cremation”, the choice is blatantly obvious. What we have next to look at to figure out how Dabi survived is the cremation process. It consists of a few basic steps: - The body is transported to the crematory and kept in cold storage until the time of cremation - The body must be identified before the cremation process can begin - The body is cleaned and dressed (optional) - The body is placed into a cardboard box or casket and is cremated in the cremation chamber for 2 - 3 hours - Lastly, the remains are then ground up into “ashes” and given back to the family. First of all, in order for this theory to check out, we must address the elephant in the room: Toya is presumed dead. So how would he even be alive at this point anyway? Well, there’s actually a pretty good explanation for that. Turns out, people waking up in morgues can happen every so often. (As a side note, I’m no medical expert, so if I get anything wrong or get the information confused, then please let me know.)

A reduction in temperature you say? Like...being kept in cold storage? When Toya burned himself alive, he would have burned until he lost consciousness due to the fire eating away at his oxygen, which could have prompted his heart to stop or reduce its pulse greatly. Thus, as the above article suggests, when he was placed into cold storage, he was kept alive and given time to recover. The fact that his body is more suited to the cold is even better in this case, meaning that there’s no way the cold would harm him either.

With the elephant removed, we can now move on to the next steps: body identification and cremation preparation. Assuming that the Safety Commission is taking all measures to make sure that no one knows this is Endeavour’s eldest son, this part of the process suddenly becomes extra shady. What the body identification means is that the body is labelled with a unique number so that the remains can be identified after the cremation. However, there is also paperwork involved - yet another thing that the Commission would have to keep confidential, or perhaps even alter, giving fake names and the like. As mentioned earlier, the body being cleaned and dressed is optional, so that is clearly off the table too in order to keep Toya’s identity hidden from whoever works at the crematory.

And finally, we now get to the best part: the cremation itself. I doubt that Endeavour would have a casket prepared for Toya, so he would just be placed in a sturdy cardboard box, and then he’d be slid on into the cremation chamber, which is basically a human-sized brick oven. Now, this is where Toya’s body compatibility really comes into play. Remember how I said that blue fire burns at 1400 - 1650 degrees Celsius (2600 - 3000 degrees Fahrenheit), and that regardless of his burns he still has a crazy high temperature tolerance because of it? If he is able to withstand a decent amount of his own flames, then a measly cremation temperature of 1000 - 1300 degrees Celsius (1400 - 1800 degrees Fahrenheit) will do almost nothing to him besides make his already existing burns a little worse. So, it’s at this point that we now have to ditch science and research and start letting our imaginations run wild, because everything that happens next is all plot-based. It’s worth mentioning that I have never worked in a crematory before, so I’m not sure if the bodies are watched constantly while they burn (I know that families can watch their desceased be cremated if they so choose, but as far as general monitoring goes, I’m not sure), mostly because the process takes 2 - 3 hours, but if they’re not watched, then it’s my personal belief that Toya wakes up as he’s being cremated and busts his way out of the cardboard box in a fit of panic. Once out of the chamber, he realises what’s going on due to another body that could be cremating at the same time. I’d imagine that what’s going through Toya’s head right now is that people think he’s dead when he’s actually not, and he’d perfer it if it stayed that way. He has the perfect opportunity to get away from Endeavour and start anew elsewhere - this is his second chance. To avoid being found out, he braves the flames again to switch out the ID labels so that the other body’s ashes will be mistaken for his, and he makes his escape out of the crematory to face the streets for the first time. As for what happens during the ten year gap between then and now, I have no idea of what Dabi does or goes through, so that’s all for Hori to know and us to find out.

And so, that concludes my theory!

I hope you all enjoyed reading it - I did as much research as I could and tried to come up with the most logical scenario possible, and this was the result. I’ve been working on it since midnight and it is now 3AM, so I am going to go the fuck to bed and get some sleep lmao. Let me know your thoughts and if you have anything to add!

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #bnha manga spoilers #mha manga spoilers #dabi #dabi is a todoroki #theory #todoroki touya #touya todoroki

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ohemgeeitscoley · 4 years ago

Text

Signed, Sealed, Delivered (2/6)

Fandom: Star Wars

Pairing: Rey/Ben Solo (Reylo)

Note: Chapter count went up! As always, giant thank you to @andyouweremine @notababoonbrandishingastick and @storiesofimagination for all of the reading and cheerleading and handholding.

Read below or on AO3

Creepy Threepio agrees and Ben sends Rey a message to coordinate with her on getting Amilyn and Snoke in the elevator at the same time and when to meet Ben in the maintenance room in the basement of the building.

Everything goes completely and horribly wrong. Which really doesn’t surprise Ben, he knew that the plan was a long shot. But it does surprise him at just how wrong everything does go.

Rey is standing next to him, her jaw hanging open as she watches the disaster that is happening on the screen. Creepy Threepio looks overly thrilled by the scene in the elevator. Which with everything Ben has heard about him through the building grapevine, it also doesn’t surprise him.

To Rey’s credit, they did get Amilyn and Snoke in the same elevator. Everything went well for about ten seconds. Ben would give them that. For ten seconds their plan went absolutely wonderfully.

Then there was a flower delivery man that stepped into the elevator. Then Threepio stopped the elevator. Then Amilyn and Snoke fought and fought about what to do, cancelling and recalling the emergency button, arguing about who had cell service and just calling the fire department.

All of which was, quite frankly, bad enough.

And that was before the delivery guy really started to panic about being stuck in an elevator and took his clothes off and stood naked in front of Amilyn and Snoke.

Obviously, the situation took many turns for the worse.

But then he started urinating.

That’s what they are watching now. The aftermath of this man urinating in a small enclosed space with their bosses. Snoke is losing his shit, and if it wasn’t going to become Ben’s problem when those doors opened, he would find it a bit amusing to see him so out of sorts.

Amilyn handles it better than Snoke. She’s trying to comfort the man while shooting daggers at Snoke as she rambles on about stress incontinence and how it’s a perfectly normal thing.

“Open the doors, Threepio,” Rey orders, her face paling as she keeps looking at the monitor. “Open the fucking doors. We have to get them out of there.”

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Ben says, holding his hands up when she looks over to him and glares. “I’m just saying.”

Rey doesn’t say anything else, just keeps her eyes on the screen, unable to tear her attention away from the trainwreck that is still occurring as Threepio takes his time to get the elevator up and running and the doors open.

Finally, the doors open and Ben watches as Amilyn and Snoke fight each other to get out of the elevator first, screaming at each other about their behavior.

“Yeah,” Ben sighs, watching as both Amilyn and Snoke walk off the screen. “Real good first meeting. I definitely think this is the meet up story they are going to tell at their wedding.”

Rey bites her bottom lip, one hand gripping the edge of the desk in front of her. “We’ll do better next time.”

“Next time?” Ben rolls his eyes. “Rey, there is not going to be a next time. Did you not just see what a fucking disaster that was? Someone peed in front of them.”

“Yes,” Rey answers, with a small nod. “That is what just happened. So, we can’t really do worse next time. We’ve got nowhere to go but up from here.”

Ben stares at Rey, trying to figure out how exactly she is taking what just occurred to be anything but a certifiable loss. “There is no way. I’m not doing this again.”

Rey turns her attention to Threepio, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks for your help.”

“Thank you,” Threepio exclaims, a wide grin spread over his face. His eyes are crinkled at the corners. “This is the greatest thing I’ve ever done.”

Rey gives a nervous chuckle before pointing down at the small plant she had brought for him. “Don’t forget to water this guy at least once a day. Okay?”

Ben follows Rey out of the room. They both look at the elevator for a second, before heading toward the doors for the staircase.

“I’ll come up with another plan tonight,” Rey says as they start the walk up to their floors. “This was a rash plan. We need to pay more attention to the details and the variables.”

“Rey, I really don’t know.” Ben pulls his phone out of his pocket as it starts beeping. He holds his phone up for Rey to see. “Snoke is losing his mind. Today is going to be awful and we probably deserve that for trying to mess with our bosses’ love lives.”

“Don’t,” Rey started, before grimacing as her own phone started going off. “Don’t back out on this yet. One more shot. Just one more.”

Ben pauses at the landing between the floors, starting to read through the onslaught of messages from Snoke. One of them even suggests that he needs to find and fire the delivery guy. As if that is something in Ben’s power.

He isn’t sure what makes him agree. He isn’t planning on it. He is planning on telling her no. That this was fun, or, well, fun wasn’t really the right word for it. But it was something. A nice break to his usual days.

Her eyes are hopeful though as she whispers please and holds his gaze.

He’s going to tell her no. Absolutely no way in hell is he doing this again.

And yet, he says, “Okay. Fine. Just one more.”

***

“Ben,” Leia’s voice is demanding and clearly irritated over the phone. “You were supposed to be at the restaurant 45 minutes ago.”

“I know, Mom.” Ben sighs, spreading his legs out wider to stop anyone from trying to sit in the two seats next to him. “Snoke is running late. As soon as he gets here, I should have about two hours and I’ll head straight to the restaurant.”

“This is ridiculous.” Leia mutters. Ben can hear ice clink against her glass in the background. “I don’t know why you won’t just let me or Luke make a few calls so you can quit.”

“I don’t want to get into this again.” Ben runs his hand over his chin. “I want to get my jobs on my own. It’s important to me.”

“You’ve been saying that since you graduated,” Leia points out and Ben hates how he knows that she has a point. “How long are you going to put yourself through this? You're currently holding seats for someone that can’t even be bothered to be at his kid’s show on time. You work an impossible number of hours every week. Your pay is a joke. You haven’t made it home for dinner in months. There’s only about a ten percent chance I’m actually going to see you today, Ben. We both know it.”

Ben tilts his head back, briefly closing his eyes as Leia brings up with the same arguments she uses every time they have this conversation. Not that they aren’t good arguments. Everything she is saying is true. It just doesn’t change anything.

“You’re wasting your potential, Ben,” Leia adds at the end. Which is new. She hasn’t pulled that card before. “You could be doing so much more and you are just wasting it waiting for Snoke to open up doors for you that you don’t need him to open.”

Ben’s just about to respond when he hears Snoke’s voice in the auditorium. Ben sits up straight, turning his head to see him practically pushing people out of his way to make it to the front where Ben is waiting.

“I’ve got to go, Mom,” Ben says, holding his free hand up for Snoke to see. “I love you.”

“Ben—”

Ben hangs up the phone.

***

Rey’s spread out across her bed. She has her cell phone upside down and left on the shelf by her door. It’s 2 am and she is decidedly not going to look at her phone again until at least 6 am when she is getting ready for work.

She pops another piece of popcorn in her mouth as she watches another video of a sports event. This time it’s a basketball game and she’s zoning out as she can hear the music change to some cheesy song about kisses and the video focuses on people sitting next to each other for the kiss cam.

Kiss cam.

It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. It’s so much better than the trapped in the elevator idea they had gone with the first time.

Rey gets out of bed and grabs her phone. She’s about to text Ben her great idea when she hears Kaydel come in the front door.

Rey sets her phone back down and looks over at the “Will you be my maid of honor?” sign that Rey had found on her bed this morning. She picks it up off her dresser and walks out to tell Kaydel yes.

She’s going to be the best maid of honor for her. She just needs this plan with Ben to work out to have the time for that to happen.

***

“Okay, we didn’t do so great last time,” Rey says, tapping her fingers against Ben’s desk as she talks. “But our luck is going to change. This plan is going to blow your mind.”

