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loxbbg · 4 years

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The Scarlett Hero

Chapter 0: Being a hero's child sucks

Masterlist

Disclamer: This was originally written for an OC but for tumblr I made it x reader

You always knew what you wanted since you were a child, your parents always told you that they left Japan after finding out mom was pregnant. They named you L/N F/N, but N/N for short and said it was special that you were special. You were their one and only. They only wanted one child because they liked the idea of ‘spoiling’ you. Your O bāchan wanted you to be a boy to carry on the family name, even after finding out when you were a girl she begged for your parents to try for a boy but they never budged. Both your parents came from pro hero backgrounds from your great grandparents when quirks started appearing till now. They've been heroes before heroes were a thing. Your mother was Terepashī and your father was Terekanisu. Before you were born they moved to the U.S in Visalia California for you to live as a normal child, well as normal as a child with former hero parents who were also too rich for their own good can live. When you were born, you were their world. All they wanted was for you to be happy, well until you moved back to Japan. They missed the hero life. They loved being civilians but that eventually got bored, not wanting to do civilian work like in an office. So when their old job offered them their hero jobs and top spots as number 7 and 8 heros if they came back. They sold the house and packed up. You were 8 when you moved and your parents always talked about Japan. You went there to see your grandparents but never stayed long enough to really understand the culture. So after pulling up into a large driveway and a house bigger than where you used to live shocked.

“Mama where are we?”

“Were home darling.” She looked behind her car seat.

“What about home in Visalia?” You didn't fully understand what was happening until seeing people moving boxes that your parents packed back home.

“Remember honey when we said we were moving to Japan we’re staying here baby.” You began to cry.

“What about my friends.” The car stopped pulling up to the house.

“Well you'll make friends here. Come on baby you're a big girl you'll be okay and both your O bāchans are closer so you can see them whenever.” My eyes cleared.

As time went by and your parents got more and more busy being heros, when they made a comeback everyone went crazy. Everyone was surprised after 8 years of being silent they've come back as a force to reckon with. With that force came more jobs and less time to be with their daughter leaving her with nanny after nanny and staying with her

O bāchan. When she turned 9 her quirk finally appeared after years of worry maybe you were quirkless. It was your 9th birthday when you woke up to your parents not being home to wake you up. Your O bāchan had made you a cake and they celebrated but you really wanted your parents like how it used to be before they even moved.

When you parents came home they were tired but you just wanted to spend time with them. It had been a while since they even hugged you.

“Mama, Papa guess what today is!’ you said excitedly.

“Not now Hayami, we’re really tired.” Your dad said taking off his armor and dropping it on the floor.

“But Papa, today's special.” tears began to run down you cheeks

“Dear god F/N we’re tired just leave us alone and bother your O bāchan.” Red hue had seeped from you eyes flowing out. Your hands clenched around themselves, you were angry but sad you just wanted them to notice you again to be their world again.

“Aikia.” Your father Koto had tapped his wife on her side. Pointing towards their daughter only for them to be sent flying backwards by the ray of energy the child in front of them released.

“I just wanted a hug, It's my birthday I just wanted you to be here, please what am I doing wrong!” She was surprised at what she did holding her hands back stepping back from in front of them.

Siri play Sora Ni Utaeba

“No baby, you're doing good just calm down.” They stood up moving forward towards their daughter realizing their daughter had finally developed her quirk. Something this strong in a child is phenomenal. Just from that blast they can see she has her father's quirk but ampules the amount of power that he had at that age with no training.

“D-did I hurt you?”She quivered not wanting to touch them, the red hue still flowing from her eyes. Her father grabbed a hold of her bringing her close to her father and mother.

“No honey you didn't hurt us.” He wiped tears away from her eyes, eventually going back to her normal green doe eyes.

“You got your quirk baby.” Her mom held her hand, gripping it and looking at her hands trying to see what her hands were even doing. Red was still glowing from her hands.

“Mama what is this. Is something wrong with me?” She knew what quirks were but her’s never looked like her parents. In America the kids' quirks resemble their parents more or less. Her parents don't have any color coming from them.

“No honey it's okay I think you just need to be trained. What happened, I felt your power coming from it. How about you let your papa and I go get cleaned up and celebrate your special day and we talk about this tomorrow.” They picked up Y/N happy that she's gotten her quirk now she has a chance to be a hero.

Later that night after they put Y/N to sleep her parents and O bāchan had discussed what they were going to do that she's behind on training when they were her age they were training with pros.

“ What about her godfather. He’s training his own child to be number 1 and All might said he won't train a child no matter who they are.” They looked up at Koto as if he was crazy.

“Koto, Enji would never he's a godfather not a sensi. You know how he is with his own family no matter how hard he tries to hide it his children are separated from shoto.” Aika gave her husband a pinned look. She knows that's basically what his parents did to him but he had no issues with it.

“Hear me out Aika when my parents trained me when I got into U.A I was in 1A my mind was focused. I want the same for our daughter, and her quirk is so much stronger than ours you felt it you know she is. If Enji trains her she can be the top 5 hell even number 1 if she works hard enough and surpasses his son somehow. She's already behind Akia, if he says yes I have no doubt our daughter would make us proud.” He stroked the doubt from his wifes face. Letting her know this might be better.

“Maybe this would be better for F/N. Akia when you were a child you didn't train as hard enough and you didn't even get in the agency you wanted because of your marks. Don't let your child suffer. You want her to be the best. Right?” Akia nodded. Remembering her past failures never wanting her child to be rejected and always being the top.

“I'll make the call then.” Koto steps into another room away from his wife and mother in law.

Koto made the call to Enji Todoroki, the number 2 pro hero Mimi's godfather. Since they were younger and freshly married they had always talked about how powerful their children would be. Unlike Enji, Koto’s marriage wasn’t arranged he had known of his wife when he saw her at the sports festival their 3rd year, seeing her telekinesis at work he was entrances, he knew then that he wanted to be with her and didn't stop till she was his and that she was. It did cause him to drop in the hero polls because he focused on woahing the girl rather than his job but he loved her and that's what mattered to him then. It was full of love.

Enji knew to an extent that their child would be powerful and that if their children had worked together as partners in the hero world no one would be able to stop them. They would be the top heros. So after his long time U.A friend had offered the idea of training his child he took the opportunity never questioning. Him being able to have his song and goddaughter training side by side as partners. Helping her channel her power. This was an opportunity he was not going to waste. Having two future pro heros train under him since childhood how could he ever.

The next day her parents took her to the Todoroki household . She tried playing with the children that were in the courtyard but her father had called her to his side putting her in front of him making her be face to face with a boy with half white half red hair.

“Y/N you know your godfather Enji.” she had met him a couple of times enough to know she's supposed to trust him enough that her parents let him stay in their house in America and even babysat her. Well as good as he did that due to him just telling her to stay in her room and only come out if she needed to. He wasn't the best but her parents trusted him.

“Yes, hello.” She looked up at him smiling, he did not return it.

“This is his son Shoto.” He smiled at her, hers only getting wider getting a warm greeting from someone else in the house.

“Since you've gotten your quirk your mother and I decided that your godfather should train you on how to use it.” She and Shoto were shocked. Him because he's going to have someone else to train with and not be alone with his father. She started to tear because her parents are going to leave her with someone she hardly even knew right after her birthday not even trying themselves but passing her off as someone else's problem.

“Why can't you or mama train me?” she asked, confused. She thought that now that she has the quirk that they would spend more time with her.

“You are so powerful we feel that Uncle could do better than us. He's number 2 after all he will be better than us. Just trust us okayY/N.” She didn't want to make them stand there anymore so she stopped asking questions and went along with it.

That afternoon her father had left her in the care of her godfather that she refers to either ‘uncle enji or uncle Todoroki’ not wanting her to call him godfather. That afternoon training had begun. Shoto had been training his whole life while this was your first day. Enji had made Shoto and you spar telling each of them don't stop till he said to. Shoto was going easy on you knowing that it was your first time but his father had stood in front of him demanding why would he do that, screaming until he cried. Mimi had gone to Shoto’s to help him calm down, not wanting to see her new and only friend cry. Enji watched the scene disgusted that they wouldn't go full force. He walked out of the room demanding they straighten up before he gets back. Mimi had comforted Shoto enough that he stopped crying.

“Is he always like this?” Shoto nodded.

“He hits my mother and yells at the rest of us.” She was shocked she didn't know what to do. He explained to her everything that he even remembers in his 9 years of living.

“Please don't tell anyone you have to pinky promise.” He made her promise not to tell anyone. She had a faint idea that if she did say something maybe something worse would happen to him or even her. That day they had become the closest of friends.

“If we don't get up and start training before he comes back he's going to be even more angry.” Shoto had said, well more like a warning.

By the time Enji had returned Y/N and Shoto were going at it as if they were pros. Even though she only had her power for a day she had learned to dodge attacks from him and when she got behind him she was able hit him with her quirk sending him flying forward and when he sent his flames in her direction she engulfed them with her quirk sending them back to him. Enji had a smirk on his face when he saw them sparing without him actually training him standing there watching.

When her father had come to pick her up ,she had already eaten dinner with the Todorokis’ due to her parents having a job before picking her up. She was basically sleeping right next to Shoto with his head on top of hers. When her parents took her, Shoto’s mom took him to bed hers taking her home tucking her in not knowing what she went through.

Taglist: @fukyouthink

#bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #shoto x reader #todoroki x reader #enji todoroki #todoroki mha #todoroki #mha x reader #mha #katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader

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wosoimagines · 5 years

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Roller Coasters and Popsicles

So, I’m back. This is the first story I’m going to be posting today. Keep sending me requests. I’m getting all of them and I’m working on them. I’ve got most of the ones that are in my inbox jotted down into my notebook. You guys can send me ones for certain players too. I get a lot of requests for baby R on the USWNT, and I love those, but I don’t want you guys to feel like that’s all I write.

prompt: I love your writing my dude!! If you don’t mind could you write one where Reader is the youngest on the USWNT and also the smartest and goes to Harvard. She’s always ranting about random stuff to the team and one day after a hard practice she’s ranting about something random. But someone snaps at her and so she never does it again. Flash forward and everyone notices she doesn’t talk as much and they all feel bad cuz they were just tired and didn’t mean to make their baby feel bad.

warnings: Swearing.

words: 1879

(Y/N) POV

It was weird being for me to actually be preparing for the World Cup. I had been with the national team since I was 17, but it was still hard for me to grasp now that I was an 18-year-old soon-to-be 19-year-old. The team was really easy to get along with for the most part. I was sure that it was mainly because the team saw me as the baby and they just loved being overprotective.

With a family as big, weird, and dysfunctional as we were, it wasn’t too surprising to me that they loved to be overprotective. The whole team could be that way with all of the younger players. Because of that, I always had to remind them that I didn’t want them to go easy on me.

“Come on, Sonnett. You haven’t been able to stop me all day,” I ran past the defender after getting another ball into the goal. I was aware that it wouldn’t be this easy to get a goal at the World Cup.

Sonnett grumbled as we both ran to get set up again. Jill had us scrimmaging today and I wanted to take advantage of going up against the women who made up the best team in the world. Especially since I was the only one on the team that was in college. It was why I had to give every practice everything I had, and I couldn’t allow the others to go easy on me.

Practice never got harder when I went against Sonnett and it didn’t completely surprise me when she had to stay back and talk with Jill. I waited around for her since we normally sat together on the bus. When Sonnett got out of the shower, I joined her side as we were the last two heading to the bus.

“You should get a popsicle,” I said causing Sonnett to look at me. “I eat popsicles all the time after I have a rough practice or game. Always helps me. I guess that’s why I keep eating them.”

“I don’t want a popsicle, (Y/N),” Sonnett said. I slowly nodded and I didn’t blame her. I only had popsicles after I had rough games or practices because it was something my Dad had started to do with me.

“Did you know that popsicles were created by complete accident?” I asked as I knew my eyes had to light up like they always did when I got to tell anyone about the facts that I knew. “A boy named Frank Epperson created the first one on accident in 1905 when-”

“I don’t care about your stupid facts, (Y/N)!” Sonnett cut me off as I looked at her. “I don’t care that you know everything that you do, (Y/N)! I don’t care that you go to Havard! And I don’t care that you’re the smartest one here! If I wanted to know the fucking history behind popsicles, I would have asked Siri instead of you. At least she isn’t as annoying.”

I ducked my head down as I refused to let her see the tears that the harsh words were brought to my eyes. Sonnett stalked on ahead of me as I wiped at my eyes before pulling my headphones out. I pulled them on so that the others on the bus wouldn’t talk to me on our way back to the hotel. Sonnett climbed onto the bus before I did and I saw her sitting by Lindsey, so I slid into a seat by myself upfront.

I was the first one off of the bus when we pulled up to the hotel. I kept my head down as I headed into the hotel with my headphones still on. I just wanted to get to my room to take a nap before we went out for team dinner.

Tierna POV

I sat next to (Y/N) throughout dinner, but it seemed like I was the only one who she would talk to. She stayed pretty quiet throughout dinner. The most surprising was that we hadn’t gotten any of her weird facts that we normally heard from her.

“You ok?” I nudged (Y/N). She looked at me a little confused but nodded. “Haven’t heard any facts from you tonight.”

“Guess I’ve just run out,” (Y/N) shrugged. I furrowed my own brow in confusion as (Y/N) turned back to listen to what Pinoe was saying. I couldn’t help through the rest of the night as I paid a bit more attention to (Y/N). She wasn’t even talking a lot much less telling anyone her little weird facts we had started to know her by.

I stuck close to the younger college player when we headed back to the hotel. I noticed that she was also hesitant to hang out with the rest of us. She did drift closer to Tobin and even A.D. throughout the night. It wasn’t entirely surprising since (Y/N) was closer with the Thorns players on the team since she grew up in Portland so she was in Portland all the time when she wasn’t at Harvard. It was a little surprising, however, that (Y/N) avoided Sonnett and, by extension, Lindsey.

Eventually, Alex forced (Y/N) to head to bed. Alex turned to have me make sure that (Y/N) got to bed since we were sharing a room this camp. I had assured her that (Y/N) would get to bed before 1:00 am. (Y/N) didn’t even seem like fighting the bedtime that Alex had set for her. (Y/N) just seemed off.

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

“Has anyone else noticed the change in (Y/N)?” I asked as I sat down at the large table to eat breakfast. It was our day off and (Y/N) had decided to sleep in today so, I was leaving our room when she was getting up. It was the best time to bring up the unusual behavior from (Y/N) last night. Everyone turned their attention to me.

“What are you talking about?” Kelley asked. I was a little surprised that Kelley and Alex hadn’t noticed the change in (Y/N). The two of them had named themselves as (Y/N)’s moms on the team.

“She didn’t talk a lot last night,” A.D. pointed out.

“So, (Y/N) didn’t talk last night, that’s not unusual,” Crystal said. I rolled my eyes because it seemed that no one else had noticed the change in (Y/N).

“I didn’t hear a fact out of her any last night after dinner,” Tobin said.

“She didn’t say any during dinner either,” I added to draw the attention back to me. “When I asked her about it, she said that she had run out of facts.”

“(Y/N) ran out of facts to tell us?” Kelley asked causing me to nod my head. “Impossible. She’s like the encyclopedia of weird facts.” Alex put a hand on Kelley’s shoulder so that Kelley would lower her voice.

“So what happened?” Alex asked. Sonnett winced when that question was asked, and I wasn’t the only one to notice.

“What did you do?” Kelley turned to Sonnett. It was a little weird to see Kelley trying to get to Sonnett. She would have if Alex wasn’t holding her back. We were all looking at Sonnett. But Sonnett seemed like if she wasn’t sure if she would tell us what had happened or not. “What did you do, Emily?”

“I didn’t mean to. It just happened,” Sonnett defended. Alex let go of Kelley so that the older defender could get into Sonnett’s face.

“What did you do?” Kelley’s voice dropped and we could hear the anger in Kelley’s voice.

“I had a bad day yesterday and I took it out on (Y/N),” Sonnett said. Most of us were throwing glares at Sonnett. Kelley opened her mouth to probably ask Sonnett what exactly had happened, but she didn’t need to. “I couldn’t stop her yesterday at practice and afterward she told me that I should get a popsicle before trying to tell me how popsicles were created.”

“What did you say?” Alex asked with a glare pointed at Sonnett. It was obvious how much Kelley and Alex cared about (Y/N).

“I told her that I didn’t care about her facts or that she went to Harvard,” Sonnett ducked her head down. Some of the others launched their food at the defender in question.

“You’re a dumbass,” Ash called out. Ali slapped Ash’s shoulder but kept a glare pointed at Sonnett.

“You can’t just fucking tell someone that, Emily,” Pinoe added. The others were nodding in agreement. Some that were closer to Sonnett, made a point to hit the defender.

“You’re going to fix this,” Kelley hissed. Sonnett looked up at the older defender. “I don’t care how, but (Y/N) better be her normal self by dinner.”

(Y/N) POV

Today had been a little weird as most everyone on the team had come through to spend some time in mine and Tierna’s room until the past hour. There was a knock on the door and I was going to ignore it, but whoever it was wouldn’t stop.

“I’m coming,” I called out as I rolled out of my bed. I opened the door without looking through the peephole, and I tried to shut the door when I saw who was on the other side. Sonnett stopped me from shutting the door.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N),” Sonnett immediately said. I was still trying to shut the door as she was pushing to keep it open. “I brought you some popsicles since you probably had a bad day after what I said.”

I stopped pushing the door and leaned my head against the door. I groaned but I held my hand out for the popsicles. Sonnett put the box in my hands and I looked at it. Sonnett stayed outside the door. I pulled the door open some more so that Sonnett would come in.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did yesterday,” Sonnett started. “Your facts are stupid and I do care about hearing them. I do care that you go to Harvard. You’re probably the smartest person on this team, you know.”

“Why did you say those things?”

“I had a rough day yesterday. You were just easy to take it out on,” Sonnett looked away from me. I couldn’t help but think that I was the cause of that as well, though. I shut the door as I turned and got back into my bed. I opened the box of popsicles and held one out to Sonnett. Sonnett took the popsicle before joining me on the bed. I smiled before picking out my own popsicle.

“Tell me something.”

“You know how roller coasters were created?” I didn’t have to wait for Sonnett’s shake of her head because I knew that she didn’t. “They were invented to distract Americans from sin.”

Sonnett shook her head in disbelief. I smiled because she seemed like she really wanted to know about the fact. I couldn’t help but tell her about the history of roller coasters before going back and finishing the history of popsicles as we ate through the box of popsicles.

#uswnt #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #uswnt x reader

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mikauzoran · 4 years

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LuXY/Lukadrien/Lukadrienette: Welcome to La-La Land: Chapter Three

@luxyweek

Welcome to La-La Land: Chapter Three: Collaboration

Luka couldn’t believe it.

While he still didn’t necessarily like XY’s music, he had to admit that it was definitely more listenable nowadays. No longer was it trite, banal, and annoying. It was still repetitive, but the repetition was more like that in the works of Philip Glass or John Adams where it meant something and gradually evolved and moved, unfurling like a flower on a time-lapse film. It was catchy, modulating to explore different key areas before finding tonal resolution.

It still wasn’t anything Luka would choose to listen to over, say, Pink Floyd, but he did find himself humming snatches of XY’s tunes periodically after listening to them.

The thing that had him the most incredulous was that XY had actually looked into some of the composers that Luka mentioned in various interviews and took inspiration from their work. It wasn’t the plagiarism of old but the acceptable practice of quotations taken from other works just like well-known composers had been doing in the genre for hundreds of years now.

And XY had taken the themes, the snippets, and modified them himself. He sequenced motifs up and down, inverting them and truncating them. Clearly, XY had been paying attention that one time in an interview when Luka had gone on a fifteen-minute tangent about the theme of the first movement of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony and how Beethoven had taken the handful of notes in his theme and reconfigured them over and over to create astounding variety, lyricism, and emotional impact.

XY was nowhere near Beethoven’s level, but he had still managed to take quotations from classical music as well as original themes he had seemingly come up with himself and employ a similar process to what Beethoven had done so that the music changed and grew out of itself like Pegasus springing from the head of Medusa.

Luka thought that maybe a collab would be possible after all. Now, he just had to call XY and make the arrangements.

…But how did you call the guy who’d gotten you akumatized a decade ago whom you’d also made out with the previous week? The closest thing he’d ever had to a normal interaction with XY was the conversation at the party, but that hadn’t exactly been quote-unquote “normal”.

Did he just dial the number XY had given him and say, “hey, this is Luka Couffaine calling about the collaboration you wanted to do”? Pretend like the saliva swap and the snuggling and the talking about Luka’s messed up relationship with Adrien and Marinette and their son hadn’t happened?

Did he just play it cool? Keep it professional?

Did XY expect something from Luka? Was the kiss purely an experiment, or was XY thinking that some kind of relationship was going to happen between them? XY had said that he’d wanted Luka. What did that mean? Was it purely sexual?

Why had Luka let himself get into this complicated situation?

He’d been trying to be supportive of a guy attempting to figure out his sexuality in his late twenties…and XY was hot when he wasn’t saying stupid or insulting things. He had dumb hair, but he was attractive, and he’d been kind of nice with all the things he’d said about admiring Luka’s music. And Luka had been feeling down, and the alcohol hadn’t helped, and Luka had just wanted someone to kiss him senseless and help him forget that he wasn’t always happy with life.

Luka could feel himself on the verge of doing something stupid like inviting XY over to supposedly talk about their collaboration but really to see if they’d end up making out again. At the very least, maybe XY would say some more nice things like how he liked Luka’s chord progressions or how Luka had gorgeous eyes.

Luka sighed as he slumped onto the couch and stared at his phone as if he hoped it would give him answers.

Maybe he should ask Siri.

“Siri, what am I doing with my life?” Luka queried, fully expecting the robotic voice to come back with online articles for the boardgame Life or some kind of chicken recipe.

“I’m not sure I understand,” Siri replied in a tone that could pass as apologetic if you squinted.

“That makes two of us,” Luka chuckled wryly. “Thanks anyway, Siri.”

He took a deep breath and dialed Marinette’s number.

“Luka!” she greeted brightly. “Hey. How’s it going? Hold on. Let me put you on speaker…. Can you hear me?”

“I can hear you,” he assured, a smile coming to his lips merely at the sound of her voice. “Hey, Chanson.”

“I was just getting Hugo ready for his bath,” she explained and then lowered her voice as she addressed her child. “Gogo, it’s Uncle Luka on the phone. Can you say, ‘Hi, Uncle Luka’?”

“Papa!” Hugo cried with joy, and Luka could practically see his son lifting his arms up for the phone, thinking they were FaceTiming and wanting to see the picture.

Luka could also practically see the way that Marinette was wincing at the epithet.

“No,” Marinette gently corrected, urging, “It’s ‘Uncle Luka’.”

“Papa!” the two-year-old shouted again.

“Hi, Gogo,” Luka greeted warmly, wishing that he could see his baby’s face. “You know, Marinette, I don’t mind that he calls me that.”

“I do,” she sighed, voice high and tight. “I wish Adrien hadn’t taught him that. What if he calls you that in public? People are going to think I’m a slut! They’ll think I cheated on Adrien, that our marriage is in trouble. I need people focusing on my talent, Luka, not my love life. If my brand is ever really going to take off, if I’m ever going to prove myself…if I’m ever going to get out of the shadow of my husband’s father’s brand and prove I’m not just riding on Adrien’s coattails…”

“Chanson,” Luka cooed. “Hey. Take a deep breath and relax, all right? You are so amazing, and the whole world is going to realize that someday,” he comforted. “You’ve just got to keep hanging in there, okay?”

“Maman?” Hugo called in concern, tugging at her pant leg.

Marinette took a deep breath and picked him up.

“Right. It’s okay. Maman is okay,” she shushed, bouncing her son and moving him from side to side. “It’s just stress. I’ve got a deadline coming up.”

Hugo frowned, trusting the anxiety that was coming off her in waves over her reassuring words. Even though he was young, Hugo was very attuned to people’s feelings.

