#because nine thousand words that took me seven months to write. is not short.

[potatoesandsunshine]

clenching my teeth trying to remember that it's okay if i don't write long fic

[allegra-writes]

Bratty b****

Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

NSFW

Warnings: Dom!Peter, Smut.

The request:

Hi love your writing and have never made a request but here goes. Tony’s daughter is going through a rebellious phase, going out to parties and getting to the Tower at all hours of the night. Punishments don’t seem to be getting through to her at all and everyone’s at their wits end. Insert dom!Peter finding her at a party and bringing her back home to lay down the law if you know what i mean…

Also, for all of you the anons that wanted new Dom!Peter and SSC talks.

MY MASTERLIST

“Are you out of your fucking mind, Parker? Put me the fuck down right NOW!”

Peter complied, letting go of you so suddenly you ended in a heap on the floor. The indignant look you threw his way reminded him of an angry kitten, and he had to suppress a smile. Even drunk and disheveled you were god damn adorable. And that was part of the problem: you had everyone wrapped around your finger, and were perfectly aware of it. 

No wonder you weren’t afraid of any punishment, none of them ever stuck long enough for you to regret your actions, consequences always swept under the rug before they could sully you or your reputation. Even the press, so merciless with lower socialites, was so happy to have the Stark heiress back, that every new misadventure was portrayed in an indulgent light, words like “enfant terrible”, “little hellion” or “New York’s favorite troublemaker” decorating headlines everywhere he turned.

But that ended tonight. 

He watched you stand up, fixing your way-too-short-dress so it would cover the top of your thighs, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. 

“Where are we?”

“My apartment” Peter replied, simply. You knew the penthouse was just on the next floor, but there, in that darkened kitchen alone with him, it seemed incredibly far. You hadn’t been alone with him since Titan, and you didn’t quite know how to deal with this Peter, so different from the awkward, wide eyed boy who used to trail behind you like a puppy. This grown up, confident Peter that was older than you, that had been an Avenger for six years, intimidating enough to clear a party all by himself, without needing his Spider-man persona.

But then again, you didn’t know how to deal with much of anything these days. Going to sleep in 2018 and waking up in 2023 would do that to you. 

“Why did you bring me to your apartment?” Your voice came out a little unsteady, as you tried to get a grip on your heart, beating wildly inside your chest, tried to squash that little sliver of hope down before it managed to cut you and bleed you dry. Because you knew what you wanted from Peter was something you could never have. And it wasn’t just cause of that awesome girlfriend of his. 

He leaned casually on the kitchen island, arms crossed in front of his chest and you couldn’t help but notice how solid and powerful they looked clad in black leather.

“To have a little talk” he met your eyes, concern clear in his, “about your behavior…”

Your stomach drop with the weight of a thousand dead butterflies. Of course. This was an intervention. He was being big brother Peter, that was how he saw you, a little sister, just like Morgan, another Starkling for him to guide, to nurture and protect.

And maybe your own little sister preferred his bedtime stories over yours. Maybe your own father called him son, and your -technically step- mother sent him to chaperone you whenever you went out to party, but he was never ever going to be your brother. 

“And exactly who do you think you are to have a talk with me?” You sneered, voice like sugar venom, sweet and cruel. Lethal. “You are no one, you’re not my boyfriend, you’re not my friend, and I know you like to pretend you’re a Stark, but you are not my brother. You are nothing.”

You watched the air get knocked out of his lungs, as if your words had physically hit him as they hit their mark. Satisfied with the stunned, devastated look on his face, you turned to leave. But only made it a couple of steps before feeling his fingers wrap around your wrist in a vice like grip, spinning you around and pulling you to him.

You stumbled, falling against his chest, and he kept you there, arm snaking around your back, pressing you close. Dangerously close. 

“And you” he whispered, nose pressed against your cheek, breath hot against your face. You realized you weren’t the only one that had been drinking. “are a bratty little bitch. You think I wanna be any of those things? That I’d be satisfied with any of those things?“ 

His fingers dug deeper into your skin, and you cried out, finally reacting.

"Parker, let me go, your hurting me!” You struggled in his grasp, but he was way too strong. 

“You mean more than you’ve been hurting yourself? Hanging out with those losers” He spat, shaking you a little, “Day drinking? Sneaking out every night? Have you any idea how worried Pepper was when she called?" 

"Peter, you’re scaring me!”

“Good!” He replied, shaking you harder, “It’s about fucking time you learn that your actions have consequences" 

He manhandled you until you were trapped between him and the kitchen island. A firm push against the square of your shoulders had you bent over it, face against the cold marble, as he took both of your wrists in one hand and pinned them against your back, his other hand traveling under your dress. He kicked your legs open, placing a knee between yours so you couldn’t close them back up.

"What the fuck are you doing you sick fuck?!”

“I’m thinking eighteen slaps” He commented casually, ignoring your insult, “one for every night you sneaked out this month, and you are going to count them”

You renovated your struggle as he pushed your dress up, exposing your ass, but he leaned over your back, trapping you under his weight. 

“Wanna know who I am, little girl?” He breathed against your ear, sending shivers down your spine “I’m your master.”

SLAP.

You cried out. There was strength behind the hit, the sting lasting long after his hand was gone.

“One” he said and you remembered his words, he wanted you to count the slaps, but your brain was in shambles 

SLAP.

“One” He repeated, “You better start counting or they’ll be a lot more than eighteen…”

SMACK.

“One…”

“FINE!” You yelled, finally finding your voice, “Fine, I’ll count them you sick bastard! That’s three!”

“I should make them twenty just for that" 

"Fuck you!”

SLAP.

The sound that left your throat when his open palm struck just between your legs was not one of pain. You cursed under your breath, there was no way he could have missed that moan.

“What was that, princess?”

“F-four”

He chuckled, and you felt him get off of you. But with your wrists still in his grasp, there wasn’t much you could do, he had super strength after all. You were quite literally at his mercy. 

The thought should not have been so hot.

“I was actually talking about this” He traced his fingertips over your lace covered slit, tearing another moan from your lips. “Such a pretty sound” He hummed, approvingly, “I want more…”

He used his thumb to tug your underwear to the side, dipping one long, talented finger into you. It slid inside easily, so easily… it was embarrassing how wet, how ready for it you were. Peter wanted nothing more than to sink himself in your cunt, to get lost into your tight, pink, velvety soft insides. But where was the lesson in that? What kind of message would he be sending you if he too failed to deliver the promised punishment? Fourteen slaps, that was all. Fourteen more hits and then he could have you. This was for your own good.

He took his finger out. 

SMACK.

“Fi-ve” You whimpered. That one had really hurt. His hand came down against your other cheek just as hard. 

“Six”

Another one, and his finger was back inside your pussy, this time with a companion, pumping in and out, making it difficult to speak, but you managed to stutter a breathy “Seven”

It wasn’t until the next slap hit the soft flesh where your your thigh met the curve of your ass with his fingers still thrusting into you that you realized he had released your hands. But by then you were a moaning, wanting mess on the counter, a willing accomplice more than a prisoner, dutifully keeping count,

“Eight”

Slaps nine and ten came with him three fingers deep in your heat, pinky sloppily rubbing circles on your clit. You were close, just one more thrust, one more slap, one more dirty word in your ear and you would be coming. How stupid of you to believe he was actually going to let you.

“Noooo” You couldn’t help the pathetic whine that left your mouth when his fingers left you, your walls clenching pitifully around nothing. Your own hand went for your mound, desperate for release, but he caught it, pinning it to your back again. 

“I don’t think so, little girl,” He chastised you, “your punishment isn’t over yet…”

You had eight more slaps left. You could do it, you could take it.

…Couldn’t you?

He let go of your wrist and you felt him shift behind you. A moment passed, then another one. You had started to turn to see where he had gone when you felt it: the soft caress of cold lips against your burning backside. 

“Is this better, baby girl?” He inquired, placing glacial kisses and licks on the reddened, sore skin. “You like this?”

“Yes…" 

"Yes, what?" 

"Yes… sir?”

SLAP.

“Eleven. Yes, dom?”

SLAP.

“YES, DADDY!”

Peter froze. He was actually going for ‘master’. Mister Stark, Tony, he was your father. But more than that, you were his daughter, his precious baby. Asking to be called that while he fucked you would the lowest betrayal, Peter knew that. It would be defiling that title forever, making you think of Peter and the filthy things he did to you whenever you called your dad by it. It was wrong. It was perverted. 

And Peter wanted it. 

More than food, more than water, more than oxygen, he wanted it, he wanted you for himself, with a hunger, with a greed that scared even him. He. Wanted. You.

And he was going to have you. He licked a long stripe up your pussy. Cold, so cold it made you shiver. 

“Say it again, baby girl" 

"Daddy”

“Again” his order was muffled, face buried against your cunt, devouring you. 

“Daddy!" 

SLAP.

He placed another ice cube on his mouth, only to push it into your cunt making you scream, tongue fucking you with superhuman skill. The contrasting temperatures of the ice and his mouth against your molten insides were too much. You were sobbing, shameless and desperate, bucking your hips back against his face, the familiar tension building up, and up. Your toes already starting to curl… and then he was gone. 

"Yellow!” You cried. Peter was on you in an instant, turning you around and helping you stand, pushing your hair away from your face.

“Baby, are you ok? What is it?” His voice was worried, breaking character. 

“O-orgasm denial” You gasped, “wasn’t part of the deal…" 

"Shit! You’re right, I’m sorry baby, I’m so so sorry!”

Peter looked about ready to cry, so you hurried to reassure him,

“Pete, it’s ok, I’m not safewording…yet" 

He nodded his understanding, but still looked uncertain. You kissed him, sweet and soothing, but soon that absurdly talented tongue of his slipped inside your mouth, deepening the kiss, turning it into something heady, slow and dirty. You melted into it. 

A ripping sound resonated in the quiet kitchen, and you felt your dress fell off your body. Stunned, you broke the kiss, to look at the remains of your favorite garment now lying lifeless on the dark mahogany floor, and then at the smug, smirking face of your boyfriend. 

"It was in my way”

And just like that, he was all dom again, towering over you, still fully dressed while you stood, vulnerable, in just your hills and a, ruined, lacy tong, made almost completely sheer by your juices, glistening between your legs. 

He let one of his fingers dip under the lace.

“Wanna come, little girl?”

“Yes” You breathed out.

He hummed, fingertip finding your clit,

“And if I let you come,” He started the delicious, quick circular motions that he knew drove you insane, “will you be a good girl? Do as you’re told?”

You considered lying to please him, pretending to be the perfect little sub for him, but that wasn’t really you, was it? You looked him dead in the eyes, and opened your mouth.

“No”

Something snapped behind his eyes, and he growled, deep in his chest, fisting your hair, forcing your head back, bending you over backwards on the kitchen island, as his other hand made quick work of his zipper and belt.

“This what you wanted, little girl?” He entered you, hard and fast and deep, tearing a scream out of your throat, railing you into the marble, “Daddy fucking your pussy like this?”

“Yes!”

“You like taking it like this? Pretty little pussy stretched around daddy’s cock?”

“Yes!! Yes daddy, just like this!" 

He was fucking into you with such force that you slid over the cold marble with each thrust of his hips, but there was nothing for you to brace yourself on. He grabbed your thighs, hooking your knees over his elbows to keep you in place and open you wider for him, going deeper, owning places inside your pussy you didn’t know existed. The edge of the counter was biting into his thighs but he couldn’t care, not with your walls spasming around his cock, squeezing him so good that his eyes rolled back inside his skull. You were crying, little whimpers of ‘Daddy, daddy!’ and it was so blasphemous, so unholy, it made Peter’s blood boil with it, lighting running through his veins, pleasure exploding in every single nerve ending of his body, cause you were his, his and no one else’s, his claim overriding every previous one made on you. It was too much, he exploded inside you, filling you up until you were overflowing with it, the pearlescent liquid dripping down his thigh. 

And he still couldn’t stop. Like a man possessed, he kept going. And you kept on taking it. 

…

"Are you ok?”

“I should be the one asking that…”

You lifted your head to meet his eyes, staring back at you with genuine concern. Sometime during your fucking, you had managed to disvest him of his clothes and now he was as naked as you, lying on the massive couch, sated and spent, with you tucked on his chest.

“Pete, this whole thing was my idea” You reminded him, gesturing vaguely around you. The whole apartment was a mess: paintings fallen from the walls, torn clothes littering the hardwood floor, a broken coffee table… but the kitchen had taken the most damage, where Peter had managed to crack the marble on the kitchen island, and thrown away glasses and even a couple appliances in his haste for getting you on it. There even was a puddle of cold water, from where he had knocked over the glass of ice cubes he had used to tease you.

He frowned, 

“I seem to recall it was mine…”

“You said you wanted to take control” You placed a soothing kiss right above his heart, to let him know everything was alright, “I was the one who wanted the spanking. And the roleplaying. And the hair pulling…”

Peter’s smile grew bigger and bigger with every item you named. He loved it, loved that you trusted him enough to ask exactly what you wanted, loved feeling so comfortable with you as to explore everything he had been too scared to do before. He loved that with you, he was free, there was no fear of judgment, he could let go, cause he knew you wouldn’t let him fall. He loved you. 

And it was so natural, so easy as your conversations were, even before the blip, when you were four years older than him, so beautiful and unreacheable. As stealing a kiss that first night had been. He would have never thought something good could come out of Thanos, of the blip, of losing his arm and almost losing his life. But you had come visit him on his hospital bed right after the surgery, eyes full of tears and he had made a joke about every great Jedi losing his arm, and you had laughed. 

And then you had sobered up, an impossible emotion behind your eyes. Impossible, because he had only ever seen it directed at him in his wildest dreams.

“Ani, you’ve changed so much!” You had quoted.

“You haven’t changed a bit” he had replied without skipping a beat, “You’re exactly the way I remember you in my dreams”

And then he was kissing you, just like he was kissing you now, good hand on your cheek, biorobotic one slowly raising to tangle in your hair. 

“The ice play was my idea” He commented, breaking the kiss. You threw your head back, laughing.

“And a very good one at that” You approved.

“The daddy kink was a surprise…”

Your laugh died. Suddenly embarrassed, you hid your face on his chest.

“You know I’m not-… that I don’t really want to… sleep with my dad, right?”

Even with his super hearing, it was difficult to decipher your mumbling.

“What? No- I mean yes!” He stammered, “Of course I know that, babe! And you know I don’t want to… like… be him or anything…" 

You nodded, finally meeting his eyes.

"But it was kinda hot”

“Babe, it was all manners of hot” Peter confirmed, making you smile. 

“You still owe me five slaps, tho”

He groaned,

“I do, I totally forgot! God, I’m such a bad dom!”

“Of course not! You’re the hottest dom I’ve ever seen!" 

Peter snorted,

"I’m the only dom you’ve ever seen…”

“I saw Fifty Shades of Grey once…” You argued, making him laugh harder.

“Ok, ok, you win, even I am a better dom than that" 

"The edging…”

“Yeah, sorry 'bout that…”

“No no, I was actually thinking…” You felt your cheeks grow hot under his gaze. Peter was trying to appear nonchalant, but you could see the glimmer of lust in his eyes, evidently it was a serious turn on for him. “We could explore it more next time…”

His face lit up,

“Really? Thank you babe!” He caught your mouth in a heated, earnest kiss, “You won’t regret it, I’ll make so good for you…” he promised against your lips, making you moan in anticipation.

“Maybe I’ll even spare you those slaps I owe you…”

Peter didn’t miss the way your kiss falter at that, or the spark of defiance in your mischievous eyes.

“Maybe” You replied, noncommittal, releasing his lips to nibble at his jaw. He could practically see the wheels already turning in your head, planning ways to test his patience, pushing the limits just enough to guarantee a reaction, to earn yourself a new punishment. You were such a brat. 

His spoiled, gorgeous brat. 

[himbowelsh]

Well now I need touch starved Liebgott something! I always imagined Webgott to work the other way around. Y'know Web being unused to hugs and Lieb having no sense of boundaries. But I'm really intrigued by a concept of switching it up.

hello i’m in tears bc this took so long to write, but...  enjoy an extremely touch-hangry boi.  be warned, for copious amounts of obscenely soft cuddling.

Long story short, it goes like this.

David’s just finished an article, two hours ahead of the frankly unreasonable deadline sent by his editor; he collapses on the couch, promptly kicks his sock-clad feet up on the coffee table, and slumps against Joe’s side.

Joe goes very still.

At first, David thinks it’s because of his feet. Joe can be weird about things like that; he values cleanliness, and “not acting like fuckin’ animals in the house, Jesus, Web”. All the things David was never allowed to do growing up in his family’s Manhattan penthouse  ---  like leave dishes out or discard his clothes in messy piles  ---  are exactly the sort of things that drive Joe insane. He kind of relishes doing them, just to see the twitch Joe gets by his eye, and for the way he grips his hips roughly when he growls at him to “quit leaving your shit everywhere”. David’s natural sloppiness leaves Joe needing an outlet for his frustration… and their shared bedroom is kept very clean. It works out great for both parties.

So, sure, it’s probably just the feet on the table… he thinks for a grand total of eight seconds, before looking up to catch Joe’s eye.

His boyfriend’s gaze has gone impossible soft. It takes David’s breath away, a little, because Joe isn’t like that as a rule. He’s sharp edges and broken glass, jagged teeth and bladed grins. He’s harsh as sandpaper and smooth as steel. He’s frustrating, and his gentle moments come and go like fickle summer storms.

To be fair, impromptu cuddling on the couch isn’t like them either… but David needs it tonight, and stepping outside the bounds of their normal relationship can’t be the worst crime in the world. He holds Joe’s gaze for a moment, questioning and careful… but, instead of pulling away, Joe just takes a moment before sighing. His arm wraps around David’s shoulders, pulling him close.

“Rough night, Web?” he asks, an undercurrent of implication in his voice. This ain’t like you. You alright?

“You have no idea.” David rests his stubbled cheek against Joe’s chest, sighing deeply as the tension slowly drains from his muscles. Joe is hesitant to react; his actions, even as he rubs up and down David’s shoulder, lack his usual fearlessness. Joe can grab his ass in the middle of a crowded bar, or ruffle his curls just to get on his nerves… but this casual intimacy is uncharted territory for him.

He needs a distraction from his own head. David’s got just the thing. “How would you,” he sighs, “like to hear about the plight of Heteractis anemone? Because I just wrote four thousand words on it.”

“Heter— huh.” Joe sighs into the crown of his head, ruffling his curls. “Pretty sure Guarnere caught that once.”

“Knowing him, he’s still got it,” David replies. When Joe laughs, it reverberates in his chest, a low rumble in David’s ear.

“Yeah, alright, Web. Tell me all ‘bout your anemoles.”

“Anemone.”

“Yeah, what’d I say?” Joe presses his grin into David’s hair. “Amenemes.”

“Anemo-- damn it,” he mutters, burying the words against his boyfriend’s chest. Joe laughs even harder… and, like it or not, the sound it a balm to David’s frayed nerves. Even better are the strong arms which wrap around him, fully encompassing his shoulders and pulling him against Joe’s body. It’s… more than he was anticipating, more than they probably need, but it feels nice, and he doesn’t want to pull away. David melts against him, curling his legs with Joe and letting himself drift off. Fingers card gently through his hair; his boyfriend’s warm breath caresses his temple… and being this close feels so good that he forgets to remember it isn’t ordinary at all.

If he looked up at that exact moment, he might have found Joe enjoying it even more than he was… but David, as usual, preferred to sail away.

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

That really should have been the end of it… but after their night of unexpected intimacy, it’s like a dam has broken.

Joe does it at unexpected moments. While David is flipping pancakes in the kitchen, he comes up behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, chin looping over his shoulder. They just sort of… stay there. David is so surprised that he ends up charring the pancake, which Joe eats anyways, because he’d inhale charcoal if he was hungry enough… but while his boyfriend is wolfing blackened pancake lumps down his throat, no explanation is offered. David doesn’t know how to ask.

He’s brushing his teeth; Joe comes up behind him and holds his hips, just staying there for a few minutes. He’s reading a book in bed; Joe lies down, curling into his side like an automatic reflex. They’re watching whatever B-rated action flick Joe just insisted on going to see at the Cineplex, and Joe holds his hand the entire time.

Calling it strange is an understatement. It’s fucking bizarre.

Which isn’t to say Joe’s been shy about physical contact before, because he hasn’t. He’s just always been measured with it. Joe doesn’t hold back from touching people, grasping their shoulders or clapping them on the back… but he never goes overboard with it. His touches don’t linger. He’s a handsy person by nature, but David never considered before that he weighs every touch before giving them out. 

If that’s the case, what’s changed? Why has he suddenly become so free — even apparently craving — touches he’s never asked for before?

David doesn’t know much about the scientific method, but any good journalist can test a hypothesis as well as a lab tech. Early one night, before either of them have gone to bed, he sits down next to Joe on the couch and sets the remote in his boyfriend’s lap.

“Anything but reality TV,” is all he says, and Joe smirks as he turns the station to some late night show.

He’s paying attention; David is not. Instead, his attention is fixed firmly on Joe, not even trying to hide it. The curve of his profile, the shadows along his neck and collar, the way he always lounges when he sits… like he’s trying to take up as much space as possible. Something about him seems inexplicably, undeniably lonely.

David leans over and wraps an arm around Joe’s shoulders. The reaction is expected; Joe goes tense, like he’s trying to figure out what the hell is going on. David counts back in his head:  ten… nine… eight… seven…

Before he gets to five, Joe’s relaxed into him. Easy as that — it’s like teaching a puppy to eat food, or a baby to cry. Joe and touch go together like authors and caffeine. Touching is easy for him, but being touched is the most natural thing in the world.

A flame kindles to life within David’s chest, and soon it’s warming him from the inside out. He can’t keep a fond smile from his lips. After a moment, his hand strays up to Joe’s hair, threading gently through the well-maintained strands. Joe’s always had a weakness for having his hair touched, and tonight is no exception. He makes a tiny, content noise and leans into David, the tension slowly draining from his body. It doesn’t take long before he’s leaning against him, head balanced against David’s chest. Arms still around him, David holds Joe tenderly, caressing his hair while occasionally pressing kisses to the crown of his head. Joe’s heartbeat is steady, his muscles lax. David charts the gentle rhythm of his breathing until he’s sure his boyfriend has dropped off to sleep.

When he looks down, a wave of tenderness washes over him. Joe Liebgott with every guard down is a thing to see. He so rarely looks peaceful. There’s something restless about Joe, a relentless hunger thrumming just beneath his skin, determined to break free. He’s always had an edge of urgency to him… but now, dozing against David’s chest, he looks without a care in the world.

He ought to be this way all the time. He deserves to be happy all the time. God help him, if David has any say in it, Joe will be.

“Is it my birthday or something?” Joe asks, when David, completely unprompted, begins massaging his shoulders. “Shit, don’t tell me I’m another year older and just forgot.”

“Not for another few months, old man,” David replies. On reflex, Joe tries to twist and grab him, but David’s massage doesn’t let up; after a minute, he relaxes into it, slumping further back against David’s chest.

“You been acting weird lately,” Joe declares — as though David needs to be good, and as though he wasn’t the one acting weird to begin with. “Everything fine at work? You didn’t… gamble away our savings to the mafia, or promise Sobel our firstborn kid or something? If you got news for me, Web, I can take it without a bonus massage.”

“Why do you think — wait, we’re going to have kids?”

“Head in the game, Web. What’s going on?”

At once, he’s glad Joe is facing the other way, because David’s not sure what he could say otherwise. He frowns at Joe’s back muscles, kneading into them with a bit more force than necessary. Sure, he’s been… more physically affectionate these days. Joe no longer has to seek it out, because he gives it willingly… and even if touch doesn’t come naturally to David, the obvious way Joe eats it up when his touches linger in public or they draw close to each other in private makes it all worthwhile. Joe seems happier nowadays, so clearly it’s working fine.

Why’s he getting interrogated now?

“Am I not allowed to touch you?” he asks. “Just because I want to touch?”

“You ain’t a touchy-feely person. Never have been.”

“People change.”

“Not you.” Joe’s observation is too neutral for David to justify flaring up at it. “Come on, Web. What’s going on?”

He’s silent for a long moment before summoning a reply. “I want you to be happy,” he declares, finishing off Joe’s back massage with a caress of his neck. “I want you… to feel loved.”

Joe is silent for a beat before turning his head to look back at him. “That’s all, huh?”

“Yeah,” David huffs. “That’s all.”

It’s hard to make out Joe’s expression when one half of his face is cast into shadow, but David spots the amusement in his eyes… and something else, too, something softer that he can’t put his finger on. It sparks a familiar warmth in his chest, and he smiles.