Ben smiles despite his best efforts not to. Her excitement is contagious. It’s quickly becoming one of Ben’s favorite things about Rey. The positive spin and twists she can put on most situations is so different from how Ben sees things. It’s nice to have around.

“We’ll see,” Ben teases. “Are you going to tell me this great plan?”

“When I feel like I have your full attention.” Rey leans forward over his desk, to look at the list he is writing. “Lemons? Wire? Still working on this?”

Ben drops his pen on top of the list before rubbing his hand at the back of his neck. “Snoke’s kid needs the best science project for the science fair. Obviously.”

“Ah,” Rey says with understanding. “And you are doing… lemons to electricity? Very fancy. Definitely the best.”

“I hate my job.” Ben groans, shaking his head. “I’m twenty-eight, and I’m still an assistant. This is… not where I thought I’d be in life by now. Googling how to do a stupid middle school science fair project.”

“So, let’s make our jobs a little bit better by getting at least a slight increase in personal time added to our days.” Rey beams at him, pulling two tickets out of her jacket. “These are ours. I’m assuming you can get Snoke a seat at the next Yankees game?”

“Yeah.” Ben shoots her a curious look. “I can do that. What’s your plan exactly?”

“You’ll see.”

***

Ben’s been standing at the front of the Yankee Stadium for almost thirty minutes waiting for Rey to show up. The game is going to start soon and he hasn’t heard from her since she sent him a location pin of where to meet her before the game.

He’s just about to call her when he sees her running across the street toward him. His eyes widen slightly as he takes in her appearance. She is dressed in Yankee’s gear from head to toe. She looks absolutely ridiculous… and a little bit adorable.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” She asks, slowly moving her eyes up and down his body.

Ben glances down at the suit he had on. He doesn’t see anything wrong with what he is wearing.

“A suit?” He responds, lifting one of his shoulders up in a small shrug. “I came straight from the office.”

“No one wears a suit to a Yankees game, Ben.” Rey rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling and shaking her head just enough that a piece of her hair falls into her face.

Ben doesn’t think and lifts his hand up to brush the hair back and tuck it behind her ear.

“Thanks,” Rey blushes as Ben pulls his hand back from her face. She glances down away from Ben for a moment, but Ben is almost sure he sees her lips twitch up in a smile.

“You’re late,” Ben points out, trying to distract himself from the way his heart is beating faster when she looks back up at him and her cheeks are still slightly pink. They start walking toward the line to go through security. “I’ve been waiting forever.”

“Forever?” Rey scoffs. “You’re such a drama queen. I had to get supplies.” She waves the foam finger in her hand as an example. “I over dicked around.”

“You what?” Ben laughs.

“You know. I over dicked around.” Rey says the phrase again as if it is a common expression. “I got down here early to get everything set up with the kiss cam. And then I saw this cute shirt,” she points at the button up jersey shirt she is wearing. “Then I figured you’d need a foam finger to show your team spirit, which clearly I was right about, Mr. I-wear-a-suit-to-a-baseball-game.”

She pauses as they get closer to the front of the line, pulling the tickets out of her bag.

“I lost track of time.” She continues, giving him an apologetic look. “I still can’t believe you are wearing a suit.”

“I didn’t realize there was a dress code for a baseball game.”

“Comfort,” Rey teases as she hands her tickets, before grabbing on to Ben’s hand and pulling him through the crowd. “You should be comfortable at a baseball game.”

“Maybe I find suits to be comfortable.”

“You’re so weird.” Rey says, letting go of his hand as the crowd around them thins. Without much thought, Ben reaches forward to grab onto her hand again. He pauses just before his fingers would brush against hers, remembering that he has no reason to hold Rey's hand. He just wants to. His hand falls back to his side as he follows Rey as she starts heading up the stairs to their seats.

***

“You got everything set up?” Ben asks, tilting the popcorn bag that he had grabbed during the third inning toward Rey.

Rey assumed when he left he needed a little bit of a break from the group of teenagers that had bombarded him with questions when they sat down. Rey introduced each of the kids to him, and she introduced Yoda, the sweet old man who ran the group home that the kids were placed in.

“Yep,” Rey answers, throwing a piece of popcorn into her mouth as she smiles at Ben. “I think I can sort of see them?” She adds, squinting her eyes down toward where Snoke and Amilyn are sitting next to each other.

Ben had taken off his suit jacket and his tie after one of the teenage girls sitting next to them had joined Rey in making fun of him for looking so formal. He had also rolled his sleeves up to just below his elbow. Between that particular look and the way his hair softly moved with the gentle breeze, Rey is fairly distracted by how attractive she finds him.

“Me too,” Ben says. “They don’t look like they are yelling at each other.”

“Very promising.”

“It’s definitely a step up from the elevator incident,” Ben teases, bumping his shoulder against Rey’s. “I’ll give you that.”

“I told you we could do better,” Rey reminds him. “I have a good feeling about this.”

Rey watches the game, groaning when the umpire makes a bad call with the rest of the crowd. The atmosphere and sense of belonging in a crowd that came along with being at a live sporting event has always been one of Rey’s favorite feelings. She fell in love with it during her first minor league hockey game that she went to when she was 10. She loves watching the kids next to her fall in love with the same feeling.

“They aren’t even watching the game,” Rey complains, glancing over at Ben who seems into the game at least. “I know we set them up to come to the game, but with seats like that, I would be falling over myself.”

Ben looks off to the side for a few seconds before he responds. "I’ve had seats like that before," he says and he sounds almost ashamed to admit it to Rey. "I didn't appreciate them then."

"That's okay." Rey shoves her shoulder up against his, softly laughing. "I bet you will next time."

Ben looks like he is about to respond when Kiss Me starts to play over the speakers. Rey claps her hands excitedly before hitting one of her hands on Ben's knee.

"It's time!" Rey exclaims, her eyes glued on the jumbo screen, watching as the first couple gets picked out.

The first couple laughs before leaning across their seats for a brief kiss. The next pair does the same thing.

Rey loves watching the people blush, the quick glance to the other person making sure that this is okay, the shy smiles on their faces as they lean in for the kiss.

Her heart plummets to her stomach when she sees her face on the screen.

This was not supposed to happen. She's going to kill Artoo. Rey clearly and explicitly explained to him that she needed the camera on Amilyn. She gave him the exact seat.

Ben brushes his finger over her elbow. "Rey?" He asks.

Rey squints her eyes at Amilyn and Snoke's seats. They both seem entranced by their phones still. But Rey can't guarantee that they will remain focused on their phones and not on the giant screen with her and Ben's face.

They could get caught, Rey realizes, if the focus stays on them and Amilyn or Snoke look up from their phone.

They can't get caught.

So Rey turns her head, leaning closer toward Ben and kisses him.

He's surprised at first. At least Rey hopes the way Ben freezes against her at first is from surprise, but then he seems to melt into her, responding with passion she isn't expecting, one hand tilting her head to angle her better against his lips while the other brushes against the hair at the nape of her neck.

Objectively it's a good kiss. Ben's lips are soft and move against hers with ease. Rey's stomach swoops as Ben's mouth opens slightly. It would be easy to get lost in the way Ben kisses her.

There's wolf whistling and hollering coming from the kids around them when they pull away.

Rey stares at Ben for a moment after they separate. Her eyes are wide and there's a blush creeping up his neck and Rey hopes that her face isn't too red, but she can feel the heat on her cheeks.

She looks away, straightens her shoulders and sees the camera focus on Amilyn and Snoke.

They are still lost in their phones and Rey lets out a sigh of relief because they missed the kiss. She's certain that they didn't see her and Ben. Their plan can still work.

Rey focuses her attention on joining the crowd in cheering, trying to capture the attention of Amilyn and Snoke. It's a good distraction from the way her lips are still tingling from the kiss. From the way her thoughts want to drift away to imagine kissing Ben again.

Their bosses finally, finally, look up when the man behind them taps them on the shoulder.

Amilyn looks up at the screen and then over at Snoke. She laughs before shaking her head and looking back at her phone.

Snoke doesn't seem to understand what is going on.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Rey joins the crowd in chanting, smiling as Ben joins in as well.

They don’t.

Rey joins the crowd in booing when the camera moves away from Snoke and Amilyn and onto another pair of people.

“Fuck,” Rey mutters under her breath. She scrunches her nose up and turns her head to look at Ben. “Well, that’s two of my ideas that have completely failed. My bad luck at romance appears to be contagious.”

“We’ll come up with something,” Ben says, giving Rey a small smile. “Maybe I’ll come up with the next idea.”

“I don’t know Ben.” Rey shakes her head. “Maybe you were right to begin with. This is crazy. I’ll just have to find a way to tell Kaydel that there’s no way I can guarantee being able to do all of the things she is going to want me to do as her maid of honor. Or tell Amilyn that I’m going to be slightly less available to her for the next few months. Neither of which are conversations I actually want to have, but I’m an adult and I can--”

“Rey,” Ben interrupts her, placing one of his hands on her knee. He points at the screen with his other hand. “They went back to Amilyn and Snoke.”

“What?” Rey asks, turning her attention to the screen. Sure enough, Amilyn and Snoke are the focus on the screen, a glittery pink heart framing their faces.

The crowd is even louder this time chanting for them to kiss. The music changes to Kiss the Girl. It’s easy to get lost in the atmosphere.

Amilyn is blushing and Snoke still seems unsure of what to do as he keeps his eyes off the screen. Rey notices when he looks over at Amilyn though, as if he’s considering just going for it.

Ben is chanting loudly next to her, clapping his hands together to accentuate the words. Rey giggles as she starts clapping in time with him.

Amilyn bites her lip and leans over the armrest separating her seat from Snoke’s. Rey grabs onto Ben’s hand, shaking it in excitement as she watches Amilyn closes the distance between her and Snoke and…

And kisses him on the cheek.

Rey groans, letting go of Ben’s hand. “So close,” she says, tilting her head back. “So close.”

The crowd seems to be just as outraged as Rey feels, judging by the sounds that are echoing in the stadium.

“It’s progress?” Ben offers. “This is still going better than the elevator.”

Rey snorts. It’s strange to hear Ben being the positive one. She appreciates him trying, but she recognizes that he is only saying these things to try to make her feel better. Not because he actually believes that this plan is going to go anywhere.

Rey’s not sure if her disappointment is just because this means she’s going to have to let her best friend down or risk her job… or if she’s going to miss having a reason to talk to Ben.

Rey sits up, watching as another couple kisses on the screen.

“It’s basically the law that you kiss when the kiss cam is on you.” Rey complains, tossing her hands up in front of her face. “I’ve been to so many games Ben, so many, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone not kiss. This should have worked.”

“One last time, folks,” the announcer’s voice rings out across the stadium as the camera once again focuses on Amilyn and Snoke. “Why don’t you just kiss the girl?”

Amilyn rolls her eyes, but Rey catches the way her chest shakes slightly from laughing, the way her eyes crinkle at the sides in humor.

The crowd is far too invested in this kiss happening, Rey decides, as she and Ben stand up and continue chanting for the kiss to happen.

And it does.

Finally, Snoke places his hand on the side of Amilyn’s face and they kiss.

Rey cheers, throwing her arms up in the air in victory. Ben grabs onto her waist and pulls her into his side.

“We did it!” He exclaims, wrapping his arms around her and picking her up from the ground.

Rey squeals, burying her head into the crook of his neck. She pulls back when he puts her back down, smiling widely up at him. “I told you I had a good feeling about this.”

