#i cannot stop watching georgia’s roll call

[erikahenningsen]

Me at work watching DNC roll call votes under my desk

[so-long-soldier28]

Favorite Sociopath

kai parker x reader

summary: damon and bonnie leave you in charge of babysitting kai. you accept willingly as time to get to know him.

tags: characters watching american horror story / ahs references, talking about trauma, past child abuse, childhood trauma, accidental cuddling / cuddling, bonding

word count: ~3.5k

“I’m almost finished, shut up,” Bonnie snaps at the brooding man beside her.

Damon puts his hands up, “jeez.”

“He’s in Georgia. At this location,” she points to the site on the map.

“What’s he doing there?”

“It’s your brother, you tell me.”

“It’s not like I control him!”

“Ah,” a voice interrupts their arguing, “the two of you, still bickering. Just like in the old days of 1994.”

“Shut up, Kai,” Damon orders the younger man. 

“Harsh words! I’m hurt.” He grabs his chest as if he were stabbed.

“You’re fine.”

The siphon clicks his tongue, “so when are we leaving?”

“We? You’re not going anywhere.”

“Oh come on! I helped,” he gestures vaguely, “with the spell.”

“Suggesting a locator spell is not helping. But regardless, your help or lack thereof is not why you’re not coming. You’re dangerous; you can’t be trusted. You’re staying here. Y/N, you’re watching him.”

“What?” Bonnie whips to face Damon before you can even comment. “He cannot be alone with her, he’ll kill her! How do you think Elena will feel when she finds out you let the psychopath murder her cousin?”

“Please, she’ll be fine! She can handle her own.”

“Kai is a psychopath! Whether or not she can handle her own means nothing when you have a psychotic witch against a mere human!”

“Only slightly offended,” you mutter. Then louder, “I’ll be fine, trust me. Kai’s a sociopath, not a psychopath.”

“And that means what exactly? That he’s not capable of killing you?”

“No, I’m just saying… I don’t know… I trust him. Sociopaths at least have the capability to feel emotions, they’re just buried, or reserved for certain people. Psychopaths are the ones that scare me.”

Both are obviously baffled from your statement. Though as soon as Bonnie gets over it, she yells, “you trust him?! Are you crazy?”

Kai borrows your words, “only slightly offended.” It makes you chuckle. “Just a reminder - I’m right here.”

“And?”

“And, Bonnie, no. She’s not crazy. She can think for herself, y’know? And she’s right - I’m not going to hurt her.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then don’t. You’re not the one being told to babysit me.”

“Damon, we cannot leave her with him!” She turns back to the man. 

“Well we’re running out of options. We could go with my original plan and leave these two here, go retrieve Stefan, and return. Or, we could bring them with us. Listen to Kai talk non-stop all the way to Georgia, grab Stefan, squeeze all three in the back of my camaro, and drive all the way back, with Kai still yammering. Does that sound fun to you?”

“Better than letting Y/N die at the jam-covered hands of him.”

You roll your eyes, “Bonnie, I’ll be fine. I promise. You two need to go get Stefan before he attacks someone else, and Georgia’s a long drive. Kai and I will be fine, and if not, there’s plenty of people I can call for help. Not only that, plenty of places I can hide in this massive house.”

“Just not under the bed,” Kai smirks, “I’ll find you there.”

You stifle a laugh as you meet Bonnie’s eyes. 

Kai notices her expression, too, and coughs, “just a joke. Very bad joke.”

“No more jokes.”

Seeing the fire in his friend’s eyes, Damon chooses the next moment to interrupt. “You’re right, Georgia’s a long drive. Kai, no leaving the house. Y/N, watch him carefully. No killing, no threatening, no nothing. Call Rick if you need anything-”

“Ew,” you cut him off.

“Alright. Call, I don’t know, Jeremy then. What’s wrong with Rick?”

“Weird, just weird. Might be the beard. Might be the…”

“Spit it out, Y/N.”

“Nah.”

Bonnie gives you a glare.

“Fine, I’ll call him. But I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. Right, Kai?”

“Mhm.”

“See?”

“Whatever. Just be careful.”

◇◇◇◇

Twenty minutes later, they’re finally out the door. 

“Finally!” You collapse on the couch, “peace and quiet!”

Kai takes the chair across from you, then watches as you get comfortable.

“Want to watch something?”

“I am.”

“No, you goof. I mean on the TV,” you roll your eyes playfully at his comment.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know? Let’s see if there’s Netflix on here.”

“What’s a Netflix?”

“You’ll see.”

After a bit of scrolling - the brothers did, in fact, have Netflix downloaded - your eyes light up at one show in particular. 

“Oh this is a fun one.” 

“American Horror Story?”

“Mhm! Murder. Mayhem. It’s a masterpiece.”

“You’re into that sorta thing?”

You look at him, “why? Do I not look like it to you?”

“I don’t know, you just seem so sweet and innocent.”

“Oh, Kai Parker,” you coo at him, “that’s the thing about girls. Even the sweetest ones have a dark streak in there somewhere.” 

His eyes stay focused on you, nearly black and unblinking, but it’s hard to miss the lump in his throat.

“So you want to watch it?”

“You’ve got me intrigued. Now I’ve got to see it.”

You can’t help but giggle in excitement as you press start on the first episode. “They don’t have to be watched in order, but season one is a classic. Wait til you meet the love of my life, Tate Langdon.”

“Who’s Tate?”

“Oh, just my favorite sociopath,” you wink at him. “Aside from you, of course.”

His cheeks flush, but he tries to hide it with a cough. 

“It’s starting. Meet,” you spread your hands out as an introduction, “the twins, that I honestly forgot opened the show. And I don’t know their names.”

Kai chuckles, smiling at you before turning his eyes to the TV.

Only half of your attention is on the show, as the other half watches for the witch’s reactions. You notice a small grin when the twin - Brad? - gets sucked into the basement’s abyss. The expression should scare you, but you find yourself more entertained than anything else. His face changes, however, when Ben’s caught cheating on his wife. Kai’s eyes darken and jaw tenses. The smile returns when Vivian cuts the man’s arm in a fury, making you giggle. 

“He deserved that,” Kai justifies.

“Oh definitely.”

“I don’t know that much about… like, love, and all that, but you should never cheat on someone you love.”

Ignoring the butterflies in your stomach, you smile, “okay, Tate.” 

He cocks his head at you.

“You just nearly quoted him verbatim. Couldn’t help it. You’re right, though.”

You guys continue to watch. 

Eventually, the scene fades into the introduction. You can’t help but stick your tongue out at it, and don’t miss Kai muttering, “ew. That’s a little creepy, all those dolls and jars.” He grimaces.

“Sometimes the intros are scarier than the actual show.”

“How many seasons are there?”

“Four, but I bet there’ll be more.”

“Good. Ten minutes in and I’m hooked.”

“Season 3 is called Coven. But I really want you to meet Tate.”

“Coven? Is it anything like mine?”

“Well, let’s see from what you told me about yours... Shitty leaders - check. Awful parents - check. Stupid traditions - check. Yeah, similar.”

“Wait… you believe me? About my parents?”

“Of course,” you say without hesitation, “I mean, they locked you away for god’s sake. Of course I believe how they treated you. Why it made you snap.” Your tone quiets at the end, afraid to hit a nerve. Kai, however, doesn’t seem bothered by the mention of his crimes. He’s too focused on someone actually believing him; someone listening. 

The two of you stare at each other for a moment before he remembers to respond. “Thank you. For believing me.”

“All the evidence is stacked against your father. And if we’re being honest, dads are usually the cause of trauma, in my personal opinion. I mean, just look at my childhood. Hey, look at Ben Harmon,” you gesture to the TV, “every shitty thing is his fault. Or, maybe I’m projecting. Either way, he sucks.”

Kai laughs.

“Regardless, yes, I believe you, Kai. You’re not alone in your feelings. And like I told Bonnie, I do trust you.”

He’s quiet for a second, “it means a lot.”

You nod.

“Back to the show now?”

“Sure.”

You push the back button a few times to where you guys were before your mini conversation. For a second as it starts to play, you keep your eyes on him. His lips form a small smile. Fingers are still, resting on the armchair. His posture, though…

“Hey, Kai?”

“Hm?”

“Are you comfy?”

“Enough, yeah, why?”

“Come here, sit with me.” You sit up to pat the pillow where your head had just been. “Don’t hurt your neck looking up like that.”

“Are you sure?”

“‘Course. I don’t bite.”

The witch chuckles as you move the pillow for him to sit beside you. He sinks into the couch and gives you a smile that reawakens the butterflies in your stomach. 

“Better?”

“Mhm, thank you.”

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

“What, why?” The question catches him off guard.

“It’s okay to say no, I just wanted to ask in case I lean into you by accident. Don’t want to startle you, or cross a line.”

“No, um, wait. It’s okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, you’re okay.”

Sensing his hesitation, you take slow movements to get back into your comfortable position. Soon, your shoulders touch gently, causing him to flinch a little.

“I’m okay still. I wasn’t… expecting it. I mean, I know you told me, but I wasn’t allowed to… I, uh, I’ve been isolated a lot of my life.” He debated his words carefully before settling on the explanation. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, sweet. It’s not your fault. I’m guessing your father’s responsible for that, too?”

Kai nods slowly. “As a siphon, who didn’t know how to control their power, any form of contact would harm the other person. If I was allowed out of my room, I had to wear gloves, but even then, wasn’t allowed to touch anyone. Then I was in the prison world for eighteen years, alone.”

Hearing another bit of his past makes your heart break. Neither Damon nor Bonnie have told you much about him, except for a few antics from the prison world. They call him dangerous, but haven’t even told you his side of the story. As you learn more about him, everything in you wants to reach out and give him a tight hug, but you refrain from doing that to not startle him. 

He acknowledges your silence, “is this the part where you run?”

You snap out of your thoughts, “no, Kai. No, I’m not going to run. I’m sorry, I was just thinking. How awful of a man to treat his son that way.” Suddenly, you turn your body so you can look him in the eye. “You’re safe with me, Kai. Okay? Ever need to talk, ever need a hug. I’m here.”

“Okay. Um, thank you.”

“So… you okay if I…” you slowly get closer to him until your shoulders are touching again. “This too much?”

“No, you’re okay. Feels nice, actually.”

“Tell me if you need me to move.”

He nods, then pushes play on the remote. 

A deep focus takes over to the both of you as the show continues. At some point, Kai’s hand begins to absentmindedly trail along your arm - a gesture you don’t notice until you feel a chill throughout your body. He feels it too, and immediately retracts his hand.

“It’s okay. I like it.”

Kai doesn’t say anything, but to your delight, puts his hand back on your arm. You stay like that throughout the episode, too relaxed to recognize the heaviness in your eyes as sleep soon consumes your body. 

◇◇◇◇

Sometime later, your eyes flutter open, making you confused. There’s no sound, not even the TV, but it’s a comfortable silence, not one that feels threatening. Slowly, you wake up more fully and are able to better take in your senses. You’re still on the couch, but laying on your back. Your head is on something soft, but not pillow-soft. A hand runs along your arm - just as it was before you fell asleep… Kai. Where’s Kai?

You try to ask for his name, but in your state, all that comes out is a whine.

Nonetheless, he answers. “Hey, are you awake?”

“Kai?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, but when did I fall asleep? Where are you?”

Eventually you’re able to pull your body up so that you’re sitting, not laying, on the couch. 

“I’m right here,” he waves to you as you reposition.

“Did I fall asleep on your lap?” The realization hits you, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to-”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. No worries, I, uh, kinda liked the contact. Like I said, I kinda lacked that for a while.”

“I know, but I would’ve asked first.”

“Technically, you did. And you can’t control being tired, it’s fine. Trust me, I don’t mind being your pillow.”

A blush creeps onto your cheeks.

“In fact, I wouldn’t argue if you wanted to lay back down, because now I’m missing it.”

That’s all the convincing you need to reassume your position in his lap. Though this time, you move your head so you’re looking up at him. “Hey, Kai?”

“Mhm?”

“I’m happy you trust me enough to be this close. I like it, too. And I like being someone you are comfortable around.”

“Me too, Y/N. Oh, and hey, I paused the tv about an hour ago because I wanted to watch it with you but you were asleep. But we’re some way through episode two.”

“I slept that long?”

“Yeah, but it’s okay. I’ve been on Twitter, so I haven’t been completely bored.”

“Not Tweeting pictures of me sleeping, right?” You joke with a snort.

He snaps his fingers, “aw, I should’ve! Quick, go back to sleep!”

“Hell no! The whole Twitter-World doesn’t need to see my sleeping face! Bad enough you already did!”

“Awh, what are you talking about? You have a cute sleeping face. Twitter would thank you for being able to see it.”

The blush and the butterflies return with that comment. “I-uh-thanks.”

“I’m serious!”

“I, um, uh… do you want to keep watching, or are you bored?”

“I’m down to keep watching if you are.”

“Okay, press the play button.”

“Oh, wait, wait, wait, before we do - I met Tate!”

“Oh, yes! How’d you like him?”

“He’s fun! Highly relatable all the way down to the music taste. I see why you like him.”

“See?! My friends think I’m crazy for it, but he’s such a good character. And the way he absolutely loves Violet - he’d do anything for her! I mean, yeah, he killed a bunch of kids, but I don’t know, maybe if his mother didn’t fucking abuse him, he wouldn’t have snapped the way he did.”

You see Kai’s jaw set out of the corner of your eye. “Sorry, uh, spoiler alert.”

“It’s okay. Do you really blame his mom for that?”

“I mean, yeah. Yes, he was the one to carry out the crimes, but you can only take so much hurt and abuse before you snap. Emotions fizzle out until there’s just a numb feeling, and then… well, I imagine it’s hard to make rational decisions when you feel that way for so long.” A second later, you realize you’ve been ranting. “I’m sorry, I’ve just really studied his character. Done a lot of research, including research on sociopathy, and the long-term effects of childhood abuse. Helps me understand him, and what he felt, and what caused him to snap. Sorry, I’m ranting again, oh jeez!”

“It’s okay,” Kai swallows hard, “I, uh, feels nice to be understood. For Tate, I mean.”

You stiffen. “Kai?”

“Mhm?”

“Did your parents hurt you?”

“I mean, I was isolated for a long time.”

“I know that, but…” you don’t want to say it. Don’t want to open a wound; don’t want to push him past his limits of comfort. But, you need to know. “Did they hurt you?”

A visible lump forms in his throat. “What counts as that? Cause I mean, some parents just toss their hands in the air. Some others hit with shoes, I’ve heard. Jo’s friend actually mentioned one time that they had a wooden spoon reserved for punishments.” He’s deflecting. You can’t blame him; he’s obviously been through a lot.

He rambles on like this until he meets your eyes. Tears welling, threatening to spill. A trembling lip. You know. He knows you know. 

“Yeah, sometimes, Dad would. Most of the time he’d use magic, probably just to make a point about me being the abomination that can’t do magic.”

“For what reasons? Like, what did he see as a reason to hurt you?”

“Hmm, like if I talked back, or left my room without permission, or spoke to someone outside of the coven, like a sibling’s friend or neighbor. If he were really angry, like if I siphoned a sibling, he’d get more physical. Let’s just say, there’s probably a reason everyone wore long-sleeves with band tees in the nineties. Cover up those bruises with some devil band your parents hate,” cocking his head, he adds, “which then leads to more bruises but for different reasons.” He then pauses to clear his throat. “Eventually, I learned how to siphon the magic he’d throw at me. For three days, I felt so powerful. He’d hit me with a spell, and I could absorb some of it to fire back at him. But while I got a few good licks in, it mostly just made him angrier. He started getting even more physical, and later, would only include magic once I was down and unable to think up a spell.”

“Kai-”

“And then Mom died, and he only got worse. I mean, Mom and I never had a relationship so I wasn’t particularly affected by her passing. He was, though, and he got more violent towards me. I mean, he was now single-handedly raising eight kids - he had to take his anger out on one of them. Who better than the one you already hate? Anyway, life continued. Dad got more secretive, more dangerous.” Kai actually laughs, “I even feared him a little. I didn’t know if I’d ever escape that stupid bedroom, and even if I did, he’d make my life hell. Not only that, but it felt like he was planning something. And what do you know?! He was. Right before Jo and I’s birthday, the stupid fucking coven planned their monthly meeting in our house. Directly under my bedroom. I heard them through the vent, how they weren’t going to let us merge, and how they were going to wait until Liv and Luke were twenty-two instead. I had my suspicions about this - I knew something was off about the way he was acting - but for him to break coven tradition just to prevent me from merging? Fuck him. Coven always came before family with him, but he’d break the rules because he hated me so much.” Fire dances in his eyes, but he calms down a second later. “And that night is when I snapped. Something took over and I did to my family what my Dad probably wishes he did to me the night I was born. When he came back after whatever the hell the coven had left to do, he found Jo. And from that point on, I think you know how it went.”

Some time through his story, you had sat up to face him, leaving you now right in front of him as tears roll off your cheeks. “Kai…” There’s no words for what he’s just told you. Instead, you reach forward and hug him. Your arms wrap around his waist and you bury your face into his chest. Tears continue to fall, soaking his shirt, making you cry harder. A few moments later, you feel his arms on your back and he pulls you close. 

You two stay like that for a couple minutes. It’s nice. 

“I don’t want to pull away, but I want to tell you…” he lets you lift your head to face him again. “It feels good to have told someone. Thank you for listening to me, Y/N.”

“I’m glad you told me. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

He responds by pulling you back into the hug, “so, yeah… pretty relatable, your favorite sociopath.”

“Mmmm, actually, that title belongs to you,” you lean back so he can catch your wink. 

“Honored, Miss Y/N. Should we get back to watching your, ahem, second favorite sociopath?”

“Let’s do it.”

“Pressing playyyy, now,” he drags out the ‘y’. “Oh, and don’t you dare think of letting go.” 

You look at your position. Sitting on his lap, your arms around him, his around you. Your head on his chest, and his fingers tracing your back. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

[xthis-beautiful-tragedyx]

The girl behind the blog... (updated 03/30/23)

Hiya guys 👋 The name's Sarah (Sarah Driver in my dreams though 😅). Thanks for coming by my mess of a blog and if you're a follower of mine, just know that you are deeply loved and appreciated by me 😭🤗

But anyways, a little more about me:

I'm currently in my early 20s

My pronouns are she/her

I live in the U.S., the state of Georgia (aka my place called home) to be more specific 💛🍑💛

I'm mixed race (black/caucasian)

I absolutely LOVE cats and I actually have 6 of them (😅). They're my babies for sure.

I cannot live my life without music, and rock and roll is preferably my go-to genre.

Speaking of, my favorite bands/artists include Fall Out Boy, Tyler Bryant and the Shakedown, Dayglow, Taylor Swift, Metallica, Queen, Joy Division, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and so many more that I can't bring up to mind lol.

Actor Adam Douglas Driver is my (imaginary) husband 😌💞

TV shows I love: Three's Company, Stranger Things, Seinfeld, Gilmore Girls 💖

Some of my other hobbies include makeup, traveling, spending time with my family and friends, shopping (online and off lol) and watching YouTube videos.

I'm considered neurodivergent. I suffer from obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD).

And sadly besides those two, I also deal with a chronic illness known as polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS).

But despite my daily struggles, I always try and do all I can to stay happy and cope with my problems. Tumblr has been one of my coping mechanisms.

I prefer to keep my blog drama-free, so I ask y'all kindly to not force me into controversial topics such as politics. As I mentioned previously, I come on here for coping and to just have fun.

I'm a very shy person but I'm always down to chat or answer any questions you may have!

I'm also on Pinterest, so if you would like to follow me on there as well, message me and I'll send you the link to my page ♡

And lastly, my URL comes from a song by In This Moment. ♡

Thank y'all once again for stopping by, and have a great day/afternoon/night! ♡

[halfway-happyyy]

This piece was inspired by this lovely ask that I received an inexplicably long time ago: Seeing an intense and loving sex scene Alex just shot and it lowkey breaks your heart but you don’t show anything bc you don’t want him to get the wrong idea and think you don’t support him but he can tell you’re upset and now /his/ heart breaks bc he can tell you try SO hard not to break down in front of him all day long so he confronts you about it and you tell him everything and that you’re not angry just very sad and you can’t help it and you’re sorry and he shushes you and sweet sex ensues

fluffy smut ensues- enjoy, friends.

“Hi love,” A crewman on Alexander’s latest film, and the first friendly face she had come across since arriving on set, wrapped a free arm around her shoulder and kissed her cheek lovingly. “Alright?” He asked.

“Alright,” She smiled and set her purse down by her feet. “How’ve you been Pete? Busy, I bet.”

Peter shrugged and removed the headset from his ears. “Absolutely. Always. You uh… chose an interesting day to visit us,” He remarked with a quirk of a wildly unkempt eyebrow.

“Oh?” She asked and craned above the heads of the scant crew in search of Alexander. “I was hoping to surprise him…”

Peter cleared his throat and cocked his head to the side, his expression uneasy. “They are about to film their second and final love scene of the shoot.”

She swallowed hard and settled back onto the balls of her feet, her heart thrumming wildly in her chest. Two options suddenly become apparent to her: she could cut and run; blame it on a forgotten zoom meeting, or a lunch date with an old friend in the same city. Alternatively, she could swallow back the nausea rising steadily in her throat and remain rooted to the spot. Both options left little room for pride and her cheeks flamed under that realization, and the burning set lights around her. “Oh, that’s alright.” She smiled, shyly.

“You sure?” Peter asked. “Georgia’s camp have asked for a closed set to maximize privacy, and the entire thing was choreographed this morning, so we’re hoping to squash it in as few takes a possible.”

She appreciated his honesty and the soft, protective tone of his voice immensely, but it did little to quell the nervousness that prickled at her unpleasantly. “Sounds great,” She muttered under her breath.

Someone called out to Peter and he rubbed a hand over the rounded curve of her shoulder, offered her up a reassuring smile. “In any regard, he has been waiting weeks to see you. Cannot stop talking about it. He’ll be over the moon that you’re here.” He offered her one last knowing look before wandering off in the direction of the disembodied voice.

She had known exactly what the script entailed before production on the film had even begun, so this could hardly have been a surprise, and yet inexplicably, she still felt blindsided by it.

She watched Alexander and his co-star enter the set, designed to look like a minimalist bedroom. Laughing and talking easily about something, as if they weren't just about to film a painfully intimate scene. Without warning, the lights around them dimmed almost to nil, and the film’s head spoke into a megaphone.

“Alright guys, here we go. We know what we’re about to be doing, we want total silence, let’s try and get this thing smashed in as few takes as possible, shall we?” A dismal murmur of agreement resounded throughout the crowd as the director counted down and shouted action.

She couldn’t make out what was being said between the two actors, but she watched them approach each other with a familiarity reserved only for two people who had grown to know each other in ways solely attributed to unforgiving hours on a movie set. She watched him approach her, watched a large, sure hand entwine itself into her golden tresses, watched him bend toward her, two pairs of lips locked in a dance only they knew. It was difficult to watch and not imagine the effect it was having on him, but a past conversation swam into her mind's eye, and aided in easing her trepidation the slightest bit.

“It's never how you think it's going to be kid,” He had assured over warming amber beers, in a quiet corner of their favourite pub a year ago. “It’s quite possibly the least sexy aspect of the job. And yes, it is intimate. How could it not be? But there are so many people watching you and- so many of them have differing opinions on how it should be performed…” He sighed, frustrated. “Once I know I'm doing one, I like to try and get it out of the way as soon as possible.” He read the uneasy look on her face like an open book and reached for her hand, squeezing it thrice across the marred wooden tabletop. “It's always been you, kid.”

As his co-star began to undress him, working deft fingers down the front buttons of his shirt, she pulled it away from his shoulders with an unreadable expression etched on her face. Towered above her, Alexander stood motionless as she worked the belt from his jeans, and shimmied the pants from his thighs until he was clad before her in only a pair of boxers. Unexpected laughter between the two of them. Light and airy and utterly unfamiliar, caused waves of nausea to swell in her belly and she forced herself a deep, steadying breath. A brief moment where the two kissed each other again, before he pulled away to begin removing her clothing. Anxiety getting the better of her, she dropped her gaze to the floor and bit down on the hollow of her cheek until she could taste the metallic brine of blood on her tongue. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply again, counting down from eight in her head and trying desperately not to spiral on the spot. When she opened them, it was to the realization that they had fallen into bed together, her slight form tucked in between Alexander's open legs like it was meant to be there since the beginning of everything. Though the actress appeared nude in every sense of the word, she knew better. A thin, flower-shaped piece of beige tape covered each nipple, and she sported a flimsy pair of nude-coloured underwear. Alexander had been no better- a simple, nude tube sock was the only thing shielding his manhood from her and everyone else in the room and the notion of it made her dizzy.