“Thank you, Luka,” Marinette added belatedly. “Sorry. I’m kind of a mess. Adrien’s doing Hamlet, and he won’t be home until late, so I’m trying to cook dinner, get Hugo cleaned up, and work on this project, and it’s not happening.”

“It’s okay, Marinette. You don’t have to be a superhero all the time, you know.”

She let out an ironic laugh. “Luka, I’ve had to be a full-time superhero since I was fourteen. It gets kind of hard to turn that mentality off after a decade.”

“Point,” he conceded. “But you know what you’ve got at your disposal?”

“What?” she hummed.

“A team,” he reminded. “Why don’t I come over and give Hugo his bath and make dinner while you get some work done?”

“Oh, Luka,” Marinette breathed, sounding genuinely touched. “I couldn’t ask you to do that. But thank you. You’re too good to me.”

“Chanson, I am sitting around my apartment feeling like a wreck. Please let me come over and be useful. I want to take care of you.”

Marinette was easily sold on the arrangement, and it was a nice evening.

Marinette got her work done while Luka got to spend quality time with his son and the woman he loved. They had a peaceful dinner together, and then Luka played with Hugo for a bit before putting him to bed.

Luka had intended to go home afterwards but ended up staying the night.

Adrien got home a little after midnight, traces of stage makeup still on his skin as he slipped into bed, snuggling up to Luka and wrapping himself around Luka from behind.

Luka returned to his flat after breakfast and immediately despaired at the silence and solitude of the place.

He thought about calling XY and asking him out to coffee.

He actually fished out the business card XY had given him and dialed the number, but the call went to voicemail.

Luka covered his disappointment with professionalism: “Hey, this is Luka Couffaine calling about a possible collaboration. If you could give me a call back, we’ll discuss details.”

He thought about going out to get a coffee at a café by himself just to get out of the house, but the idea no longer seemed appealing.

“Dude, you live on a boat? That’s, like, hella whack!” XY exclaimed, and Luka couldn’t discern whether that was a compliment or a slight.

“It’s technically my mother’s,” Luka explained. “I have an apartment over in the sixteenth arrondissement,”

—not far from Adrien and Marinette’s house—he omitted.

“but I grew up here and still come and go pretty much as I please. My sisters—my biological sister and her wife—my sisters still live here, though.”

XY nodded as he stepped down off of the gangplank and onto the deck, surveying his surroundings. “It’s kind of a dump.”

Luka cringed, reminding himself that even though XY was hot and had improved personality-wise over the years, he was still completely tactless and oblivious. It wasn’t his fault he’d been brought up poorly and didn’t know that he wasn’t supposed to say things like that.

“My mother’s name is Anarka. We believe in chaos, leaving junk lying around, and affogatos,” Luka informed, motioning for XY to follow him down below deck.

XY frowned. “Like those green fruit things?”

Luka was surprised that XY knew that an avocado was a fruit. Perhaps it was just a lucky guess. “Affogatos are an Italian dessert where you pour espresso over gelato…and sometimes add amaretto. My mom’s a big fan. She dated this Italian guy once and totally got hooked on them, so now they’re kind of a family tradition. Like hiding chocolates in each other’s socks for Valentine’s Day.”

XY continued to stare at Luka, completely nonplussed. “Your family is weird.”

Luka shrugged, leading XY into the main cabin and motioning for him to have a seat on the wraparound couch. “All families are weird. The truly weird ones are the ones that aren’t.”

XY looked like he was still trying to puzzle that one out when Luka asked, “May I get you something to drink?”

“Yeah, I want an avocado,” XY declared.

Luka didn’t bat an eye. “With or without alcohol?”

XY shifted on the couch, looking almost uncomfortable. “Without. I don’t want—I don’t think we should be drunk today,” he elaborated. “You know. Because we’re working and stuff.”

Luka nodded, mentally noting that he needed to be sober the next time he kissed XY.

He added an additional note concerning the fact that he was thinking about a next time.

“Two affogatos without alcohol coming right up.”

As he started the espresso maker and moved to get out the gelato and glasses, Luka inquired, “…Did you get the chance to listen to those pieces I texted you about?”

XY (his left arm hooked around the back of the couch so that he could twist and watch Luka making the drinks) nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, I did. You picked some really good songs for us to take as inspiration. I think we could get a really good blend of our styles going if we kind of pattern our mix on elements of those songs. Like the Tarantula one.”

It was really Saint-Saëns’s Tarantella, Opus Six, but “tarantella” literally meant “tarantula”, so Luka was willing to let it slide.

“I really dug the theme from Tarantula. If we take the theme and kind of rework it and speed it up, I think it would be a sick bassline. Like, kind of like…” XY paused, a guarded expression coming to his face, as if he were afraid of Luka judging him or shooting down his suggestion. “Have you ever heard DJ Jack’s remix of Pink Elephants on Parade?”

“I can’t say that I have,” Luka admitted, carefully pouring the espresso over the gelato. “Could you pull it up?”

“Yeah, sure,” XY agreed happily, getting out his laptop and hopping on YouTube for the track. “This part,” he indicated about fifty seconds into the song. “I was thinking a really driving, pounding bass would be good.”

Luka nodded, considering the idea as he brought over the affogatos and set them down on the makeshift coffee table. It wasn’t exactly his style, but that wasn’t the point of the collaboration.

“Yeah, that could be good,” he encouraged, taking a seat on the couch beside XY.

XY looked relieved as he pulled up his sound editing software. “I was actually messing around with the idea last night so I’d have something to show you.” He pressed play on a track labeled “hairy spider beats” and looked expectantly at Luka.

He let Luka listen for about twenty seconds before nervously asking, “What do you think?”

XY’s mix was still audibly related to Saint-Saëns’s theme, but it was much more “inspired by” than “plagiarism”. He’d taken the notes (sometimes turning them around on themselves or dropping them down a third, sometimes rearranging, sometimes splitting apart) and sped them up, giving them a driving, electronic pulse.

“That actually sounds pretty neat,” Luka replied sincerely. “I can tell you’ve really come a long way as far as music theory and composition, Xavier-Yves. Nice work.”

XY beamed at Luka’s praise, his heart swelling with pleasure and pride. “It was nothing,” he assured, playing it cool. “I mean, I am hella dope after all. Music theory has nothing on me. I kicked its butt.”

“Yeah,” Luka agreed with a chuckle. “I can see why people like your music nowadays. It’s still not really my favourite genre, but I can tell you’re onto something.”

XY hesitated before curiously inquiring, “…Why did you call about collaborating if you’re not really a fan of what I do?”

Luka shrugged, training his eyes on the laptop screen. “I don’t know. Listening to your music, I just kind of felt like there might be something there, so I decided to give it a chance and see what happened.”

XY nodded slowly, studying Luka’s expression in profile. “All right. Good answer.” He turned his attention back to the project at hand. “So. I was thinking, we could use this or something like it as the base and layer other stuff over it. Like…you know in that Corn on the Cob song you sent me—”

Danse Macabre. Saint-Saëns again, Opus Forty. It was one of Adrien’s favourites.

“—how in the beginning it’s really quiet as the clock strikes midnight, but then all hell breaks loose as the dead rise from their graves and start partying?”

“Yes?” Luka was intrigued to find out where this was going.

In Danse Macabre, about thirty seconds in, after everything up to that point had been pianissimo, the dynamic suddenly shifted to forte, and the loud, powerful notes really blew the listener away. Luka remembered that that part had been very striking the first time he’d heard the piece.

“I was thinking we could do something like that. Not the same notes,” he explained, “but the same effect. We could have the song pulsing along, but then, all the sudden, the bass drops, and we wait a beat, and then you come in really loud with—I don’t know—whatever you end up using if you want to go with your guitar or maybe the violin or, I mean, what don’t you play?”

Luka blushed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Well, there’s a difference between being able to make an instrument produce sound and actually being proficient. I can play simple melodies on a wide variety of instruments, but I really only consider myself able to play the guitar, violin, and piano.”

XY snorted and rolled his eyes. “Dude, you’re definitely selling yourself short, but whatever. If you can make an instrument produce sound or play a simple melody or whatever, I can record it and splice it up into a killer mix. No one’s going to know that you’re not ‘proficient’ by your own standards.”

Luka hummed thoughtfully. “Point. I’m used to creating music that has to be reproduced live, so I didn’t think—” He cut himself off abruptly as an idea occurred to him. He turned to look at XY with wide, hopeful eyes. “Do you think we could use a glass armonica?”

XY tipped his head to the side. “What’s that?”

“Go back to YouTube, please,” Luka requested, practically buzzing with excitement. He never got to use this instrument for anything, but it had such a cool sound.

He instructed XY in what to search for and what to click on, and not a minute later, XY was staring at the screen, watching the demonstration in amazement.

“Dude,” he breathed. “It sounds like the souls of the dead being all spooky up in our business. We have got to fit that in somehow. At the very least, it would add some neat harmonies.”

Twenty minutes of watching videos featuring glass armonicas later, they got back to their collaboration piece.

“You know, another thing I’d like to fit in if we can is a quotation of the Dies Irae,” XY remarked, completely knocking Luka for a loop.

“What?” he asked, thinking he’d misheard.

“The Dies Irae,” XY snorted. “You know what I’m talking about. You’ve talked about it in several interviews, and it’s quoted all over that Tatter Tots song you sent me the other day to prep for our collab.”

Totentanz. Franz Liszt, S. 126 (because Liszt didn’t use opus numbers).

“Sorry. Right,” Luka confirmed. “Sorry. I was just…”

…surprised that you, one, knew what the Dies Irae was called; two, pronounced it correctly; three, butchered Totentanz’s title; and four, actually listen to me when I talk.

“…astounded by what a good idea that is,” Luka recovered, realizing that his true thoughts were either rude or showing his hand too much about how much it meant to Luka that XY had paid that close attention to Luka’s interviews.

“You have a lot of good ideas, Xavier-Yves,” Luka added, watching a cute pink tint rise in XY’s cheeks.

“You bet I do.” XY puffed out his chest slightly. “I didn’t used to, but now I do. I have a lot of good ideas because I’m not an imbecile anymore.”

Luka felt his stomach twist slightly, recalling the way Bob Roth had talked to his son at the party the week before.

It reminded Luka of the way Adrien had internalized the erroneous beliefs that he was needy and whiny and difficult after years of hearing Gabriel perpetuate those lies. Adrien only believed it because it was what Gabriel had taught Adrien about himself, either directly or by implication.

Luka could see how Bob Roth calling his son an imbecile for years on end might ingrain the belief into Xavier-Yves’s psyche too.

He took a deep breath, reached out, and rested a hand on XY’s forearm. “Hey.”

XY’s eyes went wide like sundials as his gaze locked with Luka’s.

“You were never an imbecile,” he informed gently yet firmly. “You were just in a situation where no one ever gave you the opportunity to show off what you could do, and that’s not your fault.”

XY gulped and then forced himself to look away before the urge to kiss Luka got any stronger. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right…. So…the Dies Irae…”

“Right,” Luka agreed, slowly retracting his hand. “The Dies Irae…”

Hours flew by as they worked on their project, and, before they knew it, their stomachs were growling.

“Would you want to go get dinner?” XY asked tentatively, trying to get a feel for where they stood with one another. “With me, I mean. My treat, since you supplied the snackage and refreshments today. I owe you for that avocado. That thing was good; I see why your family believes in them.”

“Right?” Luka chuckled, partially out of genuine amusement but also to buy a little time.

XY was definitely asking him out on a date. What was he supposed to say to that? He’d gone into this whole collab thing with the intention of keeping an open mind and seeing what became of it, but… What was he doing? He didn’t know. He legitimately didn’t know what he was doing with his life, so if XY just wanted random make-outs when convenient, maybe that was fine, but if XY were serious, if he had any kind of feelings for Luka… Luka didn’t want to lead XY on. After all, he wasn’t emotionally available for an actual relationship and all that involved, so…

He took a steadying breath, getting his apology together in his head before he opened his mouth and replied, “Sure. I would be down for hitting up a bistro or something, if you’re paying.”

XY’s face lit up just enough for Luka to realize that XY was expecting something to come of this—whatever it was. Friendship?—acquaintanceship between them.

Luka needed to be careful.

…But he’d really enjoyed kissing XY after the party. It had been nice to know that Luka had been the only person on XY’s mind. He hadn’t had to share XY with anyone like he did when he was with Marinette and Adrien.

But if this really was XY’s first experience with romance with someone he was legitimately interested in, Luka needed to keep his head on straight. He was an absolute mess, and he knew it, and if he didn’t keep his wits about him, he was going to ruin the concept of love for XY.

That was kind of a daunting responsibility.

Dinner was actually fairly normal, like any other dinner he’d had between friends…sort of. At least, it didn’t feel like a date. Well, besides the part where XY had insisted on driving and opening the car door for Luka. While the gesture had seemed romantic at first, Luka was starting to suspect that it was really because XY didn’t want anyone touching the car besides him.

It was a hideously purple 1982 DeLorean with gullwing doors, and it was XY’s baby.

Apparently, XY was a car person. Luka learned this when he happened to make a comment about the car over dinner and was then treated to a fifteen-minute-long gushing rant about automobiles.

It was a learning experience, and Luka, who didn’t really care so much about cars, didn’t have much to contribute.

Thankfully, after fifteen minutes, XY realized that Luka hadn’t said anything in a while and thought to ask about Luka’s hobbies. Luka talked about Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky, and he could tell he was going a little over XY’s head, but XY asked questions and seemed like he genuinely wanted Luka to keep talking, so Luka figured it was okay.

It wasn’t really a “normal” dinner between friends, but it didn’t feel like a date either.

They returned to the Liberty afterwards so that XY could pick up his belongings, and as he was packing up his laptop, he hesitantly remarked, “So…the other night…”

Luka tensed. “…Yeah?”

XY licked his lips, tentatively looking up to study Luka’s expression. “The kiss.”

Luka squirmed slightly, fingers itching for a guitar to strum to calm himself. “Yeah?”

“You remember that?” XY inquired nervously.

Luka winced. “I wasn’t that drunk.”

XY shrugged. “I mean…but you were drunk, so—”

“—I remember,” Luka cut him off before the misunderstanding could go on any longer. “I remember, and I wasn’t so drunk that I didn’t know what I was doing. I voluntarily kissed you.”

Whether or not that had been a good idea, that still remained to be seen, but Luka felt he’d been sober enough to consent to a kiss, and he didn’t want XY worrying about that issue.

“Oh,” XY replied thoughtfully, looking back down to his laptop, strapping it into his satchel. “Okay. So…you knew what you were doing, and you…you wanted to kiss me?”

“Yes,” Luka answered with conviction, leaving no room for doubt.

XY breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. Because I didn’t think of it at the time, but I was thinking about it later, and my dad always tells me not to do anything with girls when they’re drunk because that leads to lawsuits, but I started thinking that I shouldn’t have kissed you when you were drunk either, even though you’re not a girl.”

“Normally, that’s a good practice to follow,’ Luka confirmed. “But I wasn’t drunk. Not that drunk…. But, yeah. Don’t kiss drunk people in the future,” he sighed, beginning to rub at the bridge of his nose.

“So…” XY slung his satchel over his shoulder and studied Luka careful. “If you hadn’t been drunk, would you still have kissed me?”

Luka blinked. He didn’t know.

If he hadn’t been drunk and tired and feeling kind of down…maybe he would have gone down to the lobby and asked at the front desk for his own room. Maybe he would have stayed but turned down XY’s proposed make-out and snuggle session.

Luka couldn’t honestly say.

He grimaced and answered helplessly, “Maybe?”

XY nodded, taking a deep breath and letting that response settle in. “All right.”

“Sorry,” Luka mumbled, shame burning in his cheeks. He could tell that he was royally screwing this up, and he felt awful.

He was a bad person for dragging XY into his complicated relationship with Adrien and Marinette.

“It’s all right,” XY sighed, sounding bummed.

Luka scrubbed at his face with a hand. “No. It’s not. I’m sorry. I was kind of a wreck the other night. I’m kind of a wreck in general. I’m sorry.”

“Nah,” XY assured, waving away Luka’s apologies. “I mean, I was kind of kidding myself. You’re…You’re you after all.”

Luka dropped his hand from his face and frowned, unsure if he should be getting defensive. “What does that mean?”

XY shrugged. “Like, you’re all smart and stuff. We don’t have a lot in common, not even our music, so… It was kind of dumb to think you’d be interested in me. But it’s cool, so whatever.”

XY turned to go, but Luka caught him by the arm.

“Xavier-Yves, it’s not like that,” Luka rushed to explain, not knowing quite what to say, only that he needed to say something. “It’s not… I’m not… I mean, I’m not that smart.”

XY snorted, rolling his eyes. “Dude. At dinner you told me how you’d learned Russian so that you could read thousand-paged books. For fun.”

“Well, you taught yourself how to build cars,” Luka volleyed, grasping at fog.

“Yeah, but I’m not smart,” XY scoffed, pulling his arm away from Luka. “I can’t talk about literature and art and stuff like you.”

“Xavier-Yves, there are many different types of intelligence,” Luka huffed in frustration. “Just because you’re not book-smart, that doesn’t mean you’re dumb, and who’s to say that my type of intelligence is any better or worse than yours? You have your own strengths, so don’t discount them just because they’re not the same as mine. If we were on a drive and broke down in the middle of nowhere, your type of intelligence would be a hell of a lot more useful than mine.”

XY stared at Luka for a beat, taking all of this in. Slowly, he began to nod. “All right. Okay. Soooo…?”

He looked at Luka expectantly.

Luka looked down at his feet but then forced himself to look back up and maintain eye contact. “So…I think you’re attractive and kind of interesting, and I’d like to get to know you better.”

XY’s cheeks started to glow a soft, rosy tint. “O-Oh yeah?”

Luka nodded. “Yeah. I’d like to hang out again.”

XY gulped. “So…could that maybe translate to you eventually kissing me sober?”

A wave of guilt washed over Luka.

He had ruined this guy’s first kiss.

Luka took a breath and stepped in, pressing his lips lightly to XY’s. He lingered for a moment but pulled back before XY could get over his surprise and take things any further.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t sober the first time,” he whispered. “Maybe this could eventually become something, but I’m an emotional mess right now, so I don’t want to lead you on or turn this into some kind of friends with benefits thing if you’re looking for a serious relationship. I’m sorry, but I just want to be honest with you.”

XY nodded neutrally as he stepped back. “Yeah…. Okay. I get you. I…all right.” He sighed, running a hand through his spiky locks. “Honestly, I’m just kind of glad to know where I stand with you. I can work with being attractive and interesting.”

His ego was quickly bouncing back as he readjusted his satchel on his shoulder and moved toward the door, turning back to shoot finger guns at Luka. “I’m still planning on making you fall in love with me. See you later!”

Luka stared at XY’s retreating back until he disappeared abovedeck.

Juleka found her brother ten minutes later, still standing there and contemplating his life choices.

#LuXY #luxyweek2k20 #Lukadrien #Lukadrienette #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #ML #Luka Couffaine/XY Roth #Luka Couffaine #Xavier-Yves Roth #XY #Lukanette #Mikau's Writings #Welcome to La-La Land

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denrbough · 5 years

Text

‘a dear friend’

LIke family, but not like family

Summary: It’s 7:30 in the morning on a Wednesday when Bill’s eyes scan around the room, looking for something comfortable to train his eyes on. After the death of their father at the age of seventeen, most eyes would be swimming in tears sitting in the funeral home, trying to decide which blurry picture to use as the memorial card. Regardless, Bill Denbrough’s eyes are dry. It’s not that he hated Zack Denbrough, but he feels as if for the past six years, he hasn’t known him, and his view up until age eleven would have been very biased. Most little boys want to grow up just like their fathers, and Bill used to, even when he wasn’t someone to look up to.

in other words, au where the losers meet in high school in a youth therapy group.

Taglist: @purplelittlepup

It’s 7:30 in the morning on a Wednesday when Bill’s eyes scan around the room, looking for something comfortable to train his eyes on. After the death of their father at the age of seventeen, most eyes would be swimming in tears sitting in the funeral home, trying to decide which blurry picture to use as the memorial card. Regardless, Bill Denbrough’s eyes are dry. It’s not that he hated Zack Denbrough, but he feels as if for the past six years, he hasn’t known him, and his view up until age eleven would have been very biased. Most little boys want to grow up just like their fathers, and Bill used to, even when he wasn’t someone to look up to.

Mr. Denbrough died at the age of 45 from liver failure, after a damn near lifetime of being an alcoholic. Bill made the decision when he was 14 never to touch a bottle of liquor, and not to get very drunk. Now, he’d realized, is the time to know I don’t want to be him.

Meanwhile, Sharon is sitting near him with a chair in between, so drunk that Bill’s quite sure she’s sweating booze.

He turns his attention back to the funeral director, who’s going on about the pros and cons of cremation. Despite the serious mood, Bill chuckles in remembrance of what Richie had said to him the other day. “He should totally get cremated, all the vodka will have him up in flames in no time!” man, Richie could be a dick, and he doesn’t think before he speaks, and always smells like ax bodyspray, but honestly, Bill doesn’t know what he’d do without the kid.

“Mr. Denbrough, you alright?” Mr. Conch asks him in his even voice. Bill looks him in the eyes and nods.

“I’m just really in my head,” he says slowly, floating back into the real world. Between his lag and his red eyes, he’s sure now that it’s obvious he’s high. And with his mother with tear-stained cheeks looking disassociated, it’s obvious that Mr. Conch is about to say what comes out of his mouth next.

“How about I call tomorrow? You’ve both had a long week and probably need some time alone,” he says amiably, closing the book he’d been reading from. “We have until Monday and as long as you send me the information I can take care of things here. We want to make this transition as easy as possible on you two. Go home, rest” he insists, standing up from his chair to make it clear he’s serious.

Sharon collects her coat and puts it on, putting her purse over her shoulder and making her way out, not watching to see if Bill is following. He hurries himself to get up and follow but Mr. Conch stops him with a hand on his shoulder, silently handing him a pamphlet. “Teen Substance Abuse and the Risks.” he embarrassedly puts it away in his pocket before he’s handed a business card that he doesn’t read until he’s on his way out back to his truck to drive he and his mom home. “Grief Management Youth Group.” before he opens the car door he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“Hey, Siri, can you s-save a date and time r-r-reminder for me?” he puts in the date for the next meeting based on the schedule on the card. He opens the driver’s side door and gets in.

Two days later, the sun is up and Bill gets out of bed, the funeral isn’t for three more days and nothing feels quite real yet. He feels as if he’s living in a diorama, he’s walking through a fake version of his world. With this coincidence, his phone goes off as he gets fresh clothes on after a shower. “Youth Group Thing” the screen reads as it rings. And even more surprisingly, he puts on his shoes and decides to go.

He listens to the radio on the way to the library where the meetings take place, parking close to the front as it’s early enough in the morning not to be busy yet. He shoves his hands in his sweatshirt pockets and walks down to the conference room, a few teens already sitting on chairs and talking. Before he walks in he peers through the window at each of them, none of them sitting properly on their chairs.

He opens the door and walks in, looking down at first and looking up once he’s in. “Hi, I g-got r-referred here, am I e-e-early?” he asks, not seeing anything formally going on. His face is flushed from the embarrassment of seemingly being the only new kid.

“No, this is it,” a girl in a beanie says with a pop of her gum. “You know this town, the guy supposed to talk to us never shows,” she says with a scoff. Bill starts to walk closer to sit in a chair and she stops him. “Name and state of orphanhood,” she says as she points a firm finger at him.

“William Denbrough. Lost my dad a few days ago,” he says, standing up a little straighter but averting his eyes and licking his chapped lips awkwardly. He shifts his weight to his left foot instead of his right and looks at the floor after a moment.

“Bev, chill out,” A taller teen boy says, he’s rather handsome and Bill recognizes him as being known as the only black kid in town. He’s never met him, but he’s also never judged, most of the teens don’t, they’re not as closed-minded as the adults of the small town of Derry, Maine. “Go easy on ‘im, fishes are friends, not food,” he starts to chuckle as he speaks and by the end of the sentence they’re all cracking up. All but Bill. It only makes sense, they know each other well enough to have inside jokes.