Ben matches her grin, shaking his head. “Right,” he teases, the word almost inaudible as he laughs. “You had zero doubts this entire time.”

“Not a single one.” Rey drops her gaze to Ben’s lips, and she wants to kiss him again. To stand on her tiptoes and press her lips against his. She looks away, feeling the way her neck is heating up. Scratching at her neck, Rey sits back down and gives Ben one last, small smile.

“Now what?” Ben asks, sitting down.

Rey keeps her eyes forward on the game that is just starting to resume.

“Now… now we enjoy this small win,” Rey says after a few minutes, turning her head to look at Ben. He looks more relaxed in that moment than he has all day. “Then you get to come up with some ideas for phase two.”

***

The Yankees win. Amilyn and Snoke kissed.

Rey kissed him.

For a plan Ben had been so hesitant to agree to, it has so far been working in his favor.

Rey tugs on his hand as they head out of the stadium. He likes the way Rey keeps grabbing his hand, holding it when they walk. He likes the way her hand fits in his.

He’s starting to think that he might just like her.

Rey is practically beaming with glee between the win and her plan working. She’s chattering at about a million miles a minute about the game and stats that he finds oddly impressive that she has memorized. He doesn’t know enough about baseball or the Yankees really to follow half of what she says, but her joy is contagious.

Ben can’t remember the last time he smiled this much.

Rey’s phone beeps and she drops his hand to reach for it. Ben’s phone goes off a few seconds later.

“Oh my god,” Rey whispers, stopping completely once they are just outside of the stadium. “It worked. Ben, it actually worked.”

Ben nods, rereading the message on his phone. “Snoke isn’t coming back into the office for the rest of the day.”

“Neither is Amilyn,” Rey grabs onto his hand again, slightly swinging their arms together. “I don’t have to go back into the office.”

“Neither do I.”

Ben is a bit amazed that this actually worked. That somehow Amilyn and Snoke were off together and because of it he and Rey both are now free for the rest of the day.

“So what are you going to do with all of this free time?” Ben asks as they make their way toward the subway.

“I was thinking…” Rey’s sentence trails off and she bites at her bottom lip. She looks nervous. “I was thinking maybe we could go get drinks? Or dinner? You know, to celebrate the win?”

“Yeah,” Ben quickly responds before Rey is fully finished talking. “I would love to do that. Maybe I could even convince you to help me come up with some ideas for phase two?”

“Absolutely not,” Rey shakes her head. “But you can try.”

***

“Do you think we’ll even need a phase two?” Ben asks, taking a drink from the beer bottle in his hand. “I mean, maybe we should just let nature take over from her?”

“Nature?” Rey sputters, staring at Ben as if he’s grown two heads. “Ben, we need this relationship to work out for at least the next 3 months. It took two well thought out plans to get them to this point, and you think nature can just take over from here?”

“Well thought out plans?” Ben mocks. “That is one way of describing your plans I’m sure.”

“Hey,” Rey swats at his hand, laughing as he pulls it away from her. “My plans ended up working so no complaining about them. Besides, we’ve been here for,” Rey glances down at her phone, “almost two hours, and you have provided zero plans for phase two.”

“That’s because I’m still not convinced that we need a phase two.”

“We need a phase two,” Rey states as if her opinion is fact. Because it absolutely is what they need and Ben just needs to get on the same page. “So you better start thinking of one.”

Rey finishes her drink, running a finger across the rim of the glass. “I told Kaydel I’d meet her soon.”

Ben nods, finishing his beer. “This was nice.”

Nice might be an understatement. Even if they still don’t have a plan for what they are going to do about Snoke and Amilyn next… just talking with Ben had been great.

She knows more about him now, about his past, and his family. The reasons why he won’t let his family help him out. It’s hard for Rey to imagine having a family that wants to help and turning them away. But she can sort of see where he is coming from, it’s an almost foreign concept to her.

Getting to know Ben is nice. Talking to Ben is nice. Hearing him laugh and smile and watching the way his eyes lit up when he gets excited is more than nice. It’s doing nothing to stop her growing desire to kiss him again.

She probably needs to figure out what she is going to do about that problem later.

“It was,” Rey agrees, watching as Ben smiles. She wonders if he has any idea just how gorgeous he looks when he smiles. She wishes she was just a little more brave, or a little more drunk, to tell him. “Even if you have presented no plans. Or apparently even thought about a plan more than coming up with a bad argument about how we don’t need a plan.”

“I’ll come up with a plan,” Ben laughs when Rey narrows her eyes in disbelief. “Have some faith in me.”

“Okay,” Rey concedes, grabbing her phone from the table before standing up. “But just some.”

“Have fun with Kaydel,” Ben says, standing as well. “Enjoy your time with her.”

“I will.” Rey pausing, glancing away from Ben for a moment, debating her next move. Ben’s arms are around her before she has much time to consider anything, pulling her into a hug.

Rey grins as she wraps her arms around him. She lingers when he pulls away, stretching up to press her lips against his cheek.

“Good night, Ben.” Her voice is light and soft as she takes a step back. “I expect at least three options tomorrow morning.”

Rey can still hear him laughing when she exits the bar.

***

“Wait, wait, wait,” Kaydel starts, waving her hands around. Rey grabs onto Kaydel’s arm, pulling her away from a larger crack in the sidewalk. “You and the guy who you said was a—and I am quoting—‘giant fucking asshole’ kissed today?”

Rey rolls her eyes. That would be the part of the story Kaydel would focus on. “We were on the kiss cam.” Rey says as if it’s a complete and full explanation. “And Ben isn’t an asshole. I mean, okay, he can be an asshole. But he isn’t always an asshole. He can actually be kind of… sweet sometimes?”

“Oh my god,” Kaydel grins, clapping her hands together excitedly. Kaydel always talks with her entire body, but it’s more pronounced and with larger movements when she has been drinking. “You like him.”

Rey sighs, pressing the button for the crosswalk. “That’s rather irrelevant,” Rey says as they start crossing the street. “I don’t even know if it’s true. Can’t we just focus on the fact that I got off work at a reasonable time today and that I came up with this evil genius plan to make sure I have time to perform my maid of honor duties?”

“Absolutely not.” Kaydel rolls her eyes. “We are one hundred precent focusing on the fact that you kissed a hot guy and that you can’t stop blushing every time you mention him.”

“I’ve been, I’ve been drinking,” Rey tries to come up for another explanation for her blushing. Because she is blushing. She knows that she can’t stop blushing whenever she thinks about Ben and it’s a little ridiculous. She feels like a schoolgirl with her first crush. “My face always gets a little bit red when I’ve been drinking.”

Kaydel stops in the middle of the sidewalk. Rey almost runs into her at the same time that Kaydel turns around. Kaydel’s eyes are narrow and pointed, but there’s no heat in the glare that she is giving Rey. Kaydel places her hands on Rey’s shoulders and stares at Rey for a few moments before she finally says, “You’re an absolute idiot.”

“Real nice, Kay,” Rey complains. “I’m really feeling bathed in your love right now.”

“You should always feel bathed in love when you are around me.” Kaydel sways slightly, increasing the weight pressing down on Rey’s shoulders. “But that doesn’t make you any less of an idiot.”

Rey huffs, blowing a stray piece of her hair out of her eyes. “Why don’t we just go home? You can tell me more about what an idiot I am while we drink some water.”

Kaydel shrugs, turning around and looping her arm through Rey’s as she starts walking again. “I’ve got nothing else besides you’re an idiot. But maybe you can tell me more about this plan and more about Ben. I think I’ll like him.”

***

“Princess?” Han yells from the front door. He is leaning against the open door and the smug smile on his face is maddening. It only grows the longer Ben just stares at him. “Our son is here.”

“What?” Ben can hear Leia ask from in the house. He can practically see her shocked face with the surprise he can hear in her voice. He hates that showing up unannounced is such a rare thing that he deserves this kind of reaction from his parents.

“Are you busy?” Ben asks, stepping forward to go into the house. Han moves just enough for Ben to squeeze by him. “I can always leave if you guys had plans.”

Leia walks toward him and slightly smacks his arm before wrapping her arms around him.

“I was just about to kick your dad’s ass at cards,” Leia says, pulling back. “You can help.”

Han pats Ben on the back as he walks toward the family room.

“Do you need money?” Leia questions, her eyes narrowing as they all sat down. “Are you finally going to let us help you?”

“No, Mom.” Ben tries to keep the irritation out of his voice, but he knows he isn’t very successful with the look Leia is giving him. “I don’t need money. I’m doing just fine. And my job is getting better. As I assumed you could tell, since I’m here visiting you.”

Leia purses her lips giving an almost imperceptible shake to her head. “One day of getting off at a reasonable time does not make the situation any better Ben. Especially when it’s a situation that you don’t even have to be in.”

“How’d you end up getting off so early anyway?” Han asks, giving Leia a look that Ben knows is him telling her to stop pushing. He shuffles the cards in his lap. “I don’t think that in the entire time you’ve been there you’ve gotten off before 10 without a lot of prearrangement.”

“I got off at 6.” Ben is a little too proud in the way he says it, as if getting off at a reasonable time is some kind of accomplishment Leia is going to want to hang on the wall. “So I’d say things are going much better.”

“Off at 6?” Han starts dealing out the cards. “And what did you do for the first few hours of your freedom?”

“I, uh, I went out for drinks with a…” Ben pauses, pretends that he is looking at his cards and contemplating his move. Maybe he should have just gone home and hung out with Poe. Poe was less likely than his parents to ask questions. Most of the time. “A friend. I went out for drinks with a friend.”

“A friend?” Leia repeats, her tone far too knowing. “Does this friend have a name? Do we know him?”

“Her,” Ben corrects, rolling his eyes at Leia’s inability to be subtle. “And her name is Rey. You don’t know her.”

“How did you two meet?” Leia places two cards face down in front of her without appearing to glance at them as she keeps her eyes on Ben.

Ben keeps his eyes on his cards, debating the best way to phrase the way he and Rey had met. He doesn’t quite think his mom will be too thrilled with the truth. That he had pretty much stolen Rey’s food delivery and then asked for her to pay him back with interest the next day.

Even he was aware that he was kind of an asshole in that story.

Somehow explaining that she’s an assistant in the same building as him who came up with an idea to set their bosses up so that they can have more free time doesn’t seem much better.

He decides on somewhere in the middle.

“She’s an assistant who works in the same building. We met when we both were trying to get dinner for our bosses late one night.”

“Uh huh,” Leia hums and Ben hates that Leia just knows that there is more to the story than he is telling. It’s always frustrated him the way Leia can pinpoint every time he tries holding something back from her. “And you two are bonding over work?”

Ben glances at Han, trying to signal for him to jump in and change the subject. Han just smirks and shakes his head.

Not that Ben can blame him.

“Poe is really excited about your birthday party,” Ben says instead of answering the question, trying to change the subject on his own. “Thanks for sending him an invite directly. Instead of just having him tag along with me.”

“Well, I wanted to make sure that he knew he was welcome whether or not you could make it,” Leia tilts her head to the side. “With your schedule it’s not that it’s a guarantee that you’ll be there.”

“I’ll be there,” Ben sighs. “I promise I will be there.”

“Good,” Leia grins. “And you should bring Rey. If you’d like. We always love meeting your friends.”

“Always,” Han adds, tossing a card onto the table. “I’m sure it would make your mom’s birthday to meet your new friend.”