It was obvious now that they had choreographed this scene beforehand. Every kiss, every touch, every moan or groan was exactly how it was supposed to be. And the further she watched, the further her heart edged towards the precipice of shattering. So many emotions. She was surprised the most to feel anger; and not at all at him, but at herself. This was his job. His passion. Something that was as easy and instinctive to him as breathing. It was something that though he denied it staunchly, coursed through his blood and exited his body in waves of raw talent.

But watching him touch the undeniably beautiful woman beneath him in ways similar to how he touched her? And always in the privacy of their own home, shielded from view of anyone and everything else? Unimaginably difficult.

“Alright Georgia, I want you to kind of pepper Alex's chest with kisses as he thrusts once more against you, and as he does that, you are going to orgasm and then he is going to follow suit.”

They did exactly as they were told, and she watched in unbridled agony as the two of them tumbled over the proverbial edge, one right after the other. Sounds of their feigned lovemaking filled every square inch of room and very nearly caused her to leave right then and there. But then, mercifully, someone called cut, and the actress extricated herself from him and the torture ceased.

“Alright, that’s a wrap on today friends. Take care, we'll see you all in a couple of days.”

Releasing a lungful of pent-up air that felt like it had taken years to come to fruition, she watched Alexander wander off the set in search of clothing. Reaching down, she retrieved her purse and stole herself for her big reveal. He had asked her to visit him a couple of weeks ago, but their schedules had hardly meshed and it turned out that this was the only time until the end of the year that she could take her leave from work.

The weighty realization that she had never before needed to work up the courage to speak to him was not lost on her. But somehow, after the wildly pseudo-intimate event in which she had just been privy to- even surrounded by the skeleton crew, a knot of unease wound itself tight in the pit of her belly. It hindered her from approaching him directly, so she stood back while he finished speaking with a crew member, her gaze downcast, thoughts spiraling.

“Kid?”

Her nickname- one that had been bestowed upon her the night they first crossed paths, roused her from her anxious reverie and she offered him a meager smile. “Hi, Alex…”

He rushed toward her without hesitation, throwing his long arms around her in an embrace that her body had been craving for weeks. He smelled exactly how she had remembered leaving him, only with a subtle hint of something else- some other foreign flowery scent and instinctively, she reeled back from him, gaze weary.

“God, it's good to hold you again.” He pulled away from her to hold her at arm’s length; could sense the apprehension rolling from her in waves and he frowned. “Did you just get here?”

She swallowed the sizeable lump rising in her throat. “Uh, about an hour ago.”

Realization sunk in behind his eyes; she could see it in the way that the glitter in his blue orbs dulled, and he sighed heavily. “Kid- I had no idea you were coming-

“It was a surprise, Alex.”

He reached another arm around her, pressed his lips to the top of her head in a gentle kiss. “I'm over the moon about it, honestly.” He pulled back from her to caress a hand to her cheek. “I'm just going to grab a few things and then we can head out, okay?”

She could feel the biting sting of looming tears behind her eyes, the words too heavy in the hollow of her throat, so she offered him a nod instead.

Their journey home- a beautiful, rented apartment in West London had been quiet save for the cacophony of masses of passerby. Random pieces of conversations in a myriad of accents, music from someone’s portable sound system, all helped to distract her from the thoughts swirling in her brain. Sitting next to him on the tube, she could feel the familiar warmth radiating from him in waves, and that seemed to abate the anxiety somewhat. Large fingers clasped together on his lap; he was staring at something unseen on the subway floor. The urge to say anything had been palpable minutes ago, but when she went to open her mouth, the precise words eluded her.

“Our stop’s next, kid.”

He rose from the seat ahead of her, offering his hand which she accepted gratefully. As the train trundled to a halt, a voice boomed loud on the speaker above them, but she could not make out what was relayed and then the doors opened for them, fresh air greeting the pair of them like old friends. She had visited England enough times now to know the feeling of an imminent rainfall; the dense moisture that pervaded every square inch of space around them and made her long for a cozy sweater, or blanket.

They walked in silence for about five minutes before the wrought-iron railing of their apartment became visible, and another heap of invisible weight dissipated from her at the notion that she would be in the comfort and warmth of their own space soon. Alexander fit the key into the lock, and opened the door for them, allowed her to wander inside first. Arriving earlier that morning, she had tried to make the space as cozy as she could before she left for the film studio, knowing that he would be spending at least another two months there during post-production. Alexander tossed the keys onto the wooden shelf in the front foyer, kicking his beloved desert boots off with a dull thud. Peeling the blue and grey plaid coat from his body, he hung that up in the front closet and reached for the coat that she had just shed, doing the same. Eyeing her in the fragmented light filtering in through the stained-glass window at the top of the front door, his expression was unreadable.

“I think we should talk about earlier this afternoon, kid.”

Instinctively, she rubbed a hand over her bare arm to ward off the chill that had finally settled itself into her bones and shook her head. “It’s not necessary, Alex.”

He clicked his tongue, gave his head a slight shake. “Don’t do that, kid. It obviously upset you, and I don’t blame you for that at all, but we should talk about it.”

“What is there to talk about, Alex?” She asked, her tone regrettably biting. “What you do in the confines of a film studio- on set, that’s your job. None of it concerns me.”

He sighed heavily. “If I had known you were coming, I could have asked to postpone the scene for a few days…”

“You weren’t supposed to know I was coming. That was the whole point...” Sensing that she was treading treacherous waters, she tried to switch tactics. “I’m fried from the flight in, I haven’t eaten much at all today- all of which resulted in a grotesque culmination of emotions, and I’m over it now.”

She viewed his 6’4” figure stood in the front hallway before her, large hands tucked into the front pockets of his blue jeans. He was sporting socks that she had purchased him for Christmas last year and the mere sight of them caused the lump that had dissipated a while ago to resurface in the hollow of her throat.

“Please, just talk to me.”

Anger evaded his tone- it brimmed instead with a gentle desperation, the resonance of it caused her heart to splinter a little deeper than it already was.

Words thick at the back of her throat, she leveled her gaze with his. “It hurt, Alex.”  

There it was.

“It hurt to watch you be so intimate with someone else- to watch her touch you in ways reserved only for my hands, and my fingers, and my lips…” Flames fanned from anger and shame licked at her throat, and god damnit, she could feel the impending threat of tears again. Swallowing hard, she shrugged her shoulders. “And it sounds so much like jealousy but it’s not. It goes deeper than that,” She trailed off, voice breaking, as she lifted her gaze to Alexander’s. “I need you to know that I love you, and that I’ll support you in every single endeavor. But it just gets difficult sometimes…”

His cerulean gaze downcast, he chewed anxiously at the edge of his bottom lip as he mulled over what to say. When he finally glanced up at her, saltwater glittered in the depths of his own eyes and he allowed himself a deep breath before continuing. “I’m sorry, kid.”

She could hear the fragility in his voice now, how close it was to shattering completely and, in that moment, she launched herself into his arms. The urge to feel him on her, raw and utterly overwhelming. A secure arm around her waist, an impossibly warm hand at the back of her head, he held her to him like it was the last time he would ever have the opportunity. They stood embraced like that for an unknowable amount of time, and when he pulled away, it was to take hold of her hand and lead her down the hallway to the washroom. Once there, he flicked on the light which bathed the room in a pale-yellow glow and turned to her.

“Arms up,” He murmured, softly.

Doing as she was told, she raised her arms for him and held her breath as he pulled the t shirt from her body, tossing it into the wicker hamper next to the sink. He placed warm kisses over the delicate line of her collarbone, as he undid the zipper on her jeans and shimmied the useless material from her legs. She held onto his shoulders for support as he reached around her to unclasp her bra, letting the flimsy material fall to the glossy, tiled loor beneath them. Gentle lips kissed the soft skin of her shoulder blade as he hooked two fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulled them down her legs, which she kicked off to the side. Standing back, she watched him rid himself of his own clothing in unconcealed awe, her hungry gaze raking over the definition in his chest, and at the taut, sun-kissed skin that rippled over chiseled muscles. He never failed to take her breath away.

They entered the shower together; a violent shiver wracked her body as she waited for the water to turn hot. Watching him from the far wall, she suddenly wanted him. She could feel a strong desire in the pit of her belly- where anger recently burned red-hot there, it had been replaced with a sheer need to have every inch of him make up for the hollow emptiness she had felt hours earlier.

He dipped his head beneath the steaming stream of water and beckoned her toward him. “Come here, kid.”

She walked into his open arms, wrapped her own around his frame and nestled her head against the part of his chest where she could feel the rhythmic beating of his heart against her cheek. His embrace, and the blissfully warm water rolling down her back was a healing salve for her soul and she could feel her anxiety dissipate with each passing minute they stood there. He gathered the wet hair from her shoulder in his hand and dropped it behind her back to press a series of scorching kisses up the side of her neck to her earlobe. Reaching for the shampoo bottle on the ledge, he poured a heap of the opaque liquid into the palm of his hand and began to massage it into her hair with skilled fingers. He worked it into a lather and pulled her back under the water to rinse it out, the subtly perfumed suds cascading freely down her back. Next, he worked the conditioner into her hair, and while that sat, he poured bodywash onto a sponge and began to wash her with a delicacy she was rarely privy to. She held onto him for support as he passed the soft sponge over the sensitive parts of her body, beneath her arms, the hollow crooks in the back of her knees, the soles of her feet. When he was satisfied with his work, he pulled her back under the the warm water to rinse the soap from her body and the conditioner from her hair. She was contentedly sleepy under the steady warmth; her eyelids heavy as she watched him cleanse himself of the day in which they had both endured. When he was finished, he held her in his arms again. She could feel the familiar pressure of his erection against her thigh, how it swelled harder the longer they remained embraced.

“I want you, Alex.” She murmured, earnestly.

A deep inhalation, she could feel him nod against her. Guiding her out of the stream of water, he positioned her up against the heated stones of the shower wall. She braced her arms above her, could feel him line himself up at her soaking entrance. Placing tender kisses down the ridges of her spine, he paid special attention to certain spots on her back that nearly made her sing out for him. One final kiss, and he pushed himself inside of her, reveling in her all-consuming heat. Dropping his forehead to the middle of her back, he stayed where he was for a moment to give her time to adjust to his size.

This was what she had been after from the very beginning; the sensation of him buried to the hilt inside of her, the delicious fullness of him, nearly brought a fresh batch of tears to her eyes. “So good, Alex…” She gasped.

He nodded against her; all forms of speech eluded him as he pulled back from her all-encompassing heat only to re-enter at an agonizingly slow pace. He grasped onto her hips as he found a steady tempo for himself, his fingernails digging miniscule crescent moons in her soft flesh.

“God, I’ve missed this.” He groaned, breathlessly.

Freeing a hand from her hip to snake it down to her sex, he pressed a skilled fingertip into her swollen clit, rubbing tantalizing circles into it. She raked her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down on it to keep from crying out, causing Alexander to nip at the nape of her neck in mild disapproval.

“None of that, kid. I can tell how good I’m making you feel- but I want to hear it, and I certainly don’t want you to be quiet about it.” Always in constant awe of the sheer, physical affect that his words had on her body, she could feel the familiar unravelling of pressure in the pit of her belly and she arched her back against him to glean more pleasure. “Fuck, you feel amazing…”

A telltale sign of a man nearing the edge, his thrusts had started to grow sloppy, and she clenched around him to help spur his orgasm on.

“Fuck, Alex,” She warned in a hushed tone.

He groaned against her and applied harder pressure to her clit as she stilled against him, mouth parted and slack as a pleasure-induced white-hot lightning bolt coursed through her entire body. She imagined that she could feel it from the tips of her toes to the hair follicles on her head, and she trembled violently against him as her orgasm loomed tantalizingly out of reach.

“That’s it, baby…” He coaxed, gently. “Come all over this cock, hm?”

She froze against him, a single sound worked its way up her throat and exited her mouth in the form of a broken scream, as she tumbled over the edge, her orgasm immediate and intense. Clenching around his cock unintentionally as she unwound from her high, her muscle contractions caused him to drop his head to her back as he too began to unravel above her.

Fingernails marring the soft flesh of her hips and ribs, he stilled against her and with a strangled cry, came into her in thick, warm spurts. She had been after this sensation as well if she were honest. The satisfying feeling of being filled with every ounce of come he had to give her, could never be replicated. Peppering a couple more kisses to her damp back, he reluctantly pulled from away her to marvel at his come as it dripped from her core and slid down her inner thigh.

“Beautiful,” He murmured more to himself than to anyone else.

She stood where she was, braced against the wall for support while she tried to regulate her laboured breathing. Exiting the shower, she relieved herself, and wrapped a towel around her frame to dry off. Padding over to the expansive window adjacent to the made bed, she peered out over a darkening London. Raindrops raced each other in misshapen lines down the glass panes, and she found that she was grateful for the current weather. Alexander approached her from behind, wrapping her in his arms around her waist, chin resting easily in the crook of her shoulder blade.

“London is a lot more breathtaking with you in it.”

His stubble tickled her neck and she smiled to herself. “I bet you say that to all the pretty girls.”

A subtle grumble, he turned her around so that she was facing him. Still entirely naked, he held her chin gently between his thumb and forefinger. Her gaze traversed the cutting line of his jaw, his lips, his defined nose, his sparkling cerulean orbs which glittered brilliantly as he stared at her. No smile was offered up, but the delicate creases next to his eyes deepened as he spoke. “Just you, kid.”

He brushed the calloused pad of his thumb over her flushed cheek.

“Yesterday, today, tomorrow.”

[piratewithvigor]

My first thought in regard to every band that gets played on my radio station

ACDC: Every dad’s favourite band

Adams, Bryan: Every mom’s favourite singer until Michael Buble came along

Aerosmith: haha they thought Vince Neil was a lady

Alice Cooper: he’s a Game Of Thrones fanboy and I have proof

Alice In Chains: my sister doesn’t like them because she decided AC were Alice Cooper’s initials ONLY

Allman Brothers Band: good music for dropping acid to

Allman, Gregg: That’s too many Gs for one name

Animals: House Of The Rising Sun, or who even cares

Argent: Sometimes Hold Your Head Up is really catchy

Asia: Tuesdays

Autograph: one of the members went on to be a pharmacist

Bachman-Turner Overdrive: There are just so many pop culture jokes about Taking Care Of Business that whatever I say won’t be as funny

Bad Company: with their song; Bad Company, off their album; Bad Company

Benatar, Pat: Always getting her confused with Patti Smith

Black Crowes: I like them for Lickin, but it doesn’t seem to exist outside of one shoddy video on youtube and my old CD

Blackfoot: this band name feels kind of racy

Black Sabbath: Dio was not better or worse than Ozzy; just different

Blondie: I like Call Me, but Blondie confuses me stylistically

Blue Oyster Cult: MORE COWBELL

Bon Jovi: Hello, childhood trauma, I missed you

Boston: ONE GUY. ONE GUY DID IT ALL AND NO ONE KNOWS

Bowie, David: Don’t let your children watch The Man Who Fell To Earth, or David Bowie’s will end up being the third penis they see in life

Browne, Jackson: Another musician ruined by Supernatural

Buffalo Springfield: Jack Nicholson was at the riot they sing about

Burdon, Eric: no ideas, brain empty

Bush: ditto

Candlebox: ditto once more. Who are these people?

Cars: This band feels so gay and so straight at the same time, I can only assume they’re the poster children of bisexual panic

Cheap Trick: I played Dream Police on Guitar Hero so fucking much because it was the only song anyone who played with me could keep up with

Chicago: Chicago 30 exists, but they do not have 30 albums. Fucking riddle me that

Clapton, Eric: 6 discs in one Greatest Hits is too many. That’s called “re releasing your discography”

Cochrane, Tom: For some reason, everyone thinks Rascal Flats did it better

Cocker, Joe: Belushi did it right

Collective Soul: who?

Collins, Phil: If his biggest hits were done by MCR, they would be emo anthems, but because he’s 5′6″ and from the 80s, they’re not

Cream: *Vietnam flashbacks on the hippie side*

CCR: *Vietnam flashbacks on the war side*

CSNY: David Crosby; meh

Deep Purple: THEY’RE SO MUCH MORE THAN SMOKE ON THE WATER

Def Leppard: the only music for when you’re a heartbroken bitch but also a sexy one

Derek And The Dominos: Clapton and ‘Layla’ broke up

Derringer, Rick: Tom Petty if he was from the midwest

Dio: You thought it was an anime reference, but it was me, Dio

Dire Straits: You can tell how bigoted a radio station is based on how much of Money For Nothing they censor

Doobie Brothers: I have yet to smoke weed, but I listen to the Doobies, and I think that’s pretty close

Dylan, Bob: I take back everything I said about him in my youth

Eagles: Hotel California isn’t their best song, but the memes that come from it are second to none

Edgar Winter Group: @the--blackdahlia

Electric Light Orchestra: Actually an orchestra and sound a fuckton like George Harrison

ELO: I really hesitate to ask what happens with the 7 virgins and a mule

Essex, David: no prominent memories of him

Fabulous Thunderbirds: cannot spell

Faces: Who on earth thought that was a good album name?

Faith No More: I got nothing

Fixx: One Thing Leads To Another is a damn bop

Fleetwood Mac: I ain’t straight, but I’m simply not enough of a witch to enjoy them to full potential

Fogerty, John: He got sued cause he sounded like himself

Foghat: Slow Ride slowly becoming less coherent feels like a drug trip

Foo Fighters: He was just excited to buy a grill

Ford, Lita: deserved better

Foreigner: dramatically overplayed

Frampton, Peter: a masterful user of the talk box

Free: dramatically underplayed

Gabriel, Peter: leaving Genesis changed him a lot

Genesis: if someone likes Genesis, clarify the era, because yes, it does matter

Georgia Satellites: sing like you have a cactus in your ass

Golden Earring: Twilight Zone slaps, but it doesn’t slap as hard as this station thinks it does

Grand Funk Railroad: Funk

Grateful Dead: I like their aesthetic more than their music

Great White: there are so many fucking shark jokes

Greenbaum, Norman: makes me think of Subway for some reason

Green Day: the first of the emo revolution

Greg Kihn Band: RocKihnRoll is literally the most clever album name I’ve ever seen

Guns N Roses: They have more than three good songs, but radio stations never recognize that

Hagar, Sammy: I’m still trying to figure out where he lived to take 16 hours to get to LA driving 55 and how fucking fast was he driving beforehand?

Harrison, George: He went from religious to rock, and if he had continued rocking, he would have gotten too cool 

Head East: I respect people who use breakfast foods as album names

Heart: Magic Man and Barracuda are played at least once every goddamn day. They’re not even the best songs!

Hendrix, Jimi: I have both a cousin and a sibling named after Hendrix references

Henley, Don: Dirty Laundry gives me too much inspiration

Hollies: Somehow sound like they’re both from the 60s and the 80s at the same time

Idol, Billy: he’s doing well for himself

INXS: Terminator vibes

Iris, Donnie: knockoff Roy Orbison

James Gang: too many funks

Jane’s Addiction: if TMNT had a grunge band representative

Jefferson Airplane: *assorted cheers*

Jefferson Starship: *assorted boos*

Jethro Tull: The only band to make you feel not cool enough to play the flute

Jett, Joan: icon

J. Geils Band: I requested them on the radio once and it got played

Joel, Billy: he really did just air everybody’s business like that

John Cafferty And The Beaver Brown Band: literally wtf is that name

John, Elton: yarn Elton sits in my basement, unstaring. Please someone take him from me

Joplin, Janis: Queen

Journey: Stop overplaying Don’t Stop Believing. It takes away from the rest of the repetoire

Judas Priest: literally started the gay leather aesthetic

Kansas: another fucking band Supernatural stole

Kenny Wayne Shepherd: the man confuses me to the point where he isn’t in the right place alphabetically

Kiss: Mick Mars and I will simply have to disagree on the subject

Kravitz, Lenny: runaway vibes

Led Zeppelin: Fucking fight me if you don’t think they’re the most talented band (maybe not the most talented individually, but collectively, no one comes close)

Lennon, John: My least favourite Beatle for reasons

Live: I got nothin

Living Colour: slap a decent amount

Loverboy: do you not get TURNT the fuck up to the big Loverboy hits? Who hurt you??

Lynyrd Skynyrd: Sweet Home Alabama is a Neil Young diss track

Marshall Tucker Band: no opinion

Manfred Mann’s Earth Band: VERY STRONG OPINIONS THAT THEY AREN’T GOOD

McCartney, Paul/Wings: Power couple

Meatloaf: I have nothing but respect for a man who willingly named himself Meatloaf

Mellencamp, John: voted cutest lesbian of 1987

Metallica: I liked their appearance on Jimmy Fallon

Midnight Oil: I get them confused for Talking Heads a lot

Modern English: who?

Molly Hatchet: Hollies vibes, but also Georgia Satellites vibes

Money, Eddie: DAN AVIDAN, IF YOU SEE THIS, COVER TAKE ME HOME TONIGHT

Motley Crue: Stan Mick Mars and John Corabi. They’re the only ones who deserve it

Mott The Hoople: no one loves them except for David Bowie

Mountain: props for naming an album ‘Climbing’

Nazareth: I want to make a John Mulaney joke here, but I can never come up with one

Nicks, Stevie: witch queen

Night Ranger: I get them confused with Urge Overkill

Nirvana: Kurt Cobain was the ally grunge needed

Nova, Aldo: he’s Canadian, at least

Nugent, Ted: *serves a ghost as jerky*

Offspring: nothing here

Osbourne, Ozzy: this bitch crazy

Outfield: Your Love is kind of a sketchy song, but it slaps hard

Palmer, Robert: low quality Eddie Money

Pearl Jam: *grunts in Eddie Vedder*

Petty, Tom: I have so many feelings about Tom Petty and they are all good

Pink Floyd: which one is Pink?

Plant, Robert: solo career is a crapshoot, but his voice is unparalleled

Poison: I want them to write a song called ‘Alice Cooper’

Pretenders: I want to say good things, but I have nothing to say

Queen: A doctor of astrophysics, a screaming girl, a disco queen and a diva walk into a bar. It’s Queen; they’re there to play a gig

Queensryche: neutral opinion

Quiet Riot: they got big because of a song they hated. I love that

Rafferty, Gerry: the second-sexiest sax opening in all of music

Rainbow: Ritchie Blackmore created something very magnificent

Ram Jam: one good song and they didn’t even write it

Ratt: I’m sure they have more than Round And Round, but I don’t know it

RHCP: funky, but if you have paid money to hear them, you’re going to The Bad Place (I don’t make the rules)

Red Rider: basically Golden Earring

Reed, Lou: Walk On The Wild Side would be such a cool song if it wasn’t so dull

REM: American Tragically Hip

REO Speedwagon: Props for having a dad joke as an album title

Rolling Stones: Never in my life could I imagine the drummer being named anything but Charlie

Rush: How to make being uncool the coolest fucking shit

Santana: The world needs more Santana

Scandal: There’s something really funny about The Warrior being my brother’s “song” with his girlfriend

Scorpions: Was Wind Of Change written by the CIA? Only the spotify podcast I got an ad for once could say

Seger, Bob: A different variety of Eric Clapton (frankly a better variety, but that’s just me)

Simple Minds: we ALL forgot about you

Skid Row: Sebastian Bach is prettier than all of us

Soundgarden: music that makes you feel like you dunked your head underwater

Springsteen, Bruce: my arch-nemesis. Maybe someday, he’ll find out about it

Squeeze: according to my friends, the stupidest band name ever, but they’re theatre kids, so you know

Squier, Billy: If he can make it through 1984 alive, you can make it through whatever bad day you’re having

Stealers Wheel: Yet another band who I always mistake for George Harrison

Steely Dan: my house’s nickname for the Robber in Settlers Of Catan

Steppenwolf: Either makes me think of Jay & Silent Bob, Jack Nicholson, or that time I had to cut 6lbs of onions

Steve Miller Band: when you’re in the right mood, they slap hard

Stewart, Rod: my soundtrack to summer 2015

Stills, Stephen: Love The One You’re With Is Catchy, but the lyrics are questionable

Stone Temple Pilots: the only band to write a song about goo you smear on yourself

Stray Cats: an obscene amount of merch is available for them

Styx: Supernatural would have ruined them for me too if I hadn’t been into them previously. 

