#and women will just know i am not cooler them and am pathetic and will do anything they ask bc i am a l0s3r

[boxwinebaddie]

*jersey vc* MenTA ayLNESS, bABeY! <3 🤪 xx

[tumbleweed-palmer]

Unexpected: Jimmy Palmer X OC Chapter Four. Epilogue.

Previous Chapter HERE

I won't lie I am considering writing another series with Jimmy and this OC, maybe covering more of their story.

Jimmy couldn’t help but to feel completely inadequate and unprepared as he stared down at the multitude of screws and parts set out on the floor in front of him. He’d been at this for an hour now and he was no closer to assembling this stupid thing than he’d been before he started. This was ridiculous. The only progress he’d made thus far was pulling all the parts and screws out of the box.

He didn’t understand how he could reassemble an entire skeleton without getting a bone out of place no matter how tiny or shattered the bone was, but he somehow couldn’t manage to put together a crib even with instructions.

Why’d they have to pick this particular crib to put on their baby shower registry? Oh yeah, because it matched the rest of the furniture they’d chosen and Jimmy had liked the reviews he’d seen for this crib. It seemed like the safest option from what he’d seen. No one had mentioned what a pain it was to assemble though.

This entire situation was pathetic and it made him feel pathetic. How was he expected to manage a newborn when he couldn’t even assemble a crib? If he couldn’t assemble a crib then what happened when his kid wanted him to assemble a dollhouse or a bicycle? What if his kid wanted him to assemble a swing set one day and he continued to be so inadequate? What if his failure to put this crib together set a precedent of failure when it came to fatherly duties?

He took a deep breath pulling his brain back from the thoughts. He knew this was just anxiety talking. He was fine; this was all fine. This was just a bad case of expectant father jitters.

He took another deep breath as he picked up two pieces that seemed like they should go together. He stared down at the graph he was given with the complicated instructions that had come in the box with all these parts.

He let out a groan as it hit him that these pieces couldn’t possibly go together, the screw failing to fit through any possible openings.

He dropped the pieces to the floor in front of him, another pained groan escaping him.

Her soft voice pulled him from his misery for a moment. “Jimmy, sweetheart. Give it a break. You don’t have to finish it right this second.”

“I’m fine, I’ve got this.” Jimmy insisted, proving just how stubborn he could really be when he wanted to.

Olivia managed to speak, not letting his insistence that he was fine deter her. “Just stop for a moment and give your brain a rest. You can pick it back up after dinner. We’ll have plenty of help to get this all put together by then.”

He let out a soft sigh remembering the dinner plans they’d made tonight. It had been Abby’s suggestion that they all meet up at Jimmy and Olivia’s new home for a bite to eat and provide some assistance in assembling the nursery for Baby Palmer. It was a sweet gesture and she’d managed to rope almost everyone into the plan.

Jimmy was touched by the kind gesture but he couldn’t help but to feel like Tony would have plenty to say about his inability to assemble this crib. He imagined “Uncle Tony” as Tony insisted on calling himself as often as possible would be pretty judgemental of his sister’s boyfriend’s inability to do one simple task.

Though Tony had been trying his best to adjust his attitude and accept Jimmy and Olivia’s relationship, Jimmy couldn’t help but to feel that Tony simply barely tolerated his presence in Olivia’s life. He couldn’t help but to feel that Tony was always watching him, always waiting for him to screw everything up. Jimmy felt the pressure to overperform and somehow win Tony’s approval not just as a friend and coworker, but as a brother-in-law.

Olivia spoke again, knowing exactly what to say to pull Jimmy from his task and whatever worry was building up in his brain. “Come on, just a little break. Come cuddle me. I’m your pregnant girlfriend and you aren’t allowed to tell me no.”

Jimmy felt the smile cross his lips, unable to ignore her requests.

He stood up turning to face her, his smile only growing.

People said that pregnant women glowed and Jimmy had to agree with this assessment every single time he looked at Olivia Dinozzo. He especially had to agree at a moment like this as she sat back in the rocking chair Dr. Mallard had gifted them for the nursery.

The rocking chair had been in the Mallard family for generations and Dr. Mallard had insisted that Jimmy and Olivia take it as they would find much more use out of it than he did. Jimmy would be lying if he tried to claim he didn’t get a little weepy when Dr. Mallard had presented them with the rocking chair the month before at Olivia’s baby shower.

Olivia was now in her third trimester, due any day now, and her belly reflected that. It was almost a comical sight as petite as she was with such a massive pregnant belly.

Jimmy could admit he did feel a bit guilty when she complained about how incredibly uncomfortable she’d been throughout this last trimester. Her current state was half his fault after all. Her belly seemed to get in the way of most things she wanted to do like sleeping on her stomach for example. Her center of balance was totally thrown off and her feet and back ached.

She’d taken to wearing sundresses and being barefoot as often as possible despite the cooler weather as summer faded and fall set in. The loose dresses felt far more comfortable than anything else she could be wearing, she'd insisted. She had bought several loose maternity sundresses relying on them for a comfortable wardrobe. She’d learned that when she had to go outdoors or leave the house she traded being barefoot for a pair of ugg boots and shoved on a cotton hoodie over her sundresses in an attempt to keep warm. She pointed out that no one could tell her she looked ridiculous given her pregnancy. At night she had taken to sleeping in just a maternity nightgown without undergarments because she felt that everything was far too constricting at the moment.

Today she’d chosen to wear a deep green cotton maxi dress and Jimmy thought that she looked amazing.Then again he’d been pretty insistent that she looked amazing throughout her entire pregnancy even when she was dealing with the world’s worst morning sickness in her first trimester.

Her long hair was piled up on top of her head and she wasn’t wearing a drop of makeup at the moment. She’d stated that one positive of pregnancy was all the hormones gave her great looking hair though she’d pointed out she’d gained a bit of curl to her hair. She was dreading the horror stories she’d heard about how her hair would most likely begin to fall out after she gave birth. Needless to say she might invest in a little haircut after giving birth.

Jimmy eagerly made his way over to her, not hesitating to drop down to his knees in front of her, scooting close to her. His lips pressed to her stomach, his voice soft and sweet. “How are my favorite people doing?”

“Good, your Jellybean isn't kicking me in the bladder for once.” Olivia pointed out, causing Jimmy to chuckle. His heart swooned at the goofy nickname for their baby. It was a result of Jimmy’s dumbfounded statement at their first sonogram appointment. The words had left him as they’d stared at the image on the screen in front of them he feeling so overwhelmed and as though he was brimming with love and awe “It kind of looks like a Jellybean.” The nickname Jellybean had sort of stuck after that.

He spoke the words leaving him without hesitation. “That’s probably because she’s turned so that she can move headfirst through the birth canal, or at least that’s what the last sonogram showed. So I imagine she can’t reach to kick your bladder anymore.”

Olivia scrunched her nose at this comment fast to reply. “Can we please not refer to it as my birth canal.”

Jimmy gave her an apologetic smile resting his head against her belly, his arms encircling her waist. Olivia placed a hand on the back of his head her stroking his hair, her fingers delicately massaging his scalp knowing that this was what he needed the most right now.

As her due date drew closer and closer Jimmy’s anxiety rose more and more. The poor guy was a nervous wreck. His constant fretting over her was kind of sweet and she knew he did it because he loved her. She worried though that he might have a nervous breakdown before her water even had a chance to break.

She knew that the stress of the past nine months had only increased Jimmy’s anxiety. He’d been working harder than ever trying to make sure Dr. Mallard would be able to function without Jimmy’s assistance after Jimmy took a few weeks off for the due date. Jimmy’s mother had been making several trips out to visit and attempt to help prepare for the baby. As much as Olivia loved and got along with Jimmy’s mother, Eunice Palmer could be a bit overenthusiastic about trying to help out. Then last month they’d had the chaos of a baby shower courtesy of Abby Scuito. It had gone well and they’d enjoyed time with loved ones but it had been exhausting in the best way possible. They had a feeling that thanks to all the gifts, Baby Palmer wouldn’t lack a thing.

Adding to their stress they both had been stretching themselves thin trying to settle into their new home and get everything unpacked before her due date. The process of buying the house had been stressful enough on its own but scrambling to move into it had been a stressful process as well especially considering Olivia couldn’t be much help with the physical aspect of moving given her pregnancy and Jimmy’s overprotective tendencies anytime she dared to even think about lifting a moving box.

Their new home was simple, located in a quiet Virginian suburb. It was in a decent neighborhood, though it was a little older. In fact, Olivia was pretty sure Jimmy and she were probably the youngest couple in the neighborhood judging by the neighbors they’d met thus far who all seemed to be old enough to be their grandparents. The commute to both of their jobs wouldn’t be too awful at least. The house was actually closer to NCIS headquarters than either of their apartments had been, so Jimmy’s commute wouldn’t be a nightmare. The little three bedroom house was two storeys and built with faded white siding. The master bath had a soaking tub which had definitely been something Olivia was looking for in a home given her and Jimmy’s love of a good bath together. Jimmy had liked the yard, insisting their kid would need a nice backyard to play in at some point. They’d easily fallen in love with the house and had been thankful that they’d been able to buy it. Olivia knew that her inheritance had at least worked in their favor when it came to the financial aspect of being able to afford the home. It was clear that they’d have no problem paying for the mortgage.

Olivia’s father of course had plenty to say about the house; very little of it had been positive. He’d been quick to hint that there was nothing glamorous about the house. It was a far cry from the large estate Olivia had been raised in. Their new house’s walls had needed a fresh coat of paint and the downstairs bathroom was a little outdated. The backyard wasn’t pretty but a good mowing had at least solved that issue. She was sure her father would prefer that they get an expensive luxury apartment or buy a much grander home. Olivia could afford it after all. He had made it obvious that he didn’t quite understand why she would she ever want to live in a house like this. Never mind the fact that there was nothing wrong with the house at all.

Olivia didn’t care what Dinozzo Senior had to say about Jimmy’s and her choices though. This was their home and they loved it. She was looking forward to raising a family with Jimmy Palmer in this house. She had no doubts that they’d have a beautiful life raising their family in this home.

She finally spoke after a long moment of silence. “You know you don’t have to be in such a big rush to get that crib assembled. She’ll be sleeping in that cradle in our bedroom for a little while at least. So, it’s not like the crib has to be ready right this instant.”

Jimmy let out a heavy sigh as the words left him, his cheek remaining rested against her belly. “I know, I just know we’ll be sleep-deprived once she’s here though. I just don’t want it to get shoved to the backburner and for us to be too exhausted to actually get everything together. I don’t want us to feel rushed when she’s ready to leave the bassinet in our room and move to the nursery.”

He spoke again not afraid to admit the core cause of his hastiness to get the nursery set up. “I just want everything to be perfect for her when we bring her home. She deserves to have everything be as close to perfect as possible.”

Olivia spoke knowing the right thing to say in response. “We’re going to be bringing our daughter home. That’s perfect enough all on it’s own.”

He couldn’t stop the dopey smile from crossing his lips or the feeling of adoration from blooming in his heart at her statement. A daughter; he was having a daughter.

He knew he would have been overjoyed no matter what they had. There was something that seemed so wonderful about having a daughter though. He couldn’t help but to think it would be a tiny version of Olivia. The idea sounded perfect to him.

Olivia spoke again making him smile all the more. “You know if you work yourself up this much each time you assemble a crib we might be in trouble since I’m going to need to count on you to do this a few more times in the future.”

He felt the words leave him unable to stop himself. “I thought you told me you’d murder me if I ever got you pregnant ever again.”

She snorted at this fast to respond. “You should know by now that my threats mean nothing. I’m too spineless for murder. I’d miss you too much if I killed you, besides I doubt I’d get away with it. I was only saying that during the first trimester when I puked 24/7. It’s hard not to want more kids with you when I saw how adorable you were opening that package of baby stuff your mom brought us.”

He felt the smile cross his lips again knowing just what package she was talking about. His mother had brought the box with her during a visit a few months ago. The box contained a few Palmer family heirlooms that had been saved especially for this moment, including a soft yellow quilt that had rested in Jimmy’s nursery when he was a baby and a few books he’d loved as a child. There had also been something new, a little lilac dress that his grandmother had sewn especially for Baby Palmer. The one thing that had made him really weepy though had been a bit silly. It was a stuffed animal that had been his when he was a child. His mother had carefully cleaned it making sure it was suitable for her granddaughter. It was a worn and well loved blue stuffed bunny.

He could remember the bunny well. He’d been overly attached to it as a child. His childhood had at times been turbulent, at least when it came to his father’s violence and tendency to take that violence out on Jimmy’s mother. Though Jimmy’s mother had always tried to protect Jimmy and his sister from their father, Jimmy still had witnessed more than enough. Jimmy had found himself often clinging to that bunny in those moments, the toy making him feel safe. Even after his father had died when he was ten and he’d decided he was far too old for a stuffed animal the bunny had still meant something to him. It had provided him comfort and security.

One look at the bunny and all Jimmy had been able to picture had been his daughter cuddling the bunny. He knew it would mean the world to him being able to pass on such a beloved childhood stuffed animal to his child. He knew that his little girl wouldn’t have to cling to the bunny as a response to fear and heartache. He’d do whatever it took to make sure his daughter had a childhood that was unlike the first ten years of his life. He knew she’d see the stuffed animal not as a security blanket to cope with trauma but as a toy that brought her joy. He would be able to share something he’d loved so dearly with her.

The bunny had actually served as the inspiration behind the choice on what theme they wanted to go with for the nursery. It had been Jimmy’s idea and Olivia had readily agreed when he’d brought up the idea of bunnies and other forest themed things as a decorating theme for the nursery.

Olivia spoke, continuing to stroke his hair. “How could I resist the idea of doing this with you a couple of more times when I saw you get so soft and adorable over everything in that box.”

Jimmy replied, not helping but to ask. “So you’d go through it all more than once?”

He had to ask. The pregnancy had been a bit rough at least in that very first trimester. Her morning sickness had felt more like all day sickness and she’d been so exhausted.

The worst had come one time when Jimmy had come home from work not having a chance to shower yet. Olivia had caught a whiff of the scent of decay that occasionally came along with Autopsy when Jimmy had pressed a kiss to her cheek and she’d barely made it to the kitchen sink where she’d emptied the contents of her stomach. Jimmy had of course felt horrible and he’d only felt worse as she’d begun to cry exclaiming that she was a “jerk” and she wasn’t puking because he kissed her, she swore. Needless to say, it had taken a lot of reassurance on Jimmy’s end to convince her that he understood. He’d started to use the hazmat shower at work before coming home after that incident. Dr. Mallard had thankfully been understanding when Jimmy brought up his reasoning for doing so.

Of course there were also the mood swings that had hit so hard throughout the pregnancy. Olivia cried at the drop of a hat over anything and everything. Jimmy felt lost as he made attempts to soothe her, occasionally making things worse due to her racing hormones and his occasional habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Thankfully though Olivia was always quick to forgive, of course that was after she sobbed and apologized, exclaiming that she couldn’t even remember why she was upset. Jimmy had quickly learned that it took a lot of reassurance from him in these moments. He’d worked hard to provide her with reassurance and understanding, knowing it was all he could do for her.

He was just trying his best to support her through it all.

To be honest Olivia’s pregnancy had been a bit of a rollercoaster. The most surprising symptom she’d dealt with was an overactive libido. It had seemed that every little thing Jimmy did had made Olivia want him so badly she couldn’t stand it. He could be doing something as innocent as shaving in the morning and she would find herself overwhelmed with how much she wanted him. Jimmy had been happy to comply, of course that had only been after he’d had the reassurance from her OBGYN that sex was a perfectly safe activity. He’d been told that as long as she was comfortable and she wasn’t experiencing any pain and avoiding putting pressure on her stomach then they were fine. They’d had to get a little creative with their positions given her belly, but they’d figured out something that worked for them both.

Jimmy hadn’t minded the occasional clinginess that had also come along with her pregnancy. When she didn’t want sex, she wanted to be as close as possible to him. She just wanted to be held. He’d never complain when she wanted to cuddle with him even if it meant her embracing him and clinging to him the second he walked through the front door.

Olivia spoke fast to reassure him. “I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. Even the vomiting. It hasn’t all been bad. I’ve liked some of it.”

Jimmy smiled knowing what her favorite moments had been. They had been his favorite moments too. They had been when they would lie in bed at night. He would rest his head against her belly talking to their baby, his voice low and sweet as he told their daughter about his day, well a heavily edited version of his day given he didn’t actually want to share the darker aspects of his job with her. She loved talking about baby names together and planning all the things they wanted for their daughter.

As difficult as her pregnancy had been it was all filled with plenty of joy.

He couldn’t stop himself from pulling his head from her belly, his lips pressing to hers the kisses soft as he spoke. “How many kids are you thinking? I need to know what I’m in for.”

She returned his kisses, the answer coming to her so easily. “As many as you’ll give me.”

He managed to speak the response spilling from him as he reluctantly pulled his lips from hers. “We might have to get a bigger house if that’s the case, or at least build on. We’re going to run out of bedrooms.”

She spoke a giggle leaving her as she pressed her lips back to his. “I love you.”

“And I love you.” He replied without hesitation only pulling from her lips briefly.

They shared more kisses, easily growing lost in the moment.

They only parted as a familiar exasperated voice sounded out at the doorframe. “Seriously guys? Come on.”

Jimmy felt his cheeks flush as he spotted Tony leaning against the doorframe rolling his eyes at the scene he’d walked in on.

He spoke again shaking his head. “You two are gross. I keep telling you that I don’t need a demonstration of how Baby Gremlin was made.”

Olivia rolled her eyes at this comment fast to reply. “For the last time can you not call your niece Baby Gremlin.”

“I say it with all the love in the world.” Tony insisted.

He spoke again before Olivia had a chance to comment on his choice in a nickname. “Anyway, come on, dinner is here and everyone should be here soon. I would have been here sooner but the pizza place was running slow.”

Jimmy was fast to stand up grabbing ahold of Olivia’s hand gently working to help her stand up from the rocking chair knowing her center of gravity was thrown off thanks to her belly.

He spoke once he was sure she was stood up and steady. “You good?”

“I’m fine. You know I used to walk on cobblestone pathways in 5 inch stilettos back when I still went clubbing.” Olivia pointed out Jimmy letting out a chuckle, his lips pressing to her cheek.

“Sorry, I worry.” He insisted.

He spoke again nodding to Tony as Olivia moved to leave the nursery. “I’ll be down in a minute. Tony can I talk to you real quick?”

Jimmy gave Olivia a reassuring nod trying his best to convince her that things were fine between Tony and he and he wasn’t about to get himself murdered. “We’ll be quick.”

Olivia rose an eyebrow nodding her head as she headed out the room. “Okay, please don’t kill each other.”

Tony spoke once he was sure Olivia was out of sight. “So what’s going on Mini-Mallard?”

Jimmy took a deep breath his stomach in knots as he tried to gather his courage to do this. “I-I I’m not sure how to even start.”

He took another deep breath knowing that he just had to let it all out. “I know that I’m not the guy you’d choose for your sister.”

“Jimmy I-” Tony started to say Jimmy fast to speak again, not giving him a chance to continue.

“I know that you’d never pick me for her. I can promise you though that I love her more than anything on this planet. I know you’re important to her. Which is why I need to talk to you about this.”

He took another deep breath as he spoke again. “I know traditionally I would talk to her father about this...but uh Dinozzo Senior doesn’t seem too enthusiastic about me. Oli says that I should take his lack of enthusiasm as a compliment.”

He paused again, trying his best to gather his nerve and keep eye contact with Tony. It was best not to let him know he was intimidated. “I love her, Tony. I love her so much it takes my breath away sometimes. I know how much she means to you which is why I feel like I should come to you and ask this. I want to start by saying that I swear to you that I will spend the rest of my life doing whatever it takes to make sure that our baby and her are always cared for and cherished. Even though I know I’m not the man you would choose for Olivia I’m hoping that I can have your blessing in my plans to ask Olivia to marry me.”

He was almost sure his heart was beating so quickly he could hear it. He spoke again stumbling over his words fearing that Tony’s silence meant the worst. “I-I know it’s not...uh Olivia’s not a traditional woman she prob-probably wouldn’t appreciate me asking like she has nothing to do with her decision bu-”

“Jimmy, stop.” Tony spoke not letting him continue.

Tony took Jimmy by surprise giving him a hug giving his back a firm pat. The hug didn’t last long Tony releasing him as he spoke. “Yes you can have my blessing.”

He cleared his throat as he spoke. “For the record Palmer you might not be the guy I would have picked, but it could have been a lot worse. It could have been Probie. If I had to pick a future brother-in-law, I’m glad it’s you Autopsy Gremlin.”

Jimmy felt the smile cross his lips at the words. It wasn’t exactly a glowing acceptance of him in Olivia’s life, but he was pretty sure this was Tony’s way of welcoming him to the family.

……………………………………………………………………………………………..

Jimmy couldn’t wipe the smile of his face as he sat at his dining room table surrounded by the people he loved the most and far too much food.

The conversation at the table was as lively as it usually was when they all got together.

He couldn’t stop himself from taking Olivia’s hand in his he gently squeezing it. He was unable to stop himself from leaning over his lips pressing to her cheek.

Of course this caught the attention of Tony who was fast to speak. “Seriously Palmer, at the dinner table?”

Ziva gave his arm a slap fast to speak. ‘Oh, stop, it is very sweet.”

“Yeah they’re expectant parents, let them be adorable.” Abby insisted as she took far too many sips of soda for the overly large cup she’d brought with her.

Ducky spoke latching on to the subject. “Speaking of, have you picked a name for Baby Palmer yet?”

Jimmy spoke so fast to speak unable to hide the enthusiasm from his voice. “Yes we have. It’s actually kind of a funny story.”

He paused clearing his throat glancing at Olivia double checking that he was okay to continue. He spoke again as she gave him a gentle nod of approval as he allowed the story to leave him. “It all ties back to our first kiss. I uh...we went to get ice cream and it started raining. We were blocks away from our car so we had to hide under this awning for this building that was for lease. I just looked down at her, and one thing led to another. I did what I'm been dying to do for months. I thought I’d totally ruined everything.”

He paused his cheeks flushing as Olivia spoke continuing the story. “I had to reassure him that I had been flirting with him for a while now so it was about time he kissed me.”

Jimmy spoke clearly able to see that everyone was a bit lost as to what any of this had to do with how they’d picked their unborn child’s name. “We didn’t look back after that. Anyway a few months ago we just happened to drive by that awning and it’s now a candle and gift shop. It’s called Autumn Wind Gifts and Candles...so we decided that it was a sign.”

Olivia spoke unable to keep the smile off her lips. “We’re naming her Autumn. Autumn Mallory Palmer.”

“Mallory?” Ducky questioned Jimmy and Olivia sharing a smile Jimmy fast to speak.

“We hope you don’t mind. It’s just that uh...well in my time working as your assistant I have grown to see you as more than a mentor and a friend but as the closest thing to a father I’ve ever known. Olivia and I have been talking and can’t think of anyone who we’d rather have our daughter named for.”

Dr. Mallard couldn’t hide the tears from his eyes as he spoke. “I’d be honored Mr. Palmer.”

Tony was fast to speak raising his glass. “Even though I’m bummed that Toni didn’t make the cut, I’d like to propose a toast to my niece. To Autumn Mallory Palmer.”

Everyone obliged to the toast the conversation picking back up.

Olivia spoke a sigh leaving her as the conversation died down. “Okay, I vote we get these plates cleared and get started on that nursery.”

Jimmy was fast to stand helping her get up from her seat as he spoke trying not to look too sheepish. “I’m warning you the instruction to that crib are a nightmare.”

Abby, Ziva, and McGee moved fast to help Olivia clear the table.

Jimmy felt his heart overflow with adoration as he moved to assist. He didn’t think this day could get any better.

He was about to eat his words though as he heard a frantic call from the kitchen. “Jimmy!”

He dropped the paper plate he’d been holding rushing to the kitchen his heart slamming in his chest his mind going a mile a second.

He stared wide eyed at his girlfriend and his frantic coworkers. Olivia stared up at him her hand clutching her belly her words frantic. “I’m having contractions. I think it’s time.”

Jimmy felt the words leave him he frantic. “It’s go time, baby time, our baby. It’s time, I gotta get our suitcases!’

It was go time. It was time for Autumn Mallory Palmer to join her family.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………….

To say labor and delivery was intense would be an understatement. Jimmy was almost amazed Olivia hadn’t broken his hand with how hard she was squeezing it.

It had been a long process, a long exhausting process. It had gone slow at first and then when it was time to push it had seemed to go by so fast. Early labor had seemed to move so slowly. They’d spent the time resting, walking the halls of the labor and delivery wing of the hospital. Then once her water had broken things had still been slow but they’d been so intense. The actual delivery had moved so quickly though. It was almost unbelievable. There had been so much pain and chaos and then an overwhelming feeling of love and peace the second their daughter had entered the world.

Jimmy would be lying if he ever tried to claim he hadn’t cried tears of joy at the sound of her cries and at the sight of her. His hands had shaken as he’d cut the umbilical cord. It was as though every single bit of medical knowledge he’d had had left his brain as he’d cut that cord, it seeming so frightening and so overwhelming. Part of him was convinced he’d somehow hurt her.

She was beautiful, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Even covered in afterbirth and screaming her lungs out she was the most stunning sight Jimmy had ever seen.

When he’d held her in his arms the first time more tears had come. He’d wanted nothing more than to hold her against him and protect her. He’d held her against him the words leaving him as he spoke to her. “I love you. I love you so much Autumn.”

The words had left him as he stared down at Olivia their newborn daughter in her arms. “Thank you, thank you so much. She’s so perfect. You’re so perfect. You were amazing. I love you both so much.”

The tears had come for Olivia too she unable to describe the feeling that had washed over her as her daughter had been placed in her arms. She felt complete. It was the only way she could think to describe it.

As she’d stared down at Autumn and up at Jimmy she knew her life was so complete.

Olivia was getting her rest and Autumn was as well. Jimmy was thankful that the nurses had been kind enough to bring her to the room for a little while at least. Jimmy wasn’t looking forward to her going back to the hospital nursery but he knew the nurses would insist upon it soon so they could get all get some rest without fretting over the baby. Jimmy knew he should be getting his rest as well. He’d need it.

His mind was so full though. It had been such a long day full of emotional highs. He couldn’t take his mind off the velvet box resting in his suitcase at the moment. He was almost surprised he’d thought to grab it when he’d gathered their baby go bags.

He was surprised by the sound of her voice. “Jimmy.”

He stood up so fast he almost tripped over his own feet as he made his way over to her bed. “Are you okay? Are you in pain?”

“I’m good. Don’t get me wrong, I’m hurting. I think I’ll be okay though. Is Autumn okay? Have you gotten any sleep?” She asked staring up at him.

He reached down smoothing back her hair not helping but to say it. “Can’t sleep. She’s asleep. You look beautiful.”

“I went through over eight hours of active labor. I doubt I look great right now.” She remarked Jimmy chuckling at this.

He leaned down pressing his lips to her temple. “And that makes you all the more beautiful.”

He continued to stroke her hair she speaking trying not to fall back to sleep. “You should get some sleep. We’re going to need all the sleep we can get.”

“I will later I promise.” he reassured her.

He leaned down his lips pressing to hers a voice in the back of his head telling him this was the perfect time for this.

He pulled from the kiss the words leaving him. “Give me a second.”

She frowned confused as she watched him go to their suitcases digging through them frantically before he made his way back over to her.

He cleared his throat praying this was the right time for this. “I love you. I love you so much. I once told you that my heart belongs to yours and I think that’s still true. I still remember the day we met. You stepped into that elevator and I knew I belonged to you. I was so disappointed when I found out you were Tony’s sister because I was so convinced you were unreachable. Then fate drew us together and I realized that I would do whatever it takes to be yours as long as you’ll have me. I knew I’d do whatever it took to be worthy of your love. You’re the love of my life and now you’re the mother to my child. I can’t imagine a life without you. You’re the woman of my dreams. I had plans to do this in a more romantic setting, but I think this is a pretty good setting for me to do this in. Olivia Sofia Dinozzo will you marry me?”

Olivia felt the tears leave her, her heart feeling even fuller than she’d thought possible. He didn’t even have a chance to open that velvet box he was holding before she spoke. ‘Yes, yes of course.”

He managed to open the ring box slipping the diamond ring on her finger, their lips meeting. He spoke his voice filled with emotion between kisses. “It took me so long to find a ring. I was terrified of getting something you wouldn't like.”

“I love it. I’d love it even if you proposed with a ring pop.” Olivia insisted his lips meeting hers again.

They only pulled apart as their daughter’s cries sounded out.

Jimmy scrambled to go to the hospital bassinet, he gently picking her up, his voice soft. “Hey, come on now. I’ve got you. I’m here. Dad’s here. Come on let's go see Mommy.”

He made his way over to Olivia placing Autumn in her arms he unable to stop himself from pressing a kiss to her temple as she adjusted holding their daughter against her.

Jimmy stared down at them both, his heart aching with adoration.

As Olivia smiled up at him her heart aching just as much.

When she’d gone to visit her brother at NCIS headquarters she had never imagined that this would be in her future.

Jimmy had certainly never imagined that when the pretty girl had stepped on the elevator that day that she would one day be the mother to his child and his future wife as well.

This wasn’t what either of them had expected but it was everything they could have ever possibly dreamed of.