Bill finally takes a seat in a chair, one not next to anyone else. “Hey, might not want to get too comfortable, we’re heading out soon, Friday adventures,” one boy with dark roots and blond hair grins. He’s shorter than the others, almost looks younger, but the look in his eyes portrays something like wisdom.

“Fr-Friday adventures?” Bill asks, tumbling over the words even in such a short statement. Damn this stutter, damn his mom honestly, and damn the car accident she blames it on. He’d try and say it’s a nervous tick, but it happens even when he’s not consciously nervous, deep-rooted anxiety that he doesn’t know how to quiet. “Don’t w-we sit here and like, talk ab-bout how we feel about the p-p-people we’ve lost?” he asks, knowing that’s what was advertised to him, and it was something he wasn’t necessarily looking forward to. Maybe this is better, that is if they let him come with. The idea of “adventures” always strikes an intrigue in him.

“Not without a moderator,” shrugs another boy with a soft and plump face and an almost forlorn voice, shoving his phone into his sweatshirt pocket and standing up, “Mike, can I come with to go warm up the car?” he asks suddenly. He doesn’t seem to want to sit around here and talk anymore, Bill gets the idea that the boy doesn’t want to answer any more of his questions, and almost the cold breeze of being unwelcomed.

“I can uh- l-l-leave? I don’t th-think five people c-can fit in a car,” Bill gets up suddenly in contrast to his soft words. His body is tall and lanky and he’s not quite in his mind enough to control it less clumsily. He’s about to put his hands in his pockets and walk out when the supposed Mike blocks the door.

“Nah, you can have shotgun, you look like you need it. And five seat just fine, especially with tiny Eddie who’s so kind as to sit in the middle so we’re not all squished,” Mike offers, grinning in the direction of the boy with the dark roots, that must be Eddie.

“Fuck you,” Eddie says as dimly as he can and nonchalantly raises his left middle finger before he finally breaks the act and cracks a smile. “Beverly isn’t allowed to smoke next to me though, she’ll have to go a ride without a cig,” he says in a fake sympathetic voice geared at her with a matching overexaggerated expression. Then the boy gets up and Bill almost chuckles out loud, he can’t be any taller than 5’3, which Bill can’t judge much at 5’8, but he still is a good head above him.

Bev suddenly gets up from her seat (rather extravagantly as she’d been truly sitting as if she was a contortionist). “Careful red, we already have a ginger here,” she says with a playful smile and rustling the hair on the top of his head confidently. “It’s time to go. Mike said you can have shotgun but I get it on the way back,” she runs herself with such power that Bill can only nod in response to her sureness. He’ll have to be a bit careful of her, seemingly the fireball of the group, and fireball burns going down. Mike good cop, Beverly bad cop.

It takes them over a half an hour but they all get comfortable in the car, none of them but Mike and Eddie are buckled, and the pudgy boy with the sort of bowl cut is still quiet until they’re about to pair Eddie’s phone to the Bluetooth because he has Spotify premium. “So, your name is Bill, but what are you into? We usually dick around at the arcade, it’s bum empty during school hours. But it’s sunny enough to introduce you to the quarry if you don’t mind getting your jeans wet. I’m Ben by the way,” he introduces, with the new statement from Ben, Bill begins to realize that nobody in this group is really genuinely in charge, he likes that.

“God I don’t care if he wants to stay dry, I need a swim,” Mike laughs, kicking the car in the gas pedal and wheezing it to a start, backing out of the library parking lot and down the road to a turn Bill’s never noticed before.

It’s an unpaved road, more of an extra-wide trail, but there are tire marks from the obvious times they’ve come through before. The trees are starting to turn yellows and reds and oranges, a drive through the forest like this is like walking through a painting of warmth, the sunlight peeking through and showing drier patches of dirt. It’s beautiful, and he has no idea how he hasn’t seen it before. The drive seems longer than it really is, soaking up all the beauty Bill can take enough brainpower to slow down time.

Then comes a clearing of trees, showing a cliff that drops off into a sinkhole, rocks, and branches coming out the sides on the way down from the greenery that had been there when the sinkhole developed. Before Bill has even taken in the scenic view, the others are climbing out of the car and pulling off their shirts and pants, “Don’t worry, Bill, we’ve got towels in the trunk for days like this,” Mike calls back as he makes a run for the cliff’s edge, his sound draining away as his body falls from the cliff to the water with a hearty splash.

Bill nods to himself, now taking off his sneakers and his clothes behind a tree. He shouldn’t be embarrassed, and they’ll see his body in the water anyway, but he’s insecure, new, and scrawny as all get out. He runs his hands up and down his ribs, sometimes imagining them as a hidden xylophone in his chest, he wonders if he hit them hard enough with one of the paddles if they would be in tune. Richie says those thoughts are too dark, and they can lead to self-destructive behavior, but Bill simply sees it as a creative mind coming up with something others aren’t ready for yet.

He slips off his socks and walks out into the clearing. Then, he bolts forward to soar over the edge of the cliff, falling, falling, diving into something he’s never known before, trust and friendship. They’re a quirky bunch and he’s not sure where he’ll fit in, but they were kind enough to include him, and now he’s giving in. it’s been a bad week and he hasn’t felt this free in months despite it being summer. His bike broke two years ago, and he hasn’t found the right fit. So now, this feeling. The feeling of the wind in his face, the weightlessness.

Despite the molasses-like state of time, Monday still comes. Bill buttons up his black shirt and pulls on a pair of black jeans, he can’t remember the last time that he had a pair of dress pants that didn’t rest far above his ankles, he really needs to go clothing shopping. To top it all off, a pair of worn out Vans. he looks at himself in the mirror in the bathroom, combing back his hair into a bit of a messy man bun at the back of his head. His dad never liked his hair long, he feels like he ought to pull it back out of respect. He learned a lot about funerals and respect when Georgie died. He may not care as much about the person his dad was, but he respects the process. Really, he’s unsure if he could call his parents parents. He’d read in a poetry book once that said there is no such thing as alcoholic parents, just people who can’t put their drinks down long enough to raise their child. He partially agrees with it, he knows his mom doesn’t actually know him, and he’s sure his dad didn’t either.

When he’s ready and it’s time to go, he puts his phone in his pants pocket and goes to fetch his mother, who is ready as opposed to still in bed as he’d expected. Maybe his parents did care about stuff, that stuff just isn’t him.

The drive is nearly silent until he’s parking in the parking lot, even when he misses a few exits on the way. His mom doesn’t criticize his driving, but as he starts to unbuckle his seatbelt and unlock the car, she hisses to him in a low voice. “Don’t embarrass us.” before he can even respond, she’s getting out of the car and hurrying into the building.

Bill follows slowly behind her, first pulling the door and then realizing it’s a pull door. He really doesn’t know where his mind is today. Somehow the funeral home feels dimmer than it has any other times he’s been here when the lighting realistically hasn’t changed at all. The room where the funeral will take place is off a door to the left, he’d seen his dad’s cold, pale body in the door a straight path from the front door. Something about final viewing before cremation. Georgie was buried, but Bill assumes because his dad wanted the reminder that he’d lost his son as far as he could keep it, it would have been Sharon who hoped for cremation. Why? Because she couldn’t even bear to touch a hair on one of the boy’s stuffed animals, it must all be how he’d have it, how the memories would be triggered more easily.

He has to stand in the room for several hours, giving and receiving hugs from family and friends. Being the close family at a funeral is probably the worst role to be, except for maybe the dead one. But is that so bad? They always talk about heaven, isn’t death supposed to be the most peaceful? But here in a room full of people he has to stop thinking about that before he gets more red in the face and flustered.

Then is the actual ceremony with only who was close to him, and to be honest, Bill zoned out. And he pretended to be too sad to speak when he was offered the microphone, when you have a stutter you can make excuses like that really easily. Afterward he lingers outside the room where his relatives are eating.

It’s almost like fate that the gang of hooligans he hung out with the other day all walk in then. Or was it? They’d met Bill, looked up his dad’s funeral, and decided to show up after to pick him up. It’s not like they could have texted him first, not a single one of them had managed to get his phone number on the day they’d met.

They don’t need to say anything until he breaks down in tears, enough has built up and he doesn’t even know why at this point. First Beverly hugs him, and that really shocks him because she was so standoff-ish at first. He accepts the hug gratefully though, almost melting against her as Mike comes up and joins. And before long, they’re all hugging around his shaking form in the lobby of the funeral home. It’s unconventional, but it’s just what he needed.

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thestudyfeels · 6 years

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How To NOT Be Depressed.

(Or If You Prefer — How to Be Substantially Happy About Life.)

WARNING: This is one rollercoaster ride of a post. Proceed with extreme caution. For some, the staggering levels of insight may induce true purpose and re-establish their warrior spirit. For others, side effects may include grammatically incorrect hate or aloof eyerolls. We advise exiting if the said group includes you, for we're very tired of cleaning vomit off the seats.

Step aboard at your own risk.

If you’re one of the brave souls who stayed back to join us, I congratulate you for even I am scared of how crazy this post truly is. Alrighty then, kick back and relax folks, today we’re having a mature, adult conversation. Merely another cheery afternoon spent talking about life and its realities. Not too bad, eh?

Before we begin, spoiler alert! For those of you already turned off by the mention of 'depression’ and packing their bunnies to leave, sit tight. This ISN'T really about depression. This is about HAPPINESS. No clickbait. That got your attention, right butterfly? Nice, now stay.

A welcoming, maybe demanding A/N: Do me a favor and read this in one go. Maybe even plug in those headphones and listen to the songs dedicated to each part as you read. It's long, you have the new Riverdale episode to catch up on, but don't hop away just yet because (I had a couple moments writing this, alright) it's life changing. You'll prolly cry a few tears of realization, nod all nod-able body parts in agreement, beat your chest at random instants 'cause the hype’s too real, and perhaps, if it isn’t too much to hope for, finally go change your life for the better. In case you've forgotten, this'll remind you that there’s always hope, that you're a born conqueror, and you were made to THRIVE, not survive. Convinced? Kay, roll the cams.

To clarify first-hand, no, I'm not depressed although I’ve experienced mild depression for a period before. Glad to say I'm out of it but I still struggle with tackling what I'm about to detail next.

Insert bitter voice, it’s this: My life is nowhere near I want it to be. Though I know vaguely what I wanna do, I haven't yet figured out how the hell I’m supposed to get there, or how my dream life is to be sketched out. It’s all a blurry mess. Which, to put it bluntly, hurts. I HATE feeling powerless and worthless, roaming about aimlessly.

There are many such moments where I hit the brakes to wonder why I’m not living THE Life already. There have been several times when I curl up and cry a frickin’ Amazon. There are horrible nights where I'm shaking with emotions, but they won't release, leaving me choked. (…not in that way, you hoes. Um, just ruined the dramatic mood with a lame dirty joke, sorry.)

They say talking helps and that's why I figured I'd drop in. But perhaps more importantly, I wanted to hang because no matter how unfocused the lens may seem at my future, I don't consider myself a dopey loser incapable of the crazy dreams or wild bucket lists I fantasize about– and I thought I'd skip along to remind you that neither should you. (Or maybe I just came to sniff the new appetizers, who knows?)

PS: I also broke a sweat listing six ways to get outta depression– alternatively, to be more of a conqueror– because y'all are always pestering me with asks that go “how do I conquer omg send supplies” (Like, imagine a conqueror saying that! Oh, the crime, the atrocity!)

So yes, you're welcome. Have a feast with this litness.

The main reason behind people being so frightfully sad, I’ve found, is a huge lack of fulfillment. We don't do what we love, for either— [ 1 ] we aren’t living life the way we want to (since we keep doing things we feel we're supposed to do) OR [ 2 ] because Mama, Papa and Mrs. Carter next door feel that struggling is the only way, and project their traditional beliefs onto us. Either way, whether or not we consciously realize this, subconsciously, we're all hurting because of it. Badly.

That lingering feeling of emptiness never seems to leave. You feel drained every night when you drop into bed, not because you gave it your all, but because you couldn't. And so, we do the next best thing. Drugs. Maybe not literally, but figuratively. We numb out this subconscious pain by binge watching Netflix shows. We deaden ourselves to that discomfort by reading smut in the bathroom or by playing dumb video games all day. We try (and fail) to extinguish this feeling of not ‘being enough’ by having silly flings or fake friendships.

And ultimately, we NUMB ourselves out to LIFE for we can't bear to live the way we're living. There's a reason why “How to Stop Procrastinating” posts are so popular (they’re a blogger’s most foolproof way of paying the month’s rent, and yes, even I'm guilty of a couple). We’re constantly having FOMO and tuning into others' highlights on social media– completely missing out on our own lives in the process. We fail to realize that the culprit is lack of genuine purpose more than zero self-control (or maybe it’s both, but that’s a tale for another day).

[On a side note, obviously I did generalize a bit– video games can be a passion for you, watching shows a way of winding down. But for most, they’re only DISTRACTIONS, just another way of ignoring the calls of life by hanging up the phone.]

And here's the bitter truth about depression: The longer you wait to start living authentically, the more you start tuning out the inner cries wanting change, the faster your dreams start to ebb away, and the more you'll want to become insignificant. And to me, that's the scariest part of this journey to my dream life.

Nothing frightens me more than knowing that the moment I stop pushing, the very moment I give in to distractions and fears, my goals will stop manifesting themselves and I'll be stuck in this small town with its small people eternally. And THAT, I'm certain, won't be any more fun than working your way through a soggy ham sandwich, ironic as soggy is what life has become. (Yes, I have a thing against soggy sandwiches. They were a kid's worst lunch nightmare.)

If you relate, and I’m sure you do (it’s probably why you stopped scrolling through cheesy fanfic for ten minutes to read this, I know you amigo) — here are six ways to NOT be depressed. Or more accurately, to gift wrap yourself some sweet ol’ happiness.

You're a Samurai and the Following Be Your Katanas —

Hol’ up. The second you reach the End Card, I want you to drop your Cheerios and implement at least THREE of these six strategies. Just follow the Takeaways, I've made this really simple. And as a rule, one of them has to be this one. (Look, don't whine. If you wanna climb outta that dark hole, you gotta put in some effort. So pop that booty, and let’s get down to business!)

Here’s the most truthful, though cheesy thing I’ll ever say: I would be nowhere I am today without this blog. If not for it, I would most likely be weeping in a dug-out hole somewhere, drowning in my salty little pond of tears and chiming every loser’s favorite words (“there's no point”). Creating this blog gave me a definite purpose – putting out fiery content, dipping myself deep into my newly found passion for writing and influencing, and connecting with other conquerors on the platform.

I meet a lot of folks, whether at Sad School, Mouldy Mall, or Boring Bus stop, who always seem to be in a state of death-inducing boredom. When asked about their favorite thing to do, they’ll mumble “sleep” or “food” like Siri narrating your cat’s evening routine. And then you see adults, dragging through life mindlessly. Utterly clueless, floating like a piece of driftwood in an ocean bubbling with life. My sympathy quota gets overdosed everytime I think about it.

To spell it out, find something to do. Anything! Learn a language, try some ballet, take pictures of your neighbor's rose garden, make an art piece and show it to your mom, stitch buttons onto shirts for fun, heck, make an entire shirt out of buttons, take a break from reading smut to write your own, frutify your farts, WHATEVER, just get up and move.

And here’s why – nay, not to keep you engaged or make you feel less worthless, not that bullcrap. It’s to put in gear the journey of figuring out what is the shite that you love doing. Too often we get stuck thinking about what our oh-so-great passion is. Get this, passion is energy. A spark for something. A magical fortune cookie which, when cracked, seems to explain everything, gives you the very reason for being alive. You can only feel that fire, that wild love, when you actually do it. So get cracking is all I’ll say!

Takeaway:

Attempt something. Nah, scratch that, imagine you’re in a sweet shop with shelves lined with free samples and try everything. Pick up that Polaroid cam, take that dreaded history course, buy that children’s cooking kit– in short, start working. Pull out all the stops, get curious, and get creative. In the process, if you promise to try hard enough, you WILL (money back guarantee) find out what makes your little heart burst with mad happiness and would willingly do for free, if needed, because you really are that crazy about it. And that, my dear, will be your oh-so-great-indeed passion. Have no doubt, you’ll never be “bored” again.

Real talk, having a dream is a big deal. And unfortunately, I’ve witnessed, rarely anyone has one to begin with. They’re either more dead than the cheap skeleton I bought for Halloween or believe they have a dream, but in reality, it belongs to mom, dad, or Uncle Sammy. Listen, doing something for someone you love (my Uncle Sammy used to supply me with cold cash whenever he came around, loved that guy) is great! YET, if you’re willing to throw away your life to fulfill others’ expectations, convincing yourself it's because they love you, even when YOUR lonely heart craves bigger things than just a marketing job, then you, my friend? Are the biggest fool. Don’t get offended, we both know it, this girl needn't ramble.

Recently, my relatives were over (nope, sadly not Uncle Sammy) and my cousin and I had a chat about life (correct, I grab every opportunity to do so). It wasn't very exciting I must say, he kept staring off into the distance (I wonder why), but what he SAID is what I'll talk about. After I’d gushed about my dreams, he asked skeptically if being an influencer would still be an ambition two years from now when I graduate. I raised my eyebrows, mock hurt, like eff you son, I ain’t giving up on my dreams! But that question got me thinking.

Life is wild. Unpredictable. An unexpected call, a single person, a random BLOG POST (cough) – can turn your life upside down, sometimes in the affirmative, other times not. This variability of life isn’t uncommon, and everyone experiences some part of it– unpaid student loans, failing startups, talent and art going unnoticed in industries dominated by wealth and connections, you name it. If all of that doesn’t make you run for the Himalayas and abandon any dreams, throw in a quick side dish of dysfunctionale famiglia with a sprinkle of self-image issues.

It ain’t easy, darling. The world is one cruel headmistress; it loves slapping awake the daydreamers and wishful thinkers. That hasn't ever actually stopped the dropouts and class clowns from building castles in the air though. And the common blueprint you notice they follow? Let me introduce you to… Madness. Obsession. Maniacal obsession, to say. (Yes, I'm done playing with my words.)

I struggled writing this point. A pestering voice in my head kept mumbling – They'll go back to doing the same sad shit anyway. Um, does anyone even read your posts? Lol, call yourself an influencer, hun. Hesitation started creeping in. Then the irony of the situation struck me. I laughed, shook my head and got back to typing.

We ran out of juicy gossip weeks ago, so here’s your tea served cold: insecurities and self doubt WILL get in the way. That whiny voice was just a mild version of what you face when you go all in. Fear traps you in its cage, and those who prattled behind your back now progress to talking shit in your face. Criticism and self doubt resurfaces, so unless your defenses are strong, you'll be crushed. Destroyed REAL quick.

When hell breaks loose (oh honey, and it WILL), your self defense comprising of maniacal obsession must be well learnt. Let them attack, mock, heck, drag you away from the desk and hurl you at the top of a damn mountain, but you better STILL hike back down, show them the middle finger, and continue working. That's how bulletproof you've gotta be. That's how madly do you have to love your dreams. And if you really think this will be a cake walk or want to continue complaining about Stuart being born with a silver spoon, hop off the train already. Your destination isn't on the tour list.

Look, my dreams terrify me. But they certainly make me feel more alive than complying with what every parent said about getting good grades and holding together a roof on my head. My ambitions set me free, give me a reason to fucking live. And yet, every now and then, something makes me question them. A fear engulfs me, some doubter proclaims I suck, someone I love is so blinded they can't see my vision. And that's okay. My defenses are way stronger. The next day rolls round, and you'll find me hustling again, thriving again. All because I know that even if no one reads my posts (the worst case scenario, I know y'all love me lol), someday in the future, someone will. I know that even if I’m not an influencer yet, if just one reader becomes a conqueror because of my words, it would be a win. A big win. I'd have done my job. All because I’m wildly, yes maniacally, obsessed with my dreams.

So hey, cousin? This influencer thing? This will be my dream long after I've graduated. Till the day I die, and maybe even then I'll rise from my grave to give a dead pal a lively pep talk. My watchtower has just been upgraded, so thank u, next.

Takeaway:

“General, we've arrived!” Finally! Position those cannons, Martha, let’s talk them through the defenses. All aboard? AHOY MATEY! (wait, that was one for the pirates). Step one, dare to create a dream in your mind’s eye. The bigger, the crazier, and the scarier, the better. Doesn’t matter how impossible it is, don’t care how many voice their opinion against it, just imagine, keep a million possibilities in mind.

Once you see the life you truly want (you’ll know, everything will seem to zing)— have a sip. Become OBSESSED for that life. Thirst after that vision, itch to manifest it, and pine for the satisfaction that’ll come to your soul once it’s made a reality. Fall madly in love with the process and how magical it feel when you do it. And THEN, bellow a loud war cry and charge headfirst into battle, shields held high at all the criticisms. We conquerors never cared much for them anyway.

(play ♬) Picture this: forehead stamped with beads of sweat. Calloused hands working their fingers to the bone and eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. Conjure an image where powerful beats are pulsing hard in your ears, synced with your own elevated heartbeats, and you’re thriving. Performing. Winning. Guess the secret to that? Preparation. Champions prepare. You can’t throw anything to the winds or rely on ‘luck’ or chance to conquer.

Tough days are in everyone’s calendar, be it your extra cheerful neighbor, Sally, or lone wolf classmate, Derrick. We’ve all found ourselves sulking over an awful situation, scooping into mint ice cream to forget mistakes, errands, and ghosting exes. Yet guess what? The solution isn’t the proclaimed “be positive!” or “It all happens for a reason, don’t you worry” - the key is coming up with a method to dodge the discouraging effect these hiccups have on us.

So every bad day, I bring out a mason jar containing a knot of chits and one secret letter which is, on most days, kept hidden on the top shelf of my cupboard. I make myself comfortable on the bed, read all my bits of paper carefully, including the letter addressed to yours truly, close my eyes, and mentally fight back whatever’s bringing me down.

A short while later, I get up, now a warrior, and go slay the rest of the day like it was my last one on this planet. That jar is my jar. A Conqueror’s jar. One look at those powerful reminders, and I’m grounded once again, the beast within me now unleashed to kill.

Takeaway:

Honey, go get yourself a jar. Along with some papyrus and ink. Then start jotting down. Document past victories, future visions, fears that mean zilch to the person you’re about to become, batty goals you’ve still gotta chase, reminders that the majority will never understand what it is you’re tryna do here, and how that’s perfectly alright 'cause you'll find your conquerors, your squad one day. Create your victory jar. And then go knock ‘em down dead. Bad days stand no chance against you. You’re a winner, a fucking rebel. Go take what’s yours.

Y’know, I’m perfectly aware that many muggles reading this will whine that dealing with depression ain’t no piece o’ pie and it’s hella hard to get up and take the crown when you feel like a pile of dino dung.

Stop it. Get some help. (See what I did? Like Michael- ok ok, calm thyself.) For real though, and I’m tired of repeating this with my kitten stamped microphone (but I’ll keep at it ‘cause it’s that significant) – whining is WORTHLESS. It saps up precious energy that could be used to make life a scrumptious smoothie. (Loothie? As in life + smoothie? Right, yes, I’m shutting up.)

And even THEN, we find denizens complaining about slow WiFis and thin crust pizzas and how the market’s down and the government’s incompetent. Because blabbering makes us feel important. Heard. But keeping yo’ trap shut and actually doing stuff? Hustling for your dreams when nobody’s watching? Actually walking the talk? C’mon, Emma, don't be naive, ain’t nobody getting recognition for that.

Trust me, I get it. The world is yet to become a feminist, turns out your boyfriend was cheating on you while you were looking up wedding dresses, mommy’s a drunk loser, and idiots are being voted into office. It’s a lot to handle. But thanks to our immense and ever increasing population (we folks really love our rumpy pumpy, can you tell) — there will surely be one chum, facing exactly the same misfortunes as you, but still turning up at every party and bulk-spamming his friends with puppy pictures while you sit and wail. (One Moaning Myrtle is enough, thank you very much.)