Supertramp: I hunted for Breakfast In America for two years and it was worth every hunt

Sweet: I will never understand my two-month obsession with Ballroom Blitz when I was 15, but it was legit all I listened to

Talking Heads: you may find yourself in a pizza hut. And you may find yourself in a taco bell. And you may find yourself at the combination pizza hut and taco bell. And you may ask yourself; ‘how did I get here?’

Temple Of The Dog: I keep confusing them for Nazareth

Ten Years After: somehow still relevant

Tesla: not the car or the dude

The Beatles: Evokes a lot of opinions from people. Mine is that I love them

The Clash: I showed my sister the ‘Lock The Taskbar’ vine ONCE and it still kills her

The Doors: evokes teenage terror from deep within my soul

The Guess Who: Canada’s answer to confusing question-themed band names

The Kinks: kinky

The Police: wrote the theme of 2020 and everyone somehow forgot it was about a teacher resisting becoming a pedophile

The Ramones: playing all of their songs in a row wouldn’t take more than 2 hours

The Romantics: you don’t think you know them, but if you’ve seen Shrek 2, you have

The Who: If someone can explain Tommy to me, I’d be glad to hear it

The Zombies: I think they happened because of the 60s

Thin Lizzy: Could the boys maybe leave town?

Thorogood, George: blues, but make it modern

Toto: the most memed song behind All Star

Townshend, Pete: just makes me think of the end of Mr. Deeds

T-Rex: Mark Bolan is an icon

Triumph: The no-name brand of Rush

Tubes: like the yogurt

Twisted Sister: they did a christmas album and my mom does NOT hate it

U2: U2 Movers; we move in mysterious ways

Van Halen: RIP Eddie

Van Morrison: honestly, who’s named Van?

Vaughn, Stevie Ray: Steamy Ray Vaughn

Walsh, Joe: The Smoker You Drink The Player You Get

War: Foghat, but even groovier

Whitesnake: the most successful band to be named after a penis

Wright, Gary: the 90s thanks him for writing the song every movie used for the “guy sees cute girl and it’s love at first sight” scene

Yes: To Be Continued

Young, Neil: The best part of CSNY

Zevon, Warren: the album cover of Excitable Boy makes me deeply uncomfortable for reasons I don’t understand

ZZ Top: has been the same three guys since 1969. Lineup unchanged. 

3 Doors Down: They feel a little modern to be on a classic rock station, but whatever

38 Special: Why 38?

[itsthestutterforme]

Back Home (BAU Team + Blair Redford)

The case that the team was working on was in Atlanta, Georgia, Y/N's hometown. Y/N's ex still works in Atlanta PD and cannot keep his eyes off her. Rossi believes that Y/N has some unfinished business with her ex and encourages her to stay after the cass.

Characters: David Rossi, Blake, Jennifer Jareu, Aaron Hotchner, Blair Redford

--

"Well, well, well, isn't Miss Hotlanta," Morgan teases as I hop on the jet. "Here we go," I say, sitting across from him. "How do you feel about heading back home?" Morgan asks. "Well, I wish it was under better circumstances. But I never get tired of heading home."

"Your entire family are cops, right?" Reid asks. "Yes," "Yeesh, I could only image what what going through your date's head when he found that out." Rossi says.

"Oh my dad made sure of that I didn't have one," I say, making everyone chuckle. "I would be the same way if I had a daughter," Hotch states. "So.. how did you do it?" JJ asks. "Do what?" "Sneeks boys in,"

"A magician never reveals her secrets," I say, crossing my legs with a small smirk perched on my face. "Y/N, you sly dog." Morgan teases. "Oh? Would you like to reveal your tactics, Chocolate Thunder?" I taunt.

"Hey, only I call him that!" Garcia says over the computer. "Simmer down, baby girl. I'm yours and only yours." Morgan flirts. "You better be," she snaps with a smile. "Alright, let's get started." Hotch starts

After the jet lands, the team drives to Atlanta PD. Y/N and the team walk into the Atlanta PD when balloons started popping and horns blew all at once. "Well Back, Y/L/N!" They welcome and Y/N could help the big smile plastered on her face.

Y/N started out as a rookie cop for a decade before applying for the BAU team. Everyone she used to work with swarmed her with hugs and kisses.

Blair, Y/N's ex, introduced himself to the rest of the team while Y/N was occupied. He showed them a room to set up and watched as Y/N smiles widely. She slide herself out of the swarm of people with some garlands wrapped around her neck, a shiny black hat and red lipstick marks on her cheek.

"Blair," Y/N greets as she approaches him. Blair wastes no time lifting Y/N into his arms. "Hey, baby," he belows, his voice vibrating both her chest and his. They hold each other for a moment or two and they both closed their eyes in relief.

"It's been too long," he says as he pulls away from me hesitantly. "Tell me about it,". Y/N tucks her hands in her back pockets and Blair adds, "You look great." "Likewise. You've definitely been hitting the gym." Blair was at a severe battle of wills.

Y/N and Blair ended on a good note but there was so much potential left untouched. Blair was pining after her since high school and nothing has changed. "The team needs me. We'll keep you posted." Y/N says touching his arm once again before leaving.

"There some cupcakes and ice cream in the break room for ya. Courtesy of Jill," "Gotta love Jill, am I right?" "Thank you," Y/N adds before walking into the conference. "Looks like someone was missed," Morgan says, referencing her gettup.

"You talking about her co workers or her ex that is obviously still in love with her?" Rossi asks. "Mmm, both." "Let's just focus on the case, please." Y/N says, sitting down and keeping the garland and hat on her body. Two days later, they catch the unsub and Rossi calls Y/N back for a moment.

"What's up?" "I think you should stay here for a day or two?" "Wh-- are you sure? What if we're called in for a case?" "We'll handle it," "Is Hotch okay with this?" "Yes, you clearly have some unfinished business. Don't let us hold you back."

"But--" "No buts," Rossi interrupts. Everyone packs up their things and Hotch says, "See you in two days." "Call me if you need anything," Y/N calls after them and Rossi says, "We won't!" Y/N huffs as she places her hands on her hips.

She takes a cab to the hotel and checks out before taking her things to her house. Her family greets her with hugs and kisses and of course they bring up Blair. "So have you seen Blair? He looks pretty good, huh."

"Yes, he does." "He's the reason why you stayed, isn't it?" "No, my coworker insisted that I stayed because he claimed that I have unfinished business." "I like this co worker of yours," Mom says.

"I think you should visit Blair," Y/N's sister suggests. "Of course you do," Y/N says, rolling her eyes. "He's always asking asking about you." "Why?"

"Come on, Miss Profile. He's loved you since he knew what love was. Just stop by, that's all I'm asking." Y/N's sister states. "Ugh, fine." Y/N stood up from the couch and walks up the stairs to take her shower. Her sister harassed Y/N as she got ready, I guess that was her special way of saying I missed you.

"You look amazing," Mom says. "Thanks, you don't have to lie tho." "Oh stop," Mom says, nudging Y/N's arm. They embrace one another in a long hug before Y/N leaves to go to Blair's.

Y/N's POV

I walk up the steps and raise my hand to knock on the door and it flings open. Blair rushes out of his house and stumbles right into me. My heels get caught on the first step and I could feel my entire body launching backwards. Blair catches me and pulls me into his chest.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?" "I just wanted go come by and say hi. Where are you going in a rush?" "Uh, the gym. The boys are waiting for me." "Oh, right. I'm sorry, I should- I should've called first." "No, no, I can cancel. It's not every day that I have the Y/N Y/L/N at my door." I couldn't help the blood rushing to my cheeks in embarrassment.

"Are you blushing?" he taunts, taking full advantage over how physically close we were. "No," I bite my bottom in nervousness. "Tsk, tsk, you were a bad liar then and a bad liar now." He tucks a few hairs behind my ear and traced his index finger along my jawline. He pulled my lip from underneath my teeth with his thumb.

"What are you doing?" "What I've wanted to do for years," he says against my lips. "Take me inside first?" Seconds later, he lifts me up and wraps my legs around his waist. He carries me inside and kicks the door closed.

My back is pressed against the door as he attacks my neck with kisses. He sucks on the nape of my neck and pulls away to take off my dress and bra in one swift motion.

I cross my ankles behind his waist to make sure I don't fall. He cups my breasts into his hands and rub the sensitive buds with the pads of his thumbs. I rest the back of my head against the door as my mouth falls open.

My back archs as he takes one nipple into his mouth while rubbing the other with his thumb. I pull his head away from my chest and press a series of kisses on his lips.

Our lips move in perfect sync and my body became warmer with every kiss. He carries me into his room and he gently sets me on the bed. He nudges me on my back and settles himself between her legs.

I could feel his bulge pulsating against my thigh and when I reach down to touch him, he holds my hand. "My focus is on you right now, baby." "But--" "No buts," he presses painfully slow kisses down neck.

He moves down to my chest and slides his hands into my underwear. He moans as he feels my dripping folds. "Fuck, Y/N," he sinks two fingers into me and my hips lifts from the bed. He fingers matches the pace of his kisses down my body, painfully slow. "Oh come on, baby, please move faster," I beg as I buck my hips against his fingers.

"Don't tempt me. You know what happens when I lose control," "Yeah, it was the best sex I've ever had," "You also had bruises all ov--" I wrap my hand around his throat and lean in go press a hot kiss on his lips. "Fuck me like you hate me or I'm leaving," I whisper against his lips.

His eyes pierce into mine and my heart races with excitment. "Go get the rope," he commands.

**

The elevator dings as I reach the first level of the BAU. I walk with an uncontrollable pep as I sip on my coffee that I put in my thermos. I had to wear a long sleeve turtleneck for obvious reasons.

Blair's favorite chain that he gave me, perches on my chest. I walk up the steps to the conference room and all of the conversations came to a halt.

"Don't stop on my account," I say as I sit down between JJ and Blake. "You look vibrant," JJ starts. "Interest choice of words," I say. "Oh look at that, she's glowing," Garcia says.

"Oh my God, guys, please," "You should to Atlanta more often," Morgan taunts. "So help me, Morgan." "I knew it was a great call to convice you to stay." "You know you're never going to live this down, right?" Morgan states.

"Right," I repeat. "Let's get started," Hotch says as walks into the room. "Y/N, glad you could make it." Hotch says with a small smile tugging at his lips. "No, not you too." "Now I know exactly where to send you to.. unwind," he adds. "For the love of God,"

[slashingdisneypasta]

Hewitts / Pleasant Valley x Fem!Reader || Oneshot

Title: The Multiverse Theory and the Horror Fandom 

Notes: 

I don't really know what it is, but I enjoyed creating it, so I’m posting it! If I get an idea as to what might happen next, I’ll probably add a part two. 

Its crack

Plot: 

Okay, you are from this universe and you are your Slasher fucker self. But you’re transported from your home, to the universe that the Slashers live in, specifically 2003 Texas Chainsaw Massacre. They capture you of course and decide to keep you.

Now the Hewitt’s have decided to go on a roadtrip and are of course taking you, their hostage, with them.

They end up staying in Pleasant Valley, despite your warnings not to. 