[bicount-de-lettenhove]

Preferences are a privilege that Geralt doesn't get to have - Part 3: Toussaint just ain't the same without your bard

Not really any trigger warnings in this one, apart from drinking and a bit of self hate from Geralt

----------

After spending a long summer winding their way across the continent, Geralt and Jaskier find themselves in Toussaint as autumn sets in. It’s only a few weeks before the festival of the vat and the harvest is in full swing, the women and men of Toussaint out in the vineyards as long as the sun will allow it, the sweet smell of crushed grapes filling the air. Much to Jaskier’s surprise, Geralt agrees to stay for a few days. It’s only because Roach could do with the rest, especially with the long journey North looming, and so when Jaskier mentions the word ‘holiday’, Geralt shoots him a warning glare. Surprisingly, it isn’t mentioned again.

They quickly fall into the rhythm of life in Toussaint, and the bard is a bad influence and encourages Geralt to overindulge in women and in fine wine. Each night when he returns to his room he finds his coin purse a little lighter. On their sixth night, Jaskier plays his last set for the people of Beauclair and steps off the stage to riotous applause. Geralt is deep in a game of Gwent and before the round is up Jaskier is singing again - this time, without his lute, he’s leading the inn in a rowdy and seemingly neverending version of fishmonger’s daughter. Geralt wins the game and they start another, and Geralt can feel the comfortable warmth of the wine settling in his shoulders and knees, Jaskier’s songs fading to background noise as he concentrates.

Suddenly there’s a hand on his shoulder and then a yelp and Geralt finds himself with a lap full of bard, Jaskier sitting sideways on him, one hand braced on his shoulder, the other making a mess of the deck of cards on the table.

‘Oh, Geralt!’ he sounds slightly slurred, and Geralt can immediately feel the heat of him through their breeches, even in the warmth of the inn. ‘Thank Melitele that was you! I think…’ Jaskier turns his face towards Geralt. He trails off, his gaze dropping to Geralt’s mouth. Geralt suddenly realises how close the bard’s face is to his, their wine-sweet breath mingling in the space between them. Jaskier’s pink tongue darts out and wets his bottom lip, then he blinks rapidly and shakes his head minutely. ‘I think, my dear Geralt, that I am drunk.’

‘Hmm’ agrees Geralt.

‘And therefore, I think.’ he prods a finger into Geralt’s chest, frowning as if the coordination is taking all his concentration ‘that I am going to bed.’ The bard stands up with surprising speed and Geralt reaches out to steady him. ‘And furthermore,’ he adds, now facing away from Geralt and projecting more than is necessary. ‘I am going to your bed, because these people tip in wine, and hence I am penniless.’ He frowns again, like he’s forgotten something. ‘And drunk,’ he remembers. Then he adjusts his doublet and sways his way towards the stairs, gone as suddenly as he arrived. After Jaskier has left, Geralt continues his game, but his opponent is no longer playing as well as he was and he finds himself losing interest. It’s not long before he’s packing up his deck and climbing the stairs himself.

Inside their room it’s dark, but Jaskier has opened the windows onto the balcony so it’s cooler and a thin strip of moonlight is filtering through the thin curtains. The air is hardly moving but the thick scent of jasmine has filled the room from outside. Jaskier lies strewn across the bed as though he’s been dropped from a height. He’s taken his doublet and boots off and his shirt is open down to his navel, exposing his chest to the moonlight. Geralt carefully doesn’t look as he strips down to his smallclothes and climbs into what’s left of the space in the bed. He lies on his side, facing away from Jaskier, carefully arranging his limbs so he doesn’t risk taking advantage, but once he’s in the bard makes a soft, contented noise and folds himself around Geralt, throwing one arm over him and hooking his knees into the back of Geralt’s. Geralt stiffens slightly. It’s far too warm to lie like this, he thinks. It’ll take hours for him to sleep with the bard pressed up against him like some kind of lover.

It doesn’t.

The next morning, Jaskier complains tirelessly of sore feet and a sore head as they climb up through the vineyards. Geralt is trying to reach a mountain pass he last used several years ago.

‘Really, Geralt.’ the bard complains, each phrase punctuated by a dramatic huff of breath. ‘I don’t see why we can’t take a path that’s less hilly. Do you want me to pass out?’

Geralt grins. ‘There is another way. We could go through the flooded caves under the mountains and avoid the hills completely.’ Jaskier reconsiders - actually stops walking for a moment as though his brain and his feet can’t both be in use at once - and then has to jog to catch up.

‘Actually, you make a very good point.’ he concedes. ‘But at least we would be out of this relentless sunlight. I feel like someone’s used my head as a battering ram.’

‘Your hangover is your own fault, bard. You know the wine here isn’t watered down.’ Jaskier grimaces, as though the mention of wine physically pains him further.

‘Ah, well. One can’t say no to one’s adoring fans.’ He stops talking as he squints around at the view, his boots and Roach’s hooves scuffing on the dusty track. ‘How was your evening anyway, Geralt?’ He asks, lightly. ‘How was your Gwent game? Did you win?’ Geralt didn’t. But as they reach the mountain path and look back down on the lush green of Toussaint, he finds he really doesn’t mind.

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

Geralt leaves Kaer Morhen early that year, heading South under the misapprehension that the weather has broken. The path through the mountains is treacherous and Velen, when he reaches it, is as sodden and miserable as he has ever seen it. One night, the wind howls as he huddles under the bare branches of a long-dead tree, knees drawn up into his travelling cloak to preserve any semblance of warmth. His clothes are already soaked through and caked with mud, rain dripping off the hem of his hood where it dips over his face. His breath forms plumes in the freezing air. Roach stands by the tree, huffing her own breaths into the cold, her mane plastered to her neck by the unrelenting rain. He offers her a conciliatory grunt.

‘I know. We’ll head South.’ As he says it Geralt realises exactly where he’s heading. He’s not expecting to rest in Toussaint - the year is still new and he hasn’t earned the luxury - but there’ll be contracts in the area; work he can take up. The days he spent there last year have taken on a hazy, dreamlike quality and the thought of returning fills him with warmth, despite the freezing rain.

It takes him around a month to reach the feet of the Amell mountains. He’s skirted wide around Oxenfurt, knowing that if he stops then Jaskier will find him and the bard will slow him down. As he climbs the mountain pass, he’s glad of the quiet.

Geralt spends a month in Toussaint. It’s nothing like he imagined. The grapes aren’t ripe and the vintage from last year isn’t as sweet as he remembered. The working women fuck convincingly but they’re cold and impersonal afterwards. Geralt understands that it’s a contract like any other, and so one evening he pays one of them double to stay and hold him. He sends her away before an hour has passed, filled with hot shame and frustration. After she’s gone he opens the balcony windows and lies stiffly on the bed, willing himself not to cry. Pathetic, he thinks. What made you think you deserve that? The wind rustles the plants outside, but the jasmine isn’t flowering and all he can smell is the woman’s thick perfume on the pillow. He leaves the next day, and this time, he doesn’t look back at the view.

Much of the year passes as normal, and Geralt accepts contracts that take him further North. He’s drinking alone in a dingy tavern in Novigrad when he meets Jaskier again. The bard, as ever, is full of stories of his winter, and questions for Geralt, and he keeps flitting back and forth between the two as though he can’t decide which is more pressing.

‘So Geralt, tell me, where have you been? I must say I was a little disappointed when you didn’t pass by Oxenfurt on your way South, but I assume you left the mountains late this year? The snows didn’t ease for a long time, even in Velen! You should have seen oxenfurt in the snow, it really was beautiful! Little Eye found this sledge, and- No, I’m getting distracted.’ He really doesn’t even stop to breathe, thinks Geralt, smiling gently. ‘I’m sure you have lots of exciting tales just begging to be woven into ballads. Where have you been?’ The bard finally stops and takes a swig of his ale, watching Geralt over the rim of his mug.

‘Went down to Toussaint.’ Jaskier gulps down his mouthful of ale.

‘Oh! So early in the year; you’re finally learning how to treat yourself. Was it as lovely as ever?’

‘No.’ The disappointment of his wasted trip rises in Geralt again, and he swallows it down.

‘Oh.’ Jaskier sounds unsure now, and there’s a glint of something in his eyes. ‘Well I’m sorry to hear that. I thought you liked Toussaint.’

Geralt grits his teeth. He had thought so too.

‘Or the time we spent there, anyway.’ adds Jaskier, very softly. Geralt knows the bard is watching him for any reaction, but he can’t stand to look at his foolish, earnest face. Instead, he swallows hard and stands up from the table.

‘No.’ he grits out, and then he turns away before he can see Jaskier’s face crumple, and goes out to fetch Roach. He should be on the road. When he leaves the city gates that evening, he lets Roach choose the direction; it makes no difference to him.

She picks North anyway.

----------

I'm sorry for the no comfort ending!! Nothing felt quite right as an ending for this but Jask will find him again I promise!

This is part of a freeform series of short and unconnected drabbles based around Geralt denying that he has preferences, and Jaskier’s reactions. Part 1 is here, part 2 is here.

[simsadventures]

My Avenger Girl

Summary: Your relationship with Bucky grows stronger everyday, and Bucky feels confident enough to take you to the Avenger compound for you to meet his family. And you fit right in.

Warnings: fluff, hint of jealousy, implied smut, swearing, Avengers x Supernatural crossover

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x huntress!Winchester!Reader, Dean Winchester x reader (platonic), Sam Winchester x reader (platonic)

Word Count: 2561

A/N: Third part of My Girl Miniseries is here you guys! I got to thank @voltage2d-mylove for requesting the sequels to the original fics, because I’m having so much fun writing this! Hope some of you enjoy this little something with me :) xx

My Girl Miniseries Masterlist __ Masterlist

Part I      Part II   Part IV

Bucky laid on his back in your bed in the bunker, staring at the ceiling, thinking. He loved spending time with you, and the more he actually was with you, the more he fell in love with you. The worst thing, however, was that he had to leave you every now and then, because either you had a case that would take a bit longer than a day, or because he was called on a mission. And he hated leaving you behind. He wanted to spend every minute of the day with you, still very much in the first phase of the relationship, where people couldn’t keep their hands together.

You owned Bucky’s heart and soul, and he knew that if anything happened to you while he was gone, he would hate himself for the rest of his life. He’s meant to ask you a single question for the past few weeks, but every time he worked up the courage to do so, something stopped him.

One time, it was your brother, Sam, coming into the library just as Bucky took a breath to ask you. Then it was his own phone, and Steve calling him to tell him they had an urgent mission. Or it was the timer on the stove. Every fucking time. And it kinda made Bucky feel like he shouldn’t ask you in the first place. That maybe it’s fate. Or perhaps he’s just being stupid, he told himself and looked over at your sleeping form.

You were so cute asleep, your mouth slightly opened, your eyes fluttering, and Bucky would give anything to see what was happening behind your eyelids. If you were dreaming of him, or not. If you thought of him just as often as he was thinking of you.

He rolled over to the side, so that he was facing you, and trying to be as gentle as possible, he slid his hand under the sheets and caressed the skin on your arm eliciting a hum from your lips. It was past 9 AM, so he knew you had to get up either way, and he thought that having him wake you up might make you less grumpy.

His fingers travelled to your collarbone, only the fingertips touching you, drawing circles on your skin. He could hear your heart beating a bit faster, and your breath not being as slow and deep as it was moments ago; all signs of you waking up.

When he looked into your face, you were already staring back at him, a small smile playing on your lips.

“Well good morning to you, Mr Barnes!” You rasped, your voice husky from the lack of talking.

Bucky smiled at you and nuzzled your cheek before he kissed you.

“Good morning to you too, Ms Y/L/N. Did you have a good night?”

You just nodded and brought him closer to you, unwilling to get up out of bed just yet. You wanted to sleep as long as possible, and if Bucky weren’t as cute as he was, you would definitely scold him for waking you up at all. But who could be mad at that pretty face?

“I’ve been thinking, Y/N, and-“ Bucky starts but before he can finish you sit up straight, bringing your blanket with you to cover your modesty and looking at him confusedly.

“Are you breaking up with me? I thought we were at a good place, I thought things were fine between us. More than fine, actually. Why do you want to leave me? What did I do wrong? How-“

It was now Bucky’s time to stop you from rambling by putting his finger on your lips and shaking his head. Breaking up, pff, sure.

“Listen to me, Y/N. You are one crazy person, you know that? I didn’t want to break up with you, you moron. I wanted to ask you if you wanted to come with me to the compound, get to know my teammates and stuff. I love you! I’m not letting you go, don’t you worry about that,” he smiled at you sweetly, and your heart finally calmed down a bit.

You chuckled nervously, feeling a little ashamed for letting your anxiety take over this moment.

Bucky laughed as well and kissed you again, but before he could get out of the bed, you took his hand in his and brought him back.

“I love you too, you know? That’s why I freaked out like that. And yes, I would love to get to know your family, it would be my pleasure.”

You could see your boyfriend beaming with pride, both from your admission of love and that you were actually excited to meet the people that were somehow most important to him.

“Do you think we could leave today? You know, be there for the weekend so that I could fly you back before your brothers got back from that wraith hunt. I know how much you miss them,” he smirked at you, and you swatted his shoulder.

But it was true, you did miss your brothers. However, lately, you’ve been feeling very different kinds of emotions, and that especially when Bucky left for some mission, or when you had to go on a hunt. You missed him like crazy, your body craved him, and your mind called for him. You always thought you’d be hunting with your brothers for the rest of your life, but ever since you met Bucky, things changed, and you suddenly longed to spend more time with him. Even if it meant not seeing your brothers every second of every day.

You knew they would understand if Bucky asked you to move in with him and if you said yes, but because that question was not yet asked, you didn’t want to delve too deeply into it. You just hoped Bucky was on the same note as you were, and that this New York visit would bring you two closer to the shared future.

You got ready reasonably quickly, packing the essentials and some sexy lingerie just in case the two of you could get some moments alone. Which you hoped you could get, to be completely honest. Staying away from Bucky and bed was a task you weren’t too good at, and you prayed to Chuck that you would never get better in it.

The flight to New York was swift, thanks to the quinjet, a thing you enjoyed immensely because the travelling was just somehow easier than driving around like three idiots with your brothers, with constant back pain thanks to the old car seats.

When you saw the compound get into the view, you started to play with your hands. Not that you weren’t excited to meet everyone. You sure were. But, at the same time, you knew all those people from television. They were superheroes. And you were… well, you. And you just hoped that it would be enough and that they wouldn’t want to drive you away because you weren’t good enough for their friend.

You’ve already met the Falcon and Captain American, however briefly that was. You were most nervous about Natasha, quite frankly. She was a goddess in your eyes, her graceful fighting techniques, her elegant walk, everything about her was perfect in your mind, and you didn’t know how you could even fight her for Bucky’s attention.

God! You were pathetic. You haven’t even met the woman yet, but you quickly assumed what would happen when you met her. For all you knew she wouldn’t even be there, or she’d be the nicest person on this Earth. Which, for some reason, irritated you even more.

Bucky could probably feel your nerves, because he put his hands into your lap, separating your own hands because he feared you’d rip the skin on your fingers down completely.

“You have nothing to worry about, Y/N. Everyone’s gonna love you, I know that for a fact!”

You tried to give him a smile, but the only thing you could muster was a grimace, and you were surprised that Bucky didn’t shriek in fear at what your face was capable of doing.

“I know, it’s just, your friends are all so cool, and like you’re superheroes and stuff, and I’m just a plain ol’ me,” you whispered, more to yourself than Bucky, but with his super hearing, you knew he would catch that as well.

He landed the jet and turned to face you.

“Plain old you? Are you kidding me? You’re one of the most badass women I’ve ever met. You fight monsters on a daily basis, baby! I love you, and nothing can change my mind, alright?”

That calmed you down a bit, and you hugged him tightly, trying to feel his heart beating against your own chest, that always brought you back in the moment. Bucky smiled into your hair and let you take all the time you needed to gather the courage to go and face the building full of superheroes.

When you pulled away, he kissed your forehead, whispering that everything will be alright, he grabbed your hand and led you out of the plane and inside the building.

It didn’t look like you imagined. For some reason, you thought it will be quiet and lonely, but the whole compound was buzzing with people running left and right, some in lab coats, while others were wearing technical gear. You looked around, and it all seemed unreal. Everything was new and shiny and seemed extremely expensive. Not like your home underground. You loved that space you shared with your brothers, but this looked much cooler.

Bucky was watching your every reaction as he led you through the compound, nodding at people around him, but not really giving them his attention. That was all on you.

You two finally reached the common room, where Bucky knew the most of the team would be at that time of the day. It was lunchtime, and his teammates were like hungry bears. Some were  hungry and looking like pigs *cough, cough, Sam, cough* but he wouldn’t say that out loud. At least, not today.

When you stepped inside the room, everyone stopped talking and turned to look at you. You gave them all a shy smile, and you could see a few smirk and smiles around the room. The first to break the silence was Sam.

“Well, well, well. Look who came back, our lover boy! And he brought his badass huntress with him! What a pleasant surprise. Nice to see you again, Y/N,” Sam hollered and gave you a nod, while Bucky just rolled his eyes at Sam’s theatrical behaviour.

You said your hellos to the rest of the group and sat down next to Bucky by the huge table, where Vision served some Hungarian food. You didn’t know what it was, but it was so damn good you later asked him to give you a recipe to cook for your brothers. You just made a mental note to put a lot more meat into Dean’s plate.

The whole lunch was so regular it hurt. You expected that they would talk about monsters and stuff, but the closest the conversation got to a monster was when Sam told the group about catching Steve in a bathroom, giving himself a pep-talk, which included something about Steve being a beast, a sexy sexy beast, and you couldn’t hear more than that through all the snorts of laughter around the table.

Steve was red as a tomato, and you gave him an apologetical smile, still trying to contain your laughter. To try and calm him down, you told him about the time you caught Dean doing pretty much the same, looking in the mirror without a t-shirt on, kissing his biceps and winking at himself in the mirror. That got the people to laugh as well, and Steve nodded at you, glad that the conversation shifted slightly.

Just like you thought, Natasha was even prettier in reality, but while you thought Bucky would be looking at her, because, c’mon, who wouldn’t look at her? You had a problem keeping your eyes away from her beautiful face. Bucky was staring at you the whole time, and it made you feel that much better about yourself and your whole relationship.

You and Natasha even shared a bonding moment about her knife collection, which she insisted on showing you and the two of you spent good 20 minutes comparing knives and different techniques at either throwing them or stabbing somebody.

You didn’t even realise it, but by the time you finished talking to everybody in the room, it got dark outside, and Bucky walked to your side to seemingly rescue you from one of Sam’s funny stories from a mission where he was with Bucky. You knew that Bucky was more saving himself from the embarrassment of you knowing all those dirty secrets Sam would tell you, but you didn’t protest. You bid your goodbyes to the whole room and followed Bucky to his little apartment within the compound.

“See? I told you you would be fine, and you didn’t believe me,” Bucky said, intertwining his fingers with yours, walking down the corridor.

“I had my doubts, not gonna lie. And yes, you were right, and I will always listen to you from now on,” you said mockingly, but with a smirk playing on your lips.

Bucky laughed out loud and squeezed your hand.

“We both know that’s not true, doll.”

“Well, there is one place where I can listen to you, all night long, and I can do it in a brand new see-through lingerie if you let me get changed,” you rasped seductively (or at least you hoped it was seductive), but judging by the throaty groan coming from Bucky, you assumed you did an excellent job. And by the sudden quick pace of Bucky’s footsteps, you imagined he couldn’t wait for you to listen to him, just the way he liked it.

Before you could reach the room, Bucky spun you around and pushed you against a wall. He smirked devilishly at you, and kissed you hungrily, taking your breath away in the process.

You head was spinning from the lack of oxygen and from the intensity of the kiss, but when Bucky pulled away and asked you something, you almost fainted then and there.

“Move in with me,” he whispered, and before you could give him an affirmative answer, he continued.

“I know that I’m competing with your brothers, and that you might think this is too fast, but I fucking love you doll, and every day without you is a horrible day. I just want to spend as much time with you as I can.”

You were staring at each other, and you knew that there wasn’t a better place for you, than in Bucky’s arms.

“Yes, I’ll gladly move in with you, Sergeant Barnes. My brothers will manage, and I can still hunt with them from time to time. It’s not like I’m never going to see them again.”

Bucky released a relieved sigh and kissed you again, this time much slower, conveying all his emotions in this one kiss. And you seriously couldn’t wait to start this new chapter with him.

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[zwiezraczek]

Hi I'd like to ask you if you could write something with Four/Billy where the reader is skilled with knives and stuff like that, also they secretly stay together and she trains him but one day after a bad mission she is mad at him and during the training she humiliates him in front of the rest of the team. Be free to add whatever you like if you have any other idea. Thanks✌️

Think About It [Blurb]

Note: I don't know if I got the idea well, but I hope I did... ^^' In any case I really enjoyed writing this one, maybe there is less romance but it was nice to write it! And if you have any ideato continue it maybe, why not! I hope you'll enjoy it! 💕

~~~~

“You missed the bull's eye Wilhelm, and the target,” you shouted at him as he just groaned while he saw your mocking smile.

“Listen here y/n, we'll be talking when you'll be able to jump off a roof as I am,” he sharply said with a small victorious smile.

“I'm much closer to do so than you to throw the knife right in the middle, love” you wittily replied while pointing your knife at him.

He couldn't complain too much as you were absolutely right. He had wanted to learn how to throw knives, you were there to provide. As he was there for your parkour. All of this was absolutely illegal, even if your little Ghosts Squad.

You had joined the squad two years ago, One chased you down while you were working in circus by day and by night, coincidentally, some jewels in the city you were in began to disappear and nobody could suspect you, not with all the prejudices around women. No one caught you, except One. And his ultimatum was pretty simple: either you joined the squad or he was about to send you happily to prison because he had evidence, some great evidence. You were cornered by One, Two and Three apparently – they had later admitted that they had worked together to get you there, int their group and all in all you were pretty happy about faking your own death with knives and then joining the squad. And from all of them, Two was your role model. A woman you followed for everything and enjoyed working with her as much as possible, even praying to be paired up with her during missions because she was effective – and even more than with Three according to One, who perfectly knew that Three couldn't keep his hands to himself sometimes.

But from time to time you had to work with Billy, or Wilhelm as you liked to call him, and working with Billy meant a lot of things. Your characters weren't the same, and somehow you had to fight to know who was doing what during the mission and how this would work out. Ultimately, you agreed on the fact that if you were about to work together, you might as well know a little bit of each other's skills. Well, Billy thought it would be funny to see you do some freerun, but you enjoyed seeing him struggle with knives even more than he did when you failed to jump from time to time. But everything had to be done without One knowing anything, because everyone had to have their own ability, to master it and to perfect it everyday, during every free moment – besides the ones you all used to cheat and sneak out to do fun things together, well these moments you also shared with One – and God forbid involving someone else in your specialty. Especially into Billy's one, and yours. You thought a lot about this, and figured out that this rule was established not a long time before you joining the team, and you suspected Blaine and Billy to be the cause of this sudden new rule. Because when you joined, Blaine had a problem with his right foot, and One gave him several mad looks that you couldn't really identify, and with time you absolutely got why. Billy was a crazy instructor, and you were a crazy one too but Billy was way above you and he knew it while he watched you right in the eye and told you to jump from one platform to another on your first day of illegal training.

And now was your revenge, while he was struggling with the knives you gave him.

“It's because you belong to the circus,” Billy replied after he threw another knife on the target, not missing it this time. It was an improvement.

“Yeah, a fact that you forgot when you tried me with your parkour thing.”

“See,” he insisted pointing at the target, “I'm improving, it's getting better and better by day.”

“Until the day you shoot me right in the eye and I'll go blind and One will kill both of us for doing this without him knowing,” you replied sarcastically.

“Not a big deal...”

“Yeah, me being blinded isn't a big deal, but I don't want to end like Blaine did while he was training with you before I joined the team!”

“He told you? The snitch,” he muttered.

“Never heard a word from him,” you admitted, “but nice to know that I wasn't totally wrong.” You smiled and he rolled his eyes before rolling up his sleeves.

“Okay, now it's time to get real with the knives thing, might as well hurt somebody else than you while parkouring,” he joked as you handed him another knife.

“Yeah, of course you genius.”

~~~~

This mission was a true disaster. You were shaking in the car as Three was driving like a crazy man, and you didn't even had the idea to complain about his driving.

Everything was great, everything was fucking great. Until Billy showed up and tried to play it cool, and even cooler than he expected. You asked One if Two could be your partner during this one, because you knew that during big cleaning missions you were the most effective duo but no, he had to pair you up with Four the hothead. Four the parkour expert, the Skywalker. Yeah, probably as effective as Luke during the first few movies, you thought. You were absolutely delighted to know that Four wasn't in the same car as you, and that only Two and Five could witness your silent anger as you began to punch the seat next to you. You wanted to scream at his stupid heroic behavior, at him attempting to throw a knife, which caught you off guard and threw you off your balance resulting into you missing one of the guys and allowing him to shoot on your shoulder, it only brushed against your skin but hurt like hell on earth. Amelia was sweet enough to take you in charge as soon as you got out the place, and the trio sitting in the car remained silent because they had probably seen or heard what Four had done. You were absolutely furious. And you had to show it, especially to him.

And that was what you did on that very night, while you had another appointment for his knife training. He came, with a smile on his face and some knives and your face seemed colder than ever but he didn't seem to mind it, having his heroic act on his mind and how he had changed the whole mission today. You ignored him, telling him only to shoot his shot with the knife. And you knew the would come as you asked them to, not precising why. Because you needed that boiling rage out of your veins, because your shoulder hurt and because your own ego was deeply wounded. Four didn't stick to the plan, putting your life and his in jeopardy and not even acknowledging the fact that you might have died if not your quickness.

And as he was about to throw another knife, the squad came. The blood in your veins boiled red, and you could feel a weird satisfaction giving you shivers. You knew One wouldn't miss an opportunity to destroy both of you for this, but this was worth the shot.

“How did they,” Four began and you smiled.

“I fucking invited them over so they could see how pathetic you fucking are,” you replied with a wide smile and his jaw dropped.

“You did what?!”

“I did what I said, okay? You fucking almost killed me earlier and not even a little 'sorry y/n I shouldn't have done this' or a simple apologize,” you said and perfectly knew that the group was around, looking at you and him.

“Y/n that's unfair, that's public shaming here,” he replied before throwing another knife on the target, shaking a bit and trying to avoid your eyes.

“You know what's unfair Wilhelm? That my shoulder fucking hurts because of your heroism, your fucking Try Bolton syndrome to not stick to the stuff you know and were told to do.”

“Listen, Eight, I just,” he started and you could see anger and sadness in his eyes.

“Y/n,” Amelia almost whispered behind you.

“What,” you blurted against your will.

“We were trying... With Blaine to... Like,” she started and looked at Blaine for some support.

“Help Billy in order to impress you?” Blaine's tone was unsure, and your eyes wide open.

You screwed things up. Absolutely.

[rebelheartsmustbefree]

(The Road so Far)

ISAAC:

*Within a span of two months, things have changed on a monumental level. A six-four, long haired, long legged man came into my life and my head hasn’t stopped spinning since. Ewan has this way about him that makes me feel as if everything is going to be okay. With all the shit that has happened to me, he came in like a breath of fresh air. With spending the holidays together, the little get together we both hosted on the roof of this place, to the countless nights we’ve spent in each other's arms, wrapped up in a passion that threatened to scorch us both. When we spent those couple weeks at the cabin for Christmas through New Years, that kind of intimacy would stay unmatched for all my days. He shared his true self with me and thought I would run. But then I revealed that I was an Angel and that nothing in his life would cause me to run. That I would stay right by his side and take on anything that came his way. Our way. We decided there and then that we were in this together. After all, we created a fire together and only each other could handle that heat. 

But we welcomed that burn with eyes wide open and minds full of curiosities for one another. We left marks on one anothers bodies, one anothers lives and in each others minds. I know with each move and flex of muscle that Ewan had been there. Just one of those ways would be the twin bite marks that I currently keep being reminded of each time I bend, sit, walk. You get the point. Tall man was here all over my body and I was marked inside and out from him. Proudly. 

And something that just occurred to me this morning. That for some reason, his bites don’t heal as fast. The only explanation I can come up with is that it’s because he’s a shifter. Could it be that because he isn’t human that he is capable of leaving his mark on me in a lasting way? Over two hundred years and no one has been able to leave a scratch on me let alone a bite mark. I healed with extraordinary precision, speed and completely blemish free. It didn’t really bother me. I don’t know why I’m even giving this another thought. The truth is, it really only adds another layer to the complexities of this relationship. And holy fuck did it make me hot. 

Jason began to finally stir. It had only been an hour since I put him to ease over there in the booth. His hangover from our rooftop shindig left him feeling and looking like he had been chewed up and spit out. I walked over and gently ran my hand over his back to caress him back to sleep. He really could use some extra sleep. I could handle the supply truck on my own.  With a quick glance up at the clock, my mind went to Ewan again. As it does quite frequently, images of him in those boxers from this morning left me a little tight in the inseam. Great. Just what I needed for the delivery guy to see. I snagged one of my bar aprons and fastened it around my hips. Nicely done, this would work for now.*

EWAN:

The sidewalks were packed with pedestrians, all busy in their worlds, rushing from here to there. Elbows nudging, shoulders barging but I didn't say a word. I too was lost, hands in my pockets head down, a smile on my face. Isaac's face, the face I currently wore. Those dimples. Memories invading my thoughts. The cabin we’d stayed in over Christmas, where the truth had been revealed. An Angel and a shapeshifter. Neither of us had shied away from the truth of the other, instead, we’d embraced it. Both glad in our ways that the truth had been revealed, no more hiding. No more pretending, that day something changed. Barriers broke. We’d spent the time building snowmen, curled up on the rug before a roaring fire that we never let die. The bed that never got made. The kitchen that always had food of some description ready for us to eat. 