“You both know that I’m 28 years old right?” Ben asks, glancing back and forth between the two of them. “And that there is no way I’m going to bring Rey, who I’ve known for less than two weeks, to Mom’s birthday lunch. I would consider telling Poe he isn’t allowed to come, but I’m pretty sure you’ve both run through all of my embarrassing stories with him already.”

“I’m sure I could come up with a few more,” Leia teases. ‘And this is exactly why I sent Poe his own invite.”

Ben runs a hand through his hair. “Can we just play cards? Go back to you giving me shit about my job?”

“Sure kid,” Han agrees. “But we really are looking forward to hearing more about Rey.”

***

“Okay, what about this spot?” Rey asks, turning her phone toward Kaydel so she can see the picture she has pulled up. It’s a gorgeous winery just outside of the city. The pictures show the grassy hills, with the perfectly planted flowers, and there is a little stage that could be used for a DJ or a band.

Kaydel crinkles her nose and shakes her head. “It’s too far away. I don’t want to have to leave the city for my engagement party.”

Rey nods, pulling her phone back and resumes scrolling through the different results of different venue ideas. “Well, what have you found over there?”

“This place looks nice,” Kaydel hands her phone over. “The rooftop is definitely a good size, and it has a bar already set up. I think this might be the place. And they have availability on most of the nights Rose isn’t scheduled to be on call at the hospital.”

Rey looks through the pictures. It’s perfect.

“I say book it then.” Rey gives the phone back to Kaydel. “And let me know what night you guys end up picking so I can make sure I can coordinate to have it off.”

“Maybe you’ll bring Ben,” Kaydel teases, rolling over onto her side on the couch. “I think I’d like to meet him.”

“Maybe I’ll bring one of the guys from that new dating app you signed me up for.” Rey shakes her phone in the air.

“Sure, you could do that.” Kaydel’s face is inquisitive as she continues. “Have you had any good matches?”

“No.” Rey sighs, tossing her phone onto her lap. “I have had zero good matches. I’m starting to think there’s no hope for me. I’ve looked through hundreds of matches, and just, nothing?”

Rey decidedly does not mention that part of the problem is that she has been comparing every match to Ben. It’s not a fair comparison. Not everyone can be tall and handsome and have annoyingly nice hair.

And it’s hard to get an idea if someone is insufferable in an endearing way in the few sentences that are posted in the bios she reads.��

The truth is that it’s hard to get any sense of who a person is on a dating profile and it’s one of the main reasons Rey is pretty sure she is never going to have luck finding a date on one.

“So ask Ben,” Kaydel says as if it’s the most logical decision. “I’d like to meet the guy that’s helping make sure my best friend gets to attend all of the important things for my wedding. And he makes you smile, Rey. You should invite him.”

“Maybe,” Rey concedes, biting down on her bottom lip as she stands. “I’ll think about it. But it’s late and I’m going to bed. I love you, good night.”

Rey tries not to think too much about how Kaydel might have a point as she gets into bed. Ben does make her smile. A lot. He also makes her laugh. And, yeah, he can be a little infuriating sometimes, but if she’s being honest, she kind of likes that about him. There was also the kiss at the game.

It was a good kiss.

One Rey doesn’t mind thinking about while she falls asleep.

#reylo #reylo fic #reylo fanfic #reylo fanfiction #reylomovies #my fic

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aliciameade · 5 years ago

Text

Tailor-Made

Title: Tailor-Made Author: aliciameade Rating: *** M *** Pairing: Stephanie Smothers/Emily Nelson Summary: Emily wears her suits like armor and they fit like a glove. Stephanie admires her ability to pull off the style so effortlessly and knows she could never do the same.

Emily disagrees.

Set somewhere in the first-half of “Baby.”

Also on AO3

Perfect lines.

That’s what Stephanie sees as she watches Emily tug at the waist of her blazer after shrugging it on. She’s had the pleasure of watching Emily dress many times over the past several weeks, almost always as a result of Stephanie undressing her first. She finds it almost as sensual as the preceding acts of lust they share because, despite the three-piece suits and pinstripes that Emily dons like armor, Stephanie knows what lies beneath, both figuratively and literally.

“How do you do that?” she asks from where she sits on the ottoman in Emily’s massive closet.

Emily meets her eyes in the mirror she’s facing and a smile touches her lips. “Do what?”

Stephanie herself has yet to get dressed; her skirt, sweater, and bra are still on the floor in the adjacent bedroom but she’s borrowed one of Emily’s many silk robes. Emily needs to get to the office; it’s late morning following their impromptu tryst. Emily had called Stephanie and told her to meet her at her house in ten minutes and to leave her underwear at home.

Stephanie hadn’t known where Sean was or when he would be back, but Emily’s initial vigor upon her arrival and discovery of Stephanie waiting for her (dressed, but sans underwear, as instructed) and how it gave way after Stephanie’s first quick orgasm to an hour of unhurried lovemaking told her Sean’s absence had been unexpected and could be for an extended period of time.

“How do you look so good in that suit?”

“Baby,” Emily says with a smirk as she adjusts her pocket square, “I don’t look good in the suit; I make the suit look good.”

There’s not much Stephanie can say to that. She swallows thickly, arousal spiking again despite the three releases she was just given and she knows Emily can read it on her by the way her eyes burn into Stephanie’s through the mirror. “Yes, you do,” she says, having to clear her throat to get the words out.

She finishes checking her appearance and turns, taking slow, measured steps toward Stephanie, one hand in the pocket of her slacks until she stops in front of Stephanie.

Stephanie wets her lips and struggles to maintain composure. “It’s so unfair.”

“Why is that?” Emily asks and Stephanie watches as she brings her leg up to prop a gleaming black and white loafer next to Stephanie’s hip on the edge of the ottoman. As she leans down, she licks her thumb and Stephanie braces herself for whatever’s about to happen, but all Emily does is rub at what must be a spot of dirt on her shoe.

“Because,” Stephanie says after taking a shaky breath; if she leaned forward, her face could be between Emily’s legs...again. “I could never look that good in a suit.”

Emily regards her for a moment, then puts her foot back on the floor. “I’ll text you later.”

It’s a jarring, kind of cold response given the electricity that was flowing between them but she’s starting to learn to not take Emily’s bluntness too personally. She’s also learning there’s value in bluntness of her own. “I’m so wet, Em,” she says as she uncrosses her legs and lets the robe slip off her thighs.

There’s value in it because Emily never expects it and it shows in brief surprise that crosses her features before she once again appears stoic but Stephanie already knows she has her.

“One more,” Emily says, predictably, and drops to her knees in front of Stephanie, a sight she will never, ever tire of.

The impeccably tailored blazer gets tossed onto the ottoman next to Stephanie and she watches as Emily undoes the cufflink on her right wrist that she fastened just minutes earlier to neatly roll back her sleeve.

Stephanie parts her legs and leans back, though props herself up. She’s realized she’s going to get to watch Emily fuck her in the mirror and feels herself grow even wetter at the thought. “Just one?” she says, breath already quickening.

Emily’s quick, fingers sinking into Stephanie before she expected them to, and Stephanie’s moan is maybe a little pathetic with how needy it sounds.

“Just one,” Emily confirms, fingers setting a hard, quick pace fucking Stephanie before she ducks her head down to suck on her clit.

She’s already seconds from coming. “We’ll see,” she breathes before throwing her head back to groan as her orgasm rushes through her.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

It isn’t just one.

It’s two.

Three, if you count the one Emily gives herself standing in front of Stephanie while Stephanie watches.

Four, if you count the one Stephanie gives herself while watching Emily.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Emily texts her later as she said she would.

306 Broadway, 8:00. Sean will watch Miles.

Stephanie resists immediately Googling what the location is, but she knows it’s somewhere downtown. There’s no information beyond the location and time but Stephanie can fill in the blanks. Meet Emily there.

Stephanie’s filled with excited anticipation as she always is when she knows she is about to see Emily, but it’s heightened this evening with the element of mystery that’s been added.

“You look nice, Mom,” Miles says when she exits the bathroom after finishing her hair and makeup.

“Thank you, Smooch,” she says with a smile and a ruffling of his curls. She hasn’t done much, really. Just a bit more mascara and eyeliner and some lipstick, but she knows it makes a noticeable difference, especially when paired with the light pink dress she’s wearing. She feels kind of like she’s about to go on a date; she wouldn’t mind it if that’s what it was. “Are you ready to go to Nicky’s for a bit?”

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

It continues to be a surreal experience every time she does to Emily and Sean’s home, even more so when Emily isn’t there. To have to speak to Sean, to thank him for babysitting her son while she goes to have what is surely a sexual rendezvous with his wife is not something she particularly enjoys.

(The speaking to Sean part, not the sexual rendezvous.)

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

306 Broadway, Stephanie discovers as she parks along the curb, is a nondescript building. It lacks signage and the windows it has have their curtains drawn for the evening.

Emily’s Porsche is there, though, already parked in front of Stephanie’s Suburu, so she knows she’s in the right place.

She checks her appearance in the rear-view mirror once more before she hops out of the car to cross the sidewalk. She’s unsure if she should knock or ring the buzzer (once she notices there’s a buzzer), but the door opens before she decides to do either.

“You’re late,” Emily flatly.

“No, I’m…” Stephanie checks her watch: 8:01 PM. “I’m...one minute late,” she agrees. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Emily says sharply and Stephanie realizes what she’s said; it’s still a habit she’s trying to break. “Well, come in,” she continues as she steps aside to let Stephanie pass.

Stephanie’s brain is still trying to catch up with things: the mysterious location, Emily’s cool greeting, and her appearance (unbuttoned blazer and semi-casual end-of-workday appearance) while she takes in the room she’s stepped into.

It’s a warehouse of sorts, though not cold and gray. It’s lined with racks upon racks of clothing, all of it appearing to be high-end. There are a lot of sequins and sparkles, bright colors and deep, dark tones, dresses, tuxes, and suits.

“This is Dennis’s storage facility,” Emily says as though reading Stephanie’s mind. “Clothes from old photoshoots, fashion shows. Shit like that.”

“Wow,” Stephanie says, still taking it all in as she falls in step next to Emily who’s leading her further and further into the storage facility. “Why are we here, though, if I may ask?”

Emily glances at her and Stephanie can tell she’s trying to hide a smile. “This is Pierre,” Emily says with a nod ahead of them and Stephanie shifts her attention.

There’s a very well-dressed man waiting for them in an open area surrounded by mirrors a few small sofas, benches, dress mannequins, and tables covered with fabrics, scissors, and more of the like.

“Pierre is my bespoke tailor,” she continues as they arrive in his area. “This is Stephanie,” she says as an introduction and Stephanie isn’t sure if she should stride forward and shake his hand or not. They are still an awkwardly far distance apart.

She settles on a wave. “Hello.”

“Pleased to meet you,” he replies; he carries a faint French accent, as though he perhaps spent the first 10-15 years of his life in the country before relocating to the U.S.

“Pierre is going to fit you.”

Stephanie looks up at her, still a bit confused, and furrows her brow.

“For a suit, baby,” she clarifies. She seems to notice the pet name slipped out when it shouldn’t have but when Stephanie looks back, blushing, to Pierre, he’s still just wearing a polite smile.

The numbers finally spring to life in her head, quickly adding up a massive price tag “Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

“Yes, you can,” Emily says curtly before swatting Stephanie’s rear end to make her yelp and hop forward.

It gets her walking forward and she whips her head around to glare at Emily who is now smiling at her in a way that manages to ease all of Stephanie’s concerns.