Look, I’m not undermining your worries or obstacles. I’m only reminding that you have the marvelous choice of positivity. To CHOOSE hope and a better future when others won't. To FIND (and it's always possible) something to look forward to even when the to-do’s a big snore. To KNOW, deep inside, that you're a magnificent conqueror, no matter what mess you’re in at the moment, and that the world dances to your rhythm. Realise that it's up to you to let yourself be happy. At any moment, you have the very say-so to get up and start rocking. Dumbledore said it himself, “It is our choices, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.” So choose better, and you’ll unconsciously do better as well. And yes, that being said, this is the last HP reference, don't fret. Be positive instead. (Edit: Ha, look at these quips, the girl's all grown up now.)

Takeaway:

Your new occupation is to be a sunflower. If you think back, you'll probably recall Miss Honey rattling on about phototropic movement in AP biology. No? Me neither. Point is, sunflowers always face the sun. Put them ANYWHERE, hide them in the dungeons, throw them in a trash bag and shoot it off to the moon, they’ll still turn around and face the sun. No matter what. And taking inspo from that, you too can stop scripting creative soliloquies for being depressed. Happiness is YOUR right, YOUR priority, don't let anyone take it away from you or diminish its importance. DON’T let sadness ruin your vibe, do what you've gotta do to protect yourself. Track happiness in yo’ journal, set 84 reminders on your phone, and tattoo “Long as you’re beaming up at the sun, all the shadows will be left behind” on your boobs. Do whatever, just don’t turn the corners of your mouth down. You’re so pretty this way.

The other day, I was doing the deathly Plié Alternative Heel Lifts (these names, I swear) and my legs felt dead. Gone. Put to sleep like the Wicked Witch of the East. Now obviously, the timer wasn’t not even halfway done yet, but my cheeks were already flushing red like dear Santa, and NOT because I was high on choco chip cookies. I sighed, and at that point, I was so over giving up. All this while, I’d been whining and protesting because my muscles felt sore, but in that moment, I made up my mind. I bit my lip and kept going. On and on. Keep pulsing, you got it, don't stop, was the mantra I kept chanting.

Won’t sugarcoat it, I honestly hadn’t died this much since that time Miss Honey buried me alive with trig assignments. My legs were now basically Play-doh and I was shaking, fighting for balance. A few seconds in though, something crazy happened. My legs went numb. My grumbling mind quietened and the pain vanished. That evening, I had the upper hand, not my physical perceptions of myself. I was powerful. Flawless. (Hey Santa, do you even lift bro?) Real talk, I was in the Zone, bitches.

I’m not sure if that was the result of excessive pain or because Wonder Woman’s spirit possessed ma bod, but staying loyal to my love for metaphors, I’ll use the experience to explain what I’m tryna get at here.

Look, here’s the real deal — if all of the greats gave up the second things got frowny, we probably would have no one to worship. Nix role models, nix inspirations, none to stalk on Insta - we’d all be bumbling about like Sad from the even sadder Emoji movie (no shade, emojis be lit).

And that'd be very sad (pun definitely intended). Hence, cue some tangible ways to boosting your grit, so that you can be your own superhero:

1) Get yo’self a goddamn motto,

2) Know your “Why,”

3) Repeat the cycle till it’s in your blood. Btw, Shawn, if you here, I’m still a single pringl—HEY PAL I SEE YOU, DON'T SCROLL.

Seriously, don't brush these prime steps aside. We're always going for the advanced modes, and deeming these basic levels a waste of time. Well guess what, compadre, YOUR LIFE IS A GODDAMN WASTE O’ TIME IF YOU DON'T HAVE YOUR BASICS RIGHT. Excuse my outburst, but listen. You can’t do a hundred bicep curls on your first workout if you haven't lifted anything more than a crisps packet. Likewise, if you simply jump into Life one day, and decide “ok, here it is, 12 habits to build, sleep schedule to fix, man to ask out, let's go,” you ain't getting nowhere, chum. Start small. Take baby steps. It's clearly not as fun (definitely negates the bragging on Facebook part of it) but it'll stick. You’ll create a consistency that not even Grandma's cake batter can achieve.

1. Talking mottos — For context, a motto that I always mutter (my mom thinks I'm cursing, oh what a bad child) every time I spill milk while making coffee is “Do more. Give more. BE more.” Not only does it help me stay right on track for the rest of the day but it helps me clean up my mess, figuratively and otherwise, or I’d just be sitting in a puddle of spilt milk, cursing adulting for real this time and with more laundry to do.

2. Why you need the Big Why — Owning up, I’m guilty of attempting to learn Welsh for less than 48 hours because I hadn't a single reason to speak the language. A similar thing happened with half of my 2018 resolutions, which had a bunch of rubbish like “Floss daily”, something my eyes got trained to skip because, um, who the hell flosses every day?

Lame humor aside, I still workout almost daily because I have my Why straight. 1) I want to feel good about my body and get closer to the confident badass I envision my future self to be, 2) I simply HAVE to sustain my health to live to build my legacy and fulfill my dreams of opening a bakery at 90 and 3) Because I’m an influencer, and want to walk my talk and be the inspiration people need. Those are the reasons as to why I turn up to my yoga mat everyday, shut my jabbering mind, and keep on pulsing. This “Why” strategy applies to everything. Wanna get outta depression? Why? Wanna lose 20 pounds? Why? Wanna listen to your dentist’s desperate pleadings and floss already? WHY EH? Unless you know your intentions, you’ll give up at the first chance you get to not act on your goals. And watch out, because there'll be a LOT of those.

For me, leaving a legacy behind means more than having a slice of cake or missing a workout because there’s a fun movie playing. Find what's important to YOU, make it your why, and go marry your goals.

3. And then, Repeat — Bear in mind, if you're not living your best life yet, there are NO weekends. NO work-shy days. No weak days, no pick-me-up days, no eat-candy-do-nothing days. Everyday is a damn Monday. EVERYDAY is life or death. Every holy day you wake up is a chance to push your limits, challenge your mindset, and see how far you can go. And every 24 hours, when the cycle starts again, it’s your mission to race to build a stronger, wiser and crazier you.

And who knows, perhaps one day, you and I will just be casually sipping tea in our dream home, laughing at how the milk is still being spilt but knowing, proudly, fiercely, that we’ve come so far, even though there’s still more left to do, more to give and so much more to be.

Takeaway:

Quit quitting. You're, guaranteed, 20x stronger than you think. I doubted I could go through with the workout, it seemed beyond my present physical capabilities. But I did, because I treated it as life or death. Understand this, the second you start making excuses, for being depressed, for taking an unnecessary day off - you give away your power. You are a very powerful being. You're limitless, capable of everything.

I'm not throwing these words around to make you feel cute, I actually mean AND believe them. There’s so much that's been done already— the iconic four minute mile by Roger Bannister, invention of the light bulb, cars, toothpaste and other junk, people who lost both legs and climbed Mt. Everest, we sent a man to moon in frickin’ 1969 (50 YEARS ago), some ran a 26 mile marathon with zero training, love and hope is still strong in this world, oh let's also add coffee and motivational music— and YOU think you can't finish a workout or get outta depression or meet your idols or marry the man of your dreams or become the artist you wanna be? Ridiculous. Don't give away your power that easily, this ain't no charity shop.

(play ♬) Having personally dealt with unwelcome yet familiar feelings of emptiness quite often, I’ve now reached a point where each bad day is simply a reminder of how long my journey ahead is, and just how badly I want to reach my destination.

We finally near the end of this novel of a post (thanks for sticking around, bud), and my best advice would be this: Rather than wallowing in self pity and throwing one-man parties because your life is so awfully dreadful, know that even when life throws you to the floor, long as you can look up, long as you can read an entire book about defeating depression (cough)– you can GET UP too. Let those emotions of sorrow and frustration blaze up into a roaring, crackling fire that doesn’t consume you, but instead, urges you, fuels you.

Lately, no matter how much shit I go through, how many arguments I tumble into, or how barren my dreams look sometimes, I don’t break down. And no, it wasn't always like this. I never even had aspirations to name two years ago. Six months back, it had become a night routine to cry. Not anymore.

Now, every setback and every failure only pushes me to be stronger and give more than I ever gave. The day I made the decision to Conquer (truly, madly, deeply, with all of my heart) was also the day I said a big, loud ‘fuck you’ to every resistance that was to cross my path. I had finally understood that life was nothing but a battle of WILLS, that it was all in or nothing, and I made up my mind once and for all to NEVER give in to depression, or to society, or to anyone who tells me I cannot make it.

I had conquered depression. There was no looking back now.

Takeaway:

Here’s something no one will tell you: the key to bringing depression to its knees is seeing it positively. Pretend that it's a friend continuously sending strong, aggressive signals urging you to be happy. And what do you do when a caring friend throws some holy light? You listen, push past your ego, and follow accordingly.

And if that parallel seems unconvincing, here's another one (sup, DJ Khaled. This post is turning musical, sorry): it's scared of you. Depression is scared shit of you. Y'know how bullies are, right? Majorly insecure, self-loathing too perhaps, hardly fans of self love, and always trying to numb all that subconscious pain by inflicting pain on others. Depression has the same instruction manual. Your fears and doubts are your (pathetic) bullies, and depression is the big ol’ crony who does the dirty work for 'em.

Whenever you decide shit this is it, I'm going for it, they go paranoid and try stopping you because they've seen no better. And if they succeed, BOOM, you're depressed, paralyzed, your qualms reigning over you again. Don't let them in. I'll say it a thousand times if I gotta because I want (HAVE) to see you conquer – you're so much stronger than you think you are. You can do so much more than you think. It's all in your head! Don't just sit there, click away, and go back to living a sad life. You’re better than that. DO better than that. You’re meant to freaking CONQUER, straight-up dominate, my pal. Pay heed to that voice craving freedom. You got this. And you better know it.

One thing’s fixed like the (beloved by all) proportionality constants in Physics, you will come across depressing mornings and sluggish evenings even in the future. I assure you. Lots o’ bad hair days in the calendar, sis. But here's what you’ll do: you'll deactivate the miserable thoughts, keep a cool head, remind yourself that this is yet another test (better, rap your new mantra) and USE that hurt, pain, and anger to create a fervor and passion that wreaks havoc on its obstacles and drives you to accomplish EVERYTHING you've ever wanted to do. The easy choice would be to just give up, bellyache about the situation, and want sympathy for your worries. Yet, what you'll never do is… exactly that.

Rule 1) NEVER give up. Stand your ground. Have faith in your strength. Know that you'll have your way soon enough anyway. Rule 2) NEVER complain. All it does is drain your energy, that precious fire you could to high jump your way into the clouds. Makes you a pathetic wimp too, definitely not something you want on a warrior’s resume. Lastly, Rule 3) NEVER seek validation. From anyone. It sure feels nice to be acknowledged and encouraged, but grasp this— this is your journey. YOUR life and YOUR vision. Validation won't get you anywhere, for there'll never be enough of it.

Cuz Marty, if you're tryna bring something new, different, and authentic into this world – you'll most likely be hated on badly, before you'll be loved madly (hi, me a rapper). Learn to invite hate instead—IMPORTANT: hate from others, not yourself. Sounds counterintuitive, but this is the real tea: hate is good. It means you're standing up for something, refusing to fit like a puzzle piece in society, and being UNAPOLOGETICALLY yourself. And it’s certainly a sign that you’re on the right path if you can ignore that hate and stick your tongue out at it.

Yet another reason to never seek validation is simply this: you have to fight for yourself. In order to meet your own expectations, reach the doorstep of the best version of you, and transform this world, you'll have to go wildly IN. Toil and hammer away. Shut out all the haters and non-believers, listening only to your gut. Importantly, learn to accept the rejection slips, validating yourself not with what Molly says about it being okay, but with the reminder that your time is coming soon. Depend on yourself. Validation will NEVER be enough.

I get it, it's a lot of homework, but perhaps you already realize that it’s THIS work that'll change your life forever. Not “how to not procrastinate, Jesus take the wheel” or “HELLO, life's a mess so here are ten things to do (you won't believe number four!)”. Clickbaits don't work, stop believing that a fancy planner is going to be your savior. There is no rule to making your life a masterpiece. You'll have to get to know yourself and your dreams (journaling, meditation, silent pondering), build the work ethics and the mentality needed (lots of work in this one, yet no strict framework to go about it) and GET GOING.

AND with that firework, I'll begin to slip away now. Again, I won’t say it’s easy, that’s cock and bull. Life’s no fairytale. You will never feel ready to start bringing your dreams to fruition. But, my darling (I’m being so nice yo, follow me), you must. You must force yourself to work for the future you want till it becomes a habit, an obsession. The world badly needs heroes; confident people who can stand for themselves so that others can stare at first, maybe even hate a little, but then follow because they seem unstoppable and are, truthfully, having the most fun at life. YOU'RE one of them. No validation, just plain facts.

You see, conquering is a LOT of blood and sweat (K-pop, anyone? BTS? Lmao, this is me tryna clickbait y'all to read). Even getting up will seem huge when you're just starting out, and this is one long road, dear pal. Still then, I have enough faith in you to hope you don't give into your fears, I hope you willingly chase discomfort, and I hope you find the courage to do all that you want to do, while that heart's still beating.

I hope you conquer. I'll do too, and I'd really like to see some familiar faces during the ride.

Peace, amigo.

A loud ass A/N: And now, we come the most important part of this post. WAKE UP Luke, stop snoring, and take some notes. Remember kids, I won't accept anything but an A.

If you couldn’t identify yourself throughout this post and currently are scoffing like um woman, that's not really why I'm depressed, hang in there a sec. Yes, you can stop singing It Ain’t Me now. You've a very nice voice by the way.

I'm not a doctor, and I don't have enough exposure to know why so many earthlings are depressed today. HOWEVER, by talking to many, following their stories, watching and reading stuff – I do know with firm conviction that a majority suffers from severe unfulfillment. Don't believe me? A study shows 85% of the working class worldwide hate their jobs. Do you realize what that actually means? EIGHTY-FIVE PERCENT of the THREE BILLION PEOPLE employed today, hate being employed in the first place! They do it for prime survival, to sustain themselves. And that's just jobs. I won't scare you, but 50% (yes, HALF, you heard that right) of students HATE going to school. Kids waste SEVEN hours of their life every day going somewhere they dislike, doing something they hate. Who's singing now?

People find themselves trapped in golden handcuffs, taking the paycheck despite the passionless job. They push aside the art and business they love, to become a slave of good ol’ cash. Several surround themselves with negativity and get frustrated when unable to escape the choking (no, not THAT kind again, hello someone pour holy water over this post) atmosphere. An innumerable are forced into taking up courses that they don't care about under parental pressure. The reasons are endless, and I don't think I'll amuse myself listing all the sad excuses.

This has always been the story. Hundreds of influencers have preached the same words I’m tryna put into your head here and you’ll yourself say you’ve heard this a million times. YET, you’re dissatisfied. YET, you feel like crap everyday, feeding yourself the same lie that the next day will be better, that you’ll get up tomorrow– while you let life beat the shit out of you.

That’s why, all of my words, everything you’ve read today - all of that boils down to just one single question. A difficult but necessary choice. Will you let this happen to YOU? Will you, seriously, even after this wild ride together, go back to doing nothing and being nothing? Will you, for real, continue deceiving yourself, sacrifice your happiness for the sake of pleasing everyone else, and remain a statistic on a website?

(play ♬) If you’re not sure of your answer, read: Look, making you feel guilty is not my intention, because that’s not how this works. I need you to understand instead. Guilt wears off, it’s only understanding that brings about change. So, just for old times’ sake, I’ll rant a bit more (ik, just can’t seem to leave y’all).

You’re so, so young right now. More than half of your life is yet to be experienced. None of this probably makes much impact right now but it will the day you die. Remember, on your deathbed, you won't EVER look back and say, “Damn, wish I'd spent more time at the office. Saved up just one more dollar. Could’ve got that promotion before Amy.” Nay, it won’t even be on the calendar. That day, one foot in the grave, you'll reflect and wonder why the heck you didn’t let yourself be happier. Why you took up that lacklustre, soul-sucking architect job when all you've ever wanted to do is keep laughing. Why you didn't ask your crush out, why you were so afraid to walk up to that audition, because dammit, you could’ve been running your own comedy show by now. Why you dragged around a karaoke machine all this time instead of singing your own song. Why you couldn’t love yourself. Why you submitted. Why.

And the moment you realize that you hadn't lived a life for you, you’ll be crushed. Broken. The arthritis in your grannie joints won't even compare and neither will the mild dissatisfaction you’re feeling right now. Those whys will haunt you, they'll terrorize you, break you. It'll hurt tremendously to know that there isn't a single thing in your long life that you could call completely your own.

With every death today so many dreams are left unachieved, crazy things left unchecked on the bucket list, and unique potential left unexpressed.

DON'T let that be you. Please. I'm still a mess myself, struggling to reach class on time and studying subjects that aren't exactly fun, when all I want to do is create content (read: fireworks) that is at a level of insanity, influence folks to do better, hold crazy world tours and meet-and-greets to give hugs, and get an adorable puppy so I can create a dogstagram (yes, I'm that mom). Sure, I could declare it's too hard, hang onto small-minded and negative people who whine endlessly, and follow the crowd, getting lost in it, with ease.

But I won’t because I can’t take the burden of those regrets. That painful unrest and discontent that nothing could cure, not drugs, alcohol, buddies, not even true love. For then I’d be just another drone, my controller in the hands of society, forcing me to see the world through its eyes. I can’t give in because I’m scared, terrified even, of wasting away this one life doing the bidding of others- folks who won't even notice when I’m gone.

It’s easy to be depressed and crib your entire life. It’s easy to think you’re worthless and that trying is pointless since nothing ever goes your way.

But perhaps, if you rise, if you simply DECIDE to have the audacity to fight for what you believe in, if you work and focus on becoming better, things will go your way. Life will bend to you, in awe, at your incredible relentlessness. Life will take one look at you, wonder who the fuck is this person? How the fuck are they so incapable of giving up? And back right away. And then perhaps, life will be such a blast for you that depression would become the past you never had.

I know you can get there, conqueror. It’s time you knew it too.

🌚🌝 Further reading? 🌝🌚

Last Post :— How To Get Back Into The Creative Process – For you, if you're in a creative rut. Get outta it and go create magic!

5 Reasons Why You're Unhappy — To help you identify & cut out CURRENT sources of sadness so that you can spice up yo’ life with some happiness instead. Definitely recommend reading AND implementing.

The Bubble Trap & How To Get Out Of It — One of my classics. Everyone is in one of these 'bubbles’ till they consciously do something about it; that's just how it is. Are you still in one? (Someone teach me marketing, lmao.)

The 5 Biggest Regrets of The Dying (from Greatist) — I LOVED reading this. Pretty much all you need to cut the crap and do meaningful stuff. Read it, memorize it, work it.

++ Want to request a blog post? Leave your request in my ask box! I'll get back to you with a reply, along with the average time I'll need to birth that magical idea.

Thanks for dropping by! It was a pleasure to have you around. If you wish to stick for a bit, I'd suggest picking one of the related posts mentioned above.

If you wanna check out my blog, here's a little something about me (y'all know I love the attention). What do I write about? Three arenas I dominate, Work, Lifestyle and Life, they are, my mate! Take your pick!

I post new blog posts bi-weekly, and my wins, & journal entries throughout the week, so follow me if you're into conquering life, leaving a legacy and being the baddest badass you can possibly be. I'll be your side pal, cheering you along.✨

And that was it, it's a wrap! Martha, shut the cams, Henry, pause the audio, and Nandita, I know you're pretending to be deaf, but Mom's yelling something about doing the dishes. Better skip along.

And you, fellow conqueror? Keep slaying life, doing the work and making it count. I hope you're well, stay strong and go conquer life. ✧

I'm sending you so much love, see you soon.

— Nandini 💌 (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

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theycallmebeccawrites · 6 years

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One Shot: Crossing Lines

With Tumblr holding my original writing blog @beccaheartschrisevans captive (aka flagged as explicit), I have made a secondary writing blog and may end up closing the other all together. In the meantime, I am reposting all of my stories on my new blog.

Title: Crossing Lines

Pairing: Chris x reader

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: language, descriptive sex scenes

Summary: Chris’s best friend comes over to his place following an awful, ended early, first date

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

18+ Disclaimer: This work contains sexual material that is for those over the age of 18. By clicking the keep reading link below, you are agreeing that you are over the age of 18 and are not offended by sexual content.

This story can also be read on AO3

You’re bored out of your mind as you sit across the table from another awful date; this time with a guy you met on a dating site. You’d found him funny online, but there is nothing funny about the cocky asshole now.

“Excuse me,” you say, standing up, suddenly. “I need to visit the lady’s.”

You tuck your wallet purse under your arm and make your way across the restaurant to where the restrooms are. That’s when you run into her; a woman dressed in all black and wearing large black sunglasses the hide her eyes.

“You should leave,” she says, stepping in front of you. “That man you’re with is my husband.”

“What?” You’re taken aback by her words, but then you realize it gives you an out from the worst date of them all. “Sorry, he didn’t say anything. Consider me gone.”

You pass her and go into the kitchen, hoping the fact that the owner’s cousin is one of your best friends will allow you to slip out through the alley. You bypass the dish pit and are almost to the alley door when the owner of the restaurant calls your name.

Turning around, you expect him to be mad, but instead he is holding a pizza in a to go box. “You looked miserable out there,” he says, holding out the pizza box. “I don’t blame you for ditching him.”

“Thanks,” you reply, not wanting to reveal the real reason you’re sneaking out through the kitchen. Judging by the loud voices and a sudden sound of breaking dishes from the dining room, he’ll figure it all out soon enough.

While he leaves to find out what’s going on, you exit the restaurant and walk around the block to your car, very glad you hadn’t taken the asshole up on his offer to pick you up for your date.

After getting into the car and starting it, you tell Siri to call Chris.

“Hello?” his voice greets you seconds later.

“You busy tonight?” you ask, thankful once again for the Bluetooth enabled stereo he’d given you for Christmas last year.

“I thought you had a date.”

“Ugh, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Just tell me,” he says. “You went to my cousin’s place, right? I’ll hear about it anyway.”

“I’m certain you will,” you reply with a sigh. “Fine. The short version is his wife showed up.”

“What the fuck! That bastard was married!”

“And boring as hell,” you reply. “I left the table to go to the bathroom and his wife met me in the hallway to tell me to get lost.”

“Fuck,” he says again. “This is why you shouldn’t go on those stupid dating sites.”

“How the hell do you suggest I meet guys then?” you ask. “The guys in Boston won’t date me, my dad, my brother and my grandfather are all cops.”

“Maybe you should add that to your profile then.”

You choose to ignore his suggestion and return to your original question, “So, are you busy tonight?”

“Nope. Just hanging out in my apartment.”

“Can I come over? Your cousin gave me a pizza.”

“I’ve got a fridge full of beer and other stuff.”

“I’ll be there in five,” you reply then hit the ‘end call’ button.

A few minutes later, you arrive at his building and take the parking spot of someone leaving. You grab the pizza box and then head up to his apartment, where he is waiting for you in the doorway.

“You look hot tonight,” he says not even trying to hide the fact he is checking you out.

“You’re looking pretty good yourself,” you reply, taking in his relaxed look of a black t-shirt and a pair of dark wash jeans.

He takes the pizza box from you and then leads you into the large, loft apartment that he owns even though he usually spends his time in Boston at his mom’s house.

“So how did I get lucky and find you here tonight?” you ask as you kick off the heels you’d worn.

“My oldest nephew is having a sleepover,” he replies. “I was there earlier, but it was just too much for me and I told my mom I was staying here tonight.”

“Just wait until your niece is old enough to have sleepovers,” you tease.