I looked up as someone walked straight into me, was that my fault or there's? I apologised, smiled and kept on my way. 

We’d returned from the cabin, our lives had only become more entwined. Was that what we expected? There was a part of me that had wondered. I needn’t have worried. We’d had nights at the bar Isaac owned, dancing, Isaac singing and wowing the crowd, I'd watched on with pride. I felt my mouth twitch and a smile formed on my lips, his lips, I reached up with a hand, my fingertip running over the deep dimple in my cheek, something about them gave me a warm feeling inside. I chuckled to myself, I wished I could wipe my tongue along my lip and taste him. When I got to the apartment. I would strip off and admire him, every inch of him, the grin turned into a wicked smirk. This body was an exact copy of his, my fingers brushed over the dick through the pocket lining. Fuck, yes I couldn't wait to get there. My feet sped up, my apartment wasn't far but today it seemed like it was taking forever to get there.

Finally, I got there. The stairwell as plain as ever, I practically bounced up the steps, my mood had been set, waking up and having breakfast with Wings. I stopped. My eyes scanned the door in front of me, my door, the tape had been broken. Someone had tried hard to replace it so I wouldn't notice but….I smelt the air. There was nothing. Fuck, without thinking, without another thought I opened the door. Silence. I stepped over the threshold, the hallway was clear, still no scent in the air. I left the door ajar, a quick getaway if I needed one. 

ISAAC: 

*After unloading the delivery truck, standing around and shooting the breeze with the driver, I made him a burger and fries to go. Just as he was pulling away, Jason came shuffling through those double doors that lead from the bar to the kitchen, a sheepish smile on his lips.* 

Did you get enough sleep? 

*He nodded and thanked me for putting him to sleep and making his hangover go away. I had done it before and it really wasn't a big deal. I went ahead and made him something to eat as well and told him to just hang out and relax for a while if he wanted. He thanked me again and I gave his shoulder a squeeze.*

No problem, slugger. 

*He groaned at the nickname, which only made me laugh harder than I already was. Ewan had begun calling him that after he mistakenly whacked Ewan in the back of the head, thinking it was some stranger being rough with me. A stranger that the shifter liked to change into and play tricks on me. We straightened everything out with Jason and had to explain what Ewan was and thus the nickname slugger was born. It embarrassed Jason but the guy knew I loved him like family. Fuck knows I could use some since I basically had no real family to speak of.. or that I'd want to speak of that is. 

I left him in the back with his bacon burger and fries, heading out to check out stock behind the bar. I'd be lying if I said I didn't look at the clock. I missed Ewan. But I knew he'd be back soon. It was the few hours a day that we didn't see each other but it didn't ease that ache nonetheless.*

EWAN:

I edged my way down the hallway; the air didn't hold any unusual scent; God damn it. The bedroom door was still sealed with the tape, or more accurately the tape hadn't been moved, perhaps someone had knocked the tape on the outer door? I didn't believe in coincidences, not after all this time. I’d spent year's running. Now I’d found my happy place, and I wanted nothing to spoil it. Wings. Fucking hell. I rushed through my apartment with that thought, ready to face anything, the image of him in my head. Empty. Everywhere I looked, which wasn't hard as the apartment wasn't that big, nothing. Not a thing appeared out of place. I reentered my living room and sat down, the vast couch cushions welcoming me like a hug.  I let my head fall back, my eyes closing. The only sound, my heartbeat in my ears.

The memories flooded back, the body of my sister twisted, distorted, half of her head scalped, her throat slit from ear to ear. The skin of her inner arms full of needle marks, not because she was a junkie but because of what they’d done to her, the defensive wounds on her outer arms from trying to protect what was in her arms, her baby. It hadn't worked. The baby lay over her arm, gutted from pubic bone to throat, his innards hanging from his stomach, splayed down his legs....

I opened my eyes; tears rolled down my cheeks, no this couldn't happen again. Isaac, Jason, his family. The women. They were all at risk because of me...

“Good morning....”

ISAAC:

*Marie and Lynn come knocking about an hour earlier than usual. I guess they were bored. The bar wasn’t set to open for another two hours but I could never say no to the dynamic duo. I unlocked the door and let the giggling pair in, both of them stealing a hug and asking where my handsome sidekick was hiding.*

He’s not here yet, girls. You’re stuck with me for now.  

*They both laughed their way over to their stools and sat their asses down, sliding over a couple of long neck bottles, their usuals, over their way to greet them. I could hear Jason also cracking up as he came bursting out of the kitchen. Teasing me for missing Ewan like some lost puppy.*

I am not! Don’t make me give you that hangover back. Because I will you dick. 

*He makes the motion like he’s zipping his lips back up and snags a beer from the cooler. I glance at the time again. I wasn’t going to be that kind of guy. Nope. He will get here when he gets here. I heard the ladies snicker from the end of the bar. They caught me looking at the clock again and then I had to think to myself, how many times had I really checked the time. A pathetic amount I’m sure. I wouldn’t worry. I decided to head into the kitchen and prep some pizzas, popping in two all meat one for us all to have when Ewan gets here. Once in, I came back out and grabbed a beer for myself, snapping the top off on the edge of the bar. 

My eyes just couldn’t help but look at the clock again. Fuck. Stop that shit, Isaac. I’m sure he’s fine. I needed to get my Angel senses in check and push aside my nature to immediately start worrying.*

EWAN:

My whole body froze. I’d never seen the man stood in front of me, and yet here he was bold as brass stood in my living room.

“The door was open.” He explained.

Shit. Fuck. Why the hell hadn't I shut it? Oh, that's right, some motherfucker had been in my apartment. I stood up, wiping away the tears that had fallen onto my cheeks. The man was around my height; he had black hair and dark brown eyes, I was pretty sure they'd look black in anything but sunlight. The suit he wore wasn't cheap; my guess was Gucci.

“Can I help you?” I enquired, as though I was used to having people just appear in my apartment.

“I'm looking for Ewan, Ewan Byrne.” I opened my mouth....it was then. That second. I didn't have my face; I had Wings face. My brain quickly kicked into gear; the whole thing took seconds.

“He's not here. He works.” I threw him a smile, Wing’s smile.

“Where does he work?.” The look on his face is sceptical. 

My fucking brain was quicker than Google on speed. I gave him the name of a warehouse on the other side of town. Well, away from anywhere, I would head.  The man stood eyeing me up. I’d eye me up too; Wings is hot. I was pretty sure it wasn't  that kind of eyeing up, he looked as though he was weighing up my body weight for his boot. 

“I’ll catch him there, thank you.......?” He held out his hand.

I extended mine. “Jason.” 

“Thank you, Jason.” I nodded and smiled, followed him, his expensive suit and shoes down my hallway, and locked the door behind him. Fuck. They’d found me again.

ISAAC:

*With the pizza half eaten, and Ewan still not here, I decide to distract myself with making a spectacle of myself on stage. As I'm searching through the jukebox for a selection to sing along with, Marie comes over and tucks her arms around my waist. She knew. With a squeeze of a hug around me, I could tell she was worried about Ewan too. She was as close to an aunt as someone could be without being a blood relative. Which really said a lot of the human condition. Blood doesn't make you family. And that's what these people were to me. Marie, Lynn, Jason, Sadie and even their little one. But with Ewan in the fold, he was part of that family to them as well.*

Get up there and sing for us, Isaac. He'll be here soon. *She smiled up at me and those sparkling green eyes put my heart at ease. For now. I mashed the buttons on the jukebox and headed up to the stage, removed the mic from the stand and just focused on singing for these group of misfits. But they were my misfits. Marie sings along with me, her smile just as bright as ever. Her energy was good, pure, love in her heart for few but those few were the most blessed people you could ever meet. After her divorce I remember her coming in here, there was no light in her eyes. Little by little that light has come back and I was proud to have been part of helping her through the darkness. 

As the song ends and the applause sounds out, I replace the mic and hop off the stage. This time I didn't look at the clock. Marie grabs my hand and pulls me over towards the jukebox to dance with her. I could never say no to this lady.* 

EWAN: 

The wood from the door was cool against my head as I leant against it. Jason? Why the fuck had I used that name? It just tumbled from my mouth before I could stop it. Pushing my body from against the door, I walked down the hallway and stopped....I looked into the mirror, lifting my fingers, I touched the face staring back at me, the blue eyes moving as they took in every inch. Wings. Oh, fuck Wings. 

The air around me sizzled as the features changed in front of my eyes, blue changing to a grey, blue mix. Hair elongating down to my shoulders, beard appearing. Me. My face stared back at me; I had to warn Wings. Fuck. The one thing we hadn't done was exchange numbers; we hadn't needed to until now. Damn it. I didn't shower, didn't change clothes, all that I was supposed to do. I needed to leave, and I needed them to follow me. The bag that always sat in the back of the cupboard was now in my hand as I headed out the door. I took the steps two at a time as I headed back to the street. Fuck. I looked around, what was I hoping for? Had they stood about waiting for me? I ran, there was nothing else for me to do, I had to keep Wings safe.

I’d sent them to the warehouse district, and that was where I was heading. I didn't use manners; no stops for apologies, no excuse. Whoever was in my way got thrown out of the way. My heart was pounding, trying to escape it's prison of my ribcage. My breathing was a mixture of out of breath and pure panic.

Wings.

Isaac.

My head screamed as my bag flopped from side to side, my arms grabbing at the air to help me along. Why? Why? Did they have to find me?

Isaac…..The darkness took me before I could think another word. 

ISAAC: 

*Miss Marie and I danced and talked through two songs, her objective worked. She wanted to ease my worries and get my mind on something else, something that makes me happy. Her and her sidekick, Lynn have become my tiny dancers so to speak. They tease me, they care for me and even though they hit on me occasionally, it's more to just give me a hard time because like I said, they've become family to me. So each night I'm working the bar, I take turns dancing with the duo and we have the best of times together. Since Ewan has come along, now we can treat both of them to dancing until their heart's content. 

Customers started pouring in and it was time to end the dancing for now. With a kiss to her cheek and her giving me another squeeze, Marie went and joined Lynn at the end of the bar again. I chuckle as I look up from the bar and see Kyle. I haven't seen him since I had to set him straight on a few things. Like there would never be him and I and more importantly, I was dating Ewan.*

Hey stranger, what can I get you? 

*He ordered his usual beer and burger, not surprised since that's what he gets every single time he comes in. I slide the bottle of beer over to him and head back to make his food. The clock I could hear ticking away on the wall ahead of me. I glance up and my heart drops. He definitely should have been here by now.* 

EWAN: 

There was a fly, at least that's what it sounded like for a few seconds. My eyes flew open; unfortunately, so did my mouth.

“Wings?” The words rushed from my mouth in a panic.

The room quickly solidified, and it was apparent Wings was nowhere near. The man stood in front of me; I knew all too well.

“Welcome back Ewan....” Sarcasm and hatred dripped from every word. “Wings?”His arms crossed, a smirk appeared on his face and a glint in his eye. “Is that Jason? I believe one of the units met him today; it seems like you've been making friends.”

I said nothing, just returned his stare. There was movement around the back of me; I could hear the feet shuffling, clinking of what I assumed were instruments. Fuck. Clint stepped forward; his hand shot out as he punched me in the face. My eyes didn't move; he could do as he pleased. They wouldn't find Wings; they wouldn't find Jason, the ladies or the pub. I felt the needle sink deep into my arm; I wasn't even sure if they had hit a vein but with me trussed up like a turkey at Christmas they weren't taking chances either. God fucking damn them.

“Let's see if you're better than your family, giving us what we want the first time. It would be such a shame if you didn't.” A gloved hand came into view, the scalpel it held in its palm was at least clean. I suppose somethings you just have to be thankful for. Another needle sank into my arm and all I could think was....Wings, I'm sorry.

ISAAC:

*I let Jason and Kyle talk me into a game of pool, the crowd having calmed down and herd now thinned. I think Jason knew I needed the distraction as well. He knew me better than anyone in this bar. He was a regular way back when I was just bartending here, before the owner died and left this place to me. It's been Jason and I for almost three years I believe coming up in the summer. Jason never felt uncomfortable with me, knowing I was gay, knowing what I was. The dude was handsome and we had a close moment or two of, if I were gay man.. or even a little curious..but we always laughed it off and I never pushed for anything more. We are family. And now he has Sadie and baby Joseph. I couldn't be more happy for him if I tried. 

But like I said, the man knew me. He knows I'm worried, he knows that Ewan should have been back by now and he can see the fight in my eyes. That I want to find him and figure out what is going on. But this game of pool has started and now I'm out to show these boys up. I had to keep from going stir crazy. Take it one breath at a time.*

Rack 'em Kyle.. you and Jason might need some tissues because I'm about to make you both cry..

EWAN:

The voice screamed in the back of my head.

“WAKE UP! WAKE UP!” It was my sister's voice; my eyes flew open. 

“You've joined us just in time.”

Pain seared up my arm, I screamed, tried to shift. Oh fuck I couldn't shift. I looked down at my arm, below the elbow was missing its skin, ligament and muscle revealed. The redness made me retch; blood wasn't flowing just sitting in pools at the dips and bends of the muscle. Shift. The air began to shimmer around me...

“Don't bother; we've learnt a few tricks of our own since we last met Ewan. You can't shift.” The happiness in his voice told me he wasn't lying.

“Motherfucker.” My voice was deep and strange; it didn't sound like me.  

“I remember that voice, except back then it was more juvenile.” I froze. That voice, memories tumbled over each other to come to the forefront of my mind. Clusters, explosions of pictures.... suddenly they stopped. There was a woman, long dark hair, red lips. She'd come to me when I’d found my sister, she had hugged me, wiped my tears, spoken to me in a kind voice.

“Gretchen.” I spat.

A woman came into my line of vision; it took a few seconds for me to focus correctly, but it was her. 

“You always were my favourite.” She’d aged, a scar ran across her face that wasn't there before, the words I was going to speak got lost in the sound of my scream.

ISAAC:

*Halfway though the game of pool, those two against me, they were already unhappy and giving me the stink eye. But by the time it was all over, I snagged the twenty they bet me and shoved it in my pocket.* Nice doing business with you boys..

*I laughed my ass off all the way back behind the bar, getting back in the swing of things and waiting on customers. I looked over at Marie while filling up someone's draft beer, she too now was checking out the clock. Which reminded me. That it was now around too many hours since he left to go shower and change. Too many. Jason sneaks behind me, which reminded me that he wasn't even supposed to be here tonight. I get it. Now he was sticking around to make sure I was okay. I hadn't even realized that until now.* 

So, Isaac… where's your man? You get bored of him, him of you? 

*Jason places his hand on my back and clutches the shirt tightly in anticipation of me hauling off and slapping Kyle for his ignorant comment. Jason responds before I can.* 

Hey Kyle, how about you stop being a dick because Isaac wouldn't give you a chance. 

*Marie cackles and it makes me crack a smile. Lynn chimes right in and laughs so hard I thought she would fall off her stool. See. Family. They always have your back.* 

If you must know, he went home to shower and change after staying at my place. That's what he usually does. Every morning. After staying… every night. *Twist that knife in. I smirk at the roll of the eyes I get in response to my comments. That'll teach his ass.* 

EWAN: 

The muscles in my body shook involuntarily; I felt as my brain decided to work again.  The fucking pain was worse than anything I had ever felt. Searing pains, aching pains, I smelt singed hair, burnt skin. Fuck. Fuck. My eyes opened, I was now laid on a metal table, arm and legs strapped in place. I’d been stripped to my underwear; Wings would be proud. The room had a wind chill factor of winter in the North Pole. My head lifted; I groaned at my body while gritting my teeth.  The thud my head made as I dropped it back should have hurt. It didn't.

“We’ve given you something.” That thought should have worried me, but I hoped what they gave me was poison.

“It takes some of the pain away.” Lying bitch. I felt her fingertip ghosting it's way up my shin; that feeling was worse than the pain. I wretched.

“Oh, don't be sick now.” Gretchen’s head came into my eye line, her fingertips still ghosting slowly, now they were at my thigh. I felt it, her fingernails digging into muscle, pushing through it, under it. My body arched, my teeth clamped together to try and hold my growl.

“I did say only some of the pain.” Her fingers now lost somewhere below my skin, her head lowered next to my ear.

“If I have to take you apart bit by bit I.....” She looked up, her eyes lit up and smile beamed. “We will.” The sound of a saw starting. I pulled and fought, my skin splitting with her fingers inside me. I was prepared to die. How to make them do it quickly was a different question all together.

ISAAC:

*I finally got hungry, snatching a couple slices of Pizza, I headed over and took a seat in a booth alone. I just needed a minute. I sat there in silence, watching Jason take care of things while I could just rest for a moment. I begin picking at the pizza, taking a piece of pepperoni off and popping it in my mouth. Then a piece of sausage. I wasn’t as hungry as I thought. Something was wrong. And no amount of telling myself to not worry was going to help. The smiles on Marie, Lynn and Jason’s faces were starting to falter. Got to give them credit though, they tried so hard to keep my spirits up. I was starting to get angry, even scolding myself for never exchanging numbers with Ewan. I had no way of getting a hold of him and I didn’t even know where he lived. I couldn’t even go check and yell at him for making me worry about him.   

There was an ache in my chest. I knew what it was. Caring about someone this much only leads to pain. It didn’t matter though. I was already in deep with Ewan. This was a connection that would not be broken. You can’t just meet someone like this everyday. It just doesn't happen for me. And I doubt it happens for him either with what he is, what he has to run from. Whatever it was that he was running from. He never even told me details. When I see him again, I am not letting him out of my sight until I know everything. And his damn cell phone number.*

EWAN: 

Consciousness came and went, glimpses of what was happening caught. I moved my limbs, feet still connected, legs, arms and hands. My head, unless I’d become the headless horseman, was still attached. My skin hadn't been so lucky; I felt burning sensations everywhere, the pain, my head throbbed from wave after wave every time I was coherent. The room was silent; no saw, no voices, breathing space. I lifted my head; my eyes darted around the square room. No windows, a door, the wall had blood splatters still dripping. My blood. The laboratory dishes and jar, filled with clear liquid and all manner of innards and skin sat lined up. My innards and skin. I banged my head against the steel table I was trapped on, once twice, three times, it didn't help the pain or make me feel better. 

I closed my eyes again, brought up memories of Wings, his smile, his voice in my ear, the touch of him. I let them take me far from here. His embrace, how warm his body felt against mine. I could stay here. A warmth surrounded me; perhaps this was dying, allowing yourself to fade away. Fadeaway to the place you were most happy.

My body moved, no pain assaulted me, no scream rushed from my mouth. Just warmth. Just Wings and I back at the cabin. Death was a graceful, kind lady.

ISAAC:

*After taking a little break to worry endlessly about something I had no control over, I went back behind the bar and began helping again. I got lost in pointless conversations with familiar faces, making small talk about their days, them halfheartedly asking me about mine. I give some generic answers and smile as I serve them. Something was definitely wrong. I could feel it in my bones.* 

I'm heading out back for a smoke, honey. 

*My head turns just as Marie is heading back through the double doors to the kitchen so she can go out back and smoke. I smiled broadly at her and gave a nod. Lynn calls me over and tries to reason with my worry brain. Which was honestly no use. I didn't know how I'd sleep tonight without him if he never shows. I feel like part of me is missing. 

I turn around and Kyle is standing there sliding money across the bar to settle his tab, telling me he is sorry for the comments he made. I wave it off, chalking it up to it just being an off day and smile at him. He smiles warmly, happy that I wasn't pissed at him and heads out for the night. After a few more minutes, I realize that Marie has been gone much longer than it takes to have a smoke. Unless she was out here chain smoking, she should have been back by now. The hell is with this day and people going missing?! 

I head out back to find her and give her a piece of my mind. Chuckling to myself until I reach the back door, smelling blood immediately. I shot out of that door practically tearing it off its hinges, my eyes searching for Marie and only finding blood. It was putrid as it flooded my senses. I opened my mouth to call out for her, only there was nothing. No voice. Just the sickening sound of gurgling. My hand shot up to my throat, instantly covered in warm blood as it flows from the gaping wound. My blood. I'd been attacked. It was my last thought before hitting the cold concrete until my eyes finally found Marie. The last thing I see before everything goes black, her eyes in a cold stare, laying in a river of her own blood.* 

#TBC

[memnonofarcadia]

Remembering Joey Bruno

Originally published in the Sacramento Jazz & Blues Quarterly Bedtime is sometime around dawn. Dinner is usually whatever you want it to be. Shall we go to Iceland? Festivals, fliers, wristbands, Sharpies on skin, smoke, grass, hash, molasses, sky, blue, crisp, clear sky. And yet I’m still writing all this within a grey airport terminal, locked into some kind of strange Druid-esque ritual with pen and paper. Deadline is tomorrow, where were you when you were supposed to be working? Don’t have any answers for now, just that I need to write and get it out to my boss within the next day. Or two. It wouldn’t have been the first deadline blown. But think, distract myself with the McDonald’s coffee and keep putting down adjectives and phrases from places I’ve been, things I’d seen, dreams I’d never have again with people I’ve never met and music I had. 40 minutes till boarding starts, I’ll be last, of course. It pays enough to fly but not enough to enjoy it. Been getting harder and harder to deal with the travel, at any rate. Starting to notice the spell everyone is under, the sleepwalking nature of the corporate employee. It had only been noticeable after it had been broken, which I had no problem doing, ever. When your home is a hotel you take your shots however you can get them, besides it wasn’t like you have to live in any particular town past a few days at most. Half-heartedly started keeping a list of rejections and their professions, making sure to note that there was only one waitress on the list, most were from bookstores or places where there was an escape for all parties. Don’t need to make it more awkward than it has to be. Sorry, I didn’t mean, then the words fade off into the ocean. On the edge of nowhere, like a little seaside town. Maybe that’s where I’d like to end up, like a lifeguard in the post-apocalypse, no responsibilities, just looking cool for the seagulls. How many life guards had I asked out? Not many, either way. Concerts didn’t go well with water, not in my experience. Can’t seem to find a way to write about anything other than something on the present times, life and times. I struggle, already flipped through the notebooks to jog the memory with some tit and tat that had to be discarded for the sake of length from another article. Or two. Or four. Or 12. Throwing yourself to the wolves, towards and into the meat grinder that one might just pay the bills with the right amount of ink in the right places on a blank piece of paper. Who cares about music festivals and pop culture when there’s McDonald’s coffee and the cold inside of an airplane to look forward to? Four times I’d attempted to ask about an airline attendant’s relationship status, thrice I’d been rejected. Once she’d pretended not to hear me and instead moved to the opposite end of the plane for the remainder or the flight. Understandable, no harm done. No harm done. By anyone, right? Who said this was ever going to be a love story, you and I?

College had been a breeze, not that I’m bragging. State schools were like that, at least then, and Californ-I-A’s were no different. No doubt now there’s better options available for where I was at when I had to decide where to go to school, but there you are. A degree in journalism is a degree in journalism, and I had little else to go on other than my love of music, substances, travel, female company, and a shocking talent at being able to string together sentences. In a way it’s always given me a bit of a guilty feeling. I never sat down and really worked at learning or improving with regards to writing, I just sort of could do it. That’s the short version of how I found my niche of a career, one I thought I could exploit anyway. Turns out I was right, and in a way it was everything I could (and did!) hope for. Except everybody’s got to grow up sometimes, and I did, regrettably. There’s only so many hungover mornings a human being can take before they’re permanently reduced to a shambling, sickly mess of what used to be a humanoid organism, and I had certainly put myself on that path. Got off of it, thanks to the countless AA meetings I made myself go to, but I digress. That had been the first mark on the wall of things that I could no longer enjoy about the gig, the fact that now I had to do the whole thing sober. The hardest substance I have confidence I can enjoy responsibly now is coffee, and even then the ugly demon of acid reflux put me back in my place before too long. Suddenly all the kids were much more annoying than usual, the travel a hassle, the food revolting, and the music itself just kind of bad, which was the real heartbreaker. Some days before it had been all to keep me going, minus the women, which were always a constant. “Festival sluts” is the term you’ll want to Google (or DuckDuckGo) if you’re curious about what I mean, also colloquially known as upper middle class girls whose parents were too busy working to devote anything past a friendly “hullo” to their children, and thus succeeded in raising a bunch of hedonistic, attention-desperate, and morally naïve young people with excess income and too much time to spend it all in. Nasty ain’t it? But it kept me coming back for more, like the good-natured animal that I am. We all are. That’s the secret that I learned more than anything from the beat, we are all more simple and pleasure driven than we could ever articulate or realize. It’s what keeps the lights on at home, for everything and anything. Probably. Or maybe I’m just bitter. Most of the friends I made during college or were colleagues in my escapades writing about indie rock et al. around the globe are gone now. Burnt out, some burnt up, most just couldn’t hack it anymore and left to go get real jobs at real newspapers. The circus, or pirate ship, as is probably more accurate a nomer, is not for everyone, and rarely does it last forever. Bet you’re wondering where that leaves me. Still bitter, but still coming back for more, just like I was always going to. Always. So why don’t I quit? You tell me. Because I know why.

The finest writer I ever met was a journalist by the name of Joey Bruno, a guy I came across one of the many late nights I spent at the pathetic office of my college’s newspaper. I was editing a freshman’s piece about how the White Album was actually really bad, sighing uncontrollably the whole time, when Mr. Bruno walked in and struck up a conversation with yours truly. I happily engaged, as any activity that didn’t involve that stupid piece of writing was fine by me. He explained that he was friends with the real Editor , who was at his parents’ in Wisconsin for the weekend, and would drop by periodically when he got off work to help out where he could. “Why spend your time working on bad writing by dumb college kids?” I’d asked him. “Free beer, plus it can be fun sometimes. There’s been plenty of stuff come through here that I rewrote beyond all recognition just for fun, and nine times out of ten the original author doesn’t even notice. Good times.” Maybe so, I’d thought. In any case every other Friday or thereabouts I’d get a late night revising buddy to help cull the newspaper’s intimidating stack of submissions. It was in those early morning hours that I came to the conclusion that I wanted to become a music journalist, mostly from talking to Mr. Bruno about his own adventures. But I don’t think I listened, not really. Maybe if I had I’d be off this conveyor belt by now, but then again maybe not. Maybe I’d never have started. One night in particular while we were enjoying our cigarettes, coffee, and beer (all courtesy of the newspaper of course), he retailed me with a story of his long lost love, a girl he’d known briefly in the California punk scene of the late 80s. I was instantly entranced. “It was a magical time,” he’d said to me while stroking his magnificent beard. “But I’m glad it’s over now. It was getting messy there at the end,” I brought up how those little parts of the world, at that time were being romanticized an awful lot in contemporary media then. “And for good reason, too.” He’d responded wistfully. “A lot of great things happened for a lot of good people. It was about as close to the 60s as anyone came since then, I think. That much hope,” And this is where he began to tell his story, the story of “the rebel known as ‘Justine,’” as he’d put it. However it had happened, the two had come into contact through the various zines they’d each produced and sent out to the other punks in town. The closest thing to an internet forum for back then was to just be louder than everyone else, apparently. That was the only real way to get heard, to start a dialogue of some kind. That or take your chances at the shows, which they did anyway, but there wasn’t much talking going on there. Joey had written to Justine complimenting her on “Pop!,” which was her way of pushing her radical politics and militant-feminist views out on to the unsuspecting public behind the thin-façade of a bubblegum periodical. The art had been good, and the writing made everyone Joe showed it to laugh out loud, so he made a point to let the author know, whoever they were. There was an address included in the back for people to write in, so he did just that. He also included a copy of his own creation, the somewhat popular (in those circles anyway) “Buzz ‘n’ Stuff.” “What was it about?” I asked as my friend rolled himself another cigarette. “Nothing really, I just sort of made stuff about interesting things I found at the library then slapped it together in that. It seemed to work. I remember the one I sent her had something about how to get popped bubblegum out of your hair without cutting it all off, so I think that’s what got her interested. There wasn’t anything of value or substance in there, let’s be real,” Joey took another swig of his beer and reached into the cooler below his desk for another, being sure to throw me one too like a sport. “Thanks, boss. But continue, you got me interested now,” So he did. It had started slowly, really, with the trading of zines and letters, the occasional patch or pin by mail too. Eventually after a lengthy correspondence they made a plan to meet up at a concert, The Vandals to be precise. Joey had taken painstaking measures to show up in the most hip clothing of the day, studded leather jacket, combat boots, the whole nine yards. “I looked like a freak,” he told me with a chuckle. “But then I saw her,” Justine had arrived looking like everything and nothing Joey had expected her to. She had the familiar punk gear, Doc Martins and an army jacket covered in patches and safety pins, but the rest of what she had on departed from the norm drastically. It had been some bizarre cross between a punk, hippy, and cult leader all in one, macabre golden jewelry offsetting the “meat is murder” t shirt underneath. “It was great,” said Joey. “People were afraid of her at that show. She looked really scary,” They hit it off and had a jolly old time watching The Vandals play, and later they found themselves alone on a hill overlooking the suburbs, talking about the issues and passing a joint back and forth. It was all music to my ears, as it would be for most any young person, I suspect. “Tell me more,” I’d implored. These were fantasies that I needed fulfilled. Joey paused and rocked back and forth in his chair contently for a few seconds before he complied. My heart sank before he spoke. “We were inseparable after that first time. It really was something. We could go anywhere, do anything, and we would always end up on the same page somehow. It was easily the deepest spiritual, emotional, whatever you want to call it connection I’ve ever had with another human being, let alone girlfriend. But then a year or two later her Mom moved her and her brother up to Connecticut to be closer to the rest of their family. Last I heard she went to school in Maine, but that was it as far as we were concerned. Finito,” He smiled through all this as though recalling some rosy-cheeked memory but I was aghast. “What do you mean that’s it? You didn’t try to follow her or anything?” Joey just laughed. “Yeah, that was really an option at 17 without a car or money. It was just something that happened when we were kids, nothing really. I’m glad it happened at all, now.” Well then. What do you make of that? The conversation drifted pretty heavily after that point, as it always did when Joey and I got to jabbering and drinking, and as usual it was stories of the times he’d been on tour years later with Ozzy Osbourne or The Stooges or someone, then got to interview them endlessly and write about it. The usual vices were there as well in his stories, the drugs, the travel, the women, the glamor, the romance. But it all left pretty quickly once the novelty wore off, hence why Joey had quit after a few years and moved back home to Sacramento. When I knew him at the college newspaper he was a jazz correspondent, if you can wrap your head around that, for several of the snootier publications in the area. “I skipped to the fun part,” he told me. “The shows never get old, now. Plus jazz cats have the best shit,” he said with a wink. I probably just laughed, I don’t know, maybe downed the rest of my beer. I’ll be bound to have another once I get on the plane, off to Finland this time. Apparently it’s festival season in Scandinavia and its surrounding territories. Guess I’ll be writing about that all then though, from a different airport terminal that looks just like this one, with coffee and food and cigarettes and beer that shortens the life as much as the ones that came before. I could go on, but I won’t, for both our sake. There’s no moral to be gleaned from all this just a simple explanation of the reality, and how I’m passing the time in the airport by writing this, because I said I would. I promised. It’s my group now, and I have to go.