“Hello,” she says again after stopping a few feet in front of Pierre.

He only nods and she watches his eyes roam her body; it feels invasive though oddly not violating. “What a figure,” he says to himself after a few seconds.

“I know, right?” Emily’s voice is behind Stephanie and she looks over Pierre’s shoulder to see her approaching and then taking a seat on a couch to Stephanie’s left. “Make her stop traffic.”

There’s a measuring tape draped around his shoulders that Stephanie notices once he starts sliding it off and into his hands. “It will be my pleasure.”

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

“Now, Ms. Nelson gave me your initial sizes in advance,” he says as he turns toward a rack full of pants, shirts, and jackets on hangers, “so let’s find pieces that you like and then we will get started.”

She wonders, for a moment as she follows him to the options, how Emily had that information to provide. Until she realizes that Emily has had ample opportunities to look at the tags and sizes in Stephanie’s clothing. To look in her closet, if she was so inclined. To map her body with her hands.

She realizes he’s waiting for her to make selections and almost apologizes for her mind wandering, stopping short of it when she feels Emily’s presence behind her.

“This one,” Emily’s smooth voice says as a white blouse passes by Stephanie to Pierre. “Both of these,” followed by two jackets. “And these,” and two pairs of pants.

“Very well,” Pierre says with a smile and Stephanie realizes all of the decisions have been made for her. “I have a dressing area just over here for privacy, if you’d follow me.”

There’s a hand at Stephanie’s back and she melts into it for a second before following him to a cream-colored curtain hanging along the rear wall that gives way to the largest dressing room Stephanie’s ever seen. The selected pieces are hung on an empty rack and Pierre excuses himself, leaving Stephanie alone in the room.

She isn’t surprised when Emily joins her and draws the curtain behind them. She’s equally unsurprised when Emily reaches for the zipper on the back of her dress to draw it down. She watches Emily lean down the mirror and feels her warm, soft lips in the back of her neck she’s exposed by lifting Stephanie’s hair out of the way.

It makes her shiver and she tries not to let her instantaneous arousal be too obvious even as Emily’s hands ease the dress down her arms until Stephanie’s stepping out of it. She watches Emily hang it on a spare hanger and return with the white blouse. Stephanie can already tell it’s been pressed crisp, the lines in the sleeves sharp.

“This is going to be too expensive, Em,” she says as she slips her arms into those crisp sleeves while Emily helps.

Emily just shushes her and watches over Stephanie’s shoulder while she buttons the shirt, stopping a few from the top as Emily’s hands start fiddling with the collar, then smooths her hands over Stephanie’s shoulders.

She’s handed a pair of dark charcoal gray pants and steps into them; by now she knows how this is going and just holds her hands up and out of the way while Emily tucks her shirt in, hands warm and sure as they smooth the rich fabric down Stephanie’s waist to her hips and the tops of her thighs where the shirt ends. For as long as Emily’s hands are down the front and back of Stephanie’s pants making her heart race, they withdraw before bringing her any relief.

The jacket follows and she shrugs into it while Emily smooths its lines and tugs at the cuffs and flaps, evaluating things with a keen eye in the mirror.

It’s a strange transformation, Stephanie thinks as Emily slips her hair out from where it’s caught beneath the jacket’s collar, to see herself dressed this way. She’s compelled to straighten her spine (not that she would ever slouch!) and stand taller, to hold her head higher.

“Perfect,” Emily says, voice in her ear as she reaches around Stephanie’s waist to button the jacket for her.

She finally steps in front of Stephanie, then, turning to work more with her collar until it sits how Emily deems is correct. Emily’s focus is intense and it only raises Stephanie’s blood pressure further. Having Emily’s hands on her so much, gliding over her arms, down her torso (she knows Emily didn’t have to move that slowly over her breasts), her hips, her backside, all under the guise of deciding if the chosen pieces were good starting points for tailoring makes her head spin a bit.

“Pierre,” Emily calls, “would you mind running to the office? We need that savoy blue tie they were working on today.”

Stephanie’s heart, already beating at a clip, starts to race.

“Of course,” comes the reply followed by the jingle of keys. “I’ll lock up behind me; shouldn’t be too long.”

“Take your time,” Emily replies, though her voice has dropped considerably in volume as her eyes hold Stephanie’s.

Stephanie parts her lips to question the obvious but Emily’s mouth is on hers before she can ask.

Yes, they really are going to do this year, is the answer she feels as Emily’s tongue slips into her mouth.

“You look amazing,” Emily breathes before kissing Stephanie harder.

She holds tight to Emily’s shoulders to keep her footing. Emily’s hands are everywhere. They follow the same paths they had been so recently, but now they are heavy and greedy, grabbing and pulling at her.

As abruptly as Emily had grabbed her, she retreats, taking a few long steps backward while she unbuttons her own blouse, shucking it and her jacket in one move. There’s a chaise lounge in the corner that she’s heading toward and Stephanie follows, hands moving to shed her own clothing.

“Leave it on,” Emily says...or commands. Or...requests?

She’s staring at Stephanie so hotly she’s not sure she won’t be set on fire as a result.

“Leave it on and fuck me.”

The confidence and power that had been simmering from the way Emily regarded her in the expensive suit rush through her like a drug as she quickens her steps to catch up, hands immediately moving to Emily’s pants to undo them.

“This is a turn-on for you?” she asks; it’s rhetorical but Emily nods anyway as Stephanie pushes her slacks over her hips to fall to the floor.

Neither bothers to deal with Emily’s shoes or get the pants off her completely; Stephanie just puts a hand in the center of her chest and pushes to watch Emily willingly drop onto the lounge behind her and lean back. Her thighs fall open and it takes Stephanie no time at all to make her decision.

She falls to her knees and runs her hands up Emily’s legs until she reaches the heat between them. Together, her thumbs draw a line down the front of her underwear, a black thong that is already soaked. It prompts a whine from Emily and Stephanie glances up to find her, eyes wild and face flushed, staring intently at her.

She thinks back to that morning and all the previous times Emily in her impeccable suits and what it did to Stephanie to watch her shed the pieces, or adjust them to be more forgiving so she could fuck Stephanie more freely.

It’s with that in mind that she keeps her eyes locked on Emily’s as she withdraws her hands so she can move them to the collar of her shirt and unbutton it where it sits tightly against her throat. There’s a flash of hunger in Emily’s eyes and she unbuttons a second, then a third button, and a fourth until Stephanie knows her cleavage should be visible.

Then her hands are back on Emily, once again running up her thighs. She leans down to let her mouth follow, dropping kisses along the way until her fingers are curling into the scrap of ruined fabric to move it out of her way.

She touches Emily first with her tongue and watches as she slumps further into the lounge.

Her own arousal is maddening, pounding in her ears and between her legs.

She works to hold her composure, though. She wants to maintain the calm power of control Emily seems to so easily wield over Stephanie when their roles are reversed. She teases her, though doesn’t withhold too much, tongue never leaving the wet, swollen flesh that Emily is offering to her more and more desperately as her hips tilt and lift.

She grows hot in the clothing; none of it is particularly breathable, but Emily’s apparent inability to look away pushes such a basic discomfort far to the back of her mind.

Sometimes, and Stephanie hates to admit it, she lets herself think that maybe Emily doesn’t think about her when they have sex. It’s entirely possible she fantasizes about another person; Stephanie would have no way of knowing.

Except now: right now, Emily is consuming Stephanie’s presence as much as Stephanie is consuming her body, the connection between them right now more than that of Stephanie’s tongue. Deeper than Stephanie’s tongue even as it reaches inside Emily before being replaced by her fingers as it moves back to her clit.

“Don’t stop,” Emily breathes; she’s anything but quiet but they are alone. Stephanie would never want to silence her anyway. Emily coming undone, unrestrained (well, mentally), and uncaring is a sound that rings a bell deep within Stephanie’s chest.

Of course, she has no intention of stopping. Not while Emily is dripping off her fingers nor while her clit is so swollen she cannot possibly resist capturing it between her lips to suck on it while her tongue continues to work it in her mouth.

Emily’s hands are dug into the chaise; they anchor her while her hips thrust, as Stephanie’s own buck with need, both growing wilder and losing their rhythm until it’s a mad, untamed race to a finish that soaks Stephanie’s hand and makes her groan into Emily as orgasm overtakes both of them.

“Fuck,” Emily says after a few minutes of labored breathing.

Stephanie’s barely moved, Emily’s thigh serving as a pillow while they recover. “Mhm,” she hums in agreement while she gathers herself until she can lift her head.

“Fuck,” Emily repeats, this time as a breathy laugh. She reaches, arm appearing heavy, for her own jacket where it landed on the chaise and fumbles around until she’s tossing the pocket square Stephanie had watched her fold and place that morning down toward her. “You’re a mess.”

It takes her a moment to realize what she means, then both notices and blushes. Raw lust now fading, what they just did starts to let her self-consciousness back in, though she manages not to apologize.

She realizes as she uses the colorful square of fabric to wipe Emily’s arousal first off her face and chin, then off her hand, she doesn’t have anything to apologize for. No one has been offended. In fact, Emily’s watching her like she just gave her the world.

“I guess that means you like the suit?” she says, the realization giving her renewed confidence after a brief moment of faltering.

“I love it,” Emily says, back arching in a stretch that makes her spine pop a few times. “Now take it off.”

“Take it off?” Stephanie looks down at herself and frowns.

“I’m not going to have Pierre tailor that one; it smells like sex.”

That makes Stephanie blush despite the confidence but she does laugh. “Oh, my God.”

“Put on the other suit I brought you. There’s a vest with it. And clean that snatch up; I know you’re a mess and he’s going to be face to face with it.”

“What?!”

“He has to be to tailor the pants, baby,” Emily says, brain function and motor control almost back at one hundred percent. “You’ll be wearing the pants,” she adds.

“Oh, thank God,” Stephanie exhales in relief.

Emily laughs but it doesn’t feel as though she’s mocking Stephanie’s ignorance; rather, she seems to be delighted by it. “Now, hurry up.”

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Stephanie hasn’t been as physically close to a man as she is with Pierre in a very long time. Her discomfort must be noticeable because Emily’s wearing a very amused look when she turns to look at her while he crouches in front of her, running the tape along her inseam. She’s also highly paranoid as she is wearing no underwear (they were completely ruined) he is spending far too much time inches away from her personal area.

She feels a bit like a rag doll the way he positions and measures her, and it’s a relief when he indicates he’s finished. It was a lot of focused attention on her but, she realizes, the constant discomfort did help move her mind away from replaying the vision of Emily asking Stephanie to fuck her.

The suit, this one black, is covered in chalk marks and pins and she knows Emily’s hands aren’t going to be roaming it any time soon.

“You can change,” Pierre says when he’s finished his work.

“Wait,” Emily says, pushing away from where she’d been leaning against a table, watching his work. There’s a strip of blue fabric in her hand and she takes Pierre’s place in front of Stephanie.

She notices Pierre makes himself scarce, back turned as he busies himself with transferring the notes he’s taken into a computer.

“I need to see if I was right,” Emily says as she slips the necktie around Stephanie’s shoulders.

Emily’s cheeks still hold a faint blush from their recent activity and it warms Stephanie. Neither of them speaks while Emily works on the tie, flipping it under her collar and tying it with easy expertise despite doing it backward. She tucks it until Stephanie’s vest once it’s tied and then tugs on the knot, wiggling it until she deems it correct.