“Well, don’t stop on my account,” Joe sighs. There’s no warning before he’s leaning back against David’s chest, but David’s ready this time. He opens his arms, embracing him as they go. Slowly, Joe relaxes into the comfort of his touch, and the world feels a little warmer.

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

WhatsApp? Part 15. (Steve Rogers x reader)

Description: You’ve never been lucky with guys. You just wanted to catch someone’s eye, to be loved. One day, that’s about to turn completely - with one fake, completely imagined number a guy gave you.

A/N: “Let’s talk about s*x baby, let’s talk about you and me.”, going off the rails, as I always tend to. Enjoy, babes.

Warnings: Oh, first kiss like hello bitch? Some smut happening/implied at the end of the chapter. Also, I think it's time to properly hit it off and just slowly start to slide towards the end.

Word Count: 3.7 K

Tagging: @missdictatorme, @songforhema, @mikariell95, @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

Read the rest here: Part One  Part Two  Part three  Part four  Part five  Part Six Part seven  Part eight  Part nine  Part ten  Part eleven  Part twelve  Part thirteen  Part fourteen

If you like to have your readings in order :):  H E R E  

You couldn't actually believe that it happened - for some unknown reason, you found a fucking gem hidden amongst the other guys, with such a silly coincidence. Yeah, having Steve close could be described as a drug, simply. 

The evenings after your work were the absolute best. It was nice to have fancy dinners, to go into some crazy places; but as the weather got crazier and crazier, you started to have him over. Sometimes, he even slept at your place. On the sofa, but you tried your best to stay cool about that. 

It wasn't about you not being attractive or whatever - it was just about Steve being Steve. That was just a thing you discovered throughout the time. Steve being Steve consisted of holding your hand on the street occasionally, but just really innocently, sitting far away from you on the sofa, really gentlemen manners, never ever being mature or whatever. 

Bucky told you that those things were completely normal around that man out of time - and that it was bullshit to wait for him changing the things around. Not gonna happen, girl.

“How about yesterday’s hangout?” - Bucky asked from somewhere between Deena’s neck as he kissed her tenderly. You, Buck, Deena, and Sam were hanging out for that day’s lunch pause and so far so good. 

“You already know the answer, Buck.” - You mumbled and rearranged the glasses on your nose. Yesterday, Steve was having a sleepover at your place and you watched Harry Potter together. That man never saw those movies and Sam hadn't the time to show him. 

It was all fun, kind of romantic, cheesy enough, it was fun with a lot of popcorn and some really sweet drinks. As usually, Steve fell asleep on your couch, this time during the three trials of the Goblet of fire. Then you turned the movie off, covered him in a spare blanket and called it a day as well.

“Lemme guess.” -  Deena looked at you from under Bucky’s armpit and you almost didn't see her eyes because of the cap she was wearing. That piece of clothing was definitely her boyfriend’s. Sam Wilson, another of their friends, was walking on your second side, sipping some green-ish smoothie which looked disgusting to you. - “Steve was acting like Steve, wasn't he?” 

“I’m tellin’ ya, girl. Ma boy is just all over the place from you, even after all the time ya just simply hang out with him...” - Sam threw a hand over your shoulder and shook you a bit, offering you a sip from that disgusting smoothie. 

The more you got to know Sam, the more touchy and feely person he was around you. But it wasn't too much at all or something like that; it was just in a friendly way and you could feel that. So his huge fucking arm over your tiny shoulder? That was a normal thing for you at that time - after hanging out with Steve for three to four months. 

The first date was something that almost made you explode with happiness - Steve really put some effort into that. It wasn't effortless after that one night, not at all; but Steve was still nervous around you. Sweet and caring, but fucking nervous. And you could feel that. 

But you wanted to cuddle, you would beg to be kissed, you would bring him the whole world if he only indicated that he loves you. You just needed that - your patience was wearing. It would take only a slow push to throw you off the fucking cliff. 

And you pushed his fucking smoothie away because it just smelled so terribly.

“You would bet your fucking birdy brain, asshole.” - You looked at Sam with a shocked face. 

“Then fucking do it, girl, and stop yellin’ at me. It ain't my fault at all. Jesus, those hormones are just fuckin’ you up.” - Sam said and watched you like you were a fucking psycho. Yeah. The period was always the toughest time in women's life - and you were letting Sam and Steve letting to know your feelings. From the men, you were always only nice to Bucky, because he was always nice to you.

You didn't have your period, it ended up like three days ago, but you told Sam that it continued so you could behave like a dick to him without finding excuses, which you did anyways. 

“So, it is pretty obvious to me. Because your little Stevie is fucking oblivious, we need to make a plan.” - Deena peeped from under Bucky and opened the door to the bistro you were visiting that day. As usual, there were a few ladies and some young boys who desperately wanted to take a photo with the less known Avengers. 

You knew how to handle those situations with smiles - Steve had taught you, how not to freak out when someone wanted to take a photo with him. It usually happened when you and Steve went to the supermarket or to take some takeaway food. The people were just so happy to meet those superheroes in person, to have a small talk and to leave.

That was pretty ok and some fans of Steve, Buck or Sam even appreciated you, asked about your day and so on. Sometimes they even insisted on having you and Deena on the photo, usually adding something like “Even a supersoldier needs a shoulder to lay and cry on” or “Behind every successful superhero, there is a woman” and you personal favourite was “Superheroes find super girlfriends who can bare their whole history and personality and love them for who they are” (you saw that on one young lady’s Instagram story - there was a photo of you watching Steve with a dead stare when he was choosing his ice cream’s flavor for a half an hour; Peter had shown it to you while you were at work.)

“What kind of plan, Deena?” - You raised her eyebrows at her and she and Buck shared a stare like it was completely obvious. 

“I would name it the ’Seducing Steve’ plan for work purposes.” - She said in a laid back tone and sat down into the furthest box. 

And so, wizardry and witchcraft were starting when those three started to discuss how to seduce Steve Fucking Rogers.

---

“Oh, she's in a good mood.” - Bucky answered Steve’s question when he and Sam came back home from their work out. - “It is a pity that youve missed that lunch. We had such a good time.”

“Oh, yea?!” - Sam shouted from the bathroom so loudly, that the glasses started to shake. - “Yo girl almost killed me four thousand times, she was grumpy and a pain in my fuckin’s ass!” 

“That is what you get from messing with the ladies. Oh wow, how sad I am that she didn't hit your forearm with that fork.” - Bucky yelled back and Steve was really confused - he was about to buy her some chocolate nonetheless and some other snacks, but he needed to know how he should act. 

“WHAT?!” - Sam’s head peeked from behind the door at that exact moment. - “She started all those kinds of beef and now your taking her side? Traitor!” - The chocolate skinned diva closed the door again. 

“I will leave you to that.” - Steve slowly put his jacket on, but Buck and Sam got into their beef so much that they didn't even notice that Steve is leaving. - “Today is the day od Lord of the Rings. I'm curious about that and I hope I won't fall asleep.” - He smiled and left the flat, writing you a super-short text. 

Steve: See you at your place in ten.

---

You checked yourself in the mirror for the last time - you had a lumberjack shirt put on because according to Sam and Buck, Steve was secretly living for women in shirts; especially with some nice top under it. Fuckingly tight jeans were just something that needed to be and some high-heeled boots were it. 

Sam said that you didn't need anything more than that. 

But Bucky laughed devilishly, kissing Deena on her temple. You needed one last thing before you could call your plan a success. Other man’s attention. And Bucky was fucking sure you could achieve that, you little hidden she-devil.

And he knew that other man’s attention is something that can make Steve all worked up. Bucky chuckled; he was sure that it will be more than enough to work Steve up for not only just a kiss. But he shut his bitch ass up - if you will take a day off tomorrow, he will know that the plan worked.

When Steve showed at your door, you let him in - but only to put the paper bag near your fridge. Then you put your old, but the still sexy, jacket on. This one especially Deena’s favorite; she used to say that this jacket was making your boobs bigger and that it practically screams fuck-me-here-and-now. The only problem with it was that it wasn't really warm.

“You're going somewhere?” - Steve asked with a small smile, frowning a bit. 

“Yeah. I want to leave for the night, have some fun in the downtown. Sorry that I didn't text you that I'm changing the schedule, I just thought that I can surprise you.” - You locked the door to your apartment and took his elbow to your hand, leading that poor and scared man behind you.

From nowhere, Deena took some tickets out of her purse - it was tickets to some local stage where a DJ would be performing. She wanted to go, but in the last while, she decided that she wanted to do something different - which implied that she wanted to fuck the night away. 

But it was your chance after all - a chance that shouldn't be left alone. And if Steve would not hit on you after that? Well, at least you could drink your fucking ass off before showing him what courage looks like.

The night was pretty cold, today at least, but it wasn't that much of a long road. The sky was all iron cold and almost white, illuminated with the yellow shining of the city lamps. Something about that felt nice when you and he walked next to each other on the crowded streets, laughing and simply talking without the smallness of your room, without watching every move he made, if he wasn't closer or too far away. 

He felt less nervous. Bucky got an idea why, but again, that fucker just smiled and sipped his diet cola without giving you a proper fucking answer. 

"So, we're in front of the club. Come on, I wanna have some fun!" - You smiled and basically dragged that poor man inside. Oh yeah. Modern-day disco - Steve Rogers's personal nightmare. His greatest enemy which he couldn't beat even if he tried to.

There was a lot of young people - including people from the age of eighteen, maybe even younger, and up. Steve wasn't feeling his best, that was for sure. But he was doing it for you, that kept him going.

The show itself was good - you screamed most of the lyrics because you knew them from when you and Pete turned on the radio and sang along. That man was a fucking bomb of that summer, which made you wonder why would Deena give up on that tickets so easily and why he was performing for such a small crowd when he could sell out stadiums full of people.

"I'm going for another beer!" - You screamed to Steve, he needed to lean down, and you shook the empty plastic cup. - "You want some?"

Steve would gladly not accept your offer, just because you were getting drunk as hell, and he didn't even know that you had two shots of some really good Russian vodka stuff in each of your cups of the beer. He was drinking as well, but he knew that nothing, except Thor's centuries-old ale, could bring him on his knees.

But he gently refused with a smile, biting those comments down into his lower lip. You shook your shoulders and left to get some other shit.

A guy trailed you down at the bar; he had his eyes on you since the very beginning. Your enthusiasm for the music, your dancing moves and knowing almost every lyric made him watching you all the time. You seemed to have company - but since the man wasn't holding your lips from behind while you danced, since he didn't even kiss you, the bar guy assumed that it isn't your date.

Just a friend. That's what Steve was in his eyes.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself!" - That guy shouted at you so you could at least barely hear him through the EDM and basses. - "I live for that, sweetie! Name's Rick, by the way!" - He offered you a hand. You accepted it without further thinking; it was warm, dry and he had a firm handshake.

He was pretty handsome, you needed to say that, but it was fading away in comparison to Steve's eyes. Girl, you needed to hit a home run that night so bad. You just needed to, not thinking about the rest which might follow right behind.

"Name's Y/N. Awesome to meet you!" - You smiled, getting the cash out of your back pocket.

"Leave it there, Jesus. It's my treat!" - Rick bumped your palm away and quickly paid the beer and two shots. He was watching as you poured them down to the beer with an open mouth. - "Wow. That's something. I like your style!" - He smiled widely and you chuckled.

"So what are you searching for in here?" - He asked when you poured half of the bear down your throat. You frowned cluelessly at him. - "Everyone in there is searching for something. Some of them are feeling tough since they used their fake IDs, some people are looking for a good fuck in here, someone's mingling out there. Might be my case!"

"Oh, really?" - You opened your mouth. Girl, you were so wasted at that moment, I tell you. - "How so?"

"A bad breakup. I'm trying to find someone who would like to mingle!" - He shouted over the start of a new song. - "You?"

"Hitting my best shot with a totally clueless guy! You see him? He's Captain America himself!" - You shouted and Rick suddenly stopped. Shit. Captain was eyeing him down with a dead stare and you were his fucking girl. He needed to back off as soon as he fucking could to save his own damn ass. - "He's the sweetest and most caring guy ever! You know? But when we're alone, he's all nervous. I need to make him make a move with me finally."

"Yeah. I don't wonder why he's nervous. You're so gorgeous!" - Rick complimented you light-heartedly. It made you smile and you tenderly pat his shoulder.

That was all Steve needed to see. A guy whispering you things, you touching his shoulder and laughing out loud. You had the most beautiful face when you were laughing. And he wasn't the reason for that laughter. Steve just stopped from anything he was doing and frowned, watching your every move.

He knew he was taking things too slowly. He was acting like a fifth-grader around you, but it had a specific and good reason. Steve was sure as hell that he would lose control as soon as his lips would touch yours. You smelled so good, you were funny, beautiful and for that matter, he was sleeping on ice for the last seventy years. And he was a man.

It would be a disgrace for Steve to say that he's horny. Or to say it out loud. But the truth is that is was almost painfully obvious for Bucky and Sam, and basically for every single person who knew Steve. Like Natasha specifically.

But sometimes, when you watched the movie like nothing mattered, Steve looked at your partially opened lips and eyes slowly winking, on that messy hair and a right t-shirt - and suddenly, all he could think about was sex. Or literally tearing the top off you, so he could see more of that body. Or just standing behind you while you leaned down to search through your cupboards, just to gently circle his hands around your waist and to brush his weakest spot on that peachy ass.

That was when Steve sat straight and moved even further away from your body. He didn't want to look like a horny rabbit in your eyes. Even if you wanted to fuck soul out of his body when the nearest chance comes by.

You were both such dummies in that matter. Even Peter could tell Steve's not relaxed bevause of something when he met him for the first time. Peter had similar feelings for Liz Allen, but he was just itching to kiss her. Peter could instantly tell what the fuck is going on.

But you couldn't. That's why you were standing at the bar with Rick's face practically laid on your shoulder. And Steve didn't know what to do first - if he should beat the soul out of his fucking body or if he should you home.

The other option said way better.

You could see Steve's body coming through the crowd directly to you and you bit your lip. Fucking Bucky Barnes. He was right; of course, he was, he knew Steve way better than anybody. You looked at Rick and raised your eyebrows, pouring that drink down.

"Wish me luck, Rick." - You kissed his cheek just to work Steve up even more. - "Hoping for the best lady for you to mingle with!" - You held your fingers crossed tightly when Steve approached you in his typical not-so-sure-about-anything behavior. He leaned down to your ear, touching your jaw with shaking fingers.

"Do you want to leave this place?" - He asked in a sultry tone and you smiled at him. You were drunk, your eyes were shining, your smile was big as ever and even though the beer was smelling from you, you were one of the sexiest ladies Steve has ever seen. So when you nodded, he exhaled.

Oh man, did he finally worked up the courage to do you things you will never forget? He was all heated up when you stood in front of the club as you watched the first snowflakes of that year fall down onto the ground.

He covered you in his jacket because your fuck-me jacket was lost somewhere inside.

"Your place or mine?" - He whispered, playing with his thumbs on your jawline.

"What?" - You asked drunkenly and giggled.

"Don't you try to play that innocent card on me now." - He stood up laughing, watching the people looking at you. No stupid photos now; he would most likely kill them if they would ask. Right now, he had some bigger problems which you needed to solve. - "I know what you're after. And I'm after that as well, kitten. So... I'm asking, you if it's your place or mine."

Sam was at home at that time - not much of a problem for Rogers. He would just swing you on his shoulder, look at his friend and he knew that Sam would immediately know that he should leave the place hella fast. Buck was over at Deena's and Steve knew that they're probably occupied by each other as well.

"Mine. Definitely mine." - You sighed and let him lead you home through the crowds of people. They were staring at you two - Cap and his drunk girlfriend. Oh, did Steve know that his reputation will be torn apart in tomorrow's news and he couldn't care less?

Steve was sure that Tony will be making fun of him or teasing him alongside Clint, Bucky and Sam will be eager to hear every single detail, Natasha will have that sultry face and curious eyes - but Steve decided that every one of them could go fuck themselves if they want.

All he wanted at that moment was you, finally naked, in the shortest time possible.

You almost crashed the door to your flat. The first kiss sure wasn't as romantic or slow or pure as would've wished, but you didn't think about that much. Why? Your back was pressed to the wall next to your door as you were slowly turning into a moaning mess.

There was a little thing that nobody knew about Captain America himself, maybe even Bucky didn't - he was extremely eager. Thanks to his self-control, he was somehow able to hide that element of his personality in front of the others. But he knew how he acts when he has nothing that would make him stop.

The warmth of someone's body leads to touching. Touch leads to a kiss. The kiss leads to foreplay. Foreplay leads to showing you the heaven's gate. That was just how he saw things.

You stripped the jacked off your body in a short five seconds, along with the shirt. You could hear your furniture moving, falling down and crashing onto the ground. You didn't fucking care at all.

Steve was hot under your touch, firm and smooth, his kisses were sweeter than Bucky's plums and the palms on your ass were making you nuts.

Boy, you didn't know what pleasure the man out of time will bring you that night; but you couldn't wait.

[crowkingwrites]

Battle of the Bands (Ch.15)

Pairing: Robb Stark x Reader, Jon Snow x Reader, Viserys Targaryen x Reader, Ramsay Bolton X Reader

Summary: You just moved into the city for the first tie all by yourself. After you get your dream summer job working for a small magazine, you find yourself in the middle of the city’s rock festival: Battle of the Bands. Local rock bands throughout the city compete to win a record deal that could change their lives. Your job? Get close to them and write about them online.A single girl in the city surrounded by rocker boys during the summertime. What could possibly go wrong?

Words: 2701 // AO3 Link

Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three // Chapter Four // Chapter Five // Chapter Six // Chapter Seven // Chapter Eight // Chapter Nine // Chapter Ten // Chapter Eleven // Chapter Twelve // Chapter Thirteen // Chapter Fourteen 

You couldn’t sleep much last night. You had spent it watching whatever you could find on Youtube. Music videos of Blackfyre, cute puppy videos, and some conspiracy video about how Joffery Baratheon was actually his uncle’s, not his father’s. You turned off the Internet after that one.

When you did finally wake up from what sleep you had, you were greeted with both Margaery and Loras in the living room. In front of Loras, a bag of tacos sat. The scent of the cilantro and chicken wafted into your nose. Both of them looked up to you, waiting for something.

“Morning,” you said and looked down.

“I bought you some tacos. Margie told me what happened last night. I told her what happened with Renly. So—

“You guys know everything now. I get it,” you responded in a short voice. “Sorry, I couldn’t sleep.”

“It’s okay,” Margie stood up and offered you her seat. “Want a cup of coffee? I made us some this morning!”

“What is this? What are you guys doing?” you narrowed your eyes at the siblings.

“We don’t want you to leave,” Loras came out with it. He had always been up front with you especially when he didn’t need to be. Once he told you his honest opinion of your new boyfriend while he was sitting in front of him. Needless to say, that relationship didn’t last long. Loras sighed and looked at his sister before continuing. “You just got here. You’re gonna fail, you know? I think you’re being harsh on yourself.”

“I don’t. I fucked up everything.”

“No! No you didn’t! Because you helped Loras and Renly get together right?” Margie shot a look at Loras.

“Oh! Yeah! Definitely! That was a major win!” Loras smiled. You looked at the bag of tacos and snatched it. As you unwrapped the first one, Margie put down some coffee for you. You shoed the first tacos in your mouth and you wondered why you even messed with boys in the first place. Who needs boys when you can have drama-free tacos?

“You should listen to Loras,” Margaery said. She tied up her hair in a messy bun and elaborated. “You just got here a few months back. You can’t leave now. You can’t give up on yourself like that.”

“I’m…not…giving,” you said between bites with as much breath as you had. “…up…on myself.”

“You are,” Margie raised an eyebrow.

“But I told you,” you started to cry a little. “I messed everything up.” Loras rubbed your back as you started to cry into your tacos. So much for drama free tacos. You should return the damned things. Who are you kidding? Who the fuck returns tacos?

“Do you still have friends?” Margie asked.

“Yeah.”

“Do you have your job?”

“Yeah.”

“And you have a place to live,” Margie told you. “You haven’t fucked up as badly as you think you did. Please stay. The fest is almost over now anyways and all of this business will go away. I can even help you find a different job if you wanted me to.”

“She could,” Loras agreed. “I heard Robb’s a bad boss. You should probably quit anyways.”

“Loras! Not helping!” Margie snapped.

“Why? He can be such an ass sometimes. I don’t like the way he talks to you,” Loras responded. “Oh, and because Viserys talking to her was any better,” Margie rolled her eyes. “Look, you just had a weird fucking summer. Don’t go, ok?”

“No,” you shook your head. “You weren’t there. Robb walked into the office, holding his face. Then, I watched him yell at his dad that Jon was the problematic child.”

“See? Bad boss,” Loras nodded.

“No. Not the fucking point, Loras,”you clarified. “I did that. I caused that fight between them. I made them fight over me and they’re really angry at each other. I tore them apart. Then, I thought of what I wrote about Viserys and now he’s losing everything. He has a real reason to sue me. And Ramsay can’t ever play music again and it makes him so happy, and—

“You’re spiraling,” Margie grabbed your wrist before you put the fourth tacos in your mouth. “Breathe.”

You closed your eyes and inhaled. You held it for three seconds and then you let go. You still didn’t feel much better, but it was an improvement.

“I still want to go home,” you confessed. “I just don’t feel good here anymore. I could go back home and work in my dad’s bookshop. He’d be really happy to have me, I think.”

“Are you really that set on it?” Loras nudged you.

“I think I am,” you nodded.

“Then that’s that.”

“WHaT? nO!” Margaery reacted. “Y/N are you hearing yourself? You can’t go back home! It’s—

“Margie. It’s done, ok?” Loras shot a look her way. “This is what she wants to do. We should support her.” Margie sat back and looked away for a moment. She lit a cigarette and exhaled the smoke behind her.

“Alright,” she said defeated. “But, I’m helping you go home, ok? No Dornish goodbye shit.”

“Dornish goodbye? That’s a good name for a rock band,” Loras nodded. “Sexy.”

After you packed all of your books, you took a break. You opened your laptop to your article about Viserys. 50K shares and thousands of comments. You closed your eyes and said ‘Fuck’ to yourself. You closed your laptop and grabbed your phone.

No messages from anyone. No phone calls. Just an empty home screen with increasing number of shares on the Viserys article. You dialed your mom.

“Hello? Honey?” Your mom’s voice was the best thing you heard in weeks. Her sweet, caring tone always hit you where it hurt the most.

“Hi mom,” you had tears in your eyes again.

“Oh honey! What’s wrong?”

“I wanna come home, Mom. I mucked it up pretty bad here. I don’t wanna be here anymore.” You felt an anxious wordy waterfall about to spill from your core.”

“Oh…,” you heard her shifting around. “Oh, sweetheart. Come home. It’s alright. I’ll take a few days off of work, and I can bring you home. Does that sound ok?” Your parents weren’t aware of your more careless lifestyle. Both of them were incredibly conservative. When you told them you were moving into the King’s City, your father fought on you it tooth and nail.

“Thank you, Mom,” you smiled through your tears. “That sounds okay. I just need to, uh, put my ducks in order. Can I call you later?” It was happening. You were going home. You thought of yourself when you first moved here. You remember getting your job and celebrating at the Sunspot. Then, your smile was covered in cheap beer and taco sauce.

Now, you sat in a room with a fourth of your things packed. Your room was getting emptier each second. You turned off your phone and curled up into your bed. You weren’t too proud to admit it, but you left your phone off for three days. Margie would check in on you from time to time, and she would help you pack.

But she wouldn’t push or try to convince you to stay. You stayed in your bed mostly for those three days. You watched countless hours of all the Netflix you could handle. On the fourth morning, you woke up. No, you wouldn’t spend your last days inside your apartment, feeling shitty about yourself. You were better than that. You deserve better than that.

You got properly dressed in a band t-shirt and shorts. Your favorite pair of dirty converse shoes carried you all the way back to the Battle of the Bands. The first thing you noticed was the yellow ticket. Everyone had a yellow ticket in their hands. You saw a few new yellow tents that hadn’t been here before. When you walked over, you realized what it was.

The final voting for the battle. Everyone was deciding who would win.

You quickly picked up one on your own, and walked away from the crowding line. You saw entries for Favorite Folk Band, Favorite Rock Band, Favorite Solo Act, and so much more. At the bottom, you saw the last final contest: Winner of Battle of the Bands – Favorite Act. Your pen itched between your fingers.