[sonofhistory]

Ron Chernow: Tales of False Information, Hypocrisy and Sucking Up.

I’m not doing this in a pretty essay because I wanted to get the taint of his name from my keyboard quick enough. Often enough, I exclaim my opinion of Ron Chernow. What comes afterwards is a bucket of asks questioning my reasoning, to which I have explained on numerous occasions. Today, once and for all, I will answer it in a clear formate so that I may 1) Stop being asked of Chernow and 2) Give you all the information to choose properly when reading up on your history! Let’s begin. 

This is Ron Chernow:

Ah, yes. The man himself. Historian, best-selling writer, journalist... you name it. Kinda looks like your uncle who gets you a child’s Christmas present even though you are seventeen years old.  If you are interested in history, or follow it to some extent you most certainly have heard his name in the past. Whether it be in a book store, online, or for your especially crafty people--this blog ;) You are bound to be able to recognize his name. He has published titles such as Titan, The Death of the Banker, Grant & Washington to name a few with the most popularity or catch among readers and stats. However, if it is one biography of which stands out the most against anything it is: Alexander Hamilton. You know that big yellow book?

I can assure you, that while this book looks to big and bright as to blot out the sun: it is nothing but a walk in the park. The biography delves heavily into the life of the first Secretary Treasury of the United States in a manner which has never been performed to such an impressive extent for the historical figure before. From the poor island to by Washington’s side and then the forest of Wekawken to his last breath beside Eliza, just as David McCullough did with John Adams, Ron Chernow masterfully articulates all of the information in a conscious and extraordinary manner. So, perhaps you ask: why, Presley, do you hold an utter disdain for Ron Chernow if you think it was good?? Well to answer your question:

Because he does too much sucking up. 

Sucking up. 

But what do I mean by that? I mean rather poignantly that if Ron Chernow could, he would get down on his knees and please Hamilton in any which manner that he wishes. He sucks up. Alexander Hamilton is solely one example of this manner of creating a larger and life picture of the man. I have stated all this before, in my review on this book, but today I am going to tackle a few reasons why you shouldn’t rush out to read from Chernow on this interesting figure. From not allowing Hamilton to take account for his wrong deeds, to blaming the people in his life to blatant lies among the text. Ron Chernow, is, in my honest and collective opinion, a lying and untruthful historian. 

First and foremost: bias. You’ve heard this word before often coming from me on this blog regarding historians. In my context, it means an author who does not take both prospectives in an argument and is always inclined to one specific side. Perfect examples of how historians have been masterful in avoiding bias is Jon Meacham in Thomas Jefferson and John Ferling in Jefferson vs Hamilton. Those authors were able to perfectly walk the line between giving their figure’s opinions and being able to tear their views to shreds. Ron Chernow does not walk the line. Actually he pretty much fell the thousand feet away from the line to his doom in hell. Strong wording? You bet. Chernow is EXTREMELY BIAS. By bias in Chernow context, I mean that he does not understand how to incorporate differing opinions into his passages or know how to interpret Hamilton in what manner he was: a brilliant but extremely flawed man with a multitude of moral issues who constructed the country from scratch with the rest of them. Instead, Chernow chooses to view Hamilton is a divergent light. 

So what does this do for his character? Hamilton’s. It amplifies it. Chernow spends the entire biography attempting to convince how holy, forgotten and sacred Hamilton is that he entirely disregards that Hamilton is already interesting by himself! We don’t need useful false information or bias information. For example, Chernow portrays Hamilton in a light of “do no wrong” and that is was everyone around him of which had issue. For a few examples:

Thomas Jefferson started all of the arguments between them and he was evil. Not like Hamilton did anything to be either...

Maria Reynolds is a stupid whore and she seduced poor Hamilton into banging her. 

James Monroe just stopped being friends with him and backstabbed him. Lmao. Right. 

It is Eliza’s fault that Hamilton cheated on her because she was pregnant all of the time. 

It was Eliza’s fault being Hamilton needs to protect his fragile masculinity and bang other women. 

It is Eliza’s fault. 

IT IS ELIZA’S FAULT FOR EVERYTHING. 

This brings me onto another point about characterization. So, in the wake of him having to amplify Hamilton to his extraordinary human bring who cannot do any wrong, he had to, at the same time, ruin the characters and personalities of the people around Hamilton. He spends the entire book trying to say that it was Eliza who was the hero but then completely goes against his claim just to bring attention and say that Eliza was responsible for the largest blot on Hamilton’s character. He trashes James Monroe by putting him the light of a Hamilton or Jefferson wannabe. He characterizes Jefferson the wrong way and takes numerous amounts of time just to dig at his character in the text like a middle schooler talking shit about someone. The thing is? Jefferson sucks! Yeah! We all know that: Jefferson is a piece of shit. However, Chernow doesn’t diss Jefferson in a way that is so bring to light how disgusting he was, he does it just to prove how much “cooler” Jefferson was to him and in turn ignores all of his subject’s flaws. James Madison is portrayed pathetically as well. Thought I’d mention... I believe the most horrifying thing, however, is his incorrect take on Maria Reynolds. That she was a stupid whore and Hamilton couldn’t resist her beautiful, sexy and entrancing sex sex sex. 

Alright. I spoke enough about character. Now allow us to tackle a fundamental reason why Chernow drops the ball in all of his biographies. The sacred ball. The sacred, holy ball that all historians must follow. 

CITE YOUR GOD DAMN SOURCES. 

Chernow puts information in there that you cannot find anywhere else. I mean... anywhere. But... what do I mean? I mean it is no where. No sources, no archives: nothing. A lot of his information is completely and utterly false! He places it in there just to serve his own agenda! It is completely crazy. Here are a few examples I noticed (there are many):

He states that Hamilton never owned any slaves and places him in the light of an extreme abolitionist. WHICH IS COMPLETELY FALSE. Chernow shows him as a fervent abolitionist and only mentions on one page in one sentence the  possiblity that Alexander Hamilton owned slaves. Alexander Hamilton owned one or two house slaves, he married into one of the richest slave owning family, he bought slaves for his family member and Chernow tries to say this was all against his will–seriously? Newsflash, Alexander Hamilton was NOT an abolitionist.

Stated that Hercules Mulligan was in the New York Manumission Society yet he is not in any records and was owning slaves all throughout his life. 

The story about Martha Washington’s tomcat is also untrue and the Boston Globe stated the emailed Chernow multiple times to no answer. 

Let us also not forgot to mention the incorrect labeling on the William S. Hamilton picture. 

As you can see: Chernow puts in facts and flowery information in order to pump up his nice thesis. He spends so long trying to do exactly what David McCullough did masterfully: bring a figure up from the depths and turn him in one fellow swoop into an icon. Sure, Chernow has gotten that done. He has a musical, which is pretty amazing, and everything. But masterfully? Debatable. 

At the end of the day, Alexander Hamilton is just one example of Chernow’s dirty deed. He did the same thing in Washington btw which is why I don’t recommend it. I must giver Chernow props however: his writing style is complex but fascination, interesting and he does immense research for his writing. Kudos on that. 

If you are looking for entertaining book with many facts and nearly a thousand pages of information on one person: you will go to the right now. I am not asking you to not read Chernow because in the end, he actually is quite good. What I am saying is that when you are going to read Chernow: you will need to take everything he says with a big pinch of salt. Because you may never know what is fact, what is reality and when he is crossing between being a historian and being a fan boy. 

Take Chernow with a pinch of salt. A big pinch of salt. A whole thing of salt. A bucket of salt. A damn house of salt. As you are reading, you are going to have to question everything that he is writing about and you’ll never know fiction and fanboying between truth and reality. Want to relax instead? Come to me and I’ll recommend you anything better than him. 

[greencrusader13]

OC Interview - Tyar Kiht

A long while ago I said I was going to do this for Terasas Feldspar and Tyar Kiht after having done it for Raz and Cirak. I did it for Terasas, but Tyar somehow fell threw the cracks. 

...yeah, he’d kill me for that.

I got tagged by @a-muirehen, so I’ll do Tyar finally. Fair warning, he’s a bit of a dick.

Rules:

Pick an OC

Answer the questions as that OC

Tag 5 more people

1. What is your name?

“Lord Tyar Kiht, The Empire’s Wrath, and Scourge of the Republic.”

2. Do you know why you are named that?

“The first was the name given to me. The rest was what I deserved.”

3. Are you single or taken?

“Jaesa and I are currently a pair, but she knows better to think that she owns me in any ways. We will remain such until circumstances change.”

4. Have any abilities or powers?

“I am a Sith Lord. I am power.”

5. Stop being a Mary Sue.

“I should tear you limb-from-limb for your insolence.”

6. What’s your eye color?

“Red.”

7. How about your hair color?

“Black.”

8. Have any family members?

“My brother, Cirak, yet lives. He spends his days scraping and whoring around in the underside of the galaxy. He is without the Force, and it is all he is capable of. My father abandoned my brother and I to go die somewhere out in the galaxy. My mother is dead as well, but I can hardly remember her.”

9. Oh? How about pets?

“I consider Quinn my pet. He is a sniveling fool without dignity.”

10. That’s cool, I guess. Now tell me something you don’t like?

“The Jedi in all their self-righteousness and pathetic weakness. I feel nothing but hatred for them.”

11. Do you have any activities/hobbies that you like to do?

“I enjoy keeping my swordsmanship sharp. I’ve found Jedi make the best practice dummies.”

12. Have you ever hurt anyone in any way before?

*Tyar begins laughing maniacally, uncontrollably.”

13. Ever…killed anyone before?

*Tyar just laughs harder*

14. What kind of animal are you?

“Only the deadliest you can imagine.”

15. Name your worst habits.

“Fool. I am power-made-flesh. I am beyond such pettiness.”

16. Do you look up to anyone at all?

“I look up to myself. There is no one else who I can.”

17. Are you gay, straight, or bisexual?

“Men hold no interest for me. I find pleasure between the legs of a woman.”

18. Do you go to school?

“I was trained at the Jedi Academy in my youth, and then at the Sith Academy on Korriban to complete it. The Jedi tried their best to educate me, but their knowledge is foolish and incomplete, and fail to grasp the true understanding of the galaxy. They stunt themselves in their growth, and it is why they will always be inferior to the Sith.”

19. Ever want to marry and have kids one day?

“Perhaps. I fully intend to have children. My blood will conquer the galaxy. All will know the Kiht name, and mine by extent.”

20. Do you have any fangirls/fanboys?

“There are those who rightfully worship me.”

21. What are you most afraid of?

“I have no fears!” *Tyar smashes a nearby control panel.* “I fear nothing! I am power!”

22. What do you usually wear?

“Only the greatest armor designed for a Sith Lord.”

23. What’s one food that tempts you?

“Chocolate.”

24. Am I annoying you?

“Greatly.”

25. Well, it’s not over!

“If it goes on much longer, I will strangle you.”

26. What class are you (Low/middle/high)?

“I transcend the understanding of wealth and class.”

27. How many friends do you have?

“Friends are a weakness. Eonur and Greylam ever only held me back.”

28. What are your thoughts on pie?

“Chocolate cream or throw it away.”

29. Favorite drink?

“I do not drink. I keep my mind sharp and clear.”

30. What’s your favorite place?

“Korriban. I can feel the power of the dark side there more potently than anywhere else in the galaxy.”

31. Are you interested in anyone?

“Jaesa currently holds my interests. Her taste for bloodshed and carnage is ravishing. She understands me better than anyone.”

32. That was a stupid question…

“Perhaps I’ll sic Quinn on you for it.”

33. Would you rather swim in a lake or the ocean?

“Lakes have cooler, clearer water.”

34. What’s your type?

“Women who understand power, and possess a fair bit of it themselves. Women who are not cowards, but seize and command their own destiny.”

35. Any fetishes?

“It isn’t fun if it isn’t rough and loud. Jaesa enjoys it when I choke her, and I’ll maintain my grip until she is moments away from passing out. I love the way she writhes under me as I hold her life on my whim. I particularly enjoy how my subordinates are clearly uncomfortable with our passion, especially Vette. She cannot make eye contact for days.”

36. Indoors or outdoors?

“Outdoors.”

Tagging: @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @exeunt-legacy @chubbyooo @terrelian-inquisitor @bestias-wrath-comic

[doubletriplepowerbomb]

Speak

Drew McIntyre x OC request for anon

words: +4700

tags: @jenn0755 @zappyzoodle @disturbthepearls @lost-in-the-stories @lithesxx @racingandreigns @rocketgirl2410 @vebner37 @therianfurry46 @littlelunaticfringe @finnbalorlover21 @winged-time-criminal @mrsnegan25

Can you do a Drew McIntyre imagine in which he has a crush on Stephanie’s chubby assistant and he one day can’t take it anymore and catches her by surprise and kisses her and takes her out on a date. She’s also friends with Dolph so every time she appears to talk to Dolph he can’t help but stare at her and fall deeper for her. A lot of fluff please!

“Hey Steph, I think I figured out a way to get Raw’s ratings up.” She said as she walked through the door. “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t know you were in a meeting.” Her voice became quiet as she reached backwards to reach for the door handle. 

Stephanie was currently speaking to Dolph Ziggler and Drew McIntyre about Dolph’s title reign. “Oh it’s okay, Val. Here, sit down I’m almost done with these gentlemen.” Stephanie said as she cleared some space off of her couch. Dolph watched his best friend sit down with a smirk and Drew kept his eyes on his shoes, a blush painted on his cheeks.

“Anyway, Dolph as unpopular my opinion is, I think this is a fitting title for you. Yes, the fans don’t love it, but it makes for some great matches.” Steph said. Dolph thanked her before he and Drew walked out of her office, leaving Stephanie alone with her assistant. “Okay Val, what did you have planned.” Stephanie asked her assistant with hope in her voice.

Stephanie McMahon hired Valentina Romano to be her assistant last year and she’s loved her new life. Val couldn’t get enough of traveling to new cities and becoming close friends with all the superstars. Especially Dolph, he was her best friend ever since her first day. She loved the girls too, they were all so talented and so sweet and so much fun.

 “Valentina, a tag match before Summerslam is a wonderful idea!” Stephanie said as she walked over to her assistant and gently clapped her shoulders. “Now as much as I’d love to stay and watch it all play out I have to go. Hunter called with an emergency. I’ll have Kurt announce the match but can I trust you to talk to them?” Stephanie usually trusted Val to act in her shoes when she couldn’t make it to the show and tonight, Stephanie trusted Val to tell the superstars that they’d be in a match tonight.

“Yeah no problem Steph, should I tell Kurt too?” Val asked. Stephanie nodded at her assistant before her phone rang and she was sucked back into her work. 

Valentina walked down the halls looking for the 4 men who’d be in the match. The match would be Seth and Dean against Drew and Dolph, to build tension before Summerslam. She saw Dean and Seth sitting with Roman in catering and walked over to them. “Oh jeez, guys it’s Val.” Roman said jokingly.

“Oh god, Val are we in trouble?” Dean asked with fake fear painted on his face. Lots of the guys loved to joke with her about her position in power, but she rarely ever delivered bad news.

“No you’re not in trouble. But Dean and Seth, tonight you two are gonna have a match against Dolph and Drew to build tension before Summerslam. Good luck you guys.” Val said with a smile before setting off to find Dolph and Drew.

She walked down the halls for a couple seconds before finding Dolph sitting with Drew in a screening room. “Hey loser. Hi Drew.” Val said loudly as she walked in, drawing Dolph and Drew’s attention to her.

“Hey, Valentina.” Drew said quietly, his eyes locked on his tag partner’s best friend.

Instantly, she felt self conscious. Drew never called her Val like everyone else and he always stared. Val knew he’d never be rude to her but she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was judging her. Val wasn’t extremely short, she stood at about 5’6 but she was on the heavier side. She’d come a long way and lost a lot of weight since high school but still, she knew she was chubbier than the women she worked with.

“Jesus Valerie, you said you were gonna start losing weight.” They teased. That’s not my name and I’m working on it; Val thought. “And look at you, still fat and still ugly.” 

For Valentina Romano, that was her whole childhood and 3 years of high school. From her 5th grade to her junior year, she lived in California and got bullied constantly. She didn’t look like all the California girls she went to school with. The hair on her head, arms, and legs were dark, her skin was tinted yellow, and she weighed a lot more than them.

The summer going into her senior year she weighed around 250 pounds. Her family moved to Florida and she lost 78 pounds. The people in Florida didn’t bully her but she stayed quiet and didn’t make many friends.

Dolph’s voice snapped her from her thoughts. “What do you want from me, dork?” He asked as he stood up. Val’s attention moved from Drew’s lingering stares to Dolph.

“You two are gonna have a match tonight against Seth and Dean.” Val said, pushing her lack of self confidence to the back of her head. “Good luck you guys… you’re gonna need it.” She joked. Dolph scoffed playfully before pulling his best friend into his arms. 

“Oh please you know damn well me and Drew are gonna kick ass.” Dolph said, puffing his chest out.  Val rolled her eyes and slapped his chest. Her eyes shot to Drew quickly, his eyes were still locked on her. Drew’s blue eyes scanned up her body to her face and he knew he was caught. His cheeks turned pink and Val smiled gently at him, she smiled wider though when his cheeks got redder. 

Val shook her head and blinked hard before speaking. “Uh… ok I gotta go, but I’ll see you guys later. Bye loser. Bye Drew.”She knew Dolph said something but all Val could hear was the soft ‘Bye Valentina’ from the Scotsman. 

As soon as the door closed, Dolph turned to Drew. “Dude, that was pathetic.” Dolph said to his partner. 

“What did ah do?” Drew asked throwing his hands up. He didn’t have to ask though, he knew exactly what Dolph was going to say. 

“Nothing. That’s what you did. You stared at her and then you blushed. What the hell man?” Dolph knew about Drew’s feelings for Val. On the flip side, he knew how Val felt about Drew and he knew that Val would never make a move because of how self conscious she was. Drew had to make the move but he was too shy to do it.

“Dolph, ya think ah try ta be weird like this? Ah tell myself all tha time to make a move but every time ah see her ah just can’t stop starin at her. Ah’ve probably scared her.” Drew said, defeat in his voice.

“Come on, dude. I don’t think you scared her. Just talk to her.” Dolph said. 

Well… he didn’t talk to her. Val came to talk to Dolph later on that night and the whole time, Drew only stared. 

It’s always been like this. Ever since Val started working for Stephanie, she’s been friends with Dolph. And ever since Drew’s been back he can only stare at her in awe. 

“Hi Drew.” 

“Hi Valentina.” How can someone be so perfect? 

“Bye Drew.” 

Go idiot say something to her. 

“Bye Valentina.” Fuck. 

It happened like this every time she spoke to him. Something possessed him and he wasn’t himself. His heart raced, his face got warm, and his tongue stopped working. Every time he told himself to buck up and say something to her, but every time he saw her he lost his nerve. And every time, Dolph scolded him afterwards. 

That’s gonna change tonight, Drew thought. 

It was the raw after Summerslam, Dolph retained the title and Drew had a match against Dean tonight.

Speak ta her dumbass, Drew said to himself as he walked through the halls. Just tell her something other than hi and bye. Tell her you like her outfit, tell her her hair looks great, just say somethi- “Oh sorry, ah didn’t mean ta,” Drew started, his hands finding the shoulders of the person he just walked into. Val’s shoulders. Shit shit shit. “Ah didn’t mean ta run into ya.” 

“It’s okay, Drew.” She said sweetly, she waited for him to talk but he didn’t. 

Speak! Say something. Tell her she looks nice. 

“Valentina, ya look good... Ah mean yer outfit is nice. Well ya look good too. Ah mean… uhm.” Nice going jackass. 

Instead of running away, like Drew thought she’d do, Val looked down at her shoes and blushed. “Thanks, Drew. I gotta go though, Steph wanted me for something.” Val said. Steph didn’t actually need her, she just had to get herself away from this situation. 

“Wait.” Drew said suddenly. 

Val stopped walking and turned back to Drew. What have ah done? Dolph’s words flashed through his head; “Nothing. That’s what you did” Make a move, Drew. “Ah didn’t mean ta say that. Well ah did but ah didn’t mean for it to come out like that. Ah thought it was gonna be a lot cooler sounding, but it wasn’t.” Drew admitted, making Val giggle. Holy shit ah made her giggle. “Ah did want ta apologize fer always starin at ya.” Drew started, but Val cut him off before he could tell her the reason. 

“No I get it. I’m a lot different than the other girls you work with.” Drew stared blankly at her, unsure of what she meant. “I mean, I know I’m chubby. I just wanted to let you know I understand why you stare. I get it all the time.” Drew wrinkled his nose once he realized what Val meant. She did get it all the time and it killed her. 

“Oh you work for the WWE? I don’t mean to be rude but aren’t those girls really skinny?” Val couldn’t fathom that people would think that’s okay to say. And that they add ‘I don’t mean to be rude’ before it was said. It was rude and it killed her when people would ask that. She’d say what company she worked for and people would visibly get confused. 

‘Yes wrestlers are fit and skinny; and I, Valentina Romano, am not a fit and skinny wrestler.’ 

Val stood waiting for Drew to speak. Then he laughed. He shook his head while he chuckled and grabbed her hands. “Tha truth is ah really like ya, Valentina.” Ah said it. And she’s just looking at me like ah have two heads. What have ah done? Val was shocked. He liked her. That’s why he stared at her. 

Say something Valentina, he probably thinks you’re scared. Say something god damn it. “Drew, you don’t like me, I mean, look at me.” That wasn’t what you were supposed to say. 

“What? Are ya kiddin? Ah have been looking at ya... fer months, ah thought ya noticed.” Drew didn’t know where he was getting this from but he wasn’t gonna question it. “But ah’m serious, Valentina. Ah like ya. Why else would ah sit and stare at ya like an idiot?” 

“My weight.” That was supposed to be in my head, damn it Val. 

“Yer weight. Are ya jokin?” Drew grabbed Val’s wrist and pulled her down the hall. “Ah think yer beautiful, Valentina. Yer perfect.” She actually laughed at that, making Drew squint as he thought of what to do next. 

Without thinking, Drew let go of her hands and cradled her face. “Every time ah see ya, Valentina. Ah melt. Yer absolutely perfect.” His voice got softer and softer as he spoke until he was whispering. He stared into her brown eyes and saw the pain behind them. 

She thinks Ah’m kiddin. Prove it to her, man. 

Drew rubbed his thumb over Val’s cheek and leaned down slightly so he could press his lips to hers. Val gasped, not knowing that Drew was gonna kiss her. But it didn’t make her uncomfortable, she simply closed her eyes and wrapped her arms loosely around his neck. 

After what felt like forever in the best way possible, Drew broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. “Go out with me, tomorrow night.” Drew looked into her eyes, waiting for Val to answer. Val smiled widely and only nodded against Drew’s forehead, now she was the one that couldn’t speak. Drew smiled and pecked Val’s lips once more before he stood up straight again.

“Well, ah’m upset fer havin ta leave ya here, but ah have a match… right now” He said quietly, holding onto her hands.

“Don’t worry about it, Drew. Go kick ass, I’ll be watching.” Val said with a wink, pushing all of her nerves to the back of her head. Drew nodded with a huge grin on his face before he turned around and jogged toward gorilla. Val stood still in the middle of the hall, watching him run away until he turned the corner and was out of her sight. 

She had a huge, goofy grin on her face until she snapped herself out of whatever trance Drew held her in and went running down the halls, in search of her best friend. 

“Dolph!” Val screamed as she ran down the halls searching for her best friend. Drew was in the middle of his match with Dean and both Dolph and Seth had been banned from ringside. 

“What, are you okay.” He asked, sounding panicked. 

“Drew kissed me, then he asked me out! We’re going out tomorrow night!” Val whisper yelled as she jumped up and down. 

“No fucking way. He finally did it, that son of a bitch.” Dolph said with a smile. “I’m so happy for you, Val. You’re really gonna like him. Did he tell you where you’re going?” 

Just then, Valentina realized something. Drew didn’t have her number and she never gave her number to him. “Fuck, I never gave him my number.” She said before slapping her forehead with her hand. 

“I could give it to you.” Dolph said reaching for his phone in his back pocket. Val stopped him though, she had her own idea, she shook her head and walked away, heading for gorilla. 

Drew’s music blasted through the speakers in the arena and Val could hear it backstage. She looked around for somewhere to sit and jumped onto an equipment case while she waited for Drew to come back. 

A couple moments later, Drew’s large frame came through the curtain. Val waited patiently while Drew spoke to Kurt and some other people in the viewing area. Once he finally made his way past her, Val grabbed onto his wrist. “You know Drew, you seemed to have missed something when you asked me out earlier.” Val said teasingly, still sitting on the equipment case and still holding onto his wrist. 

Drew’s eyes went wide and he searched his mind for what he forgot to do. “No, Drew. I meant you forgot to get my number.” 

“Oh. Oh ah did forget. Ah’m sorry, love.” Drew said with a boyish grin. Val felt a blush rise on her cheeks while she watched the muscles ripple in Drew’s arm as he reached up to scratch the back of his neck. “Well, ah don’ have ma phone, love. Ah can give ya mine.” Drew said after a couple seconds of silence. Val only smirked and shook her head no. 

Val’s right hand still held his left wrist and she switched hands so she could write her number in Drew’s palm. Drew watched in awe as Val wrote her number carefully on his palm, sure to make sure all the numbers were clear. 

-

“Good morningggggg, Valley girl.” Dolph sang as he opened the door to Val’s hotel room. Val groaned before rolling over in her bed, hoping Dolph would go away and let her sleep. But he didn’t. 

“Valley girl? Is that supposed to be me?” Val asked as she sat up after realizing Dolph wasn’t going away. 

“Yes. Valley girl; your name is Val and you grew up in California, get it?” He asked with a smile. 

“You’re an idiot.” Val said with a smile before she rolled over in the bed again. 

“Valentina, get up. We’re going to the gym then get you something sexy to wear on your date.” Dolph sang before he yanked the covers off of his best friend. Val rolled her eyes and groaned once more before getting out of the bed. She grabbed shorts and a sports bra before going into the bathroom to get ready. 

Valentina and Dolph bursted into Val’s hotel room after a full day. After two hours in the gym, Val and Dolph grabbed some lunch before going shopping. Drew texted Val earlier telling her what time he’d come get her. He told Dolph beforehand where they were going so he knew exactly what to tell Val to get, comfortable but cute. 

At 7 o’clock, there was a knock on Val’s door. 

“Dolph, I can’t do this. I mean look at me, he’s gonna think I look terrible.” Val said as she stared at herself in the mirror in the bathroom. 

“Val you look great, are you kidding? He’s gonna drown in his own drool.” Dolph said, standing behind his best friend in her bathroom. 

“Dolph. This shirt makes me look so fat and this skirt makes my thighs look huge!” Val said while she poked around on her body. 

“You liked it in the store.” Dolph said, confusion clear in his tone. “It looks good.” 

Because it was the middle of the summer, Val picked out a dark-wash jean skirt and a white shirt that was on the tighter side. Dolph was right, she did like her outfit in the store and she liked it now. But something about Drew seeing it made Val extremely nervous. 

Usually, when she walked around the halls, Val kept her clothes on the looser side. Now her shirt was tight and everything was visible. Instantly Val’s head filled with all the memories of her old life growing up in California. 

“Oh Val, I know you think that looks good on you but you can’t pull it off.” 

“I don’t think those maternity shirts you wear are big enough. You should try 5 XL.” 

They teased her mercilessly and it stung. Every word stung.

Drew knocked again. Ah hope she gave me tha right room number. Drew checked his phone for the text; 286. He looked up at the door; 286. As he stared at the room number, the door opened slightly, he looked down to see Val standing in the doorway. 