Warnings: Mention of real life people, breaking of the 3rd wall, if you look then there is some hints towards sexual assault cursing. Its comedy though mostly, so its pretty okay

~~~

“We’re lost.”

“No, mama, we not lost. We’re just taking the scenic route… “Hoyt transparently bullshits, looking around completely lost at the surroundings that we pass at a 100 km/h. Nothing but wheat fields and cows as far as the eye can see. Georgia is even more boring then Texas had been.

Luda Mae rolls her eyes, not taking any his shit after 6 hours in the car with him just today. God, I���m on her side. Can we stop somewhere just for a little bit? I mean, I don’t have to pee anymore since I held it for so long that the urge went away, but I’d still like to try because now I feel like I’m going to explode at any time. “So, we’re lost.” She announces, leaving no room for argument.

“Definitely lost… “Monty, in the seat beside me in the back seat of Hoyt’s tiny sheriff car, agrees with his sister, also watching the fields go by moodily. Why didn’t we take the goddamn truck, anyway? I would rather be tied to top of that, then squished back here between Thomas and Monty. I mean, there’s not even any doorhandles in the back here! Why did I have to be in the middle? Its not like I’m going to throw myself out the window! Sometimes I think Hoyt’s paranoid. And I hate him. And his ego’s too big.

Of course, Hoyt snaps back at Monty even though what he said was so mellow. It certainly didn’t have the amount of pent up frustration that Luda Mae’s had behind it. “We ain’t lost, goddamn it- Look! There’s a town. We’ll stop there and ask for directions if you really want. Just to make sure we’re going the right way, which I’m sure we are.” I look up from my hands, bruises all over the wrists from Hoyt and the ropes, and cuts all over the fingers from cooking with Luda Mae… and jagged fingernails from before I gave up. When I was still scratching at the walls and floor and Thomas, wanting to escape this mad family.

My fighting spirit isn’t completely crushed, now… but it has been a while since I screamed for help. I’m waiting for the moment, the right moment to try and escape. Of course, I don’t know if that moment will every come… but I still hope. And that’s something.

Now, looking up out the front window to see the town Hoyt’s talking about, I wonder if this will be the place that I’ll escape in.

Then we rush past the sign and I do a double take.

What did that say?!

I glance at Thomas, my designated warden to see what he’s doing now since he had been sleeping for most of today’s trip- yesterday he had stayed awake and alert, but today it seems that he decided I wasn’t about to crawl over anyone and creep through the window so it was cool to nap,- to see he’s alert, and when I look at him he turns to look at me back. I flash him a fake smile and turn to Monty, because he speaks. And he’s on the right side of the car, so he would have seen the sign.

“Hey, what did that sign say?”

“Why are they talking again?” Hoyt pipes up in the front as we get nearer to the town and I start to feel sick in my stomach. I raise my eyebrows at Monty instead of answering Hoyt’s goad.

Monty shrugs, leaning his back on his hand and looking out the window again. “Uh, Pleasant Valley.”

Oh my god.

It cannot be possible that more then one Horror movie exists in this world… right? I’ve been through enough trauma; I do not need to endure Robert Englund’s trademark craziness- oH, or Bill Mosely’s either. Oh god, - and his band of confederate lunatics. Do not do this to me, universe.

My heart’s beating faster then a bullet train as I wait, still as a statue and straight backed, for any more hints that I am where I think I am.

Thomas watches me with a hard stare, alert and suspicious about my odd change in posture and body language. I try to ignore him, which is of course hard, but I make do.

Then we start to pass people in this town, and they’re men in overalls and women in the most era-incorrect costumes I have ever seen. And they’re smiling and waving at us.

And I feel sick, and sink back into my seat so nobody outside can see me through Monty or Thomas, hopefully.

“Hoyt,” I call, quietly for the ‘sheriff’s’ attention. My voice doesn’t lift even to a normal volume, I’m so scared so he either ignores me or really doesn’t hear me. I try to be louder. “Hoyt!”

“Yes, hostage?”  

“I think we’re going the right way as well; I saw sign on the road a few miles back that said so. We should just keep going.”

“What?!” Luda Mae turns in her seat to look at me furrow her eyebrows- she doesn’t believe me one bit. “What are you doing, slouching in the back like that? Sit up!”

“Are we stopping?”

“Uhh… “She turns to look at Hoyt, and he nods. “Looks like it. About time, too. I need to stretch my legs, and we obviously need those damn directions.”

“We do not need the- “Hoyt sighs, exasperated, then furrows his eyebrows as he focuses on something in front of the car. “What the fuck are these wackos all doing out there in the middle of the road? Get outta my way… “

Mow them over, Hoyt! MOW THEM OVER.

Of course, he slows to a crawl and then a stop, and I thank god that the back windows don’t open, lest I feel any more in danger. If they were open, I definitely would have feared scary ghost cannibals would stick in their hands. As it is, cross my arms and let Hoyt do the talking. Of course, I mean. What else could I do?

I can see full frontal the mess that we’re getting into, which once upon a time in a different world -my world. Oh, how I wish I was there right now, - would have been a good sign. Seeing Kane Hodder, Robert Englund and Lin Shaye and the ‘Guts and Glory Jubilee’ banner would be a sign I’m about to have a good night full of horror movie enjoyment and probably fanfiction as well. But now I see it and I wish to never watch that movie again, much like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre franchise.

Hoyt puts his hand on the car door handle next to him. “No, no, no, don’t get outta the car!” I exclaim, quietly and reaching to grab him back but he looks over at me, gives me a ‘I do what I want’ kind of look and then gets out of the car.

“Good afternoon, sheriff! Welcome to our Guts and Glory Jubilee! You’re our honoured guests!”

Oh, dear god.

Hoyt slams his car door shut and Luda and I wince at the sudden noise. “What the hell are you people doing out here in the middle of the road??! Me and my family are tryna get through here.”

“Aw, my bad sheriff! We’re just so tickled to have you with us this fine day!” Buckman doesn’t seem stirred that Hoyt’s clearly southern, and therefore ‘confederate’, like him, as far as he’s concerned which is what I was hoping for, so I decide to blow this whole situation out of water- I have no choice.

And what, in hell’s name, could I possibly lose at this point?

I lean forward in the car, keeping an eye on the scene, to talk to Luda Mae. “Hey, so this may be a bad time to mention this but, uh.” How do I break this news? “Well, I’m from a different universe. That multiverse noise? That’s real. Anyway, more importantly, I’m from a world in which you and your sons, and Monty, are just movie characters. Your movie is called ‘The Texas Chainsaw Massacre’, Thomas is the Texan Chainsaw guy and he is called Leatherface.” Luda’s slowly turning her head to look at me like have 7 eyeballs. I keep talking through, quickly ad feverishly, desperate. “I know it sounds crazy, and you can ask me any question about ya’ll’s passed if you want as proof but just get your son back in this car please. This place also has its own movie, and its even less pretty then what goes on in your house.” I look pleadingly at her, hoping to God, by some miracle she believes me.

“Sit back down!! I’ve been in a car with 3 sweatin’, stinky men for 6 hours now today and I am in no mood for your stories.” She turns back in her seat. “God.”  

“Oh Jesus, you said it… “ I whine, plopping back down in my seat, looking at Hoyt and Buckman who have now met in front of the car and aren’t yelling at each other across the road and immediately assume the fucking confederate mayor is successfully feeding the fucking fraudulent sheriff’s ego, and drop my face into my hands. A few minutes pass, and I stay like this, occasionally making frustrated crying sounds without really crying, and getting annoyed groans and ‘shut up’s from Monty beside me, until a hit to the car jolts me up. “What! What? What’s happening- are they attacking!?”

Everyone who heard, ignores me and I see it’s just Hoyt coming around the car opening Thomas’ side. Oh god, breeze has neve felt so terrifying. “Come on out, family. We’re stayin’ the night! I can’t tolerate settin’ in this car with you people anymore.” On no. No, no, no. STAYING?

Thomas gets out and Luda Mae follows, opening Monty’s door for him and letting him out onto his wheelchair that Thomas gets out of the trunk for him and unfolds. I cross my arms and stay inside. When Hoyt realises this, he leans down to peer inside the car at me and thrusts a thumb to point behind him. Slowly, menacingly he drawls. “Get out of this car.”

Oh, what is he going to do? What could he possibly do that he hasn’t already done to me.

I stubbornly look away. “You said family, I’m not family. I’m not leaving this car, no way. You can’t make me.”

“You wanna bet, sugar?”

He reaches in, wraps a calloused hand around one of my arms and starts pulling me until I topple out of the car, into the dirt. He lets go of me and immediately slams the car door closed again so I don’t slither back in.

“Fuck.” I mutter, glaring up at him from the floor. He locks the car in front of my eyes.

“Now, when you’re feeling more like an adult and not a child, you can come on to our room- that building over there. “ I feel like running after him when he walks off to the building, but before I can get myself out of the dusty, beige dirt, a hand enters my vision and I follow it up and scream on the inside. Mayor George Fucking Buckman.

He smiles so charmingly… you could nearly believe he isn’t depraved. Then I see the eyepatch and I’m reminded. “Would you let me help you up outta the dirt, little miss?”

Mmmm, I guess.

Best to stay on his good side, I think as I take his hand and he hauls me up. I don’t want to be on the receiving end of one of those glares that the whole town like to take part in with him. Noooo thank you. Not for me.

“Thank you.” I say quickly, looking to get out of there and find the Hewitt’s. They’ve all disappeared into the building Hoyt went towards a moment ago now. I brush the dirt off my pants and then clap my hands off of each other to get rid of the dirt that’s on them now, and any remnants of feeling Buckman’s hand, then flash a tight smile in Buckman’s general direction and escape towards the building.

They have to listen to me!

I burst into the place and see Thomas trailing behind the rest of that devil family down a hallway and run down there. “Thomas!” I pant, because that was a long hallway. Where are we now?! The Overlook hotel!?! “Thomas, what kind of warden are you? Please, don’t you ever leave me alone with that man ever again!” Thomas narrows his eyes suspiciously at me above his normal, leather mask -Luda and Hoyt had decided before we left their murder mansion that the human flesh mask would probably not fly in normal society, so he swapped it in for the old one,- then nods in front of him for me to walk there where can watch, and I gladly go there.

___TIME SKIP: A couple hours later___

All day, I have been trying to persuade the Hewitt’s that I’m not from here. I described Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning in explicit detail, including of course the Sheriff Hoyt thing, the Eric/Dean confusion, Bailey, Monty’s legs being chainsawed off… I even recruited some comic book information about Hoyt’s time in the Prisoner of War Camp and Sargent Chow, but they just think I’m a stalker now.

I mean, why the fuck not? Why wouldn’t I stalk these freaks? Truly, being around them has been a joy filled time.

I don’t throw back at my face that I watched their movies religiously, readers. That’s was when I thought they were fictional! (Yeah, I know you’re there reading this. This sure feels like a fanfiction to me, and as a fangirl, I’m an expert.)

So, I’ve decided I have one more option. One more chance to survive.

Hopefully this doesn’t go worse then plan A did.

Through pretending like the rope around my wrists was too tight when Hoyt tied me up by the hands to his bed frame, when really in truth it was a bit loose, I manage to make him think I’m stuck for the night. So, when he falls asleep – I know he’s asleep because he snores like a feral racoon… that also has rabies… (He drools) – I carefully, quietly, I struggle out of the ropes and carefully put them on the floor. Then turn to the window.

We’re on the second level of this building, but the possibility of a broken bone or two will not deter me from getting out of this mess. Especially since Thomas is waiting in the hallway outside this room for any sign of me trying to escape and getting hurt from falling out of a window is much preferred to meeting the business end of his chainsaw.

Not that I’ll be out of danger when I get out… as I’ll still be in Pleasant Valley… but I will have completed Level 1 at least.

Opening the window, I wince and look back at Hoyt to make sure the gentle rubbing sound the window makes against the frame doesn’t wake him, then turn back and immediately get to crawling out. Once I have succeeded in getting onto the ledge I hold on to the gutter - hoping beyond hope that it’s sturdy, - and reclose the blinds and push the window closed as well again. Covering my tracks.

Then I start the perilous journey down the building, which somehow, I succeed in! When I finally drop down on the dirt again and turn around though, I nearly out loud this time. “Miss Shaye! -“I stop myself, making an ‘Oop’ sound. You would think I would stop making these mistakes- I have been tortured and keep prisoner by the Hewitt family. Certainly not the late R. Lee. Ermey or Andrew Bryniarski either. The Hewitt’s. - But alas, I am still making this mistake apparently. “Sorry, you remind me of someone else!” I smile at Granny Boone, who must have been standing there watching the whole time I conquered the hotel building, stands with her hands on her hips and one eyebrow purposely halfway up her forward. She’s waiting for an explanation. “I didn’t want to wake up my family, and its time for the midnight stroll. Couldn’t sleep!”

My heartbeat races in my chest, because I have every confidence that this woman could kill me with her bare hands if she doesn’t like my answer. For a few moments, she makes me wait as she does looks at me suspiciously like Thomas. Oh god, are you going to eat me or not, ghost lady!?

“Oh, well that’s very considerate of you! Could I join you on your walk? I’m in the same boat.”

Oh, for fudges sake.

I smile politely though, and we start walking side by side down the middle of town. Silence hangs between us, but as we walk, I start to think this could work. I was planning on finding Buckman and telling him my story to see if he would believe me and do something because this whole town is supernatural and hard to believe, but I actually think this may have worked out in my favour! Maybe. He’s a sexist, chauvinistic bigot. But at the very least Boone’s a woman like me, with less of a boner for authority so hopefully she’ll at least listen. So… maybe…?

“So… “I start, sounding loud since it’s so quiet out here. “Can we talk? Woman to woman? I don’t know, you just seem trustworthy!” Oh, puke. What am I saying? “Sorry if I’m out of line, but… something crazy’s going on in my life.”

“Oh, trust me. I know crazy.” I side eye her as she smirks ‘mysteriously’. Oh, I know you know crazy, lady. I know. I know it all. You know crazy intimately. “Uh but go on. Sure thing. What kind of good Christian lady would I be if I didn’t bend an ear to our esteemed special guests?”

… Uhuh.

Well, okay! Works for me. “Thank you.” I clap my hands together. “Well. It started a month ago now, I guess… Haven’t really been able to keep up with time. First, I should probably explain the multiverse theory…”

[obsidianfr3sk]

Rise of the Renegades (Chapter 8)

Summary:  Heroes come from the most unexpected places. Heroes sometimes feel a little too different, a little too scared, a little too alone. But heroes also know when enough is enough, and that before saving the world, they need to save themselves. And they cannot do it alone.

They were going to be the hope of the world. They were going to call themselves the Renegades. Even if they didn’t know it yet.

AO3 Link

Hi!! I honestly didn’t expected to update today, but here we are:’) I hope you enjoy this chapter!! If someone wants to be added or remove from the tag list, tell me haha.

Tag list: @nodrianbcyes @dawniebb @healing-winston-pratt @cerenoya @ marissagustrerbenson

Getting cold hands?

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,

and how you suffered for your sanity,

and how you tried to set them free.

They would not listen, they did not know how;

perhaps they'll listen now.

Simon

“YOU DID WHAT?”

Hugh put his hand over his mouth to shut him up and Simon felt his cheeks turn red when he realized a couple of older boys had turned to see why the hell he was yelling. Their faces contorted in disgust and continued with their chat.

Because prodigies were disgusting.

He immediately regretted his decision to come back to school.

Hugh removed his hand from his mouth. “Don't be mad at me,” he whispered.

“I'm not mad at you,” he replied in a lower voice, “it's just that I'm surprised you did something so impulsive and so, so… so stupid.”

Hugh bit his lip but couldn't hide his laugh. “Wow, Simon, watch your language.”

He kicked him to silence him. “I am serious,” he replied. “You gave my address to a complete stranger—"

“Georgia.”

“—To make a plan for which we have no ideas—"

“I do have many ideas.”

“—and who will bring a friend we don't know.”

Simon went silent, waiting for Hugh to answer with the friend's name. But he did not.

That only further proved his point. “From the beginning, your plan was very wrong.”

And I should have been there to warn you.

“No, my plan was golden from the beginning,” Hugh argued, “because Georgia is not a stranger. I met her at Joe’s Basket and she turned out to be a really nice girl. She likes mystery novels, wears white pajamas to sleep, and can fly. I consider that a very specific profile.”

“I consider her a stranger. You don’t even know her last name.”

“Rawles.”

“Does she has a middle name?”

Hugh ignored him completely. “If you just had heard her speak, Simon. She was absolutely right about everything,” he continued. “Georgia is a good person. She returned my notebook even though she didn't have to. And look what she did.”

Discreetly, he took a sheet of paper out of his back pocket. It was the drawing he had been working on a couple of days ago. Propaganda. “She repaired my drawing with washi-tape. It’s… kind of pretty, isn’t it?”

It was the most adorable washi-tape Simon had ever seen. “Too girly,” he growled.

“Girly? The— the washi-tape?”

“Yes,” Simon answered. “It’s too girly. I don’t like it.”

“Oh, no, I don’t like it either,” Hugh answered. “I just thought the contrast was… funny.” 

Simon said nothing more. Hugh put the drawing back before anyone else saw it. “Look, that’s what would make us a great team. We all have different strengths. And also… she’s a girl. An older girl. And she likes Wonder Man.”

Simon decided to draw the line there. To hell with her pretty washi-tape. “Why does it matter she’s an older girl who likes Wonder Man? I like Wonder Man too.”

Hugh adjusted his glasses, confused. “But… you don’t like it,” he reminded him. “You say Wonder Man is an idiot.”

I do say that.

“What I mean is,” he said evasively, “like ... I mean, what does strengths does she has? Because being a girl is not one of them.”

“Her vision,” she replied. “She has a way of seeing things that are surely different from ours. Not just because she's a girl, but also because I bet she has experienced the world in a way we haven't and has more experience with certain things that could help us. How many times have we talked to someone who isn’t part of the school?”

Simon rolled his eyes. “We don't talk to anyone at school,” he muttered.

They hate us. They really hate us.

Or do they fear us?

Is there a difference?

“Well, when have we talked to someone... other than the two of us? Or your dad, or your sister—” and he smiled playfully “—or my aunt.”

He immediately realized he was trying to make him laugh. But at that point in the conversation, Simon was fed up with the entire female gender and he wasn’t even willing to smile at him.

Hugh hugged himself. For some reason, he was not wearing a jacket that day... “Where’s your jacket?” he asked in a soft voice.

“I gave it to Georgia,” he replied. “The one she had didn't protect her from the cold.”

Then Simon remembered that they were arguing and that Hugh was an idiot who gave his address to strangers and did not deserve his compassion. “Well, it's her fault. Why does she wear a jacket that looks cools but doesn't protect you from the cold?”

“Maybe she’s… passionate about fashion?” he said, half-joking.

Simon didn't find it funny. “Maybe she puts fashion above basic needs.”

Hugh realized that it was useless to keep trying to make him laugh. He put his hands in his pants pockets. “Simon…” He glanced at him. “You... that someone you mentioned last time—“

“What’s with that someone?” he asked sharply.

“That someone still wants me to believe in him, right?”

At that moment, Simon realized that throughout the entire conversation, he had had his arms crossed as if he were throwing a tantrum.

Stars. How childish Simon looked. And how worried Hugh looked.

The last thing he wanted to do was worry him.

Simon wasn't even quite sure why he was reacting like that. Like, of course, he had been annoyed that Hugh had made a move without first consulting him, especially one involving his home.

However, it didn't take long for him to realize that that other emotion he felt, in addition to the obvious annoyance, was fear. Fear that he was going to leave him for that new friend he had made. Which he knew didn't make sense because Hugh wasn't the one who abandoned others.

That one was Simon. Simon had abandoned him the other day.

Simon was the bad person here. 

He leaned against the wall. “Yes...” he acknowledged. “That someone still needs you to believe in him.”

Because that someone needs you maybe a little too much.

Hugh seemed suddenly calmer. “Good,” he sighed. “I was starting to get a little worried.”

“Sorry.”

“You don't need to apologize.”

“Sorry,” he repeated.

“Simon, stop.”

But he couldn't. “Sorry.”

Hugh just laughed and leaned against the wall too. “Well, you know, since we're on the apology thing… I'm sorry I didn't consult you before giving the address to someone who is a stranger. For you,” he added quickly. Simon kicked him. I told you that she is a stranger. “It's just that… I got excited. I have never met someone like Georgia.”

Simon nodded and felt a lump in his throat. He knew what Hugh was talking about.

He had never met someone who believed in themselves because the only person Hugh hung out with was Simon, and Simon…

Simon didn't believe in anything. Not even himself.

“Are you sure we can trust her?” he asked in a small voice.

“She promised me he would be there,” he replied. “And I had to promise her that I would be there too. Simon… can you promise me that too?”

Simon scoffed. “You will be at my house.”

“You know what I mean—“ he tapped his hand with two fingers. “Can you promise me you'll be there?” he repeated.

Simon ignored the feelings that light touch gave him.

He had always been good at ignoring.

So he nodded.

The bell rang and the few students in the courtyard began to enter. Hugh chattered his teeth and hugged himself again.

“You are cold, right?” Simon asked him.

Simon didn't want to go to class yet. He wished he could stay out a while longer. Simon loved cold days because he could put on a lot of layers of clothing and people saw less of him.

But the truth was that he didn't want to go to class yet because he wanted to stay talking with his friend a bit longer.

Even if he made him angry.

“I’m freezing,” he answered. “Look, feel my hands.”

He put a hand on his cheek. Simon could feel his face turning all red again.

Ignore it, ignore it.

“Yes. They’re cold,” he answered.

“Told you. Cold can’t kill me, but is surely a pain in the ass.”

Simon gave him a lopsided smile, trying not to look like he was doing his best not to imagine… that.

Don’t think about his ass.

In a desperate attempt to distract his mind, he searched his pockets for the gloves his father told him last night to wear when leaving the house. He stood up and handed them to Hugh. “Put them on. I don't like wearing gloves anyway.”

They headed for the school entrance while Hugh struggled to put them on. They were a little too small for him, but if he didn't move his hands a lot they would surely cover them well. “Thank you,” he mumbled with a smile.

Simon shrugged. It was the least he could do.

The rest of the day, he was the one whose hands were freezing because his school had no heating since always. Yet the thought that Hugh was wearing them and that his hands were warm made him better able to ignore the cold.

That and the fact his cheeks were still red.

I'm not abandoning you again, Hugh.

I’d rather be dead.

Georgia

When she arrived, she did not make her classic introduction. She didn't say "Honey, I'm home!" nor did she hold Molly in her arms and ask her how school went. She only greeted Tamaya, gave her the bag with the few provisions that she could offer her, and dropped onto her mattress.

It was more comfortable than one would expect to. She didn't understand why Tamaya said it was uncomfortable.

Tamaya didn't seem to notice that change. And if she did, she said nothing. Georgia would dare to say that she was just as quiet as her.

She lay down beside Georgia. They were shoulder to shoulder, staring at the old roof of the abandoned store. Tamaya fiddled with her broken locket.

“Who goes first?” Georgia asked leaning on her shoulder.

“Huh?”

“Who tells her problem first,” she clarified.

“Oh.” Tamaya dropped her locket. “You. You go first.”

Georgia wanted to refuse. She knew that if she started talking, there would probably be no one able to stop her. And it was already difficult to get Tamaya to open up…

But she had to tell someone. She couldn't hold that secret inside her for another second.

She turned to see her. “I met someone.”

Tamaya did the same. “Someone?”

“A boy.”

“A boy,” she repeated. Sharply.

“Not like that,” she clarified quickly. “He's a literal boy. So yeah. It would be kinda gross, to be honest.”

Tamaya relaxed her expression. Only a little. “What did he do to you?” she asked.

“Stars, Tamaya,” Georgia laughed. “He did nothing to me. But he gave me this.”

She reached into the pocket of her jeans. Georgia hated wearing jeans because her legs were too wide and she could never find jeans that actually fit her. However, that day all her skirts were too dirty to wear. And she also had to keep that paper in a safe place.

They both straightened up as Georgia unfolded the paper with her fingers.

It's made of glass, Georgia. Like your hopes. Like the future of the world.

Be very careful.

She opened it without breaking it and passed it to Tamaya.

To a very confused Tamaya.

It's made of glass, Tam. Please don't break it.

“Is this his address?” she asked, confused.

“No, it's his friend's address.”

Tamaya crumpled the piece of paper rolling her eyes. “What the hell do you want to tell me, Georgia?”

“Be careful!” she screeched, snatching it away.

She put it on her leg and began to try to flatten it with all the strength of her hand. Luckily she had rescued it in time...

It’s made of glass! It’s made of glass!

Tamaya hid between her wings. Immediately, Georgia could recognize what he was trying to tell her by that.

She was afraid. Altered. She didn't like being yelled at.

And Georgia knew it. “Sorry...” she mumbled.

Tamaya nodded.

Why did she have to be so loud?

“Tamaya... who are you?” she asked.

Tamaya rolled her eyes. “I think you just answered your own question,” she mumbled, annoyed.

“No, I mean ... what are we?” she asked. “Look where we are—” she pointed around her “—look where we ended up.”

“I don't know if it's time for you to make me feel bad about where I live.”

“No! It's not that, Tamaya, it's just that…”

 And she stopped.

“Is it just what?”

The same question was in her head.

What's your excuse now, Georgia?

She fought the urge to cry that suddenly washed over her. “It's just that I haven't stopped wondering if we've been on the right side of history,” she replied, standing up. “And it's something that I hadn't really asked myself until yesterday, you know? Until they gave me this address.”

Tamaya's shoulders hunched more. She was still hidden behind its wings.

Jeez, Georgia, can't you lower your voice a bit?

Georgia knelt beside her friend and put a hand on her shoulder. She did not reject her or bite her. Good. “Tamaya, what are we?” she insisted. “Are we women?”

“Well... yes,” she replied with a frown. “Or at least you are.”

“No, Tamaya, I am not a woman. I'm a girl,” Georgia said. “I am a girl who continues to live in the fantasy world that she designed to survive all the trauma she went through. It doesn't matter I have grown physically, on the inside… on the inside all I have done is hide my head between my books and my dolls and your friendship, because I am too much of a coward to do anything for the outside world.”

She covered her mouth with her hands as she turned her back to her. Don't cry, don't you dare cry.

Georgia did not cry.

Tamaya stood up. “Are you... are you okay?”

“Yes,” she replied with a sigh. “All good. You? Are you okay? Do you forgive me for yelling at you?”

She did not reply. For a second, Georgia thought she was going to hug her. How childish of her to think that. Tamaya never hugged people. She didn't know how to do it.

So Georgia hugged herself.

She always hugged herself. There was no one left to do it.

“I still do not understand—”

“These kids—” she showed her the slip of paper “—these kids are not cowards. And they are children. How are they braver than us? What has happened in their lives that have made them so brave?”

Tamaya pushed her fist away from her face. Georgia had accidentally put the paper on her to just below his nose.

She looked into Tamaya's eyes and realized that many things had happened to her in her life that had made her brave. Because yes, Tamaya was brave for the sole fact of her existence.

Tamaya was born with wings, which although Georgia found them wonderful, for her they were the constant reminder of everything that was “wrong” with her. Her parents despised her, she lived locked in a cage, like...

Like a bird.

But Tamaya was not a bird. Or a monster, as she called herself. She was none of those things. She was a woman.

And a brave one. Georgia wished she could see herself the way she saw her. 

No, there was nothing wrong with Tamaya. Who was wrong was the rest of the world.

And that world was so different from the one Georgia had created when she was little. One that writhed in pain and hurt whoever dared to help it. Georgia was so scared of pain.

But she was more afraid of continuing being the coward in the story.