You could pick Viserys. Blackfyre was a fun band to watch, and you enjoyed their rock music. Maybe Viserys could forgive you for what you wrote, and maybe you wanted to forgive him for pushing you away like that. There was something between you two that you couldn’t let go. When you were around him, he made you feel like the only person in the room.

You left him hungry. Viserys was fucking dragon after all. He was hungry for kissing, hungry for attention, but hungry for you the most. Was he about to be a world-famous rock star? Maybe. Was he a good kisser? Of course. Did you want him after breaking it off with you? You didn’t know. If you picked Viserys, you could tame the dragon yourself.

Or you pick Jon. Jon wasn’t technically part of the Battle of the bands, but you wrote about him anyways. You knew he deserved the attention. People flocked to the pub to see him after you wrote about him. There’s something about Jon that you found so hopelessly romantic and true. Jon who was your friend first and defended you in front of anybody—including his own family.

You admired his loyalty to you, but you were scared of what that meant. Commitment was never your strongest point, and you didn’t want to hurt Jon. You knew how much his heart meant to him. He wanted to give it to you so badly that he was willing to wait for you. If you picked Jon, you may be picking forever with Jon.

Ramsay wasn’t boyfriend material by any means. You couldn’t even write his band name down because they were cut. Ramsay was the type of individual who did stupid shit because he could. Being an awful ass was the best twenty-four hour job he loved the most. Any time his hands were on you, you felt an electricity that surged through you. Ramsay was bad and exciting.

He wanted you. He had a hold on you stronger than any other man. He liked competing for you. He liked chasing you, and maybe you wanted him to keep chasing you. You shook your head. Ramsay would be the stupid choice, but it would be the most fun one. You didn’t want to fix Ramsay, you wanted Ramsay to break you. If you picked Ramsay, you would be buying your ticket to Hell.

Then there was Robb. From the moment you met him, everything seemed like a perfect, romantic Hollywood movie. From his bluest eyes to his good protective nature, he seemed so perfect. Robb believed in you. He gave you your first job on your own. He gave you front page, resources, and his help. He wanted to make you better.

But he was also possessive and cruel and cold. He was a true wolf. Fiercely loyal to his pack and attacked whenever provoked. You never knew if Robb was happy or upset with you. One minute he’s kind and wonderful, and then the next he makes you feel like the worst person in the room. One thing was for sure, he cared for you. You knew the way he looked at you because you looked at him the same way. If you picked Robb, you picked a love that was more than yourself.

All four of them swam in your head constantly circling like spokes on a wheel. That one’s on top, and that one’s on top, and on and on it spins. It was time to break the wheel.

You grabbed your phone and did the bravest thing you did all day. Your cell had been off for three and a half days now. You pressed the power button on your phone to turn it back on.

At first, you thought it was a glitch. Nothing came until one missed call showed up. Another missed call showed up. Text messages spilled through. Snapchats and Likes and Mentions and Comments. Voicemails and emails filled your inbox.

You saw a lot of backlash and celebration for your troublesome article. You couldn’t bring yourself to read some the hurtful comments hardcore fans left for you. You went to Snapchat and saw your sister’s new puppy. It gave you a smile.

And then you saw it. 52 missed calls. Several text messages. You looked at Robb’s first.

Robb to you: [So you’re leaving? Are you serious?] Robb: [Come on, you’re not serious serious, are you?] Robb: [Please answer.] Robb: [I’m really not kidding please answer me I swear to you that you have your job, okk?] Robb: [We can work together on this. You don’t have to run away from this.] Robb: [Are you mad at me?] Robb: [Look, Renly just told me. Loras told him. He told me. You can’t go.] Robb: [I don’t want you to go.] Robb: [I want you here. Please don’t leave. Please tell me you’re not leaving.] Robb: [Why aren’t you answering?] Robb: [Listen, I called you like 12 times. I think your phone’s off. But ugh] Robb: [Y/N. I really, really want you here. I’ll do anything, ok?] Robb: [I don’t know where you are. I hope you’re okay.] Robb: [I want to talk to you. Just meet me at the Sunspot. I will go there every day for lunch. Just come see me before you leave.]

You felt your heart dropping that you didn’t answer any of these. Then, you opened Jon’s voicemail. His sweet voice gave you relief.

“Okay, so this is my sixth time calling you? I heard you’re leaving the city. I don’t know what Robb’s told you, but I’ll go with you. I’m so tired of this place. The people…the scene. It’s all wrong. We can go together, you and me. Ugh, what am I even saying? Are you getting any of these? Are you ok? I’m worried about you. Please answer me.”

You heard his voice breaking at his last words. You felt a small part of your heart break off and disappear into your blood streams. It felt like a pinch in your side or that tickling pain after laughing too hard. It didn’t feel as good as you wanted. Another glance at your phone helped you move on. Ramsay left you with one voicemail and one text message.

“This is really suspicious. Your phone’s off. Your phone’s never off. What the hell is happening?”

Ramsay to You: [You’re leaving. I tried to talk to you, but Margie stopped me. She was carrying up boxes for you. We need to talk. Now.]

You put your phone away and kept walking through the fest. Your heart was too heavy to carry right now. You found yourself wandering through the crowds of people. Some pushed you out of the way. You avoided others because of their selfies. Direction was out of your mind when everything else filled it. You should’ve paid attention to where you were going.

“Y/N?” Viserys said.

“Oh fuck me,” you said aloud. You quickly covered your mouth. “Sorry! Not ‘fuck me’ as in like ‘Fuck me’, but as in ‘fuuuuuuck me’ like I’m so screwed and I’m really screwed and this---

“Shut up,” Viserys interrupted. “Why are you here?”

“I…I don’t know,” you said, defeated. “I just needed some air.”

“You need some air?” Viserys said angrily. “What? Did you and Ramsay get into a little fight?”

“What? No. I haven’t seen or talked to him in days. I was planning to leave. I’m going back home.”

“What?” Viserys reacted. “You’re not with Ramsay? But he said—

“You’re suing the whole magazine and this was all my fault. I—

“Did Robb Stark fire you?”

“No, well—

“Why are you here?” Viserys asked. His voice was different this time. It held no anger or rage, but confusion. “Did you come for me?”

“I…

Note to Self: Choose carefully.

How this story ends is up to you! These next chapters are the five different endings to Battle of the Bands. You can read one ending, or you can read all five. Up to you entirely. This is the first time I’m doing this and I’m really excited to see what kind of feedback I get for this story.

In this order:

Chapter 16 - Ramsay's Ending Chapter 17 - Viserys' Ending Chapter 18 - Jon's Ending Chapter 19 - Robb's Ending Chapter 20 - Your Ending

Ultimate Tag List (People who wished to be tagged in EVERY work I post.)

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Game of Thrones Tag List (People who wish to be tagged in everything GoT related)

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Get on the Taglist Here

[teainbostonharbor]

Love Letters Leading

A/N: So I wrote this fanfic for @i-is-gazebo! It’s for the IT Secret Valentine thing, and i’m deciding to upload it now. I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Reddie

Word Count: 1.7k

letter one. dear eddie, i love you. ive loved you since we were 12. i don’t even know if you love me back, but I needed to tell you. I’ve been keeping it in for so long. You’re just so cute, you kill me every time i see you. You’re funny too. And Nice. And sweet. And caring, Just everything under the sun. I don’t know how you don’t see that I love you. Maybe you’re just an oblivious fuck. love, your secret admirer

letter two. dear eddie, I hope you liked the rose i left in your locker as well as the letter. Don’t worry, i’ll tell you who I am soon. I’m just not ready yet. This is a big thing I guess. I do actually love you, by the way. I’m not trying to prank you or anything. I’m trying to be sweet. I want you to feel loved because you fucking deserve it. You deserve all the love in the world, and I hope one day I can show you that. love, your secret admirer 

letter three dear eddie, today I wanted to mention how smart you are. You always study your ass off and get good grades. You love fixing things and reading. I think it’s cute. Fuck. Everything about you is cute. Like the reading glasses you wear sometimes. Or how sleepy you look the day of a test. God, this is coming off as creepy isn’t it? I just want to tell you but it needs to wait. love, your secret admirer 

letter four dear eddie, if you haven’t noticed, i’m doing this leading up to valentine’s day. On valentine’s day, i’m gonna actually tell you who i am. so be prepared to get roses and one of these letters everyday. it’ll be better on valentine’s, though. i have something planned. love, your secret admirer 

letter five dear eddie, i’m sorry if i sound weird sometimes. i don’t know how to write love letters or how love even works. i just wanna swoon you for fucks sake. I don’t even know if it’s working and i’m so sorry. please don’t think i’m weird? love, your secret admirer 

letter six dear eddie, how are you? good? good. I hope you’re good. i wanna see you happy, because that makes me happy. also, you’re adorable. too bad it isn’t summer and you can’t wear shorts. i like the oversized sweaters, too, though. very cute. very cool sense of fashion, unlike me. i’m rambling, love, your secret admirer 

letter seven dear eddie, well, i suppose these letter things are halfway over with. you enjoying it? i can’t wait for valentine’s. i just hope you like me back. i doubt it, and this is all stupid. i’m stupid. but you aren’t! you sweet lil hunny bun love, your secret admirer

letter eight dear eddie, these things just keep getting shorter and shorter. i don’t really know what to write. i guess i’m bad at expressing things. god, you probably hate me. i’m not smart, im just a stupid teenage boy in love. in love with you. everything you do. down to the littlest things. i can’t help but smile every time i see you. you make me so happy, eddie. love, your secret admirer 

letter nine  dear eddie, four more days, my love. i can’t wait, and i know you can’t either. it’s gonna be great. thanks for putting up with me for all these years. it’s been fun. i can’t wait to make more memories too. they’re gonna be the funnest ones. as long as you like me back, though. gotta remember that this might ruin our friendship. wow. love, your secret admirer 

letter ten dear eddie, god, i’m really running out of ideas without sounding creepy. guess i’ll just go for it. i’ve been wanting to kiss you since we were young. sure, we’ve kissed before but on the cheek. that’s different. that’s friendly. i don’t want friendly. i want boyfriends. love, your secret admirer 

letter eleven dear eddie, two more days. two more till the big day. the day i hope will go smooth. i’ll probably stammer and say something wrong, but please don’t hate me. please. i just want a good life and future with you whether we’re friends or not. you looked extra cute yesterday by the way <3 love, your secret admirer 

letter twelve  dear eddie, one more letter till the day. this is gonna be awesome. just you n me eddie, on a date. i hope, im so happy it isn’t on a school day. i know you get bullied sometimes. this way, i can give you all of your gifts and stuff and no one will know. i’m okay if you want to keep us a secret. i know you’ve told some people, though. love, your secret admirer 

letter thirteen dear eddie, tomorrow’s the day! are you excited? because i am! well, i’m more nervous. like, really nervous. i’m afraid you’ll reject me. i just wanna be with you, godammit. it’ll happen, i hope. maybe i’m im just as oblivious as you and we both like each other. that’s a possibility. but probably not. i’ve been waiting for this for years. i just hope nothing bad happens or i don’t fuck it up. i’ll see your cute ass tomorrow. i’ll meet you at your house around noon. love, your secret admirer

Eddie.

Eddie blushed like a madman whenever he got one of the letters. He had never expecting to have a secret admirer, or have them write love letters and leave roses. It was sweet, and he was excited to tell the other losers about it. However, he had no clue who it could be.

He’s one of the few openly gay kids at the school, but the other two were already dating each other. So it couldn’t be them. He also guessed that there could be others in the closet, or others that are only out to their friends. The losers were mostly open to just them, but Eddie came out to everyone on the same day. That’s a story for another day, though. He also guessed that it was someone close to him, and had a few classes with him. He never expected it to be any of the losers, let alone Richie Tozier. He should’ve known better, though. Little did he know, Richie was quite infatuated with him. All the losers saw it, and Richie was right. Eddie is an oblivious fuck. He didn’t think twice when Richie called him cute or heldhim or kissed his cheek. It was normal. They had always been like that. Eventually he realized he did like Richie. But Richie didn’t need to know that. Richie always flirted with him, and made jokes and stuff like that. Richie thought Eddie knew, and he grew tired of them just not being together. So he decided to write the letters and tell Eddie his feelings on valentine’s. The perfect plan, right? Right. Richie grew nervous as the day approached. He knew Eddie was excited at the idea of a relationship, but he feared rejection. Eddie seemed so happy when he told them about the letters, he just didn’t want it to end up badly. But it wouldn’t. Feb. 14th

Eddie paced around his room nervously. He had no clue who it was, or how it was going to go. He couldn’t pick out what to wear, or what he’d say. He became frustrated, and ended up taking a short shower. After that he waited. And waited. And waited. Time wasn’t passing quickly for some reason. Everything was slow. To pass time, he decided to sit at his desk and do some homework. His mind was obviously preoccupied, though. He couldn’t focus on anything. He felt like he was going to die from embarrassment and nervousness, but he could handle it. At least he tried to convince himself he could. He decide to try and focus again before he heard something bouncing off his window. He walked over to it slowly, eyes widening when he looked out of it. There stood Richie Tozier with a bouquet of flowers, a giant teddy bear, and a box of chocolates. Eddie quickly grabbed his phone, and checked the time. He couldn’t believe Richie, of all people, was his secret admirer. He should’ve guessed, but he hadn’t given it much thought. His mind was racing at a thousand miles a minute but it was quickly interrupted by Richie shouting, “Hey! Will you let me in? I’m freezing my ass off out here.” Eddie slid his window open. “I’ll let you in through the front door. I don’t think you can get up here with all that stuff.” And with that, Eddie ran downstairs to the front door. He was shaking nervously. This was the guy that liked him. And he liked him back. He took a deep breath, and placed his hand on the door knob. Slowly, he opened it. He was greeted by a grinning Richie with an arms full of presents. Eddie was speechless. No one had ever gone out of their way to write letters or get him gifts. He couldn’t believe that his crush went out of his way to write letters and get him gifts. He couldn’t believe it. Richie’s smile quickly faltered when Eddie said nothing and just stared. “I-I’m sorry… you probably don’t even like me. I knew I did too much..” Eddie panicked. “N-No! I-I like you. I have for a long time too. I’m just… speechless? I can’t believe you went out of your way to do this.” “Really?” he asked, his smile quickly returning. “Since sixth grade.” “So all of this is fine? Dinner too?” “You planned dinner too?” “Um… yeah? I kinda wanted today to be perfect and special.” Eddie grinned. “It’s perfect.” And so was their relationship from that point on.

epilogue six months later “Ever wonder what would’ve happened if you never wrote the letters?” It was a typical hot summer evening. They were laying in bed, limbs practically tangled together. Richie was messing with Eddie’s hair, occasionally peppering his face in kisses. “Yeah. I don’t think we would’ve ever gotten together.” “I don’t think we would’ve either. We’re both gay and dumb.” Richie grinned. “Yeah. Gay and dumb.” They laid like that for a while, not moving albeit them both being sweaty messes in the heat. Richie leaned in, pressed a kiss to Eddie’s cheek before whispering, “I love you Eddie Kaspbrak.” It was a perfect first.

[amcnh]

Cub Sport

If their story was a film, it would forever be my favorite. It has all my ideal elements: slow burn romance, music, travel and gay leads. Tim Nelson and Sam “Bolan” Netterfield met at school. Bolan’s mother recalls her son coming home one day and telling her he met a boy who played the piano really well and that he wanted to learn to play like him. Tim and Bolan became fast friends. They started spending more and more time together and eventually playing music together. The group – since 2013, called Cub Sport – took off. Buzzy EPs turned into hit singles turned into a highly anticipated debut album. Cub Sport, made up of, yes, Tim and Bolan but also bassist Zoe Davis and drummer Dan Puusaari, was officially a successful project. The band was together a lot, recording and touring and promoting, and Tim and Bolan were spending pretty much all their time together. Both admit now that, at the level they could have clocked or allowed it, they realized quite early on in their friendship that they were in love with each other, but, both raised in super religious environments, were not willing or ready to address that let alone their gayness. While on tour in America during 2016, however, things unsaid finally were spoken. They describe it all much better, and it makes me swoon, so here are some quotes:

Tim to OUT Magazine:

“I went on a writing trip in the middle of 2015 for about a month and I missed Bolan (Sam) so much. I started to recognise that I was in love with him, but I had a lot of fear and denial to work through. In the middle of 2016, we went on a two-month overseas tour. Being away from the reminders and restrictions of normal life back home was really instrumental in us feeling like we had the freedom to explore and pursue what had been building between us.

The Orlando attack happened while we were on tour in the U.S. and it was not only a reminder of how fleeting our time on earth can be, but a big wakeup call that if we just embraced who we really were we could also try to help inspire and encourage young queer people facing the same internal battles we were both experiencing. We went to Pride festival in Denver around the same time and the atmosphere was really supportive and beautiful.”

Bolan to The Guardian, discussing the impact Hanya Yanagihara’s A Little Life had on his relationship with Tim:

“I think I had buried so deeply within me what I really wanted that it took me seeing it play out in fiction to actually have the clarity and perspective to look at my own situation and give me strength to realise that life is too short not to follow… I think I realised early in the book I was drawing direct correlation with those characters and with myself, then seeing one character die really shook me. I was suddenly hit with the notion that if Tim was to die, how could I have not said something. I realised I had to put everything on the line and I was willing to potentially jeopardise and lose our friendship to get everything that I suddenly realised I wanted and needed.”

On the final night of their American tour in that summer of 2016, after a long night of partying and celebrating, Bolan, as told to The Guardian, finally addressed his feelings to Tim. He recalled saying, “’I don’t want this to ruin our friendship but I want to be with you, I love you and I want to be with you forever,’ and then Tim started to cry and said, ‘So do I.’” It’s adorable and happy and lovely. Bolan, in an interview with triple j about their relationship, said, “We fell in love over the course of about eight years.” That’s some fucking cinematic shit.

They’ve been so generous in sharing the personal details of their story. It influences their sophomore record BATS that they self-released this year (we’re getting to that), but it also is a generous, helpful decision to be so open. This year in Australia’s clusterfuck of a marriage equality “debate,” a lot of queer kids were left confused and isolated and scared. To see Bolan and Tim happy and proud, as they’ve said, meant a lot to their young fans. Beyond the adorable story of it all, it’s been for good.

Now, the record. BATS, sonically, is a shift from Cub Sport’s previous work. Tim, the lyricist and vocalist for the group, cites A Seat At The Table and Blonde as huge inspiration for the project. Content wise, the record documents their romance. To Notion, Tim said, “It more-or-less follows my personal journey from the moment I admitted to myself that I was gay, to coming to terms with being in love with my best friend/bandmate Bolan (Sam), finally acknowledging the situation a year later and to then coming out and getting together.” He further told Music-News, “Bolan’s and my story rolls out over this list of songs, more-or-less in this order – ‘Chasin’,’ ‘Look After Me’, ‘Crush,’ ‘Solo III,’ ‘Bats,’ ‘Give It To Me (Like You Mean It),’ ‘O Lord’ and ‘Banyo Blue.’” And if you read the lyrics to those tracks, the details – starkly honest and evocative – are all there.

“Chasin’” was the song Tim wrote after returning from his trips to Los Angeles and London to write, when he realized his feelings for Bolan. He said he wrote it without fully understanding what it was saying at the time. Now, it’s clear. It’s a song about fear and confusion. “I’m trying to be honest and live deliberately. Is it delusional to think that I can do this? Time always makes me doubt what’s coming out me.” To Notion, Tim said, “Sam had heard ‘Chasin’’ in its original demo form for about nine months before we actually had the conversation. He said he already knew what it was about so I guess that helped inform him that what he was feeling was reciprocated, even though I hadn’t had the courage to say it out loud in words.”

On “Look After Me,” Tim is sensing something. “There’s something in the way you look at me like I’ve never done wrong.” It’s visceral – that, “I think maybe he feels this way because I see this look in his eyes, but am I just seeing things because I want to see things or am I seeing the truth?” It’s a rhythmic, interior processing.

“Crush” sees that post-tour, mid-celebration conversation when they first opened up to each other. “And you whisper to me 'Why are you crying?’ I think it's from the years of trying to try and push you from me. I didn't know who I was meant to be. Did I crush you with the things I wouldn't say? Did I hurt you on the way? How am I so lucky that you waited for me.” We’re there, hearing and seeing this moment. It’s a lot.

“Solo III” is, indeed, inspired by Frank Ocean’s songs on Blonde. “We keep blazin', playing ‘Solo,’ and now we've got our song. And I believe in me and you. We make each other strong. And here it is, my first love song. It didn't even take that long. Now I'm not laying solo.” This marks a first – them, honest and together, celebrating their love and its newness. To Junkee, Tim shared the importance Blonde and “Solo” played in their relationship: “That album came out pretty soon after [we got together] and for the first few times, every time we got to ‘Solo’ I would cry. I was like, ‘I can’t believe I get to have what we’ve got.’ It immediately became our song, but the lyrics didn’t match up with our situation at all, and so I wanted to take from that and make it out own. And I think the melody’s just different enough that we could get away with using it.” Tim asks, “Oh, what did I do, do I deserve you?” This line’s a reminder that, yeah, we’re getting the timeline of their relationship, but Tim is writing these songs. We’re getting his feelings on what’s going on here – the disbelief, the joy.

“Bats,” if you’re a fan of the pair’s Snapchats, makes total sense. For the unacquainted, Tim clarified to Music-News: “The house we were living in when I recorded BATS was just up the hill from a creek that had a huge colony of bats living along its banks. Bolan and I would walk our dogs down there each evening and watch the bats fill the sky (usually soundtracked by Frank Ocean – ‘White Ferrari’ playing off my phone). I’d often put it on my Snapchat story and one day someone from Texas replied and said that they’d see the same thing there. It inspired the opening lyrics of the song ‘Bats.’ ‘Bats in the sky, it looks like Texas. I like this time because it reminds us we can be anywhere, that doesn’t change us, nothing can change us now.’ ‘Bats’ the song felt like it really represented the vibe/story of the album which is why we decided to make it the title track. There was always something exciting and emotive about seeing thousands of bats fill the sky and I wanted that visual to represent the collection of songs.” The lyrics refer to “Solo” and Tim’s overseas writing trips again, saying, “I've been on flights. I've seen some sights, but I didn't feel it. Just there to write. If I fly again, it won't be solo 'cause that got me so low.” “Bats” is a quiet, peaceful celebration of their togetherness and inseparability. He says, “You’re the reason that I keep on tryin.”

The next song on their timeline is the record’s most chilled track. Co-written and featuring vocals from Sarah Blasko (an eternal favorite of mine), “Give It To Me (Like You Mean It)” is a flat-out love song. An adoration song, even. “I like that light on your face. You are my favourite place.” “I could just watch you move. Everything you do just makes me…” It could be cringe, but, fuck, it isn’t. It’s really rather beautiful.

“O Lord” is the first single they chose to bring out ahead of BATS. It was a brave choice seeing as the first thirty-seven seconds are Tim and Bolan harmonizing without any instruments, but it was also a way of announcing, “Hey, things are a bit different now.” The visuals for the track are as stunning as the song, showing Tim and Bolan embracing in some muted neony, pastelish colors. This is their “radical softness.” This is the Solange influence. Tim told The FADER, “This video challenges everything I grew up believing about masculinity, beauty and homosexuality — it's super liberating to create this video and feel free from judgment, both internally and externally.” Lyrically, this marks a step away from the portrayal of the new, intense love. Tim says, “I was free to be my true self, I was finally in a relationship with the love of my life and I had full love and support from my friends and family, but what I didn’t expect was the realisation that when you get everything you’ve ever wanted you suddenly have everything to lose. This song ended up being my way of grappling with those feelings.” To the world, as a return, as an inviting in, as a reinvention of sound and style, “O Lord” really fucking works.

“Banyo Blue,” the final track on the standard version of BATS, leaves us with the most updated glimpse into their relationship. This is them settled. This is, “Yeah, the world is really intense and not wonderful, but, here, with each other and choosing each other, we’re gonna be good.” Tim asks, “Can we be a story throughout the ages?” He says, “I write about you. I could go on for pages,” and “I just kind of feel like I have found my light. The rest’s not perfect, but it’s fine when you’re tight.” Here, this love that they have so damn graciously shared with us and painstakingly and beautifully documented for us, is good. It’s ongoing and it’s committed. The confusion and shame of the past is gone, and shit’s still bad elsewhere, but in this honesty and in this sharing, they’re gonna be okay. (Since the recording of BATS, Tim and Bolan got engaged and are getting married next year, a thing they can now legally do because Australia just legalized marriage equality [s/o to queer Australians dragged through that dehumanizing process, btw])  I’m emotional.