She takes a few steps back to survey the work that’s been done, both her own and Pierre’s, and nods. “I was right. It matches your eyes perfectly.” She smiles.

Stephanie blushes so hard she wishes she could hide but Emily’s smile, both soft and the tiniest bit sensual, stops her from running.

“This is perfect, Pierre, thank you,” Emily says to break the moment. “I’ll help you change; it’s a bitch getting out of these things when they’re full of pins.”

Emily follows her into the changing room and Stephanie’s hit with a maddening dose of deja vu. She expects Emily to initiate something once again but instead, she undresses Stephanie with attentive care until the pieces are hung to be customized.

She helps Stephanie back into her dress with equal care and, once she’s zipped, leans down to draw Stephanie into a slow, soft kiss that makes her sigh from how good it is.

Emily withdraws, hand still framing Stephanie’s face, and she draws her thumb across her lips in a gesture of gentle intimacy and whispers, “You’re going to stop traffic.”

The End

#a simple favor #stephanie smothers #emily nelson #murder moms #asf fic #fanfic #CAN YOU BELIEVE THEY'RE BACK #smut #obviously #yep it's the scene we talked about like 6+ months ago #see never say never!#my bday gift to you all

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vienna-salvatori · 4 years ago

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tea abt that building??👀👀

Coombs is a building on my uni’s campus. I need to deal with it quite a bit because the archaeology labs I’m working in are tucked in the back of it, which always surprises people. Most people don’t realise that the uni has two entirely separate archaeology departments on different sides of the campus… but that’s another story entirely.

The building makes perfect sense! As long as you’re not actually trying to navigate it, that is. It consists of three interlocking hexagons, each three storeys high. There’s an internal courtyard in each. Here’s the image from google maps:

Looks pretty simple, right? Yeah, no. The problem is, the building is on a hill. Each of those three hexagons is on a slightly different elevation- only a very small change in height, all told, but enough that it’s three storeys is probably closer to six different sub-floors which don’t quite line up in the way you expect them to. It’s notorious on campus- I remember, back in first year, getting warnings from older students to add an extra ten or fifteen minutes on my travel time for any class in the building, just to find the room. This is good advice that I would pass onto any prospective ANU student. Coombs will screw you over, although lecturers do know this, so most of them are pretty relaxed about people turning up late, at least for the first few weeks.

In terms of personal stories… well. I had a philosophy tutorial in a room I never worked out how to access from indoors. The only route I could find was to go in the main entrance, turn left, go up a flight of stairs, walk along a corridor, exit to the left onto a second-floor balcony, turn right and walk along for a while, and enter a door a bit further down on the right. Then I’d be in a bit of corridor that all sane laws of geometry would say connected to the one I was in just before… but it wasn’t. I had another philosophy tutorial in a room where you went up a flight of stairs to reach the main door, did not change elevation at all, and still ended up underground. Never did work out how that one worked. I went looking for a study space with some friends once. We ended up in a philosophy library. Based on the view out the window, we were directly over the main entrance. The stairs right inside the front doors did not lead to this room. As far as I could figure, we weren’t even in the right hexagon for that view, but hey! This building defies all logic. One of my archaeology lecturers, in second (?) year: “there’s a museum in Coombs which has some interesting pottery from this period! However, I only ever managed to find it once. I’ll give participation marks if anyone can track it down again.” I don’t think anyone did. Once, I was wandering the corridors and I found a sign for the “Department of Pacific Manuscripts.” It isn’t on any of the maps of the building, and as far as I can tell, ANU does not actually have a Department of Pacific Manuscripts. The building has been under construction for a while now- I haven’t yet explored it enough to see if the renovations have made it better or worse. That said, while everything was fenced off, there was a period where the only way to access the entire archaeology lab wing was by going in the fire escape door. None of the other connecting corridors were open. I actually liked that, because it meant I was never at risk of getting lost. Today, though, the fire escape didn’t let me in, so I had to brave the rest of the building. I ended up entering through the front doors (up a flight of stairs), exiting into one of the internal courtyards (at ground level, not having gone up or down inside the building), and then cutting across to the other side. I’m sure there probably is a way to reach the labs through the corridors, but I don’t trust them in the slightest.

I just did some googling- apparently there are 600 rooms in this place, so good luck finding anything. The numbering system is nonsensical. It also changed. Currently the labs I work in are 4.303 and 4.306. They used to be in the 6000s. I know this is not my brain playing tricks on me because several objects in the labs are labelled along the lines of “not to be removed from room 6***”. The seminar rooms are labelled A to F rather than numbers, because Logic™, and some rooms have names too.

You know what, have another map! Note the complete lack of indication of anything resembling a stairwell.

Anyway. Yes. That’s Coombs. I love it dearly, except whenever I’m running late to something, at which point it becomes the bane of my existence.

#long post #mine #I actually started writing a fic set in this building!#it was a confessions of dorian gray one #he was being chased by a minotaur #I thought it was appropriate

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loftec · 5 years ago

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Hi i don't know if anyone haven't ask you about it or i'm the only one who wants to read it but CAN YOU PLEASE SHARE YOUR NOTES (ch.44) i don't know if you were serious about that but i really would love to read them cause i'm obsessed with everything what is ntw related 🖤 hope ur well

Hi friend! It’s possibly just you (or one other person, in case of separate anons) but that is enough! I was absolutely serious.

Note on the notes! This is not all of it, because my notes for this chapter were often repetitive and very messy, and some older notes were from four years ago when I didn’t bother writing things out properly, so they barely make sense even to me. But! I’ve done my best to sort everything in some kind of linear order, and removed most of the repetition. And, well, you asked for it... sorry! 🖤

Ian shows up in the morning, Mickey digs out the magazine Iggy stole from Amelia’s dentist’s office the other day and confronts Ian about the big-ass article in Rolling Stone about IAN’S BAND, says he’s listened to some of their songs, takes out a paper where he’s written down some lyrics that sound strangely familiar.

You’re famous!

I’m in a band, people know about us right now, tomorrow they might not. I’m not famous.

You’re kinda famous.

Ian talks about Mickey recognizing him because of Frank. Hints that there might be several songs inspired by Mickey. It’s awkward as fuck, didn’t want you to know.

Were you ever gonna tell me?

Oh yeah, I had a plan. 3 dates, dinner and a movie, day out with Yev, dinner at my place turned vigorous love-making. Second prong; cohabitation, engagement, marriage, then on our wedding night I tell you about crushing on Justin Timberlake when I was 12,

then I tell you I’m semi-famous, if it still applies.

Mickey thinks his face might be on fire.

What the?

I’m fucking with you, Mick. Figured you already knew.

This again?

You angry?

No, I’m not fucking angry. Just-

Freaked out.

Kinda, yeah.

You shouldn’t be. Please.

It’s weird that I didn’t know, I feel like a schmuck. (And I’m pretty sure by your count we’ve already been on those first two dates.)

I’m sorry. I thought you knew and by some fucking miracle didn’t treat me different. I’d been gearing up to maybe have to have this conversation on our date, ‘cause it’s shit sometimes, you know? I don’t do interviews and I never talk about myself when I gotta do them, but there’s still a limelight and a lot of bullshit that complicates

I’ve been crushing on you since we met basically, and I thought I’d just… let it run its course, keep my mouth shut about it and deal until it went away and we could remain friends without me fucking it up.

Didn’t work, by the way.

Good.

Mickey is talking about it with Etch, who suggests that Ian’s been writing at the diner for a reason.

Etch looks up some lyrics and Mickey caps locks them to Ian

You might have inspired a few lately…

Fuck off. How many?

Since we met? Pretty much all of them.

Maybe one or two made it on to the album, but I wrote those before we really got to know each other so they’re just like… about moments, and how I would feel around you.

Didn’t think of it as creepy but it kinda sounds that way now.

No it’s fine

I won’t do it again.

Said it’s fine. Kinda like it.

Yeah?

You gonna tell me which ones are about me, or is that a secret too?

What are you doing tonight?

Thought you said you were going on tour?

We are, it starts tonight. It’s a small fan club gig here in Chicago.

You have a fan club?

Kinda. I’ll put you on the guest list if you want to come.

(Mickey calls Svetlana to make sure Yevgeny can stay with her over the weekend.)

It’s fine if you don’t want to, we’ll do something else when I get back.

Calm your tits Gallagher, course I wanna go. Needed to make sure I’ve got Yev covered.

Oh okay, good. You’re on the list. Doors at 7, gig starts at 8, no support.

You’ve got no chill.

(Ian doesn’t answer for a while)

I like it.

Good, that was torture. Never doing that again.

(Etch teases him about having his nose in his phone, and makes him aware of new guests arriving)

Gotta get back to work

Yeah, me too. See you tonight?

No chill at all.

Ian invites him to the concert and gives Mickey his phone number. Mickey makes sure Yevgeny stays with his mom on saturday, and after work he goes home and gets ready. Showers and cleans himself thoroughly, puts on cologne and a band t-shirt he hasn’t worn in ages, it’s gotten kinda tight on him since he got it. (He puts on a dress shirt first, tucks it into his pants and glares at his reflection).

He’s on the guest list when he gets there, the girl in the box office can’t find him at first but then Anne shows up and points him out, he’s on the VIP list and gets a pass that he’s told he needs to carry so it’s visible. He makes a point of shoving it in the admission guy’s face, but then shoves the ostentatious thing down the pocket of his jeans. Anne shows him in and tells him about the gig, about how the fan club got started. Anne says he can go backstage but he says he’ll pass, thank you. He gets a beer and finds a good spot, there’s a balcony halfway through the venue where he’s got a perfect view of the stage without having to stand in the front.

They text a little, Mickey says he’s there and Ian says he’ll make a sign when they play a song inspired by him.

run-through of the concert, Ian touches the side of his nose when the song is about Mickey. He’s sexy as fuck, and has some ridiculous stripper moves.

He takes off his hoodie at some point, and sweating through his tank he and Anne put on gloves and start hitting the barrels with crowbars.

Anne is the maestro, maybe Ian crowd surfs at some point? Warren Ellis that violin, man. He has little routines with Anne, and some with Jon too. One song, Anne gets one of his guitars and he does noisy stuff with his violin and plays on the oil barrels with Stran, completely in sync.

They got some good stage banter going, and at some point Ian does a Tom Waits impression, and Anne groans and says he’ll sing the whole thing if they’re not careful. There’s a reason why he’s

For the encore, Ian touches the side of his nose and they start playing a song, Anne saying that this is a first. It looks like Ian is about to sing, but then it looks like he changes his mind and they start playing a song that Mickey sure as fuck hope isn’t about him. The insufferable man on a date right next to Mickey tells the woman he’s with that they were about to play the mysterious title track from their last album that never ended up on the record

“it’s derivative, but cute”

how can it be a title track if it’s not on the album

the guy talks about how he’s got a friend working as an engineer in the studio and he’s sent him an early demo version. It’s not their best song by far, but it’s cool that pretty much no one else has heard it.

Mickey asks the girl if she’s ok with this joker, and she says she’s fine. He offers to get her a cab or something, if she wants to get out of there.

She says she’s not interested

Lady, if I wanted to get with either of you, it wouldn’t be you. Just sayin, I ain’t picky, but that guy would’ve gotten the boot ten minutes into the date if he were here with me, no offense.

WHAT IF.

The concert is over, and crowd starts to let up. Then a fight breaks out at the front and Mickey makes his way towards it. It’s over before he gets there, and sees a guy in his 40s with a bleeding nose, and Lip shaking out his fist, a security guard between them.