Drew could only see her face though, she seemed to be hiding her body from him. “Ya ready ta go, Valentina?” Drew asked as he opened the door wider. Valentina saw as Drew’s eyes landed on her body and she instantly regretted telling him she’d go out. 

Val remembered all the times the she was bullied and she covered her stomach with her arms. “Drew, I don’t-” but the Scotsman cut her off before she could finish her sentence. 

Drew held Val by her shoulders and stared into her brown eyes. “Ya look… beautiful, Valentina.” He drooled. Val felt a blush rise on her cheeks but she kept her body covered. Drew noticed the look her face and stared down at her with love in his eyes. “Valentina, what’re ya doin’? Coverin yerself up like that. Yer a beyond gorgeous girl and ah can’t wait ta take ya out.” Drew spoke honestly and it made Val’s heart swell. 

Drew bent down to press a kiss to her forehead and looked up at Dolph, who was standing in the middle of the room, nodding approvingly at Drew’s words. Val moved her arms and Drew grabbed her hand, leading her the down the long hallway. “Ya look lovely, darlin.” Drew complimented once more before he opened the door to his rental car. 

“Where are we going?” Val asked, getting some of her confidence back. Drew looked over at her and flashed her a gorgeous grin and Val felt her stomach flip. 

“Ah’m takin ya somewhere special and ah know yer gonna love it.” Drew said before starting the car and driving out of the hotel parking lot. 

The car ride was about 30 minutes long but it wasn’t an uncomfortable amount of time. Val was shocked at how comfortable he seemed with her considering he could barely speak yesterday. 

Should I not be as nervous as I am? I mean, Drew seems completely fine and my heart is practically beating out of my chest. Val had no clue what was going on when Drew turned onto a dirt road and continued to drive straight while it got darker and darker. Val fell quiet as her mind raced with horrible possibilities. 

Oh my god, relax. Drew won’t do anything bad. Dolph wouldn’t have let me go if he thought Drew was weird. And she was right because a moment later, Val knew where they were. Drew had taken her to a drive in movie, Dolph must’ve told him how much she loves movies. 

It was a big drive in theater too. There were about 4 screens spaced out across a large open area with hills so lots of cars could park. Drew reversed into a spot next to a speaker labeled with a number 2, meaning they’d be watching Incredibles 2. 

“Ya got quiet, love.” Drew started slowly, “Ya like movies right, cause if ya don’ we won’ stay.” Drew began, praying that she liked movies. This was a shot in the dark and he hoped he hadn’t missed. 

Val cut his rambling off by leaning over the center console and pressing a kiss to his lips. “Drew, this is perfect… and I love movies. Especially pixar, have you seen this yet. It’s phenomenal.” Val began, excited to see Incredibles 2 again. She was such a child and she had waited years for a sequel to her favorite pixar movie when she was growing up. 

“Oh we don’ have ta watch this if ya have already seen it, there’s three other movies if ya like.” Drew began. Val’s eyes widened before reaching over and holding his bicep. 

“No I love this movie and I’d love to see it again.” Val reassured but Drew still seemed unsure. “Drew, I promise. This is amazing and I love it.” Drew’s face finally looked satisfied and he got out of the car. Val followed suit and met him around the back.

Drew had opened the trunk to reveal an extremely comfortable looking set up. All the seats were put down and there were a bunch of blankets and pillows spread across the large space. “Oh my god, Drew this is so sweet.” Val said after grabbing Drew’s hand and lacing their fingers together. 

“Of course it is, love. Ah’ve been in ta ya forever now and ah finally worked up the courage ta ask ya out. Ah couldn’t waste it by takin ya ta do something boring.” Drew said lightheartedly. Although it was portrayed as a joke, Drew meant every single word that he spoke. Val giggled and felt a blush rise on her cheeks, thank god it’s dark and he can’t see me blushing. 

A couple seconds later, the sound started to play and Drew helped Val into the trunk before climbing in after her. They got comfortable while some short trailers played and by the time the movie started, Drew was lying on his back, his head and shoulders propped up by pillows. And Val was lying close next to him, her head rested on his chest. 

“Oh, ah brought ya somethin just in case ya got uncomfortable in that skirt.” Drew whispered while he reached behind a pillow. He pulled out a pair of her joggers and Val’s eyes widened. 

“How’d you get my pants?” Val asked playfully, before taking them and slipping them on under the skirt and taking the skirt off over them. 

“Ah asked Dolph fer a pair to have just in case ya wanted them. And ah didn’t want ta tell ya ta bring them and ruin the surprise.” 

“Well that was extremely sweet and smart of you. So thank you very much for thinking of me.” Val said, thankful again for the darkness so Drew wouldn’t see her blushing. 

“Oh ah’m always thinking of ya, love.” He sad before kissing her temple and pulling her closer to him. Now that she was wearing pants, Val was able to put her leg up on Drew’s, allowing for them to be as close as Drew wanted. 

About 2 hours later, the credits were rolling and Drew had managed to pull Val even closer than before. At some point during the movie, Drew had pulled Val practically on top of him so he could hug her against his firm chest and torso. Val felt so warm and happy in his arms she was upset that the movie ended and he’d let go soon. 

“Are ya comfortable, love.” Drew asked quietly, after the movie had ended. He was playing with Val’s think dark hair and she could barely think. 

“I’m extremely comfortable, I’m kinda upset that it’s over though. This was so much fun and I really didn’t want this movie to end.” Val admitted. 

“It doesn’t have ta end, love.” Drew whispered before he moved his hands to cradle her face. Val smiled at his touch and moved her hand to his shoulder when their lips finally touched. Drew moved slightly so that Val now laid on top of him completely and she instantly felt nervous. What if he thinks I’m heavy. Oh my god I gotta get off of him. 

“Drew am I hurting you?” Val asked after separating their lips. Drew’s hand remained on her face though, making sure their noses remained touching. The Scotsman let out a breathy laugh before kissing Val again.

“Valentina, yer not botherin’ me. Ah like havin ya on top of me like this.” Drew said while wiggling his eyebrows. This made Val giggle and tuck her head in his neck. 

After a second, Val decided to press her lips to his neck and find a sweet spot. As she peppered her lips across his soft skin, Drew let a moan slip and she knew she had found a sweet spot, underneath his jawline. Val smiled against the skin and began to suck softly, Drew moaned Val’s name this time and she realized how much she liked hearing her name like that. 

She loved that Drew still called her Valentina, but hearing Valentina spoken the way Drew just said it made Val fall in love. His gravely, deep voice mixed with his attractive Scottish accent sent the good kind of chills all throughout Val’s body and she hoped he’d say it again.

While all the other people cleared out of the lot and other people came in, Val and Drew remained where they were. They laid together in the back of the truck kissing until sound from the next set of trailers played in the car. Val jumped from the sudden change of silence to noise and she placed her hands on Drew’s shoulders so his lips were no longer on her neck. “Drew, the next movie is starting.” Val said, feeling guilty for not paying to see two different movies. “We didn’t pay.”

“Valentina, did ya see me pay fer tha first one?” Drew asked. Val gasped when she realized he didn’t. Before she could ask if he snuck them in, Drew spoke again. “Ah’m good friends with tha guy who owns this place.” Val’s guilt lifted and she instantly felt relieved. 

“Good, cause I was hoping this wouldn’t end.” Val said cradling Drew’s face in her hands. 

“Well it’s yer lucky day, Valentina. Because after ah told Tommy about tha gorgeous girl ah was takin’ out he said that we could stay fer a double feature. Only if ya like.” Drew said, his hands roaming down her curves to rest on her hips. 

Val didn’t have to answer, she simply smiled and pressed her lips to his again. “You’re amazing, Drew.” She mumbled against his lips. 

“But yer perfect, Valentina.” 

They didn’t watch much of the second movie, but Drew didn’t care, neither did Val. They spent the time kissing and talking about a bunch of different things. But no matter what they did together, Drew had a smile plastered on his face. He finally said something to Valentina Romano, and he didn’t mess it up. 

[lollercakesff]

closer

posted: ao3 for: @starmaammke because it was late for her teeth wordcount: 2,837 warnings: smut?

It’s sweltering. He thinks he sees the paint melting off the road sign as he drives across town with El in tow, the windows down and the air conditioning barely keeping the sweat from his eyes.

“Are we almost there?” El asks from beside him, her curly hair extra frizzy in the humidity. He can’t help but notice that her cheeks are red, her perpetual paleness nowhere to be found on this hot summer day.

“Almost. Although it’s not going to get much better once we’re outside of the truck, you know that right?” He chuckles as she rolls her eyes, a palm swiping over her face.

“Yeah - but Mike said they would have a slipper or something we could play on. It’s water and soap? Like the dishes?”

“You mean a slip and slide?” His mind conjures up the commercial from the TV, flashes of broken limbs making him swallow back his retort as she nods.

“I think so. He says it’s fun,” she says with a shrug. He turns the final corner to the Wheeler’s and watches out of the corner of his eye as she sits up and practically vibrates in her seat.

“You nervous?” He asks as he pulls up to the curb, another car filling the block of vehicles parked along the road. El looks up at him with a wide smile, eyes bright as she shakes her head. “Good - if ever you want to leave, just let me know. We can go anytime, okay?”

“I know - you’ve told me a hundred times,” she replies and climbs out of the truck. Together they head towards the house, the music and smoke from the BBQ welcoming them through the fenced gate.

They’re barely inside before The Party is swarming El and dragging her further into the yard, disappearing from view and leaving him holding his six pack of beer alone at the entrance.

“Hey stranger,” a voice calls from the corner, Karen Wheeler’s hand shooting into the air as she sits in the shade. Squinting through his sunglasses, he tries to make out the other faces at the table before stepping over to join them, a smile breaking through when he notices Joyce in the corner. “I’m so glad you guys could make it!” Karen exclaims and pulls him in for a one-armed hug.

“Anything for the kid,” he mumbles and catches Joyce’s eye over Karen’s shoulder. Joyce smiles back at him and takes a sip of her beer, arms crossed on the table. Pulling back he looks around at the decor and Ted Wheeler leaning over the grill, nodding his head towards the man. “Guess I should go hangout with the cooks, right?”

“God no - sit down Chief, join us!” Karen crows before pulling out a chair and pushing him into it. Beside him Joyce snorts around her bottle, glancing up at him from between her lashes as her friend cracks off a beer and sets it down in front of him. “I’m going to put these in a cooler - you two need to catch up!”

Hopper groans and takes a gulp of the cold liquid courage, leaning back in his seat to look at the woman at his side. “What?” He says with a laugh, lifting his can to her for a cheers.

“Nothing - just you’re looking mighty uncomfortable today Hop,” she replies and sits back in her own chair, an arm still crossed over her chest. He takes in the sight of her in her summer dress, a lightness about her that wasn’t there a month ago.

“Well, I mean, Karen - “ he stutters, desperate to find anything to respond with.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m just kidding. Maybe I’m a bit tipsy.” For a moment he thinks that’s it, that’s why she’s glowing, but a small part of him sees through that and notices the way her smile reaches her eyes in a way it hasn’t in a long time.

“You look good, Joyce,” he says lowly, just loud enough for her to hear. The blush that comes to her cheeks has nothing to do with the heat and the realization makes him lean back in his chair, his heart racing in his chest.

“Thanks. Why don’t you get me another drink? I don’t think Karen’s coming back to give me a refill.” She nods to where Karen is now fully engulfed in a conversation with the other women of the neighbourhood, her attention drawn elsewhere. Hopper takes the instruction and retrieves another beer, sliding his chair closer so that his arm bumps Joyce’s when he sits down.

“You’re welcome,” he grumbles before popping the cap with his keys. They spend the next hour drinking and cracking jokes, the familiarity and ease of the moment not lost on either of them. Though others stop by the table and greet them, neither of them pay much attention to the newcomers before deviating back to their antics of heckling and cajoling.

Eventually, it’s Hopper’s hand that moves from where it’s wrapped around his drink to rest next to hers on the table. The slip is subtle, barely noticeable, but when Joyce’s fingers brush against his it makes a lump form in his throat. He plays with it for a moment, his pinky finger sliding over her knuckle, before he catches her eye and slides her hand into his.

They don’t say a thing before letting their joined palms hang between them under the table, an invisible link that settles their jokes into quiet shared words. The conversation turns to a walk down memory lane and Joyce leans into it, her head resting on Hopper’s shoulder as the afternoon sun starts to lower in the sky.

“You two look pretty comfy over here,” Karen hisses as she places a tray of watermelon on the table. Joyce sits up slowly, awkwardly pulling away from the contact and carefully straightening her dress.

“Sorry - did you need a hand?” Joyce offers, getting to her feet and stepping behind Hopper’s chair. Her hand finds its way to his shoulder, the heat of it unmissable as Karen looks between the two of them.

“Me? Nah - Ted’s setting up the fireworks and I’m just getting dessert out. You guys sit down, you’ve already got the best seats in the house,” Karen adds with a wink before disappearing back into the house.

Hopper seizes the moment and grabs Joyce’s hand from his shoulder, bringing it to his lips for the briefest of kisses. When his eyes slide up to meet hers he can see the hesitation in her gaze, the uncertainty of her movements as she looks back down at him.

“Is it too soon?” She whispers just for him, her brow furrowed as she holds onto his hand tightly.

He knows why she’s hesitating. Bob died less than a year ago and here he was, making a move on her at a party for their kids. It was shameful. Pathetic.

“Joyce,” he starts, getting to his feet so that he’s towering over her with the sun setting behind them. It was unstoppable. Probably fate.

“I’m allowed to be happy,” she says more to herself than to him, a stray palm coming to rest on his chest. He lets her work up to it, lets her look up at him in her own time and when she does it’s like a punch to his chest. “I’m allowed this,” Joyce admits before lifting up on her toes, just high enough for him to lean over and press his lips to hers.

The kiss is brief, chaste, and it nearly bowls him over. He wants to drag her closer and hold her to him but behind them he can hear Will’s shouts of excitement and El’s questions, a reminder of where they are and the very public moment of affection they were sharing in the Wheeler’s backyard.

“Can we go somewhere?” Joyce asks when he pulls away, his hands gripping her elbows and keeping her close. He lets his breathing settle before looking around them, thankful that the eyes are drawn to the activities in the grass and not the two figures lurking near the house. A quick nod and he’s pulling her through the gate, abandoning their drinks and leading her into the front yard with a wide smile across his face.

Alone in street, they pull each other down the empty roadway as the sun starts to set and the shadows grow long. They barely reach his truck before he’s pressing her up against it, his hands gripping her hips and his mouth meeting hers. She sighs into him, moans at his insistence and mewls as she grants him entry.

“We can’t - not in the street!” She laughs as he nips down her neck, a hand slipping under the strap of her dress.

“Not in the street? I don’t remember you ever being opposed to it before,” he chuckles and shifts back up to meet her eyes. The light from earlier is shining through, her youthful smile as bright as it was when they were foolish and carefree.

“Hop,” she chastises, gripping his collar and pulling him back down to her. She kisses him once. Twice. Then leans back and drops a hand to her side, a smirk on her lips as the back door of his truck pops open. “Come on,” she hisses, shifting her hips until he lifts her onto the bench. He holds her there for a moment, stepping between her legs.

“You sure?” He rasps as his hands slide under her dress and up her thighs. “We don’t have to, we can just stay here, make out a little then go back and catch the fireworks.”

Her eyes close and he thinks for a hot flash of a second that she’s going to change her mind, his body tightening ahead of the rejection. But then she looks down at him, a hand coming to his chin as her thumb brushes across his skin. “I’m sure. But I feel compelled to tell you now that I miss the beard,” she says with a sigh, tilting her head as she watches him.

His smile widens before he turns and nips her finger, drawing it between his lips playfully. “I know - but it was just too hot. Besides, don’t I remind you of Magnum?”

Scoffing, she wraps her arms around his neck and shakes her head, a laugh falling from her. “God - that is not something to strive for.” Joyce laughs and then lets go, leaning back and releasing his neck so that she can stretch her arms out along the bench. “But I mean, I seem to remember that you were Magnum before the mustache... Am I wrong?”

Hopper groans and looks around him, lifting her legs and pushing them back so that he can climb in after her and shut the door with a snap. “You’re killing me,” he grunts, propping himself off of her as much as he can. The humidity of the day hovers around them, thick and heavy as they share the small space.

“It’s so fucking hot- “ She starts and he cuts her off, stealing her breath as he swoops in for a kiss that curls her toes. They struggle to find a comfortable spot as their mouths explore, eventually shifting until she’s astride him and their clothes are pushed aside and exposing as much skin as they can.

“I went for a check-up two weeks ago… Doc says I’m clean,” he mumbles as Joyce grinds against him, the move making him grow harder with every passing second. He half expects her to not hear him as she bites her lip and runs her hands into her mess of hair.

“Good - not that I’ve doubted you but I’ve got the rest taken care of,” she sighs, dropping her hands to his chest and looking down at him with hooded eyes. The moment stretches out between them, gazes locked as his hands slowly work up her arms and into her hair. He holds her above him, thumb brushing along her cheekbone as he stares up at her with a newfound wonder.

“Are we doing this? Like, really doing this?” He asks slowly, careful not to blow out that spark but needing to know. God, he needed to know where they stood. There’s a slow nod, a slip of her smile before she buries her face in his neck. “Hey - Joy, no, talk to me,” he soothes, panic bubbling in his chest.

His heart races as she breathes heavily against him, her body vibrating with each inhale. The fear of alienating her, of breaking the careful friendship that they’ve developed over the last year outweighs everything, especially the thought of going back to the party with blue-balls. He’d walk into a million parties eternally uncomfortable as long as she continued to shine next to him.

“You’re starting to freak me out here,” he admits with a tense laugh, a hand curling in her hair and holding her to him. If she was going to burrow in, he was open and ready. She was already inside his heart - had been for years - and he would cling to it for as long as he could.

“Don’t - Hopper,” she laughs and hiccups, drawing back and slapping his chest with her hands. Her eyes aren’t red-rimmed like he expected, but wide and filled with mirth as she looks down at him with a soft smile. “I needed a minute to be sure this was real.”

“It’s definitely real. I know last time we weren’t - it wasn’t right. But now… Joyce,” he sighs and pulls her down for a kiss, watching every second as she hovers above him. The moment seems to crack and shatter and her lips find his, breathless as she presses in.

A flurry of bumps and loose limbs fill the space as they work together to shift and align, his belt undone and her hands on his hips. “I don’t want to stop, okay? This is me telling you that this is real - that this is - “

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence before he’s reaching up for her and shaking his head, a shushing noise mixed between his laughter. Joyce takes the hint and reaches a hand into his pants that traces along the edge of him, a smile on her lips as she meets her mouth with his. He groans at the contact and closes his eyes, his hips rising as her palm wraps around his length.

“Jesus,” he hisses, desperate for the feel of her. When she eventually pulls him free his hips jerk up to her abruptly, his body betraying the cool demeanor he’s trying to convey.

“Don’t worry, I feel the same way,” she breathes knowingly into his ear before pulling the lobe with her teeth. The old playful Joyce appears as his hands slide under her dress and cup her breasts, a thumb and forefinger tweaking her nipples and eliciting small mewls from her chest.

There’s no hesitation in her movements as she lifts up and slides her panties aside, hovering over him as his ministrations pause and their breathing stops. Slowly, she sinks down and lets him stretch her, holding him inside her as long as she can before she has to move.

It turns and shifts after that and soon she’s riding him with tiny cries, a hand guiding her hips and another on her breast. Thrust after thrust he pushes up into her, trying and fighting to get closer as the heat twists through the truck and brings sweat to their skin. Every kiss and every breath is mixed with a hint of salt, telling as he wrestles to bring her ever closer.

“You feel - “ she moans, moving quicker as silent words spill from her. Hopper takes the hint and drops his hand to her center, his fingers finding her nub and working it furiously. “Oh god,” she keens and scratches her nails into his chest.

Somehow he manages to pull himself up until his lips can drag her nipple into his mouth, the motions with his hands and tongue combine and make her hips buck until she’s coming apart around him. Her body tenses as her mouth forms a silent ‘O’, the sound of fireworks from the yard perfectly timed as his own body fights and fails to stave off his own release. He comes with a grunt, filling her as his hands grasp at her exposed skin and light fills the sky outside the truck.

With cooling skin and evened breathing, Hopper feels himself slip from her warmth as he resettles her dress straps on her shoulders. “Should we get back to the party to watch the fireworks?” He asks as she smiles lazily down at him, her torso leaning against the seatback.

“One more minute?” She sighs and spreads out across his chest, her hair curling in his face.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he replies softly. And he means it.

[blazingtheway]

Through the Looking Glass – Storyline 8 – Together - Part Ten

Continuing on from...

↬Leah Clearwater ↫ The night was turning around just fine for me. Winning the bet had been fun, the arseholes... okay not so much. But it was good to have the bar moving towards its capacity. As the imprints and the pups enjoyed the side show that the blonde chick and Call put on, I got to work. I had left to go down into the back of the bar to the storage cupboard for some more wine to restock the fridges. And turned my thoughts back internally to myself. My wolf was always there to guide me. And I could see that I needed to listen and not push her out the way. ‘Finally! Just took you how long to work that out?’ She mused in my head, making me groan at her. “You’re not meant to listen to my internal monologue!” But she knew and I knew there was no stopping her. She was the only one on this earth who knew all of me. ‘Sis, we need some more vodka and those tonics too.’ #Seth called out as I walked back setting the box of wine on the back counters. Checking which tonics before I headed back out. But I stopped in the door way when I heard #Rachels voice, it was more the case of what she was saying. Telling this stranger who was unknown to us, to Call about Ms C and her illness. A spark of anger flared in me, my hands fisting up I turned my head just enough to look over my shoulder at them all. The blonde was lapping it all up. ‘Which part are you annoyed about?’ My wolf asked watching it all unfolding. As I turned back and left. Taking two or three steps at a time until I stood in the basement, gathering what was needed upstairs. “You know which part.” I said through gritted teeth. And this was something I needed to deal with. The flareup of my temper was not a good sign and unlike me. “Ms C and her illness is not a bloody chat up line. She deserves better.” And she did. ‘You know you’re the closed book who doesn’t share her life with another living being. All of them up there... they aren’t made like you .’ I didn’t reply to her this time. Because once again she had pointed out the truth. Stacking two cases of the tonics, and a box of vodka bottles. I picked them up and made my way up and out behind the bar. ‘Rach! You will want to smack Call for this one. He just said your too nice for your own good.’ #Ness laughed and giggled at the look #Rachel turned and gave Call. “Looks like his arse is going to get it in more than one way tonight.” I muttered, as #Mac passed me laughing at my comment. ‘Poor guy can’t win, tonight can he?’ He joked taking the box of vodka from me. “Not my fault he keeps betting on the wrong horse.” I said smirking.

↬ Embry Call ↫ I heard the women at the bar, and I muttered into my hand. "Suddenly so interested in my arse." 'Is all of that true?' The blonde asked. 'About your Mom?' I nodded and stepped around the pool table to take my shot while she sipped on the cocktail in her hand. I potted a red ball that tied us with the pups. I moved to take my second shot. "It's true... So, I don't get a lot of chances for a night out with the guys... you know." I looked around at the boys that were clearly here together tonight; even though they were in a few smaller groups, talking and laughing, moving between the huddles. Hoping she might take the hint. I took my next shot and when I looked up, she looked like a wounded bird. My brow raised and I decided it really wasn't my responsibility to make her feel better. Sure, I had flirted a little... but not to the point of leading her on. 'Um...' She stuttered. 'Well, it was nice to see you again.' "You too..." I smiled. "Enjoy your night." I turned back to the guys and she shuffled back to her friends. 'Dude...' one of the pups said quietly. 'That was cold... did you see her face?' "Why don't you go make her feel better?" I chuckled and he gave a looked that asked. 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓵𝔂? And I nodded. He made to go over to her right away and I caught him by the front of his shirt. "Not yet you idiot!" I laughed. "Wait until she at least finishes that drink... then buy her next one." ↬ Leah Clearwater ↫ ‘Leah!’ #Ness squealed making me roll my eyes as I restocked the fridges. The girl was really having way too much fun. She did know that I too could hear it all! Listening I heard #Bex and #Kim asks her what was going on and it made me drop my head. “You know your arse isn’t all that special around these parts Call, they are a dime a dozen.” I smirked; the acknowledgment of the message being received the moment my words were said. With the reaction of the pups busting out in laughter and sounds of 𝘿𝙞𝙨 or 𝘽𝙪𝙧𝙣sounded from the groups around the bar floor. Standing back up I moved around behind #Mac making sure he had everything he needed, and then I did the same for #Seth. ‘Break anyone?’ #Seth asked and I moved my arm around #Mac telling him to go rest up. Today had been a long arse day for all of us, but him more so. He was the human in the team, and I could tell from the way he was standing that he may have started to feel a little discomfort. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked me, I can go longer if you want to get some air out back?’ #Mac’s big smile was across his lips, but it wasn’t reaching his eyes, I saw the flash of worry in them. Which of course earned him a smack up the side of his head. ‘Really Leah I am okay for a little while longer.’ He said, his eyes moving to the side and I saw what was happening. There had been a girl stood to the side waiting on him to serve her. “I see. Okay… I can go now.” I grabbed myself a beer from the fridge. By the time I turned my attention back to the main floor, my eyes wondering over everything and everybody. I stopped at finding the blonde back at the bar climbing up on the stool. Her face told a million tales. ‘Call, that wasn’t like you, not up to it tonight. Or did you lose your touch?” I heard another pup asking, shaking my head. The pups were really upping their level of cheek tonight. Now Call was giving another pup tips on chatting the chick up? Then I was glancing at our girls who were still giggling and laughing. Moving over to them I put my beer down, making them all fresh drinks, sliding them in front of the five. “You know, isn’t it kind of girl code thing not to laugh at a chick who looks like that?” I asked. ‘What do you know about girl code Leah, you always say you don’t follow it.’ #Kim asked. “Yeah, that’s true. But it doesn’t mean I don’t know the difference between being kind and welcoming and being a dick. I know what they did on the Rez today wasn’t right. I know she was a little upfront and there is nothing wrong with what just happened. But let’s not all keep laughing when the chick looks like

that.” Nodding my head towards her and her group. It was #Jess who slipped down from the stool and #Rachel too. The two of them made their way around to the group of strangers. Making small talk, asking about their day, what they did and offered other places they may want to see before leaving. The blonde started to smile again, so I picked up my beer before anybody noticed. Slipping out of the bar, and through the back door to find my perch on the back wall. “The Spirits give me strength.” ↬ Embry Call ↫ I shook my head, talking as though it was just to the guys nearby; I leaned over to take another shot. “Please! You all know I’m a cut above the rest.” I straightened as a red ball sank into a corner pocket. “Apart from our packs lovely group of ladies… but who can compare to them!” I flattered them, even though they were content to sabotage me tonight. ‘Always so cocky!’ One of the Pups sighed and shook his head. “Keep it up and I’ll grab one of those guitars and we’ll see who the hottest guy in the room is.” I eyed them all threateningly. The kid that wanted to hit on the blonde went a little wide-eyed. ‘At least wait until I pull the blonde before you try that!’ he muttered, sounding slightly pathetic. Surely, they had all noticed that music was the one tactic I never used to win a woman over… in fact, even the girls I had brought home in the past never commented on the presence of guitars and music scattered around the room. I patted his shoulder again after taking my second shot. “Go offer to buy her a drink before the guy she’s with does… he’s into her but I don’t think he’s competition.” The pup was gone before I finished talking. ‘Dude!! We’re in the middle of a game!’ The other protested. #Sam just laughed and told him to pick a sub from the group. I heard Leah’s teasing and laughing, I wasn’t going to pop the pups bubble by telling her why I wasn’t interested. It would unfairly skew the kid's view of her. “You know I don’t like blondes” was all I said. But I really wasn’t in the mood tonight. I heard #Jess introduce the kid… she was one of the friendliest people I knew. It wasn’t a bad first meet to be introduced by the first girl that was friendly to them. #Sam sank the last red and then the eight ball to ruckus applause from his pack juniors. ‘Better luck next time kids.’ I nodded to #Seth at the bar and he handed me a fresh beer, I slipped out the front door; telling them I wanted a little fresh air. I knew where Leah would be, I wanted to see if she was okay… not because what happened might have shaken her…more to see if she was torturing herself over how close she came to losing her temper. I walked around to the back of the bar and saw her perched on the wall. I leaned up against it, sipping my beer… a foot or so between us. I didn’t say anything. She wasn’t the 𝓷𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓪𝓵𝓴type. If she had anything to say, she would. Or tell me to take a hike, either way, I would have my answer. ↬ Leah Clearwater ↫ The night was cooler, the sky black with the stars hidden behind the clouds once again. I set the bottle of beer down on the wall, pulling my hair up off my neck and on the top of my head in a messy bun. I let my head fall forward and closed my eyes. So much had taken place and I knew there was going to be some fall out from it all. Not from anybody else of course, I hadn’t broken any rules to bring the pack Elders down on me. But that didn’t mean I would go easy on myself. My lips curled up into a smile when the air kissed the back of my neck and I knew I wasn’t alone. “Oonugwito Equa Waya Adanvdo.” ( Hello Great Wolf Spirit. ) The presence of him was all consuming, the air and the sounds all around me changed. The noises from within the bar drifted away, the sounds of the forests and its animals behind me gone. It was just the two of us. The power of his spirit flowed all around me, he didn’t take on the body of the blue wolf tonight. He was just a feeling which could not be mistaken by any other. ‘Tsagisadasgi Gvdodi Unelagi adadelisedi Ayoli?’ ( Are

you familiar with forgiveness child? ) His deep aged voice rang in my ears, the connection made with my heart. “No Hellos, no how’s it going?” I teased and felt the wind flow and snap me over the back of my head. The sensation hit me from out of nothing. And I laughed rubbing my head. “Okay, Okay. Who needs to be forgiven now?” I asked. But he was silent as the answer flashed in my mind. “I can’t forgive myself without addressing why.” I told him. ‘Kaktiloxwats’ ( Open your eyes ), he whispered into my mind. “Open them to what? My own stupidity? I worked so hard not to be that person. Not to be who I was. And One trip. One mistake and where am I now?” I took in a deep breath, filling my lungs to a point where I had no more room. ‘Uyoayelvnv Vtla gohusdi Etsolagesdi Adehosga’ ( Sorrow is nothing to be ashamed of.) His energy moved and flowed around my shoulders. “I’m not ash…” Was I? Was I in fact ashamed of what had taken place in Seattle? The fact that I had somehow allowed a man to get one up over me? Something I had promised myself I would never do. And tonight, blonde tips had taken the brunt of the anger I was feeling with myself? ‘Itsula Uwasv’ ( We are not alone ), #TheGreatWolfs spirits moved from around me and he vanished into the forest behind. I rubbed my face, opening my eyes. I didn’t need to see him to know it was Call making his way around the building from the front. I picked up the beer and took a long pull from it. My eyes up into the sky a whisper to #TheGreatWolf. “Wado” ( Thank you ), I was always so much calmer after speaking with him. I took another mouthful from the bottle; I didn’t have to look to know Call was now sat on the wall beside me. We didn’t speak for a while, just sat there with a new ease between us. When in the name of the spirits had that become a thing? “Are you okay with people talking about Ms C in that way? Using her as a tool to pull chicks?” I don’t know why I asked. No… I did… She was someone I respected and cared for. And it burnt deep to hear what I had in the bar.