Coward. Coward. Coward.

Last night, intoxicated by the smell of vanilla and the taste of freedom, it had seemed easy. As if giving the notebook back to a child was going to make the difference the world needed at that moment.

However, as the effects of adrenaline left her body and Hugh began to speak more and more, she realized that things were more complicated than she had initially imagined. That a simple act of kindness was not going to take away the suffering from the world in which she lived. She wished it did though. I want to help you, but I'm not sure how.

Was she going to have to take the pain for the world?

Coward. Coward. Coward.

She turned to see her friend again. “Tamaya, I want to stop being a girl,” she whispered, taking her by the shoulders. “I want to stop being a coward that hides in her own imaginary world.”

Tamaya grabbed her wrists. “And what do you want to be then?”

“I want to be a woman,” she replied. “One that goes out into the real world and does something to save it.”

She nodded. Georgia decided to venture out to ask her a new question. “What do you want to be, Tamaya?”

Tamaya held on tighter to her.

Although she wasn't hurting her Georgia wondered if she was holding her tighter so she wouldn't hurt herself. “I just know I want to stop being a monster, Georgia.”

Georgia wrapped her in a hug. Tamaya reciprocated by surrounding her with her wings.

Yes. This is better than a hug.

Then a putrid smell suddenly hit her. She discreetly sniffed Tamaya's body. It wasn't her.

Good. She wasn't quite sure where she could have found a soap that could remove that.

"What’s that smell?" she asked.

There was a foam plate right behind her friend. Georgia broke away from the hug and took the foam plate in her hands. She opened it, and the retching she felt was enough to make her realize that it had been a horrible decision.

The smell was of rotten fried rice. “Tamaya!” she screamed “Why do you have this here? It's disgusting.”

Tamaya came up behind her and closed the foam plate. The scent lingered in her nostrils still, but Tamaya seemed unaffected. “It is my reminder.”

She sounded so distant, so empty...

Had she sounded like that?

She put the foam plate at the other end of the room quickly. When she returned, Tamaya was sitting on the mattress, hugging her legs. Georgia took Molly and held her out. Tamaya took her doll and put it on her lap.

Georgia sat next to her.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Tamaya shook her head. She undid one of Molly's braids and started doing it again. “Give me ideas.”

“Ideas for what?”

“Ideas for what I could be. I don't know anything else.”

Georgia undid Molly's other braid. “How about... being a superhero?”

[imagining-supernatural]

The First Week

Part 8 of Seventy Percent

Series Summary: When you left on your trip to Vegas, you’d planned on letting loose for one last weekend before heading back to reality and getting your affairs in order so your best friend wouldn’t be left cleaning up your mess when your cancer finally ended your life. What you hadn’t counted on was waking up married to a celebrity who has a knight-in-shining-armor complex, connections with an oncologist, and amazing insurance…

Chapter Summary: You’re wearing down physically and mentally from the cancer treatment and Sebastian is the only person around to take the brunt of your exhaustion

Word Count: 2019

The city passed by from the back of the hired car, but you couldn’t revel at the awesome sight that was New York City.

And you hated that.

You were in New York Fucking City.

The Big Fucking Apple

You hadn’t even been here a week yet. You should be enjoying this. You should be marveling at the landscape. The skyline. The history and art and people. You should be smiling damn it!

But all you could think about was the guest bed waiting for you on the other side of the ride.

Not even your own bed. A fucking guest bed.

“I thought we could order some food in when we get home,” Sebastian said. “Something with fresh vegetables. Maybe some chicken.”

“Sounds good,” you muttered, still staring blankly out the window.

“I was also thinking I could invite some strippers over. Since it’s Friday night, you know. Try to cheer you up a bit. Get you—”

“I’m listening, Seb. Chicken sounds good. Strippers sound exhausting and unnecessary. My pillow sounds even better.”

He grunted and went back to whatever the fuck he was doing on his side of the car.

“You can go do your own shit, you know. Go out with friends. Whatever. I can handle myself.” Now you looked over at him, hoping to convince him. “Ever since Monday, it seems like every single minute of your day has revolved around me.”

“And when I leave to film, I can—”

“When you leave to film, you’ll be Bucky fucking Barnes. Go. Be yourself. Tonight. I’m probably going to fall asleep in, like, ten minutes anyway.” As if to prove your point, you yawned. “This treatment is no joke.”

He made a noncommittal noise before turning his attention back to his phone. With a humph, you turned back to your window.

You’d warned him. While you hadn’t expected your bitchiness to show up in the third day of treatment, you weren’t entirely surprised.

And you’d warned him.

If he wanted to cut you off, you wouldn’t blame him. You’d sign the annulment papers. Or divorce papers. Whatever was placed in front of you, you’d sign it.

Or, if he dropped you off at his apartment and flew down to Georgia early to get a feel for the studio or whatever actors did, you wouldn’t blame him either.

The hired car pulled into the underground garage and stopped right by the elevators. Sebastian got right out, but you released a deep sigh before trying to build your energy. Dr. Sharpe and Dr. Chowdhury hadn’t been kidding when they said this treatment was intense. It was so intense that you were starting to think they overestimated how well you could handle this. Maybe they missed something on your labs and films. Your cancer was too far progressed. This was all an exercise in futility.

Your door opened to Sebastian holding his hand out to you.

Blowing out a breath, you took his hand, swung your legs out of the car, and started to stand up, only to have your knees give out and send you falling back into the car.

Eyes screwed closed, it took a moment to threaten the tears back. By the time you felt in control again, Sebastian was swooping you up into his arms.

“I can wa—”

“You cannot walk and so help me God, if you try to tell me that you can, I will call your friend and have her yell at you.”

He was right. It was annoying how often he was right in the five days that you’d known him. You didn’t have the energy to argue, so you just tucked your head into his shoulder and gave in.

“How do you feel about Chinese? Some steamed vegetables, orange chicken, and brown rice?”

“Orange chicken might be too much spice right now. I learned from chemo that, uh, spices do not go well with the fuckin’ atomic toxins they inject into my body. I’m on a bland food diet for time being.”

“Alright,” he nodded, shifting his hold on you to push the elevator button. “I’ll channel my inner, middle-aged, white-mom Karen who thinks that salt is a spice.”

That sparked a weak laugh from you. “Sounds perfect. Not too much salt, though.”

There were a few weeks until Sebastian had to leave to start filming his show. You had assumed he would check in on you, make sure you were doing okay, maybe spend some of his free time with you, but that he would go about his life as normal.

You were wrong.

He switched his schedule around to match yours. He worked out while you were getting your infusions, spoke with his agent during your shorter hospital visits for a shot or two, ran errands while you were napping… He was so fucking thoughtful.

And annoying.

Not only had Sebastian channeled his inner-Karen for your bland-food diet, but he also channeled his inner grandmother in the way he was constantly shoving food in your face, insisting that you have to eat to keep up your strength. He even went so far as to schedule a meeting with the hospital dietician and Dr. Chowdhury to make sure his diet plans gave you everything you needed, and nothing you didn’t. You’d never eaten this well in your life.

Despite your fully balanced diet, you were still exhausted most of the time. You’d thought that you were prepared for the intensity of this treatment, but there was no way to fully prepare for this. You were two weeks in and it still felt like it was getting worse. By this point in your chemo, you felt like you were starting on the upswing.

But you were still falling asleep before the movies that you and Sebastian watched together even began. You could barely finish your food before needing to lay back and rest. You would try to read a book, but you were barely ten pages in because every time you sat down to read, you ended up passing out. Any spare energy you had was spent trying not to be a bitch to the people around you.

Which is how you found yourself waking up from where you’d fallen asleep with your head in Seb’s lap. The TV was black, movie having ended.

“What are you—Is that my phone?” When you twisted around to look up at Seb, you were confused by your phone case in his hand. You’d given him your passcode, as a safety precaution, so you weren’t confused by how he got onto your phone, just why he was.

“Jasmin called twice, so I texted her to let her know why you weren’t answering.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“And then we kept talking. She’s really curious about who I am.”

“And really bad at keeping secrets.”

“I know. Just think about what she’s told me about you in the last half hour I’ve been texting with her.”

“Everything she told you about our senior year in high school is fake. She got a bad concussion the summer before and her memory of that entire year is shit. So, don’t believe any stories she tells you.”

His fingers scratched along your hairline. “Mmm, I’ll have to remember to ask her about those stories. This time she mostly divulged secrets for keeping you happy during this treatment.”

“Secrets like make sure Y/N always has access to chocolate and she’s going to want to stop treatment and run away to Paris. Help her plan, then when she thinks this is actually going to work, tell her there is no way in hell you’re letting her do this and crush her dreams. I’m sure she’ll forgive you eventually, but she hasn’t forgiven me for that yet so I can’t really tell you when.”

“Paris?”

“Yeah. I’ve always wanted to see the Eiffel Tower. Go to the Seine River and be surprised by how bad it smells. For some reason, places you think will smell normal always smell bad. You ever been to Yellowstone?”

That earned you a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind. She did touch on the chocolate thing, though.”

“What else?”

“When you start to feel better, apparently I’m supposed to convince you to dye your hair, or get a hair cut or something. I didn’t understand that one.”

“It’s just what I do. When I need a pick-me-up, I do something to my hair. Switch things up.”

“Noted. She also said, and I think this is her way of playing matchmaker from all the way across the country, but she said that you won’t ask or initiate physical touch, but you always seemed better when you cuddled with her. So apparently I’m supposed to cuddle with you whenever humanly possible.”

Of course, you thought. That was so Jasmin. After a quick, light laugh, you pulled yourself up to a sitting position, leaning on the other side of the couch. “God, Jasmin. She’s something else.”

“So she was wrong about that?”

“I—” You wanted to say yes. You didn’t want him to feel obligated to move your friendship to any kind of physical level, beyond him carrying you up a set of stairs, or falling asleep with your head in his lap. But you couldn’t lie.

So you just had to find a way to change the subject.

“She wasn’t wrong about me not initiating contact. I had a pretty tough life growing up, so touch is hard for me. Especially with people I’m around a lot.”

He nodded thoughtfully, shifting so he was facing you more with his knee on the cushion and arm along the back of the couch. “So, in Vegas…”

“One night stands are great because you don’t have to worry about forming any sort of connection. No feelings. Just… It’s just fun and done. It doesn’t hurt.” The subject change seemed to have worked, but now you were in depressing territory. Time for another shift. “So you went and fucked that all up by insisting we stay married.”

He scoffed and playfully said, “Well, sorry for saving your life.”

“Yeah, you’re just the worst,” you responded with an exaggerated eye roll. Eyes locked on his, you couldn’t help but offer him a soft smile. “Thank you, though. I don’t think I’ve said it outright how much this means to me.”

“Y/N, you don’t—”

“Shut up and let me be serious for once. I’m complimenting you. Just let me.”

A grin toyed with his lips as he held his hands up in surrender.

“Good. I know I’ve been a bit of a bitch lately, but I’ve tried extra hard not to be because… you’ve done so much for me. I have never met anyone who would help out a complete stranger like you’re helping me and I have a really hard time telling people thanks, or how much I appreciate them, but I need you to hear it. I…” You had to pause and take a deep breath because you were starting to get choked up. “Just, thank you, Seb.”

The air was charged as your eyes stayed locked. Sharing emotions was never your strong suit, and now you had no idea what to do, what to say…

“Come over here,” he softly said, opening his arms.

“Seb, you don’t have to—”

“Get over here, Y/N.” When it was clear he wasn’t going to relent, you gave in and let him fit you in his arms. Once the footrest was popped out and a blanket was pulled over the two of you, he grabbed the remote and opened Hulu. “You’re going to let me hold you and we’re going to watch Brooklyn 99, because Jasmin also said that’s your favorite show.”

Your silence was your agreement, but it wasn’t until Jake Peralta was assigned to the records room in the pilot episode that you finally accepted the broken boundary of physical touch and relaxed into Sebastian’s arms. You wrapped your arms around his waist and let your head lay on his shoulder. “Thank you, Seb.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N/N.”

Things seem to be going well now! They’re getting along, treatment is getting easier to manage... everything is going to stay this nice, right? Right??

Part 9: The First Check-In

[cherryyharryy]

Burning Words

Chapter Three: I’m the one who grades you

WC: 6.4k

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The air is sticky, humid, suffocating. The sun barely crosses the horizon, but it feels like it’s been on duty for hours. I tug at the collar of my sweatshirt to circulate some air between my skin and clothes, but I think it just makes things worse. 

My apartment isn’t too far from class. Technically off campus, but close enough that I don’t have to worry about owning a car. But days like these make me wish I had one. I run my sleeve over my forehead and slow my gait once I’m in view of all the early risers who are scrambling to get to class on time. 

I reach the English building, rounding the corner once I’m inside to see Harry and Danielle arguing beside the door to our class. I swallow past a dry throat and take a few steps back so I’m out of sight, checking the time on my phone. It’s two ‘til eight. My nerves prickle with the idea of being late, but each time I think about walking by those two, my legs refuse to move. 

He’s animated, gesticulating with purpose, brows knitted together, ascetic, defeated. Despite the empty halls, I cannot decipher a single word, only strings of half-bitten syllables coming from the both of them. Something about manipulation and did you seriously think and you owe me. Danielle remains calm, at least from what I can tell of the back of her head, while Harry’s face grows red. 

I only watch for a few minutes until someone exits a room opposite our class. Harry and Danielle separate on impulse. She’s the first to leave, storming off down the hall with her hair flowing behind her. Harry stays put, his head bent at the neck, staring at the ceiling. He’s frozen for a moment or two, and then he shakes out his shoulders, sucks in a breath, and heads into class. 

I slip inside, and take my usual seat not long after, and fan myself discreetly with the note cards I made last night. Dr. Pierce begins class today, straying off topic as I’ve found he’s keen on doing, until Harry redirects the discussion by clearing his throat. 

“Ah, yes, Mr. Styles has your graded reports to hand back.” 

“Most everyone did exceptionally well.” Harry steps back to the desk and gathers a stack of papers. I gulp. “Some of you however, didn’t seem to grasp the instructions...I hope you can learn from this mistake before any future assignments.”

Was he looking at me? Was he talking to me? Surely the shake of his head was intended for someone else. Maybe the guy in the back who falls asleep each class, or the girl who’s missed three weeks in a row. Maybe—

“As I was saying, if you have any questions or concerns, drop by my office sometime this week.”

He straightens his posture and begins reciting the names of everyone in the room. One by one, students shuffle to the front. When my name is called, I might as well be marching up to a guillotine. 

I know I did well. Jessie read it, my mom, Ms. Bortnick, the student writing center...other than a handful of grammar mistakes...this was just a book report after all. Why am I so nervous?

“Remember, if you’d like to discuss your grade you can see me during my office hours. And my office hours only.”

Don’t expect a perfect score, don’t expect a perfect score...

Fuck. Red marks are everywhere, between the lines, in the margins, and topping it all off is a giant 27 circled at the top. No. Fuck no.

I look up and Harry is already pulling up a powerpoint, ready to continue the discussion on The Catcher in the Rye, but I can barely make it back to my seat. Where is my seat? What planet am I on? What the hell is happening? Hypothermia, suffocation, immolation...which one, pick one, it doesn’t matter anyway.

I find my chair and sink down. He’s cruel, possibly morbid, because this is a sick joke. And I don’t want to hear him or see him or feel his movements through the vibrations when he’ll undoubtedly find his way to my row and tap on the desk, so I pull out my headphones like the kind of student my grade represents and pretend the last five minutes did not just happen.

*** 

It’s the guy who chews his gum unreasonably loud that nudges me awake as he’s leaving. He looks back over his shoulder, smacking away, to see that I get up. Everyone’s just an ass today. And there to greet me upon knuckling away the fogginess in my eyes is Harry’s handwriting in what might as well be my blood. I don’t even want to know what horrible thing I did to deserve this.

“Excuse me, Dr. Pierce?” 

He’s cleaning up his desk, smiling when he looks up to me. “What can I help you with?”

I look down at my report, and hold it out between pinched fingers like it’s toxic. “M—my grade. It’s...bad. Really bad,” I dry laugh. “I’ve never done this...bad.”

“Well, Mr. Styles graded these reports so you’re better off asking him. You can leave it with me, but it’ll be awhile before I get a chance to look at it. I still have last week’s quizzes to finish up for you all.” He’s still smiling. This is just a joke for all of them, isn’t it? “But he’ll have whatever answers you’re looking for.”

I turn, slowly, like a child in trouble, to see Harry standing by the door. His shoulders slouch unusually low and rigid, and his nose is a hot red. He’s toeing at the ground while students file out of the room. 

I’ve only ever approached him one other time, and it was just because Dr. Pierce had to step out for a phone call. A couple of weeks ago, we had to partner up for a writing assignment, and to no one’s surprise, our uneven numbered class left me standing alone by my desk, flashbacks from middle school invading my brain. 

With great reluctance, I inched my way to the front where Harry was sat at Pierce’s desk, busy grading some of our work. I cleared my throat which earned his attention, and bitterly told him of my dilemma, and how I had no problem in working alone. 

“No, that’s not necessary. We can find you a pair to work with. You can just divide the work up between three people.” 

He wore a smile as he led the way back towards the class, clapping his hands to silence the chatter. 

“We’re going to have one group of three, any volunteers?”

If a meteor had been headed for Earth in the very place I was standing, I wouldn’t have moved. 

“Anyone?” He asked, when not a single pair made a move to accept me. “It’ll be less work on you individually,” he bargained. 

He had turned to me, keeping his smile up as best he could and motioned for me to follow him. If I was someone else, someone who didn’t fight off a panic attack each time I had to type out an email or place my order at a restaurant, I would have spoken up. I would have told Harry—Mr. Styles—that I didn’t need his help. That I was fine by myself. Or that I could have found my own group. That I really, really didn’t want to work with Danielle, despite not having a reason. 

But I am me, unfortunately, so in a blur of a memory I want to forget, the next thing I remember is sliding in a desk beside the girl who kissed Harry on the cheek when he bent down to pick up her pencil. 

He blushed and told her to stop. She didn’t, going in for another before he could say anything else. The other girl just cooed at them like they were puppies, and for once I was thankful no one pays attention to me, or else my eye roll might have rubbed them the wrong way. 

“This is due before class is over, so get to work.”

And, as expected, as my life typically turns out, I was responsible for the entire assignment. I wrote nearly three pages worth of quotes from To Kill a Mockingbird while Danielle talked about Harry and how cute he is, and how good of a grade she’s gonna get, and how he’s just too sweet for his own good.

“Do you need anything, y/n?” Harry’s voice shakes me from my thoughts. 

I look around to see we’re the only two left. He’s closing out of the powerpoint, raising his brows at me from behind the desk. 

I shake my head. No. This is not what I want. Fuck. I’m back at my seat, shoving this wretched report into my bag. He says my name as I’m leaving but I don’t bother looking back. 

•••

I stuff my change into my purse and bid the cashier a soft goodbye. My steps heading out of the grocer’s are timid, avoiding slick spots of water that customers drag in from the rain. A woman steps through the door, the bell shrieking in her presence as she shakes the rain off her coat. I brush what I can off my arm. She sees me but doesn’t say a word. 

A clap of thunder greets me once I’m outside. It’s chilly, and yet I still feel like it’s summer. And here I thought that Georgia weather was crazy. 

Bustlings of mothers and their small children, college kids, and an elderly man hurry past me while I secure myself under the green and white striped awning. Curtains of water pour down from all four sides; it disrupts my view. I have four plastic grocery bags gripped in my hands, a headache looming at the base of my neck, and the growing acceptance that there is no way I am going to make it to the student lounge unscathed by Mother Nature: I had forgotten  my umbrella. 

With a grumble I’ll share with Jessie tomorrow, I burst through the shroud of freezing rain, only to plow right into a hard body. 

“M’so sorry, sorry,” I throw out. I earn a slew of curse words from the old man, and with nothing more in return, I am left to scramble along the sidewalk for the contents of my bags alone. Thick, icy drops hammer onto me. 

Until they’re not. 

A veil of rain encloses around me. When I look up the clouds are gone, but a large, leopard print umbrella has taken their place.  

What pains me more than the source itself, is the tingling electric shocks pricking me from the inside-out at the sound of a deep, British accent. It vibrates, I conclude, and I feel it in my ribs, strumming, burning, like making a snowball with your bare hands. The sound is conflicting. I don’t know if his voice is noise or not. I swallow and yank a box of tampons off the gritty sidewalk. He says my name. 

And I don’t bother to look up, hoping he’ll carry on and leave me to endure the rest of this embarrassing moment by myself. I’ve had practice. I’m good at it. But then he’s reciting my name once again, and I don’t know how I feel about a man using what is mine to get my attention. I sigh roughly, and peer up to Harry hovering over me. 

He’s in nice clothes, hair plastered to his face, translucent skin, red nose. His mouth moves, but all I hear is rain. Lightning strikes off in the distance and I wonder what his eyes would look like in the heat. I’m still kneeling on the ground when he crouches down. 

“I’m busy, so if you don’t—”

“Do you need help?”

“No.” I have to crawl and stretch my arms in different directions to gather the rest of my things. He does the best he can to follow me with the umbrella, and once I’m back on my feet with my arms full, he steps forward so I’m protected once again. I want to cry. 

“Do you—would you like a ride home?”

“No.” I make it three steps before he’s back by my side and shielding me again. 

“It looks like you do.”

“Then you’re obviously not looking hard enough. I don’t need your help.” I linger for a second, my face scorched with a black heat, realizing those are the words I chose, before attempting to step away. 

His cologne persists even through the downpour, growing stronger as he repeats his actions and brings the two of us together once more, only this time he cradles my elbow with his free hand and urges me to move out of the way of two teenage girls. “We’re blocking traffic.”

“You are. I need to go, so if you don’t mind…” I wriggle my arm and he slips his hand off my skin. 

“The walk back to the dorms will take you twenty minutes.”

“That would be a problem if I was going to the dorms. I have my own apartment.”

“Where—wait—Stone Bridge? By that small park? That’s even farther.” His accent is thicker, ellipsed and coated in syrup. I blame the rain. “Let me drive you over there.”

I’m soaked, so much so that my bones are getting wet. No one looks good in the rain. But he does and I know I do not. And he teaches literature, I do not. He has a car and I do not. He is something and I am... I’m backing up now. I’m confident that my soul has left my body and is hovering over me, shaking her head, not wanting to associate herself with me any longer. I wonder who he would pick to protect from the rain now? Me or her? I can only hope the mascara dragging down my face will be enough to scare him off. Go help her, she’s innocent and I am not. 

“There is no way in hell that you’re doing me any favors, okay. I’d rather lightning burn me to a crisp. At least I wouldn’t have to see you in class ever again.”

“Is this about your grade?”

“No! It is not about my grade! It’s about you—”

I lose my footing, scrambling to catch myself, but I fail triumphantly when my entire backside collides with the sidewalk. I wish a flaming bolt of lightning had struck me right there on the sidewalk outside of Jo’s Market; it’d be more convenient. But instead of sizzling away on the pavement, I am holding back tears with every ounce of strength I can summon while Harry abandons his umbrella to fall to his knees beside me. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die. 

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“Here, lemme help you up.”

I don’t have the energy to push away his hands as they find appropriate places to support my body. I rise at an angle, partially because all my things are back on the ground and now I have to start all over, and the more presiding reason is the stifling pain in my ankle. His fingers dig into my arm and my side, somehow strong but not terribly so. Why did the image of small fingerprint bruises cross my mind? Hopefully the rain will cleanse my thoughts.

“Can you stand?” He asks. I haven’t added weight to my leg, and he gets his answer before I can respond. “Your ankle—here.” Smoothly, he maneuvers himself so my arm is draped over his shoulder, his arm wrapping around my back as a crutch. We are stuck together, forming our own three-legged race towards the parking lot. All that big talk I did moments ago, and now I’m not sure if I’m allowed to protest. I forget how to speak anyway, so it doesn’t matter. 

The seats of his car are leather, and I am glued to them. It smells like him and I find myself taking deeper breaths, ushering his perfume as deep into my lungs as they allow. It makes my eyes flutter and my cheeks warm. My soul is missing out. The air is a sedative, and she could use the rest.  

“I’m goin’ to get your stuff. Wait here.”

I’m not sure if he is trying to be funny, but I don’t laugh. He returns a minute later and tosses my bags into the trunk, folds his umbrella and shakes it out as if that would cut down on the flood the both of us are bringing into his car, and slides into the driver’s seat. He slips his glasses off and uses his shirt to clean the lenses. 

“I think I’m okay. I mean I think I can walk.” I try not to wince. 

His eyes are different in the car than they were outside, and even more different than in class. “You can’t even put your foot down in here.” He rolls his eyes and suddenly I don’t want his scent in my body any longer. “I’m—just let me take you. It’s a ten minute drive.”

“Not to my apartment.”

“What?” He puts the car back in park after having backed up an inch. 

“My roommate’s boyfriend is visiting. He lives in Wyoming.” I pause, but realize it’s not enough information. “I promised to stay out for a bit tonight so they could...y’know...catch up.”

“Well what were you planning on doing then?”

“Was just gonna, I don’t know, hang around campus. There’s a rec room.”

“No.”

“No?”

“You can’t go sit, soaking wet in a cold ass lounge for hours with a busted ankle.”

“It’s just twisted, it’ll ease up fine by morning.”

“Is there somewhere else you can stay? A friend’s room?” He starts the car again and I squirm to face him, changing my mind immediately. His eyes are swollen, beaten, a criminal red. I’ve only been high a few times, but I’ve cried enough to hold a record. 

“No I’ll be fine, just take me back to school, please. The library is fine, it’s closer.”

“I’m not—I can’t,” he sighs, “Okay, what about the hospital? They can take a look at you.”

“No. No thanks.”

“I don’t feel comfortable leaving you all alone. What if something happens? You can’t even walk, love.”

I ignore the flush of heat making its way from the top of my head to the twinging pain down below. In fact, I ignore a lot of things, like how drops of water take their time crawling down his neck, or how his shirt adheres to his body like a second skin. His knuckles swivel and pulse with each turn he makes. And then I remember I’m moving.

“What um,” he clears his throat and his fingers tighten around the wheel, knuckles no longer dancing. “My—I could take you to my apartment. S’not far from yours.”

I keep my gaze trained on his hands. I need to look at him but his eyes would be too much, his face would be too much. It’s odd, the shift in everything but my focus. He is no longer the man that stands tall in front of a group of people and speaks with purpose. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, and before I utter a response, he’s offering up more of his thoughts.