Mickey talks to the guard and defuses the situation, putting the bleeding man in the position of a sad overzealous fan. It somehow warms Lip to him, absurdly, and he finds himself apologized to, Lip shaking his hand and wincing when Mickey grips his bruised knuckles a little too hard. Lip vaguely explains that that was an old ex of Ian’s, a real piece of work, and then offers Mickey to come backstage with them to see Ian. Mickey declines.

It’s Lip, Carl and Debbie (Liam is too young, and Fiona too pregnant).

“I was drunk, and wrong, and when I’m wrong I say I’m wrong. (IT’S FROM DIRTY DANCING YOU LITERALLY FORGET EVERY TIME AND HAVE TO GOOGLE IT WHENEVER READING THIS NOTE should I really be quoting Baby’s dad in this fic? Probably. If anyone can, it’s Lip.) And Ian tells me you’ve been there for him a lot lately

I wouldn’t say that

But he did, he doesn’t tell me a lot these days, but he told me that.

Mickey gets another beer at the bar as people mill towards the merch and exit, he sits on a stool with an eye on the backstage passage. He watches the band come out to talk to some of the lingering fans and sign shit. Ian comes out and is immediately surrounded by fans, he locks eyes with Mickey across the room and Mickey raises his beer in a silent cheers. Ian comes up to him after a few minutes, he looks damp and exhilarated and unexpectedly nervous,

How was it?

Not bad, Gallagher.

he asks Mickey over. He has to pack up his shit and do the rounds, but he’ll be done in half an hour, tops. Mickey says he’ll meet him outside.

Ian leaves and Mickey finishes his beer, watching Ian talk to some fans, signing shit and taking pictures. He goes for a piss and then goes out for a smoke.

Ian comes out after twenty minutes, carrying two guitar cases and a large wheelie-bag. Mickey takes one of the guitars off his hands and they walk together.

(maybe Ian has a banjo and he gives it to Mickey to carry and Mickey is all really? I wanna kick your ass so bad right now, country boy, but then carries it anyway.) (banjos are cool)

Walk from the club. Mickey mentions talking to Lip. They talk about Ian’s Tom Waits impression. You’re not musically illiterate at all! Talk about Mickey’s Radiohead tee that he stole from a hookup when he was sixteen, he’s grown into it now. Talk about Ian’s onstage dancing, used to be a stripper, well, not saying you can’t still do private performances (?? you know what I mean! this is not what they’re saying but you’ll remember it) (Note from 2020: I DID NOT REMEMBER IT.)

Talk about wanting to learn playing the trumpet. Don’t have trumpet playing lips.

”Sure you and your lips can do whatever you set your heart to, I believe in you.”

Looks at Mickey and smiles.

”What?”

”You’ve been flirting with me since we first met, haven’t you?”

”Maybe.”

”Huh”

“What?”

“Oh nothing.” “Just re-evaluating everything you’ve ever said to me.”

”Re-evaluate this;” gives Ian the finger.

”That an invitation?”

”Fuck you is what it is,”

“sounds like an invitation.”

Ian tells him a little about his different instruments, Mickey picks up the beat up guitar Gus first gave to Ian and strums it, Ian asks him to play him something but Mickey snorts and says he’s counting on getting laid tonight and him playing would be detrimental to that plan. Ian doesn’t think so, but accepts it when Mickey gives him the guitar.

”I’ve walked some thousand miles,” he starts softly, eyes on his left hand, moving over the strings, ”I have slept many hundred nights, and people’ve said hello and bye through the years since you were mine. But don’t think I’ll stop my mourning, don’t I know it’s overdue. Just because I’ve gotten older, none the wiser I cry for you.”

”Honey, cutie, sweetie-pie,” ”My darling boy, sweet old times, as long as I keep you in mind I will remember what love is like. So, don’t think I’ll stop my mourning, don’t I know it’s overdue.”

”Just because I’ve gotten older, none the wiser.”

”I cry for you.”

I’M THINKING OF WRITING MY OWN SONG BECAUSE I WAS THIS MOMENT TO BE MORE BEFORE SUNSET THAN ANYTHING, ALL SMILES AND DRAMA FREE. SO MAYBE A TEXT THAT IS A LITTLE MORE STRAIGHTFORWARD.

Ian plays the song and when he’s done, Mickey kisses him and they have really enthusiastic sex on the couch. Mickey is about to leave after when Ian invites him to stay,

How about some long-ass foreplay on the couch and then they move into the bedroom.

They start on the couch, they take it to the bedroom, they collapse on the bed after and Mickey is feeling too good to argue when Ian mumbles at him to “stay”.

(Sings the song, says it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a song, it’s one quick thought put under a spotlight. Feeling like he should have known Mickey his whole life already. It’s too much, isn’t it? In the kitchen.

”do you normally take guys home and serenade them?”

”nah, don’t think it’d be very effective with most.”

”But you figured I’d swoon?”

”Figured you’d want the truth.”

”which is?”)

??? Need to find a good mix of excitement and new and easy, balanced with ho shit wtf are we doing this isn’t going to end well i think i fucking love him shut the fuck up. needs to be sexy and a little rough, as well as painfully sincere against better knowledge. kissing will do that. they’re doing stuff the way they usually do stuff, but for some reason it feels completely different.

Important that Mickey kisses him.

They stand up and stand chest to chest, Ian says they don’t have to do anything, Mickey says shut up and get naked

he helps ian take his shirt off and kisses him the second his face comes back into view

They fucks on the couch.

OR ALT FADE CUT END and don’t go explicit. Just saying, it’s an option. A valid option.

They can go at it in one of the sequels? Like the roadtrip can be more explicit? If I want? But also not?

I mean, there is such a thing as a nice middle ground right.

I just don’t think I’m interested in going all out porn after 40+ chapters of whatever.

THEY KISS AND THEN THERE’S A MOTHERFUCKING FADE TO BLACK MY FRIEND, BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT I HAVE DECIDED. Soz

WHAT IF!!

Iggy comes in, is all: guess what I found at the dentist this morning?

M: again? Did Amelia break another tooth?

I: It’ll grow back, take a look at this

E: Did you steal that from the dentist’s office?

M: Rolling Stone, wtf?

E: your dentist’s got rolling stone?

Mickey reads the headlines out loud as a customer comes in and asks Etch about something they’ve lost the other day, and Etch starts rifling through boxes behind the counter as Mickey moves over to sit down in Ian’s booth, rifling through the magazine.

M: what am I looking for?

I: I marked the page

E: what’s this note?

Mickey starts reading the article, realizing that the blurred picture is of Ian, and the interview is with Ian, and holy shit. Ian is legit famous.

Etch starts reading the list of coffees, eventually turning the page over and pointing out that there’s a phone number.

Iggy comes to the diner in the morning, Etch is rifling through stuff behind the counter and Mickey is doing the rounds with the few guests still there after the morning rush.

Iggy shows him the magazine he found at the dentist’s and Etch is in the background like wtf is this, reading from Ian’s note with the coffee orders, Mickey only half listens, trying to take in the fact that Ian is fucking famous.

Etch says there’s a phone number too and Mickey brushes him off.

Then he’s like, hold the fuck up! And gets the note from the trash and tries the number, and Ian fucking answers. And they have the you’re famous conversation on the phone and voila, Mickey has his number and vice versa.

So Mickey calls Ian in the morning, then there’s text talk during the day.

From Ian

So, you’ve had my number for x days and you only now decided to use it?

That’s cold.

From Mickey

You wrote it on a piece of paper you then balled up and threw on the floor, asshole, it’s a miracle it didn’t end up in the trash. didn’t know I had it until this morning.

You suck at this. (This is a nice revelation that he likes, but Maybe that doesn’t come across in text.

Not a complaint btw, just gleeful observation.

From Ian

Are we still on?

From Mickey

Of course.

Dumbass.

Ian

I probably deserved that.

At some point Mickey starts capslocking and sending lyrics to Ian, who has to explain through text why he’s written songs about Mickey, saying that he’ll point them out tonight.

HERE’S A QUESTION

SHOULD I SKIP THE WHOLE “WRITING SONGS ABOUT MICKEY” BUSINESS??

Isn’t it enough that Ian is famous and kept this fact from Mickey? Isn’t the writing songs business a little creepy? and if he did write songs about Mickey, would he really publish them without Mickey’s consent? No. Maybe I’m deliriously tired and about to fall ill right now, but I actually think I should skip that part. It’s a little sad because it’s been part of this idea for three years, but if I’m uncertain about it now imagine how I’m going to feel about it later?

When I started writing this story, it was supposed to be a quick and silly thing, and now it’s something else. It’s not important or anything, but also it is. To me. And making a decision on the rating was a big deal for me, and I think this is another one of those things. I’ve been holding on to this idea for so long but when I really think about it, is it even romantic? It’s romantic in that kind of teenage dream way, maybe? It’s more romantic to me if they fall in love for reasons other than Ian writing songs. But he’s written NTW, and he still thinks about performing it live, but we skip the whole thing about songs being about Mickey.

So they talk on the phone in the morning, and then there’s a text coming in after a little while asking if Mickey wants to come to the show.

HEYHO IT’S A REVOLUTION AND I FEEL FREE

Mickey and Ian text after the show (after Mickey declines going backstage) Ian asks him to meet him round back in twenty minutes. When Mickey goes out there, he sees Ian talking to a couple of fans by the bus and Mickey hangs back to smoke while he waits. The fans leave and Ian looks around, checks his watch, he has a bunch of guitars with him.

I AM LEANING HEAVILY TOWARDS MICKEY KISSING IAN HERE. He’s like “Stop, hold this” giving Ian back the guitar, so he can grab on to him and kiss him, smiling against Ian lips as the guitar tips over and clatters against the asphalt.

They’re outside Ian’s house, Ian says he has to get up at an unholy hour tomorrow. Invites him in anyway.

They’re in the elevator, then they’re in Ian’s apartment. Ian plays him the song, Before sunset ending.

almost none of that rhymed, just letting you know. kinda embarrassing.

(almost none of that rhymed, just letting you know. kinda embarrassing.

yeah, it’s not a very good song. is why we cut it from the record

oh yeah? thought it was ‘cause of the like, intensely personal subject

that too)

They smile at each other like fools and Mickey feels like he is exactly where he’s supposed to be, and there’s no rush. Fade to black.

Etch finds the paper, says there’s a phone number on it. Mickey dials the number and goes out back as it rings out. When Ian answers, he reads a question from the interview and they talk.

He goes back into the diner and basically blows the whole thing off, it doesn’t make any difference to him and he has to go back to work. Yevgeny does his homework and Iggy leaves, and Ian invites Mickey to the gig via text. Etch invites Yevgeny to stay over at theirs for a movie night.

Does Mickey tell Yev about the gig?

Start with Mickey out back, smoking. The phone rings and he waits for Etch to take it, but it keeps ringing. He bangs the door and yells PHONE and then it stops ringing. He kills the cigarette and goes back inside. Etch is behind the counter talking on the phone and going through the lost and found, looking for whatever the caller has lost. Mickey clears a table. It’s afternoon. Etch hangs up but keeps going through stuff in the box, talking to Mickey, when Iggy comes in.

It’s maybe more like afternoon (?) when Iggy comes in and shows Mickey the magazine. He calls Ian and they have a quick conversation (he probably goes outside to have it, to escape his audience) and they establish that Ian is sorta famous. Then they text back and forth a little, until Ian invites him to the show.