Now, I gush. The details of Tim and Bolan’s story make the record a living, immersive, gripping experience. It’s truly the shit great films and novels are made of. If you don’t know what every song’s about, it’s still a moving work. In an essay he penned for The Line Of Best Fit, Tim said, “For me, getting to a place where I could really connect with myself and write, unguarded, from the heart has been a journey that has taken me over a decade.” I truly love their past material. Their first full-length album This Is Our Vice is a record I still listen to every week, without skipping a song. The songwriting is clever and the lyrics are insightful. But, here with BATS and (again) the brave decision to share their story and illuminate the details of each song, there’s something else happening. It’s, as they dubbed, truly some “radical softness.” Tim said, “BATS is a product of queer love and I hope it can be a comfort and encouragement for the LGBTQI community and our allies during this time.” It is.

@anaserhall

[stone-man-warrior]

February 23, 2021: 3:19 pm:

===================================================

Controlled environment terror at the Peninsula.

https://twitter.com/ABC/status/1364350329802866692

“Tiger Woods Roll Over at the Peninsula w/leg injuries and surgical extractions”

Translation:

“Pen, making insulation (insulin, injection, IV User) problems at the dark back nine Egyptian Bangles playground (Pleasure Dome) treasonous money making machine”

now I remember what the name of that little ice cream & hamburger restaurant was called, the one in Simi Valley on Kuener Drive at the Santa Susana drop-in to Simi Valley, at the entrance to Hope Town, and just a short walk from the Village Market there in Simi Knolls.

“The Simi Valley Walk-In“

The place had a pointy roof, was an A-Frame cabin turned into a “eat out only”, “no indoor dining” little hamburger & ice-cream restaurant, where little kids vanished with their parents into the Hope Town that was behind the Simi Walk-In.

That is what the Tiger Woods Roll Over is really about. There are some other tweets that support that, news with a “74“ in it, is “HWY 74″ from Rancho Mirage (Thunderbird Golf Course & Country Club) to Laguna Nigel.

I suspect Woods is a placeholder for Obama for purposes of the terror comm presented there in the Twitter Trend.

I could go on and on and on and on and on about how that story is bullshit, happened already in the past on Beta Twitter, is a “command set” of re-arranged SAG terror communication, and is really about Rocketdyne, Bob Hope, a round house near Hwy 111 at the dog-leg in Palm Springs w/big fish aquarium built into a outdoor swimming pool ...

(airplane flyover to the south at 3:42 pm just now)

... and a whole bunch of other facts about global terrorism and murder of US Military servicemen under Linden B. Johnson, and other presidents since that time.

There is no one watching the baby, no help has come.

It gets increasingly more difficult to survive with each of these Tumblr entries as the assassins are literally lined up on the road I live on taking numbers and drawing straws, to see which of the terror cells are going to run the next attack at my house to kill me and take this account down.

95% of all of the terrorism on earth could be stopped, ended forever if this account were studied and acted upon as is laid out in a number of places within.

Take down Twitter first.

Take out number I O Downing Street.

Take out the Vatican.

Round up all of the SAG members and take them to Easter Island.

Round up all of the US Government Congress, and state Governors and take them to Easter Island. Drop them off.

Put a perimeter around Portugal & Spain.

Take custody of Google Inc.

Just those seven steps would be the beginning of the end of global terrorism forever. Twitter has to go first. nothing can be done while Twitter remains active.

With that done, then you go into Britain and flush out all of the so called British Royalty, emphasis is on all of the so called “Knights”, find all of the House of Lords members, and set them aside for special treatment, take House of Commons members to Easter Island, drop them off there with the others.

SIS MI6 GCHQ needs to be compelled, persuaded, to say what they know.

For every killing contraption they used on US Citizens, return that in like kind to British House of Lords members, Royalty and extended families and associates while SIS MI6 GCHQ is watching and deciding what they are going to say.

Boris Johnson gets to ride the slide first, as a “Pep-Rally” for the others in the viewing audience at the show.

=======================

4:30 pm:

“Pixar” trending on Twitter.

It says: “Potential Rollover at High-Center of USPS ‘The Stork’ terror cell“

Also, Jacinda Ardern is inside the truck with automatic weapons, she is stealth, the guns are mounted in the front grill, and there is at least one “Stow Away” child terror soldier riding beneath the truck in the frame work.

You don‘t see that information because you are US national security personnel and were intentionally trained not to see that kind of information. I don‘t mean to hurt your feelings there snowflake, it’s just the way it is, and if you don’t put on your big boy pants pretty soon, everyone dies at the end of the show.

It’s a Quentin Tarantino film. All of the characters die at the end, every time.

https://twitter.com/samjmintz/status/1364321263439724544

====================

4:52 pm:

That mail truck looks like a good design to me for bringing mail and looks easy on the mail carrier, easy to stand up inside, move things around as needed, less need to get out of the mail car to shift the sorted mail around, is safer, better, for the mail carriers, has a logo on it, lots of visibility, and there is no questioning what kind of vehicle it is or where it came from.

Where I live the mail cars are privately owned vehicles mostly. Only every once in a while does an official mail truck bring the mail. This route on my street has been delivered with a black nissan Quest minivan for that past many years.

This one:

Of note, is the words: “Black Jelly Bean“ on the rocker panel, and, on the right front door that signage looks a lot like an ice-cream truck menu. There are colorful lights that flash on that USPS mail car, and sometimes there is carnival music that is played when the horn is sounded.

There is also a green one just like that black one that runs on the Monument Drive mail route, and that one says: “Green Jelly Bean“ on the rocker panel, but otherwise is the same as the black one, both are Nissan Quest mini vans.

There is another black nissan Quest mini van at Monroe terror cell. The Monroe Nissan Quest looks similar to that USPS van, but has different markings on it. That Monroe van is filled with the poisons they use to blow into my house that make me cough, causes leg swelling, rash, are like laxative symptoms and sea sickness symptoms caused by the Monroe terror cell poisoning me over the past six years or so. The Monroe black Nissan Quest van says: “A-1 Exterminators Pest Control” on it in yellow lettering.

That USPS Quest Van is known to drive away, and leave an African Lion in the road on the street I live on. Sometimes if I am outside when the mail carrier comes, I wait there by my driveway, then go get the mail as the USPS is getting ready to drive away, the side door opens, and an African Lion comes out of the Quest USPS van, then the van drives away leaving me there about thirty feet away from the African Lion, and I have to fight the fucking Lion in the roadway to get my mail.

Like this one:

I have been unsuccessful at taking a selfie with the African Lions when the Safari terror cell turns them loose. It’s not that I don’t want to take a selfie, it’s just that a choice between a camera and a fingernail clipper always results in the fingernail clipper for defense, rather than glamour.

I have not received any mail this month at all that I can recall, maybe one ad for something first week of February, but I usually get some mail by this time in the month, at least some coupons, or something from Josephine County Search & Rescue asking me for a donation, but there has been no USPS mail this month. There was a door hanger left in the mailbox by the sheriff’s office, it was not mailed, it was just put into the mailbox by someone other than a USPS mail carrier.

The mail car photos are a few years old.

I have not seen the mail carrier for quite awhile as it’s too fucking dangerous to take a walk to the mailbox, and is more dangerous after contacting the White House for some help to stop murders of many hundreds of thousands of citizens in Oregon.

==========================================

6:21 pm:

Local Update:

A walk to the mailbox was cold, overcast, absence of wind.

I encountered Sandy Monroe who was tending to her chicken coup, the large one, with stage lighting, looks like a puppet show stage, complete with curtains.

I passed by there and went to the road.

A car alarm sounded on Russell Road as I was walking by the place where the Monroe cameras are pointed at my driveway.

I continued to the road.

There, I saw the Jerry Sienfeld w/beard looking fellow, with a large woman who was wearing black. They were standing out front of 445 Jackpine near the garage there, and the man was kicking a fallen tree with his foot as I began to walk towards the mailboxes.

I took these photos of the ribbon and pink flags I mentioned a couple of days ago.

This below looks like it says: “NoML” to me, and is written on the ground about two feet away from the Centurylink telephone access terminal box that is located directly across the street from my driveway, and is the one where my phone line is connected to, and is also one of the places where the local terror army have been hijacking my phone line, DSL internet usage service. I should have taken a photo of the terminal access box, but did not, it is visible on other photos on this account.

This is looking south on Jackpine. Dietricks terror cell is down there on the left, Myers is on the right at 560, Manning at 598 is beyond that on the right, and Fran Taylor terror cell as at the end of the road, dead end, at 600 Jackpine.

The photo was taken from directly across the street from my driveway, that is my property there to the immediate right, and that next clearing on the right is the 520 Jackpine vacant house that has been converted into a terror attack staging area and SAGClubMed Junket house for attacking me at my home.

To the immediate left is 445 Jackpine.

There is left turn you could take to get to Freeberg’s, Sparacino’s, Phillips, and Crowel terror cells just beyond the mailboxes there, is also a dead end.

This here shows the mailbox plank in it’s current condition, many of the usual mailboxes have been removed over the past few weeks.

Down there at the place where the green ribbon goes out view is where the Centurylink phone terminal access box is at, and you can barely see it there, that is where the orange writing is painted on the ground.

445 is to the right in this view, I live to the left. Straight ahead is north, and the Monroe’s driveway is there were the road is narrow. Beyond that narrow place is Chartrand 376 to the left, and Clyde Baum just around that bend to the right where the road goes out of view.

This is the place where the African Lion comes out of the USPS mail delivery car, sometimes, as I am standing where the photo is taken from, and the mail van has sliding door on the right and left sides, opens the door that suits them best, the Lion jumps out, and the van drives away leaving the African Lion there just to me left in the road.

This Pacific Power Tree Service notice from Asplunde Tree Service Inspector “Alex Finch” was left hanging on my address sign, is the same color yellow as is the sign, I almost did not see it there, all camouflaged onto the yellow address sign like that. The note advises that Asplunde Tree Service is going to be doing a property inspection on the Pacific Power Line Easement on my property, to clear away dead trees and limbs that are too close to the power line in one to six weeks from today.

That other green door hanger is the note saying I have important legal documents waiting for me at the sheriff’s office, and the specification is for Grand Jury Duty Service. That, as I mentioned before had been put inside of my mailbox, it’s dated 2-18-2021 and is is hand written note, and is not US Postal Mail. I got it out of the mailbox on the day I mentioned it.

Lori Churnside is the Josephine County Courts Jury Fixing Administrator, and would be the person responsible for arranging that when I am killed, there will be a replacement terror soldier person from SAG, or from Canada, that would go to the jury room to check in with their command chain at the court house.

What you see here with these ingredients has been done exactly the same way before.

That is a Pac-Pow, Asplunde Shnitzel Burger w/Sheriff Assist Murder Hit Arragement, comes with Centurylink Internet DSL Line Cut, so that on the day when the German Sausage Crew Tree Maintanance Chainsaw Massacre happens, I won‘t have internet connection on that day, and, the sheriff will be there, said to be providing protection for me, when he will simply turn, and look he other way, as the new, replacement me is installed at my house.

I have already survived three of these exact same terror hit scenarios before.

There will be dead tree maintenance people or I will be killed. There will be dead Centurylink Trench Cleaners, or, I will be killed, with addition of the uniformed sheriff, I have very little chance of survival on this one. I have survived the Sheriff assisted attack before, but it’s fucking insane, and I am older, and more broken, have been run over by a truck since that last time, and have spinal injuries, and am all weakened from years of Monroe poisoning me and all of the other ways the poison comes to my house.

Even if I survive, they already have the DMV License renewal attack all planned, and, there is one more attack that happens every year when I go to the Chase Bank for doing annual record keeping that I have to do, so, these next few weeks are going to be more challenging than ever before as far as it looks to me to survive.

That, and I have to go to the terror doctor and survive that too within the same time frame as the Sheriff Assist for the Chainsaw Schnitzel Asplunde Phone Wire Cutter Attack Scenario they have all set up.

Monroe will be playing a major role in the attack, as per usual.

It’s all fucked up.

no help has come, no help ever has come to Oregon in the required capacity. They always send four guys into the war zone where they are outnumbered 50,000 to 4 by the people they are trusting as escorts and liaisons.

Inside of my mailbox was my Mortgage bill, which increased at a mysteriously high amount of Escrow impound adjustment last month.

There were store coupons along with the Mortgage bill.

============

9:32 pm:

This BBC news story on Twitter is about trying to reach Lori Churnside at the local court Jury Fixing, Rigging, and Snuff Center.

Lori is affectionately known locally as “Lori Butter Face”.

Britain is trying to reach “Ms. Butterface”, Lori Churnside, who is a very attractive female special assassin in Josephine County Oregon.

Important detail: The Josephine County Sheriff’s Office is located behind the Walmart on F Street. Local terror operatives often fool federal agents by telling them that the sheriff office is at the courthouse on 6th & C streets. There is a fake sheriff’s office at the courthouse. The Grants Pass Police is centered at the courthouse, and at that police service counter, there is a window marked “Sheriff”. Anyone who goes to that service counter marked “Sheriff” at the court house indicating they were instructed to meet with the sheriff or a deputy there for an appointment, is automatically marked for having been sent to that service counter “Sheriff Snuff Window” at the courthouse. Federal agents who come from other states to investigate are simply sent to the courthouse, told it’s the sheriff’s office, and are killed there at the hijacked courthouse, while the victims boss thinks they went to F Street behind the Walmart. There is way too much evidence of terrorism hanging on the walls at the sheriffs office on F Street, so, they cannot afford to allow any federal agents to go in there, and send them to the Courthouse for take out at the fake sheriff service counter they have installed there at the Josephine county courthouse.

Everything around there is highly protected by many hundreds of scouts, and special operatives. Every time I go near the courthouse, a big crew of county grounds keepers shows up at the nearby county building on B Street to do yard work and gardening. They show up there within the time it takes me to find a parking place for going into the courthouse. Dozens of men, some are wearing orange yard maintenance worker clothing, and they show up in a big work crew van to B Street county building near the courthouse every time I need to go there. I don‘t need to go there more than once per year or less, but those guys are johnny on the spot when an outsider shows up. Every person you see at the courthouse, walking outside, parking their car, going in, coming out, all of the people at the adjacent buildings doing activities that look like normal busiwork is all a very special protection agency terror cell for the county courthouse. Many hundreds of people just protecting the terror cell that took over the courthouse is their job.

If you are investigating the courthouse here, you are investigating a 100% falsified set of repeating scripted activity that continues to revolve in a scheduled repetition over time. All of the court cases are false, actors play role of judge, jury, bailiff (Joe Satriani Rock Star: AKA: Deputy Aaron Porter), stenographer, audience, plaintiff, lawyer and district attorney. Every last detail of each person at the courthouse is performed from a written screenplay. The clerks are fake, they say their lines, use their props, go through the motions of acting. The people waiting in the lobby on chairs and benches are all actors/scouts, saying their lines, using props, wearing wardrobe, acting, watching, releasing nitrous oxide airborne gas when strangers go in there, and among them is someone who says the word: “Action!” loud when a stranger goes into the courthouse, people outside are there to say: “Places!” as a stranger goes into the courthouse. Everyone is connected with blu-tooth smart phone, and they call it “comm”.

This is the “Ms. Butterface” communication where BBC news is trying to reach Lori Churnside of Josephine County Courts.

(In war times, it used to be a valuable thing to have a spy behind the enemy lines for advising about what the enemies plans, language, leadership, and habits are. That is no longer the case. no one is interested. If the spy advised to take action that would save the lives of the people the spy reports to, then, those people would do what the spy advised. I advise strongly to take Twitter offline to save your own lives and mine.)

https://twitter.com/BBCWorld/status/1364396148623048705

==========================

Don’t forget: Ron Howard, Hollywood Director, used to be Opie on Mayberry RFD, is the man who directed the collapse of the World Trade Center, not a movie, the actual attack was directed by Ron Howard.

He was on that helicopter that morning, and he is the one who made the video switch from a real live shot, to a live shot with an inserted digitally enhanced series of frames showing the airplane hit the building, and it was done with precision timing to make it work for drawing global attention away from the attack at the Pentagon. WTC collapse was only for a distraction, so the Pentagon could be taken among the confusion in new york.

That report right there, about Ron Howard, is the reason the Asplunde Tree Pacific Power w/centurylink wire cutter and sheriff assist murder hit is being done at my house.

Ron does not want to go to prison for treason, that is why.

============================================

8:05 pm:

From Washington Post on Twitter:

Face value of the news item says, Joe Biden is concerned about computer chip production.

Translation includes Gnosis explanation about computer chips. We have all been told that the computer chip is a mysterious silicon tiny thing. Reality, silicon is Sand. Sand, is Thorium. Thorium is terror code that means “slaves”.

Then, the chip itself is not all that complicated as they say it is. The powers that be at Bill Gates terror HQ invented a complex story about computer chips. Truth is that the computer chip is a very small transistor, is the same technology as any transistor is. Tech companies tried to warn us about that when the began labeling the AM Radio’s as “Transistor Radio” in the 1960′s.

So, a transistor is far more simple for an average person with some electrical knowledge to understand than is a “silicon micro computer chip”. It’s a way to keep the club a private club by making a relatively simple thing into a complex mysterious thing. Transistors are beyond my expertise, but I do understand ways society is brain washed, and silicon micro chip is such a brainwash when the reality is that it’s a transistor.

Then, there is the translation of the actual tweet:

Biden is concerned about the “shortage” (think Pleasure Dome Partner Production here) of “Transistors”. That, is in relationship to Biden’s first presidential move, to allow transgender in the military.

Bottom line is Biden is concerned about exposure of knowledge that the US Military servicemen have been used as experimental surgery specimens that alter them to the extent that they no longer resemble human beings.

no one cares about US servicemen being forced into a lab for amputations and plastic surgery for the purpose that the SAG surgeons can practice making experimental changes to human beings.

That is what transgender news is about on twitter presented by SAG news media personalities.

https://twitter.com/washingtonpost/status/1364414504348622849

====================

8:45 pm:

“Real terrorism murder” vs “blockbuster movie terror murder”:

In the movies, the murderers do everything they can do not to make a spectral of murder that they are doing, they don’t draw attention to themselves in the movies.

In real life, the mass murder is a big production, has a lot color, texture, is multilayered, and is loud, draws a lot of attention to things that look as if they are normal and customary activities. When the activity begins, all of the noise, odors, people involved, vehicles, equipment, other stuff, will all be expected to happen by the time the mass murdering begins, work gets under way, and in that work, the mass murder takes place in the daytime, during normal business hours, within the normal and customery activity of a series of projects. The murders of this kind works on large scale and on small scale when the neighbor gets a new lawn mower, and shows that the lawnmower is new, that way, everyone is going to be expecting that the lawn will be mowed right then. Some one gets murdered at the house down the street, while new mower is running. Somehow, innocence is presumed because the new lawn mower was shown off ahead of the murder.

So, the Asplunde Pac-Pow tree service, and the Centurylink Trench Cleaners, and the sheriff have all presented enough confusion that will allow Monreo and Sparacino to come out of the shadows at some point to kill me while the focus is on the easement brigade and the trench cleaners and the sheriff all working together to make a confusion service that puts Monroe, and Sparacino terror cells lower on the personal safety meter than they usually are.

It’s all about advertising, set-up, color, texture, odor, to draw attention in a desired, controlled direction while the other people in the shadow use that as a foundation spring board to leap from on attack day, which is different than the expected day.

If that fails, then the Asplunde easement  and Centurylink trench cleaners w/sheriff assist can take a whack at me at that time.

These people are all trained military, unconventional terror military. Where US military uses a tank and anti aircraft artillery, these people use a road block at a freeway bridge project. It works better as an offense than does a uniformed conventional army that was built for defense. And, since they all look like citizens, they are very difficult to defend against.

[inventedworld]

A REPORT FROM AN ASTEROID, A REPORT FROM THE ROAD

I’ve been chasing an asteroid for the past couple of months. On October 20th, I directed live coverage of NASA’s first attempt to make contact with an asteroid 200 million miles away, capture a sample, and bring it back to Earth. The program utilized nine live cameras, including five in the the Mission Support Area, or “MSA” (essentially the project’s “mission control”), a pile of super-talented guests, an even bigger pile of stunning graphics and animations, and a million edgy government, corporate, and university stakeholders. 

In a word: extraordinary.

Here’s another word: thrilling. 

Of course, this whole endeavor meant that I had to leave the safe confines of my home just outside of Washington DC, a place from which I’ve rarely ventured since the start of the pandemic in March. Once ensconced in the MSA on the outskirts of Denver, I worked shoulder to shoulder with a huge group of superb videographers, TV engineers, animators, producers, on-camera talent, NASA scientists, and anything-but-ordinary spacecraft engineers and flight controllers. Not only were cast and crew obligated to get close to each other and lean in to shared tasks, but as the chief cook and bottle washer, I was also the primary point person for myriad decisions negotiated with government leadership, corporate execs, academic heavyweights, creatives, the technical crew, and….

…that’s all fine by me. That’s what I do. The problem was, in this case, that it all happened during a major pandemic stalking the nation, invisible among us, hiding in the community, waiting for a mistake or a misstep from just a single tired, distracted, or complacent person so that it could latch on, get inside, and burn through the team. A positive test would not only have jeopardized the whole television production (you can check that out here), but it would also have jeopardized the whole mission itself. Imagine the terrible consequences if key players in spacecraft operations and scientific investigations were laid up fighting COVID-19. The obligations of mutual regard were not simply a good idea, or an ethically grounded strategy, or even a moment of obviously appropriate reciprocity. The obligations that everyone took the virus seriously during our long working days as well as the spaces we travelled outside the MSA had massive consequences to a mission that had taken nearly 20 years to reach this moment, shaped dozens of superstar careers, and consumed many million of dollars of investment.

Our behavior surrounding OSIRIS-REx was a microcosm of how the larger society might regard collective behavior for just about every other aspect of American life. Nobody likes the virus, but that doesn’t mean the virus cares what we think. If we can send a probe to collect a sample of the ancient solar system 200 million miles away, we can certainly figure out how to collect samples of saliva or snot here on Earth to determine who’s positive and who isn’t. We can certainly take steps to mitigate the spread of something that simply requires us to care about putting our shared daily lives—and our dreams for all sorts of future endeavors—back together again.

At the end of each long day, I climbed into my rental Chevrolet and sighed relief when I yanked my mask off and took a deep breath.  The short eight mile drive back to my hotel across an arrow straight stretch of golden American West lifted me every day. Sure, fires were burning out of control on the Colorado horizon, with smoke plumes rising elegantly into the sky; from my distant vantage, they pretended to be nothing more than unusually thick, luxurious clouds glinting orange and pink in the setting Colorado sun. The virus lurked, perhaps as close to me as the car one lane over on the highway; it never left my consciousness. There were no evening meals with team members, considering that we all needed to try and keep our distance whenever we could. Away from the MSA there were only sporadic moments of socialization, often outside, relatively brief, limited in proximity.  There was also exhaustion aplenty, with powerfully long days pursued at full speed, intense stretches of homework and show prep waiting for me at the little table in my hotel room, and the promise of much more to come with the sunrise as we got closer to the show. 

And with all this, the virus, the fires, the social distancing, the masks, the precautions, the pressure, the limited sleep, the thousand things to do and the million interpersonal nuances that needed careful care and attention, there’s only one thing to say about the whole adventure: it was glorious to be out in the world again. 

COVID-19 has caused more damage than just its medical ramifications. We are isolated from each other, skittish, agitated, tired…and you know this already. What the implications of all that will be, however, are hard to project. In our isolation, we are out of touch with each other. We are not reading faces and expressions as well—first, because we see fewer people these days, and second, because when we do see others, we’re looking at only their eyes peeking above their masks, and then often from uncomfortable distances.

“Alls well that ends well” is a weak ethical position, employed by half-hour sitcoms designed to exude artificial morality and stability in the world. The fact that everyone seemed to come away from the assignment without infection is hardly proof that everyone did the right thing.  “Alls well that ends well” is no way to mitigate the pandemic. Like a big, complicated, live broadcast, there is no way to succeed except to sweat the details, stay disciplined, roll with surprises, and keep on keepin’ on. 

Come to think of it, that’s the only way to successfully pursue a big interplanetary mission, too. What we do to pursue our boldest exploratory and scientific initiatives can serve as guidance about how to handle all sorts of tough things. 