“Only if you want to, of course. I’m not trying—I don’t wanna pressure you, given our...dynamic.”

“Our dynamic?”

“Yeah...you’re my—I mean we’re...fuck. I don’t want you to think I’m implying anything, or that our relationship inside the classroom will be affected either way. My roommate’s out of town with family, so, there’s a spare room. That’s what I’m saying.”

We are at a red light. The wipers squeal and squelch against the glass, back and forth, rhythmic. I grow tired, drowsy in the warmth of his car, and then he starts driving again. We’re moving along below the speed limit, and when he stops at a crosswalk, he turns the heat up. 

It no longer feels like we are in New York, everything is so slow. It feels like I’m in a movie, only I have to come up with my lines all on my own and Harry is actually sad, not acting, and tomorrow I’ll wake up and remember the way he looked under an umbrella. 

“Um, I guess that would be okay.” My voice barely presides over the wipers. His fingers relax, and his knuckles swim again. “As long as I’m not bothering you.”

“No, not at all. Like I said, roommate’s gone, so it’s just me.”

***

His apartment is foreign. Metallic and earthy, a serene jungle, much more aesthetically pleasing than mine. I feel a syringe filled with tree bark and old books and mint shoot into my veins when he looks at me. This is his territory, and I feel intrusive. 

It is dark and navy, indigo, washed woods. Copper pots hang from a rack over the sink. The rugs all match one another, and a painting of a mermaid hangs on one wall. The outdoors are brought inside, almost like a fairy god from a damp forest had decorated this space. The splash of color is a mustard gold. 

A secretary’s desk sits under the window, abruptly capturing a 1940’s moment. Books and papers litter the top. It is the messiest part of the room, and I wonder how untamed he might be with early morning light striking his unwashed face while he makes notes in a book we’d be discussing in class. I wonder if he jots down the questions he fires at me in class, scribbles my name in red ink and underlines it three times, bulleting a list of possible things I’ll say. 

The rain beats against the window, and yet somehow I can still see with my eyes closed.

He stands at the sink in nothing but boxers, sipping on coffee much too strong for me while thumbing through a newspaper.

He sits poised in the navy armchair, reading 18th century literature I never would be able to digest. 

He leans against the bookcase, strumming the guitar, and only stopping to sip on wine more expensive than me and adding notes to a music sheet I can’t understand.

“You okay?”

My thoughts blurr away and Harry is back in focus. He drips all over the floor, and as I follow a drop of rain down his jaw—it had come from his hair, and landed on his left hand—I remember that I am a mess.

“Yeah, m’good.”

“Let me get you a towel. I know you probably want a shower, but I’d feel better if you didn’t. You’re still pretty wobbly and I’m not the best in emergencies.” He speaks over his shoulder with his back to me while he rummages through a small closet. I imagine myself arguing with him, because he appears to be the exact kind of person you’d want in an emergency, but figure we’ve done enough of that already. 

“Thanks.” The towel is soft and green. He leaves me to dry off in peace, rounding a neck-high bookcase that works as a divider between the front entryway and the kitchen. 

I shuffle closer to the living room and rub down my body, although it does little good. My clothes are suctioned to me. I pick at the fabric and pry it off my skin, which only erupts another round of chills. 

I take a moment, while I’m unattended, to scan my eyes over his home. It’s cozy and lived in. If I take a few steps I can see around the bookcase. Harry’s hunched over the sink, his hands gripping the counter’s edge. His shoulders shake slightly, which reinforces the cold I feel on my own. Head bowed, I see him suck in a deep breath before straightening his form, sighing at his phone. He starts to move and I jump back out of sight. 

“Ow—shit!”

“Y/n?” He hurries around to see me in all my fine glory. “What happened?”

I look up at him from the floor, sighing defeatedly. “I—I just tripped. I’m fine.”

“Okay, your ankle is worse than I thought. I’m taking you to the h—”

“No, really. It wasn’t my ankle, just, I’m a klutz.”

“The student clinic is still open. I can have them take a look at you.” He grabs his keys off the counter and pauses, tossing them back. “Sorry,” he sighs, “I—I don’t know where my head’s at today.” He bends down and hooks his arm under my back and lifts me up so I’m standing, well, leaning into him. “I’ve got some clothes for you to change into.”

“No I’m fine.”

“You want to stay in your wet clothes?”

He doesn’t sound accusatory. Sad, he almost sounds sad. I shake my head, my mouth fumbling over silent words as I scream at myself from the inside. “I, I just mean, I don’t wanna be a bother and—”

“I wouldn’t have offered.”

I gulp and nod, our conversation ending there as he helps me sit in one of two chairs at a small metal table that divides the kitchen and living room. He disappears behind me, and I’m left alone to summon whatever force I’m capable of to prevent any tears from escaping. 

My efforts are distracted when his phone vibrates on the counter. Again and again it goes off, working its way to the edge. I’m sure it won’t fall, but with each round of movement, that seems increasingly untrue. I grip the seat of my chair and shuffle over the foot or so I need to be able to reach up and push his phone further back, but then I pause, and peer over my shoulder, still no sign of Harry, and selfishly slip his phone into my hand. 

His screen is filled with Danielle’s name. It’s enough to make me force the phone away, back on the counter where another message rolls in. I didn’t see much, only the most recent of texts—you're being a dick about this!!! 

“Here, think this might fit you. And I’ll throw your clothes in the dryer.” Harry returns, having changed himself, and sets a hoodie with our school’s name on it and a pair of grey sweats on the table. 

“Thanks,” I mutter. 

He helps me up, but as soon as we turn around he freezes. “Uh, why don’t you change here. In the kitchen. That’s where my dryer is anyway.” He nods to a little alcove homing twin laundry appliances. “I’ll wait in my room. Once you’re done we can head out.”

After assuring him I’m capable of dressing myself, he leaves. It feels wonderful to finally get my soaked clothes off, but once they are, the panic starts to creep it’s way up my spine. Despite his eyes not being on me, I feel exposed. And inappropriate, perhaps, for me to be standing stark naked in my TA’s kitchen. 

I scramble to get dressed, thankful for the loose clothing since my bra and underwear will have to be dried too. I shove my things into his dryer and set the timer, holding my breath while I call for Harry. 

“Don’t—I’ll come get you,” he rushes over to me and takes what is now the usual position of his arm around my back to help me walk. “Go slow, we don’t have to hurry.”

Without a layer of wet fabric drawing my attention, his touch feels that much more warm. I tentatively raise my arm to rest right below his neck, my hand using his shoulder for support. 

And if I said I was able to ignore how his muscles felt beneath my fingers or how his rough voice sounded in my ear, I’d be a liar. But I try anyway, and lie to myself the whole way back to campus. 

***

“You guys are cutting it close,” I hear the nurse tell Harry. He looks over his shoulder at me and turns back. I’m slumped in one of the waiting chairs while he signs me in. “We close in about ten minutes.”

“You’re still gonna see her though, right? She’s...in a lot of pain. Please.”

The nurse sighs and gives Harry a tempered look. “Have her fill these out. Quickly.”

“If we’re too late it’s fine,” I tell him when he sits down beside me. “And since we’re here, I can just go to the library like I planned.”

He turns to face me, a smile creeping its way onto his face. “Let me think about that...no.”

“Excuse me?”

“How do you plan on getting there?”

“Well, you.”

“Nope. My services are for trips to my apartment. Or yours. If you wanna hobble your way, allll the way to the other side of campus, to wait in a cold, dark library all by yourself and—”

“Okay, okay. I—”

“Are you filling out your paperwork or chatting?” The nurse interrupts. 

I’m filled with heat at being caught, but stifle my laugh nonetheless  when Harry rolls his eyes. “Fill that out before we get in trouble.”

My name is called minutes after Harry turns in my clipboard, and we’re led to a small room in the back. I refuse the exam table, knowing he’d have to help lift me to get me up there, and opt for one of the chairs in the room instead. 

In less than a breath, a tall woman donned in a white coat comes in. Her demeanor serves opposite places with the nurse up front, smiling big and wide as she shuts the door and shakes both mine and Harry’s hand. 

“I’m Dr. Reynolds,” she introduces herself before taking a seat on a rolling stool, eyeing the paperwork I filled out earlier. “So, looks like you’ve twisted your ankle.” 

“I tripped and fell on the sidewalk...I’m not even sure what I did to hurt it.”

“Can you put weight on it?”

I look to Harry, for whatever reason, as if he has the answer. “Uh,” I clear my throat, “not really. It hurts to do so.”

“Okay, well—do you mind?” Dr. Reynolds rolls over to me and reaches down, waiting for my nod before she slowly pulls up the leg of Harry’s sweat pants to the middle of my calf. “Yeah,” she sighs knowingly, “you’re pretty swollen.”

“Could it be broken?” Harry chimes in from beside me, his voice thick and rough. 

“How did you fall exactly?”

I blink a few times, recalling the memory, but I have to force my way through images of Harry in the rain with red eyes and an umbrella. “I kinda fell backwards. On the edge of the sidewalk, like I lost my footing.”

Dr. Reynolds hums and wheels back to the computer. “I’m leaning more towards a sprain or strain—but we can’t rule out a break until we get you x-rayed.”

“But, aren’t you about to close for the day? Do I have time?”

“We’ll run over a bit today, but it’s not a problem,” she smiles. “We have a wheelchair in another room I can get you. Then we’ll take the x-ray, and hopefully send you home without a broken diagnoses.”

***

“Lemme get you a towel.”

I don’t have time to protest before Harry dashes out of the bedroom. My knees pinch and sting when I lean over my legs to adjust the bag of ice sitting on my ankle. The cold burns already, and I’m not sure if I’ll make the full twenty minutes of icing before ripping the bag off my skin. 

Harry stays silent when he returns, folding a dish towel and placing it between my ankle and the bag. 

“Thank you.” I start to shift on the bed, but regret it immediately when Harry jumps in place and then bends over me to straighten the pillows behind me. 

“This alright?”

“Yeah, I’m uh, I’m good.”

“Okay—” he stops his own sentence, pinching the air before he’s out of the room again. 

I sigh and try to move my attention away from my ankle. It’s only a sprain, and a minor one at that, but the swelling hasn’t ceased any, and the weight I put on it after Harry got me back into his apartment earned me a sharp twinge of pain and a disapproving glare. 

I scan my eyes over the room. It’s a little too dark to make heads or tails out of anything other than the furniture. I hiss when I try to shift again, and yank the ice off my skin. I wrap the bag in the towel to keep the water from dripping anywhere, and set it on the nightstand, nudging a copy of 1984 out of the way. 

Harry bustles through the door a moment later, kicking it closed behind him. He looks down at the drink in his hands, chewing on his lip. “All I have is lemonade.”

“Thank you.” I hold back the smile I am supposed to offer. He looks relieved when I take the glass and a sip, nodding and relaxing his shoulders. “I uh...I did want to ask you…” I test the words, wait for the line to appear between his brows before finishing, “about my grade.” He does nothing more than narrow his eyes. I swallow and push my thoughts out. “You failed me.”

He blinks, rolling his lips in. “I did. But we can discuss this later. I—you need to rest.”

“O—okay.” I clear my throat and change the subject. “You play the guitar?”

“A bit.” His lips curl a little like he wants to smile, but they don’t quite make it. 

I hum and bring the covers close to my nose.

“Can I get you anything?”

He stands over me as I sink further into the bed. I shake my head.

“Okay, well—why is this not on your ankle?” He picks the ice up and tries to return it back to my leg, but I move too quickly, letting my foot hang over the bed. “Intervals of twenty minutes,” he hums. “C’mon.” He nods to my leg. 

I manage to hold back any sounds when I settle my foot back on the bed, but judging by Harry’s tsk, I know my face is a dead giveaway to my pain. 

“See? Gotta keep this on here,” he’s particular when adjusting the towel and bag, “you won’t get better, love, if you don’t take care of yourself.”

My mouth fills with heat, so all I’m capable of doing is nodding. He makes a show of setting a twenty minute alarm on a clock by the bed, clearing his throat as he quickly scoops up the contents of the nightstand; the book, nail polish, and a cherry chapstick, shoving them into a drawer in a dresser across the room. 

“You can, well you can stay as long as you’d like. Overnight I mean.” He coughs into his fist. “Just yell for me if you need anything. I’m listening, always. I’ll be...I’ll be in my room. Stay off that ankle.”

I nod, but make plans to wobble out of here as soon as I can. I’m not exactly an invited guest, and for all I know, I could be ruining his schedule...working or studying. A date. He clearly wasn’t in the best mood when we ran into each other this afternoon, and I’m sure having to babysit me doesn’t help any. My skin crawls; how could I have been so careless to not see when I’m being a burden? I’m usually pretty perceptive, or at least, I assume the worst anyway just as a precaution. You idiot. 

He looks over his shoulder, his glasses reflecting what little light fought through the clouds and rain. “Okay, well, I’ll let you be.” he faces the door again, but when he looks back his lip does curl this time. “I’d offer you a book...but I know where that’ll get us.”

***

My ankle stings, but not enough to where I can’t stand on it. I still make sure to occupy my weight on the opposite leg as I crack the door open and peer into Harry's living room. It is early, still dark, and the quiet has me kicking myself for falling asleep last night, forcing me into this twisted walk of shame I am about to endure.

Would he be awake? Dressed? Annoyed that I am still here? His courtesy had been offered out of pity, this I am sure of, and I have foolishly overstayed my welcome. All that is missing is the bed sheet draped over my naked body while he asks me to step out so he can put his clothes back on.

“Harry?”

I can taste the silence. It is unnerving. A few more utterances of his name yield the same result, and I find myself standing in the middle of his living room, dropping the imaginary sheet because he is not there to scrutinize my morning appearance.

There is only one other door beside the one I have just came from, and I press my ear against it for any sign of his presence. Again, there is nothing but the sound of my own pulse.

“Harry?”

I tap my knuckles against the wood...still nothing, and when I yank the courage from the bottom of my gut to open it, I am met with a clean bathroom, still humid and smelling of soap. My face twists and it’s not until I spin around to see a thick blanket covering the couch cushions that my brain finally pieces everything together...but surely he didn’t...fabricate a roommate?

What little energy I woke up with escapes my body. I feel weighed down while making my way to the kitchen. My things are sat neatly on the counter. He’s moved my groceries into a canvas tote and laid out a bottle of water and aspirin beside my folded clothes. 

When I sling the bag over my shoulder a slip of paper floats off the counter and flutters to the ground. I grab it and smooth it against my thigh. 

I was running late this morning, but there's cereal in the cabinet beside the fridge. Please don’t try to walk back. I can reimburse you for an Uber later—remember, I’m the one who grades you. 

I’ll be in the library today around 2. 

Bring your report. 

Harry

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

Thank you @aileenacoustic @fromyourstrulyh and @bathrobesinparadise for beta reading for me!!!!!

[multipleservicelisting]

My Search for Lost Time in a Slice of Jewish Rye

Was it really as good as I remembered?

My wife was asking. For years she’d heard me rhapsodize about the rye bread of my youth, and now, after decades of privation, I had before me the genuine article: a sandwich on Gottlieb’s rye.

Gottlieb’s Bakery, in downtown Savannah, Ga., had shut its doors in 1994, and I’d left town years before that. It had been more than 30 years since I last tasted its rye bread. It was conceivable that I’d romanticized it in the intervening years.

The sandwich at hand was pedestrian: vegan bologna, power-washed greens from a plastic clamshell, a slice of purple onion and Dijon mustard. But the first, sharp bite of rye was transporting. The last time I’d eaten it I was a carnivore, making Reubens with my mother’s corned beef instead of the tempeh I use now.

The knotty-pine-paneled kitchen of our postwar suburban home was steamy and redolent of corned-beef brine, mingled with the intoxicating waft of rye turning golden in the chrome Sunbeam toaster. My job, which I relished as a teenager, was to carve thin, even slices for the whole family with a finely sharpened butcher’s knife. As the six of us crowded around the kitchen table, the usual banter and bickering gave way to quiet industriousness as we each assembled our sandwiches.

I took the bread for granted. But now I realize that my parents went to some trouble to make that taste of the Old World part of our mid-20th-century American diet. The standard then was packaged factory-made bread from the supermarket.

Now and then, Dad would pick up a loaf from Gottlieb’s on his way home from his downtown office, and ask for it to be thinly sliced. As a child, when I happened to be with him, I would watch in awe as one of the Gottlieb men would nestle it in a machine, flip a switch, and a maw of serrated blades would jounce up and down, sawing it into an accordion of perfect slices.

The bread, with its chewy crust and sharp tang, graced school lunch sandwiches of chicken and roast beef. At home, I’d toast it for a shrimp salad sandwich. But there was nothing better than a naked slice of rye for breakfast, toasted with butter; eggs and grits optional.

Finding a suitable replacement was the least of my concerns when I moved to New York in the early ’90s. The city, after all, was the world capital of Jewish baking. It had the best bagels, the best rugelach. The brash, bumptious New Yorkers I’d encountered in college had assured me that everything in New York was “the best.”

On a childhood visit, I’d marveled at the city’s Jewish delis, black-hatted Hasidim and Jewish mayor, all sources of wonder to a boy from Savannah, where Jews were a tiny minority. Surely this city had world-class rye bread.

For years, I sampled the city’s brands and bakeries. One of my childhood friends, a kid named David Levy, had a poster in his bedroom, purloined from a famous ad campaign of the era, of a smiling Black child eating a rye sandwich under the slogan, “You don’t have to be Jewish to love Levy’s.”

I tried Levy’s. I didn’t love it.

I tried the other supermarket brands. I picked up loaves from the best Jewish bakeries on the Lower East Side and uptown. I ordered sandwiches on rye in the famous Jewish delis (“the best!”) in Manhattan and Brooklyn, where I lived. None equaled the rye of my memory.

After a few years, a startling truth began to creep up on me: That rye was a rare thing.

And a corollary: Perhaps, in this case, New York did not have the best.

I stipulate that I do not claim to have tried every rye bread out there. Nor have I carried out a rigorous side-by-side blind tasting. I cannot assert with any objective authority that Gottlieb’s rye was the best in the world ever.

My wife wisely suggested that perhaps the best rye was whichever one you grew up with. I’m sure there’s truth to that. Especially if you grew up in Savannah when Gottlieb’s was around.

Gottlieb’s was the city’s only Jewish bakery. That was not always the case. In its early decades, it had competition from Buchsbaum Bakery, my great-grandparents’ storefront enterprise. My grandfather delivered bread by horse and wagon to the working-class Jewish community on the Westside, then Savannah’s shtetl of striving Eastern European immigrants.

Our family’s bakery did not survive my great-grandparents, but Gottlieb’s, founded in 1884, persevered.

One reason Gottlieb’s endured had to do with local synagogue politics. Savannah, to the astonishment of my Yankee college friends, had been home to Jews since shortly after its founding in 1733. But by the early 20th century, the few thousand Jews had divided into three congregations representing the main branches of American Judaism. And for any communitywide activity, like Hebrew school or day camp, the Orthodox rabbis sought to impose their strict rules on everyone, including kosher food.

One consequence, since Gottlieb’s was the only kosher bakery, was that snack time at day camp was bug juice and a thick, dense Gottlieb’s shortbread cookie.

No bar mitzvah party was complete without a bad local band — a cover of the Doobie Brothers’ “China Grove” was de rigueur — and tables piled with Gottlieb’s goodies: rich brownies, moist rainbow cakes, canasta cakes and iced white petit fours adorned with a silver candy pearl or the name of the boy or girl of honor in blue icing.

In those years, Gottlieb’s rye was part of how my parents cared for my three sisters and me. Decades later, it reappeared when we were taking care of my widowed, octogenarian mother.

In 2018, she was laid low by Guillain-Barré syndrome, an autoimmune disease that kills most people her age. My sisters and I began visiting Savannah in weeklong shifts to help care for her.

During one visit, I learned that two members of the fourth generation of Savannah Gottliebs, Laurence and Michael, had reopened the family bakery in a soulless strip mall on Savannah’s Southside. Shiny and modern, it lacked the flour-dusted ambience of its precursor in the city’s oak-lined Victorian district. But it offered many of my old favorites: pecan sticky buns, cheese Danish, chocolate chewies and, I was delighted to discover, rye bread.

I began tacking a stop onto my visits: I would swing by Gottlieb’s on the way to the airport, pick up two loaves, thin-sliced and double-bagged, pack them in my suitcase and freeze them immediately upon my return. I would then make grilled cheese, tempeh Reubens, tomato-and-mayonnaise sandwiches, egg salad sandwiches and smoked whitefish salad on toast until my stash ran out.

It was the same bread I ate as a child, Laurence Gottlieb told me, the recipe given him by his father, Isser Gottlieb, who ran the bakery, initially with his father and uncle, for more than 50 years. Isser said the recipe was the same one his grandfather had brought with him from Eastern Europe, according to Isser’s widow, Ava.

Jewish-style rye is a sourdough, and that rye tang embedded in my taste memory comes from the starter. Laurence makes his with medium rye flour, water and natural yeast.

The recipe is equally spare: “Salt, yeast, caraway seeds, flour, water and the starter — that’s it,” he said. “The shelf life isn’t there,” he admitted, but that’s not the point.

There had been minor adjustments over the years, not to the heirloom recipe but to the process. The old bakery on Bull Street had no air-conditioning, so the bakers threw ice in the dough as they mixed it to lower the temperature. The starter was mixed by hand in a large bucket, a job no one wanted because it would stick to your skin like wet cement.

Gottlieb’s made deli rye, corn rye, onion rye, seedless rye, rye rolls and marbled rye with swirls of pumpernickel. They were shipped by Greyhound bus to small towns in Georgia and South Carolina that didn’t have their own bakeries, and expressed overnight to devotees farther afield who were happy to pay a premium for a superior sandwich.

Like me, Ava Gottlieb remembers visits to New York City delis that were culinarily thrilling, but the bread disappointing. “It wasn’t because I was prejudiced,” she said. “Our bread was better.”

The original bakery succumbed to supermarket competition in 1994, a victim of the American preference for convenience over quality.

Laurence, now 47, had grown up in the bakery, but had trained to be a chef and was cooking in elegant restaurants. Then one day he happened into a bakery. “I walked in and fell in love with it,” he said. “The odor, the yeasty sweetness of the bakery just does something in my mind.”

In 2016, he opened the new Gottlieb’s bakery with his brother.

In March, our Savannah trips ended. My mother’s assisted-living home barred visitors as the front end of the pandemic edged into view. That didn’t stop my mom from contracting Covid-19, landing her in the isolation ward of an understaffed rehabilitation center. She recovered from the virus but died there, alone, in August after a fall.

My sisters and I flew to Savannah to bury her. The funeral, in a cemetery overlooking the marsh on a warm August morning, was spare. A handful of relatives sat amid rows of empty folding chairs and the insistent sound of cicadas. The rest watched on Zoom.

Before returning to New York, I had one last errand to run. I drove my mother’s battered Toyota to Gottlieb’s.

It was gone.

Part of the shopping center was being torn down. The bakery had been evicted. With the retail market in a tailspin, the Gottlieb brothers had no plans to reopen. The all-too-brief reprise of Gottlieb’s rye was over.

The smell and taste of things, Proust wrote, hold in the “tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence the vast structure of recollection.” A morsel of madeleine in a spoonful of tea evokes a childhood in a French village; a bite of rye with Dijon mustard calls up mine in Savannah.

In the white-roar silence of the plane back to New York, my mother’s voice was already attenuating in my head, the solid force of her life fragmenting into snatches of half-remembered anecdotes. The rye bread was gone.

It was as good as I remembered.

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[inkedsoldier]

Chew the Bullet - Chapter Two

A Modern Warfare series

Casey Vos is a liaison officer for the Dutch Special Forces. She has been stationed in Afghanistan and Syria, but now works everywhere they need her assistance. Specialized in counterterrorism and intelligence, she is unmistakably a great asset for the upcoming Taskforce 1-4-1, under the command of Captain John Price.

A/N: Here it is – the official chapter two of Chew the Bullet. I’m going to slowly introduce all the characters while following the storyline of the gaming series, starting with the most recent campaign of Modern Warfare (2019). English is not my first language, but I’m getting better at it. Please, if you see any errors, let me know so I can fix it. It’s much appreciated. Well, I hope you enjoy! And please leave a note, vote or message with your thoughts! Bravo team out.

Warnings: action.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

______

When Kate stops talking Casey knows there is a problem. She’d known her since she started working as a liaison officer for the Dutch Special Forces, and Kate Laswell isn’t capable of silence unless her brain is in complete overload. The American station chief was like a female mentor to Casey. A retired CIA agent once told her that “when it comes to unconventional information warfare, Kate Laswell rewrote the book.” She had saved tens of thousands of lives, and was a respected contact for multiple actors in the world of military and intelligence. “Kate?” Casey said softly in the hope to get any answer from the officer.

 Hearing her name, she checked the time on her watch. “Echo 3-1 and a team of marines just took off to check out one of Barkov’s depots on the edge of Verdansk, Casey. I need to inform the colonel about this intel. We don’t want an international incident with our prints all over it.” Casey gasped, “Alex?” Her pulse skipped the moment she heard his name. Alex and his team had played a key role in one of the special operations Casey was working on two  and a half years ago. Working together with the Special Activities Division of the CIA gave her a lot of happy, but also sad memories. The tall American operative had stolen a place in her heart – they were like brother and sister. An attempt to assassinate the Wolf back in the summer of 2017 took a wrong turn, and he probably still believed she was killed in action. Nobody would have survived a drop off that cliff in Georgia, but she was lucky. They deliberately chose to keep her survival under the radar for safety reasons.  “Yes… Alex. I’m going to inform Norris. I’ll call you back as soon as I have more information about this,” Kate informed the liaison officer before ending the call.

 11:53 PM U.S. Military Base, Kastovia

Her feet pounded the tarmac as fast as her legs could carry. Luckily, her office wasn’t that far from Colonel Norris’ location. Out of breath she entered the tent, “Colonel, we may have a problem…” Looking over his shoulder he saw the blonde coming up from behind him, “Too late, Laswell. We’re live.” This wasn’t the response Kate was expecting so she decided to take action, no matter what the tall marine was going to do afterwards. “Not until I say so. Watcher to 3-1, how copy?” she spoke into the microphone.

 11:57 PM Verdansk, Kastovia

Alex and the Marine Raiders were only a couple of clicks away from the depot when he heard the station chiefs voice in his earpiece. “Station chief Laswell, send traffic,” he replied looking at the men around him. “General Barkov has sent a new shipment of chlorine gas to his depot, but his mercs are prepping to move the chems into Urzikstan via convoy, tonight.” He knew the mission was to retrieve and secure chemicals, but he wasn’t expecting they were on a clock. Not even to mention the extra mercenaries they could expect on site. “You’re still clear to engage, but live fire on Russian military is prohibited. We cannot have an international incident.” The risks of the job were clear, but the rules of engagement were something he could not always follow. “No guarantees Russian army won’t respond on this, Kate,” he clarified while prepping the drop. “Understood, Alex. Just locate the gas, commandeer Barkov’s trucks, and get off the X before the tide turns.” The two men in front of him roped down. “Copy, Watcher. We’ll handle it,” he confirmed before joining the marines on the ground. “We need to keep this on a tight loop. Barkov’s men are moving the gas tonight,” he announced.