“I grew up with sisters, I plan to be far, far, far away when that happens,” he states as he puts the pizza box on a kitchen counter. “I have no interest in being tied to a chair so girls can give me a makeover. Been there, done that, don’t need to do it again.”

“Your mom would have pictures of that hidden away somewhere, wouldn’t she?” you ask innocently as you open the box and grab a slice of pizza.

“Probably, but she won’t share them,” he says giving you a ‘don’t even think about it’ glare before opening the fridge and grabbing two beers.

“Maybe not with a stranger, but I’ve been your best friend for -”

You stop talking when you find yourself pressed into the counter by his hard body. Your lick your lips and swallow as your eyes move up his chest and to his handsome face.

“We’ve crossed certain lines in our twenty-five year friendship,” he says, his voice lowering in tone. “But there are still others that shouldn’t be crossed.”

“You’re right,” you say, trying hard to ignore the hardness that is pressed against your lower belly.

He remains pressed against you for another second before he backs off and grabs the pizza box.

You follow him over to the black leather couch and take a seat. He puts the pizza box on the coffee table then drops into the spot next to you. He grabs the bottle opener off the coffee table and pulls the lids off both beers then holds one out to you.

You finish your first slice of pizza and grab a second as he turns on his TV and quickly navigates through different menus. You don’t pay much attention until you see him hit play on “Pretty Woman”, one of your favorite movies.

“We can watch something else,” you tell him.

“You’ve had a shitty night,” he replies as he leans forward and grabs two slices of pizza then stacks them on top of each other.

Having had your fill of pizza, you lean against him and smile when he wraps one of his arms around you. You stay interested in the movie until the scene where Julia Roberts’ character goes down on Richard Gere’s character. It is then that you feel the heat of Chris behind you, feel the way his body feels against yours and remember the hardiness you felt in the kitchen.

“Are you dating or almost dating anyone?” you ask, turning your head to look at him.

His eyes meet yours and he shakes his head then verbally answers, “No. No one.”

That’s all the invitation you need since you two had decided last Christmas that you could handle being friends who occasionally fucked. No longer interested in the movie, you turn your body towards him and bite your lower lip before leaning in to him.

His mouth meets yours halfway and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his lap. You love kissing him, because he treats it as an artform; one in which he is well-skilled, or rather, well-practiced because, if you’re being honest, the first kiss the pair of you shared at age 12 was a sloppy mess.

You feel his large hands slide down your back to grab hold of your ass and you allow him to guide the slow, rocking movements of your lower body into his. Then his fingers grab the bottom hem of your dress and pull it up so you’re panty covered sex is pressed directly into the rough denim covering his hard cock.

Pulling away from him, you lean back and locked your eyes to his as you take control of the movements of your hips. He smiles back at you with dilated pupils before shifting without any warning.

You find yourself on your back and staring up at him as he pulls his t-shirt over his head, exposing his sculpted torso to your hungry eyes. You can’t help but reach out to touch him, but quickly find your hands being guided, by his, down to the fastenings of his jeans. You quickly undo them then watch as he pulls them down, freeing his hard cock in the process.

As he stands up to remove his jeans, you hurriedly take off your dress and drop it onto the floor, leaving yourself in a black push-up bra and lacy black panties. Your eyes meet his as he lowers himself onto the couch and you bite your lower lip as you undo the front clasp on your bra. His eyes drop to your breasts as you unveil them to him. He licks his lips and then leans down over you.

You arch your back, offering your breasts to him as his mouth finds one and his large hand finds the other. The little hairs of his beard tickle your sensitive skin and his velvety tongue quickly soothes the occasional irritation. He proves his mouth and tongue are skilled in more than just kissing as he makes his way from one breast to the other, showering the skin of your chest and torso with the same attention he does your nipples and breasts.

Heat pools between your legs as he continues his journey down your body and you ache to feel him buried inside of you, but you know he’s going to make you wait. You jump as his fingers touch your through the fabric of your panties and you press your body against him. You glare at him as he smirks back at you while teasing your through the lacy material.

Finally, you feel his fingers on the waistband of your panties and you lift your hips to allow him to remove them. Your eyes follow his hand as he drops the offending fabric on to the floor and then you cock your eyebrow as he grabs the edge of the coffee table and pulls it your direction. Then he places one of your feet on the table, effectively opening your most intimate parts for his viewing.

And view he does. His eyes study your folds and you blush. He licks his lips and then bounces his eyes up to yours to wink at you. Then he begins with delicate, irritatingly deliberate touches to your inner thighs, teasing you.

“Chrisssssss,” you whine.

He teases a little longer before those long, slender fingers finally touch you where you need it the most. Your eyes close as he works you over, slipping his digits through your folds and you arch you back as one of his fingers, slickened by your juices, slides into your sex. Your hips naturally rise and fall in sync with the movements of his hands and you cry out in disbelief when he pulls out.

Then his mouth is on you and your grab hold of his strong, muscular shoulder as his tongue becomes intimate with your sex. Your cries fill the loft as he brings you to the edge of your release and then over the edge, leaving you panting and jello-limbed.

You open you eyes and see him smiling cockily at you as he licks his lips. He’s leaning back on his knees and palming his hard cock, his intentions clear. He gives you another minute to regain your composure before he moves his pointer finger in a circle motion, signalling for you to roll over.

Smiling, you lower your leg from the table and then sit up. You slide your bra off your shoulders, dropping it onto the floor and then you turn around, positioning your knees on the edge of the couch and facing the back of the couch.

You feel one of his hands grab your waist as his other guides his cock into your folds in a single thrust. He gives you a moment to adjust to his girth before his other hand grabs your waist. Your hands cling to the back of the couch as he slides in and out of you, each thrust increasing with speed.

At some point his hands end up on your ass, clinging to your soft cheeks as he slams into you repeatedly. His grunts mingle with your cries and you find yourself biting the throw blanket that is draped over the back of the couch as another orgasm tears through your body. You feel him stiffen behind you and his body jerk as he cums inside of you.

Weak kneed, he pulls out of you and collapses on to the couch, pulling you into his arms in the process.

You wake up sometime later and find yourself enveloped in his arms. The TV has long since turned itself off and at some point Chris has covered you both with the blanket. You snuggle yourself into his chest and breath in his scent that both turns you on and makes you feel at peace and, most importantly, at home.

With your ear pressed against his chest, you can feel his heartbeat and you can’t help but wish that the two of you couldn’t change your “friends with benefits” status into a boyfriend/girlfriend one. You’re not sure when it happened, but you’ve fallen in love with your best friend.

“You think too loud.” His low tone sends vibrations through your body. “Go back to sleep, we’ll talk in the morning.”

You’re not sure you can go back to sleep and then you feel it, his hand on the small of your back. You feel one of his fingers drawing something, but you can’t tell what it is at first. Then he repeats it.

He draws a horizontal line then a vertical line and followed by a second horizontal line.

The letter “I”, you realize.

Your heart pounds as he redraws the second object and you quickly recognize as a heart.

Then he draws a horse shoe like shape that you interpret as the letter “U”.

Then he draws on final thing, two vertical lines in rapid succession. It takes you a minute and then you realize he’s drawn the Roman numeral for the number 2.

“I love you, too,” you whisper.

You pull your head away from his chest and look up at him. He stares back at you and then winks at you before closing his eyes. You resettle yourself against his chest, doubting that sleep will come, but you find yourself drifting off as you listen to his breathing slow.

Want to find me off tumblr? I’m @beccatheycallme on twitter. I also post my stories on AO3.

My tag list is always open, just let me know if you’d like to be added!

#chris evans #theycallmebecca #beccaheartschrisevans #theycallmebeccawrites #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fan fiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #reader insert

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anotherfandomok · 6 years

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Interactive Introverts Richmond Summary! (Part 1 bc rambling)

Ok. My experience and a general summary. I'm gonna do my best I couldn't believe it was happening, before, after, or during it, and now I can't believe it happened. So.

I didn't get ready way too early this time! I loved my outfit it was so cute, and I drew whiskers on my wrist and my cousin did too :). I went over to my cousin's, and my aunt drove us to my uncle's office in Richmond. He took us to II it was so awesome of him. I was flipping out.

We got there and took pics with the signs and stuff I was vibrating and bouncing and shit I was so excited. We lined up and got in doors opened at six and it was a lot of little short lines so we got in really quickly. Immediately I wanted to go downstairs for merch.

We got in the merch line and like really like ahead in the line I was so proud of getting there so fast.

And I saw the like stand up thing background for the m&g?????? So I was like um wtf are they actually right there like thirty feet away from me? So I was watching it and had my phone ready to video. I SAW PHIL LESTER WITH MY OWN EYES LEAN FORWARD AND HUG SOMEONE. y'all you don't understand his hair is SO. BLACK. like it actually shocked me how black it was I guess it doesn't translate.

But anyway they had the last few people do the m&g, and then they left and Dan waved really quick and we all cheered and I GOT A VIDEO OF THEM AKFNDJSFBWJD.

Also, fan project tonight super cute just a pic of Virginia that said "VA LOVES YOU" I didn't know about it until I got there, but someone handed me a stack and asked me to pass them out and I was like um hell yes so I did that.

Anyway, we moved forward in the merch line and yo the line got so long I was so happy we went straight there omg. The merch setup was like really good! Very efficient they had a long table and everything up with prices and stuff it was so well set up and the guy who helped me was super nice.

I got both short sleeved shirts and the long sleeved shirt, as well as a hat and a poster, and my cousin got the hoodie, a poster, and the marble shirt. Cute as hell! It went really smoothly and quickly it was awesome and we just got right through.

We went to the bathroom and it had a lil ledge so we folded and organized our stuff and then went to the bathroom. Tbh the bathrooms there were REALLY nice, and not crowded at all when I went! The theatre itself was so nice you guys like I can't even believe how nice it was it was so fancy like pretty carpeted soft stairs and everything was so ornate and detailed and pretty. Just omg.

Anyway! Then we went and stood by the front doors for a bit and I handed out signs (if you saw me in the lacy white shirt and black shorts with short blond hair aye!). We sat in balconey D, so we went up (a LOT of stairs) and found our seats!

Seriously I can't overstate how gorgeous and amazing this theatre was so fancy with super soft seats and good room like it was so pretty and it had a ton of like Egyptian stuff on the walls omg it was so cool. Y'all. The set was GORGEOUS. Like the lights and the background and just. Wow. I felt so close even though we were the highest up, because everything was very stacked. We really weren't that far away even though we were towards the back like I could see the stage really well.

The set is so gorgeous wow. And I just jammed to all the songs on the preshow playlist it was so amazing I couldn't believe it was real.

Also Dan's Siri came on like twice and was like hi there's really nice merch downstairs and Dan left me to look at memes and stuff, and told us not to film bc iPads are bad lmao. (I filmed anyway don't arrest me).

Everyone FLIPPED SHIT when Welcome To The Black Parade came on oh my god it was so loud and amazing. The lights dimmed and off we went.

They opened with the really adorable video being projected omg my heart and then they rode in dramatically with their steam and everyone LOST THEIR SHIT it was amazing the crowd was so loud all night.

Phil read the Richmond Wikipedia page apparently (wow, nerd) lmao and talked about the rat basketball team. They literally mentioned the rat basketball team like at least six times throughout the show tonight y'all I'm.

Dan said shooketh at something at the beginning and I don't remember what it was but like djfndjsdbrb. Also he did the Naruto run the first time he ran off stage, and we all sCREAMED.

They did a smol duet of A Whole New World which I now know was inspired by the venue - it was so great though and Dan was like that's not what you want trust me it would start off good but it would quickly become horrible. It sounded really good though like I love them they should sing more.

I hadn't seen any spoilers about the beginning! They talked about what an introvert is and asked the introverts and extroverts in the room to cheer sjfbwjsj.

Dan had a six second challenge to pretend to be a llama sitnfndntkejr he pranced and did a noise we all DIED and then he was like "-NO!" it was hilarious sjfndjsnebd.

The segment about what they weren't gonna do had me shook I nearly died. "Please be gentle with the handcuffs; I have sensitive skin" IM DEAD.

Also when they went to walk up and pretend to strip and then they RIPPED OFF THEIR SHIRTS TO REVEAL IDENTICAL SHIRTS UNDERNEATH YOURE FUCKING KIDDING ME WHAT THE FUCK.

We were all really sad about the puppies so Phil said we'd get to see more puppies later in the show and we all screamed and Dan said if you're gonna promise puppies you better follow through.

When they offered to let people touch their hair I was like sjgbdjdbdjabfsn. Pastel personas skgbsjfkekfje??? They put on flower crowns and brought stuffed animals up to the front of the stage wow my heart.

They were like we're not gonna bring up a whole bunch of other YouTubers - because we have no friends and no one replied to our messages.

I can't remember for shit, but the whole beginning segment was just amazing. When they finished talking about how the show was interactive they were like "so that's why now we're going to make one of you stand up at random!!!!!!!" And they shined all the lights up and for a second it was chaos and then they were like kidding kidding we're just kidding and Phil was like your faces were priceless and Dan was like okay you can tell who the introverts and extroverts are the introverts are like crawling into a ball in their seats like "DONT PICK ME" I've never seen 3000 people curl up into a ball before. It was terrifying but also amazing!

Truth bombs! Honestly, I thought they were gonna do all the ones from the website, but they only did one each.

Phil's torture confession would be being bathed in cheese (Dan talked about if that included scrubbing, or if it included scrubbing under flaps y'all I was so done oh my god), but other options were mouth noises in headphones in his ears (to which Dan then did HORRIBLE and horribly loud mouth noises into his mic oh my god it was the worst thing my ears have ever heard ajtbcjejgsj *vomits* he said "not the asmr you came to hear, sorry") and ??? (Help I forgot)

Dan dreams about Nick Jonas in a fursuit at night ("the two things I lease wanted to hear right now, combined), but other options were a dark abyss ("no that's what I see when I look in the mirror") and a one direction reunion.

They would die from "Bees?" But other options were Dan falling out of the gaming chair and taking Phil down with him, and burning down the flat after setting a fire during a baking video gone horribly wrong (both of the runner ups they said were extremely realistic and plausible and they were like are you guys surprised we aren't dead yet we were all like yah). Dan was like where are the bees going to come from???? THAT FLAP keep you eyes on it.

We're real people with free will so you can't just make us do whatever you want, BUT we have made a simulation with a tiny Dan and Phil where you choose what they would do in completely normal, everyday situations that we experience in real life. Remember, tiny Dan and Phil still have emotions and can feel shame and guilt, so this is our test to see if you are responsible enough to be in control during this show - please do what you would actually want us to do if you were controlling us in real life.

Simulation! They have been working on this since they were FETUSES. Not babies, fetuses they were up in their mom's bellies with laptops editing this, and they spent billions of pounds and thousands of Richmond dollars (idk why they said Richmond dollars so many times during the show but sjtbsjdjd it was cute) on it.

Phil first he went to Barstucks (the simulations didn't want to get sued) and got a unicorn death frappe, with lots of sugar so he was vibrating, and he accidentally tweeted a picture of him in his underwear. Shirtless Satan appears and we all cheered for Satan they were concerned and Phil sold his soul to Satan to take the pic down bc he dropped his phone in his drink lmao. SATAN TAKES HIM TO HELL AND THERES DEMON DAN AND HE HAS A POTATO AND HE POTATO PRESSES PHIL TO DEATH FOR ETERNITY. then Phil was like "I still remember the feeling of a wet potato being pressed to my back" I was like sjbsjsjdsj ew.

Dan talked to the furry in the park and went to a furry rave (didn't show him the good Shiba Inu memes he had) and did body shots off of an otter and entered the ladydoor and slipped on the floor and died in his slothbear fursuit. Lmao rip (I'd already heard that ending though). Dan said the show was officially demonitized, and also said "there was an attempt" after people cheered for the good option lmao.

At the end they were like what a waste of all our billions of dollars and all the time spent editing as fetuses.

At the end of the simulation Phil talked about it being like a mob mentality and Dan compared it to fandoms and how if you like something and everyone else seems to have the same reason for liking it or whatever, the people who it especially means some thing to, their voices can get lost. And that's what this show is all about giving the people what they want and getting all the voices and stuff. Fandoms are often seen as one collective unit but you can't expect them all to want the same thing because they're all made up of very different individuals. Etc. It was good.

Our collective name was Kevin. We did a coordinated clap ("the asmr you do want to hear") it was the coolest fucking thing ever ajrnejfnej to build the hive mind. Then we chose a breed of dog for them to get "they just want us to get a dog Phil that's all they want" and Phil led it he was like I think I can get everyone to think the same thing, and we chose Fluffy the very terrifying Chihuahua it was so cool how they did it and that was the one I got so yay! They asked who didn't get fluffy and then they were like "that's okay that just means you aren't part of Kevin... YET." And then they just kept saying how we needed to get inside Kevin and stuff it was like okay wow.

Then we had the WHATS UNDER DANS BED. First of all that box is fucking hilarious, and I think Dan mentioned Phil just wanting an excuse to use props lmao. They explained it and then Phil brought out the audience participation balls "Phil has three balls." Okay. But they really emphasized how if you didn't want it you could just throw it to someone who did like they were so nice and understanding about it and when the music stopped Phil asked and made sure everyone who had one wanted it :). Also they were like keep the answers like amazingphil channel okay keep it PG. But it was actually a really cool concept and the lights went rainbow when they were throwing them around, which I LOVED! The three answers were an anthill but the ants are tiny dogs, a fursuit made of maltesers, and "I think he's trolling us and it's empty"/nothing. Y'all Phil was like has anyone seen a key under their seat and Dan was like wait what are we talking about wait no no I have the key akfnfjejd. They opened it, got the silver tube, opened that and got the scroll, and then they were like this has been in the tube in the locked box on the stage the whole time how could it possibly say what three random members of the audience said, and then they SLOWLY UNROLLED IT AND IT SAID TINY DOG ANTHILL, FURSUIT, AND NOTHING YALL I WAS SHOOK OUT OF MY MIND LIKE THE ONLY THING THAT COULD HAVE MADE THE SHOW WAS MAGIC AND THEY JUST DID THAT OH MY GOD. I'm still shook about it.

Then Phil took the banner and tore it up into like three or four big pieces and was like okay guys tear it up and pass it around tear and share I was so shook I was like oh my god I want a piece of that banner but obviously I was balconey, so they were ripping off pieces and passing it around and Dan and Phil were like omg it's like the walking dead down there "oh my gosh... That is.. violent." I was so shook that they did that like that was so nice and good like snejdbdabfbo.

Survey! Dan dabbed when he said statistics and Phil was like don't dab to statistics and Dan dabbed again and was like math *dab* there was so much unnecessary dabbing it was wow. Phil likes to use props and costumes so the brought out the glasses and clipboards YALL THEM IN GLASSES IN REAL LIFE 😭. Phil read the options for the audience participation one really dramatically and Dan was like "Phil wrote all the answers to these questions obviously" to which Phil replied "I wanted to make them spicy." 68% like audience participation, sixty some feel like they really know Dan and Phil (8% said who are Dan and Phil and Dan was like where do you think you are Shrek the musical? It was so good. I think Phil said maybe that's the parents. Incredible.) (Unnecessary third option bc Phil wanted to see what would happen - it used the middle screen) 40% like the sims the best, but pinof had 36%. Ditl had 16%, and baking and crafts both had four. They ROASTED the four percent who love crafts lmao it was great. (They spent the whole tour budget on the pie chart for the video series lmao it was FANCY) Sixty percent of people whlant Dan and Phil to give the people what Dan and Phil want, so I was really proud of us and Dan seemed surprised and happy about it he said Augusta was like ninty percent what the people want lmao.

ONE FINAL QUESTION WE ASKED YOU DAN OR PHIL BUT THATS TOO EASY NO WE ASKED YOU WHO WOULD YOU SACRIFICE BUT DAN NO ONES REALLY GOING TO BE SACRIFICED RIGHT THIS IS JUST A QUESTION ON A SURVEY IN A STAGE SHOW "I CAN SAY WHATEVER I WANT ABOUT DAN AND PHIL THERE ARE NO CONSEQUENCES... RIGHT?"

SUPER DRAMATIC SACRIFICE DAN OR PHIL "YOU MIGHT SAY I CANT CHOOSE TOO BAD THE WORLD IS FULL OF HARD DECISIONS ONE OF US WILL BE STRAPPED TO THIS WHEEL" PHIL SAID "ONE OF US IS GOING TO BE PUT IN MORTAL DANGER RIGHT NOW" AND THEN THEY BOTH JUMPED ONTO THE PLATFORM WITH THE WHEEL AND RODE IT BACKWARDS AND THEN INTERMISSION HOLY FUCKING SHIT THEYRE SO DRAMATIC AND EXTRA OH MY GOD IT WAS INCREDIBLE.

I'm forgetting so much but I'm gonna do this in two parts. Intermission seemed to come so quickly! It was at almost eight forty. Intermission was cool I stood up and stretched my legs bc as soon as I sat down my left leg fell asleep and it's still fucked up the. Some more jams though, and the last song they play was The Final Countdown lmao.

Quick note they are both so beautiful ??? Like?? I couldn't stop staring at their fucking legs oh my god and Dan's knees with his ripped jeans help. Also, I was mesmerised by the way Phil walks? And the way he runs and skips and does little jumps and shit? Like it's actually really graceful his legs are So Long and I'm just obsessed with watching him walk around omg. In summary - Legs ™

Edit: I totally forgot about the airhorn during Truth Bombs ajgbfjrnfsiej it was WILD Phil kept playing with it and pressing buttons to make noises before we even started doing Dan's, and Dan was like omg stop but we were all cheering because obviously it was amazing and Dan was like don't cheer when he does that you're encouraging him and we just cheered louder. (Phil also stroked the airhorn remote - the number of times some variation of the word stroke was said tonight..... So much)

At some point during the beginning they talked about why everyone loves the sims bc you can make people and make them do whatever you want and Phil was like like put a hundred sims in a swimming pool and remove the ladders and watch them drown slowly and I used to do that a lot as a kid does that say something and Dan was like that would explain a lot actually (I swear to God he said that phrase about Phil like three or four times throughout the show like wow). And Phil was like you could also make them woohoo with a skeleton or an alien and HE THRUSTED TO EMPHASIZE HIS POINT I WAS LIKE JESUS FUCK STOP PLEASE.

#richmond ii #interactive introverts #dan and phil #dnp #ii #ii spoilers #interactive introverts spoilers #dan howell #amazingphil #july 12th 2018 #altria theater #future #probably edit this

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p-artsypants · 6 years

Text

Arcadia or Bust (4)

Thank you all for such wonderful, kind, and lengthy reviews. They all inspire me to do my best!

This chapter is a little short, but it’s because the next chapter is going to be a lot longer. Hope you guys can be patient!

FF.net | AO3

—

“And four years later, we’re finally back.” Jim announced, coming into the cave.

“Ah, Master Jim. It’s was only over the day. Were you successful?”

He and Claire held up their grocery bags. “Well, I think the truck outside the sewer tunnel in the woods should be a good answer.”

“Ah! Splendid!”

The assembled trolls sighed in relief, glad that they wouldn’t be carrying the stone back on their own.

Jim started to unpack the items that others had requested from the surface. Some store bought, and others picked from the garbage.

He handed Blinky a can of whipped cream. “Did you guys figure out who’s coming with us in the truck and who’s walking?”

“I will be coming, as well as Merlin and NotEnrique. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I want to see to that the Heartstone is properly cared for. And I would like to be able to make sure the stone is placed as soon as possible.”

“That’s fair,” Answered Claire.

“Why NotEnrique and Merlin?”

“Merlin is still a human,” said Merlin, coming into view. “And Merlin wants food and a soft bed.”

NotEnrique joined the group. “I’m coming because I don’t take up space, but I walk really slow.” Then he glared at Jim, “and someone’s gotta play chaperone on this love boat.”

Nomura, who was in her human form, approached the group. “I will stay behind. I can go to the surface in this form and get any supplies we may need.”

Jim looked at her, perplexed. “I thought you couldn’t shape shift into a human if your familiar was out of the dark lands.”