I’m a media producer. I make things. I’m an artist first and foremost. The fact that I can translate science and engineering stories to mainstream audiences is beside the point: you definitely don’t want me on your flight team sending technical commands to your spacecraft. (“I’m not a flight controller, but I play one on TV.”) With OSIRIS-REx I was on a grand adventure—I enjoyed it immensely, to tell the truth—but I must report that the entire week simultaneously filled me with nagging dread. So many aspects of the careful discipline I had employed in preceding months were forced to yield to imperturbable necessities for producing and directing a complex, live show about an extraordinary scientific expedition. What fills me now, writing these words from my basement while I quarantine from my family, is an awareness that the OSIRIS-REx team demonstrated an equivalent discipline so they could keep their own mission on track despite the pandemic.  It is precisely the same level of discipline that enabled our production team to get its job done producing the story for a worldwide audience. 

My journey back to DC started with a crowded airport in Denver and continued with a packed airplane for more than three hours. I wasn’t happy. Now home, I’ll confess that prior to taking the gig in the first place, the pandemic made me woefully reluctant to say “yes”. That’s not natural for me; my instinct is to look at a mountain peak and imagine myself climbing up. To feel whole I don’t simply enjoy opportunities to mix with the world;  I require them. I need to see, to share, to experience things that influence me and that I can similarly influence. I need to taste and touch and hear and smell and even just consider new ideas as much as I need to sleep and eat and breathe. I need to make stuff. As a result, I’ll confess that this whole mission filled me like the waters of life. But even with the fading glow of extraordinary success, I cannot claim with certainty that it was a good choice. “Alls well that ends well” does not confer a badge of responsible decision-making. Life is complicated. 

Now…matters are worse. Infections rates are climbing like a rocket. The nation teeters on the brink of self-induced immolation, and I’m terribly blue about what portends for the future. But I’m also extremely lucky. I’m thankful. I realize the asymmetry of my life measured against the pain of so many others. OSIRIS-REx is a shining light in the darkness, a story of how dedicated teams can figure out ways to pull together and do extraordinary things despite obstacles. As I consider the coming winter season, a time I’ve often spent thinking about new productions, new projects, new strategies, I cannot help but keep in mind that the solar system continues to revolve around its golden star. Dreams about what’s possible and what we desire are the reasons we all get up to face each day. Actions are what we do to make those dreams come to life. 

@michaelstarobin

facebook.com/1auglobalmedia

AFTERWORD:

1) For more info about the OSIRIS-REx mission, including status updates about the spacecraft’s planned journey back to Earth, visit the project’s main site.

2) In 2007 I made a short film for NASA about the OSIRIS mission when it was in its early planning stages. (It didn’t have the “REx” component in its name at that time). It runs about seven minutes, and you can check it out here. The credits listed on the web page are somewhat incomplete. The credits in the film…are accurate. 😏

[cherrystreet]

"should we just search romantic comedies on netflix and see what we find?" so, i totally come to you with every fic idea that pops into my head. but like, i reeeally need little snippets of the times harry and louis decide to put on netflix. like, after takeout arrives or for movie night with the lads or to pick a new show to watch because they just finished the office (us version this time). or even when they're bickering and get passive aggressive over what to watch for said movie night

This is a little different than what you wanted but that’s only because I don’t know how to write domestic pieces so I hope this is okay and ily xx

It didn’t start as a routine.

The first time it happened, it was a Tuesday night filled with too much homework, the October weather already too cold for Harry’s liking. The blinking cursor on a blank Word document seemed to be mocking him, laughing at his inability to form a cohesive thought after working nonstop for the past four hours. Eventually, he abandoned his endless string of papers, walking aimlessly around his apartment for the better part of an hour in an attempt to find something better than writing 5,000 words on Game Theory. Nothing jumped out at him, so he continued to shuffle around, sighing obnoxiously, until his roommate Sam hollered from the other room, “If you don’t cut it with those pathetic noises, I’m going to punch you in the throat.”

Harry frowned. “I’m not even being loud,” he yelled back.

“Shut up and do your homework.”

“But my brain is fried–”

“Harry, enough.”

“Ugh.” He kicked off his shoes and slumped down onto the couch, staring at the clock as the minute hand steadily ticked forward. Somehow, watching time was more appealing than reopening up his laptop and forcing himself to write another word.

Sam was right. Absolutely pathetic.

“What should I do?” he asked after a few minutes, eyes nearly glazed over.

“The fuck should I know,” Sam replied, finally appearing around the corner. “Go down to the Hub.”

“It’s too cold out for that. And it’s raining.”

“Order some food.”

“I don’t have any money on me.”

“Watch a movie.”

“Nothing good is on.”

“How would you even know?! The TV is off!”

Harry shrugged. “Gimme your Netflix password. Maybe new stuff has been added.”

“Will you finally stop talking?”

“Maybe.”

Sam reached for the remote to the TV. “Thank God.”

 It took about 17 minutes of “Chopped” for Harry to send out a text to everyone he could think of, a simple Come over. Everyone’s here. He didn’t want to sit alone, just wanted to unwind with the company of some friends. Sam was clearly no help, just kept yelling from his bedroom to keep the volume down, that “some people actually take their classes seriously, Harry.” And saying that everyone was already gathered together wasn’t technically a lie. Sam was there. And his fish. And the cast of “The Office,” currently streaming from the main TV in the living room.

Whatever. Semantics. People would be there shortly. People to talk to him and not tell him to shut up.

Twenty minutes later, Louis was standing in front of Harry, sweatpants too big and glasses smudged.

“Shut up,” he said, tugging on his hoodie strings. “What is this?!”

So much for that, Harry thought. “What?”

“You said people were here. It’s just you.”

“Is that so bad?”

“If I wanted to spend the night doing nothing and listening to someone drone on and on about nothing, I’d put on a Bob Ross special.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “Bob Ross is extremely talented…”

“Bob Ross is dead. And boring. And he never would have tricked me into coming here on a shitty Tuesday night under false pretenses.”

“I thought other people would show up!” He squished deeper into the couch cushions. “You gonna leave?”

Louis groaned and kicked Harry’s shoes out of the way as he climbed onto the couch beside him. “No. I came all the way here.”

“It’s, like, a nine minute walk…”

“Yeah, nine minutes in the wind and rain. You better have food as compensation. And why the fuck are you watching the British version of ‘The Office’? Why do you hate yourself? Give me the remote.”

Harry shook his head, standing up to grab snacks, wondering how constant abuse was the better alternative to staring idly at the wall.

The following Tuesday, Harry turned in his biochemistry assignment early, cracking his knuckles as soon as he his submit. It felt good to get rid of a week’s worth of studying, to not have to look at it anymore, and he slipped out of his jeans and into his most worn pair of pajama pants, the hole in the knee stretching with every wash. It didn’t take long for the couch to mold perfectly to his body, the apartment warm and quiet, Sam out for the evening. It was relaxing. It was welcoming. It was. Not what Harry wanted.

“Hey, I’ll order pizza,” he said through the phone’s receiver. “Dominos, if you want it.”

“I always want it,” Louis replied. “Cheap shot.”

“Pepperoni?”

“Ugh, Harry, can’t Steve Carell wait? We know what happens.”

“But it’s my favorite episode and I wanna watch you watch it.”

“I’ve seen it before.”

“I’ve never seen you watch it, though. Lou, they have a fucking benefit for rabies. Rabies. I need to see your face when Michael donates a giant check to a disease that’s already been cured.”

“Oh my God,” Louis snorted, but Harry could tell he was wearing him down. “Alright, whatever, fine, but make sure it’s extra cheese with the pepperoni.”

 Seven days later, Harry did much less arm twisting, just casually mentioning they were up to the start of season five. Louis texted back, Don’t start without me. I’ll know if you’re lying.

Harry sucked in his cheeks, smile worming its way out, anyway. Wouldn’t dream of it.

The last Tuesday of the month, Louis was knocking on Harry’s door without bothering to ask if he was busy. Harry let him in graciously, snacks already on the coffee table and blankets on the arm of the couch.

And just like that, Tuesday became Harry’s favorite day of the week.

It’s been five months since Harry and Louis created their non-date date night, and they’ve gone through nearly everything on the Netflix list that moderately sparks their interest. Comedies, dramas, documentaries, musicals… They’ve watched them all, not too picky, hunkering down together to enjoy a casual night of TV. And neither one of them got bored of it, never asking to cut the night short or go out to do something else. Harry loves having the time to unwind, loves the fact that he has something so comfortable to count on, loves Louis’ company more than just about anything.

And that’s why he snaps when Louis doesn’t show up on Tuesday night in late March, the Netflix home screen nearly burned onto Harry’s retinas, waiting for Louis to walk through the door and pick the movie. He taps his fingers along his thighs, annoyed, wondering where the hell he could be. Nine o’clock comes and goes, as does ten o’clock, and by 11:30, “The Holiday” playing quietly in the background, Harry is less angry and more concerned that something horrible has happened. Louis doesn’t answer his phone the second time Harry calls him, or the third, but he does by the ninth, beyond irritated when he picks up.

“Harry, what the fuck,” he says, his voice tight. There’s a lot of background noise but Harry can’t figure out where he might be. “You had better be fucking dying.”

Harry skims his finger along the frayed edge of the blanket, suddenly embarrassed. “No, but, like, where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m at Ian’s. Is that why you called 100 times? Are you for real?”

“Why aren’t you here?” he says stupidly, his face hot. Who’s Ian? He hates him, regardless. “‘m watching Cameron Diaz try to seduce that hot British guy…”

“Jude Law?!”

“Yeah, him, and, like–”

“Harry, you called me nine times to talk to me about Jude Law.” It’s not a question.

“No,” he starts, “I didn’t. I called you nine times to ask why you stood me up.”

“Did we have plans?”

Harry looks down at his lap. “I mean, not verbal ones, but you always come here on Tuesdays and you’re not here now and–”

“Ian wanted to get a drink before he headed to Spain for the rest of the semester,” Louis says, cutting him off. “I didn’t think I needed to cancel a stupid friend hangout to do that. You’re kind of acting like a crazy boyfriend.”

“It’s not stupid and that’s not…” He starts to argue, but stops himself short, his heart racing in his chest. He knows he’s being irrationally angry and insane and, well, idiotically jealous, and now that Louis’ had to go ahead and say the B word, it’s ricocheting through his brain like live wire, sparking and hot. The thing is, they’re not boyfriends, because that’s not a line they’ve ever crossed, but just about everything they do - Tuesdays and otherwise - might argue that fact. They meet each other after class for coffee, they call each other on Sunday mornings, they spend school breaks at each other’s homes. Harry carries Louis’ backpack, Louis buys Harry dinner, they steal one another’s clothing… They share a fucking blanket on Harry’s Goddamn couch every single week, their knees brushing together, sending shocks up Harry’s spine, Harry unable to stop himself from stealing a series of unsubtle glances at Louis’ profile, his cheekbones, his lips. Fuck. His temple throbs and he does his best to swallow around the lump in his throat. Boyfriend. “Okay, yeah, you’re right, I’m sorry,” he chokes out.

Louis breathes through the phone for a beat too long. “I’m safe. I wasn’t kidnapped. I just… We’ll hang out later, alright?”

He doesn’t sound angry anymore, but Harry feels too antsy to keep talking. “Yeah, later. Bon voyage to Ian. I’ll see you this weekend or something.”

“Okay,” he replies. “Or something.”

Harry hangs up the phone with a thousand words on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows every single one of them and wills himself to stop thinking about the fact that he’s gone and lost his mind over his best friend spending the night out with a guy who isn’t him. He should be here on this couch, thigh pressed up against Harry’s, and this is not the way it was supposed to go. None of it was.

He must doze off at some point, because the next thing he knows, there’s a bang on the door, followed by a tinny voice mumbling, “Please let me in. I’m tired and cold.”

Harry flicks on the hallway light and pulls open the door as quickly as his body will allow himself to, finding himself face to face with a pink-cheeked Louis. “Lou, it’s…” He looks over at the clock. “Two in the morning.”

Louis shrugs, worming his way inside. “Yeah, well. I’m two hours late for our date. Sorry about that. You still watching ‘The Holiday’?”

He bites back his smile, body feeling like it’s deflating. “Finished it earlier. Should we just search romantic comedies on Netflix and see what we find?”

“That… Sounds like the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

Harry snorts, closing the door behind him and follows Louis into the living room. Louis’ already making himself comfortable on the couch, yawning. “Then what do you suggest?”

“We haven’t checked out the horror genre in a while.”

“Yeah, for a reason.” He sits beside Louis, lets Louis drape his legs across his lap. Like a magnet, his hand immediately goes to grip Louis’ ankle. “I get nightmares.”

Louis looks up at him from under his lashes, blinking slower than usual, and it makes Harry’s stomach twist. Maybe he’s tired. Maybe it’s something else. “Big baby.”

“Yeah,” he says, smirking, thumb drawing circles across Louis’ skin. “That’s me.”

Neither of them say anything else, nor do they move, and Harry’s trying to find something to say that isn’t something clicked for me tonight, but Louis speaks first, licking his lips.

“Sorry I stood you up,” he says softly, grabbing for the remote and selecting the first title on the menu, not looking at Harry. “I was a dick about it.”

Harry shrugs, inching his way closer, watching the way the screen’s colors dances across Louis’ face. “It’s alright. Just missed you.”

He can actually hear Louis swallow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Louis nods, biting at his bottom lip. He’s nervous. Harry exhales once he notices. “Can I stay over tonight?”

Harry isn’t sure what the implications are behind his question, or why Louis’ bothering to ask when he’s never asked before - usually just passes out on the couch or on Harry’s bed, curling up into a ball on the edge of the mattress - but it’s clear something has changed, based on the way Louis is looking up at him. He’s never looked at Harry like that before.

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs, “Lou, whatever you want.”

He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, doesn’t remember leaning in, but then there’s just breath between them, and then not even that, just skin on skin, warm and sweet and entirely too perfect. And Harry has no idea what’s playing on the screen in front of them, but it’s decidedly his new favorite film.

[talonsaga-trash]

Title: Out of my Depth

Words: 2k+

Summary: The cost of the fight didn’t really hit Wes until he had to deal with the aftermath. Alone. In the desert. The night couldn’t last longer. (LEGION SPOILERS)

A/N: So something I wish that Julie would touch on a bit more is that the hatchlings are basically Riley and Wes’ kids. They know all of their names and have been looking after them for years and swore to protect them. And in Legion a good number of them died. Riley is seen getting emotional about it a few times, but even that’s muted. So I’m writing the aftermath of the battle. It’s pure angst.

It was 1:30 when Wes considered admitting defeat and trying to go to sleep. Not that he would be able to, of course, he was smart enough to know better than that, but just laying down was beginning to sound like a nice idea. Thirty-four minutes since Riley texted him to say that they were five miles from the destination. Thirty-four minutes completely in the dark. Quite literally.

The Rendezvous point was an entire town. Key point being ‘was’. Once upon a time, in the 1800s, Wes was sure that it had been a bustling city square, but the wooden buildings had long since broken and the stone had been eroded away. Not stable or small enough to ever serve as a safehouse, but for short term it was good enough. And it was close to the battle sight.

Wes sighed to himself as he looked over the first aid equipment he had managed to scrounge together. The bloody battle, where seventeen hatchlings, his hatchlings, who he had helped become free, the seventeen that managed to survive Talon and St. George, had run off to help the organization that wanted them extinct. After a year of so much loss if made Wes’ inside curl.

Wes checked his watch. Thirty-five minutes since the text. He hoped that he had brought enough equipment. He hoped that the hatchlings would be rational enough to let him work on them. He hoped that they weren’t all dead while Wes was waiting on a message that could never come. Those hatchlings may have been everything to Riley, but they were his kids too.

Thirty-six minutes. Wes rubbed at his eyes. After he got word from Riley, he swore he was doing to give that crummy drugstore melatonin a shot. It had been two days since he even tried to lay down, let alone sleep. He wasn’t any use half conscious.

It was Thirty-seven minutes when Wes started separating the average number of painkillers that dragons took into Ziploc bags. Three each, but he wouldn’t be surprised if they’d ask for more.

Thirty-eight. Thirty-nine.

Wes finished and saw it had been forty minutes. The night sky was cloudless and the moon was shining bright on the scene, the improvised hospital that he had set up on an abandoned road in the middle of nowhere. It looked like something out of those post-apocalyptic movies he would see on the television. But it was real. That made it even more awful. It was one thing to pull a bullet out of Riley, Riley who had survived much worse and Wes had performed impromptu operations on too many times to count, who Wes knew was strong enough to make it. It was another to wait for seventeen hatchlings to come back, knowing that they would come to him in varying conditions, knowing that some of them could die in front of him because he couldn’t work fast enough or well enough because he wasn’t a doctor, he wasn’t a surgeon, he was one person who felt in over his head. And he was stuck waiting for a call that could never come. Riley could be killed. Everyone could be killed. He could be alone.

Forty-one minutes.

Wes was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost didn’t notice a dark shape in the sky moving towards him at a desperate pace. As it was, he did. And he wanted to celebrate as dark green dragon touched down from the sky and all but ran to him.

“Wes!” Mason gasped. Wes looked out at the sky and saw a larger swarm in the distance. He breathed a sigh of relief. “Nettle and Hamsah and Sage, we’re trying to get them here, but— but— They were hit bad, Hamsah nearly fell out of the sky when Riley told us to fall back and Nettle… I don’t know what’s wrong with her, but she wasn’t looking good, and Sage was being carried before they sent me out ahead. I... There was this huge clone, Riley told us to go back, I don’t know if he’s okay…”

Wes’ blood chilled but he shook it off. It wasn’t the time. “Bloody hell… Alright, alright. Are you hurt?” Mason shook his head, but Wes could see a long, shallow cut over his face. That could wait. He pointed over to one of the cement buildings that still stood. “Over there has clothing and a bit of food, but try not to eat everything.” Mason nodded and bounded away, squeezing through the door and disappearing out of sight.

Thirty seconds later his hatchlings started dropping from the sky.

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

Ten hatchlings had survived. Seven hadn’t.

Those seven filtered through his mind on a loop, trying to block out everything he still had to do. Jemma, Neo, Savannah, Damian, Marco, Juda, and Remy were dead. He remembered meeting each of them, whether it was years or five months prior. He and Riley promised to protect them, and Wes had been willing to do anything to honor that promise. They were his kids.

And they were dead.

Don’t think about that, Wesley. There isn’t any time to think about that. Wes reminded himself. He shook his head and made a mental list of everything he had already done and everything he still needed to do. He had already fixed up Nettle, Hamsah, and Sage to the best of his ability, leaving his hands shaking and covered in blood. Nettle and Hamsah would live, but Sage had fallen unconscious and Wes wasn’t sure he would wake up. Atlas, the idiot, had collided with a building and sustained a non lethal but still annoying concussion. Jasper was in a slightly worse condition and hadn’t reacted much when Wes was checking him out and stitching up the back of his head, but he would probably pull through without any consequence. They were in the remains of the town’s post office until further notice. Which meant the most pressing injury was Kain.

Kain was sitting cross legged on a blanket, his human form looking small and he gripped the oversized jacket around his shoulders. Both eyes  were shut tightly, but that didn’t stop the damage from being clear. There was blood everywhere, and he could see that there was no saving his left eye. His right looked intact for the most part, but the eyelid was still badly damaged. Wes winced and cleared his throat loudly.

“Kain, it’s Wes. I’m going to look at your eyes, okay?” He whispered and set down his first aid kit. Kain looked towards him, biting his lip hard. There wasn’t any change in his face when Wes shined the flashlight on the left side of his face. Just like he expected.

You’ve never operated on an eye before. Wes swallowed thickly. He had done his research on it, sure, Riley said that whenever he fought Gilas they tended to target his eyes, but he had never actually needed to fix up Riley’s eyes. Eyelids, sure, but not…

It wasn’t the time to think about that. Wes took a breath and gently took Kain’s face in his hands. Kain repressed a growl and Wes shined the light in the right side of his face. Kain did react to that, twitching and closing his eye again, and Wes breathed a sigh of relief. Another few tense minutes passed as he tried to figure out the best course of action. His face was mangled, so bad it was hard to look at. Wes knew there was no saving his vision, not completely. But that wasn’t something he wanted to admit, let alone have to tell Kaine.

“I— I can’t see,” Kain whispered. “How bad is it?”

Wes closed his eyes to avoid looking at him. He remembered when he first met Kain three years ago when he was barely sixteen, with bright eyes hopeful for a free future, talking a thousand kilometers and hour about whatever crossed his mind until Wes wanted to slam one of their heads through a wall. He darkened after Issac died, but even his angry screams that they had promised to protect him would be preferable to the way he sat, hoping for good news that Wes couldn’t deliever.

“Kain… there isn’t much I can do. Your left eye needs to come out no question, and your right eyelid is a bloody wreck. I’m— I have a heavy enough sedative for you that I can put you under and remove—”

“Remove…” Kain shook his head and covered his face before realizing how bad of an idea that was. “Ow, ow, mother of god… you’re going to remove my eye.”

“There…” Wes ran a hand through his hair and pulled on it. This was hopeless. It was all hopeless. Bloody bullshit, they had sacrificed their kids as bloody child soldiers marching off to a war that some of them didn’t come back from and the ones that did saw their best friends die before having their bloody eyes gouged out. Bull. Shit.

“There isn’t enough to salvage, Kain. And if it heals like this it’s going to mean a lot of pain in the future,” Wes muttered. He was honestly surprised he was holding up so well as it was, even on the number of painkillers he was on.

“Y—You can’t— you need to save them. You can’t just—” Wes caught the tremor and slight in Kain’s voice, which sent a pang through his chest. He hated when he heard anyone sound like that. Scared. Desperate. “You can’t say that. You have to fix it.”

Wes shook his head and tried to mask any distress that Kain would be able to hear.

“This is the best I can do.”

It was true. And as Kain shook, looking for a way to save his vision and realizing that there wasn’t one, Wes realized exactly how little his best was.

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

They were going back to the Order.

That was the call Wes received at dawn from Riley, that Wes needed to send everyone that he could move back to the Chapterhouse, that it would be best to keep everyone together and that they had proper medical equipment. Wes was too tired to argue, and he didn’t want the kids to stay in the desert. Real Medical equipment sounded beautiful. In the SUV it would take four trips because not all of the hatchlings could shift back, but most of the hatchlings knew how to drive. Wes could take care of the less stable kids until he could load them in.

“Hell of a night, huh?” Riley whispered over the crackling line. Wes crouched in one of the buildings that still stood and closed his eyes. “I just buried seven kids.”

Might be eight or nine by the end of the day. Wes kept that thought to himself, gut curling at the image of Nettle and Sage, practically dead to the world around them even after Wes saw to them. He had hope for Nettle. When he set her arm she managed to get out of her painkiller and blood loss induced haziness long enough for a few words. But he had seen too many of his kids die over the year to think she was in the clear. And if she wasn’t in the clear, Sage was leaning against death’s door. Wes couldn’t save either of them, when it came down to it. It was up to them.

“They wanted to take a stand, Riley,” Wes whispered into the receiver. “We couldn’t have stopped them if we tried. No matter how much we wanted to try,” Wes felt his eyes itch and swiped at them angrily. It wasn’t the time. Maybe when things slowed down a bit, when he could find a few minutes alone. But not while he had ten lives in his hands.

“Are you crying?”

“No,” Wes sniffed. Riley snorted on the other end.

“Okay, Wes. Try to get everyone over as quickly as possible.”

Wes made no move to stand. He was so exhausted, not just because of the effects of sleep deprivation. He never thought he could feel so mentally dead, not even those times when it was Riley who was unconscious next to him.

“Wes?” The receiver crackled and Wes blinked.

“I’m out of my depth, Riley,” He whispered. There was a silence on the other end.

“We both are this time,” Riley’s voice came back and Wes bit his lip. His eyes were burning and he knew that he didn’t manage to keep the whimper inside his throat. “Just get here. We can figure this out.”

“Alright. See you soon,” Wes muttered. The line went dead and he dried his eyes again. It wasn’t time, it wasn’t the place. When he didn’t have ten kids to take care of, when he wasn’t the only authority figure in sight, when he wasn’t in the desert. But not where he was. Not with so much happening, not while he was alone to deal with the aftermath of a battle.

Wes swallowed thickly and stood, pocketing the phone. Just a few more hours and Riley would be able to help.

Just a few hours was starting to feel longer than he ever thought it could.

A/N: Whoops Kain’s blind and Wes is crying didn’t mean for that to happen. Sorry not sorry. Next time I’ll write some fluff.