↬ Embry Call ↫ I had heard her soft whispering to the wind as I came around the building. I knew what people used to say about her when she was little. Personally, I was always a little jealous of that connection of hers… as long as she was home… she was never alone. Not quite the same as people, but still. It was something. And now… after what she had told me, it was becoming clear why she was the one they spoke to. I tilted my head up and contemplated her question. They had always used the momma’s boy angle when they tried to set me up or intervene in my… encounters (just another reason to not make conquests in La Push). But they’d not really had the chance since mom got very sick. “No.” I sipped the beer in my hand… not asking her why she was here, it was more than a break… but less than an emotional crisis. So I wasn’t going to push. “I mean I suppose I can see why it might not be very tactful… now that you say it that way. But #Rach… She just wants everyone to see what she thinks are my better attributes. She thinks I’m closed off and afraid of relationships or any level of commitment, beyond making sure a girl gets home safely.” I thought about that too. “But that makes sense; I mean she’s living her happily ever after and that all started when she came home and ran into Paul for the first time since… Well.” She knew, I didn’t need to explain it. I tilted my head and processed the thoughts out loud. “She loves me in her own irritating interfering kinda way.” I laughed. “And she thinks I’ll be happier with a life more like the one that makes her, vomit-inducingly happy… and I kinda love her for that too. So no… not really okay with it exactly… but what’s done out of Lo-“ I remembered her aversion to the word and stopped, realising I said it twice already. I corrected myself. “ – With the best intentions can’t truly be all bad, right?” ↬ Leah Clearwater ↫ So, we are now doing this? Him talking about how others perceived him, and his so called ‘relationships’ with his shorties? Did I expect this Conversation to take this turn? Nope... for me it was a Yes or No answer. ‘Yes. It’s cool.’ Or ‘No!’ No further explanation necessary. But this was ↬ Embry Call ↫ Call, the guy didn’t know the meaning of simple answers, in fact my standing joke about him having an award for ‘The Art of Conversation’, played it real right now. I brought up the bottle of beer to my lips and all but choked on the #Lbombs he dropped one after another. My instinct is telling me to punch him, kick him off my wall and tell him to go drop those bombs with the imprints. I was sure they would appreciate them more. ‘You asked the question; he is just answering you. It’s not his fault, that he knows how to use his words. And you don’t.’ That was it. I pushed my wolf back and locked the door on her. She was done taking Call’s side for tonight. Clearing my throat, I kept my eyes forward. Taking another pull from the bottle. “Hmm... if you ask me, which I know you didn’t. So tell me to sod off....” Taking another pull from the bottle. “Good or best intentions can be achieved in many ways. Using your mom, as a way into a girl’s heart or attentions... shouldn’t be the go too.” Looking back up to the sky. “I know what Rachel is like.” Boy did I know. The last set up by her still rang in my mind. “But it’s up to you to set rules and boundaries, on what is acceptable and what is not.” I half laughed thinking about it. “And then wait to see how long it takes that woman to break said rules and boundaries.” Shaking my head, because let’s face it. #Rach didn’t know when to stop. Or understand that happiness didn’t always come by having someone in your life. “Thanks....” I didn’t say that word too often. “...for your help here today. You truly didn’t have to spend your day off here doing this..” I held my hand with the bottle in it out towards the bar. ↬ Embry Call ↫ I chuckled when she all but choked on her beer. I got the aversion to the declaration of love... but talking about friends and family wasn’t the same as

baring your heart and soul to someone. I nodded. "Yeah... I can see your point... but, its #Rachel... she means no harm. I think her problem is that it’s not hearts I'm looking for my way into." I listened to her talking about boundaries and shook my head. "No." I said quietly. "I'm done with walls... I did that... I even pulled #Jake into it." I dragged my hand through my hair and sighed. He hadn't wanted to do it, but he did it... for me, he let our friendship overthrow his instincts as an Alpha. "Keeping people at arm’s length... at least the ones that matter it made me miserable. It might work for some people, but I'm not doing it again." After telling Leah my whole truth I felt better… the weight I had been associating with Mom's illness and the bills... I realized that it wasn't just that there was more to it. I smiled and looked at her now; I knew she meant the stage and not making sure those idiots from earlier left. "Seriously... you're bringing live music to my favourite bar!" I laughed. "There was no other place I'd rather have been." I took a drink from the bottle in my hand. "And I hadn't had a chance to catch up with #Tony in a long time. So, I suppose I should be the one thanking you." I wasn't going to ask her anything about tonight or Seattle... this was what she needed. Someone to talk to like it was just any other day. She was well able to look after herself, if she wanted to talk… or even not talk… she would need to decide when and with whom for herself. ↬ Leah Clearwater ↫ “Like I said… you didn’t ask…” I had no right to comment on him or his way of living. Or the way him and the imprints acted, and especially when they all lived their life open and on full view for the world to see. My hand stopped with the bottle just shy of my lips. His comment resonated in a way that made every bone and muscle in my body stiffen. ‘𝘒𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘮’𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩... 𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐'𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.’ I narrowed my eyes, was that a dig at me for the choices I’d made with my life? Gritting my teeth, I took another pull from the bottle of beer. I felt his eyes on me, but I didn’t turn to look back. I didn’t know what it was with him these days. Since the night he’d come to tell me about his past, standing in my living room telling me what he had done. The fact that #Jake had taken steps to protect his secret from the rest of us. It all spoke volumes about their relationship. ‘𝘓𝘦𝘢𝘩... 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘳...’ It had taken so much for him to say those words. But was he now judging me for not being able to, or better still not wanting to push my walls down? I finished my beer; the sounds of his feet on the ground came before he stepped out from the back door. ‘Sis?’ #Seth stopped glancing at Call for a moment, and then continued to the wall. ‘Did you both want another beer?’ he asked holding the bottles out. I opened the bun over my head. My hair cascaded its way down my back and over my shoulders. “No, I’m good. I was just heading back inside. Why don’t you take your break now, apparently Call was saying something about this being his Favourite Bar. And maybe you can talk him into becoming a customer for life with the live music and all.” Standing up I squeezed the kids’ shoulder, stepping around him and heading back inside. Why had I expected anything different from anyone in the pack. At the end of the day, it was always about me keeping them all at an arm’s length. They couldn’t see why I was the way I was, and I wasn’t in the mood to ever explain myself to the world. ↬ Embry Call ↫ I heard her teeth grinding together. It hadn’t been intended as a judgement on her choice to keep most of herself private for the pack… or the world in general. Just because it was a choice that would never make for myself; didn’t mean she couldn’t. All I had meant was that I had made a mistake

and I used our friendship to make Jake the power that was gifted to him when he became an Alpha… I had hated myself for it. I smiled at #Seth when he stepped out but, I had to look away when she let her hair down… There was only one witness here and if she caught me staring… or worse, if #Seth dimed me out for checking out his sister I would get a thump across the back of my head. Damn! Why was that so hot!? I looked intently at the dumpster, the ground…. Anything. Until she stood up I figured it was safe now. ‘He already is.” #Seth grinned at his sister. ‘He even named a drink on the menu. I think he’s hooked.’ I watched her go back inside and patted the wall where she had been sitting. “Pull up a chair.” I said with a smile. #Seth came over and sat on the wall next to me. ‘Is she okay?’ he asked after a long pause, ensuring she was back in the loud bar and couldn’t overhear us. “Of course, she is… she’s Leah. She’s always fine and if she’s not; then she fixes whatever it is.” I replied even though I didn’t believe the first part… but I did believe the last part, so she would be fine. ‘She seemed annoyed; did you say anything to piss her off?’ He wasn’t mad… just curious. “I don’t think so…. But probably.” I shrugged. “Hey, you heard what #Rach said in there right?” I turned to face him and he nodded. “Did you think she crossed a line using M—“ I didn’t finish the sentence before he answered. ‘Oh definitely!” He blurted out. “But its #Rachel… she doesn’t mean any harm.’ “That’s what I said!” I shrugged. “Do you think I’m too soft when it comes to the imprints?” I was mostly asking myself but #Seth replied anyway. ‘Yeah… but aren’t we all?’ He said, and we both took a drink from the bottles in our hands and sat in contemplative silence for a few moments.

↬Leah Clearwater ↫ Walking back in, I stopped to refill the glass washer, and then grabbed a tray of clean ones to take into the bar with me. By now I was sure that Mac would be in need of them. I stopped at the door and surveyed the room. The tables were still full, the pool tables too. One was taken by the pups and the imprints as well as #Jessica who was holding her own. The other by people from around town. The bar was still hosting a few groups and I saw that the blonde was doing better now. She was enjoying the attention from the pups who were now talking animatedly with her and her friend, and the guy with them wasn’t looking to out of place now that some of the ladies from the drinking group were paying him some attention. But we all knew, when the Pups and the Packs were in the room, the other men really didn’t have much of a chance. And even now it made me smirk. Because when I turned to watch #Mac, he was tall for human men at 5’11”, and sure he worked out too. but he was still on the smaller side of the Pack. And yet it never stopped him. He had a confidence in himself even if he had bad taste in women. He always gave 110% when they didn’t do the same back. And yet he still didn’t let his past stop him from opening himself up again. ‘Maybe we can learn a little something from Mac and Embry Call? One doesn’t let the past shade his future, and the other learns from mistakes and then moves on without being marred by what happened?’ My wolf whispered to me. I wanted to snap my teeth at her. Telling her there was no way I was going to be caught dead acting like Call or Knight. ‘Life saver Lee!’ #Mac brought me out of my mind, and I moved around him to set the tray of glasses down. “It’s a talent you know, staying ten steps ahead of the rest of you.” I teased, then nodding my head towards the girl still at the corner of the bar. “Why don’t you take your break now? Maybe show someone the new stage?” I winked at him as I got back to work. ↬ Embry Call ↫ I leaned back against the wall, tilting my face up. The moon was barely visible behind the clouds. ‘She didn’t say anything…. About…’ #Seth sighed. ‘Did she?’ I shook my head and looked at her little brother… when he worried about her, he really did look like a kid again. “No… she didn’t. She’s okay, Seth. You can’t blame her for getting pissed off with those kinds of guys… and she pulled herself back. She always does.” My mind instantly pulled up the smell of that stranger’s blood on her shirt. I remembered finding it in the bathroom of her hotel… her face when she told me what happened. The bastard deserved a lot more than what he got. But I had to stomp that thought down before it made my heart beat faster; and tip #Seth off that something was up. ‘I know.’ He huffed out a breath. ‘I just wish she’d talk to me sometimes.’ I scoffed a laugh. “That’s not how she works… it never has been. All you can do is just be there, don’t try to make her talk. Just be around and let her leave if that’s what she wants.” ‘Is that what you were doing?’ #Seth chuckled. But I nodded. “Yeah… she went out on a limb for mom and me… I figured I could at least offer her a distraction.” I chuckled and so did he. ‘I knew you wouldn’t stay pissed at her for that…’ #Seth smiled. ‘You never do.’ “Hey, we can’t all be perfect enough to never get a little heated.” I elbowed the kid, who preened a little. ‘Why thank you for noticing!’ He laughed. A light misty rain started to fall, and we pushed off the wall to head back inside. I couldn’t stop myself from looking around the bar, finding Leah smiling and teasing #Mac to go and flirt with a girl. #Seth got back to work, I made my way back over to the guys; my eyes catching again and again on the keyboard and that gorgeous guitar. ↬ Leah Clearwater ↫ ‘And the cute one is back, who is next?’ #Seth clapped his hands together and rubbed them looking out over the bar at the waiting customers. “Hmm… He maybe the 𝘾𝙪𝙩𝙚one, but I’m the best in every other way.” I snapped back and then smacked him upside his

head. Earning a few laughs from the regulars who knew how things worked inside the family of the #HWH. ‘Spirits, Sis, don’t kick your own brother down in front of these lovely ladies.’ He rubbed the side of his head, but the both of us knew that I hadn’t hurt him. He was just playing up for the sympathy from the on lookers. “Please, like you were even in with a chance!” I exclaimed back, but by then three or four of the waiting girls had moved out of the line before me, hovering over to his side of the bar. #Seth waggled his brows at me in an unsaid way telling me 𝙎𝙚𝙚. As the night progressed slowly the early crowd started to die down. #Sam moved around the bar and came to say night before wanting to get home to Emily. Even if she had told him to get out of her hair tonight and have a “pack night.” He said he wanted to help with the last of the meal prep if she would let him touch anything. I nodded my head to him as a ‘good night’ as the others spoke to him. The lines at the bar started to slow too, giving the guys and me time to stand back, to catch up and clean up. And as I wiped the bars down and started the clean-up in the back. I couldn’t stop my eyes from wondering over the floor, taking in the people, the pups and then there was Embry. He was as calm and cool as always, but when the others weren’t looking, I couldn’t help but follow his gaze towards the stage. ‘What is he looking at?’ My wolf was sat up watching too. the two of us together glanced at the stage to take it all in. The Drums? No. It wasn’t his idea of fun. ‘It’s got to be the guitar?’ She asked but I wasn’t so sure. He had one of his own, but was one ever enough, for someone like him who enjoyed music so much? ‘The keyboard?’ she asked next. ‘Can’t be… Ms C has such a beautiful piano.’ She dismissed it, but I wasn’t so sure. Yes, Ms C did have a beautiful piano, the memory of how I was left speechless that day when I walked into find him playing it repeating in my mind now. But it wasn’t with him all the time. Did Call want one? I narrowed my eyes but pulled my attention away. I was never one to allow others to notice me when I was trying to work things out. And tonight, was no different. ‘Final Call!’ #Mac shouted out. Pulling me out of my thoughts. I threw the towel to the side, reading myself for the final rush of customers before it was closing time.

↬Embry Call ↫ Leah teasing #Seth was nothing new, but there were always two certain kinds of girls that seemed to respond to him most. First, the kind that saw how sweet and happy he was and thought he would be easy to manipulate; and second the one that saw he wore his heart on his sleeve and truly liked him for it… but the second type was normally far too shy to approach him. A few beers later and a few more tragic games of pool… it seemed like the night had flown. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves; you know!” I mocked them at their abysmal pool skills and a few of the pups filed out after Mac announced the final call. But I figured I might as well finish out the night with one last beer before I headed home. I had caught Leah watching me sometimes when my gaze drifted over to the instruments again… and again. She was lost in thought then. But I knew she’d keep it quiet. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if the pack found out… but it had become this little thing… one that was just mine. #Seth slid me a bottle and gave me a cheeky grin. ‘I still can’t believe you went up against Leah.’ He shook his head at me. “Oh c’mon! Who would think a drink called #Mermaidspunk would be so popular!?” I waved my hand at the dreaded specials board. “There was no way to predict that!” ‘Are you really gonna sing?’ He was trying and failing to bite back a smile. “I’ve never welched on a bet. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when all your patrons get up and leave.” I made sure Leah heard too. But she would never waiver from her terms. I wouldn’t if the tables were turned. When he went back to restocking as more customers started to empty out of the bar, I found myself twisting in the stool and glancing back at the keyboard again. It wasn’t the same as a piano… not nearly. But pianos weren’t exactly easy to move around… they were impossible to hide. A keyboard… would be the closest thing to it when the mood struck. Which it had lately… A lot. I loved the guitar, but it was different… Playing the piano was like coming home. ↬ Leah Clearwater ↫ “He went up against me because he is a fool who doesn’t know when to quit. And I don’t give a crap if every last person stood up and walked out of this bar on Monday night. I won that bet and he...” I pointed to Call, “..has to pay up.” I knew too well it the tables were turned, there was no way that Call would let me off. So, nor would I. ‘See you guys later.’ The girls waved, then left with the last of the pups, I watched after them all and knew that the pups would make sure that the Imprints would all reach home safe and sound. But under my breath I murmured. “Keep your eyes open for the townies, just in case they got some stupid ideas in their head to come back at closing.” The pups all acknowledged they understood in their own ways before they left. I glanced around the bar as a few people were finishing up their drinks, and Mac went over to tell them it was time to go. When I moved to look back, I was surprised to find Call was still sat on the bar stool, but his back was to us, and his eyes once again on the stage. Gathering the glasses off the top of the bar, I bit the inside of my cheek. “Hey, Seth?” I called over to him, I knew he was listening because I was talking normally for anyone to hear really. “How are you getting home?” It was a normal question for a sister to ask her brother. I didn’t look at him, just kept going on with my work. ‘Hmm, I’m going to leave my truck here and go home with Mac tonight. We have that supply run in the morning remember? Driving two trucks around just doesn’t make sense.’ I knew this, the plans had been put into place a few days back when the guy’s wanted to go into PA for the supplies together. So, I just nodded my head as I took the tray full of glasses to the back, knowing that both #Mac and Call were listening too. ‘Why?’ I didn’t answer right away, the plan was still coming together in my mind. “Nothing… Well… Something… The Keyboard and the Guitar, I knew they were worth something, but I hadn’t

expected them to be that expensive. And I know Tony said that we were covered…. But still… Not sure I want to leave them here… The drums and the other stuff are all too heavy for someone to walk out with…But….” This was all coming together, because when I came back out. Both #Mac and #Seth stood by the bar considering my words. “Don’t worry about it, maybe I could take your truck and…” his eyes widened. #Seth would give me the keys without a second thought. But he knew that I hated to ride four wheels. ‘No, I.. I could take them with me, and then in the morning Mac and I could drive here first and then head out…’ He was thinking as was #Mac. ‘I’d put them in mine, but we have the empties in there that we need to take with us in the morning.’ #Mac looked at the stage now too. I guessed me bringing it up had them both worried. I looked at the back of Call’s head. But didn’t say anything. Both #Mac and #Seths eyes followed and then I turned away to clean down the ice machine. ‘Hey... Mister MC for the Open Mic Night. Can you please take them with you? They will be safe at your place until Monday, and then you could bring them with you?’ #Seth clapped Call on this shoulder to get his attention. ‘Bingo!’ My wolf sounded proud of me as she sat back and watched the seed sewn. I didn’t need to ask; I didn’t need to say anything. It wasn’t even my idea… This was all on #Seth.

↬ Embry Call ↫ I laughed and nodded. “Yeah, yeah!! I should have learned my lesson by now.” I flashed Leah a wide cheeky grin. “But one day… 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕕𝕒𝕪Clearwater… I will win and that will go down in history! And all your former wins will be forgotten.” The guys that were still here all nodded in agreement and then realised they were kind of challenging Leah and stopped. I didn’t reiterate that I always made good on my bets. She knew… the whole pack knew. I turned and waved as the rest of the pups exited the bar for the night. I was staring at the instruments again, not really paying attention to the conversation behind me; they were talking shop… not unusual when I loitered here after they started shuffling people out. I did turn back, however, when I heard Leah talk about taking his truck. I was never quite sure if she hated driving or just disliked all transportation on more than two wheels. Knowing Leah it was both… she never did things in halves. We all knew she could drive… she just didn’t… unless it was for her Ma. But they mentioned the instruments again and well… I’m a musician! I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t the fact that they were expensive… the value of a musical instrument lay in its craftsmanship and the beauty of what it could stand to make with its music. The quality was a little lost on the keyboard… but it too had its admirable traits in its versatility… the programming and engineering that went into the cold plastic shell… Maybe I was a bit of an acoustic purist, but the idea of a piano ( ish ) that you could take anywhere? My Grandfather would roll over in his grave. I half chuckled at the thought; but then #Seth was talking to me. “Hmm…” I turned back and #Seth laughed. “Oh! Um, yeah… sure, I could lock the doors for a few nights.” I chuckled. I couldn’t leave the house unlocked with those inside. “The kids all know where to find a key in the rare event of a locked door.” ‘You really wanna be alone with that guitar don’t you?’ #Seth teased. “That guitar and I will be happily married by Monday!” I shot back with zero shame. I packed up the instruments and #Seth helped load them into the Jeep, while Leah finished up… She always had a thing about being the last one out. No one really questioned it anymore. After saying our goodnights and a knowing nod to Leah… She was good, but I knew what she had done. Maybe that was only because I knew she was in on the unrevealed part of my life now, that I saw it. The whole way home I ran over the thought in my mind. How it felt to have her in on the darkest and lightest secrets of my life. It was strange… … And I liked it. It felt like a step in a new direction.

↬ Leah Clearwater ↫ It didn’t take long for me to finish up at the bar after the last of them all left me to it. I enjoyed staying back on my own to close, it was the peace after the madness that helped me ease into the night ( or should I say the morning ), before me. The call from my Ma had me riding past her home, it was out of the way of course but there was no way I wasn’t going to check in on her. I slipped into the house without waking her, watching over her and pulling the blankets over her cold shoulders, and only when I was sure that she was going to be okay, did I leave and ride the rest of the way home. Home…. As I opened the door, all the scents from the morning hit my senses at once. Ma, #Seth, MsC and then there was Call in there too. I shook my head at how the impact of these smells, didn’t make me push all the windows open and air out my house. This has always been my get away from the world. ‘But they aren’t the world, are they?’ My wolf whispered as she curled up ready for a night of rest. “Hmm…” That was enough of an answer for her. She left me in peace as I showered taking off the scents of the bar, and the smells I’d picked up in the day. I was still on edge. But then my Ma’s call and her voice spoke to me again. ‘𝘋𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘐 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘺.’ She saw me, even when I tried to keep my mask up and in place. As I climbed into bed, my wet hair steaming as it dried. The windows open ready for the spirits to come. My eyes moved over to the mirror and took in the woman who sat on the edge of the bed looking back. I had allowed people in today, I had accepted help, I had assisted others, and I had a whole day full of the pack. “Embry…. Fucking…. Call…” I shook my head; he was becoming a boomerang that didn’t stop coming back. ‘It’s not a bad thing to allow someone in, and you know the Spirits never do anything without a reason.’ My wolf whispered to me. ‘And you did something kind for him tonight too.’ She showed me his face and how quickly he agreed to take the guitar and the keyboard home. To the point he even said he would lock the door to their house. Anyone who knew Call and #Quil knew that their door was 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧locked. “Yeah, and Call is payback for my smart mouthing them, I am sure.” Shifting back, I lay down with my head on the pillow, pulling my damp hair to the side. Curling up I turned to face the window and closed my eyes. “What a day this has been.”

↬ Embry Call ↫ When I pulled into the driveway, the lights were still on in the house. I knew #Quil had a late-night run so, I thought he would be sleeping still. I made my way to the back of the Jeep and pulled out the guitar case and the long bag that held the packed-up keyboard. I hadn’t needed to take the power cords, or anything else just to keep them out of the bar but no one had questioned it when I was packing them up. I brought them inside and Quil was on the couch, and an empty pizza box was abandoned on the table. ‘Don’t worry… there’s another one sitting in the oven for you…. It’s probably cold though.’ #Quil barely lifted his head. I set the instruments just inside the bedroom door. “Thanks man.” I headed over the take the box out, even lukewarm pizza was still pizza. “You look exhausted… didn’t you sleep after work?” I flipped open the lid and grabbed a slice, flopping onto the sofa next to him. ‘No… Claire called, she wanted to talk. She got a bad grade on a history test and she wanted me to help her study… It was the only way her mom would let her use the phone.’ #Quil sighed. “Well, history was always your best subject in school. I’m sure she’ll do better on the next one.” I glanced at my open bedroom door, slightly longingly. “Do you want me to take you’re run for you? You look like you could use some sleep.” #Quil just patted my shoulder once and shook his head. ‘No, man… Momma T has dialysis in the morning. You gotta take her.’ He said and suddenly the memory struck me. I knew I could ask #Sue… but it was so last minute. He must have seen the expression on my face, and he followed up with, ‘Honestly, I’m good I’m off tomorrow so, I can sleep all day if I want to.’ He sat up a little and glanced at my room. ‘Did you get a new guitar?’ “Oh… no. The HWH is starting open-mic nights and #Seth thought it would be a good idea to keep the more expensive ones here since there’s almost always one or more wolf here.” Quil nodded in understanding. “Just make sure to lock the door when no one is home. I already sent a text to the group chat so the pups now to use the spare key. And lock up after.” I started on my second slice. #Quil stole one and jumped up. ‘Ok, I’m gonna be late if I don’t head out now. Oh, wait!!!’ He turned to me with a grin. ‘Is that what all the chatter was in the group chat? You lost a bet and now you have to sing for the open mic night?’ He almost burst out laughing. ‘Dude… you need to stop betting against the Clearwater’s.’ “Don’t you have a patrol to run!!?” I balled up a napkin and threw it at him, which he caught with ease and tossed back at me. Soon after #Quil disappeared out the back door I had finished off the pizza and without thinking it through I was now stood in my room. The clutter on top of my dresser was now on the floor next to it, replaced with the keyboard. Powered on and ready to be played. I moved to the pile of clothes next to my bed, knowing that my headphones were tangled in there somewhere. My fingers moved over the keys as the sound of Believer by Imagine Dragons started to play. The music ran through me with ease and passion. It was different from the piano… but to be here, in the place I called home and playing… not a piano but pretty damn close right now. When all there was in the world was the music. A breeze through the open window scattered sheet music(that had been strewn across my bed) over the floor, but that didn’t matter right now. This was all because of Leah. I smiled. She wasn’t the one to say the words, but she had turned and twisted the conversation until…. This was the outcome. My eyes drifted back over the room and the music on the floor. My eyes caught on the framed piece of music on my wall. “One more.” I told myself. “Just one… then sleep.” I could play this with my eyes closed. So, I did. ( Music: Believer · Peter Buka )

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

Life Story Part 74

I found it harder and harder to focus on reading like I had in the past after my attacks. I would just stare at the page, or sometimes have trouble identifying with the dialogue in the story. I don't know if I picked up some overrated literature or if something in me was just different. I felt quite dead inside. I closed in on myself even harder. I rarely left my cold, dimly lit bedroom. There were certain thoughts I monitored myself not to have. I didn't go outside at all anymore unless it was very dark out. Allison and David would hang out with me, we would walk down to the pop machines and buy cans of soda if we could afford it. I spent more time hashing out my manga story. I still tried to make art when I could. I wrote Sarah often. But a good deal of my life at this was hiding. I felt broken, and I didn't even want to identify with anything that would wind up hurting me more.

I remember it being a fairly cold winter that year. I attempted to sleep as much as I possibly could. Nothing seemed worth being awake for anymore. I felt like a total loser – now back in Kendrick as though I had never even left. A part of me was starting to resign myself to the reality that I was never leaving. It was a bitter pill. Sometimes life seemed gray and blurry. I suppose I could have stayed living with Maria, or I could have chosen to stay with my grandma. But I hadn't. I had put on a lot of weight. I've heard people who have always been thin their entire lives, how people let themselves get overweight. Let me say – it's amazingly easy given you have the right DNA and life circumstances. Unless you are naturally hyper and love eating raw cucumbers all day, it can happen to anyone. And when you don't feel like there is anything in life that is meaningful or good and you have lost all hope, but you don't have drugs or money or transportation and suicide is too frightening to actually go through with, food is an outlet. Not that I ate that much – at least not by comparison to how I ate as a teenager. I really didn't need to eat that much anymore to gain weight. My metabolism was shot.  I didn't feel good. The skin all over my body became covered in these bumps. I don't know why, though my guess is it had something to do with my endocrine system falling apart. Maybe it was because I was developing lactose intolerance.

Sarah went and saw Tom Waits live. It would be his last tour – for Orphans. She described it as this amazing experience – one of the best things she had ever seen in her entire life. His stage set was like this moving dilapidated carousel. When he stomped his feet billows of dust rose from the ground into the air. I now and forever will be jealous of her for having this opportunity. Tom Waits is my favorite. I didn't love him as much then as I do now, but I can listen to Tom Waits for days on end and it never gets old.