Nomura smiled. “You misunderstand. Our familiar just has to remain safe and unharmed. My familiar is currently being cared for by your mother, and as so, she should remain safe enough for me to keep up appearances.”

“Wow, you guys really have this all planned out.” Jim noted.

“Trolls don’t sleep,” Merlin said, matter-of-factly. Rifling through the groceries. “So while you were napping peacefully in your hotel room, we were talking for hours.”

Claire was beginning to suspect that Merlin was easily jealous.

“Well, the truck should be able to fit all of us. It has a back seat.” Jim pondered a moment. “With gloves and a hoodie, I should be able to drive all day and night.”

“Are you okay with that?” Asked Claire. “I’m not that good at driving, but I could take over when you need me to.”

“It’s alright,” he assured. “We’ll take breaks for food and stuff.”

“So I suppose the only thing left to take care of is putting the Heartstone on the truck,” Pondered Blinky.

“And that’s going to take all the help we can get.” Jim turned to the Trolls in the cavern, “alright, I need help from the strongest trolls to move the new Heartstone!”

“Carefully!!!”

—

Once the Stone was loaded on the truck bed, with only a few bumps, the group discovered a new problem.

“Who on Earth do you expect to fit back there?!” Blinky asked, looking at the club seating.

The seat was a bit smaller than Jim had initially thought.

“Well, you were the one that wanted to come along.” Jim shrugged. “Look, we put a UV protector on the windows in the back, but in some states, it’s illegal to have them in the front.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that no sunlight should come in the backseat.”

“I have an idea,” said Claire. “During the night, Blinky can sit up front, then during the day, I’ll sit up there.”

“And what about me?” Merlin asked, crossing his arms.

Claire huffed. “Fine, we’ll just all take turns.”

“In that case,” said Blinky, “I would like a turn at driving.”

“Absolutely not.” Everyone else said in unison.

So Blinky rode shotgun first, being that it was still nighttime. While Claire and Merlin sat in the backseat. NotEnrique curled up on Claire’s lap, to nap. Jim plugged his phone in to charge, and turned on his GPS.

Then they were off.

For a while, they travelled in silence, just listening to the hum of the engine, as Jim navigated his way to the highway. From there, it was silent in the car as Siri gave lane switches and proper exits to take. It was a wild ride of weaving concrete and Jim was doing everything possible to avoid any kind of collision.

“Fascinating, do all carriages go this fast?” Merlin asked.

Claire answered. “Mostly, they can go faster, but there’s a legal limit.”

“Limit! We want to get back to Arcadia, don’t we? I say we punch it!”

Jim frowned, his eyes glued ahead. “But that could potentially get us in trouble with the police, and I’d like to avoid them as much as we can in this trip, hmm?”

“Police? Oh, your law enforcers. Do their carriages also move quickly?”

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

The first tollbooth was passed, and everyone fished around for enough coins to feed the machine. Getting more coins would be a necessity down the road.

At around 3 am, the road was wide open and straight. The only light came from the headlights, buildings dotting the distance, and the soft glow of the heartstone in the truck bed.

“For 252 miles, Use the left 2 lanes to stay on I-76 West toward Harrisburg.”

Jim groaned.

“252 miles? Why, that’s not that far.” Merlin placed his feet on the seat, against Claire’s legs and reclined.

Claire shoved him away, jostling NotEnrique in the meantime, and glanced at the map. “Yeah, but that’s just until our next turn. Our total trip is going to be 2,771 miles, according to the map.”

“Oh.” Merlin noted, with an unhappy tone.

“We have driven quite far already. I venture this was more that a few days travel on foot.”

Jim nodded. “And after all that, I’m glad we’re sitting and driving back. I’m exhausted.”

“You never really got to rest after the final fight,” Blinky observed. “How is your wound?”

“Mostly the same.” Jim admitted. “It looks okay, but it still stings.”

Back when they were at the hotel, Jim had come out of the shower in only his sweatpants. Claire had seen the mark on his chest, a shallow crater with cracks coming off of it like lightning. It looked like a scar, but she knew it had to still be bothering him. Even then, she was exhausted, and the moment wasn’t right, so she hadn’t mentioned it.

“Do Trolls scar?” She asked, as the conversation lulled.

Blinky seemed to think. “Suppose you hit a stone and it leaves a mark. Does that ever heal?”

“Um, not that I’ve ever seen.”

“Trolls are living stone. That is why our tattoos, as you call them, are created with a chisel, and not a needle and ink. But, as I have said before countless times, this may not be the case with Master Jim. If he is wounded, who’s to say it will or will not scar? Only time will tell.”

Claire took this answer with a shrug.

They had been driving for hours now. Conversation popped up here and there. But Blinky wanted Jim to concentrate on driving, and Merlin had a tendency to kill a conversation prematurely.

If only the radio worked.

Claire pondered this as Merlin drawled on and on about a battle waged in 1500 that he played a role in. The others in the car doubted his honesty, but stayed quiet, with nothing better to do.

“Incudo.” Claire whispered under her breath.

Suddenly, the sound system came to life, the speakers blasting electric guitar.

Merlin stopped talking as everyone stared at the radio.

“Peculiar,” Blinky said simply.

Jim smiled, “Hey! I know this song!” He started bobbing his to the tune, an 80’s rock anthem. Then he started singing, with gusto.

“Can't explain all the feelings that you're making me feel,

My heart's in overdrive and you're behind the steering wheel.”

Jim sat up in his seat, trying to match the falsetto of the singer. “Touching yooooOOOOoooooOOOOOu, touching meeeeEEEEEEeeeeee!

Touching you, God you're touching meeeeEEEEEEEEEE!!!”

Jim wasn’t really ever the musical type. It wasn’t that his singing was bad...it just wasn’t great.

But here, stuck in a truck with his beloved, his dad, and an asshole for hours on end, halfway asleep, he just decided to belt out the words and notes, glad to be a little goofy.

“I believe in a thing called love,

Just listen to the rhythm of my heart!

There's a chance we could make it now,

We'll be rocking 'til the sun goes down!

I believe in a thing called loooooooooooove!”

Oof, that high note was killer, and Jim’s voice cracked as he tried to reach it. For the next verse, he reached behind him, trying to touch Claire.

“I want to kiss you every minute, every hour, every day!

You got me in a spin but everything is A.OK!”

He growled, in an attempt to be sexy.

Claire laughed, and sang along with him, just as badly, since she didn’t know the lyrics.

“Touching yoooOOOOoooou, touching meeeeEEEEeeeeee,

Touching you, God you're touching meeeeeEEEEEEEE!”

Merlin covered his ears.

“I believe in a thing called love,

Just listen to the rhythm of my heart.

There's a chance we could make it now,

We'll be rocking 'til the sun goes down.

I believe in a thing called looooooooooove!

AAAaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!”

As the guitar solo broke out, Claire asked, “how do you know this?”

“My mom used to listen to it all the time! And we’d always sing along to it. How can you not!?”

The vocals came back in, with just clapping. “I believe in a thing called love,

Just listen to the rhythm of my heart.

There's a chance we could make it now,

We'll be rocking 'til the sun goes down.

I believe in a thing called looooooOOOOOOOoooove,

YEAAAAHHHHHHH!!!”

At the trash can ending, Jim drummed his hands on the steering wheel dramatically.

Blinky smiled. “It’s always so fun to listen to traditional human ballads.”

Merlin removed his hands. “Is it over?”

NotEnrique laughed. “I didn’t realize we were doing karaoke!”

Jim focused back on driving, panting slightly, though it didn’t matter too much, they were the only ones on the road. “I don’t know, I just really like that song.”

The next song started with a strike of cords on a piano, a bit of salsa thrown into the mix.

“Oh no…” Jim moaned.

“What?”

“I know this one too!”

“It’s Señorita!” Claire clapped cheerfully.

It was then that the group realized that they were listening to a CD, and even if they didn’t know the song at first, they would by the end of the trip.

—

Around dawn, Jim pulled off at an exit that sported a pair of yellow arches.

“It's tearin' up my heart when I'm with you

But when we are apart, I feel it too

And no matter what I do, I feel the pain

With or without you

And no matter what I do, I feel the pain

With or without you!”

Jim pulled into the parking lot, parking under a tree, and shut off the truck.

“Thank God,” Merlin muttered in the backseat.

“Alright, Claire and Merlin get to go in and have breakfast, while Blinky and I figure out how to get him in the backseat.”

Merlin hopped from the truck gratefully, stretching and popping his spine. “And whilst you figure that out, Claire and I will decide who gets to ride in the front. I delegate myself, because I have longer legs.”

Claire huffed. “And I delegate myself because I didn’t turn Jim into a Troll.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “I suppose you’re not going to let this go anytime soon, are you?”

Claire just smiled at him. “Take a guess.”

As they walked into the McDonalds, Jim climbed out of the truck as well, looking under the seats while Blinky inspected the Heartstone.

“Is everything alright, Master Jim?”

“Yeah, I’m just looking to see if there’s a way to bring the seat up a little.”

“It’s alright. I have become used to sitting in tight, enclosed spaces. Just be glad we are not traveling with Arrrgh.”

“There’s no way he’d fit in here.” Jim chuckled. There was no way to move the seat forward, but he did find a level that allowed the back of the seat to flip up, so Blinky could get in better.

Blinky climbed in, and Jim closed the door and the seat around him. “Comfy?”

Blinky returned a blank look while Jim just snickered. “I only wish I had brought a book or two with me to read.”

“Well, if we pass a book store, we can send Claire in to find something.” Jim climbed into the driver’s seat once again, just in time to dodge the sunlight that peaked through the tree branches. He relaxed, closing his eyes, and getting some rest.

But then, there was a knock on the window.

Jim jolted a bit, and swiveled his head over.

A police officer was staring at him.

Jim put both hands on the wheel. “Stay statue still,” he muttered to Blinky.

“Not going to be a problem.”

Carefully, Jim moved one hand and opened the door a crack. “Can I help you, officer?”

The policeman opened the door all the way, leaning against the frame. “What’s with the get up, son?”

“It’s a costume, sir.”

“And that?” He pointed at the large, unblinking Troll crammed in the backseat.

“Uh…my girlfriend’s costume.”

“Do you have your driver’s license with you?”

Jim nodded, ready to cooperate with the officer. “And I just bought this truck used, so I don’t have my insurance papers, but I can call my mom—“

“That won’t be necessary…” He peered at the license, “…Jim Lake Jr. Do you know why I’m here?”

Come to think of it, he wasn’t even driving. Why was he being questioned? “Uh…I can’t park here?”

He officer huffed, looking stern. “Last night, there was a break in at the Mineral Museum. Someone stole a very large and very valuable gem. One very much like the one in the back of your truck.”

He could have laughed if it wasn’t so totally unfair. Of course. Of course someone stole a giant rock that looked like the Heartstone. Why not? This trip couldn’t just be a simple drive back to Arcadia. Not after the mostly smooth hike. No sir, it had to be filled with drama.

Jim smiled awkwardly. “Uh…you probably wouldn’t believe me if I said that we just happened to find it, would you?”

“Son, I’m going to need you to step out of the vehicle.”

With a defeated sigh, Jim slid out of the seat.

The officer had to look up to meet his eyes. “How old are you?”

“16, sir.”

“Biggest 16-year-old I’ve ever seen.” He muttered, turning Jim around.

“I recently had a growth spurt.” He tried to keep a casual voice as he made eye contact with Blinky in the back seat. “I’ll be fine.” He mouthed.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you by the court. You can decide at any time from this moment on to terminate the interview and exercise these rights. Do you understand each of these rights I have explained to you?”

“Yes sir, I have nothing to hide.” That wasn’t exactly true, but his secrets weren’t exactly illegal.

“Alright. I’m calling a tow truck. We’ll be going down to the station, and the director of the museum will be called to identify your rock. If you truly did ‘just find it’, you’ll be free to go.” And with a stern hand, he was guided to the awaiting squad car and locked in the back seat.

Jim looked into the restaurant, hoping that Claire and Merlin would see him in distress. But instead, he saw them in a deep conversation as they ate breakfast.

All too soon, the tow truck came, and Blinky and the Heartstone were also on their way to the station.

A few minutes after they left, Claire and Merlin came out to a empty parking lot.

“Where the bloody hell is the Trollhunter?!”

NotEnrique, who had craftily snuck out of the truck while Jim was being ushered into the squad car, laughed by the door. “Ole Jimbo was arrested, for theft of a huge, precious gemstone.”

“Oh, is that all?” Merlin snorted. “Then I’ll be here, having another coffee.”

—

The song they sing in the car is ‘I Believe in a Thing Called Love’ by The Darkness. It is the ultimate sing along song.

#trollhunters #troll!jim #jim lake jr #clairenuñez #blinkous galadrigal #merlin #fanfiction #fanfic

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inky-imagines · 6 years

Text

Foresthuntermajrach’s OC Special

Apologies for the long wait, @foresthuntermajrach!

I mean to post this when I came back, but I didn’t like it and rewrote it. And then I rewrote the rewrite. And the one after that and the one after and- you get the picture.

This OC Special has given me no end of grief, but I’ve finally finished it and I’m pretty happy with it tbh. I hope you will be too!

Just a few notes:

I do mention Ophelia’s Angina in this, and though I did my research before and during the writing process, I might’ve made some mistakes. If I have, I apologise! Please let me know so I can educate myself and rewrite it accordingly.

Also, this is kinda taking place in a coffee shop AU where Ophelia and Dake are on the precipitate of dating.

Enough blathering, I really hope you enjoy this!

Length Warning: Nearly 2000 words, so it’s most of this is below the cut.

Edit: I’m a little frantic cuz of personal reasons rn, so I might not have edited this properly. If you see anything that looks really out of place or just plain wrong, please let me know. =)

He’d just had to get the lunch shift today, hadn’t he?

Nothing good ever happened on the lunch shift, and he always avoided it like the plague, unashamedly using his connection to the cafe’s owner to take the slot an hour after it.

Not today.

A replacement had been needed to fill the slot after the original barista had fallen ill and Dake’d been unfortunate enough to completely available.

The second he’d started the shift he knew it was going to be a bad one. The espresso machine malfunctioned, they ran of milk, most of the customers were small tippers with big attitudes and his co-worker had fucked off at the height of the rush.

To top it all off, he was now stuck arguing with yet another customer who wouldn’t understand they’d ordered the wrong thing.

“It’s daylight robbery!”

“Ma’am,” He sighed for the felt like - and possibly was - the twentieth time. “You ordered a macchiato, not an expresso. The prices are-”

The woman, best described as a soccer mom, scowled at him, hands on her hips.

“Don’t you tell me what I ordered. I know what I ordered.” She jabbed a perfectly manicured nail at him.

“I don’t think you do.” The words slipped out by mistake, but Dake couldn’t find it in him to care as she turned a vivid red, spluttering angrily.

“How dare you! I won’t let you speak to me like that! Where’s your manager? I’ll-”

He tuned her out, turning his attention to the clock hanging on the wall behind the bitchy customer.

An hour, give or take. Only 60 minutes until the one person who could possibly make this shift better arrived. At least he hoped so.

Usually, Ophelia would come in for her usual coffee and a pastry – always non-sweet, she hated those – and a quick chat, but, unlike him, Ophelia’s schedule varied greatly and it wasn’t uncommon that they missed each other.

‘I should really ask for her number at some point,’ He mused, reluctantly dragging his attention back to Soccer mom. ‘Make plans to meet outside of the café or something.’

He tuned in just in time to catch ‘-orsohelpmegod, you will be sorry!’ and immediately dismissed it, preparing himself for would undoubtedly be a exhausting fight.

“You’ve made a small mistake, miss,” He said, barely concealing his irritation, “What you ordered was a macchiato which we price differently from double espressos.If you’d like, I’m more than happy to replace your order with a double espresso; I’ll even give you a discount.”

‘Anything to get you off my back,’ He added mentally, hoping that his proposal appealed to her.

It didn’t.

She ballooned, almost bellowing –and thus attracting open stares from the other customers, “I won’t have you tell me, a Harvard graduate, that I made a mistake when you’re at fault. I’ll have you fired!”

“I doubt you can.” He replied blandly, dimly acknowledging the chiming storefront.

“Please.” She sneered, “Do you believe the management would keep something like you if I were to complain?”

“I’d imagine they would,” The approaching customer purred, the familiar voice perking Dake up, “He is the owner’s nephew after all.”

“’Phe.” Dake grinned, dragging a hand through his locks in an attempt to straighten them out.

The girl waved at him, smiling, before facing the older woman, her face a mask of faux-politeness.

The woman looked a little off-balance, clearly unaware of Dake’s diplomatic immunity, before scowling at the teens. “So that’s why you’re acting like that. You think your uncle will protect you when I tell him what you’ve done?”

Ophelia glanced at Dake quizzically and got a tired look in response.

“She ordered a Macchiato, but wants to be charged for a double espresso.”

“Because that’s what I ordered.”

“You ordered a double espresso with some steamed milk and foam.” He corrected.

“That’s a macchiato.” Ophelia deadpanned.

The woman frowned, shaking her head. “No it’s-“

“Siri, what’s a macchiato?”

Ophelia’s phone dinged before intoning, “Caffè macchiato, sometimes called espresso macchiato, is an espresso coffee drink with a small amount of milk, usually foamed.”

“Huh, what do you know?” Ophelia smirked at the now paling woman, “Three against one, lady. You lose.”

The soccer mom ballooned once more and Dake scowled, standing straight. It was one thing for him to be yelled at and deranged – It was a unfortunate part of the job – but he wasn’t about to let this two-bit bitch attack Ophelia.

His worry was unnecessary though; she knew how to handle herself.

With a pointed look around the café, Ophelia asked, “Are you really going to cause even more of a disruption, lady? You’re just embarrassing yourself.”

Soccer mom froze, looking around her as if suddenly aware of the other witnesses of her little tantrum. After spluttering for a moment, she slammed the money on the table, turned on her heel and stomped her way out of the café, taking her macchiato with her.

“Oh thank god.” Dake collapsed against the counter the second she was out of sight, forehead resting on the cool wood.

“Never been called that before, but okay.” Ophelia’s following laugh made Dake chuckle himself, lifting his head up just in time to see her slide onto one of the stools.

“Seriously though, I appreciate the save. I don’t much longer I could’ve put up with that.”

“I don’t know how you put up with that.” She said, resting her arms on the table, “She was upset because of what? A 50p difference?”

“30p.” He corrected, laughing at her disgusted face.

“But never mind her. You’re early today.” He propped himself up on an elbow, “Something happen at school?”

“Ugh,” She groaned, dropping her bag beside her, “I don’t want to talk about that. So let’s talk about you.”

Then she frowned, peering at his face. “You look exhausted. You alright?”

He smiled gently at her, patting her hand resting on the table, before winking. “I am now you’re here.”

“You’re so cheesy.” She snorted, turning her hand to entangle it with his.

“And you’re grate.”

She paused for a moment then snorting, trying to conceal a laugh.

“Dake, no. That’s too corny.”

“Really? And here I thought I had a kernel of talent.”

Torn between being laughing and groaning at his awful puns, Ophelia rocked in her chair, a hand stifling her amusement. Dake doesn’t bother doing that, openly laughing along with her.

“Seriously though,” She managed as her giggles subsided, “Are you okay?”

He sighed, standing a little straighter. “Yeah, today’s just been a bit rough.”

“That lady?”

“Amongst other things.”

He grinned at her, “Now you spill. What happened?”

Ophelia’s expression darkened immediately, wiping his mirth right off his face.

“Nothing good, I’m guessing.” He kept his voice light, but he was concerned when she didn’t answer immediately.

Ophelia didn’t really do quiet. She wasn’t loud and rambunctious, but she didn’t keep things to herself, her outspoken nature rarely failing to make itself known whenever she was displeased. Which left…

“You had an attack?” The fear in his voice made her sit straight, waving her hands in dismissal.

“What? No, no, no, Dake, I’m fine.” She scowled, glancing away, “It’s just… We got a substitute gym teacher today.”

“They haven’t touched you, have they?”

“Let me finish, will you?” She smiled briefly at his concern, before continuing. “They were… leery about me and decided to dismiss me from gym on the grounds that I was ‘medically unfit’ for it.”

Dake frowned, tilting his head. “Isn’t your school’s gym for basketball or something? No offence, but I think that’s a little too intensive for you.”

She rolled her eyes, scoffing, “I know that. The school created a specialized class plan for me so I don’t skip gym.”

“Did they know that?”

“First thing I said when we met; they said it was fine.”

Dake frowned, crossing his arms. ”So, what the hell happened?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Maybe they simply were humouring me, or they changed their minds and thought I was too fragile for 15 minutes of exercise. Either way,” Her voice and eyes dropped, cheeks flushed red with anger and embarrassment. “I don’t like being made out to be an invalid.”

“Ophelia…”Dake faltered, unsure of what to say.

Seeing Ophelia down always threw him off kilter, whether it was because of the surge of his emotions or the sight of the fireball’s downtrodden look, he didn’t know. But it was frustrating that at times like this his silver tongue failed him and he couldn’t verbalise his empathy.

A glance around the workspace, done in a vain effort to inspire some kind of response, proved fortuitous when his eye landed on something he’d been preparing to treat the girl to for a while.

He pushed himself off the table, shooting her a smile before busying himself in the small kitchen space.

“Dake? What’re you doing?”

“You look like you could do with a pick-me-up,” He grinned at her over his shoulder, “I’m making you one.”

She looked a little surprised, tilting her head. “Oh? What did you have in mind? Jasmine? Maybe rosehip?“

“No tea today.” He hummed, “I thought you might like to try coffee for once.”

Ophelia frowned, slumping back in her chair. “Dake, I can’t consume caffeine. Angina, remember?”

“No caffeine present, and no,” He held up a hand to pause her next argument, “It’s not decaf.”

The irritated look melted off her face, replaced by an avid curiosity. “What kind of coffee is it?”

“Dandelion & Chicory Root Coffee.” He said, holding up a packet of roasted dandelion roots. “I suggested it should be added to the menu for both the health nuts and the cute caffeine intolerant girls.”

He winked at her making Ophelia roll her eyes, but didn’t stop a smile spreading across on her face.

“Charming.” She leant forward once more, watching as he made the coffee, “And it definitely has no caffeine?”

“Yep,” He said, pouring the brew into her preferred mug before placing it before her. “Didn’t add cream or sugar. Figured you’d like it black.”

“Don’t we all?” She reached the hot beverage but jolted back when he slapped his forehead.

“Wait a sec, I forgot something.” He disappeared into the storage at the back, but only for a moment, returning with a slice of apple pie.

“You’re eerily prepared.” Ophelia said, raising an eyebrow at him.

He just smirked, placing the slice down and leaning back. “Bon Appétit.”

Dake held his breath as she took her first sip, studying her face for any sign of revulsion.

“Well?”

“It’s-“ She twisted her face, before smiling. “good. I like it. Very bitter though.”

“It’s coffee, what were you expecting?” He chuckled. Then more quietly, “Feeling better?”

Surprise flickered on her face before morphing into a softer look, the warmth in her eyes unmistakable.

“Much. Thanks, Dake.”

The look filled him with a sense of both joy and bashfulness forcing him to duck his head to the red of his face.

“It’s nothing.” He scuffed his feet then glanced up at Ophelia with a quirked grin. “You’d do the same for me.”

“I would.” She agreed, sipping her coffee, “And I’ll repay the favour someday.”

“Could do it be today.” He suggested, earning a confused look. “Currently, I’m kinda unhappy.”

The confusion on her face cleared as he slid a pen and pad to her with a wink. “A certain 8 digit number of yours would cheer me right up.”

#mcl #dakota #dake #oc special #this is just mindless fluff #im sorry #jk im happy with this #not so happy with the ending though #but am i ever?#sweet crush #amor sucre

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forgle · 7 years

Text

Five Weeks In Detention Chapter 4: The Third Week

Read it on AO3

Chapter 4/6

Word Count: 2578

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Piper definitely had a crush.