[writerspink]

K-12 Words

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5.1

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5.2

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6.1

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6.2

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7.1

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7.2

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8.1

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8.2

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9.1

stance vie instill exceptional avail strident formidable rebuke enhance benign perspective tedious aloof encroach memoir mien desolate inventive prodigy staple stint fallacy grope vilify recur assail tirade antics recourse clad jurisdiction caption pseudonym reception humane ornate sage ungainly overt sedative amiss convey connoisseur rational enigma fortify servile fastidious contagious elite disgruntled eccentric pioneer abet luminous era sleek serene proficient rue articulate awry pungent wage deploy anarchy culminate inventory commemorate muster adept durable foreboding lucrative modify authority transition confiscate pivotal analogy avid flair ferret decree voracious imperative grapple deface augment shackle legendary trepidation discern glut cache endeavor attribute phenomenon balmy bizarre gullible loll rankle decipher sublime rubble renounce porous turbulent heritage hover pithy allot minimize agile renown fend revenue versa gaunt haven dire doctrine intricate conservative exotic facilitate bountiful cite panorama swelter foster indifferent millennium gingerly conscientious intervene mercenary citadel obviously rely supportive sympathy weakling atmosphere decay gradual impact noticeable recede stability variation approximately astronomical calculation criterion diameter evaluate orbit sphere agricultural decline disorder identify probable thrive expected widespread bulletin contribution diversity enlist intercept operation recruit survival abruptly ally collide confident conflict protective taunt adaptation dormant forage frigid hibernate insulate export glisten influence landscape native plantation restore urge blare connection errand exchange

9.2

feasible teem pang vice tycoon succumb capacious onslaught excerpt eventful forfeit crusade tract haggard susceptible exemplify ardent crucial excruciating embargo disdain apprehend surpass sporadic flustered languish conventional disposition theme plunder ignore project complaint title dramatic delivery litter experimental clinic arrogance preparation remind atomic occasional conscious deny maturity closure stressed translator animate observation physical further gently registration suppress combination amazing constructive allied poetry passion ecstasy mystery cheerful contribution spirit failed gummy commerce prove disagreement raid consume embarrass preference migrant devour encouragement quote mythology destined destination illuminating struggle accent ungrateful giggle approval confidence expose scientist operation superstitious emergency manners absolutely swallow readily mutual bound crisp orient stress sort stare comfort verbal heel challenging advertisement envious sex scar astonish basis accuracy enviable alliance specific chef embarrassed counter tolerable sympathetic gradually vanish informative amaze royal furry insist jealousy simplify quiver collaborate dedicated flexible function mimic obstacle technique archaeologist fragment historian intact preserve reconstruct remnant commence deed exaggeration heroic impress pose saunter wring astound concealed inquisitive interpret perplexed precise reconsider suspicious anticipation defy entitled neutral outspoken reserved sought equal absorb affect circulate conserve cycle necessity seep barren expression meaningful plume focused genius perspective prospect stunned superb transition assume guarantee nominate

10.1

install reticent corroborate regretfully strength murder concise cunning intention holy satire query confused progression disillusion background mundane abrupt multiple enormously introduce emulate harmful pragmatic pity rebut liberate enthusiastic elucidate camaraderie disparage nature creep profitability impression racist sobriety occupy autonomy currently amiable reiterate reproduce cripple modest offer atom provincial augment ungratefully expansion yield rashly allude immigration silence epitome exacerbate somber avid dispute vindicate collaborate manufacturer embellish superficial propaganda incompetent objective diminish statistics endure ambivalent perpetuate illuminate phenomenon exasperate originality restrict anxiety anthropology circumstances aesthetic manufacturing conventional dubious vulnerable reality precedent entity success term critical repair underscore stepmother republican hesitantly classic wary contents prediction immediate invoke notorious implicit excluding input skeptical foster element punish frank humanity profound dessert orthodox substance disappear encourage neighborhood elder superfluous naive ascertain complacent resilient deafening military tend prudent glare acceptance skillfully induce monster beam gullible conciliate vessel petty cantankerous disclose archaeology anecdote disdain electronics substantiate subjective tourism advisable joyful incredible provocative psychological ruins discipline condone indifferent misfortune judgmental industrialize tasty assume astute mission mar protective definitely escape oppress shocked virtual zealous endorse qualification hostile eccentric abstract disparate geographical scrutinize generalization tolerate activity claim dogmatic influential obsolete extol implausible subsequent resource chronic benevolent improve confidential ambiguous seriously dearth perplex hatred throughout dine contemporary evoke essentially economic flagrant obscure alleviate eloquent dreaadful clumsy sympathy victim condemn vigor condescend spontaneous quell reprehensible substantially sleeve equivocal ironic decry errand articulate progressive eradicate refreshments elicit aspiration recently exemplary bribery theoretical disingenuous partisan revere particle nostalgia self-aggrandizement debunk tyranny rhetoric hierarchy warning whimsical venerate commend assert miserable awful vibe constrain undermine explicit differentiate compliment scrupulous contempt erroneous ideal refute imply cynical rash presume insight revival vary delay renounce indignant offensive temperate circumstantial export peep logo advertise suppress distort chunk convoluted denounce overwhelming fertility rigorous acquire arrogant university antagonize profitable indulgent strategic breathing idiosyncrasy profession frugal discern accommodation adversary incredulous disturbance digress social belie roam smug continual pertinent voluntarily elite subtle blame sincerity lick horror censure involvement candid infer futile impetuous exploit bewilder sustain diligent sincere protect sealed musical empathy callous parenthetical insure acorn sarcasm seize sacrificially allege emphatic irrelevant progress diplomatic stunned improvise deride reconcile meticulous deject scientifically incontrovertible pressure justify gloomy depict supplant endurance analogous diary bolster slip contemplate pesticide glow religious advocate negligent creator lament fundamental embrace throne inherent inferior valuable thrive trivial pretense reserved capricious refresh refusal flight boost explanation coherent prevalent tenacious official royalty assassin rub poach delete

10.2

warrant circumscribed somewhat explosive optimistic mandate previously detract opinion intuitive feasible intimate persistent humble simplicity tempt deliberate painful unethical fundamentals discrepancy remorse pessimistic possibility conclusion acknowledge impregnate soberly creation paralyze suitability oblige tranquil medal arbitrate pacify illusory susceptible vibrate vengeance infection democratic stressful grave speculative sample identification stifle obligation revenge organization namely mediocre practical scream weaken consensus affectionate deficient treacherous console isolation ingenious memory melodrama despair awestruck composition regret recommendation celebrity decision devoid opaque ornamentation longevity participate dread restore interrogate aid accordingly mislead embarrassment optimism domestic apt funds virtue geography fundamentally thoroughly press despite horrible chilling rental esteemed disappointment innovative contemplation assign popularize haunt deafen serene percent estrangement suffer extravagant throng estimate comment priesthood mass dreadfully promote periphery animated saying relate clarity triple derivative succeed distortion register suicide improvement discreet inquisition probable curative incident praise convenience baffle covet dreadful genuinely weary undisturbed disgruntled humility renown nonchalant monopoly comedy vague decisive inconsequential announcement fabricated nevertheless vigilant scarce neglectful hushed attainment tedious explode snatch pslm agency sentimental tension adhere meanwhile sacred avert conformity likewise challenger accessible responsibility peril contact event roast fallible catastrophic competitor violate resolute deceive exaggeration discredit intolerable approve paste dimly novelist demeanor norm politician satisfaction obvious vehicle reservation defer involve restoration crush audible assistant backpack attain inanimate commemorate confrontation emigration parasite disperse quantitative laughter policy vulgar occasionally repay effective eulogy starvation empty therapeutic overall immortal encompass inappropriate opportune engagement illustrate turmoil observatory classification expression reminiscence comedian invention depress remedy protagonist gesture texture diplomatic election prolong conducive emotional invigorate curiosity expressive %

K-12 Words was originally published on PinkWrite

[hamilficsfordays]

New Beginning—Chapter Eight: Tragedy-Prone

Disclaimer: I don’t actually speak spanish so I apologize if any translations are incorrect

Also posted on Ao3

Summary:  Autumn in New York has arrived and school has started for everyone including Alexa. Unfortunately, that’s not the only thing that has started.

Rating: M for language (in English and Spanish), teen binge drinking, mentions of rape

Words: 7828 (rip me)

Askbox / Masterlist / Chapter Seven / Chapter Nine

Tags:

@promisesandmore @justanotherfanficreader and @huffleheyguys who asked me to tag them in literally any writing.

September in New York meant the start of school. The slight excitement Alexa had was shadowed by the overwhelming fear of seeing the boys who violated her that night again. Still, she pushed on.

“There’s no shame in being homeschooled until we can transfer you to Brearley next semester.” Lin offered that morning while en route to the school.

“I’m not going to rot in that apartment for the next four months, Lin. I need to do this.”

She had on a plaid green skirt, a white polo, black stockings, and a long sleeve green cardigan. This was within the required uniform standards Alexa carefully adjusted the sleeves of her cardigan to make sure they were covering the bandages on her arms while staring up at Lin from the chair on the subway. The train was packed, full of others headed to work or school that morning.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, glancing down at her, attempting to read her face. She rolled her eyes, a light smile.

“Remember what Dr. Montgomery said?” she reminded him of the doctor’s appointment they’d been to the day before.

“As long as you take your meds as needed, you’ll be fine.” he repeated.

Alexa carefully pulled a full pill bottle of Zoloft out of her messenger bag, She took one pill and washed it down with a sip of water from a plastic bottle that she’d been holding on to. “I took my meds today, okay? So stop panicking. You’re more worried than I am.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Would you like one?” she offered, smirking.

“Very funny.” he glanced out the train window in search of a number as the train slowed to a halt.

“This is our stop.”

-

They arrived at the school shortly after.

“Okay, I gave you a free ‘worried parent’ pass to travel with me to school this morning. Your pass has now expired.” She gave him a light pat on his arm. “You no longer have permission to escort me to school.”

“Do I have a hug pass?”

“Those can only be redeemed at home or not ten feet from my school.”

Lin hugs her anyway, kissing the top of her head.

“Why do I make rules if you’re just going to break them?” she demanded, feeling him laugh against her.

The laughing stopped however as he saw Eric approach the school after exiting his town car. There was a smaller more sheepish boy by his side, looking slightly on edge, though Eric being beside him seemed to ease his tension slightly.

Alexa caught a glimpse of what had made Lin so serious, feeling a wave of fear wash over her as he looked their way.

He approached them then, the smaller boy beside him.

“You really shouldn’t be over here,” Lin started, stepping in front of his daughter. “It’s dangerous. I wouldn’t want something to happen to you.”

“Lin,” she stepped in between them, facing her father. “You can’t threaten someone my age. No matter how much they genuinely deserve it.”

“Ease off, George Lopez,” Eric started. “I’m here to apologize.”

They both stared straight at him, taken aback by his words. Frustrated, he glared at the younger boy beside him who nudged him forward, urging him to continue.

“Sorry for…” he sighed, glancing in another direction. “Hurting you a month ago. I was a jerk and you didn’t deserve it.”

“Hurting me?” she shot back. “That’s the best you can do?”

Alexa glanced at the boy beside him, who seemed to be curiously fixated on Lin.

“Is that your conscious?” she asked, directing to the younger boy. “He’s not large enough for you to compensate.”

Eric was enraged then, stepping close to her and leaning in.

“Don’t talk about my little brother, okay? I apologized, so get off my back.”

“Did you apologize? Is that what they call an apology where you’re from?”

“Oh my god, you’re Lin-Manuel Miranda!” Grabbing everyone’s attention beside Eric was the smaller boy, pushing past the two teens to stand directly in front of the older man.

“I listen to In the Heights like, religiously. I mean I did, before Hamilton came out. Now I listen to that religiously. I’m Daxton,” he took Lin’s hand, shaking it furiously. It’s an honor to meet you!”

“Th-thank you?” Lin politely smiled back.

“What the fuck is In The Heights?” Alexa demanded, receiving a confused look from both Lin and Daxton.

“Only his first musical and winner of Tony award for best musical of 2008! I was friends with this boy at my old school who was like—well he was Spanish—and we would always spend weekends at his place where he would try to rap all of Usnavi’s lines. It was amazing. You’re amazing.”

“You have another musical?” she asked, prompting another confused look from Lin.

Alexa glanced at Daxton, at Eric, and then back to Daxton.

“Oh my god.” she finally said. “Your brother came out and you gained a conscious.”

“Shut up.” Eric shot back.

“Eric and I have been trying to get tickets for Hamilton since it started at the Public. Right Eric?” he nudged his older brother eagerly.

“Dax really likes the show—” he tried.

“Me?! You sing Yorktown in the shower like every night!”

“Oh my god.” Alexa stifled her laughter, Lin doing the same.

He kissed the top of Alexa’s head again. “Have a good day.”

“You’re gonna have to be more genuine if you want to see that show, Eric.” Daxton folded his arms, glaring knowingly at his brother.

“Okay well… We should go.” Eric lead his brother away, glaring at Alexa who only smirked back.

This would serve as the highlight of her morning, a morning otherwise full of being called a slut or being told that she deserved it while walking in the hallways.

“Hey, how much for a lap dance?” Across the hallway from her locker, someone tossed a wad of dollar bills at her to a chorus of laughter.

And to think Lin and V are paying $47,000 a year so that I can get treated like this she thought, closing her locker and kicking the wad aside as she headed to her first class.

The class was small, quiet when she walked in. She recognized no faces, a relieving fact.

It was AP US History, a class she was destined to fly through—at least partially.

“Sorry, I’m late!” A small, blonde, white woman who could’ve easily passed for a student rushed in, papers in one hand and coffee in the other. “Mama needed a little pick me up before class started.” She shook her paper coffee cup.

There were a few chuckles, though most of the students didn’t find it amusing.

“Okay well, welcome to AP US History. I’m Dr. Rhodes, but you can call me Annie, and this year we’ll be learning how our country came to be. Included in that learning will be a single chapter on Civil Rights that’s only short because this book was written by a bunch of white people.” she laughed, prompting no reaction from her students but a small smile from Alexa, the only non-white person in the room.

“Let’s start with attendance.” she pulled out a single paper from the stack in her hand, listing off each name one by one until she got to Alexa.

“Alexa Jordan?” she asked. Alexa raised her hand.

“The same Alexa Jordan who’s the daughter of that handsome gentleman who wrote Hamilton?”

“Uh… Yeah?” she laughed, feeling the other students’ eyes on her. “I guess?”

“You know I was a TA when I was getting my masters at Yale… They’ve got a lot of love for Hamilton over there. Several of his original documents stored away. I think you and your mancandy father would have a lot of interest in that.”

There was an awkward silence.

“In fact, let’s all go! Road trip!”

More silence.

“No? No Hamilton fans here? You guys are missing out. That show is AMAZING—”

“Okay, can we actually talk about something important?” A girl in the back interrupted.

“Well excuse me,” Dr. Rhodes glanced at the attendance list again to find the girl’s name. “Hazel! I hate to admit it but you’re right. Let’s get started with the rape, pillage, and murder of hundreds of thousands of Native Americans when the white man first arrived here by ship.”

At the end of APUSH, she headed to her locker only discover an array of papers taped to the front.

“Oh great, another smear campaign.” She thought, starting to tear them off. A quick glance at one, however, changed her perspective.

Sign up for the Drama Club! This year, with special permission We’ll be producing a production of Hamilton: An American Musical by Lin-Manuel Miranda

She glanced at each of the posters, all of them identical. A safe way to pander she figured. With no friends and virtually no one to talk to, she essentially had nothing to lose. She’d made a mental note to head to the school theatre at the end of the day.

She caught a glimpse of Eric headed down the hallway toward her that made her shiver involuntarily. He made a passing comment at another girl that Alexa couldn’t hear. Her retaliation, however, was loud and clear.

“¡No me jodas, Westly!” she shouted, loud enough for everyone in the hallway to hear. “At least I don’t have to drug people to get them to have sex with me. ¡Chinga tu madre!”

“Like anyone would ever want to sleep with you. Don’t you have houses to clean?” he shot back, rolling his eyes. He didn’t stop to converse but continued walking down the hall. “That’s right pinche puta, keep walking!”

When he approached Alexa, she froze. Though she had stood up to him that morning, the harsh fear that came up whenever he approached didn’t seem to go away. Without Lin, she was alone.

The last time she was alone with him, it didn’t end well.

“Oh hey, looks who’s all alone with no daddy to defend them.”

He grabbed her arm forcefully, holding tight despite her attempts to pull away.

He leaned in close, paralyzing her with fear.

“Can I get you anything?” he whispered, recalling what he had said to her that night. “A drink? Maybe something a little more exciting?”

His grip on her arm tightened. She was struggling to manage a response as she continued to attempt to free herself.

“What do you feel like swallowing?” he recited.

There was a sudden jolt as the other girl shoved Eric away from her.

“You wanna fight someone?” she shoved him toward the lockers. He was clearly intimidated though he tried to hide it. Despite him being a few inches taller, the girl overpowered him in overall strength.

“Fight me, bitch!” she continued. “My father is a professional wrestler! I dare you to come at me. ¡Besa mi culo, puto!”

She had him wedged between herself and the lockers. Seeing him clearly shaken up was enough to get Alexa to take a sigh of relief. She moved away from the scene until her back hit the lockers on the other side of the hallway. When there was nowhere else to go, she slid down to the floor, watching the scene unfold.

“Whatever,” he tried to brush it off. “I don’t need to fight you. It would be a waste of my time.” he managed to fight his way out of the small space and fast-walk down the hallway.

“This isn’t over, Pendejo!”

She barely noticed the girl offering to help her up as she sat on the ground, processing what had just happened.

“Cabron,” the girl remarked, watching Eric walk off as she offered Alexa a hand. She took it, slowly pulling herself up.

The girl was Latina (unlike every other student besides Lex it seemed), unmistakably tall and rather muscular, but ever confident with herself.

“Thank you,” she finally said, brushing her skirt off. “He’s um… he’s kind of intimidating.”

“Ay, no, You wouldn’t say that if you saw the way he cried like un bebé when he was being pulled away in a cop car from that party last month.” she chuckled.

Alexa’s eyes lit up at the thought. “Wait, you were there?”

“No, but it was on New York One the next morning.” she chuckled at the memory. “Lo que es un bastardo.”

The shorter teen almost felt kind of stupid for being so afraid of him. The other girl picked up on that.

“Amiga, I’m sure he really fucked you up. He’s a pendejo and you’re allowed to handle that however you do. Just don’t let him steal your light. He doesn’t fucking deserve it.”

A small smile formed on Alexa’s face. “That was really profound.”

She shrugged. “Si, I know, I’m like a fucking latina Shakespeare.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

Lex suddenly realized she may have been coming on too strong and felt the need to explain herself.

“I mean since you’re the only person at this school who hasn’t called me a slut so far and we hate the same person so I figured—”

“Camila.” she cut her off. “Call me Cami.”

“Cami,” Alexa repeated. “Okay.”

“Relax amiga, if you hang around me, everyone will be way too afraid to call you a puta.”

That afternoon, Alexa ventured to the basement where the theatre was located. As she opened the door to the house, she was overwhelmed by the large population of fair skinned students. As she herself was half black, she stuck out like a sore thumb as she had all day that day.

There were several glances in her direction as she entered to room, most of them other girls staring curiously. She sat in the last row, hoping to remain out of sight.

As she sat, she bumped into someone.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” she quickly apologized, glancing up at the stranger.

The cute stranger. The stranger whom she happened to recognize from her AP US History class that morning.

He had short brown hair, a clean-shaven, cute face and wasn’t particularly thin or muscular, a fair mix of both. At least, that’s what she could gather from under white dress shirt and tie.

He seemed to be fixated on her features as well—her light brown eyes, her curly jet black hair, her smile which was in full force.

“It’s okay.” he finally said, a smile forming. “I’m sure you’ve been getting much worse treatment all day.”

“You don’t even know.”

He offered his hand. “I’m Dan.”

“Alexa.”

“Alexa,” he paused, taking in her features once again. “I know I literally just met you, but is there any chance you would want to grab coffee after this? I know a place around the block.”

“Uh…” she paused, glancing around at the other students. “Just us?”

“Well… Yeah.”

She glanced down at her phone briefly, taking note of the time. She had promised Lin that she’d be home by 3, and it was already 2:45.

“Sure.”

Are you home yet, mija?

As Alexa moved above ground after the meeting had ended, she received a very telling text message from her father.

Hanging out with a friend. I’ll be home for dinner.

As soon as the message had sent she turned her phone on do not disturb, wanting to give Dan her full attention.

She did just that as they sat at the cafe around the corner.

“So where are you from?” he asked, once they had ordered.

“I was born in Florida, but I mostly grew up in rural Alabama.”

“Y—” he glanced at her briefly, waiting for the punchline of a joke. “Really?”

She nodded. “Exciting, I know. The south is already bad enough if you’re black let alone adopted, but I moved around a lot ended up in New York over the summer.”

“Oh, like, in foster homes?” he asked. “I’m sorry if that’s weird to ask—”

“I’m not ashamed of my past.” she crossed her legs under the table, her ballet flat grazing his leg. “Just grateful that my current foster parents stepped in when they did.”

“Right, yeah.” he smiled.

A waitress stopped at their table, setting their cups of coffee in front of them.

“My story isn’t nearly as interesting.” he started, taking a sip of his own. Just grew up in Williamsburg. Still in Williamsburg.”

“Oh, Williamsburg! That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to go there. I heard it’s supposed to have like… The best coffee in the world.”

“It definitely beats out this Manhattan crap.” he quipped, receiving a steady laugh in response.

“My mom mostly works mostly across the country as a producer and my dad’s a musician.” Dan continued. “He’s on tour pretty often, so he’s out a lot too. It’s just me and my fourteen-year-old sister Rebecka.”

“On tour, huh? Anyone I’ve heard of?” she added a touch of sugar to her coffee, using a spoon to stir it in.

“I don’t usually like to talk about it…” he started, blushing.

“It can’t be worse than being related to the guy who wrote Hamilton.” she pointed out with a smile.

“It’s uh… it’s George Abrams.”

Alexa nearly dropped the cup that she was carefully holding in both hands. “Your dad is George Abrams? He’s like a 90’s rock legend.”

Dan shrugged, still blushing. “He’s just my dad.”

“Right,” she nodded slowly. “No, that’s cool. I mean I can’t even begin to relate your experience to mine. You were kind of born with a famous parent. I obviously didn’t have the same experience.”

“You get used to it after a while. Although I will admit, some of the stuff that he has collected from his world tours over the years is insane. You should come by and see it one time.”

“That would be awesome.” Her hand instinctively reached for her curls, a move that typically only occurred when she was flirting.

Am I flirting? she asked herself, glancing carefully across the table at Dan. He was all smiles, his eyes fixated on her.

I guess it can’t hurt she concluded, placing her other hand flat on the table in hopes that he would take the bait. He did, reaching his own hand out to graze hers.

A shrill ringing sound emerged from her messenger bag and interrupted them.

“Sorry,” she pulled away, frustrated, digging for her phone.

It was Vanessa calling.

“What?” She demanded, obviously upset.

“I need you to pick up Sebastian from daycare.” Vanessa started, disregarding Alexa’s irate tone of voice.

“I’m in the middle of something.”

“Lex, I’m serious. I need your help here.” her mother insisted. “It would mean a lot if you could do this.”

“I just told you I’m in the middle of something! Have Lin do it.”

“He went to the theatre early. You told me you wanted to start relating to me more—this is a great way to start.”

Alexa rolled her eyes as she hung up, tossing her phone back into her bag.

“Is everything okay?” Dan asked, watching her put her things together.

“Not really… I have to go.”

“Oh,”

“Yeah, my foster dad and I are really close. With my foster mom, however… it’s a work in progress. I need to go pick up their son. I’m really sorry.” She pulled out her wallet, tossing a ten dollar bill on the table.

“It’s okay, I’ll just see you at school tomorrow.” he stood up.

“Yeah, of course.” She hugged him, kissing his cheek as she pulled back. “See you tomorrow!”

-

The next morning was an uncomfortable one. Alexa awoke nauseated, bloated, and triggered by the smell of breakfast cooking.

As she left her room that morning dressed for school and headed to the kitchen, an all too peppy Lin greeted her, singing at the top of his lungs.

“Goooooood mooooorrrrrniiiing, Gen! Happy second day of schooooooool!”

“Dude,” she groaned, setting her bag down on the table as she sat. “Please.”

“Wouuuuuld you like some breeeeaaakfast?” he offered, directing to the pan he was busy cooking with.

Alexa dry heaved, disgusted at the sight of bacon frying in the pan.

“I’ll pass, thanks.” “It’s the most important meal of the day!” he reminded her, holding up a piece of bacon with the pair of tongs in his hand.