I often times would write to this website that may or may not exist still, called Elderlywisdomcircle. Basically, it's a bunch of volunteer elderly who try to give you advice about life problems for free. You just write a letter to them, and someone will get back to you within a few weeks. I would often write to them about how my father was preventing me from leaving by not helping me get a Social security card, about Roxanne and her drug use and her marriage to Jeremy, how depressed and isolated I was, how I was afraid to feel things because if I let myself feel things I would go insane and lose what little grounds I had in the world, about my brother. I don't know what I expected to find. I guess it was my grounded version of prayer. It was something to look forward to I guess, as I thought that maybe someone might have the answers to the issues I was facing. Out of all the letters I received back from my issues however, I essentially got little conclusive response, and only one of them seemed really legitimate. They always told me that I wrote well. They would basically tell me to seek help – though they also had to contest that I didn't live in a state or an area that was really generous about giving out help. A few of them were very religious and they told me that I needed to pray more. One cantankerous responder told me that I was essentially to blame about every bad thing that had ever happened to me, and I needed to take control over my life. The nuance in their professional opinion was that I was a bit on the pathetic side. They would always link me up with a suicide hotline.

David was in Hastings one day in the book section. David was beginning to read a lot independently, and I had shown him the places in Hastings that sold the classics and how to search the novels. As he was examining the selection, a stranger walked up to him, a man with a familiar voice. He had a gruff New York accent. He congratulated David for being a reader, that there weren't too many kids in these modern times who read anymore and it was very refreshing to see a young man such as himself choosing to do so. David nodded politely. Later on, David put a face and name to the guy. He was Michael Savage, the conservative nationalist political commentator that my father sometimes listened to. For whatever reason he had been in Moscow Idaho. Which is funny because David probably adamantly disagrees with just about everything Michael Savage stands for. I certainly think he's repulsive, and even my father doesn't really care for him anymore, mostly being a listener because he enjoyed the aggression and was amused by the extremism. It would have been so much cooler had the person in question been something more than some regressive asshole.

That New Year's eve, my father went out to drink. I knew he planned on getting totally wasted because he spent a lot of time trying to justify going out that year, when I honestly didn't object in the least, as that seemed like a totally natural thing to do. I didn't really look forward to him drinking however. It made me very nervous. Up that point, he mostly seemed to hold back on his drinking around us – though I knew he was still getting drunk other places. I was just starting to comprehend that part of the reason he was starting to say things that made no sense, or get irrationally emotional, or starting to make good food and then mess the food up by means of some obscure decision that made no logical sense was because he was starting to drink every night.

Allison, David and I stayed up of course, probably snacking and watching Fight Club or the Shawshank Redemption for the millionth time. After midnight came and went, David went upstairs to check in for the night. Allison and I were still up when one am rolled around. I was getting a little nervous that maybe my father had been in some kind of accident, as he said he was going to be home before midnight. So Allison and I stayed up watching an anime show that I wasn't really getting into Wolf's Reign or something like that, I believe it was called. It was around one or so that my father suddenly burst through the door belligerent. And he had this very weird guy with him who had this beautiful Husky with him. They were both so drunk they could barely walk and everything they said was a scream, particularly my father who was ranting in a way that made my stomach hurt with anxiety. My father was professing his undying friendship to this guy in his inebriated state, and this other guy who's voice was nothing but an inaudible display of indecipherable gurgles and croaks would say something back and I couldn't understand. They were both raving about something that had happened at the bar. I had never seen my father this drunk in my life, and I was kind of nervous. For one, he was saying some horrible base stuff about women. And though my father I would say was sexist, he had never really went off about women being easy sluts or being defined primarily by their bodies and if/how those bodies benefited the male gaze.

So I was horrified to be listening to him say probably some of the worst stuff I had ever heard him say. He was ranting on how him and this strange drifter that he met at the bar (Jordan was his name)  were going to go out and get themselves laid that night in gross vivid detail. Even if one night stands were a person's thing, what he was saying and how he approached it was very lewd and offensive. He even joked about them finding hookers. Jordan more or less just went along with whatever my dad was saying, who kept patting his back. The fact that Allison and I were still awake and very aware of how he was behaving didn't really seem to do much to phase him. If anything, he seemed annoyed that the two of us were awake. Then again, he got mad when he heard that David was asleep.

Eventually, the two of them went down to the bar in Kendrick. It worried me that he had been driving. Honestly, as drunk as my father was, he had a DUI coming. I am really opposed to drunk driving. When I hear someone I know has done it I get almost personally offended. How could you put other people's lives in danger like that? You could literally destroy other people's realities simply because you couldn't make plans ahead of time. It's profoundly selfish to me. I wanted to go to sleep, but my heart was racing out of my chest. Jordan left his lovely Husky at the house. The dog was nice overall, kind of serious and distant. I felt like something bad would happen if we didn't stay up. I was in shock, because just when I thought I couldn't lose any more respect, here I was losing even more. Granted, alcohol brings out the worst and pushes that worst a little farther than you would have ever taken it, but I didn't think my father was this pathetic. And it really struck home with me that I didn't like alcohol. I saw it as being extremely destructive.

Eventually they came back, and they were ranting about how the two of them both deserved to fuck some fat ugly bitches. Allison and I looked at each other, grossed out. My father kept saying 'FAT BITCHES' FAT BITCHES' over and over again. Even though I know his mind was completely disconnecting this statement from his own daughter which was me, I felt personally offended and disgusted by this statement. I was fat, and I guess to some people I knew, I was probably considered a bitch as well. I felt there was something really double-horrible about that statement. The nuance being, fat women are disgusting and easy and something that you fetishize and want to both use for sex and violently humiliate. It was around this time when I just figured that if Jordan stabbed him in the night or either one of them choked on their own vomit then so be it. I tried to distance myself from it all, partially to process what I was hearing. He then decided to take his Nickelback collection out of retirement and start blasting it throughout the house – making it impossible for anyone to sleep. I decided that it was probably for the best if Allison and I went to bed. I was extremely tense about the surreal ugliness and the entirely negative vibes that had spoiled an otherwise mundane night.

The next day, Allison and I just stayed in the bedroom until we both just absolutely had to pee come hell or high water. Nobody was up, and the whole feeling of the house was really dead and gray. It kind of scared me a little bit. Outside was frosty and cold and the typical temperature of ten degrees. We walked around the house timidly and distantly. We found David still in his room, more or less confused. David got up in the night at some point and was completely baffled by a random Husky being in the house. David had been phobic of dogs as a little boy until he was eight or so, and seeing the dog in our house messed with him, causing him to question his own sanity a little bit. It would have been slightly funny had the whole thing not already been so appalling.

I could tell by my father's body language when he did come up that he felt ashamed of himself and was sort of afraid to see us. He tried to play it off like the entire thing hadn't happened. Being coy and distant to anything we had to say pertaining to the night before. Jordan was asleep on our couch till the afternoon and he smelled awful. The Husky had literally chewed a good portion of one of the couches to bits. It was totally destroyed. I hadn't even realized that furniture chewing could get that way. There were pieces of our couch scattered all over the house. I had to laugh a bit. I thought it added a nice touch to the absolute chaotic reality of that night. My father ended up driving Jordan back into Lewiston. He didn't seem very warmed up to Jordan like he had in his drunken moments that night. And we never heard from or saw Jordan or his dog again.

My father seemed to deal with his shame by doubling down on us about how the house was messy. It was just his way of feeling some semblance of control when it was becoming clearer and clearer to us all that he had none. Perhaps he suspected mutiny. I suspect he was onto something, because I was tempted not to at all in protest for having to put up being totally disgusted. But Allison and David felt the need to and sitting out would just be putting that much more work on them so I joined in ultimately. It really smelled in the corner of the couch, and we came to discover just what it was. Jordan had vomited out a ton of McDonald's food on the couch, and rather than clean it up, he had flipped over the couch cushion. It was deep in the void of the couch, but it was also sort of poured out over onto the floor, which he had of course taken one of our pairs of shoes to cover up, getting it on the sneakers. Allison was about to clean it up herself. But I said no. Instead, I told my father about the vomit. He just went 'oh' and walked away. I told him we weren't cleaning it up, which was both directly pertaining to the vomit, but just the situation in general. It was tiring and cowardly that he wanted us to be the ones that did the hard work of making our slowly disintegrating family ties work, and all he had to do was pretend consistently that he had done nothing wrong.

He ended up not cleaning the vomit up that night, or the next or the next. So we just stopped sitting on that couch, and we held our breath whenever we walked past that area. We were all painfully aware it was there, but it felt like nobody was allowed to talk about it. When he thought I wasn't around – six days later, he instructed Allison to clean it up for him. I found out about it, and I coached Allison not to. I could see this sort of frustration with it all, and I think she felt like, if she just cleaned it up then the whole negative experience would go away and she could move on. But for me, her cleaning that up was taking it in a way I didn't feel she deserved to have to do.  If she gave into what he wanted, then he would feel better about himself, like he was still in control. I noticed too that he didn't want David to clean it up. He wanted it to be either me or Allison, and there was something very telling about that. I felt so belittling to make her have to do something like that. I felt like the mere act of having to do something like that was the kind of thing that ruins a young girl's self worth. Allison felt like I was holding onto the past, and the best thing to do is mindlessly scrape up the mess of yesterday, be it hers or someone else's and start out anew. It spelled a difference in how we coped with life I guess. I believe in quiet protest and  have issues with authority that does not respect me, and Allison takes on responsibility that isn't something she should have to, and in doing I think she finds herself in a position where she feels she has more control over any given situation whereas I am more likely to bury my own grave due to my defiant attitude – but ultimately feel like I was more true to myself as I walk away.

Ultimately, in this situation, Allison didn't clean up the puke however, since for one, she really didn't want to. She was afraid at this point that cleaning it up would just ultimately cause her to puke, and secondly, I promised her that if she didn't clean the puke up and our dad had problems with that, I would personally jump in and my father could scream and freak out at me rather than her. I really didn't want Allison to have to clean it up, and just the thought of it made my blood boil. So she cleaned around it. My father was on the phone at that point with one of his online girlfriends and he was bragging about himself in this way that he always did. Allison asked if things were clean enough and he pointed to the corner of the couch. I looked him straight in the face and told him with factuality but not without some bit of attitude that that was Jordan's vomit and he needed to clean it rather than her. He was on the phone and I think my statement embarrassed him, so he said 'FINE RENEE' and then explained to his phone girlfriend that his eldest daughter was basically having hormonal issues and freaking out at him for something for no reason. The crazy in me thought of ripping the phone out of his hand and explaining to Jane Doe that he was trying to make his thirteen year old clean up this homeless guy's vomit on the couch from a week previous, but I thought better of it. He ended up cleaning it up a day or two later with some strong chemical soap, and a shampooer.

I guess things were building for me with my dad. The hurt I had felt was starting to turn into disgust. I don't remember at all how this fight went. I probably told him he cared about his online women more than he did his own family. He resented me because everyone in the household respected me more, including himself. Over the years I had been there for Allison and David and he hadn't. I had gained respect, and he had lost respect. He was threatened by me – not that I wanted his position in the house. I wanted out but couldn't get away on account of him. And I saw through him, and knew his vulnerabilities. Both of my parents, despite everything, considered me to be their best friend in their own individually weird way. I guess it's because I was curious about who they were. The older I have become, the less I tried to see them as the power structure I was meant to rely upon and I became curious about how they functioned. So when they did something really messed up, they would get insecure about me judging them – because I had seen what it was like for them behind the veil. And this sometimes threw my father in a rage, particularly when he personally felt like a failure.

I don't think he dealt with anything that had happened to him properly. He was messed up by the death of Patty, the death of his mother, the police investigation and being eventually long-distance-dumped over and over again. The more I lived around him, the more I realized that almost none of this was about me at all. He just hates himself that much and isn't emotionally stable enough to recognize or acknowledge his own failure without flying off the handle so his everyday life is this repetitive factory floor induced circular attempt to draw people and activities into his life that will distract him from himself, and when that fails he loses his fucking mind. And at times, I wondered why he hated himself to begin with. He was granted, not the best person in the world, but most of his flaws were in direct relation to how he responded to his own self loathing, which kept the cycle ongoing and out of control, and it ruined every relationship he ever had with anyone in his life – and this was why he had doubled down on preventing me from leaving. He felt like if he lost me he lost the one person in the world who loved him unconditionally. I don't see my father as a sociopath. The few people I have met who also know him see him as a part time total fuckface, but also someone who has legitimately the best of intentions with most of what he starts off doing. Just a very flawed person, and an emotional coward who used anger, and dominance to subjugate anything in his outer world that might challenge him or made him feel disappointed in himself. And as it happened, I have a challenging personality. The nail that sticks out gets hammered down. Of course, eventually, we are all nails sticking up in my father's world. He can't keep anyone around.

During this fight, I felt this flash of certainty. For years, I felt like he just pretended that nothing bad. I always felt this weird urge to walk up to him and punch him in the face and walk away for no reason. I didn't understand how he could go along as if nothing had happened, that he hadn't beaten me as a teen, forced me to babysit and essentially do half of a parent's work, or neglected my needs, or kicked me out for allegedly being gay. Since the fight was on anyway and something I wouldn't be able to walk out of unscathed, since I was afraid I might have a panic attack if I didn't keep myself focused and angry during this altercation, and since I had always wanted to call out the elephant in the room, I just decided to tell him for the first time what he had done to me as a teenager, specifically the day he had taken me home and beat me. So as he was screaming at me – telling me I was a spoiled brat – me in all my one of two oversized t-shirts and pajama bottoms who was lucky to afford seventy-five cents twice a week to go down to the pop machine and get a pop, burst out and asked him why he had given me a fat lip and bruises on my arm in high school. He looked honestly mystified for a moment and really put off – and started saying WHATTTT?. I reminded him of the circumstances, and I saw something weird snap in his face with guilt and then contort into this look of denial like some grand moment in a theater performance. He was still yelling, and then kind of stammering, and then I asked him again. He suddenly began wailing and screaming. It was kind of an attack at me and it was a bit scrambled to me. He then started screaming LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!!!!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!! I HATE MYSELF!!!!!  I WANT TO DIE!!!!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!! I HATE MYSELF!!! I HATE MYSELF!!!! I HATE MYSELF!!! over and over again. He sounded entirely deranged and broken. His eyes had sort of blanked out, and I don't even feel like he was seeing anything around him anymore I just stood there dumbfounded. I had never really gotten to this point in an argument before. He continued to yell this even as I got my coat on and my shoes and decided to leave the house for awhile and I could hear him as I walked up the street.

I had always thought that making my parents realize what they had done to me would bring some closure for me, or some satisfaction. I felt pushed down and weak, and they always came out the strong winners. Perhaps if the roles were reversed? As a little girl, I used to believe that before God let you into heaven, he made you watch a movie of your life and wired you up to the movie so you felt every emotion you made someone else feel. Whenever I got upset, if Roxanne pulled my hair or I was sent to my room or whatever, I would cry and then sit in bed and imagine this scenario until I felt like the world made sense again. I imagined God grabbing my parents or sister with his big hands (I imagined he was King Triton from Little Mermaid). He would force them to make eye contact when they looked away in shame, and the eye contact would be fierce and they would learn their lesson. It was of course a testament to my sensitivity as a child, as well as my early onset of a God complex of sorts and egotism, but also my need for a sense of understanding and equilibrium to exist. I had gone for years thinking that karmic justice would make me feel better. When I had seen my father confronted with his own deeds, it broke him. And I didn't really feel the way I thought I would. He seemed mentally unwell, disconnected, and ultimately weak. He seemed small to me, and scared – a creature too dumb to comprehend it's own actions. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. If God held him down and forced him to watch his life-movie, he probably would have blown his brains out. He was an irresponsible coward, and there was nothing I could do or say to change that. I felt disconnected from him, and a little sad for him. How empty it would be to live your life afraid of honest introspection? It would feel so much better just to be honest with yourself. He couldn't humble himself to the slightest insult, and this ultimately limited growth for him. And as he failed to grow as a person, he ultimately decayed.

The realization of this didn't make me feel good at all. I didn't like the power I yielded for those moments of realization. It made me a little bit sad. Not just for him, but for everyone. I guess it was hitting me then that not everyone is emotionally capable of change. Maybe understanding isn't for everyone. You can put stepping stones down for people to follow, and no matter how clearly they are put down, no matter how tiny the step, some people will fall in and drown anyway. I think in this moment my father's position in my life began to alter a little bit. If things were never  going to get better, then I didn't want to hate him anymore. I realized that I had reached a point where I held some virtues and character that he lacked, rendering him the child and me the adult. If he was capable of suicide, then I didn't want to push him over that edge either. He wasn't going to help me forgive him. I was just going to have to forgive him myself – and in so doing I took the personal responsibility out of his hands and some of his credit as a father figure. He was too weak to know better, and if he couldn't be held responsible for his actions, than I guess I was going to have to eat that karmic debt. I believe there was a point at the end of one of Robert Pirsig's books where he talked about just that. And I really understood it at that moment.

Allison and I were sitting on the rocks by the Kendrick bike path at sunset one day. We had taken a walk. Allison was talking absently about school, and I was more or less listening distantly, as it was the kind of stuff that seems important to you as a preteen but actually isn't, like who is dating who or what one girl said about another. It's important to listen to thirteen year olds who talk about this stuff though, because it ultimately is very real to them and a huge growing point in their life. It's also an age that isolates you from both children and adults, and even older teens, and I feel like it's important to understand the spirit of these mundane high school dramas even if the events themselves are mind numbing. I get tempted to blurt out the obvious thing that isn't obvious to a younger generation of girls, 'She should dump him, she's too young for a relationship and even if they do try to have sex it's going to be a disappointing experience', 'that girl is just jealous of the other girl. 'She's probably going to party a whole bunch and then make some serious mistakes. She seems cool now, but her life will be a mess in four years if she doesn't stop' 'That over-the-top cordial Christian boy is going to probably get married when he is twenty and stay married for twenty more years because fundamentalist Christian people are weiiiird..' Just random opinions that I would generally have about whoever she was talking about. It felt strange to be judging all these kids and their little lives back in the school I used to suffer in.

We were sitting there that day though, talking besides the bike path. I was looking out absently at the path, and I started seeing this odd glimmerly form. It looked sort of like a person, but his body movements were completely erratic, like he was wounded and falling. His walking seemed shock induced and senseless, like someone who has just crawled out of bombed building. He looked like he was in agony, and like his leg was messed up. I got up to move, and then suddenly he was gone. I thought perhaps my eyes were playing tricks on me, so I sat back down, and there he was again. I moved again, and he wasn't there, but then I moved to another area and I could see him even more visibly, details in his clothing and facial expression. He seemed to be laboring towards us, but at the same time he wasn't coming any closer. For some reason I wasn't even scared when perhaps I should have been. What I was seeing was something that shouldn't exist. But it didn't seem like it was there on my account in the same way that the voice from my house had screamed my name at me. It was almost like a movie playing in the distance, though obviously more surreal.

I had to interrupt Allison and point the guy out to her. At first she couldn't see him from her position, but then I had her move to where I was, and she could see him too. We both watched him, and just to be clear, we made out his details and clarified it back and forth to one another. He was not aware of where he was. His leg seemed injured. He was extremely dirty, almost like he had been covered in dried mud. He had blonde hair that was also incredibly dirty. He was wearing boots and overalls. His blonde hair was a little longer and spilled out in his face. He looked like someone from another time era. We both just sat there and watched it, and neither one of us was actually scared. We just couldn't believe it. It seemed real and unreal at the same time. I felt badly watching him suffer, but at the same time he almost just seemed like data or something. We watched him for about ten minutes. He started fading and getting harder to see, and eventually he just became this space where he looked more like a mirage than a person and then he was gone. Allison and I walked home. We tried to tell David, but he seemed more confused. David for whatever reason has never had a very ghostly experience in his life. For this reason, when either Allison or I told him stories of things we had both seen (Allison and her best friend Jessica had once watched a hand come out of a door inviting them to come inside with it's finger during a stay-over), and it wasn't that he didn't believe us, but his reality was not the same as ours. He just didn't get it. I think at times he was prone to believe us, and at times he didn't really, but it was hard for him to have the depth of belief necessary to fully take in our experiences since nothing of the sort had ever been present in his own perception.

This incident was something Allison and I occasionally talk about when there are people around. Everyone has opinions of the supernatural and it's entertaining to see the reactions of those who believe us and don't. It really kind of got me though. It would have been one thing if I had been the only one who was seeing it. If that had been the case, I would have doubted my own judgment, though maintained that it seemed real to me at the moment. One person cannot verify anything, even if that one person was myself. But for one, the situation happened for one, at a time when neither Allison or I were scared or stressed. It was still daylight, and we were in a peaceful area talking about far removed subjects. We weren't freaking each other out with ghost stories, or even upset. We were both relatively feeling okay. Secondly, we both had quite a few minutes to study the situation. The mind can play tricks for a few seconds, but it's much harder to really have those kinds of moments when you have time to reflect on it, particularly if you aren't scared. And we were verifying things with one another like a few curious scientists when it happened. And third, we both saw it. We both saw it for several minutes.

So, from this experience, I have to gauge that life and reality is not what we think it is. I don't want to sound like the monologue in the beginning of Tales From the Darkside or the Twilight Zone' but really what we saw should have been impossible. There was nobody there. And yet there was. The way I see it, we were either getting a glimpse into the past, or some alternate reality. That felt the most true for what we were looking at. He had no idea we were there, and there were only certain angles where we could see him at all. And why were we seeing him? Why weren't we seeing a past that was nothing but the trees? Because we were almost exclusively seeing this guy. Well, maybe our thoughts and feelings leak into the world around us. Maybe those feelings stain reality. I have no idea of knowing if that is true or not, but it might make sense for those who get strange feelings at places like Gettysburg. We were seeing something that was either happening in some other dimension, or seeing something that had already happened. Why Allison and I were tuned into it is very strange – seeing as we aren't seeing past car crashes being relived on the sides of roads. This isn't some daily Sixth Sense thing for either one of us. Why did this present itself to us exactly? I can only think it's because we were in the right time and place, and we were in some collectively correct state of mind where we were open to it. And I think the fact that this person – whoever, or wherever he was, was suffering a great deal.  

This notion is something I have really taken to. It makes me see the world in a different and much more poetic way. Places come to life with the feelings we have on them. The events of our existences create a show on all that is around us, and essences of our existence can be felt beyond time and space.  Some part of me will always be laying in the grass by the creek with Zack  back in 04', I will always be holding my grandmother's hand watching television in some dimensional reality. Every thought I think, everything I do or say, every connection I make with the world around me is being printed into the world around me, the beautiful and the ugly. And together, all of us are creating this complex mosaic and added meaning to every inch of our reality. In essence our thoughts are painting and sculpting what is real – and not vice versa. We are creating art through the act of living and experiencing. And that is a very beautiful thought. I can't say I believe in it to the same extent I believe in the computer screen in front of me, and I think that blind faith isn't the charming characteristic it is made out to be. I couldn't sit at a dinner table with Richard Dawkins and expect to be taken seriously. But I know there was something to this, and this is my number one suspicion about life. I think people have vibrations that transcend everything we understand. Is there a reason behind this or any concrete way to prove my theory? No. But I see a place on the sidewalk, and I don't just see that place. I see it as a place where people went back and forth to work on, children played and drew chalk on, drunks vomited on, people held hands on. It's not just a chunk of concrete shaped along the earth. It has taken on and transcended it's utilitarian purposes. I don't just see that as symbolic. I see it as very real. I realize that there are flaws in this thinking, and I also realize it's painfully human and self important in a universe that pretty much demonstrates human beings as temporary, obsolete, and destructive in a very petty way. And yet, I can't unsee it.

I guess it's remotely just as possible that what we saw was a ghost, or a demon or that reality is just something I make up in my own head. Perhaps the government or aliens implanted the memory into Allison and my collective skulls. Maybe I invented it all in my mind, maybe it's all a matter of accepting solipsism. I don't really think so. I am open minded to anything, but it didn't feel like any of those things. I don't buy the religious implications of an all out demon – and in any way, it wasn't being very good at being a scary demon as neither Allison nor I were overly frightened,  it didn't seem like a ghost but maybe. I highly doubt the government would waste it's time and precious technology on me or my sister – that's more absurd to me than a wiggly reality, and an alien race wasting it's tech on me or Allison for something so meaningless and also seemed equally if not more ludicrous. Though the world could be something I invented in my own thoughts, I really doubt I am capable of that. I just don't think I could create quantum physics and write millions or songs or secretly understand how the universe operates but just fool myself that I am not capable so there is still an element of surprise to living. It just feels like I would do something a little more interesting that waste my youth like this. It's quite possible we are living in a simulation of some kind – which is one of the more probable suggestions I have heard of, but if that is the case, it doesn't really stamp on my previous ideas about reality. And it was still equally just as much of an anomaly.

PART 73 - https://tinyurl.com/y6vy2jeu

PART 72 - https://tinyurl.com/yaegqs9x

PART 71 - https://tinyurl.com/y6v3ln9a

My Life Story in Chapters, PARTS 1-70 (this link below will lead you to a list of all the chapters i have written thus far). 

http://aleatoryalarmalligator.tumblr.com/post/168782771574/life-story-sections-1-70

[forestfairy13-blog]

I am.

I am a woman.

I am a woman who yearns for the company and friendship of other women.

I am a woman who loves and hates.

I am a woman who feels isolated.

I have felt for as long as I can remember that I have a long lost tribe somewhere out there. A tribe that has lost each other and yearns to be reunited. Every time I see images of naked women standing in a circle holding hands it awakens a sense of familiarity in me. Like when you remember your very fondest childhood memories. I’ve never really had that though. 

Unfortunately my experience in friendships with women hasn’t been necessarily ideal. I do have a couple of really good girlfriends but for the most part it’s proven to be an unwinnable challenge. I’ve lost friends for a good amount of reasons. One tried to hook up with my bf at the time, and just to reiterate how much it hurt me it was the bf that was my first everything (except first kiss)- first love, we lost our virginity to each other, etc. Yea, she tried to take that one. Not cool. Another took my exes side when I dumped him even though he talked crap about her and her bf almost all the time, and was super emotionally abusive towards me. A handful have stolen from me or lied straight to my face. Some of them just chose a boy over me, or some other friend. 

I’m not trying to brag or anything but when I’m in a friendship with someone I am all in. I will be the most loyal friend you can imagine. I’ll stand behind you and have your back in any situation if you need me, no matter what. Just because I know what it’s like to really stand alone and no one should ever have to stand alone. I probably invest too much of myself in friendships. I probably love too much. But when I find someone who I can really mesh with I can’t help it. I feel like “that’s my tribe, nobody fucks with my tribe.” So I get really attached. Not to where I’m constantly annoying them or anything like that, but to a slightly unhealthy point. I’ll get jealous of their other friendships (that’s actually happening in my life right now and that’s what sparked this whole blog post in the first place, but I’ll get to that later), I’ll get either sad/mad/irritated when plans are cancelled or changed somehow. I guess that would be me getting a little possessive, which I fully realize is unhealthy but it’s also kind of just how I am. I don’t make it obvious that I’m like that to other people. I internalize a lot so if I start feeling uncomfortable because I’m being possessive I won’t say anything. I’ll bottle it up and shove it down somewhere inside me. Assure myself that there’s still a smile on my face. I don’t like being jealous and I don’t like showing it.

But alas, I am jealous. I was never jealous (besides of other women’s bodies when I was going through puberty, we’re good now though) until I dated my first boyfriend (yes, the one I lost my virginity to) and he cheated on me with this girl he met at his work. I was devastated. That’s definitely up in the top 3 of the worst feelings I’ve ever felt. After that happened I was constantly seething with jealousy. I was jealous of every girl in eyes range. Any girl he talked to. Any girl on TV or magazines. It eventually trickled out of my relationship with my bf to other aspects of my life. I got really jealous of girls at school. They were prettier, they had better bodies, they had more friends, more boys liked them, they were smarter, they were more athletic. I got jealous of my friends friends. “Who the fuck is Victoria and what’s so great about her?” That’s what I’d think to myself when my best friend was talking about a girl she’d known from cheer leading. 

Unfortunately I’m still kind of like that today. I have a friend that I met through my current bf/my last job. We’ve become really good friends. We all lived together for a while at one point. She’s a lot like my more crazy, extroverted side. I love that I have someone I can be loud with and talk about pretty much anything, especially sex related stuff which is my favorite to talk about. But her and her old best friend had a falling out for a while and then right after they made up her friend got pregnant so they haven’t ever really fully reconnected. In the meantime, she had met this girl that she worked with at her second job. They hit it off and have gotten pretty close. The new girl lives right down the street from her basically so they hang out a lot. They get drunk together a lot and go out places. They’ve become best friends now. And I’ve sat on the sidelines and watched the whole thing. I watched her go from kind of being my best friend, to being this other new girls best friend. And that really fucking sucks. It really fucking sucks to be over there at parties or just hanging out with this new girl there and basically be ignored. I’m not as cool or interesting i guess. And this is not the first time this has happened. Some new cooler bitch always has to come steal my friends. God it fucking sucks and it sounds so pathetic but I can’t help how it feels. The funny thing is the new girl isn’t even a bitch. I actually really like her and want to be her friend too but it’s too forced every time we talk. That’s how I feel anytime I talk to anyone, it’s so forced! It’s always so forced! 