She was willing to admit that now. She was willing to admit that as soon as Annabeth and Percy hugged like two people who love each other. It was clear as day that they’d go through hell for each other just in the way they’re faces looked when they saw one another.

Piper thought it was kinda ironic that she could tell other people’s feelings with one look but it took her three weeks so realize her own.

Though, I did make sense that she had a crush on Annabeth after spending four hours in her presence every day for two weeks. And texting her constantly when they aren't together. And thinking about Annabeth.

Thinking about Annabeth more than any “just friend” should.

Thinking about her how lemony colored hair shines in the sunlight, how her skin looked like buttercream frosting, and how her eyes were like stone. Piper wondered what it would be like to run her hands through her curls. She didn’t care if it was tangled.

‘Thinking about a probably straight girl who has a boyfriend.’ Piper reminded herself. As she and Annabeth got lunch during school.

“I came up with a design for a building last night, I ended up staying up really late drawing it,” Annabeth said as they walked to their table.

“Can I see it?” Piper asked.

“Um, yeah, I just need to give it a few finishing touches.”

They sat down at the table where Leo was already sitting. Annabeth pulled out a notebook and started drawing. Piper tried to distract herself with her food. She took one bite and spit it back out.

“What's wrong?” Leo asked.

“Lunch is extra shitty today.” Piper pushed the tray away.

“Should've brought yours from home.” Leo took a bite of his enchilada. Piper stuck her tongue out at him.

“Oh god, that really is awful,” Annabeth said, with food still in her mouth. “How can you fuck up a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”

Piper leaned forward towards Annabeth, “How about I throw this out and we get Chinese food after detention, Annabeth?” Piper turned to Leo, “Without Leo.” she added.

“Hell yeah,” Annabeth pushed her tray of food away and went back to drawing. Piper picked up both trays and took them over to the trash. After she threw out the contents of the trays her mind went back to Annabeth. Piper turned on her phone and was faced with her and Annabeth's recent texts.

Another issue with Piper’s unrequited crush is the fact that it’s commonplace for platonic girlfriends to be somewhat intimate while still remaining platonic. For instance, last week, when Annabeth spent a day with her probably-boyfriend, Percy, she felt perfectly comfortable with texting Piper pictures of the swimsuits she somehow found to ask her opinions on which she should get.

Piper wasn't prepared for that. And she didn’t want to be creepy but Annabeth looked good in the swimsuits. Piper felt perverted when she looked at the pictures. It's not like she did or even thought perverted things, the feeling just came with it.

She was now distracted by the photos and didn't even notice that she was just standing there by the trashcans like a weirdo. One swimsuit was a black one-piece which Annabeth said she preferred. The other was a pink, purple, and blue tie-dye which she said Percy wanted her to get. Piper never responded to her. She just changed to subject a couple hours later and assumed Annabeth pucked one out on her own. She looked great in both.

Piper put her phone away and walked back to the table. Annabeth had finished drawing and was now looking at something on her phone.

“Oh, yeah, which swimsuit did you end up picking, Annabeth?” Piper asked as she sat down.

“Neither, I found a one piece in the same tie-dye, Percy was so happy I picked on with the colors of the bi flag.”

“Are you bi?” Piper asked.

“Yeah,” Annabeth said, shrugging as if it were the most obvious thing ever. She scrolled through her phone and held it up, “Here’s a picture of the swimsuit.”

Annabeth looked good in this one too. But that wasn’t important. “I can’t believe I didn’t know you’re bi,” Piper said.

“There's a big flag pin on my backpack,” Annabeth said.

Piper was willing to admit that was pretty obvious. “Can I see your drawing?” Piper asked.

Annabeth put down her phone and held up her notebook. There was a pencil drawing of a tall skyscraper with trees around the bottom and notes about the height and how many floors the building has written next to it.

“It's really good,” Piper said.

“What kind of building is it?” Leo asked.

“A made-up company’s headquarters,” Annabeth said, putting the notebook down. “Maybe your future mechanic company, Leo.”

“Hell yeah, when I'm rich and famous for being a mechanic you're designing the headquarters of m company and my giant mansion.” Leo took a bite of his food.

“You couldn't afford me.” Annabeth leaned across the table and took a bite of Leo's enchilada.

Piper looked down at her phone and started scrolling through Instagram. When her stomach growled she prayed to any god that was listening that she wouldn't starve to death before the end of school.

***

“Siri, find a Chinese restaurant nearby,” Annabeth said into her phone from the passenger seat.

“There are three Chili's near you,”

“No!” Annabeth said. Piper laughed.

“Here,” Piper said, looking it up on her own phone. They picked out a restaurant and Piper set her phone in the cupholder while it read her directions.

When they arrived they realized the restaurant they had picked was really just for takeout. So they each bought a serving of vegetable fried rice and took their takeout to a park and found a shady patch of grass to sit on as they ate.

Piper took a bite of her rice. “Y’know for takeout, this is really good rice,”

“Definitely,” Annabeth said her mouth full.

Piper took off her shoes so she could feel the cold grass on her skin. “By the way, Annabeth,” she started.

Annabeth looked up from her food.

“You’ve only lived here a couple months right?”

Annabeth nodded.

“But your brothers have been here a while, I met them on Halloween last year. I remember ‘cause they can to my house wearing headdresses and face paint.” Piper used air-quotes as she said “Native American”

“I held their candy hostage while I gave them both a lecture on cultural appropriation. Anyways, did like your dad and stepmom get married after Halloween or something?” Piper said.

Annabeth smiled put down her rice. “Well, um that’s a kind of long story-” she took a deep breath and Piper was afraid she had crossed a line. “-Um, when I was about ten, I wanted to go live with my mom in New York, so I did. I lived there until this summer when my mom and I could barely stand each other anymore.”

Piper scooted closer to Annabeth. “What was New York like? I mean, besides your mom.”

Annabeth smiled. “Other than my mom, New York was fantastic. Usually, after school and on weekends I’d just go hang out with Thalia, which was so nice, I mean, Thalia’s the best, she raised me better than my mom every did. Also, she was actually the whole reason I went to summer camp. She was a counselor and suggested I go so I wouldn’t have to spend the whole summer around my mom.”

“Is the summer camp where you met Percy?”

“Yeah, I made a lot of friends there. I was kinda hard not to when I went there every summer for six years. The camp was the only thing that seemed real. Everything else felt like it had no purpose”

“You really loved that camp, huh?” Piper had never seen Annabeth speak so fondly of something.

“I mean, yeah, I even had my first kiss there.”

Piper raised one eyebrow. “With Percy?”

There was a faint pink tint on Annabeth’s cheeks. “Yeah,” she looked down at her lap.

“Why are you blushing? I think it’s romantic that you’re still dating our first kiss.”

Annabeth looked up “I’m not dating Percy,”

“Do you want to? You two clearly love each other. And not to brag but I’m kinda the ultimate matchmaker.”

“Everyone keeps asking me questions like that.” Annabeth huffed, “Percy and I dated for five minutes one summer and he’s still my best friend, so I do love him but I’m not in love with him.” Annabeth looked up at the sky, squinting.

With those words, Piper felt like a million pounds had been lifted off her shoulders. Knowing that Annabeth was single was one of the best feelings in the world. Piper was almost tempted to tackle Annabeth to the ground and kiss her right there.

And kiss her some more.

And drive her somewhere where they could make out. And buy her flowers and all kinds of other gifts. Anything that made it clear that Piper was attracted to Annabeth.

Instead, since Annabeth was still looking at the sky she took some rice from Annabeth's oyster pail.

This, however, caught Annabeth’s attention. “You have your own right there!” she said, gesturing towards Piper’s oyster pail.

“Yours tastes better,”

Annabeth took a bite of Piper’s rice. “And so does yours.”

“We could just trade,”

“But then the flavors would change. It’s a known law of the universe that someone else’s food always tastes better than your own.” Annabeth said before taking another bite of Piper’s rice.

They kept eating each other’s rice and talking for nearly an hour. Eventually, Annabeth abandoned Piper’s food and laid down in the grass with the sun on her face. Piper stayed in the shade and cringed at the thought of Annabeth getting a sunburn on her face. It seemed like it would hurt like hell. “Annabeth, you’re gonna get a sunburn, you’re white.”

Annabeth sat up, her face somehow already looked a little red. “You people of color are so lucky, with your melanin and whatnot,” she returned next to Piper, “But my people did steal your land, enslave, rape, and murder your people and I’m still privileged despite that so I think I’ll be okay.”

“How woke of you,” Piper said, resting her elbows on her legs, just above her knees.

“I try,” Annabeth laid back down on the grass, with all of her skin still in the shade. “Do you read poetry, Piper?”

Piper snorted, “No, I’m not a hipster or a millennial,”

This time it was Annabeth’s turn to snort, “You’re the biggest hipster I know,”

“One, I wear tacky lesbian fashion, and two, have you looked in a mirror lately?” Piper counted off her points on her fingers.

“Whatever, anyways there was this poet, Sappho, in ancient Greece, and she lived on this island called Lesbos and the citizens were called lesbians. Anyways, Sappho and all her other gay friends all loved girls so much and wrote poems about different women so much that it’s what Lesbos was known for and that’s why women solely attracted to women are called lesbians.” Annabeth said. Piper wondered how the hell Annabeth learned this.

“Man, I wish I was so gay that an entire Island was known for being gay because of me.”

“It’s pretty impressive,” Annabeth said.

“Do you know any of her poetry?” Piper asked.

“Just one but it’s really short, it may just be a fragment of one. ‘The moon appeared in her fullness when women took their place around the altar.’”

Piper thought Annabeth was a little like the moon. Pale and still mysterious no matter how close you get. But still comforting with her constant presence despite the mystery.

Piper smiled. “That’s a great poem.”

“Yeah, I have a whole book of her poetry at home,”

“Of course you do,”

“It was a coming out present from Thalia.”

Piper laughed. Annabeth smiled so her one tooth stuck out. Piper smiled when she noticed the tooth. The tooth that was undeniable proof that Piper got Annabeth to smile, and that it was a 100% real smile.

Annabeth pulled her phone from her pocket and her smile fell a bit when she unlocked it. “My parents want me to go home.”

“Then I guess we should get going,” Piper gathered up their oyster pails and fork.

“I don't want to,” Annabeth said, but she sat up anyways.

Piper found a trash can and threw out the empty oyster pails. She and Annabeth got in her car. Annabeth picked up the bag their food came in off the floor. “Oh, there’s fortune cookies,” she said.

Annabeth handed one to Piper and broke open the other. “This is so tiny, how can someone read this?”

“Here,” Piper said, holding out her hand. She read the tiny print aloud “‘If you speak honestly, everyone will listen,’”

“Oh, that’s boring,” Annabeth said, taking the paper back from Piper, “Why couldn’t it have told me I’m gonna be a millionaire?” she asked before taking a bite of the cookie.

Piper cracked open her own cookie, put the broken halves on her lap, and read the paper, “‘Pray to God, but row towards shore.’ “What the hell? That makes no sense.”

“What’s with these shitty fortune cookies?” Annabeth asked, with a mouth full of her cookie.

Piper took a bite of her own. “At least the cookies themselves aren’t bad.” Piper backed out of her parking space and Annabeth picked out some music. Annabeth’s house wasn’t far from the little park so it only took a few minutes to reach it. “You know, I’m wondering why your parents haven’t been asking you about the mysterious girl who drives you places,” Piper said as they reached Annabeth’s house.

“Well, as far as they know you’re an Uber driver,” Annabeth said, reaching back for her backpack.

“They think you just end up with the exact same Uber every day?” Piper asked, somewhat shocked.

Annabeth pulled the latch on her door. “They aren’t very observant.”

“Well, bye,” Pipe said, giving a small wave. She wanted to compliment Annabeth on something, to make her feel good and also think about Piper. She considered complimenting her hair. “Uh, bye,” Annabeth said, pushing the door open. Well, this was Piper’s chance.

“By the way, Annabeth,” Piper said. Annabeth looked over her shoulder to look at Piper. “I like your hair today,” Piper said, followed immediately by, “Wait, no, that’s not what I meant to say, um,”

Piper collected her thoughts. “Your hair looks nice today,” she thought about each word as she said it.

“Thanks,” Annabeth said. “Yours looks good too.”

Annabeth waved Piper goodbye and beelined for the front door of her house. Piper watched Annabeth, making sure that she got inside.

Usually, after Annabeth got inside Piper would immediately drive off, but that day, she just hid her face in her hands, groaned, rubbed her eyes, and then drove off, homebound.

#pipabeth #Piper McLean #annabeth chase #my writing #five weeks in detention #Leo valdez #pjo #hoo #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #The Heroes of Olympus #Heroes of Olympus

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kryptoniteismysupergirl · 7 years

Text

happiest place on earth

for @alex-loves-tv-shows Happy birthday x

also on ao3

“I left because I couldn’t tell myself that my feelings were real. I left because it would have been the most unprofessional thing I would have ever done in my career.” Cat swallowed back a sob as Kara sat in front of her, smiling weakly. “I came back because even though it would have been career suicide, I can’t stop telling myself how much I need you.”

Kara struggled to stand and as soon as she stumbled Cat gripped her arm and held her up.

“So, you got a plane from Bhutan, to tell me what?” Kara went into a coughing fit as she finished her sentence and Cat rubbed her hand in a circle on her back. Kara collapsed into Cat’s grip and looped her arms around Cat’s neck.

“I love you, you idiot. That’s why I came back.” Cat smiled and leaned her head onto Kara’s.

Alex knocked on the door and smiled as Cat turned to see who was interrupting them.

“I’ve got to do a few more tests, do you mind waiting outside?” Cat smiled then pulled away from the floppy kryptonian.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She placed a small kiss on Kara’s forehead, grabbed her bag then left the room.

After Cat left, Alex helped Kara back onto the bed. “So Cat Grant, huh?” Alex smirked and then flipped some paper over on a clipboard.

“She came back from Bhutan, to declare her love for me.” She smiled weakly and then winced in pain as she moved. “God, I feel like shit. Put me under the sun lamps, I need to get my powers back.”

“So you can go to Cat's?" Alex winked at her younger sister then switched on the sun lamps to re-charge her. "I could just drive you there.”

“Let me have a nap first.” Kara slurred, closing her eyes and dozing off.

Cat slipped off her heels and sighed as she saw Carter asleep on the couch. That was a habit of his, more often than not, he would wait for her to come home. Dropping her coat and bag by the door, she rubbed her neck and went to sit on the couch with Carter.

"Mom?" He stirred a little when she curled up but relaxed when he laid his head on her thigh. "Is she okay?" Cat ran her fingers through his curls and rested her head on the back of the cushion.

"She's fine. A little tired, powerless but okay." Carter sat up then pushed himself off the couch. He yawned as he rubbed his eye with a closed fist. He motioned to his bedroom and then dropped a kiss on Cat's cheek.

Once Carter was tucked up asleep she poured herself a glass of wine, and stood by the large window that looked out onto the National City skyline. The city was darkening as the evening rolled in, the bright lights of the offices still a glow for the late evening workers probably pushing deadlines. As she finished her glass the buzz of the intercom sounded, no one ever called this late and Carter's father was away in Central city. Cautiously she walked over to the front door and peered at the small screen which connected to a camera to reveal a large black 4x4 and none other than Alex Danvers hanging out the side. Buzzing them in, she opened the door and stood in the frame watching as the car pulled outside. The passenger door swung open and Kara stumbled out in what looked like her supersuit under a hoodie and sweatpants with her cape bundled in her arms.

"She insisted that I bring her here. I'll be back to pick her up tonight or tomorrow. Just drop me a text, I don't want to walk in on anything freaky." Alex squeezed Kara's shoulder and dropped a kiss on her head before peeling away in the car.

"I think we have some things to talk about." Kara smiled and played with the end on her cape while Cat leaned on the door. The kryptonian nodded then followed her into the her home. Once the front door was shut and the gate locked, Kara stood nervously, playing with her cape between her fingers. Cat looked up at her then smiled as she stepped backwards and sat down on the couch. Kara followed closely behind and still unsure of where to put her cape. Cat took it from her hands and placed it on the coffee table just by her feet, then watched as Kara nervously sat down.

"I think we should discuss what-" Cat started to speak, but before she could come out with anything, Kara had placed both hands on the side of her cheeks and pulled her into a kiss. She was startled at first but then was calmed by kara's gentle hands running through her hair. Kara pulled away and rested her forehead on Cat's, trying to catch her breath.

"Well, maybe we don't have to discuss anything after all." The older woman smiled and leaned in for another kiss, straddling Kara's hips as she went.

Siri said the happiest place on earth was Bhutan, but Cat knew what her true happy place was; in Kara's arms.

#supercat #supercat fic #enjoy #my fics

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nefarioussdotcom-blog · 5 years

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We're all about a healthy, happy lifestyle. While you may be seeing a dietitian, nutritionist, asking SIRI or your mom's aunts' cousin, it all boils down to what works in your schedule, doesn't cost you an arm and a leg, slips right into your exercise regime (walking, jogging, yoga, pilates, gym, outdoor sports), makes you happy and ensures you live your best life!

Today, I will be speaking with you about FOOD and how it can become your friend and not your foe.

First, let me start by saying...

Speaking from experience, eating is a sensitive topic, because it's about a lot more than just putting something in our mouths and swallowing.

Deep down you know who you are. You are not defined by what you wear, what you drive, where you live, where you kids goes to school, what board you have when surfing/skating - you are beautiful and we love you just the way you are! If you remember that, we can help you on this incredible journey. Not alone, but every step of the way with you!

So let's get to it: Lesson 1: The way we consume things has a great deal of impact on not only ourselves, but on the people around us.

What we choose to eat affects our bodies, but it also affects the way we socialize, the things we buy, the way the food market evolves, the way farmers and other food producers produce or obtain food to sell us, and ultimately, our entire World.

A lot of the food we think is healthy, isn’t actually healthy.

And we get so mired in the details of counting calories, obsessing over supplements, and trying to learn the meaning of big words like aspartame, hydrolyzed protein, and hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia (just kidding about that last one!) that we lose track of how our food choices are really impacting us, and those around us.

Obviously, what we eat is critical to our well-being, in more ways than one.

We all know that eating a box of anything-from-the-bakery in one sitting is not healthy, but what IS a truly healthy diet?

The problem is, no one seems to know.

Of course, we know some things, and there are plenty of experts hawking new discoveries everywhere you turn. In this Information Age, particularly, the sheer quantity of food-related information available to us is overwhelming.

In general, we have too much. Too much food choices, too much information, too much confusion.

Of course, for some people with certain sensitivities or physical conditions such as diabetes or celiac disease, understanding the intricacies of their diet is extremely important. (To note, we are not Doctors. Just women with a passion to help men and women out there, live their best lives.)

But for the rest of us, we’ve made eating way too complicated.

The problem is, it’s hard to navigate the complicated world of nutrition to figure out what really is best for us. Decades of preserved/processed foods, technology, and advertising has confused us so thoroughly that we often don’t realize how our food is affecting us.

With all that said...

How can we be better at EATING?

1. LISTEN TO YOUR BODY

Your body is ingenuously designed (in other words: it’s pretty smart). If it doesn’t feel good, it will tell you — if you’re willing to listen.

The main to understand is this: everyone is different and will respond different to what you give it or do to it. The main constant is healthy goodness. No matter who you are, you can't go wrong with straight from the Earth products, without claiming it will cure a medical condition, make you lose weight or miraculously make you Wonder Woman, Super Man or Sky High Gifted Kids.

Let me tell you a story. 7 years ago I represented my beautiful country as a National Beauty Queen on an International stage with nothing, but a Size 2 body. Not a Size 0 as most people would make you believe!

I was incredibly happy, proud to be up there, seeing my mom in the audience, cheering me on after three months of intense training, a high protein diet and supplements I'd rather not talk about. I was simply on a high and in the best shape I'd ever been. That was me at 28.

Fast forward nearly two years and I literally hit a wall - well a truck to be precise, losing my left leg and shattering my right, one December holiday. It collapsed my World into a dark pit of 'what the hell now'?

Two months of hospital food, lots of prescribed drugs, IV's, prosthetic's (I lost my left leg and broke my right in a million places), crutches and a wheelchair later, I signed myself out to head home, only to face my mom's TLC cooking with butter and cream and all the hearty goodness you'd come to expect from a caring and loving mother.

This set me back a lot and made me gain just about 10 kilograms/22 pounds.

Seven years later, I'm not back to my 28-year-old-model-bod, but I'm working on being my most healthy self. I dish up an adult portion and usually end up eating only a kids portion of it, when I'm hungry - teaching myself that I can eat less - it's just my mind playing tricks on me. When I crave something salty, I drink water and when I crave something sweet I eat a fruit. If I hit a 'debby-downer' moment, I grab a handful of nuts. The best part of my eating plan is that I never have to worry about those dreaded missed vitamins and minerals though and here's why.

How many of you take multi-vitamins a day? Getting older it is one of the things we are told whenever we feel something's a miss.

I'd like to tell you that our Tribal Wellness Movement offers something similar to a multi-vitamin, without any chemical properties that will do the same job, made from only fruits and vegetables AND make you feel like you're on top of the absolute World - and, if you're like my niece Megan, that don't do pills at all - I can even offer them to in a chew-able form. Now that's what I call, genius!

In short, putting healthy, grown from the Earth, straight off the farm,easy-in-your-lunchbox or zip-lock baggy goodness in your tummy, will make it smile right back at you!

Want to know more...leave a comment/your story/your eating problem below this blog for us. We'd love to hear from you!

2. PLAN AHEAD

When you already know what you need to eat, the best way to fall off the wagon and start consuming things you know are not good for you, is to not be prepared.

I’m not saying you have to spend ten hours every Sunday preparing your entire week’s meal plan ahead of time (unless you want to).

But don’t allow yourself to just “go with the flow” and pick up things here and there whenever you’re hungry. If you do that, you are more likely to eat unhealthily than healthily AND spending tons more money than your budget allows — it’s the way our current environment is designed.

Our whole food based nutrition, including juice powder concentrates from 25 different fruits, vegetables and grains helps bridge the gap between what you should eat and what you do eat every day. Not a multivitamin, medicine, treatment or cure for any disease, our capsules are made from quality ingredients carefully monitored from farm to capsule to provide natural nutrients your body needs to be at its best.

Best of all, if you're a mom or dad, when you ask us for yours, YOU'LL GET YOUR KIDS' ABSOLUTELY FREE! [Want to know more? Drop us a line at the bottom]

3. TAKE YOUR TIME

Sometimes we simply eat too fast to take note of what we’re actually putting in our bodies.

If you've ever played a sport or a music instrument or studied for exams, you'd remember that you didn't simply wake up that morning with a spring in your step and just the right moves to ace it every game, symphony or test. You'd have to spend weeks preparing, ensuring the right process was followed to get you to your best.

Our Tribal Wellness Movement recommends a 90 day steady injection of earthy goodness. Let your body be testament to what fuels it best.

Why do we need it?

Everyone wants to eat right and maintain a healthier lifestyle—whether you're a busy mom hustling to feed on-the-go children, a business traveler trying to stay fit, or an active boomer keeping up with grand kids. Unfortunately, maintaining a balanced nutritional diet is often a challenge. In simplest terms, healthy eating is about getting back to basics − by following the latest USDA guidelines, like those from USDA’s My Plate. The current recommendation for a healthy diet is to fill half your plate at each meal with fruits and vegetables. But healthy eating takes time, planning, and can cost a lot of money. Most of us suffer from a daily fruit and vegetable consumption gap as a result. Rich in vitamins and antioxidants, our products can help you fill that hole in your diet.

The Benefits of Wholefood Based Nutrition or as we like to call it: The Importance of a Healthy Diet

The best way to reduce your risk of disease is to eat healthy. The right fuel in your body makes it run better. Fruits and vegetables are two key food groups known to contribute to better health. Our wholefood products puts more of the valuable nutrition from fruits and vegetables back into your diet to improve health and wellness. Give yourself a better diet and a healthier lifestyle.

We'd like to highlight an absolutely incredible health transformation: Anna Cameron. Thanks so much for sharing your story!