Mickey calls Svet to arrange it so Yev can stay with her, and then accepts. He goes home after work to eat, have a shower and change out of his clothes. He wears the only band tee he owns, mostly because it’s funny and because it’s kinda tight and he doesn’t think he looks too bad in it (and a dress shirt is way too much for a concert not-date, not that he tried on a couple first. Then he does a little bit of cyberstalking only to find very little personal information and a lot of crazy fans. Maybe he watches a couple of music videos, but they’re all really weird cartoons so they give him nothing. They’re cool though, and guess the music’s alright, even though he doesn’t have a connection yet to it so it’s hard to tell if he likes it.

Yevgeny calls, because Mickey switched the days and he wants to know why. Mickey asks if he knows about the Broken Bells, and Yev’s like duh who doesn’t? And freaks out when Mickey tells him about Ian. He doesn’t tell him about the whole date situation though, just that he’s going to the concert. Maybe Yev asks for some merch.

Mickey takes an Uber to the venue, even though it’s not too far from the diner (but on the other side, so at least a 30 minute walk) and it seems like they’ve already started letting people in. He hangs back until the admissions office is clear and then tells the lady that he’s on some kinda guest list. She can’t find him, and he’s about to give up and go home when he sees a familiar figure in the background. He calls her Stay-puft first, but then also remembers that her name is Anne and calls her that too. She remembers him, and finds him on a different (VIP) list, the venue staff woman is embarrassed, but Anne is borderline flirting she’s so nice about the mistake. Mickey gets a pass that he’s supposed to keep around his neck, but he shows it to the guards and then tucks it down his back pocket. Anne shows him inside the venue and asks if he wants to come backstage and say hello, but he kindly declines.

He has a quick peruse of the merch table (he checks the CDs, and then sees a smaller table next to the merch with a guy handing out pins, Mickey talks to him and finds out that it’s “fan club” pins to commemorate the gig and Mickey asks if his VIP pass gets him one, it does, and then the guy asks if Mickey wants to sign up for the newsletter) and then gets a beer, before finding a good spot on the mezzanine floor. He’s got a balcony railing for support and beer holder, and he’s got an excellent view of the stage. The floor is filling up with people packing themselves against the front. He texts Ian saying he’s here and they text a little back and forth. He gets someone to watch his spot and goes to the restroom. There, he finds a kid getting cornered by a middle-aged man. The kid looks vaguely familiar and not older than sixteen. Mickey steps in and casually accuses the guy of creeping on a kid and the guy immediately backs off, the kid says thanks and that he’s eighteen (because it’s an 18+ gig) and Mickey says sure.

Getting back to his spot, There is a douchebag on a date behind him that he wants to move away from, but he doesn’t want to surrender his good spot. He decides to tune him out, he’ll hopefully shut up once the set starts. It’s just a couple of minutes after eight when the lights dim and a song comes on louder than before, and the band start coming out on the stage. Ian is wearing jeans and a hoodie, like he normally does, but he’s clean shaven and his normally smiling face is set in blank determination. Anne is the front person, and she commands the audience with the slightest gesture. It’s obvious that the venue is filled with old fans, they all know exactly what to do exactly when she asks them to do it. Ian’s got like four guitars and a whole lot of other shit around him, and he’s super focused on doing his stuff, but now and then he does little routines with Anne and Jon, and gets a big cheer for his occasional solos.

A few songs in, Ian gets up to stand on one of the oil barrels, and Anne starts banging on it with a crowbar. That’s when Mickey starts to really get into it. It’s cool, and it’s a lot harder than Ian made it out to be, but kind of theatrical at the same time. Ian is brilliant, even though he dances like an uncoordinated stripper.

There is banter between the songs, mainly between Anne and Stran (girl sure bangs those drums!) Anne starts banging one of the oil barrels again and Ian and Jon do a little step dance next to each other across the scene.

At some point Ian takes off his hoodie. He’s wearing a white tank and he’s already sweating through it. He gives his guitar to Anne and puts on gloves. Him and Stran do a little bant-y thing and then they start a new song by both banging the barrels in unison while Anne and Jon start playing (maybe Jon plays something else, like an electric piano or a marimba?). At the crescendo of the song, Ian takes out a baseball bat and goes to town on the barrel, sweat shining on his muscly arms and his wet hair flopping down his forehead.

They go off the stage, but come back when the crowd chants a song, stomping their feet and clapping their hands. Anne says they’ve got one more song for them, and they start playing. She moves away from the microphone and it looks for a second like Ian is going to step up and sing. Douchebag behind Mickey tells his date about an unreleased b-side to the last album. But then Ian steps back and says something to Stran, who nods and moves into a slightly different beat. Without blinking Anne, steps back up to the mic and sings the last song.

Some of the crowd lingers by the stage after the lights have gone back on, but most move towards the bar or the merch table. Mickey hangs back to watch the crew take down the stage, and the two oil barrels being handed over to someone in the audience, along with set lists and left-over picks. Walking down from the mezzanine floor to go look for the restrooms, a fight breaks out on the floor. Mickey immediately recognizes one of them as Lip and the other one as the creep from the bathroom, and intervenes by clearly positioning himself on Lip’s side and reminding the creep that he could get him in trouble, the creep backs off and agrees when Mickey tells the security guards it was an accident (in a way that isn’t obviously helpful, but in the end still makes sure that Lip isn’t hurt or arrested for punching a guy) (because he did, he punched a guy, who is thrown out by the guards after Mickey’s intervention). Lip, Carl, Debbie, and Liam is there, but it’s only Lip who knows who Mickey is. He hangs back to talk to Mickey while his siblings go backstage (and PROBABLY DOESN’T tell him a little bit about the guy being Ian’s ex, making it clear that Lip really doesn’t like him). He also apologizes to Mickey for last time. He asks if Mickey wants to go backstage, but Mickey declines. He’s decided earlier with Ian through text that he’ll wait for him and thinks it’s better to do it somewhere that isn’t backstage where he might get asked questions and have to talk to people who aren’t Ian.

He gets another beer and stands in the bar next to the merch, watching as Ian and the rest of the band come out to sign some stuff and shake hands. Ian still looks slightly damp from sweat, even though he’s obviously changed clothes and run a towel through his hair. Mickey wonders if his skin tastes like salt. He drinks his beer.

Ian comes up to him after a little while, asking well? (or texts him, which probably makes more sense? But I also want Mickey to see Ian post-show)

Not bad Gallagher, not bad at all.

Ian looks pleased and asks if Mickey wants to come over, even though Ian has an early morning. Mickey says yes and Ian asks him to wait until they’re done packing up.

Mickey finishes his beer, goes to the restroom (where he sees douchebag by the urinal) and then he goes outside to wait for Ian. (He talks to douchebag’s date and offers to get her a taxi before the guy comes out.) He smokes a cigarette, and before he knows it, Ian is by his side, carrying a fuck ton of guitars. They decide to walk, for some reason, talking on the way.

HEY

Ian says he’s got a car coming and they walk a little bit to where they’re getting picked up. They talk about trumpet lips and stuff and Mickey kisses him. They get interrupted by the car arriving, and Ian picks up his guitars and says “you coming?”

Fuck yes

They sit in silence in the car, but it’s a good one. Ian says

Lip told me what you did back there.

He didn’t tell you shit.

He did, told me you stepped in and stopped him from getting arrested

He was getting his ass kicked, someone had to help the guy

And Liam told me you got him out of a tough situation in the restroom

That was Liam? Some pedo’s creeping on a kid by the urinal, I’m not gonna stand by doing nothing.

You know that’s not what happened

Yeah, well, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

He isn’t a pedo, and Lip would’ve beat the shit outta him if you hadn’t stepped in.

You defending this guy?

No, trying to say thanks.

You’re shit at it.

Thank you, Mickey

Better.

So… friend of yours.

No. (Ian isn’t forthcoming with the info)

Alright, whatever.

And he’s definitely not someone I wanna talk about, tonight.

(Ian is smiling at him, all the promise in the world in his eyes)

Fucking fair enough.

They arrive.

OR Ian joins Mickey outside and they stand around and talk

They talk about Ian’s Tom Waits impression. You’re not musically illiterate at all! Talk about Mickey’s Radiohead tee that he stole from a hookup when he was sixteen, he’s grown into it now. Talk about Ian’s onstage dancing, used to be a stripper, well, not saying you can’t still do private performances (?? you know what I mean! this is not what they’re saying but you’ll remember it)

Talk about wanting to learn playing the trumpet. Don’t have trumpet playing lips.

”Sure you and your lips can do whatever you set your heart to, I believe in you.”

Looks at Mickey and smiles.

”What?”

”You’ve been flirting with me since we first met, haven’t you?”

”Maybe.”

”Huh”

“What?”

“Oh nothing.” “Just re-evaluating everything you’ve ever said to me.”

”Re-evaluate this;” gives Ian the finger.

”That an invitation?”

”Fuck you is what it is,”

“sounds like an invitation.”

That’s when a taxi pulls up and Ian walks toward it

Could use some help with these.

They ride in silence

They carry Ian’s instruments from the car, and Ian says something cute

Mickey’s like “Stop, hold this” giving Ian back the guitar, so he can grab on to him and kiss him, smiling against Ian lips as the guitar tips over and clatters on the asphalt.

They’re outside Ian’s house, Ian says he has to get up at an unholy hour tomorrow. Invites him in anyway.

There he asks Ian to play him something that other people don’t get to hear (mostly to be a cheeky monkey, but also because he wants it) and Ian plays him None the wiser.

I’ve walked a thousand miles to end up in your corner booth

Grinning idiot when you bitch, falling fool for your dirty mouth

Sitting on my busy hands when you swagger by and I say -

Hey waiter, pour some coffee in my cup and bring me my toast, before you fuck me up

I’ve been in some thousand fights and it’s clear that so have you, too

Faded threats and cigarettes, sharp glass polished by the sea

Wish you’d put your hands on me and make your feelings clear

Hey waiter

meet me ‘round the back door, tell me I’ve got it wrong and fuck me up some more

‘Cause I’ve fallen a thousand times but never felt this way before, like I should have met you long ago

Walked with you by my side and had your back through thick and thin

Sickness and health, come what may, and I say-

Hey waiter

pop the damn champagne

None the wiser

you fuck me up again

Hey waiter

tell me you’ll be mine

I’ll give you my life

and fuck you up in kind

I wish I was just a plain white shirt

then you could wear me off to work

and I’d be one of the things you keep close to your heart

soft white cotton wrapped around your heart

(Contrasts have faded now

but color still haunt my mind

And words ripped off from their lines

Make bitter tears flood my eyes

Don’t think I’ll stop my mourning

Don’t I know it’s overdue

Just because I’ve gotten older

None the wiser, I cry for you)

Honey, cutie, sweetie-pie

My darling boy, sweet old times

As long as I keep you in mind

I will remember what love is like

So, don’t think I’ll stop my mourning

Don’t I know it’s overdue

Just because I’ve gotten older

None the wiser, I cry for you

’Cause I always say ’I love you’

when I mean ’turn out the light’

And I say ’let’s run away’

when I just mean ’stay the night’

But the words you want to hear

you will never hear from me

I’ll never say ’happy anniversary’

Never stay to say ’happy anniversary’

Bom-chaka bom-chak 23 verses

And he climbed up a mountain

And he looked around

Some kind of forest

With all these dinosaurs

And he stripped his woman

He stripped her bare

But there was a pterodactyl

There!

#Anonymous

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