Why can’t friendships happen like when we were kids? You meet a kid at school, you guys talk, become friends and from that point on you’re just two peas in a pod. Together all the time, never annoying each other or running out of conversation. Always having fun. As an adult you have to basically schedule appointments to spend time with friends. Then when you do hang out 9 times out of 10 you’ll run out of shit to talk about after an hour. Get on your phones or something we humans do now. 

I just miss human interaction so much. It sucks dating my bf too because he just doesn’t get it. He says he gets it sometimes when we’re talking. He says he gets the whole “sisterhood” thing with women, he grew up with just his mom and his sister so he was around women all the time. But other times he’ll raise his voice and start going off about how he doesn’t need people and he can go out and do things by himself and yada yada yada. I think he thinks he should be enough for me and I shouldn’t need anymore emotional support or whatever than him. He’d deny it and repeat himself if I ever asked if that’s what it was, but I can see through him sometimes. I can see his true intentions sometimes even when he can’t. I get why he would feel that way. He probably has the same subtle possessive/jealous tendencies that I do but I need to have friends. Plural. I need people to talk to. I’m a very talkative person and he’s just too quiet for me sometimes. Sometimes I’m completely manic when he’s completely calm and reclusive. It sucks but I try to manage it. I love him. I wish he would go back to being that amazing positive optimistic person he was when we first met. It was exactly what I needed at that point in my life and I need it again.

But I’ve destroyed him. He’s been with me for 4 years now and my negativity has inevitably eaten away at all his positivity. This happens with everyone I know. Whether I date them or we’re just friends. My negativity consumes the good in people and changes them. I actually hate being negative. I want more than anything to change that about myself. I literally hate it so much I want to hurl myself off the side of a bridge. But then I’d just die or really hurt myself and be even more negative. I just don’t know how to change. I’ve tried so hard and it always comes back. If it ever even really went away in the first place. I’ve been this way as long as I can remember. I was raised in it. My whole entire family is negative. 

I just really want to change my negative mindset, make some friends, and stop being possessive and jealous of people. I can sit here and talk about it all I want but will I ever actually get up off my ass and do something about it?  I fucking need to.

[the-revisionist]

a good fixed star

LTiH, Caroline/Gillian. 

Prompts: “things you said under the stars and in the grass” and “things you said while we were driving.”

Notes: Chapter title quotes are from letters of Virginia Woolf to Vita Sackville-West, except for the last chapter, which is from Vita to Virginia. And the longer italicized quotes in text are from Virginia’s letters to Vita. Apologies for any errors of transcription or misattribution; a scholar I am not.

For my dear @farminglesbian, who suggested the prompts.

i. “The whole thing is very splendid and voluptuous and absurd.” 

Gillian first saw Clash of the Titans with a group of friends at a movie theater in Manchester during the summer of 1981. She was 16 and stoned and—to the delight of her parents—finally growing out the purple streaks in her hair. The previous year—not to the delight of her parents—she’d had an abortion. She was, she thought, done with boys. For a while, anyway. So in spite of the heat she wore a motorcycle leather jacket over her Gang of Four t-shirt and hoped her profuse sweating would repel the idiot sitting next to her, a friend of a friend named Derek who wore a pink Lacoste shirt and whom she barely knew, and who kept trying to convince her to give him a hand job. While she did not appreciate this constant distraction from the smoldering beauty of Harry Hamlin and the troubling voluptuousness of Ursula Andress, eventually she gave in toward the end of the film because he was everyone’s ride home, including hers, and she knew otherwise there was no way she’d get back otherwise. At least he bought her fish and chips afterwards. 

Since then she’s seen this guilty pleasure of a movie so many times that it’s become a family joke; this morning Raff had texted Clash of T on telly 2day but u probs already know. So some 35 years later here she is, watching the same bloody film, ignoring that unsettling summery feeling somewhere between restlessness and lassitude, and thinking that her life is on repeat with only the most pathetic of variations—this time she’s alone, divorced, sprawled on the couch with her head hanging off the cushion so that she’s watching Lawrence Olivier upside down, and wearing nothing but a t-shirt and underwear because it’s hot as hell outside and she hasn’t the faintest intention of really working today. The sheep are fed, watered, and sheltered; that’s all she cares about. A bottle of lager sweats on the table in front of her and creates a puddle that dams against the mobile, which rings at the crucial moment when Olivier famously intones, “Release the kraken.” 

Cursing and flailing, she reaches for the mobile and falls off the couch in the process. Eyes on the kraken, she swipes the damp edge of the phone against her t-shirt and answers with a grunted “Yeah,” assuming it’s Raff and he needs a babysitter because no one else really calls her unless some sort of favor is required. 

This is true even of Caroline, who messages her regularly and usually about Flora or work or some random bad date she’s had—I loathe women a recurring motif as of late and leave it to Caroline to casually drop the word loathe in a text—so Gillian bobbles the mobile when she actually hears Caroline purring, “Make yourself pretty for me.”

She laughs. In addition to the texting they actually see each other more now than in the past couple years and if Gillian actually trusted anyone other than Caroline for confession, she would swear that to her complete and utter consternation, the woman in question actually flirts with her now. She has a hundred reasons why this cannot be true, but two primary counterarguments suffice: (1) it’s delusional wishful thinking on her part and (2) Caroline doesn’t really mean it and is simply practicing flirting techniques on her—and not doing such a grand job if all her dates are shit, apparently. The situation, such as it is, percolates within her, giving rise to a fluttery feeling at best and, with cheap lager in the mix, outright nauseous terror at worst. Men are easy, women are complicated; this is normally her blanket excuse for why she had never seriously attempted a romantic relationship with a woman. In Gillian’s mind there is a Venn diagram comprised of two circles: one labeled flirting and the other women, and the convex sliver where they deliriously conjoin is marked oh fuck and this maddeningly curvy demimonde is where one Caroline McKenzie Hyphen Fucking Dawson currently resides in her jumbled brain.  

Gillian watches the kraken thrash around onscreen while Lawrence Olivier quietly contemplates a professional nadir. “What’re you on about? Don’t you have a thing today? Work conference?”

“Canceled!”  

“Oh. Why?”

“Outbreak of food poisoning!” Caroline says with unabashed glee. 

“Hurrah for salmonella.” 

“Actually it was staphylococcus. Had dinner with them all last night and everyone put mayonnaise on their chips, I noticed, except for me.”

“You’re like the Sherlock Holmes of bacteria.”  

“So I’m a free woman this afternoon. Let’s do something.”

“Do what? Too bloody hot to do anything.” 

“Which means you’re just sitting around in your underwear drinking beer and watching some shit movie.” 

“Do you have a spycam in my house?” Gillian takes a moment to glare suspiciously at her mobile. “Or are we Skyping by accident?”

  “I cannot tell you how impressed I am that you know what Skype is.”

“Twat.”  

“Come on. We’ll go for a drive somewhere. Didn’t you say you wanted to go to that weird bookstore—the one in the old church?” 

“Caz, that’s like on the other side of Leeds. One of those little villages where they’ve probably filmed a hundred episodes of Miss Marple.”

“So? We’ll make a day of it. Put on pants, I’m five minutes away.” She rings off. 

Gillian stares at the phone. Indeed, the kraken has been released. “Oh fuck.”

She runs upstairs. Her jeans are all in various stages of smelly, filthy, and unwearable, so she throws on a dress—subtly flowered and linen, the only dress she owns that has earned some kind of positive response from Caroline. Distinctly she remembers the time she wore it last summer: family dinner al fresco at the farm, Caroline’s smiling appraisal with head tilt and cool murmur of approval—you look nice—and the resultant blush fire blazing across her face. She could not remember the last time anyone made her cheeks burn like that. She pulls on battered Chuck Taylors, looks in the bedroom mirror and sees all these overlapping iterations of identity, an entire life visible in one weary reflection: punk wannabe, mother and grandmother, survivor, slag, widowed farmer, and, currently, middle-aged idiot smitten with her stepsister.  She groans “oh fuck” one more time and goes downstairs, finds a cooler and dumps some ice in it along with the only bottle of white in the fridge, and then strides outside just as the Jeep Cherokee pulls up to the house.  

Caroline rolls down the window. She wears aviator sunglasses that bring Mad Men’s Don Draper to Gillian’s mind and, no surprise, carries them off just as well as he did. While she may not be as successful with women as Don Draper, she is certainly garnering a lot of attention from the scant lesbian population in the area because lately she’s going out on dates with seemingly random and vaguely energetic young females every other week or so. Gillian knows this because she is always the one assisting with the dismal postmortem every time, nodding sympathetically as Caroline ticked off romantic defects:  She thinks “The Archers” are a boy band. She used the wrong fork for the entrée. She asked if I was interested in rock-climbing. She admitted she drinks wine out of cans. She said I reminded her of her aunt. 

To Gillian’s unbridled delight she once again gets the head tilt and the compliment: “You look nice,” Caroline says. She nods at the cooler. “What have we got here?”

“We’re having a fucking picnic,” Gillian says. She puts the cooler in the back seat and climbs into the Jeep.

“Fantastic. What did you pack?”

“Pinot grigio.” 

“And?”

“Ice.”

Caroline puts the Jeep into drive. “Hell of a picnic.” 

Before they even turn around, however, an argument ensues about the air conditioning: Caroline wants it on, Gillian wants it off. 

“What’s the point of having a summer drive if the windows aren’t open, if we aren’t feeling the breeze?” Gillian says. 

  Caroline looks at her uncomprehendingly. “My hair will get messed up.” 

“Oh, the vanity.”

“I’m not vain, I just don’t want to look like an escapee from the mental ward.” 

“No one’s going to see you, just me, and maybe a bunch of nerds at a bookstore. And you always look b-b—um, really good anyway.” Gillian folds her arms and glares straight ahead. “And it’s f-freezing in here,” she adds, even as another blush rampages across her face. “It’s not healthy, we’ll get summer colds and I can’t afford to get a cold because—”

“—you’re a farmer and you can’t afford to take off a single day because you’re hard-working salt-of-the-earth-blah-blah-blah—yes, I know, you’ve run that line on me before and yet here you are, abandoning your precious farm on the hottest day of the year.” 

Gillian pouts. 

“It’s the hottest day of the year,” Caroline repeats in the vain hope that reality will weigh in favor of reason and air conditioning.  

Gillian ratchets up the pout into a sulk. 

Caroline sighs and relents: The air conditioning is turned off, all windows glide down. “Right then. We’ll be smelling sheep shit until we hit the M62.”

ii. “But I do adore you—every part of you from heel to head.” 

Women belong to summer. Or so Caroline thinks. In this season of bounty her heightened senses take note of women to delirious distraction: curling hands and lips, swirling dresses around bare legs, swaying hips, swelling cleavage, all of it—sweat and fading perfume commingle sweet as honeysuckle, throaty laughs, rich, wine-soaked voices. She has always attributed her frustratingly inexplicable attraction to Gillian to this summer madness—especially in that fucking dress, oh God—but the fact remains that she has desired this sullen, stubborn sheep farmer clad in any variation of plaid shirts, torn jeans, grotty jumpers, mechanic overalls, and even Elmer Fudd-esque winter caps, all of which render her desperate self-diagnosis null and void. 

On the motorway they’ve gathered speed, creating a roaring hot-air wind tunnel within the Jeep’s interior. When Caroline looks in the rear-view mirror all she sees is the Medusan rage of her hair and barely restrains herself from melodramatic groaning. 

Gillian leans out the window, almost dangerously so—half-perched off the seat, gripping the doorframe, and screaming woo-hoo into the void of the surprisingly sparse M62 traffic. Even as she takes quiet joy at the sight of Gillian—hair wild, squinting into the sun, wind plastering the summer dress against her strong thighs—this hanging out the window like a demented Labrador makes her nervous and she shouts,  “For Christ’s sake, sit down.”

To her surprise Gillian plops into the seat with uncharacteristic obedience, even putting on the seat belt. She looks at Caroline, hair streaked across her tanned face, laughing, and Caroline thinks I will remember you like this always. 

“Sorry,” Gillian hollers into the din. 

“I just don’t want to scrape you off the road.” 

“It’d put a damper on everything, wouldn’t it?”  Still smiling, Gillian leans back and closes her eyes for a moment while pushing hair out of her face. A tendril remains curled along her cheek and across her lips, a bit of ornamentation run amok outside its prescribed patterns. Caroline notices her stereotypical farmer’s tan—bronzed arms, face, and neck in contrast to bare white legs, upper bicep delineating the pale and the tan courtesy of dozens of t-shirts. The edge of her dress flutters tantalizingly around her thighs and Caroline forces herself to look at the road. Her relationship with Gillian has always possessed an inevitability about it—a fantastic, fatalistic entanglement courtesy of their star-crossed parents—but she has never loved anyone or anything so wildly unpredictable as this woman who now sits next to her in so deceivingly still and innocuous a manner that Caroline’s naturally suspicious mind expects that her next move will be to climb onto the roof of the Jeep and start singing “Sempre libera” from La Traviata in homage to Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. Except that she knows Gillian loves the movie, but hates opera. Nonetheless Caroline’s feelings remain a source of trouble, so much so that not only has she mindlessly thrown herself into dating and then ridiculously rejecting out of hand any woman who shows the least bit of interest in her, but also that at the present moment she misses the correct turnoff from the M62 and they end up meandering around the outskirts of Leeds in search of the tiny Miss Marple-ish village for a good half hour despite the continual hectoring of both the GPS and Gillian. 

“How could you miss the bloody turnoff?” Gillian grumbles again as they pass a sign that says WARNING: OWL SANCTUARY, LOW-FLYING OWLS for the third time. 

Wisely—just like an owl, yep, that’s me, Caroline thinks, who are you kidding, you pathetic numpty?—Caroline declines the option of admitting the truth, which is that she was so distracted by the continuous sensual writhe of the dress around Gillian’s thighs that she would drive around for hours just to witness the play of shadow, sun, and linen upon her skin and imagine how satisfying it would be to remove that dress and— 

“Maybe we should visit the owl sanctuary,” Caroline manages to suggest after loudly clearing her throat. 

Slouching and petulant, Gillian folds her arms. “If they give me sanctuary from your fucking driving, I’m all for it.”

iii. “I try to invent you for myself”

Finally they discover the bookstore—in its former incarnation known as St. Botolph’s, a modest, squat, moss-covered stone church—in a village with a blink-and-you-miss-it name: Marston Something, Offnor, Colward, Fuckward, who knows. So Gillian takes it upon herself to dub the unknown hamlet Owlshitshire: “Say it fast three times,” she dares Caroline. While Caroline parks across the road from bookstore-church and fusses with her hair, Gillian stares at the building with newfound apprehension. “You think we’ll spontaneously combust, entering a church together? The lesbian and the slapper?” 

Caroline adjusts—but does not remove—her sunglasses. “As if the joint force of our sins will merit our ruin? It’s deconsecrated, isn’t it?” 

“Reckon so. I’m just worried this will end up like The Omen.” 

Caroline sighs. “Everything is a bloody movie with you.” 

“Thought that was one of the things you—liked about me.” “There are,” Caroline replies slowly, “many things I—like about you.” With the Jeep at a sweltering standstill, sweat sprouts upon Gillian’s upper lip and falls in a tingling wave along the edge of her scalp. The white noise of her heart becomes clearer as Caroline leans in toward her—one more hundredth of a millimeter, one more sliver of a hairsbreadth and I swear to Christ or whatever pagan deity hanging about that I will kiss you, sweaty lips and all— Inscrutable as an Italian film star from behind those bloody sunglasses, Caroline grins as she hits the button releasing the seat belt, which slithers off her body in perhaps the dorkiest strip tease known to humankind but that, unsurprisingly, still leaves Gillian breathlessly and idiotically aroused. “Alas, my dear, that is not one of them.” The bookstore is second-hand—damp and disorganized, marinating in the sweet reek of old paper, wood polish, and pastoral, Anglican ideals long past. As she happily waltzes through the chaos, Gillian’s eager fingers tap random piles of books as if she is a pianist lazily running through scales and contemplating a piece for performance. Then her hand hovers above a heart-stopping find: The Letters of Vita Sackville-West and Virginia Woolf.  Before picking it up, however, she glances around with a stiff furtiveness that would be screamingly obvious to anyone witnessing her blatant, nervous interest in the love letters between two women. But there is no one in the store except an elderly couple and the proprietor behind the cash register, who is chatting up Caroline. Apparently he has discovered that she is a headteacher and is going on at length about the ruin of the education system thanks to political correctness and multiculturalism. Briefly Gillian considers swooping in for a rescue, but she knows damn well that Caroline can decimate this type of bloviate without working up a sweat; indeed, she leans in and murmurs something to him that shuts him up right quick. So Gillian turns her attention to Virginia and Vita, her thumb ruffling musty tea-colored pages while fearful of the dive into words that she suspects will only grant more clarity and substance to the inchoate feelings within her.   I always have such need to merely talk to you. Even when I have nothing to talk about—with you I just seem to go right ahead and sort of invent it. I invent it for you. Because I never seem to run out of tenderness for you and because I need to feel you near. Excuse the bad writing and excuse the emotional overflow. What I mean to say, perhaps, is that, in a way, I am never empty of you; not for a moment, an instant, a single second. It’s like standing in church when the bell tower rings and the vibrato rattles your bones and stiffens your spine with a clarifying chill. And I’m in church right now, Gillian thinks, kind of appropriate, I reckon—then Caroline is beside her, so close that her breast brushes against Gillian’s upper arm. Her pale skin is flush with warmth, her fancy sunglasses glint on her head like a hipster crown and she smells good, like sun and sweat and grass and Gillian doesn’t know how she does that, she hasn’t been anywhere near grass unless she rolled around in a field before showing up at the farm, and Gillian’s senses riot and the beautiful words she just read tumble out of her head, the glue of their cohesion melts away. “What’re you looking at?” Caroline asks casually.    “Oh—um.” She tilts her head to look at the cover and Gillian stares at the shade of her jawline, the golden down along her cheek, and the strong lines of her throat because it seems the safer to look at these things rather than the freckled pointillism on her chest leading one astray into cleavage—though I walk through the valley of cleavage, I shall fear no evil, for the thought of wine in the cooler comforts me—or even the bracing blue of her eyes, those dangerous lodestones that, for some unfathomable reason, have always drawn out the deepest measure of truth from Gillian. 

“Interesting.” Caroline nods at the cover. “Do you like her writing? Woolf, I mean?” “What I’ve read, yeah. I mean, I’ve not read much. Just a couple novels,” Gillian mumbles. “They kind of made me aware—” Now Caroline touches her elbow and she devolves further into a stammering, sweating mess. “—of, um, the interior life? Interior lives? How they could, er, work. How the mind kind of works some-sometimes.” She looks around frantically—why is it so bloody hot in here? “Sound like an idiot.”  

“Not at all. Have to admit I haven’t read much of her writing. You can blame John for that. Every time he wanted to prove he was a feminist he would quote from A Room of One’s Own.”    Gillian laughs, and looks down at her ragged old Chuck Taylors. “That would do it. I—I’m sorry he ruined her for you.” “Should probably give her another go, what do you think?” “Yeah.” Gillian gnaws at her lip. On one hand, she wants to sit around and talk about Virginia Woolf and books and everything under the stars and sun with Caroline but on the other hand, she wants to be alone with the book and let it continue speaking to her like an eloquent oracle sans riddles. The latter might be best because right now words for her are scarcer than crow’s teeth. Usually she can turn on the tap and let language run rampant, not give a toss what she was saying to anyone about anything. More often than not, this got her in a fair amount of trouble; this time, she wants to find the right words that will lead into the right kind of trouble. Caroline’s fingers tap playfully against her forearm and Gillian glances at this invisible tattoo, patiently waiting for some intricate design inked in a riotous rainbow to blossom on her skin. “Tell you what—I’m going to dash out and find us proper sustenance for a picnic.” Gillian busts out a nervous, relieved smile. “You bored already?” “Not in the least.” When Caroline replies to her stroppiness with a certain kind of lovely seriousness it always prompts in her innate, immediate trust. Then, predictably, Caroline goes off and sounds the schoolteacher and mum that she is: “But it’s probably not wise for us to consume nothing but a bottle of cheap white wine on a day like this.” Why not? Gillian wants to say, but no—this is not a time when she wants wine rendering her into sloppy foolishness. “Right.” “Be back before you know it.” As she walks away, Gillian experiences such a ridiculous tightening in her throat, her chest, a physical manifestation of an irrational sense of abandonment—even though she knows Caroline is not some stupid toff boy with a fancy car who would leave her stranded in a big city or even, like here, the middle of nowhere—that she cannot prevent herself from blurting out Caroline’s name, even though she stops herself from bleating pathetically, you’re coming back, right?   Caroline stops and turns around expectantly. The precise spin of her heels, the way she pitches forward as if she’s a dandyesque soldier determined to enter a fray she’s entirely unprepared for—the cumulative effect of her movement assuages Gillian, is more than a guarantee of her return. Relieved, Gillian smiles. “I may be cheap,” she says, “but the wine’s not.” Caroline laughs at the easy joke and Gillian then permits herself the lusty luxury of watching her walk away. Alone, she tucks herself into a dusty corner of the bookstore on a faded burgundy settee with the Virginia and Vita book in her greedy hands; when she looks up again the sun slants suspiciously low through a high stain-glass window and casts jeweled baubles on the wall near an aged reproduction of a George Lambert landscape. The bookstore is empty, silent. Cursing herself for entering some kind of literary fugue state, she drops the book on the settee and commences working her way to the front of the church-store, dipping and swaying around so many claustrophobia-inducing shelves and tables and piles of books with such careful, sweaty precision she feels as if she’s performing an elaborate renaissance court dance. At the front of the store sits the bookstore proprietor in all his balding, cranky glory. He squints at her and ruffles the pages of his newspaper, perhaps hoping its scant breeze will somehow propel her away on a powder-puff of air. She stares at the old, heavy doors barring her way and is strangely bereft.    I suppose it is good for the soul to be hurt and perplexed perpetually. I know at least that I miss you damnably: that is a good fixed star. Amused, the owner watches her frowning at the door and then drawls sarcastically, “Oh, don’t worry, love. I’m sure your wife will come back for you.” Gillian laughs. Of course, Caroline must’ve told this tosser they were married when he was bothering her earlier. After the divorce from Robbie came through earlier this year, she firmly declaimed to no one but herself that she was done with marriage; being Caroline’s imaginary wife for a day is, however, a union more satisfactory than reality has ever granted her. “Yeah. Damn right she will,” she says. “Know why?” He shakes his head. She leans heavily against the cash register. “ ’Cause I’ve got the only keys to the sex dungeon in our flat.”

iv. “It seems to me that I only begin to live after the sun has gone down and the stars have come out.”

The rush of sunset brings cooler air through the Jeep, which runs parallel to some tributary of the River Aire. Venus glints in a layer of darkening sky above a thinning band of vermillion while Gillian sits with an open bag of brandy snaps in her lap. She’s already eaten half the bag despite Caroline’s admonishments not to spoil her appetite. The weakening sun jabs through the green interlace of tree branches and in those brief outbursts fills her eyes with light. Somewhere along the river they find the right spot, kick off their shoes, and sit on an old blanket retrieved from the boot of the Jeep. They drink cool wine from a bottle blistered with damp and eat bread, cheese, and berries, and Gillian’s tongue loosens enough so that she talks haltingly about To the Lighthouse and of time passing, then she stops abruptly when the wind flutters the hair along Caroline’s serious brow—she listens so intently, Gillian notices, and it’s unnerving—and Caroline’s eyes resonate as a cynosure in the deep blue evening. In that moment everything stirs wild within her and she cannot keep still because she fears what she’ll say next. Barefoot, she walks through the grass to the river, the alternate swish and crunch of grass wet and stiff underneath her gait give way slowly to soft dirt and pebbles that press into the pads and arches of her feet as if pearls desperate to remain embedded in soft sanctuary. All while Caroline yells at her about the dangers of ticks and other hazards such as snails, broken glass, and used condoms. At the edge, she stops. In darker times now past, she thought of drowning herself. Like Virginia Woolf, except without the eloquent note or a death notice in the papers. She doubted anyone would really miss her. Even Raff. Still, she could not, would not, do that to him. Bad enough the millstone of his father’s death hung around his neck; to have both parents labeled as suicides—regardless of the truth—would be too much to bear. She likes to imagine that if she had drowned herself back then, her body would have found its way to the freedom of a sea—silly, she thinks, but largely due to a proverb that always stuck in her mind: The sea refuses no river. She always liked that one. Many of the proverbs and verses she heard in church as a child seemed focused on judgment, control, condemnation, behaving in a certain way. But in the embrace of the land and the water, well, you belong to it—and not the other way around. Its silence carries no censure. Dusk drizzles over thickening clouds and she tastes the heavy humid air. A smattering of stars now attend Venus. The river has led her to this moment—not to drown, but to declare herself. She turns around and glances quickly at Caroline, who is on the old blanket in an elegant sprawl, legs crossed at the ankles, calm demeanor belied by the continual flexing of her calves. “It’s beautiful here,” she says. “You’re beautiful,” Caroline replies. Uneasy, Gillian laughs. She’s been called a lot of things over the years, but beautiful has never been one of them and she’s old enough now that she mistrusts any easy compliment—even from the likes of the unimpeachably honest, unrelentingly forthright Caroline—and she is not to be won over that easily. Or so she thinks.   “Well now. Your game’s gotten strong—all those girls you’ve gone out with lately, eh?” “I’m not interested in games. Or those girls, really.” Caroline sits, draws up her knees, and adds softly: “You must know that.” “Do I? All I know is, here we are, picnic on the river, you saying nice things—” “How dare you,” Caroline says with mock indignation, “I’ve said only one nice thing to you thus far.” “—a woman could get the wrong idea.” “Or the right one, as the case may be.” Gillian frowns, bites her lip. Even in the face of blatant confirmation, her nerve falters spectacularly. Because nothing and no one has mattered so much to her in such a long time, she cannot remember. “Gillian.” “W-what?” “Tell me all the things you have in your head, that won’t ‘stir by day, only by dark on the river.’” The words ring clear and true. She sees them in her mind once again, feels the soft, foxed page at her fingertips. 

Look here Vita — throw over your man, and we’ll go to Hampton Court and dine on the river together and walk in the garden in the moonlight and come home late and have a bottle of wine and get tipsy, and I’ll tell you all the things I have in my head, millions, myriads—They won’t stir by day, only by dark on the river. Think of that. Throw over your man, I say, and come. Caroline pulls the book out of her purse. Of course, she bought it. When earlier she had triumphantly returned from her shopping excursion to the bookstore, she thrust a bag of brandy snaps at Gillian, ordered her to wait outside by the Jeep, and demanded use of the WC from the bookstore owner, who stammered consent in the face of this wild, dungeon-owning lesbian deviant schoolteacher. And here Gillian thought it had taken her so long inside the store because she was doing number two. The grass murmurs protest under Gillian’s feet and she winces when something sharps bites into the ball of her right foot, so as she stands there in front of Caroline she may be bleeding, her foot may become infected and she’ll get gangrene and end up spending the rest of her days gimping around as Yorkshire’s One and Only Peg-Legged Sheep Farmer, but none of that matters now because she can hardly get past stating the obvious. “You bought the book,” she says to Caroline. “Yep.” “You know that—that quote.” “Yep.” As words continue to fail her in a way they never quite did for Virginia Woolf, she kneels upon the blanket, cradles Caroline’s face in her hands, and lays on the kissing equivalent of a Woolf sentence: long, glitteringly complex, sustained and full and magnificent and, in its aftermath, leaving one breathless and lingering sweetly over every fine detail, every bright facet. Everything rushes by in splendid sensate tandem: the light that fades and glows all the same, the whishing of the river, the wine limning her mouth, the corner of the book digging into her knee, her thumb caressing Caroline’s cheek, the star of Venus blessing the entire enterprise.

“God.” Caroline finally manages speaking. “If I’d known you’re going to kiss me like that over one old book, I would have bought out the entire bloody store.” It is nearly dark, it will rain very soon, and Gillian is quite certain that her bare, dirty foot is bleeding. “Don’t need a book for that. In fact, you should know—I’ll kiss you like that anywhere, any time you want, for as long as you want, every day for the rest of your life.” “Go on then,” Caroline says.

[infospersonal-blog]

I'd like to personally think I was the best angel. People called me Gods favourite, after all. I had it all in my hands and some high and mighty /god/ decided I wasn't good enough! Me! The only one that did any work! Really, you'd think I, as the favourite, would be the best at my job. Because I was. Did you ever see Raphael do anything I could? Maybe Michael, but definitely not Peliel. I was the best worker! It was me!

Now, maybe I should have expected my failure, really. God is an old fool who can't see the great ptr we would get from dating human women and siring children with them, I would totally get that. No sex out of wedlock, angels can't get married, yeah yeah okay. But what if it was actually a good idea? Like, god! There were people who still believed in Zeus, and he's totally washed up! Olympia is slowly decaying and he whines about being forgotten so damn much in letters. Oh yeah, I read all of Gods letters. Don't make me your fucking mailboy.

The theory that I was cast out is totally bogus. I left on my own accord, there was no banishing. I got fed up with all of gods shenanigans and just left! What, do people think I'm that pathetic as to get kicked out? Thats super stupid and pathetic and I am way fucking cooler than that. "You're too prideful" yeag yeah, I just know that I was damn useful. Hey, what if I make my own company? Maybe I will. I'll make it just to spite God. Fuck that guy.

You are Satan. Describe your fall from Heaven, but like a petty newly-unemployed dude who has just been fired by Boss God, and how that inspired you to become the king of Hell.