As a mum of two... I know exhaustion (like most parents do). And just over a year ago I was in the thick of it. Breastfeeding my youngest... my baby and toddler tag teaming waking in the night... and my hubby having knee surgery... which meant he couldn’t help settle the girls. My brain fog was thick, stress was building, my hair was falling out in clumps and anxiety I felt in years past was creeping back into my world.

So I knew something had to change. The worst part was that I was ready to go get medicated for the anxiety (which was also playing havoc on my mind as I don’t usual even take Panadol). Amazingly, somehow at that moment, I found a program that really spoke to me... all natural, safe for me and my baby while breast feeding, and for the rest of my family. Knowing the alternative, I had to try.

After less than two weeks of starting on the program and using the capsules, and complete powder, I noticed an incredible change in my energy. I no longer needed afternoon naps and was getting better sleep at night (when we got it). Almost instantly I noticed my hair stopped falling out in huge clumps, and I felt like somehow the baby brain fog I had lived in for the past 2.5 years had actually lifted. Probably most surprisingly the anxiety that I was feeling, and was just about to medicate myself for was all but gone 💕🙌🏽.

I honestly couldn’t believe it... but also do realise how I had not been taking care of myself, because I was so concentrated on taking care of my family. So it actually makes total sense that the extra nutrients were helping to get my body functioning properly again.

One year on... I have not looked back. In addition to the benefits above, I found my sugar cravings disappear... i have been making small consistent changes in my eating and have lost a total of 14 kgs... I feel healthier than ever (something I would not have expected to say after my 2 babies).

Incredibly, I have not had more than a runny nose for over a year. And probably even more impressive is my daughters' immunity, they have the chews everyday (they LOVE them)... and while all of our friends seem to roll through sickness after sickness, temperature after temperature, the girls have missed it all and have had minor colds at worst over the winter ✨🙌... a parent's dream come true!!

I would admit that I was skeptical of the products when I read about them initially... and I truly though I was pretty healthy and that good food was the answer. The real problem was that I had no time to look after myself and I was definitely not getting the much needed nutrients from my usual meal of peanut butter on toast. We can all say we have good intentions, but this program allowed me to make my intentions a reality, quickly and conveniently.

Grateful is an understatement ❤️

#exhaustion #hairloss #brainfog #anxiety #weightloss #sugarcravings#strongimmunesystems #healthykids

We'd love to hear what your goals are (weight loss, weight gain, muscle gain, a healthy glow), the frustrations of day to day aches and pains, shopping wows and anything else you'd like to share with us. Get in touch with us today.

#health & fitness #lose weight #clean eating #eating well

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bestmarvelmate · 7 years

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Comfort (Bucky x Reader)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2,838

Genre: Comfort/Fluff

Warning(s): None (I think)

Summary: On her way back to the Tower the reader is involved in a car crash that puts them in the hospital. The crash brings up some unhappy memories from the reader’s past, but luckily Bucky is there to comfort you and bring you your favorite flowers and candy. (If you don't like candy/flowers just pretend you do for the sake of the story).

A/N: Prompt adapted from an idea by Tealsong from Wattpad. So, this is my first one-shot ever. Sorry if it's shitty. I'll work on that. I was up till two in the morning last night finishing it (oops). I kinda lost track of time. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Also, requests are open!

(Y/N) = Your Name

(Y/F/C) = Your Favorite Candy

(Y/S/C) = Your Skin Color

“Miss (Y/N),” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said over the speakers in your car.

Tony had hooked her up because you liked to have Siri read your texts out to you whenever you were driving so you didn't have to take your hands off the wheel. When Tony learned about that he offered (insisted) to put F.R.I.D.A.Y into your phone so she could read them for you instead. For some unknown reason to you, Tony had a grudge against anything Apple related. When you asked him about it he merely shrugged it off and said it was a long story.

“Yes, F.R.I.D.A.Y?” You addressed the A.I.

“You have a text from ShareBear. Would you like me to read it for you?”

You grinned at your contact name for Sharon. “Yes please.”

“Miss Carter wrote: ‘Me along with the rest of the team excluding you and Barnes have been called away for a mission and won't be back for a few days.’ She then followed it with a winky emoticon.” F.R.I.D.A.Y informed you.

You had told Sharon about your small (big) crush on Bucky and ever since then, she had been trying to get you two together.

“Please text her back: ‘You can take that winky emoji and shove it where the sun don't shine.’”

“Yes, Miss (Y/N).”

A few minutes passed before F.R.I.D.A.Y read back Sharon’s reply, which more or less called you a wuss for not growing a pair and asking Bucky out. You told F.R.I.D.A.Y to reply with: ‘I'm not having this discussion with you again. Be safe.’ Sharon said: ‘Will do.’ and you thanked F.R.I.D.A.Y for her assistance.

You continued driving down Broadway and slowed to a stop at a red light. You were making the long drive from Manhattan to downtown New York where the Avengers’ tower was. The drive should technically only take about thirty minutes, but let's be honest, this is New York. You turned on the radio and listened to the news report of the latest Avengers success story.

“New York’s famed superhero team the Avengers stopped a bank robbery turned hostage situation late yesterday afternoon,” the radio personality began. “A group consisting of Captain America, Bucky Barnes, and Agent 13 arrived at the scene mere minutes after the robbery was called in. Bucky Barnes, formerly known as the assassin the Winter Soldier, played a key role in the rescue of all fifteen hostages. Barnes was able to negotiate the robbers into releasing the civilians held inside. One of the hostages personally thanked Barnes before she was taken to the hospital saying, ‘Without him, I would not have been able to go home to my two kids tonight.’”

You smile at what the woman said. Bucky had been working incredibly hard to get back on the good side of not only the people of America but also the world. HYDRA’s reach had been far and the Winter Soldier’s hit list long, but with your help and support from the rest of the Avengers, Bucky was slowly making his way back into the public's good eye.

The light turned green and you eased onto the gas. You were halfway through the intersection when something slammed into you from the passenger side. Your head cracked against the window and the airbags deployed. There was a high pitched ringing in your ears and distant screaming. Arms wrapped under your arms and tugged you out of the car. The whoop of an ambulance pierced through the incessant ringing before you slipped into unconsciousness.

Bucky was lifting weights in the training room when he got the call. F.R.I.D.A.Y had informed him that he had received a call from the hospital telling him that (Y/N) had been t-boned on her way back to the Tower. He hopped onto his motorcycle and made it to the hospital in record time (for New York).

Once parked Bucky quickly asked the nurse at the front desk what room you were in and took the stairs two at a time. When he made it to your room he stopped at the door. A doctor stood by your side with a clipboard in his hands.

“Doctor?” Bucky spoke up.

“Can I help you?” the older man asked. (Haha “older”).

“I'm her emergency contact,” He nodded his head to you. “What's wrong with her?”

“Car accident, but I'm sure you already knew that.”

“Is she going to be okay?” Bucky asked fearfully, creeping into the room a little more.

“She should be. Currently, we have her in a medically induced coma just for the next twenty-four hours. She has a concussion and a few cracked ribs, but she's in pretty good shape for being t-boned.”

Bucky looked past the doctor to where you laid in the sterile hospital bed.

“I'll leave you to your visit. Though she won't be too talkative.” the doctor patted Bucky on the shoulder on his way out.

A mix of emotions flooded through him at the sight of you hooked up to all of the machines. If it weren't for the monitors steady beep and the doctor telling him that you were in a medically induced coma Bucky could have sworn you were dead.

Anger boiled up in him at the thought that some stupid, distracted driver did this to you. Someone he held so near and dear to him. Bucky’s hands clenched into fists as he fought back the feeling he had now become familiar with as the Winter Soldier trying to worm his way back to the surface. He tended to try and reappear whenever Bucky became angry.

It pained Bucky to no end to see you hooked up to the machines. Bucky slowly approached your side and pulled one of the chairs in the room closer to your bed. He sat and just watched you, taking in the butterfly band-aid on a cut above your left eyebrow, and the slight bruising he could make out on your left arm from the impact you made with the car door.

Bucky lost track of time as he sat by your side, just watching you, listening to the incessant beeping of the monitors, rubbing circles on the back of your (Y/S/C) hand with his flesh thumb.

“Excuse me, sir?” A woman's voice drew Bucky out of his mindless thinking. Bucky looked up to see a nurse. “I'm sorry, you have to go, visiting hours are over.”

Bucky looked at you with a pained expression and reluctantly stood from your side. He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your forehead and whispered in your ear that he would see you tomorrow.

On his way out Bucky was tempted to turn around here track down and beat the shit out of the person who had put you in here. It wouldn't be too hard of a task for an ex-assassin. However, as soon as the thought entered his mind he saw a flash of your disappointed face. If he did something to the person who had hurt you he would be no better than the man he had been trying to fight for the past seventy years, and all your and his hard work to get him on the good side of the government and the public would have been for nothing. With a calming breath, Bucky continued to leave.

The following morning Bucky got up at the crack of dawn so he could be at the hospital as soon as visiting hours began. He had a quick breakfast and informed the rest of the team about what was going on. They were all incredibly worried, but Bucky assured them that you were fine and he was going to spend the day with you at the hospital and would keep them posted if anything changed.

On his ride over to the hospital, Bucky stopped by a little flower shop run by an old woman. He chose a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a box of your favorite candy for you to eat when you woke up. Once Bucky arrived at the hospital he stayed by your side all day as nurses and doctors came in and out to check on you. On her way out, one of the nurses informed him that you should be waking up from your coma in the next few hours. Bucky watched the clock on the wall tick away nervously.

You were driving down the lamp lit streets of New York. Your brother sat next to you in the backseat, while your dad was in the passenger seat up front with your mom, who was driving. You were taunting your brother about his complete and utter failure to beat you at the game of bowling you played tonight, especially after all the trash talk he said about how he would wipe the dirty, questionably sticky, bowling alley floors with you.

You playfully booped him on the nose and he swatted your hand away. A blinding light illuminated the car and you heard your mom mutter “What in the world?” under her breath. The light continued to get brighter and brighter and a painfully familiar feeling of dread and deja vu descended upon you.

You felt a hand gripping your shoulder painfully and shaking you. You looked to where your brother had been sitting next to you and to your surprise you instead saw Bucky. His lips were moving frantically as you saw him repeat your name over and over but never heard the sound leave his lips. However, the sound of a car horn being repeatedly blown got closer as the white light consumed everything around you.

You woke with a gasp, tears streaming down your face as you tremble violently. Bucky was gently wiping away your tears with his flesh hand, the metal one was gripping your right hand hard.

“Hey, hey,” Bucky soothed. “You're okay, you're okay. I'm right here.”

You let out a sob as he carefully pulled you against him in a hug, minding your fractured ribs.

“Shh, Doll,” Bucky rubbed your back gently as he whispered in your ear. “You're safe. I'll keep you safe.”

Once your tears began to slow Bucky pulled away from you, albeit reluctantly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You hesitated a moment before nodding. “I was dreaming about the accident.” You said quietly.

He knew of the one you were talking about. Bucky had learned about how to had lost your family early on in your relationship. He had been walking aimlessly around the Tower after another one of his nightly bouts with his nightmarish memories. He was on his way back to his room from the roof where he had gone to clear his head with some fresh air (or as fresh as New York could offer) when he heard your whimpering from in your room. He hesitated for a moment before slipping into your room with the silence that only an ex-assassin could possess.

In the dim light that streamed through your curtains from the city that never sleeps, Bucky could see the shine of tears on your cheeks. He carefully approached your side and placed a hesitant hand on your head. Bucky slowly brushed your hair back, continuing the relaxing movement while whispering calming words to you. Your cries died down to soft mewls and then ceased altogether as you fell back into a deep sleep.

Bucky stayed by your side all night, calming you when you began to have nightmares again. It felt nice to him, a comforting change, him helping you instead of the other way around like it usually was.

In the morning you had woken up to Bucky sleeping on your floor and had nearly stepped on his head when you got out of bed. You had carefully placed a blanket on him, not wanting to wake him for he looked so at peace, which was rare for him.

You went to the kitchen and we're eating a bowl of cereal when Bucky had stumbled in. You smiled at him, a silent thank you for last night and he returned your smile with a small, but kind, grin of his own.

“That's over now, (Y/N).” Bucky purred, bringing you out of your memory. “Are you okay?”

You nodded before asking, “So, what exactly happened?”

“You were in a car accident. I don't know all the details except you were t-boned by a distracted driver.”

“How long have I been out?”

“About two days. The doctors had you in a medically induced coma for twenty-four hours.” Bucky said.

You tried to sit up and get into a more comfortable position, but when you did pain shot through your chest and you let out a hiss of pain. Bucky’s hand shot out to steady you.

“Careful,” He warned. “You have a few fractured ribs and a concussion.”

“Yeah,” you puffed out. “I guessed that much.”

You took in a labored breath that caught in your throat as something behind Bucky caught your attention.

“Are those (Y/F/C)?” you asked hopefully.

“Oh,” Bucky turned around and picked the candy package up. “You mean these?”

You nodded quickly.

“I got these for me. Ya know, ‘cause I've been sittin’ by your side all day, and I do think I'm famished.”

With all mischievous gleam in his eye, Bucky slowly tore the packaging open, making eye contact with you the entire time.

You glared at him. “James Buchanan Barnes don't you dare.”

“Dare to do what?” he all said innocently, before popping a piece of the candy into his mouth, chewed slowly, and deliberately swallowed. “Mmmm, delicious.”

You let out a strangled gasp and lunged at him the best you could with your injuries. Bucky pulled back just out of your limited reach. You sat back and crossed your arms over your chest, a pout formed on your face. Bucky had a shit-eating-grin on his face as he watched you sulk.

“Come on, Buck,” you whined, “Please!”

“Alright,” Bucky agreed. “But, you have let me feed it to you seeing that you're hurt and all.”

You opened your mouth to argue but Bucky waved the candy around, so you sighed in acceptance. You were expecting Bucky to hand feed you the candy, what you weren't expecting was for him to place a piece in his mouth and lean his face towards yours. Your eyes widened in surprise at his sudden closeness and the gesture. However, you quickly recovered your wits. Two could play at that game. With a devilish smirk and an evil glint in your eye, you promptly leaned forward and took the candy out of Bucky’s mouth. His eyes widened to twice their normal size.

You hummed in delight as you happily chewed your treat. “You're right Buck, these are delicious.”

“Y-Yeah, they are.” Bucky pulled away from you flustered, avoiding your eyes.

You grinned at Bucky’s blush and leaned towards him. “Buck.”

“Hmm?” Bucky was still avoiding your eyes.

“Bucky.” you said with more force, causing him to finally look at you again.

Bucky’s blush darkened at your proximity, but he leaned closer to you too.

“I like you, Buck.” you managed to whisper out.

“I like you too, (Y/N),” Bucky said, leaning closer.

You met him halfway and your lips brushed against each other's for half a second before you were interrupted by the hospital room door bursting open, causing you both to jerk away from each other.

Sharon ran to your side and gripped your hand tightly. “(Y/N), are you okay?”

“Yes, I'm fine.”

“Are you sure? Where does it hurt? Have they been treating you well? If they haven't I swear to God I will make them pay. Where's that punk-ass who hit you? I'd like to teach them a lesson!” Sharon rambled on.

“Sharon!” you cut her off. “I'm fine.”

“Are you sure?” she looked you in the eyes.

“Yes. I'm sure.”

Sharon stepped away from your side to allow the other Avengers to see you. You learned that they finished their mission double-time when they had heard about your accident from Bucky. They told you about the mission until a nurse ushered them all out of your room so she could check up on you and so you could get some rest.

Bucky unwillingly go of your hand (that he had been holding onto the entire time the Avengers had been giving you the rundown) and left you to rest, glancing over his shoulder reluctantly. Sharon was the last to leave and she gave you a knowing look and made a vulgar hand gesture. You flipped her off before she closed the door.

The nurse spoke up, “Those are some good friends you got there.”

“I know.” you said with a satisfied grin.

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unplacedpodcast · 7 years

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Chapter One: Occult (Script)

Apologies for the delay in getting the scripts up! This is my first time writing a script & it probably shows, so I wanted to do more editing of them to fit Real Formatting Standards, but then I kept not having enough time to do that (because NaNoWriMo prep, freelance writer, second podcast in the works, etc.) so I decided not to make the perfect the enemy of the accessible and just put the scripts up as they are.

Anyways, the script for episode one is behind the cut, obviously spoilers!

NARRATOR: I don't know if I'm dead, or losing it, or what the hell, but I am definitely not okay with it.

(Narrator draws a deep breath)

I guess I should start at the beginning.

I woke up this morning, and it was like every other day. Hit snooze a few times, wolfed down some oatmeal, rushed out the door. Gave a shy little head-nod to that cute neighbor on the way out - the usual. Of course, she couldn't be more oblivious to my existence, but I probably have bigger things to worry about right now, anyways.

I got on the subway, made it just in time. It was packed - the usual morning rush. And I swear, I have never had my toes stepped on more in my life. That probably should have been my first clue that something was up. Everyone hates public transportation and nobody wants to talk during our shared misery, so it’s not like awkward silence is a new thing. But when you get stepped on six times in five minutes and no one - not just the stepper, but no one - around you acknowledges your "excuse me"s or your "ow"s or your general existence, something is a little off. Of course, I didn't think anything of it at the time, just that there were more assholes per capita than usual today.

I suffered through the obnoxious subway ride and heaved a sigh of relief when I was finally out of that tin-can and back on the street. By this point, I was running a little late, which meant I was speedwalking down the sidewalk like an overcaffeinated soccer mom. Caught the door closing behind someone else into my office building, got past the badge-checker, dealt with more awkward silence and lack of personal space during the endless elevator ride, and finally, I was there - only three minutes late.

(Narrator’s voice starts to shake)

But something wasn't right. By this point, the frazzled shit-I'm-gonna-be-late feeling was wearing off, which meant I was a little bit more aware of my surroundings. And even in my relatively small office, nobody was making eye contact or saying hi or...anything. Granted, I’m not about to win any popularity awards there, but you know, people say hi!

My first thought was that word of layoffs had come down from the head honchos - but everyone else was talking to each other. There wasn't an eerie silence over the entire office or anything - people were just ignoring me. My next thought was that my recent work had been found wanting, then that news had made it around, and this was the standard passive-aggressive office politics results.

Either way, whatever. As far as I could tell, there was nothing I can do about it now except for get my nose back to the godforsaken grindstone. I went to my desk and that douchebag from marketing is standing directly in front of it. Josh? James? Something like that. Very aware that I might be skating on thin ice right, I tried to be polite to him, even though he's one of those guys that thinks he's always entitled to everyone's time and energy.

"Excuse me," I said. And he keeps talking. "Uh, I need to get to my desk, so if you could just..."

And this motherfucker just kept talking! He was acting like he hadn't heard a word I said, rambling on about the KPI reports or whatever to Carol, like he thought it would get him laid. Even though everyone in the office could tell him the chances of that are so far gone that “lost cause” doesn't even begin to describe it.

By this point, I was fed up with everything and trying my best not to completely lose it. I opened my mouth to say something more strongly worded than "excuse me,” while he’s still prattling on without pause. Then, he said, "Your buddy isn't here yet, huh?" and gestured to my chair.

Carol, completely uninterested in this entire ordeal, glances at my desk for a split second before she replied, "Nope. Guess she's out sick or something,” and continued typing away.

At this point, I finally lost it and shouted, "YOU IDIOTS, I AM STANDING RIGHT HERE." My voice echoed off the crappy ceiling tiles and around the cubicles...but nobody did a damn thing. I sighed, pinched my nose, and said, slightly calmer this time, "Okay. If this is an April Fool's joke, it's the best one ever, but it's also actually way late, and I have work to do, so can we give up the ghost on this stupid prank?"

(Narrator sighs, sniffles)

And nobody does anything. This is the point when it starts to sink in that something is actually wrong. Nobody has that good of a poker face, especially not Carol - the woman can't tell a knock-knock joke without giggling at her own punchline. I reached out and grabbed her shoulder and gave it a shake, and she does nothing. She moved - I could grab her and move her, this wasn't a Moaning Myrtle situation where I passed through her - but it was like she had no realization that her body was moving. She kept typing away, not missing a beat. The douchebag from marketing was still rambling on.

(Narrator's voice starts to crack, she's holding back tears)

I backed away from them, trying not to trip over my own feet in my panic, and ran towards the office door. I stopped at the front desk to wave my hands in front of our receptionist and shout in his face. It didn’t make a difference - the phone conversation he was engrossed in continued without interruption or acknowledgement.

I barely made it out of the building before I went into full-fledged panic attack mode right there on the sidewalk. We're talking hyperventilating, sobbing, talking to myself, on my hands and knees, on the cold sidewalk. The whole time, strangers parted around me like a rock in a river. Nobody walked on me, everyone gave me a solid foot of space, but nobody saw or heard or acknowledged me either. After a while, I cried myself out and the black tunnel-vision started to fade, as my breathing evened out.

(Narrator takes a moment, shaky breath, sniffle)

And I just...somehow made my way back here. The trip home was kind of a blur, I'm not entirely sure how I did it. You know that space after you have an epic meltdown, where you're kind of numb and feel like you're watching everything happening from a spot just above your shoulders? The same thing happened when my grandpa died. It was completely unexpected. I answered the phone with no idea what I was about to hear, and my mom asked me if I was okay three times before she let me hang up, because I wasn't crying. I just went blank.

Of course, once I hung up the phone, I sobbed for the next hour. But after that, the rest of the day, I was in that weird space in-between the panic attack and daily life, where you have a buffer that you didn't want or ask for, and you might as well be walking around encased in styrofoam for all you can see or hear or feel or think.

Anyways. I guess that's not really relevant. The point being, I made it back home okay. And I still don't know what's going on. I don't even know where to start. I'm still here. I can still touch and smell and move things. It's just that nobody else can see that, and I don't know why.

What do you Google for this, "why am I invisible?" (Okay, you got me. I did try that. It's all metaphorical essays about social anxiety and bad poetry and fedora-wearing dudes whining about not getting laid. No dude, I mean I am actually invisible. Not just to the girl I wish would notice me, to everyone.) There's no WebMD symptom entry for "I'm not incorporeal, but I might as well be as far as everyone else is concerned.”

I tried calling my mom. That was before the fruitless googling. The phone went to voicemail right away. When I left a barely-not-sobbing message, the machine kept telling me there was an error. That robotic voice with the same inflection every time, repeating over and over again,

(mimics phone message voice) "I'm sorry, your message could not be delivered. Please hang up or press pound to try again." I got through three tries before I threw my phone at the couch and collapsed on top of it.

(Narrator sighs, calmer this time, completely wore out both by this experience and by retelling it)

What do you do after that? The internet has no answers and neither does my mom, apparently. That's a situation I'm completely unprepared for.

And - I don’t know. My first thought - well, fourth or sixth or tenth thought, after everything else - was that somebody needs to hear this story. I have to document this somehow. If I stay semi-scientific about it, maybe that will keep the panic at bay. Like that old anxiety drill - name the five things you can see and four things you can hear and three things you can smell, and so on. Keep myself grounded, so I have a better chance of survival, yeah?

And I'm not a writer, not by a long shot, so I picked up my phone (which was fine despite the temper tantrum, thankfully) and started recording and here we are. I have no idea what I'm going to do with this recording when it's done. Based on my experiences so far, I'm not even sure anyone else will be able to hear it. But the recording still seems to be going and there's that little heartbeat-style line going up and down and up and down, so at least my phone can hear me.

(Narrator laughs, kind of hysterical)

If only Siri could give me some answers. "Hey Siri, tell me why I'm literally fucking invisible, can you do that for me?"

(Siri ding in background, narrator laughs again, slightly more genuine this time, still giggling when she starts speaking again)

Oh my god, not really, Siri. Stop.

(Siri "off" ding)

Anyways. That leaves us. It's just you and me, potentially nonexistent listeners. I'll try and record another update soon to...let you know I'm still alive and holding it together, to whatever extent both of those things are true. Stay tuned, I guess.

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