“Seriously, I’m fine. That smells disgusting. My digestive system has been terrible lately.”

“Oh speaking of,” he paused, placing the bacon onto a plate nearby and turning the stove off. “Have you done your treatment since you got out of state care?”

Alexa groaned. “I did it just before I left.”

“That was almost two weeks ago.” he pointed out. “You’re supposed to do it twice a week.”

“I’ve been… busy.” she insisted. “Readjusting to life back at home and starting school… my immunodeficiency hasn’t been a priority.”

“It has to be. No wonder your stomach is so messed up.”

“My stomach is always messed up.” she pointed out.

“You know what I meant.” he paused, placing the bacon onto a plate nearby and turning the stove off.

“If you’re done lecturing me on my health, can I go to school now?”

“I’m not done,” he took a piece of bacon from the plate, taking a bite and offering some to her. She quickly refused. “It’s unrelated but important. Vanessa told me about yesterday—”

“You mean how she insisted that my go pick Sebastian was somehow going to improve our relationship?”

“Not the words I would’ve used, but yes.”

“I was busy. I was having coffee with a new friend and she kind of ruined it.”

“Lex, V is doing her best to relate to you, but it can be tough sometimes. You and I had plenty of time to get to know each other over the summer at the Public. Give her a chance to do the same. She’s a great mother.”

She shook her head. “I don’t do well with mom’s.”

“Did something happen in the past?” he curiously pressed.

“Nothing that I’m willing to discuss over bacon.”

“Vanessa’s nothing like that.” he insisted. “She’s the kindest, most genuine person I’ve met. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Alexa rolled her eyes.

“You gave me a chance and you said you’d be willing to do the same for her.”

“Maybe I’m not there yet.”

“You guys could bond over something you have in common.”

“Yeah, you always know how I talk about wanting to be an engineer.” she rolled her eyes again, the sarcasm thick.

“Hey, you and V both love frozen yogurt… maybe you could go get some together.”

She dry heaved again. “Could we not talk about food right now?”

Before he could respond, she rushed off to the bathroom.

Hunched over the toilet, she vomited once, followed by several dry heaves.

As she stood up, preparing to re-brush her teeth, she saw Lin standing in the doorway in the mirror.

“Are you okay?” he asked, a concerned look on his face.

“Never better.” she quipped, reaching for her toothbrush. “I think I’m gonna skip breakfast.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t go to school today.” he suggested.”

“Lin, she started. “I’ve gone to school in much worse condition. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay…” He walked back down the hallway towards the kitchen. “But if you want to go home, just give me a call! And remember what I said about Vanessa!”

-

The train ride to school that morning was almost unbearable. Partially because of nausea, but also because certain muscles in her body had become overwhelmingly tender. Her messenger bag sat uncomfortably on her shoulder, heavily irritating her chest. By the time she had reached her destination, her symptoms had not improved. She slowly trudged to her locker only to find Dan waiting there to greet her.

“Hey,” he smiled before getting a closer look at her. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I thi—” her sentence was cut short by the feeling of bile rising in the back of her throat. She rushed to the bathroom across the hall, locking herself in the handicapped stall before releasing the containments of her stomach—which wasn’t much—into the toilet. She hunched over, feeling the cramps in her torso worsen as her stomach contracted.

When it was over, she was on her knees, her hair carefully hung on the outside of the seat.

She sighed, standing up and moving towards the sink to wash her face.

When Dan saw her exit the bathroom, he offered his only unopened bottle of water. She graciously accepted.

“Are you okay?” he asked again.

“I’m pretty sure like ninety percent of what just came out of me was stomach acid, but yeah I’m fine.”

“Good.” he pulled a ten dollar bill from his pocket, the same one that Alexa had left on the table the day before. “Hamilton’s glad to hear that.” He handed the bill to her.

“What is this?”

“You dropped it yesterday.” he reminded her.

“Yeah… to pay for my coffee.”

“I took care of it. Here, you can keep it.”

“Dan…” She attempted to hand the bill back. “It’s fine. I can pay for my own coffee.”

“I know, but I took care of it.” He thought back to her rush to the bathroom earlier, eager to change the subject. “You should probably eat something before class. At least it’ll keep the stomach acid down.”

“Come with me?” she asked. Dan nodded and they made their way to the dining hall. Inside was an array of breakfast options that were certainly worthy of a hefty tuition. With it came an overwhelming aroma that made Alexa dry heave as soon as she stepped in the room. She stepped back out to avoid worsening the feeling.

“I think I’m just gonna go to class,” she suggested. “I’ll see you around.”

At noon, the cramps had seceded while the other symptoms worsened. While the other students entered the cafeteria for lunch, Alexa stood outside.

The smell was unbearable. She had no desire to get sick for a third time that day and gave in, headed to the nurse’s office.

She’d listed off her symptoms, the bloating, nausea and vomiting, the fatigue, the cramps, and the muscle tenderness. The nurse, a middle-aged white woman who managed to look consistently bitter, visibly rolled her eyes in response.

“Are you sexually active?” she asked, reaching into her desk.

“No.”

The nurse glanced up at her. “Miss, I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me.”

“I’m not,” she shot back. Being a virgin wasn’t exactly something she wanted to brag about, but it was true.

The nurse pulled a small cardboard box out of her desk, handing it to the teen.

“Go to the restroom, follow the instructions on the box, and bring it back when you’re done.”

The box clearly read Pregnancy Test across the front, which made it clear to Alexa that the nurse didn’t believe her.

“Whatever.” She scoffed, bringing the test with her.

In the tiny bathroom stall, she removed the test from its packaging and stared back it. It was taunting her with its simplicity.

She removed the cap on the far end, carefully sliding it between her legs and using it as instructed. The results were still pending as she capped the test and walked back to the nurse’s office.

A change on the display alerted them to the results, a plus sign.

“You’re pregnant.” the nurse announced unenthusiastically.

“This is a joke.” Alexa rolled her eyes back. “You clearly don’t know what you’re doing. I told you I’ve never had sex. That test is probably defective. It looks older than you.”

“I can’t say we’ve had a pregnant girl at Columbia Prep before, but I suppose there’s a first for everything. Especially considering your…” she paused. “Situation.”

“What situation?” Alexa demanded, glaring at the nurse. “That I’m black, that I was adopted two months ago, that I live in the heights or that my parents are Latinx and therefore unfit?”

The nurse ignored the question, unwilling to put her job at risk. “If you’re still feeling sick, I can call your parents and have one of them come get you. Just move to the cot over there.”

“Racist.” she muttered under her breath, angrily grabbing her bag as she made her way to the cot on the far end of the room.

-

“Okay let’s skip ahead to light cue 145, sound cue 11, and stage cue 78.”

At the Richard Rodgers theatre, the cast and crew were changing up some of the show’s lighting cues a few hours before the afternoon matinee at 2 pm. The stage manager was hard at work, directing everyone through the motions so that they could enter the correct cues into their system.

The actors were still, silent onstage waiting for direction while the lighting technicians were quietly discussing the correct cues upstairs. In the midst of a silence, there was a loud ringing noise, someone’s cell phone.

Tommy Kail, working alongside the show’s stage manager, glanced up at the stage for the source of the sound. “Who didn’t turn their phone off?”

All of the actors onstage glanced at one another briefly. Once Lin realized it was his phone, he blushed.

“Oh shit, my bad!” he pulled his phone out. “That was me.”

Hesitating for a moment, he glanced at the call not recognizing the strange number and picked it up. “Hello?”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Take five, everyone. Lin has a very important phone call to take.”

Everyone else left their positions.

“Sorry, who am I speaking with?”

The voice of an older white woman greeted him, making it clear that she was unsure of how to properly pronounce his name and wasn’t going to bother to try.

“This is Lin-Manuel Miranda, who is this?”

“I’m the nurse at Columbia Prep. Your daughter Alexa is in the infirmary with me and she needs to be picked up. She’s been vomiting all day and—”

The nurse paused. While it may have been practical to inform him of the pregnancy test, she wasn’t sure it was her place to do so. From the other side of the room, Alexa sat up from her curled fetal position. She waited, holding her breath, to see if the nurse would say anything.

“Well, she’s not feeling well.”

“Is she okay?” he demanded, the concern in his voice catching the attention of those in the theatre. “Did anyone get hurt?”

“No sir, not mentally. She’s just physically ill.”

“Oh,” he took a sigh of relief that he wasn’t proud of. The fact that he was so sure she’d had a mental breakdown that involved another student getting hurt was nothing if not slightly unsettling. He was grateful that wasn’t the case. “So she’s with you?”

“Can I talk to him?” Alexa demanded, interrupting their conversation.

“She wants to talk to you.” the nurse announced as Alexa slowly walked back toward the desk.

“Hey, Lin.”

“Hey kiddo, still not feeling well?”

“I must have a 24-hour virus or something. My hormones are off.” she glared at the nurse. “I think I should sleep it off.“

“I’ll come and get you.” he offered, already headed to his dressing room to pick up his things.

“What? No, you’re at work. I’ll just sleep in the nurse’s office until school ends. You shouldn’t leave, it’s too important.”

“Too late, I’m already leaving.” He threw everything he needed into his bag before slinging it over his shoulder and heading toward the exit. “Stay put. I’ll be there soon.”

There was a number of questioning looks he received on his way out.

“Lex is sick.” he explained to the stage manager, who seemed suddenly concerned.

“Oh, is she…” he paused, pretending to scratch his arms.

“Oh, no.” he was quick to reassure them that this wasn’t a mental breakdown similar to the one she’d had a little over a week beforehand. “She’s just been throwing up all day. I’m gonna go get her. Put Javi in for the rest of the run through. I should be back for the matinee.”

Lin opted for a cab uptown, arriving promptly and heading to the infirmary to find his daughter curled up on a cot at the far end of the room.

When she heard him come in, a look of concern crossed her face.

“What are you doing here?”

“I told you I was coming.”

Alexa glanced at the nurse, who seemed confused at their exchange. She lowered her voice to a whisper.

“I thought we agreed you weren’t coming because work is more important?”

“We never agreed on that because it isn’t true,” he whispered back. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“But…” she seemed desperate for answers. “Work is always more important.”

It was clear that something had triggered her, though Lin wasn’t sure what it was.

“Little girls who stay home from school get punished.” the thought passed through her consciousness as if she’d heard it yesterday, though she hadn’t heard the phrase in years.

Suddenly she backed away from him, up against the wall.

“I’m fine. I’m not sick. I’ll go to class. I’m sorry for making you come all the way over—”

“Hey,” he sat beside her on the cot, trying to interrupt her thoughts for a moment. “You didn’t make me come here. I wanted to come, okay? I’ll take you home and you can sleep it off.”

As expected, her medication helped her calm down a lot faster than she would typically be able to on her own. She paused for a moment.

“I promise, nothing bad will happen to you,” he reassured her. “We’ll go home, you can get some sleep and hopefully you’ll start to feel better.”

“You promise?” she pressed, still hesitant.

“I promise.”

She grabbed his hand for support, following him out of the infirmary and to the cab waiting outside.

“Just hang out here. I’ll make you some tea.” As they got home a few minutes later, Lin helped her over to the couch, putting a blanket over the length of her body before moving away to the kitchen. She had calmed down significantly on the car ride home, taking long calming breaths to ease her anxiety.

“So did the nurse say exactly what was wrong with you?” he questioned from the kitchen.

“Uh,” Alexa paused. While she was certain she wasn’t pregnant, having never had sex, she wasn’t too open to the idea of sharing everything that happened with him. “Nothing useful.” she finally said. “Just offered to call you.”

“You’re right, that isn’t very useful.” He placed the full kettle on the stove, before turning on the burner and returning to the couch to sit beside her. “Maybe we should take you back to the doctor.”

Alexa rolled her eyes. “Hopefully they’re better at their job than that shitty nurse is.”

“Are you hungry? Did you eat at school?”

She shook her head before placing a pillow underneath it to protect her neck. “The smell of everything made me want to vomit.”

“Hold on,” he stood up, headed back to the kitchen. “I think Vanessa bought saltine crackers last week.”

Digging through the pantry, he found a small box of saltines in the back with the package half empty. He grabbed the whole thing, handing it to her.

“That’s all we have, but I’ll go pick up some more—”

Alexa made a noise of protest, turning onto her stomach. “You should go back to work. That’s more important.”

The kettle began to whistle, calling Lin to attention before he could respond.

“Lex, do you want anything in your tea?”

“A spoonful of honey please.”

“Got it.” He prepared it as requested before carefully handing it to her.

She sat up and took a sip, sighing, content.

“This helps a lot.”

“I’m glad.” he kissed her forehead. “Are you sure you don’t want me to pick up more saltines?”

“Go back to work. I’ll be fine here.”

“Okay… but call me if you need anything.”

“Phone’s on,” she assured him. “I’m probably just gonna take a nap. I’m exhausted.”

“Alright well… V’s going to some work event later and I’ll be on tonight, so we’ll probably both be back around midnight. Unless you need me to come back—”

“Oh my god, Lin, go back to rehearsal.”

Lin smirked, picking up his bag and heading out of the apartment.

-

On her own, the silence was deafening. She could feel the fatigue overwhelming her, but sleep was far off. On paper, she had almost every symptom of early pregnancy. She never really had consistent periods, didn’t she need that to get pregnant?

No. No way. She couldn’t be pregnant because she was a virgin. Virgins didn’t get pregnant. Well, except for that one tv show, but that was fake and didn’t count.

The test I took must’ve been defective she assured herself. If I took another test, there’s no way it would come up positive.

That reassurance, however, did not help her get to sleep any faster.

She threw the blanket off.

“Fucking fine.” she groaned and took a large swig of tea from the mug before picking up her messenger bag and heading out.

The nearest pharmacy was five blocks away, a small business on the corner. She headed in, gravitating toward the refrigerated aisle. She grabbed a large can of Arizona tea—only a dollar, respectively—and left in search of her other purchase.

There they were, at eye level between the tampons and the condoms—pregnancy tests. She examined them carefully, reading each label and what special feature they boasted.

She could feel her heart pounding, her palms sweaty.

This is ridiculous she thought to herself. I’m not pregnant.

One box, in particular, caught her eye, a test boasting its ability to show how far along you were. It came in a pack of two, which she grabbed and headed to the register.

Behind the counter, the foreign older gentleman glared at her as she approached with her items.

“You’re too young to buy this.” His thick accent intruded her overwhelming thoughts.

“There’s no age limit on buying pregnancy tests.” she shot back.

“A young body like yours is too valuable to carry a child.” he insisted. “You could do much better with it elsewhere.”

“Do you want my money or not you fucking pervert?” A wad of cash in hand, Alexa glared at the man behind the counter as he placed her items in a small black plastic bag.

“Twenty-four fifty,” he announced, taking the twenty-five dollars she handed him. He passed two quarters back, watching her carefully as she left the store.

Before heading down the street, she pulled her phone out of the pocket of her skirt—her uniform still on from her time at school—opening Spotify. A quick typed search for In the Heights brought up the album of Lin’s first broadway show, a production she’d virtually never heard of. Cautiously, she tapped the first song, placed her headphones over her ears, and took the slow route home, open Arizona can in hand.

The song was still playing as she got home, tossing the now empty can in the trash. She made her way to the bathroom, the box burning a hole into her palm

She tossed the instructions aside for later, sitting on the toilet seat and carefully positioning the test between her legs.

Once it was over, she recapped the test placing it flat on the counter. It was a three-minute wait.

I’m not pregnant. I’m not pregnant. I’m not pregnant. I command myself not to be pregnant.

The test flashed a result on its screen, a tiny display that read

Pregnant

2+

Alexa dropped the test, her heart pounding. This couldn’t be real. It had to be some kind of dream.

She grabbed the instructions, skimming them again, desperately seeking answers.

Under her result read a paragraph about conception, how the result had concluded that she conceived three or more weeks prior.

“What the fuck,” she managed, trying not to hyperventilate. She pulled her phone out, stopping the music and pulling up her calendar in the hope that a date would jog her memory of something. Perhaps an artificial insemination that she’d agreed to in an exhausted state—being a surrogate mother was a well-paying gig nowadays.

She scrolled back to two weeks prior. Nothing. Three weeks. Nothing.

“This makes no sense,” she said aloud. “There is no way I could possibly be pregnant. I’ve never had se—.”

There it was, a Thursday four weeks back. There was an event marked on her calendar entitled:

Party tonight at CP!

Memories flashed through her mind of the following day, where she was offered a Plan B pill at the hospital, took it, left to shower, and promptly got sick only minutes later giving it virtually no chance to enter her system.

She could feel the breath leave her lungs all at once, her mind going numb.

She had never considered this.

It wasn’t something one considered after having been through what she had.

She dropped her phone—or rather, it fell out of her hands—landing on the tiled bathroom floor. She put the test into the garbage can, covering it with the other items to keep it out of sight.

Her instincts brought her to the kitchen, where she easily bypassed the child lock on the liquor cabinet. She pulled out an unopened bottle of whiskey, an unopened bottle of vodka, and dug through the freezer for a tequila bottle stashed away.

The three bottles in front of her on the counter, she debated which one would be the easiest to chug. She opted for the vodka, popping the cap and downing the bitter liquid. She hesitated for a moment, the burn in the back of her throat causing her to cough, but continued anyway. It would be unpleasant, sure, but it was the easiest thing she could think of to get rid of the thing that was supposedly growing inside of her. Within minutes, the bottle was empty.

The other two bottles stared back at her, making her feel self-conscious. She left the kitchen, pacing the length of the entire house before returning to the same two bottles. Her hand reached for the empty vodka bottle, holding it for a moment before smashing it against the granite countertop. It shattered, leaving glass everywhere and cutting her palm open.

“Fuck,” she winced, clutching the palm to her chest. The blood quickly spread to her white polo, a fact that she didn’t seem to notice as she reached for the whiskey.

Twisting the cap open, she felt nothing as the bottle reached her lips, swallowing as fast as she could. The whiskey was stronger, more demanding. She could feel her throat screaming for a break, but she pressed on until the bottle was empty. The dangers of her decisions were far from her mind as she dropped the whiskey bottle on the tile floor. It didn’t shatter like she hoped it would.

She could feel the alcohol coursing through her as she paced the house again, her hand leaving a trail of blood as she walked.

Returning to the counter, the last bottle sat, waiting for her. She pulled the cork out, taking a swig.

It came then suddenly, like a truck hitting a brick wall. The effects of her binge drinking arrived hard and fast, knocking her down. She managed to pull the tequila off of the counter with her, the glass shattering on the floor beside her as she lay, numb.

-

“Do you think she’s allergic to something?”

Lin shook his head. “That can’t be it because she didn’t eat anything this morning.”

Vanessa held her sleeping son close, waiting for Lin to pull out his keys to open their front door. They were greeted by an empty couch, a surprise to both of them. Lin glanced at his watch.

“It’s after midnight. She’s probably asleep.” he concluded.

“I’m gonna put Sebastian to bed,” she whispered, starting toward the hallway. As she passed the kitchen, however, she paused, speechless, staring at the ground.

“What’s up, V?” he moved to her side, curious as to what she was so preoccupied with. His jaw nearly hit the ground at the sight of the kitchen floor.

Alexa was there, unconscious, broken glass and spots of blood surrounding her. Her hand was obviously impaled, a large puddle of blood surrounding it.

“Holy shit.”

[randomaldiarytranscriptions]

1824 Saturday 20 November

9

3

Breakfast at 10 1/2 -at 11 Mrs Barlow came to me, and stayed with me till 3 40/60 when her daughter came from school –

Madame Galvani came at 12 3/4 and stayed till a few minutes past 2 –

Mrs Barlow and I were sitting very comfortably together when Miss Pope came to call on me at 11 40/60 and absolutely sat, even in spite of Madame Galvani’s coming, till about 1 1/2 – fancying perhaps, because Mrs Barlow did not go, she needed not – I wonder she did not perceive I did not particularly wish her stay – I spoke as little as possible and both Mrs Barlow and Madame Galvani saw how much I was ennuye de sa visite – She was no sooner gone, than I resumed my usual spirits and laughed and talked during the rest of my lesson – sorry to tell Madame Galvani I should not have time to take more than 1 month – flirting as usual with Mrs Barlow but nothing particular passed –

at 4, went out (by myself) – went to Madame Romatier rue St Anne, 29 was measured for a pair of stays and to – Jeannin libraire, rue Vivienne number 8   meant to have gone to Galignani’s about his edition of Lord Byron’s works, but seeing an edition in the shop window of Jeannin (number 8) went in and finding that he would allow une diminution of francs, 101 francs to 88, bought the work (16 volumes) and ordered them to be bound at 2 1/2 francs per volume – they are to be done in 10 days – said I bought a great many books – these for a lady – une commission – the man probably may of course thought me a tradesperson –

got home at 5 20/60 – Sat down to dinner at 5 3/4 – Miss Harvey too Hervey too ill to come down stairs – Mrs and Miss Barlow paid her a longish visit immediately after dinner and during all this while I sat on the sofa in close tête a tête with Madame de Boyve after all, it seems no alterations can be made in the servants’ department respecting meals, etc. to me it is immaterial –

we got to the subject of Mrs Barlow   Madame de Boyve had wished to sake her to some friends of hers they did not wish it for she was not comme il faut   Madame de Boyve did not know exactly how they meant it but she declared if she was not so she would not keep her in her house and her connections were so so and xx her friends ssaid if she would vouch for her it was another thing   however Madame never said more about Mrs Barlow s going to their parties   I asked to know the name of the peoples on giving my word of honour never to name it she told me it was the Trelawneys  I mentioned Mrs Harveys light manner of speaking of them the other evening   Madame de Boyve allowed they done things contrary to the customs here but defended them   I asked her about the gentlemen who Mr Demasse says sslept with Mrs Barlow   it is Mr de Chateavillard who lives at his place ten leagues hence near Fontainbleau I warmly reprobated the dishonour of a mans telling this ssort of thing   Madame de Boyve owned a woman had no enemy like the man she had refused she knew this from experience – speaking of the Mr Uncoz she said about two months ssince his name had appeared in the papers as having large damages to pay in a crimcon   Mrs Barlow had written to and heard from him – Madame de promised to find some opportunity of mentioning these two names sso that I could catch at them   she wondered much Mrs Barlow had never mentioned them to me   it seems the man she was attached to before she married that she has told me off as the brother of two of her intimate friends that he is fond of her to this day but avoids her afraid of meeting etc etc.   he has never married still loves her   it turns out this man is the brother of Mr de Jersey she and her husband were here Mrs Harvey knew them wel   the man had then no fortune Mrs Barlow had none and they could not marry   Mrs Barlow married colonel Barlow for an establishment   her lover has now got a good fortune and is now in Paris but never comes near her   she would gladly have Mr Duglos and would have had Mr Dacier when he was here before   I declared she would not have a foreigner surely not a swiss banker like Mr Dacier –

in came Mrs Barlow Madame de Boyve soon found a good opportunity of naming Mr Chateavillard and Mr Uncoz who turns out to be Mr Hancock  as an adorateur of hers  I caught at all this   it was evident she did not like it   she said don’t teaze me and begged I would say no more about it   then I had exclaimed in my rattling way a little idea had darted like lightning across my mind and made her understand I alluded to the letter   had Mrs Barlow been less taken by surprise herself she might have seen by Madame de Boyves countenance there was design in when she said but she did it well   and so did I   and I alone saw the momentary paleness that quivered on her cheeks and lips when first she spoke – she and all the rest went at a quarter before nine   Mrs Barlow lingered and she and I sat down by the fire I questioned her closely and so decidedly said it was Mr Hancock to whom she had written the letter that she owned it was   she did she was glad I knew she meant to tell me before I went   longed for an opportunity of doing   had been and was thinking of telling me this morning at the moment I rapped at her door this morning before my breakfast   thinking this unlikely I told her how unfortunate it was she had not happened to have told me   rallied her on her saying at the time she would write to her to know if she might tell me   she said this was I one said I it looked very like earnest   she said had she wished to deceave me she could have put in the letter another day   yes but you would have had to redate or write it over again   oh it was very short   it was two pages   I know well but the likes were very wide they looked quite ill   I knew not what to say   no not very wide I saw the first page   she could not deny I was right for I had glanced at the letter lying on her desk the day before and saying it was principally written on that day she could not deny it   he had deceaved the house but her they thought him so good etc. etc.   and he said he could not bear to hear it he did not deserve it and told her all the story tho the trial did not come on till last July he felt it very much was ill from regret   she thought he would not live long   she felt commiseration   all she could say was and she did xxxxx urge it in her letter was that for his familys ssake he ought not to ruin his health etc etc   in such a sause the Middletons and Mrs Harvey were taken up with Mr de Buissey and she and Mr Hancock were left together   they walked etc etc   she bought many things for his mother but said she the worst of it was he came into my room   Madame de Boyve behaved ill to me then did not like me to have my visitors in her salon they incommoded her   and he came to me about his commissions for he did not know one handkerchief from another but we always ssat with the door open and Page was in the next room   he always behaved very well he never touched my hand but once and that was on going away   I then told Madame de Boyve I must receive my visitors in the drawing room – she says he was twenty four he was two years older for he is now twenty seven Madame de Boyve was jealous she wanted him to herself and he took a dislike to her for her conduct to me   Mrs Barlow had said she felt commiseration for him   I joked her and said I knew what commiseration was   I asked where he lived  she said he did not always live in one place   but said I as he is a man of fortune he has ssome place   she then said near Aislesbury   she had said when Madame told me he was Yorkshire no he was Derbyshire  - he had behaved very well in this crimcon business the lady at once gave up all his letters he would not give up hers   destroyed them all   the parties wanted to get damages and he had five thousand pounds to pay   Madame de Boyve wanted to know of it was the same Mr Hancock she would not tell and begged I would not but she declared again and again Madame de Boyve had no object in mentioning these two names in telling fortunes as she often did in this way   she meant nothing at all   she had been foretelling according to my desire where we should all be two years hence and she said Mrs Barlow would be travelling in France with two gentlemen   I asked their names   voila how ingeniously we managed the thing   I said I should question Madame de Boyve   I saw Mrs Barlow s anxiety that I should not   at last she said well if you do she will say no good of me if colonel and captain Wilson and Mr Robinson were here you might ask them   I would rather have a gentlemans word   the last thing she said was will you ask her or not   I answered I would not say I would xxx not or she answered thank you good night –

of Mr Chateauvillard she had owned she might have had him as an amant   he was a very gay man   had tried all he could to seduce Madame de Boyve but in vain   he had asked her to go out with him in his carriage with Mrs Middleton and Miss Harvey but she had even refuted this   by the way she said Mr Hancock had begun by obliging her for he had told her Mrs Price then here was not fit company for her and he was right   Mrs Price was odd and she Mr Barlow had since heard things which confirmed what Mr Hancock said   I asked if Mrs Price was blown that is if these things were generally known   no they were not   she is in very good society in Kensington   said I well might you tell me this house was a little world of itself   she said once or twice she knew I was angry with her   no said I vous etes charmante you will get over this as you do over all other things   she answered you don’t think so but I have nothing to blame myself for but one thing   what is that   my conduct to you   oh said I never mind that – I certainly judge from her manner that all is not right – there is attempt at concealment wich looks not wel   her remark that Madame de Boyve would say no good of her   her whole conduct about the letter is ssuspicious   I told her I should think much and will not she do so also   Madame de Boyve told me Mrs Barlow only paid fifty franks a month for Page because she took those two reems and remained here long now   why should not Mrs Barlow have chanced to tell me this herself instead of talking as if she paid a hundred   for instance on Thursday she said we paid enough for our servants   there was no establishment here where more was charged   I once asked her income but she got off telling me   why all this   I like it not –