 The trees surrounding them in the darkness were thick and old with twisted roots. The path wasn’t visible at first, but it didn’t take them long before they spotted the first two guards at the ridge. “Psst. Heads up,” the marine on the front spoke through the comms. “Two mercs, no uniforms.” The team slowly approached the men, staying out of sight. “They’re game, drop ‘em.” The two Russians went down and they moved up the path to have a clear view of the base. “Echo 3-1 to Blue Viking 5, call for fire. Stand by for target conformation,” Alex called in. With one of the binoculars he scanned for any activity at the depot. There was a vehicle coming up to the main gate, probably contractors. And someone was guarding the surrounded area from the tower on the left of the entrance. No sign of the presence of Russian military cleared them to take the next step in the mission. “Blue Viking 5, this is Echo 3-1. Troops in the open, south gate. You are cleared hot.” Within five seconds the base lit up like a Christmas tree. “Echo 3-1, good effect on target. Viking is RTB, good hunting,” the operator confirmed through the comms.

 Upon arriving on the base they had a run in with some of the survivors of the blast, but nothing they couldn’t handle. The team cleared the outside area of the base and moved up towards the warehouse where the gas was stored according to the intel. When they opened the entrance door and put on the gas masks for safety, someone killed the power. “Go white-light,” one of the marines advised.  “It’s pitch black in here.” Alex took point and guided the marines through the storage space, killing the last of the men on base. All he needed was one flashbang and some bullets. They managed to get the power back on, but a surprise was waiting - the guys they just killed were Spetsnaz, Russian army. “3-1 to Watcher… Barkov’s hired guns are Spetsnaz. We got Russian army KIA – we need to bug out now.” Kate reacted immediately, “Negative. Command wants mission accomplished on this. Not our choice.” It was never their choice, so the comment didn’t surprise him. When he climbed on the back of one of the trucks, he took out a small stick to verify if the barrels contained the chemicals. With a swap and a click, the stick turned green. “Jackpot. PID on the gas.”

 Quickly they moved to the jeeps waiting for them at the back. It was time to load up and get out of this shithole. He entered the vehicle and took shotgun. “All stations, we are Oscar Mike to the RV, watch your sectors.” Kate responded, “Good work, Alex. Rally at the hook point for egress.” Out of nowhere a burning truck came bolting down the hill and bullets sprayed all around them. “Back up, back up!” Alex yelled, but they were too late. “All stations, we are under attack, hitman is taking heavy contact from unknown forces,” the marine next to him said before they got hit by a RPG. The car rolled over and everything went black.

 Everything hurts and time slowed down. “Watcher to 3-1. How copy?! Alex, do you read- Over!” The world was spinning as he saw one of the marines come up to him with his weapon in hand. “I got you, I got you 3-1.” He pulled him out of the burning car and searched for cover, but he got shot and killed instantly. Two masked insurgents approached as the badly wounded marine in front of Alex struggled to get up. “Who the fuck is this!” he yelled before he got hit by another bullet. As the only survivor, Alex tried to focus on what they were saying - these guys are definitely no Russians. And when they found out the team they just ended were American the panic started. Just as fast as they appeared they drove off with the trucks filled with the chlorine gas. Alex lifted his gas mask and struggled to sit up. “Echo 3-1 to Watcher,” he coughed. “Alex, what happened?” the station chief asked. “Terrorist attack- Multiple marines KIA. Gas stolen. We need EVAC, now!”

  11:55 PM Scotland Yard, London

Casey and Kyle returned to the headquarters of the Metropolitan Police Service after the raid in South London. They managed to bag up most of the evidence they found in the townhouse, and a few officers stayed back to clean out the place and check if they missed anything. She couldn’t stop thinking about Alex on her way back to the Yard. Suddenly the phone in her pocket started to vibrate. She tapped the green icon on the screen, “Hello?” 

It was the familiar voice of Kate on the other end of the line. “Casey, the operation is compartmentalized. Alex found the gas, but securing it went wrong. The team got ambushed and multiple marines are KIA.” Casey’s eyes widened, “What about Alex? Is he alive?” was the first thing that she asked. “Multiple Russian forces were heading his way, but we got to the exfil in time.” She crumpled down on the ground against the wall. “What do you need me to do?” She tried to get her thoughts together. “I just spoke to General Lyons. The Kremlin has suspended all deconfliction channels, the Sixth Fleet is pushing into the Black Sea… and the chemical weapons are now in the wild,” the American sighed. “I told her that intelligence is our best weapon, but she didn’t want to hear anything about it,” she continued. “Okay, so what are you saying?” the Dutch lieutenant replied. “I called Price, Case. We need his help.” 

This day got even more complicated by the minute now. First Alex, and now John Price. Two people who thought she died on their last op together. “I know what you are thinking, Casey, but I can’t think of a better team to handle this situation. We need to fix this! The weapons could be heading to Paris, New York…” Kate didn’t need to finish her sentence, because the twenty-seven year old knew what was coming next, “London… I understand, Laswell. But don’t inform them about my involvement yet. You know I will help you, but I want to be the one to tell them about the fact that I’m not somewhere rotting in a ditch at the crossroad of Western Asia and Eastern Europe.” Kate exhaled slowly, “We knew this day was coming the moment the Wolf would get back on the grit. I know it’s not going to be easy, but we will do this your way, Case. What about the intel you recovered tonight? Did you find anything that can help us right now?” Casey glanced at the file on her lap, “No, not yet. But I’ll contact you as soon as I find something we can use.”

Masterlist

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[spine-buster]

Alone, Together | Chapter 36 | Morgan Rielly

A/N: So I hate to announce it, but the end of Alone, Together is coming.  I’ve planned out 40 chapters to the story, which means it will be ending soon.  Please do not fear – I have planned at least four one-shots for the future, and still might do blurbs of scenes you guys requested I write about since they weren’t included in chapters.  Canon questions are ALWAYS welcome, even when I’m finished writing.  It has been such a wild journey and I cannot wait for you guys to see what is in store for Morgan and Bee in the last chapters and in the future!

���How beautiful is this?!” Bee exclaimed to nobody in particular as she stood atop the first step that descended down on the Capilano Suspension Bridge.  She knew what it looked like because she had Googled it before, so she knew exactly what to expect.  But researching something online and seeing what it looked like was completely different than seeing it in person, and Bee was…flabbergasted.  Overwhelmed.  The beauty that surrounded her on this gorgeous sunny day was unparalleled.  Everything she experienced on the West Coast just kept getting better and better.  The roar of the river flowing beneath the bridge, and the trees – there were so many beautiful trees surrounding the canyon – she just couldn’t get enough.  It was like something out of a fairytale or book; an unpublished Tolkien novel about paradise.  

“Isn’t it, though?” Shirley smiled from ear to ear, seeing Bee’s enthusiasm and excitement about the bridge and the scenery.  “Wait till we actually get on the bridge.  You feel like you’re a bird walking up here!”

“I feel like in a past life I must have been a woodland creature,” Bee said.  “Everything about this is so beautiful.  And I feel so…I don’t know, calm.  Excited, but calm.”

“That’s what a temperate west coast rainforest will do to you,” Andy piped up from behind them, causing them to laugh.  “Ready?”

Bee took one last look upwards, taking in all the trees and foliage, before setting her sights on the bridge in front of her.  She wasn’t too scared of heights, per se, but the logistics of the suspension bridge freaked her out a little bit, and, well, it was a long drop down, regardless of how beautiful everything else was around her.  She hesitated for a moment, mentally preparing herself to take the first steps down, when she felt Morgan’s hands grab at her waist quickly before sliding them over to grab her hand.  He squeezed it gently and appeared at her side.  

“You can do this,” he said gently, nodding his head.  “You want me to go first?”

Bee shook her head.  “Just…let’s go together.”

“Okay.  Let’s go together.”

They both took another step down.  And another.  And another.  Then, slowly, slowly, walking along the bridge.  Bee kept her eyes on her feet the entire time.  She could see the black of her shoes and the brown of the bridge.  She didn’t know how far she’d gone – if she’s gone far at all – and assumed Andy and Shirley had probably already made their way to the other side by now.  

“Look up, Bumblebee,” she heard Morgan’s soft voice.  

When she did, she was greeted with the vast openness of the bridge, the crisp air, the lush greens of the trees, and the rushing blue water of the river beneath them.  A smile crept its way onto her face, slowly, as she took in the sights before her.  “Wow…” she whispered to herself in amazement, trying to internalize the moment.  She looked beside her, to Morgan, already smiling at her.  “Wow.”

“Wow indeed.  You ready to keep going?”

Bee nodded her head.  In the distance, she saw Andy flailing his arms about, trying to get their attention.  Shirley, in front of him, was holding her phone up to take a picture.  “I think your parents might have other plans,” she nodded her head towards them.

Morgan didn’t hesitate.  He wrapped his arms around her body, turning their bodies towards his parents, and rested his chin on the top of her head.  Shirley gave big thumbs up.  Bee was smiling from ear to ear.

***

Bee had never been on such a long bike ride in her life.  She’d taken her fair share of bike rides around Toronto – usually up in the suburbs, in the neighbourhood where Rocco and Clarette lived, since biking on major streets downtown scared the living shit out of her – but this was different.  When she had agreed to go on a bike ride with Morgan in Stanley Park, the famous expansive park in downtown Vancouver, she thought it would be a short ride.  Morgan clearly had other things in mind.  They started their journey at the Stanley Park Lawn Bowling Club, riding along the perimeter of the park before stopping halfway to take pictures near the Lions Gate Bridge.  They then mounted their bikes again, following the paths that went directly through the middle of the park, amongst the hundred year old trees, until they finally reached the Vancouver Seawall, yet another scenic destination, overlooking the Vancouver Harbour and all the tall, glass condo buildings in the West End and Gastown.

It was only then that they truly descended off their bikes – taking photos together, getting strangers to take pictures of them – before they brought their bikes underneath a tree, leaned them against the wide trunk, and laid down on the grass.  “My thighs feel like they’re on fire,” Bee mumbled as she plopped down onto the grass, spreading out her limbs for dramatic effect.  

She heard Morgan chuckle slightly.  “Maybe I can help with that,” he hummed, his hand immediately going to her thigh.

She slapped it away instantly.  “We are in a public God damn park, Morgan Frederick Rielly.  Put your hand away.”

He snorted.  “I was just gonna massage.”

“Sure.”  

“Stop making fun of my primal urges.”

“It’s called public indecency and they will arrest us in this park.”

“They might arrest you for being so hot you’d start a forest fire.”

Bee did the most dramatic eye roll in the history of eye rolls before scoffing at the comment.  Morgan could only laugh at the disgusted face she was making.  “Oh my fucking God, Morgan.  You are literally the absolute worst, you know that?  Like, I’m not even joking.  The worst.”

“You love me.”

“You’re lucky I do or else a comment like that would warrant a 72 hour sex ban for being literally the corniest thing to come out of anyone’s mouth in the history of humanity.”

Morgan pretended to scoff back at her.  “You’re mean when you’re tired!”

“You’re so hot you’d start a forest fire,” she mimicked his deep voice.  “The literal worst,” she laid back down flat on the grass.

“Get over here,” he grumbled playfully, rolling over so he was on his side, propping himself on his elbow as he draped his arm over her.  He leaned his head down slightly to kiss her, and for all her teasing, her dramatic eyerolls and her scoffing at his corny comments, she kissed him back readily.  “I love you,” he mumbled into her lips.

“I love you too.”

He kissed her again.  “Did you enjoy the bike ride?”

She nodded her head.  “This place is beautiful.  You always take me to the coolest and most beautiful places and it makes me never want to leave.  I’m tired and I’m red as a tomato but I could have stayed biking on that path forever.”

“I just want you to see how beautiful it is out here,” he said.  

“Can we build a house along the path we just went on?  Right in the middle of the trees?”

Morgan chuckled slightly as he dipped down, resting his head on her chest.  “You just tell me where, baby, and I’ll build it.”

***

“Morgan.”

“Hm?”

“What are you doing?”

“What do you think?”

They were on a boat in the middle of the Georgia Strait, watching the sunset again before making their way over to Gibsons to spend the day there.  Both were both already fully clothed, at Morgan’s insistence so they could start the day early – Bee in a sundress and him in his usual slacks and t-shirt – and he had taken it upon himself to cuddle with her again under a blanket as they watched the sunrise from the boat.  Just like last time, except Maggie had to stay home since she probably couldn’t handle an entire day out and about in Gibsons.  The boat ride was going to be tranquil, too.  Just like last time.

Morgan, apparently, had ulterior motives.  

Bee’s breath had hitched in her throat when she first felt Morgan’s hand slip and wiggle its way between her thighs.  His hand stayed dormant for a while, almost as if he had just put it in between her thighs to warm it (the crisp morning air was a bit nippy), but slowly, slowly, his hand kept sliding up, and when he was finally close enough, he began moving her panties out of the way.  That’s when she spoke up.  “Really?  Now?”  

“Always.”

“But what if we get caught?”

“By who?  The people in the other boats?” he asked sarcastically.  It was 5:30am and they were the only boat out for miles.  

Bee’s breath hitched in her throat again as she felt one of his fingers gliding along her lips lightly.  Just as she had planned that little surprise when they were in Kelowna, he had been planning this, apparently.  He knew exactly what he was doing when he told her to get dressed that morning and had made the comment about the sundress being cute and ‘very appropriate’ for the coastal town of Gibsons.  “I seriously don’t know where you get all this energy from.  Not that I’m complaining, cause I’d ride your dick across the Pacific Ocean if I could.”

Morgan smirked.  “I told you that my New Year’s Resolution was to have more sex with you.  I’m not one to break a resolution.”

“You’ve broken your clean eating during the season resolution like, every week since you’ve made it.”

“That’s different.  This is sex with you,” he stressed, causing her to laugh lightly. 

The only problem with Morgan’s surprise was that he wanted to take it slow.  Like, painstakingly slow.  Glacial pace slow.  Geologic time slow.  He teased the lips of her pussy much longer than Bee would have liked, and inserted only one finger after what felt like half an hour.  To make matters worse, he was talking to her and holding a conversation as if he wasn’t fingering her on the Goddamn boat, forcing her to participate instead of relishing in the feeling.  Her mind kept going back and forth – from talking about what book he should read next to the tingle making its way up her spine as he curled his finger in her slowly.  He was teasing her, putting her through psychological warfare, and he knew it, and it was all part of his plan.

She hated him.  But fuck, she loved it.

Another finger slipped in after a while.  As was standard, she found it harder and harder to concentrate on whatever words were coming out of Morgan’s mouth as his fingers moved lazily inside of her – she tried to keep the conversation, she really did, but with each movement and each further tease of his thumb near her clit, she was getting more and more sensitive.  Her body was already flush with heat.  “Morgan.”

“Yeah baby?”

“You’re gonna kill me, you know that?”

“Why?” he asked with fake innocence, at the same time curling his fingers in her, causing her to squeeze her thighs together.

“Really?” she demanded.

“You want me to stop?”

She glared at him.  “If you stop I’m throwing you overboard.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said, a third finger now slipping in so painstakingly slow she gave throwing him overboard a serious thought.  She squirmed slightly, trying to maintain her position but knowing it could change at any moment.  He began placing butterfly kisses on her shoulder, moving up to her neck.  She closed her eyes.  “Feels good?” he asked.

She could only nod her head as she let out a sigh, finally concentrating on the feeling of his three fingers inside of her.  If he was done playing his games, she was done playing them too.  “Your fingers always feel good inside me,” she whispered.

“You remember when we were doing this before Auston’s New Year’s Eve party?” he asked.  She nodded her head again, a smile creeping its way onto her face.  “I could have stayed home that entire night and fucked you senseless if you had let me.”

“I was a bit more naïve back then,” she joked.  “I wanted to make a good impression on your friends.  I thought if we didn’t show up Auston would hate me.”

“Auston could never hate you.”

“At least we got to see him make out with a cupcake.”

Morgan snorted, his nose and lips grazing the skin of her neck as he chuckled.  “Does he know you have that video?”

“No.”

“Keep it that way,” he giggled, biting down on her skin gently.  “And you remember Valentine’s Day?”

Did she remember Valentine’s Day?  What kind of question was that?  The question should have been ‘Do you remember the time I fucked you senseless with my hand four fingers deep in your pussy?’  She found herself nodding her head again as he curled his fingers, causing her to squirm.  “How could I forget?” she asked, an obvious strain in her voice.  

“If I remember correctly, I’m one finger short of how I was fucking you that night,” Morgan said, his voice low.  His thumb finally, finally attached itself to her clit, lazily rubbing circles.  Bee bit down on her lip.  She couldn’t help but try to move her hips so he could go deeper.  “Fuck Bee, you’re desperate aren’t you?”

“You fucking know I’m desperate,” she whispered harshly.  “I’m so fucking hot and so fucking wet and I’m ready to fucking explode, Morgan.”

“Guess I better go slower, then.  Tease you a little more,” he whispered in her ear, removing his thumb from her clit.

“Morgan Frederick Rielly, your fingers have been in my pussy for more than a fucking hour.  If you take any longer I will not be held legally responsible for what I will do to you.”

Morgan chuckled.  A low, hearty chuckle as he bit down on the skin of her neck again.  She wondered if he was leaving marks.  “All you have to do is say the magic words, baby,” his voice was so achingly sweet.

“I want to cum, Morgan.”

“Those aren’t the magic words,” his thumb grazed her clit teasingly.

She took a deep breath.  He was really going to make her do this on a fucking boat in the middle of the Strait of Georgia at 6:45 in the morning.  “I want to cum, Mr. Rielly.”

“That’s a good girl,” he said, his thumb finally beginning to rub circles again, all three of his fingers curling inside of her, causing her to squirm.  He continued his movements at a steady pace – nothing too fast or slow – and could feel her wetness building and her body getting more and more heated.  

Morgan saw the moment she closed her eyes, unable to take it anymore.  They were both silent as her orgasm tore through her entire body, powerful and long, leaving her body shaking and squirming for a while.  Morgan didn’t stop – really, did he ever? – until her hand reached in between her thighs to grab his.  His fingers left her pussy, and she watched through hooded eyes as he brought them to his mouth and sucked on them, tasting her juices.  

“Are you hard?” she asked quickly.

“Yeah.”

“Let me sit on your cock, Morgan.”

He unbuttoned and unzipped his pants quickly, shoving them half way down his legs as he saw Bee stand and bunch up the skirt of her dress around her hips.  She moved to stand in between his knees, facing away from him as she lowered herself onto his lap.  He moved her panties with one hand and grabbed his cock with the other, guiding it into her, and she began bouncing up and down in no time, her hands leaving her dress and squeezing onto his thighs, her nails digging into his skin.  

For all his teasing of her, he knew he wouldn’t last long like this.  Bee bouncing on his cock was probably his favourite view – never mind that beyond her was one of the most beautiful sunrises, with some of the most beautiful scenery in the world.  He could watch his cock disappear into her pussy all day.

“You’re lucky I’m not as big a tease as you are,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder to look back at him.  

“I don’t know about that,” he grunted, his hands going underneath the fabric of her dress to grab her ass.  “You existing is a tease to me.”

“Cheeky.”

“I see something else that’s cheeky.”

She smacked his thigh playfully.  “I love you, Morgan.”

“I love you too, baby.”

“Are you close?”

He nodded his head.  “I want you to cum again too, baby.  With me.”

She nodded her head, turning back around.  After a few more minutes, he felt her walls clench around his cock again, and she cried out his name.  He steadied her bouncing as he came inside of her, never ever getting tired of the feeling of filling her up.  She leaned back into his chest, his cock slipping out of her as he wrapped his arm around her.  They were both breathing heavily as they came down from their highs, Morgan peppering Bee’s shoulder and neck with light kisses.

“I love you,” Bee repeated her earlier sentiments.  “So damn much.  You have no idea.”

“I love you too, Bumblebee.  More than anything.”

***

“Out of all the amazing restaurants downtown…I have to say, the backyard of the Rielly house is my favourite place to eat,” Bee said, leaning back in her chair as she swallowed the last bit of perfectly grilled filet mignon.  She turned her head to look at Morgan sitting beside her, smiling.  “That filet was great.”

“I thought it was a bit salty,” Connor joked, garnering a sneer from Morgan and a laugh from Bee.  “Whoever seasoned the vegetables did a much better job.”

“You’re just saying that so mom will slice you a bigger piece of cheesecake,” Morgan snarled.  “Don’t fall for it, mum.  That steak was grilled perfectly medium rare.”

“Oh alright you two,” Shirley waved off her quarrelling boys.  “You’re both getting a big fat slice of cheesecake.  No need to butter me up about it.”

“Reminds me of the time you boys were fighting over who was giving the homeless people at the shelter bigger portions of turkey for Thanksgiving,” Andy quipped.  “Everything was always a competition with you two when you were younger.  How old were you boys?”

“I was twelve,” Morgan remembered.  “It was two years before I left for Notre Dame.”

“Yeah, I was in my first year of high school,” Connor nodded his head before focusing his attention back on his brother.  “Have the Leafs kept doing that Covenant House volunteering for the holidays?”

“Every year,” Morgan nodded his head.  

“Have you joined in?” Andy asked.

“Of course.”

“I’d like to get in on that next time…if I can,” Bee piped up.  “I used to be on the receiving end of that sort of stuff.  It’d be nice to give back.”

Morgan gave her a look.  He wasn’t exactly shocked that she’d want to do volunteer work – this was Bee, after all – but to him, her tone sounded like she had been waiting to say this for a very long time.  “Really?”

Bee looked at Morgan as if it was the most obvious choice in the world.  “It’s been almost a year now.  I think it’s about time.”

“You must have discussed it with some of the other girls, then,” Shirley offered.

“I’ve actually discussed this with Aryne Tavares,” Bee said.  “We’ve talked about it a lot, actually.  She did a lot of charity work down in Long Island and she’s been continuing it in Toronto, and I think it’s time for me to start too.  I’m actually going with her to Sick Kids when we get back to Toronto, but I’m thinking there’s other stuff I can do, too.”

Morgan should have known she had already started this discussion with Aryne.  “That’s great news, Bee,” Shirley smiled.  “What were you thinking?”

“Well the Leafs have always had a relationship with Sick Kids Hospital – I know Morgan goes there a lot too, has been there a lot, so that’s one,” she began.  “Since we got Brucey from the Humane Society I thought of maybe doing something with them…like, promoting adoption drives and stuff like that.  Literacy programs too – going into elementary schools and promoting reading to kids,” she continued.  Morgan could tell her tone was getting more nervous the more she spoke.  “And…um, Aryne and I have been talking, and I think, uh, it’s really good, cause, well, it’s really important to me that, uh…I get involved in something like Alateen.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, everybody around the table digesting what Bee just revealed to them.  Morgan barely blinked.  Connor was nodding his head slowly.  Andy and Shirley looked like they were still listening intently – like they hadn’t processed the information yet.  It was only until Andy spoke up that Bee felt the weight lift off her shoulders.  “That’s very honourable of you, Briony.”

“I haven’t um, looked into it yet or anything.  It’s just a very basic idea,” Bee felt the need to explain herself.  “It’s just that, you know, I could have used a mentor growing up in that situation.  Somebody to sort of guide me through.  Not somebody to tell me that everything was going to be okay, because I knew things weren’t going to be okay, but at least somebody to speak to.  And I think of all the kids – all the teens – who are going through what I went through, and it just feels right to try to help them.  Nobody really…I didn’t know these resources existed growing up – mostly because I lied to my teachers, because I’m sure they would have told me – but I just think that I could…you know…provide some insight.  Some help.  However I can.”

She felt Morgan grab her hand underneath the table and squeeze it tightly.  Connor was nodding his head approvingly now, as were Andy and Shirley.  “That’s fantastic Bee.  You’d be great at that,” Shirley said.  “You have built such a successful life for yourself, and you can be a real role model for those kids.  They’ll be able to see someone who powered through, who survived, who got an education and is working and is making a success out of herself.”

“Yeah,” Bee nodded her head.  “Um, I know I’m gonna need to clear it.  I know it’s a very touchy subject for a lot of people and I don’t know if it’ll get approved or whatever, but it’s something I’d like to do.  If not now, in the future.  And if I can’t do it with the Lady Leafs, then maybe through Scotiabank.  Or on my own.  I don’t know.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Andy affirmed, swirling the remainder of his wine around in his glass.  “I think you were meant for something like that.”

***

Andy and Shirley didn’t have rules this time – however imposed or unimposed they were the first time around in January – so Bee and Morgan slept in the same bed, his bed, that night after dinner.  They were spooning – on their sides cradled into one another, Morgan’s arm draped over Bee and Bee’s legs curled into his – just enjoying each other’s warmth.  The sun had set long ago but the light from the moon illuminated the room slightly.

They were staring into each other’s eyes.  They had been since they lay down together.  Morgan initiated it and had barely stopped.  Bee could only indulge him.  

“You’re the strongest girl in the world, you know that?” he whispered, his voice low and soft.  “After all you’ve been through, after all you’ve had to overcome, you’re still willing to talk about your experience.  I don’t know if I’d be able to do something like that.”

“It’s never something I’ve backed away from.  You know that,” she said in an equally soft voice.  “I told you from the get go.  I’m not ashamed.”

“I’m just scared,” he admitted.

“About what?”

“Any scrutiny you’ll get for talking about your past and what you’ve been able to overcome.  I’ve told you how harsh the media can be.  You’ve seen how harsh the media can be.  But it’s not even…it’s the DMs.  You know how nasty they can be and those girls can be fucking crazy.  We still haven’t solved the DM issue enough for me to be confident that you’re…you know, safe.”

Bee brought her hand up, cupping his face.  “Whatever scrutiny I’ll get will be from low-lives,” she began.  “Who would go after a girl for trying to help children with alcoholic parents or relatives?  You’d have to be a special kind of dumbass, to be quite honest.”

“I know, but--”

“Besides,” she interrupted him.  “I’m a big girl.  I can handle it.  This is going to do way more good than harm because I’m not ashamed of where I came from.  Even if I just help one person, Morgan, it’s worth it.  It’s worth it to me.”

[mintycanoodles]

mmmmmmaybe a Cupcake Wars au where the Graduation Kiss never happened and Bitty and Jack went their separate ways never able to shake the feeling they missed out on something big and maybe neither of them really get over it but what can you do but waste countless sleepless nights thinking about what if’s??

so a handful of years down the road Bitty has his bakery and Jack is the darling of the Falconers but is a walking talking PR disaster who never really grew out of the hockey robot thing. so.

The Falconers are having some sort of Thing and get involved with Cupcake Wars to promote it. And who gets guest judge duty? To work on his public persona and media navigational abilities? Jack of course.

And who, of course, is one of the contestants??? Bitty duh so Bitty goes, and iirc contestants aren’t told the theme or guest judge beforehand so the drama bomb that drops when eyes meet and repressed feelings get tapped into and yeeesh now that’s what I call Awkward.

so. Despite two participants with major internal and interpersonal drama happening, the episode actually goes mostly smoothly. Neither Jack nor Bitty mentions it to anyone on the production team because whose business is it anyway and obviously no one did any homework on them so they?? act like they just don’t know each other???????? It’s not like they can sneak off for five minutes and hash it out so both just. Try not to interact directly too much but come on you know things happen.