Madame de Boyve asked me to write to her tonight said she would write once in two months –

20 minutes eating grapes –

From 11 3/4 to 2 10/60 wrote the whole of this journal of today –

Fine day – tho’ a little rain when I got up in the morning – Fahrenheit 64° at 2 10/60 p.m.

my cold a good deal better today, but my throat worse – obliged to gargle with vinegar and water –

[scottmapess]

Bitcoin Heading to $300k (One Reason Why It’s the Worst Case)

VIDEO TRANSCRIPT

Bitcoin happening is only a few days away now, and everyone is praying that Bitcoin finally starts a descent to one hundred thousand dollars or more. What if I told you that a six figure Bitcoin could be the worst possible case scenario? The creator of the most accurate Bitcoin chart in history now believes the price is going to two hundred and eighty thousand dollars. But he’s giving us a warning. And you may want to listen to it. Let’s get it. We’ll get to it with Crypto News Edition once per day. I’m going to break down the biggest news stories in the space for you. So if you want to know where Bitcoin and all coins are heading to, then make sure to hit that subscribe button and join both my telegram groups, the bid squad for regular cricket chat and Bitcoin traders to discuss trading strategies. All right, guys. Got a weird video for you tonight. We’re going to be looking at the change in the Bitcoin stock to flow chart. This chart is the gospel of all Bitcoin charts. This is the one chart that’s virtually never been wrong. And now its creator is telling us he wishes it wasn’t correct. It is now predicting Bitcoin to go to almost three hundred thousand dollars each. And I can even tell you that that’s above my two hundred and twenty five K prediction. But hey, I’ll take it. But you have to hear this story. We’re also going to be taking a look at the most hated man in crypto taking money directly from the United States. And I’m going to tell you why people criticizing him are dumb. All right. Let’s hit the market. All right, guys, so words can be taken. A quick look at the market right now. Bitcoin could be breaking out as we speak, and it probably will because I just closed a big trade. I just made 40 percent on a trade. I went 25 X, probably a little irresponsible, but I did it and it paid off. Definitely made a huge trade. And I made ups from four. So my losses the other day. But Bitcoin right now coming in at ninety one eighty five. And I’m making a joke when I say the bitcoin is probably about to break out right now because I just closed the trade. I probably could have been up a whole lot more than that. So that’s kind of the you know, the thing that happens to me is I close a trade and then it breaks out. So right now, watching the price to my I am watching the tab over here. Bitcoin went up fifty dollars and about. Well, since I started recording this, as of right now, coming in at actually about 90, 340 this chart right. Years wrong. Uncle Marty Kaplan cappellini refresh it. It’s showing an aggregate price byb it actually right now has the price at ninety three two. It was at ninety three fifty just a second ago. I’m currently not in a position. I actually got in this week down close to 9000 and I rode this thing back up to ninety three hundred so I’m feeling pretty good and it’s good because I got stopped out of a trade earlier in the night. But I’m Brazilian. When I lose money I just say, you know what, I’m going to possibly lose more money and sometimes it works out and make money. So that’s what I did. But anyways, guys, if you’re interested in levers trading of your digits or a gambler or you want to do it responsibly with stop losses and low leverage, then Major, join our trading group, Bitcoin traders and you can use my Bible link by dub Avoid Alive if you’re interested in that. But don’t sign up if you’re a beginner and not come join our group. I want you to come join our group even if you sign up, even before you sign it was somebody else’s link or whatever, because I don’t want you doing stupid stuff. So but right now the price of bitcoin is we see we’re still in an uptrend on the hourly chart, but we have went down to a little cells are down here. But I’m thinking we could be breaking out right here. We could be heading up towards ninety five hundred guys. I firmly believe now, I believe that we will see 10000 hours before that happening. I think we’ll see ten thousands week. That’s my personal opinion. So that’s kind of what I’m doing. That’s kind of how I’m watching the market. The markets are just kind of mad today as you guys you see two percent, one percent gains whenever it’s we’re we’re not gonna go over that too much Bitcoin dominance going up. So that’s not good for all Quint’s. Maybe we might see that number drop off dramatically if Bitcoin does hit ten K. Okay, guys, this story is so fascinating. So basically it says here at the Bitcoin stock to flow creator will go dark if BTC price hits six figures. Now, if you don’t know the guy who created his name is Plan B, you can find him on Twitter. I can’t remember his exact Twitter handle, but he was recently on Andy, probably on his podcast. And so there’s a new stock to flow chart that was released last week. It was a new incarnation. OK, now I want you guys to know this. I’ve been telling you guys I made my official prediction for this bull run about three months ago, maybe four months ago. I believe Bitcoin is going to two hundred and twenty five thousand dollars. That is the number that I believe the last iteration of this showed the price much, much, much lower than that. I think it showed it’s somewhere around fifty thousand dollars. I can’t find it right now where it says here. But the long and short of it is I think the initial iteration was fifty seven thousand dollars. I remember when I looked at the chart, it looked a little closer to 80 K and you could assume the price would go up above that. So probably would have hit over 100k at least. But now a new model is saying two hundred and twenty five thousand dollars on or two hundred eighty thousand dollars on this run. Now, here’s what’s really interesting. All right. Price hoopla. We love price, however. Listen to what he’s saying here. He’s saying that he believes that if the price goes that high. If the model is correct, it will not be a pretty picture. He says it will be nasty, maybe a war, people will have Bitcoin. People have Bitcoin. And Bitcoin is not plural, even though we do use the plural for the beards a bit with podcast OBINZE as people have bitcoins. Some people don’t have Bitcoin. It’ll be some countries have bitcoins. Some won’t have bitcoins. It will be the U.S. dollar losing its reserve status. It will be geo political. It will be military. So is this like an apocalyptic Armageddon thing that we’re wishing for? It’s interesting, guys, is definitely something to think about. But I know one thing. You’re definitely going to want to be on the haves side and not the have nots. Bitcoin is staging a comeback reminiscent of 2017 bubble frenzy. They talk about the happening. This is from Bloomberg. This is getting me so excited. I’ve been watching a lot of old wrestling videos. I don’t know why I. I only like wrestling as a kid for a little bit. But I feel like talking like Hulk Hogan or the ultimate warrior when we’re talking about bitcoins coming on a comeback. Brother, brother, bitcoins on a comeback. And Bloomberg, you got the right idea. But let me tell you, USD, you better not come down to the ring for the Royal Rumble because Bitcoin want you eat your vitamins. That’s right. Kids do it. This got me all worked up late reading this. Just thinking about how now we’ve got blue. We’re trying to. Oh we’re all back. It’s time for. It’s time for Bitcoin to make a comeback. Lovable. It just talks about the happening and stuff. But we’re gonna see more of this. We’re gonna see more normy. We’re gonna see more bewell for the financial sector. Talk about Bitcoin during this happening and you know what’s gonna happen. They’re setting us up to pull the rug right out from under us because what’s gonna happen? The Bitcoin price is going to drop right after the happening. And then all of these fools are gonna say, this sky is falling. Bitcoin is dead. And right when they all write these articles about Bitcoin is dead, it’s going to rise up out of the grave again, like it always does. And it’s going to go higher than ever expected. And people are listening this kind of stuff, because the stimulus checks, people have been actually putting their stimulus checks in Bitcoin. And if you did that, like I told you, would probably be a good idea. As long as it was disposable money, you would be up thirty five percent. How about that, guys? So good to see some people using the stimulus money for Bitcoin, for an investment that can put them in a better position for the long term. Like, I mean, it got out of that trade just in time. Actually, it looks like price dropped a little bit. But here’s the thing, guys. Most hated man in cryptocurrency. I don’t know if it’s really Justin’s on. I think Craig. Right. May get I don’t know. Actually, I think Justin’s on probably is the most hated man in Kristo, Christa Montecristo, the most hated man in crypto that is U.S. hands. Justin’s on a two million dollar CRV relief grant. Trump platforms eved aid money in excess of two million dollars, according to its Chinese. We chat Channel nine. It’s interesting wearing it in second, despite making a slew of recent acquisitions. Now people are losing their minds over this. And this is what I’ll say is what I just said to block chain Brad on Twitter, who tagged me in a post about this. The only people who believe that this is a scandal are people who hate Justin Sun. And it’s KVOA Justin Sun. That’s OK. But just because Justin’s on took money from the government does not make this a scandal. If this was any other crypto company, no one would say anything. You’ve got others in Traunch started out as a Chinese company. However, they are now an American company and they have a totally different name. I know the name. I don’t know if I’m allowed to say it, but I know the name because I’ve worked with Tron in the past and it is a mere American holdings company, so they qualify for relief. Now, here’s here’s the issue. A lot of the purchases that Tron is made no, not BitTorrent, but a lot of the purchases Polony X, that is just his own personal money. The Warren Buffet lunch that he paid for for NAV million, that was his personal money. Those were not necessarily Tron Foundation acquisitions or events. I don’t think Trun Foundation money was involved in plenty. Somebody might fact check me on that. But I know Justesen was part of the investing team. They’ll take that on from Circle. But here’s the thing, guys. He he posted this in his wheelchair and he did this basically to kind of flaunt the fact to the Chinese government of the Chinese people that Haywood’s here try. And here in America, we got we got money from the government. How about that? Because some people that would be in that we chat would interpret that to mean that the U.S. government was working directly with Tronto. Is this a marketing tactic, him posting it in there? I’m not sure, but this is what I want to say. This is why people that are criticizing Justin Sun over this one specific thing are pretty dumb. Let me ask you if you’re an American. Do you give an F about China? I do not. I would take money from Chinese government all day long if they gave it to me. And I would not feel guilty about it. And I would never get it back. And I would run back to America with it as fast as I possibly could. Now they’re communist. I can’t really go over there and start a. Business, but don’t you think they look at us kind of the same way? If you’re a Chinese citizen, should we judge a Chinese citizen against the same morality and standards that we would judge an American patriot? Absolutely not. He’s not an American. How can we expect him to care about our government? Like I said, I would take as much or China as they would give me. So I think it’s kind of dumb to criticize him over that. They went through the legal channels that were provided to be able to get the grant and they got it in his free money. I don’t know many people that would hint, hint, you know, turned down free money. And the government’s already clearly proven that, hey, it’s not like you’re actually taking money from people. They’ll just print more. So I don’t really understand what the big deal about this is. I’ve had a lot of issues with Iran over the last year. I’ve criticized it a good bit. I’ve been fair. I’ve been fair to Tehran over the. Over this last last year for sure. You watch a lot of my videos I made about it. But this is unfair criticism towards Iran, in my opinion. And if this was any other person’s name of injustice on, no one would care. But now it’s your turn. Do you believe Bitcoin will hit 280 K or not? Drop your comments down below. I hope you enjoyed this video. If you did, then please smash the like button and subscribe to become a member of the fastest growing community in crypto. The Bitcoin. Thanks for watching. Have a blessed day, dear boy.

source https://www.cryptosharks.net/bitcoin-heading-300k-why-its-worst-case/ source https://cryptosharks1.blogspot.com/2020/05/bitcoin-heading-to-300k-one-reason-why.html

[jeffrmayhugh]

Bitcoin Heading to $300k (One Reason Why It’s the Worst Case)

VIDEO TRANSCRIPT

Bitcoin happening is only a few days away now, and everyone is praying that Bitcoin finally starts a descent to one hundred thousand dollars or more. What if I told you that a six figure Bitcoin could be the worst possible case scenario? The creator of the most accurate Bitcoin chart in history now believes the price is going to two hundred and eighty thousand dollars. But he’s giving us a warning. And you may want to listen to it. Let’s get it. We’ll get to it with Crypto News Edition once per day. I’m going to break down the biggest news stories in the space for you. So if you want to know where Bitcoin and all coins are heading to, then make sure to hit that subscribe button and join both my telegram groups, the bid squad for regular cricket chat and Bitcoin traders to discuss trading strategies. All right, guys. Got a weird video for you tonight. We’re going to be looking at the change in the Bitcoin stock to flow chart. This chart is the gospel of all Bitcoin charts. This is the one chart that’s virtually never been wrong. And now its creator is telling us he wishes it wasn’t correct. It is now predicting Bitcoin to go to almost three hundred thousand dollars each. And I can even tell you that that’s above my two hundred and twenty five K prediction. But hey, I’ll take it. But you have to hear this story. We’re also going to be taking a look at the most hated man in crypto taking money directly from the United States. And I’m going to tell you why people criticizing him are dumb. All right. Let’s hit the market. All right, guys, so words can be taken. A quick look at the market right now. Bitcoin could be breaking out as we speak, and it probably will because I just closed a big trade. I just made 40 percent on a trade. I went 25 X, probably a little irresponsible, but I did it and it paid off. Definitely made a huge trade. And I made ups from four. So my losses the other day. But Bitcoin right now coming in at ninety one eighty five. And I’m making a joke when I say the bitcoin is probably about to break out right now because I just closed the trade. I probably could have been up a whole lot more than that. So that’s kind of the you know, the thing that happens to me is I close a trade and then it breaks out. So right now, watching the price to my I am watching the tab over here. Bitcoin went up fifty dollars and about. Well, since I started recording this, as of right now, coming in at actually about 90, 340 this chart right. Years wrong. Uncle Marty Kaplan cappellini refresh it. It’s showing an aggregate price byb it actually right now has the price at ninety three two. It was at ninety three fifty just a second ago. I’m currently not in a position. I actually got in this week down close to 9000 and I rode this thing back up to ninety three hundred so I’m feeling pretty good and it’s good because I got stopped out of a trade earlier in the night. But I’m Brazilian. When I lose money I just say, you know what, I’m going to possibly lose more money and sometimes it works out and make money. So that’s what I did. But anyways, guys, if you’re interested in levers trading of your digits or a gambler or you want to do it responsibly with stop losses and low leverage, then Major, join our trading group, Bitcoin traders and you can use my Bible link by dub Avoid Alive if you’re interested in that. But don’t sign up if you’re a beginner and not come join our group. I want you to come join our group even if you sign up, even before you sign it was somebody else’s link or whatever, because I don’t want you doing stupid stuff. So but right now the price of bitcoin is we see we’re still in an uptrend on the hourly chart, but we have went down to a little cells are down here. But I’m thinking we could be breaking out right here. We could be heading up towards ninety five hundred guys. I firmly believe now, I believe that we will see 10000 hours before that happening. I think we’ll see ten thousands week. That’s my personal opinion. So that’s kind of what I’m doing. That’s kind of how I’m watching the market. The markets are just kind of mad today as you guys you see two percent, one percent gains whenever it’s we’re we’re not gonna go over that too much Bitcoin dominance going up. So that’s not good for all Quint’s. Maybe we might see that number drop off dramatically if Bitcoin does hit ten K. Okay, guys, this story is so fascinating. So basically it says here at the Bitcoin stock to flow creator will go dark if BTC price hits six figures. Now, if you don’t know the guy who created his name is Plan B, you can find him on Twitter. I can’t remember his exact Twitter handle, but he was recently on Andy, probably on his podcast. And so there’s a new stock to flow chart that was released last week. It was a new incarnation. OK, now I want you guys to know this. I’ve been telling you guys I made my official prediction for this bull run about three months ago, maybe four months ago. I believe Bitcoin is going to two hundred and twenty five thousand dollars. That is the number that I believe the last iteration of this showed the price much, much, much lower than that. I think it showed it’s somewhere around fifty thousand dollars. I can’t find it right now where it says here. But the long and short of it is I think the initial iteration was fifty seven thousand dollars. I remember when I looked at the chart, it looked a little closer to 80 K and you could assume the price would go up above that. So probably would have hit over 100k at least. But now a new model is saying two hundred and twenty five thousand dollars on or two hundred eighty thousand dollars on this run. Now, here’s what’s really interesting. All right. Price hoopla. We love price, however. Listen to what he’s saying here. He’s saying that he believes that if the price goes that high. If the model is correct, it will not be a pretty picture. He says it will be nasty, maybe a war, people will have Bitcoin. People have Bitcoin. And Bitcoin is not plural, even though we do use the plural for the beards a bit with podcast OBINZE as people have bitcoins. Some people don’t have Bitcoin. It’ll be some countries have bitcoins. Some won’t have bitcoins. It will be the U.S. dollar losing its reserve status. It will be geo political. It will be military. So is this like an apocalyptic Armageddon thing that we’re wishing for? It’s interesting, guys, is definitely something to think about. But I know one thing. You’re definitely going to want to be on the haves side and not the have nots. Bitcoin is staging a comeback reminiscent of 2017 bubble frenzy. They talk about the happening. This is from Bloomberg. This is getting me so excited. I’ve been watching a lot of old wrestling videos. I don’t know why I. I only like wrestling as a kid for a little bit. But I feel like talking like Hulk Hogan or the ultimate warrior when we’re talking about bitcoins coming on a comeback. Brother, brother, bitcoins on a comeback. And Bloomberg, you got the right idea. But let me tell you, USD, you better not come down to the ring for the Royal Rumble because Bitcoin want you eat your vitamins. That’s right. Kids do it. This got me all worked up late reading this. Just thinking about how now we’ve got blue. We’re trying to. Oh we’re all back. It’s time for. It’s time for Bitcoin to make a comeback. Lovable. It just talks about the happening and stuff. But we’re gonna see more of this. We’re gonna see more normy. We’re gonna see more bewell for the financial sector. Talk about Bitcoin during this happening and you know what’s gonna happen. They’re setting us up to pull the rug right out from under us because what’s gonna happen? The Bitcoin price is going to drop right after the happening. And then all of these fools are gonna say, this sky is falling. Bitcoin is dead. And right when they all write these articles about Bitcoin is dead, it’s going to rise up out of the grave again, like it always does. And it’s going to go higher than ever expected. And people are listening this kind of stuff, because the stimulus checks, people have been actually putting their stimulus checks in Bitcoin. And if you did that, like I told you, would probably be a good idea. As long as it was disposable money, you would be up thirty five percent. How about that, guys? So good to see some people using the stimulus money for Bitcoin, for an investment that can put them in a better position for the long term. Like, I mean, it got out of that trade just in time. Actually, it looks like price dropped a little bit. But here’s the thing, guys. Most hated man in cryptocurrency. I don’t know if it’s really Justin’s on. I think Craig. Right. May get I don’t know. Actually, I think Justin’s on probably is the most hated man in Kristo, Christa Montecristo, the most hated man in crypto that is U.S. hands. Justin’s on a two million dollar CRV relief grant. Trump platforms eved aid money in excess of two million dollars, according to its Chinese. We chat Channel nine. It’s interesting wearing it in second, despite making a slew of recent acquisitions. Now people are losing their minds over this. And this is what I’ll say is what I just said to block chain Brad on Twitter, who tagged me in a post about this. The only people who believe that this is a scandal are people who hate Justin Sun. And it’s KVOA Justin Sun. That’s OK. But just because Justin’s on took money from the government does not make this a scandal. If this was any other crypto company, no one would say anything. You’ve got others in Traunch started out as a Chinese company. However, they are now an American company and they have a totally different name. I know the name. I don’t know if I’m allowed to say it, but I know the name because I’ve worked with Tron in the past and it is a mere American holdings company, so they qualify for relief. Now, here’s here’s the issue. A lot of the purchases that Tron is made no, not BitTorrent, but a lot of the purchases Polony X, that is just his own personal money. The Warren Buffet lunch that he paid for for NAV million, that was his personal money. Those were not necessarily Tron Foundation acquisitions or events. I don’t think Trun Foundation money was involved in plenty. Somebody might fact check me on that. But I know Justesen was part of the investing team. They’ll take that on from Circle. But here’s the thing, guys. He he posted this in his wheelchair and he did this basically to kind of flaunt the fact to the Chinese government of the Chinese people that Haywood’s here try. And here in America, we got we got money from the government. How about that? Because some people that would be in that we chat would interpret that to mean that the U.S. government was working directly with Tronto. Is this a marketing tactic, him posting it in there? I’m not sure, but this is what I want to say. This is why people that are criticizing Justin Sun over this one specific thing are pretty dumb. Let me ask you if you’re an American. Do you give an F about China? I do not. I would take money from Chinese government all day long if they gave it to me. And I would not feel guilty about it. And I would never get it back. And I would run back to America with it as fast as I possibly could. Now they’re communist. I can’t really go over there and start a. Business, but don’t you think they look at us kind of the same way? If you’re a Chinese citizen, should we judge a Chinese citizen against the same morality and standards that we would judge an American patriot? Absolutely not. He’s not an American. How can we expect him to care about our government? Like I said, I would take as much or China as they would give me. So I think it’s kind of dumb to criticize him over that. They went through the legal channels that were provided to be able to get the grant and they got it in his free money. I don’t know many people that would hint, hint, you know, turned down free money. And the government’s already clearly proven that, hey, it’s not like you’re actually taking money from people. They’ll just print more. So I don’t really understand what the big deal about this is. I’ve had a lot of issues with Iran over the last year. I’ve criticized it a good bit. I’ve been fair. I’ve been fair to Tehran over the. Over this last last year for sure. You watch a lot of my videos I made about it. But this is unfair criticism towards Iran, in my opinion. And if this was any other person’s name of injustice on, no one would care. But now it’s your turn. Do you believe Bitcoin will hit 280 K or not? Drop your comments down below. I hope you enjoyed this video. If you did, then please smash the like button and subscribe to become a member of the fastest growing community in crypto. The Bitcoin. Thanks for watching. Have a blessed day, dear boy.

source https://www.cryptosharks.net/bitcoin-heading-300k-why-its-worst-case/ source https://cryptosharks1.tumblr.com/post/617611801396494336