Bitty can’t exactly forget Jack’s favorites and Jack cannot even begin to be unbiased (not when every taste he gets of Bitty's baking feels like home again, even after all this time). Jack may or may not fight the judges at every critique aimed at Bitty’s cupcakes, but Bitty hardly needs it, he solidly trounces the competition and wins. And gets invited to the Falconers Thing. Which works out pretty great in Jack's eyes.

Except it doesn’t. Bitty avoids him all evening? He cold shoulders Jack the whole time and Jack kind of gets it, the cameras are still rolling and they can’t exactly catch up now but still? Before Jack gets anything approaching a chance to talk Bitty packs up and he’s out of there as soon as he’s contractually able to.

So Jack may or may not eat his feelings in cupcakes over it. It feels like another missed opportunity and it stings and he wonders how he keeps getting it so wrong.

According to Georgia it’s an unqualified success. She watches the footage, pats him on the back for going through with it, and says something offhand about how well he got on with a few of the contestants (one in particular she notices. she doesn’t mention it). Jack gets in a funk over it, but there’s nothing to do but forget about it until the episode airs.

No one, definitely not Georgia, definitely not the PR department, is prepared for the chaos the premier causes. It’s not immediate, the episode comes out on a quiet Tuesday and the Falcs do some promotion for it, but not much, so some of Jack’s diehard fans watch it but they’re not expecting any kind of major major response. It was supposed to be something small and light to soften Jack’s image and work his media relations muscles. Who even watches Cupcake Wars anyways???? Plenty do. And they go nuts for the episode.

People who have no idea who Jack is, barely an idea what hockey even is, see Mr. tall dark and Canadian and see too exactly what Georgia had seen. Bitty and Jack and all the special attention paid to the little southern baker boy.

It’s, of course, obvious to anyone with eyes the sparks between them, the lingering looks, how Bitty can barely stop from grinning when Jack lists off his every favorite part of Bitty's cupcakes but has monosyllabic responses for the other contestants. As subtle as the two thought they’d been, they really hadn’t and it’s only a matter of time before it’s trending on Twitter and every lovelorn Cupcake Wars fan is writing RPF and subtweeting the Falcs and Bitty's account about it.

This is not exactly the public image Georgia had been hoping Jack would cultivate. They try to put out the fires, calm things down and make a few #relatable Twitter posts about it that the PR interns cook up. Georgia wheedles the real story out of Jack, and it throws her off kilter actually, once he fesses up to a few details that would make the collective heads of the internet reel, but she’s a professional. The PR team is a crack squad. They get things under control.

Until, of course, some intrepid fans uncover The Truth.

Mamely, how Bitty and Jack totally knew each other because they were totally on the same hockey team in college??? And had totally set records together and there were totally pictures still archived on school websites of celebration hugs and even a few traces left of a senior photography project that featured one Eric R. Bittle (and others) in touchingly intimate portraits???? and uhhhhh explanations????????? are needed?????????

#cupcakegate takes the Twitterverse by collective storm. Kardashians whom??? Bitty gets bombarded, the Falconer’s can’t make a single post about a home game without demands for updates on the drama and Georgia is nearly drowning in it all but wading through it like a champ.

The PR department reaches out to Bitty in an email that Bitty never responds to, his stomach too tied up in knots over all this debacle is bringing up, but he feels like this is partially his fault. He tries his best. He does a tell all vlog to set the record straight.

He tries to keep it simple, stick to the main points.

Why didn’t they say anything? Why act like they didn’t know each other?

Neither of them knew the other would be there (truth) and they didn’t want to disrupt filming or make it seem like Bitty had an unfair advantage.

Are they currently romantically involved?

No (truth).

Had they ever, at any point, back in college, been romantically involved?

No (truth?).

Was there anything, anything at all behind the long looks and soft gazes? A single spark? An ounce of unspoken, hidden attraction?????

No (lies).

Bitty bears his heart a little, gets going on a tangent on their relationship back in college and how much Jack helped him through and what a good team they’d been and how he’s a little sad he and Jack drifted so far apart (lies, it hurts, it’s never stopped hurting) but he’s happy for Jack and really proud of him and glad he got the chance to see him again and wishes him the best (truth).

Of COURSE this only makes things worse. Bless Bitty's heart but he has zero self awareness when it comes to Jack and his clearly lovesick vlog brings avid followers of the whole debacle to new emotional heights. People are invested. The drama continues.

It comes to a head when Jack himself braves the world of Twitter, finally, to try and hash things out privately with Bitty so he logs onto the dusty old handle Georgia created and verified for him ages ago that he’d, bless her heart, just never gotten the hang of. He knows Bitty's handle from all this hullabaloo now so he opens up a message, stares at the blinking screen for about a minute, then promptly has a breakdown.

Everything comes back to him. Every warm moment they’d shared back in college. Every time he felt Bitty there for him and every inch of home and safe Bitty ever gave him.

And how he never told Bitty how he felt (lies. still feels). How he’d let that slip right through his fuckup fingers.

It takes him two weeks to draft the message. That’s ages in internet time, so things die down a bit in the interim and other celebrity dramas unfold so Jack finally stops getting pestered about it by every pap and chirped by every team mate. He’s glad they’ll never put him on reality baking competition show duty again but is it worth it? (yes. yes it is)

It gives Jack plenty of time to stew and stew he does, until he’s finally able to write out a pretty succinct summary of everything he never got a chance to say.

It boils down to a couple main points:

Bitty was probably the best thing that ever happened to Jack. Bitty made him softer and better able to handle things and just gave him the safety net he needed and he would always be grateful to Bitty for that.

Jack had also never meant for them to drift apart, he’d always wanted to stay in touch, actually, he’d always wanted so much more than that but Jack knew Bitty didn’t feel the same way, so Jack created the space between them and he was sorry he’d been such a poor friend and had gotten it so wrong.

Jack hoped, maybe beyond hope, that it wasn’t too late. Jack asked if they could be friends again, that he missed Bitty, and he hoped to hear back from him.

Jack is rather proud of himself for all the emotional eloquence that goes into the message. He thinks Shitty would be, too. Of course, it is kind of annoying he has to split it up into so many pieces and tag Bitty's account in each one so they’ll send to him, something about a 140 character limit? Jack doesn’t really get it, but social media isn’t his thing. So he sends his piecemeal message and waits patiently for Bitty to get back to him.

Georgia regrets ever trying to get Jack any amount of media exposure.

Jack’s not so private love letter is screen capped, saved to hard drives, printed into longevity and takes the internet land by storm all over again. Jacks completely oblivious to it until day two or so when Shitty, Lardo, and every person he knew at any point at Samwell bomb his phone. Georgia does her best, she really does, but it’s the last straw for the PR team. They’ve long since collapsed in a puddle of tears and Georgia has to coordinate the disaster relief effort herself and enforce the media lockdown until they can just deal with this and Jack, it’s okay, we’re all here for you and your sexuality is valid but honey, no more internet for you. Georgia does take the thread down but its too little too late and there is going to be a million and one interviews about this and she hasn’t slept in days and-

and Jack feels bad for her. He feels a little embarrassed his personal business is so out in the open like that but. Well. It’s his own fault. He should have probably asked a few more questions about how to work Twitter. But deep down? It’s a huge weight off. He’d never exactly planned on coming out publicly because he never really thought he’d have anyone who would make him consider it but. Well. He’s said what he needed to say. About time.

He lets Georgia tell him what to do and what to say to whom. He does a few interviews, nothing televised, just a few online publications. It takes several more weeks for any of it to approach any sort of calm again, but eventually, an equilibrium is reached. And then, only then, does Jack get a call from a number he doesn’t have saved yet.

“Hey, Jack,” he hears in a thick southern accent when he picks up, and it doesn’t, not at all, send a shiver of pure warmth all the way down to his toes (lies, all lies).

“Bittle-Eric? Bitty. Hey,” he says. Bitty laughs.

“I think maybe we should talk. Would you, maybe, want to meet up for coffee sometime?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, I’d love that.” (truth)

[jbbarnesnnoble]

Where the Moonlight Shines (Part One)

Summary:  You’re a junior deputy in Hope County, Montana when things go to hell in a handbasket with the local cult. It’s months before help arrives in the form of the Avengers, taking you down a road you never expected.

Features: Mild violence

Pairing: TBD

Series Warnings: Canon typical violence; depictions/mentions of torture; depictions/mentions of brainwashing; will add more as they become relevant

Notes: Part One has dialogue directly from Far Cry 5; Series will primarily focus on the fallout of Hope County and Rook’s (Reader’s) recovery. While I have through part seven written, posting will likely be every other week if not longer as I go back through for the 1000th time and expand the story even more. Because of this, more warnings may be added. The story diverges entirely from MCU canon. Bucky is part of the team, IW and Endgame don’t happen and Civil War is ignored. 

This is a crossover between Far Cry 5 and the MCU

Word Count: 2631

You were the newest Junior Deputy with the Hope County Sheriff’s Department. Newest was a relative term. Hope County rarely saw newcomers, unless they were flocking to that damned Project. You had spent summers there growing up, sure, but there was something different about living there full time. It was a home away from home. You’d returned to Montana on a permanent basis for peace and quiet, away from the hustle and bustle of a more populated area. It was easier to keep to yourself there, even with everyone knowing you. You had healing abilities, something that happened when you were in high school, interning in a science lab. It was something you kept to yourself. 

Everyone called you Rook, even the people who had known you since you were a kid. You had started there as a dispatcher when you moved to Hope County, went through the academy when you saw the way things were heading with the Project, and got offered the position two years ago. The one thing you hated about the job was Nancy. If you had to hear Nancy go on one more time about whatever mundane thing was going on in her life, you were going to lose it. 

You had been in Hope County a few years when they started causing major issues. The Project at Eden’s Gate. Locals called the members of the Project Peggies. The Project had a dark cloud over it. Suspected kidnappings. Coercing businesses into closing. They had strict policies on alcohol. Namely that it wasn’t allowed. They had seemed innocent enough when they arrived years back. Joseph Seed, the so called ‘Father’, had worked with Father Jerome for a time. You weren’t sure when things started shifting, but they did. You hated working calls dealing with the Project. Especially calls in the Henbane, because inevitably, you would end up dealing with Faith Seed. You figured if you kept to yourself, only interacting when it was required for work, you’d be fine. You were wrong. So terribly wrong.

The real trouble started when you were at the bar in Fall’s End, the Spread Eagle. It was owned by Mary May Fairgrave, who was one of the toughest women you knew and one of your oldest friends. You had just settled in to have a beer and a burger, catching up with her, when trouble walked in. 

One of the leaders of the Project at Eden’s Gate came in looking smug as always. You knew which brother it was by the designer clothes he wore and the look of disdain plastered upon his face. John Seed was an arrogant bastard. He was always trying to get Mary May to close up shop, going on about how alcohol was immoral and how it drove people to sin. Preaching about how he had been lost to the vice before his brother found him. You rolled your eyes at him and continued your conversation with the bartender, pretending he wasn’t there. You considered her one of your closest friends in the county outside of Joey Hudson and Staci Pratt. You knew being ignored would only serve to rile him up. 

“I’m sorry, I thought it was rude to ignore a customer,” he said, flashing a smile that was so fake it put Barbie to shame. 

“What can I get you?” Mary May asked through grit teeth. You watched the interaction with caution. You could never trust a Seed. 

“A water, please, and a moment of your time,” he replied. You choked back a laugh. Of course he’d only order water. You took a sip of the drink in front of you, a watered down beer that reminded you of the bonfires in high school, when everything seemed so much more simple. Nights curled up against Staci’s side, his hand never straying from your back. Staci Pratt, ex-boyfriend turned colleague and one of your best friends. You remembered nights spent laughing with Rachel Jessop, now Faith Seed. Before the drugs. Before the Project. You knew Tracey had taken it hard when Rachel joined the cult. You all had. And now there were rumors about her and something called the Bliss. You didn’t like it and investigations into it had turned up nothing, the Seeds stonewalling you at every turn. 

“You know, Deputy, it is certainly unbecoming of an officer of the law to be in a place like this,” John said, drawing out the syllables in the word deputy. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Seed, this is one of the local watering holes. You’d be hard pressed to find an officer who doesn’t come in on a night off,” you snapped. Mary May set the glass of water down on the bar, water sloshing over the side with the force, earning a dirty look from John. 

“We want you to stop serving alcohol, Ms. Fairgrave. It’s a temptation for many of our flock,” John said. 

“Too damn bad, Seed. This bar was here long before you and it’ll be here long after,” she said. 

“We’ll see about that,” you heard him mutter before he spoke again, “I’d hate to see something happen because of one of our more zealous members. We cannot be held accountable for their actions,” he said before standing and walking out the door.  As the man left the bar, she gave you a look of concern. 

“I don’t trust him or those brothers of his, Rook. Sooner or later something is going to give. Did you hear about the Anderson’s kids? They just up and left, leaving a note for their parents sayin’ they were leaving their life of sin to join the Project,” Mary-May said. 

“I’m sure they’re harmless. If they weren’t surely the feds would be closing in on them...hell, maybe even the Avengers. Every time we’ve carried out a welfare check, the person was accounted for,” you said. You wondered if you’d ever believe that yourself. 

You had seen things when carrying out those checks that set you on edge. But there was no proof that the Seeds were doing anything illegal, no proof that people were being kidnapped. You couldn’t even get a warrant to search their properties, John Seed made sure of that. Damned Georgia lawyer. He was a massive thorn in the side of the Sheriff's Department. The hands of the department were tied, no matter how much you all hated it. 

“Now that’d be a sight, the Avengers here in Hope County,” she said with a shake of her head. 

“For all we know, the Project could be an arm of Hydra, now wouldn’t that be something? With the rumors that swirl about those brothers, it wouldn’t surprise me is all I’m saying,” you said. 

“Keep talking like that and I’ll send ya to hang out with Zip,” she said as she wiped down the bar. You laughed. Zip Kupka was the local conspiracy theorist. You’d answered more than your fair share of calls out to his place. The only other person who could top Zip for crazy theories was Larry Parker. You sat talking for a while, until she was closing for the night. Things happened in a blur. Something went through the front window as she was flipping the chairs up and hit her. You rushed to her side.

“Mary May, stay awake...stay awake damn it,” you said as you pressed your hand to the gash on her head. You focused on the injury. Your powers were jarring when you hadn’t used them in awhile. Blue encased your hand as you worked to heal the damage. She looked at you stunned.

“That ain’t normal,” she said. You sighed as you helped her sit up. You didn’t see the two figures watching the scene from across the street in their car.

“It’s...complicated. Come on, let’s get some food and water in you,” you said, helping her up. You covered the broken window up while she sat down. You picked up the rock. There was a note attached.

“What’s it say?” she asked.

“Last warning. Close up shop, or else...Mary, I’m taking this down the station,” you said. She frowned.

“I don’t see what that’s going to do. We don’t have proof it came from the Seeds,” she said. 

“John Seed has been pressuring you for weeks now to stop selling alcohol and to close down...but you’re probably right. He’ll just say it was an overzealous member of the Project,” you said, feeling defeated. You stayed the night, worried that something else would happen. You left early, glad you had the day off. You headed up to the station to drop the rock and the note off with the Eden’s Gate files before you headed home. Something was coming, you just weren’t so sure what. 

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

A few days later, Cameron Burke arrived in town, with a warrant from the Federal Marshals for the arrest of Joseph seed. You had a bad feeling about the arrest. None of you were comfortable with the task. Sheriff Whitehorse had tried to talk him out of it. He had no idea what he was doing. You knew it would only provoke the hornets nest, not destroy it. 

“You sure you’re alright? You can sit this one out, no judgment,” Staci said as your group headed to the helicopter. 

“Alright is subjective, Pratt. I just have a bad feeling about this arrest,” you said. He nodded.

“I don’t like it either but the Marshal won’t change his mind. You know that as well as I do. He’s bullheaded. All he’s gonna do is rile them up,” he said. You nodded in agreement. 

“We’ll be alright,” you said. You knew neither of you believed it. Through the flight, you tried re-watching the videos. The videos were the closest thing to evidence of wrong doing. Your stomach churned at the thought. Joseph Seed was shown on video gouging out the eyes of someone. 

Pratt landed the helicopter and your feelings of unease grew. Members of the Project stood with guns at the ready. You could hear the sounds of their music playing, some song about Jacob Seed setting the sinners free. You hated the Project music, even if it was catchy. It was creepy. 

“Hudson, on the door, watch our backs, don’t let any of these people get in. Rookie, on me,” Sheriff Whitehorse said. Whitehorse was like a father figure. You knew he had reservations about the arrest, which was why he told the Marshal to follow his lead. You didn’t like how cocky the Marshal was. As the three of you entered the church a chill ran down your spine as Joseph Seed spoke. His flock were listening intently, hanging on every word the man said. 

“They will come, try to take from us, take our guns, take our freedom, take our faith! We will not let them!” Joseph preached. Anxiety had made itself at home, feeling like a rock in your stomach. Everything in you said to run, far away and never look back. 

“Sheriff come on,” Burke said. His impatience grated on you. He didn’t understand just how tenuous the situation was. 

“Just hold on Marshal,” Whitehorse said. You were saying a silent prayer, hoping Burke wouldn’t do something stupid. 

“We will not let their greed, or their immorality, or their depravity hurt us anymore, there will be no more suffering,” Joseph said before the Marshal interrupted, against the warnings of the sheriff. 

“Joseph Seed! I have a warrant issued for your arrest on the suspicion of kidnapping with the intent to harm. Now, I want you to step forward and keep your hands where I can see them,” Burke said. And there it was. Whatever happened now, Burke had all but sealed your fates. 

You thought about what you knew about the Seeds. John was a lawyer. You’d had to deal with him on multiple occasions. He was smart, good at what he did. He was the youngest brother and owned a ranch in the valley. Jacob was the oldest, a veteran. When the family bought up St. Francis, up in the Whitetail Mountains, he’d made himself at home there. And then there was Faith Seed. Rachel Jessop. Joseph Seed had taken her under his wing and suddenly, she was known as Faith, Rachel just a memory. You avoided her if you could. She was a friend, once upon a time. 

“Here they are, locusts in our garden. See they’ve come from me. They’ve come to take me away from you. They’ve come to destroy all that we’ve built!” Joseph said. The jeering from the crowd grew louder. Your breathing grew more shallow. You were terrified. There were far more of them than there were of you. Even with Hudson at the door, just outside, you were outnumbered and outgunned. Burke made a move for his gun.

“Don’t touch that service weapon!” Whitehorse snapped. He called for calm as Joseph did the same for his congregants. 

“We knew this moment would come. We have prepared for it. Go, go, God will not let them take me,” Joseph said, as his siblings moved behind him. He raised his arms in the air, head tilted up toward the ceiling as members of his congregation walked toward the doors.

“I saw when the Lamb opened the first seal and I heard as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts say “come and see” and I saw. And behold, it was a white horse, and hell followed with him,” Joseph said, his gaze falling on you as he held his arms out. 

“Rookie, cuff this son of a bitch,” Burke said. You felt a cold sweat form. Why you? Why did you have to be the one to cuff him when the Marshal was the one who came to arrest him? You were there as back up, not to be the arresting officer. You looked at him. You felt the eyes of all four Seeds on you, curious about what you would do. You were frozen to the spot. You could refuse, walk away, pretend it never happened. Live your life.

“Rookie, come on,” Burke said, getting impatient. You went against your gut. Your hands shook as you took your cuffs from your belt. You closed your eyes as you locked them in place, feeling as though you had just set something in motion you couldn’t take back. 

As you got Joseph into the chopper, his people snapped into action. They were not going to let you go. Even as Pratt went to take off, people were still climbing on the chopper and soon, it was falling from the sky as Joseph sang Amazing Grace. You blacked out for a moment, opening your eyes to see Joseph staring at you. You reached for the dangling headset as Nancy’s voice came over the radio. Joseph responded, and when you heard her call him Father, you cursed her out in your head. You should have known she was one of them. 

“Let the Reaping begin!” Joseph yelled. As much as you wanted to help your colleagues, your friends, you knew you couldn’t save them and yourself. You got yourself out and took off. You found Burke and the two of you attempted to make a get away, only to end up going off the bridge and into the water. When you next came to, you found yourself cuffed to a bed in a bunker, only to find it belonged to Dutch, a prepper who saved you from the Seeds and the Project when you came on shore. You couldn’t help but think back to what Whitehorse had said before you’d headed to the church. Sometimes it’s best to leave well enough alone.

[snarkwrites]

FFT: sweet morning rose; shane walsh

Notes:

So... this is one of my many universes for Evie Grimes, my walking dead original character. Given that I cannot choose between Shane and Daryl to save my life, she has like.. 3? universes with each guy? I know, it’s excessive, yikes. Let me live, damn. Maybe one day I’ll write out at least one each. I toyed with doing a ‘choose your own guy / path’ thing but that’s hard and I’m not sure anyone would even read a basic fic for TWD by me, let alone a complicated one. But maybe. Maybe one day.

Summary:

Shane’s nightmare the night before the apocalypse kicks off has him really taking note of the things that matter.. But will he apply what he’s /seen/ to real life? For now, it seems so.

Pairing:

Shane Walsh x OFC, Evie

Warning:

uhh.. zombies. some vague gore allusions. a Grimes!ofc, and Shane, before he goes darkside.

Hazy morning sunlight filtered in through threadbare plaid curtains and Shane rolled over. When his arm settled over a body next to him, he jolted awake.

The nightmare from the night before was still fresh in his mind. It was all so vivid; so real. Rick in a coma, then a fever hitting and putting a grinding halt to the world as he knew it.. Being forced to choose and making the wrong damn choice.

Evie lie there, and she seemed to feel that he’d woken up, because she was rolling over, curling herself against him, a hand going up to shield her eyes as she grumbled about getting better damn curtains.

Shane couldn’t shake the nightmare, and he got this distinct feeling that he’d had it for a reason. That there was a lesson within.

… don’t take an idiot to figure out the lesson is not let outside people interfere with me an’ Evie… the thought came clear as a bell and Shane sat up, rubbing his eyes. It prompted Evie to sit up, eyeing him in concern.

“You okay?”

“Just one helluva nightmare last night, darlin.”

“About when you were a kid?”

“Nah, this was.. Different. This was worse.”

Evie almost pushed for more details, but something about the look of sheer panic and pain in his eyes stopped her from bringing it up. Instead, she leaned against his back, peppering kisses across his shoulders as she rubbed her hands up and down his arms.

“There’s a game on. Wanna go re heat the pizza from last night and just snuggle up on the couch and watch it?”

Shane grabbed hold of her hips as she slid off the bed, pulling her down into his lap, smoothing hair out of her face as he gave her his most serious look. “You know I love ya, right? That I’m only yer man?”

“Shane, what the hell was that dream about?”

Before they could say anything, an emergency siren went off over at the town hall. They shared a look and Evie went to stand - probably to go look out the door, but Shane grabbed hold of her, putting her behind him. “Stay close.”

“Shane, what’s going on with you? It’s probably just a test.” Evie whispered back. Shane opened the door just barely and peeked out.

The Millers down the street were hurrying to cram their things into the back of an SUV.

A glance up the block showed that other neighbors were doing the same. The sky was bright and sunny, it was a typical Georgia Saturday morning and yet deep down, Shane got the distinct feeling it wasn’t.

He shut the door quickly and leaned against it, pulling Evie against him, staring down at her after breathing in the sweet rose scent of her shampoo. “Darlin, we gotta get our shit an get outta here. I don’t know what’s goin on but all the neighbors are doin it. That can’t be a good sign.”

Evie’s natural response was to try and peer out the window next to the door and when her face went pale and her jaw dropped , her scream echoing through the house, Shane pulled her away from the window, peering out himself.

A little blonde girl in a hospital gown and a pink house robe was shuffling down the block, with half of her face gone, and blood and skin hanging from the part that wasn’t.. She looked like she was chewing on the skin hanging from that side of her mouth and her body was slumped over, the flesh sloughing off as her feet dragged the pavement leaving almost brown bloody trails behind her.

“Evie, we gotta get our asses outta here. We ain’t got time t’ talk about this.”

Evie nodded in response and Shane raced down the hall, back into their bedroom with Evie hot on his heels. He shut the bedroom door, starting to shove his grandma’s old heavy wooden armoire in front of the door, just to be safe.

“She bit that kid… She just walked up and bit him..” Evie was pale, shaking and staring at the faded hardwood floor in disbelief at what she’d seen.

She’d heard rumors that some new virus was out there, and that it was dangerous, but the news hadn’t mentioned it in almost a week now.

Was their town being hit by whatever virus this was?

Shane knelt next to her, cupping her jaw. “C’mon, darlin.. Y’ gotta stay with me, okay? We gotta get outta here.. Together.”

When she didn’t respond, Shane picked her up over his shoulder and after stopping by his gun cabinet to grab his Mossberg, the box with her engagement ring inside of it and a box of ammo, he bolted out the door on side of the house, making a break for his Bronco.

He put Evie inside and swerved into the road, and when he looked back in the rearview, more of whatever that little girl had been were rounding the corner behind him, slowly but surely.

“Don’t look back, darlin. Just trust me.. You.. don’t wanna see what I just did.”

“Okay..”

Shane fumbled around with the knobs on an ancient Kenwood cd player and finally, he found a station giving a detailed report.

They were calling for an evacuation.

“You think we oughta call Lori and Rick?”

“Hon, yer brother’s gon get ‘em out. I’m sure we’ll see ‘em on the interstate…” Shane said it but he relented. “I’ll call Rick. Make sure he’s awake and hearin what’s goin on.”

He called Rick and found out that they’d already gotten out of town. It made him breathe one hell of a lot easier. And the nightmare from the night before came rushing back.

Maybe it hadn’t only been a lesson, but a warning as well.

Not that he’d ever put much stock in that kind of stuff… But maybe it was a needed wakeup call.. A reminder to focus only on what was closest to his heart. Not to let himself forget where his heart really was.

… hint taken… he thought to himself as they hung a right and turned onto the ramp leading onto the interstate and the fairgrounds, where the newscaster had told everyone to head out to on the radio not even five minutes earlier.