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sylvie-writes · 4 years ago

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Bad (3): Memories We Used to Share

First inspired by this song ➳ Bad by Lennon Stella

(Ransom Drysdale x wife reader)

Summary: It’s time to move out! 6 months of getting your life sorted, along with a few surprises, some pleasant, others not so much.

A/n: My search history is looking weird, due to this series haha. I’ve been reading multiple articles about uncontested divorce just to get an understanding for this series lmao.

Disclaimer: Just so you know, I’m not a law school graduate, so I can’t say I really know what in the hell I am talking about. With that being said, if I screw up the divorce process in this chapter and/or the next, please don’t come at me. Our law system is confusing and I’m just here to write, no one said it would be accurate lol.

Warnings: mild profanity & your typical cheesy, predictable fanfic by yours truly.

Shoutout: MANY THANKS TO THE ANON WHO GAVE ME SOME IDEAS TO MAKE THIS A SERIES!

As always, plz pardon any mistakes, the stories are always proofread but I tend to make many mistakes regardless.

Series Masterlist

For six months, you worked to get your life back together.

By the end of April, a week after you yelled at your (ex) husband, you had successfully packed up your stuff, without being bothered by the man. Ever since the night you had confronted him, the two of you never stood in the same room or even looked the other in the eye. So it worked in your favor today that he was busy with his new flame, probably entertaining her with a trip to Prada. Never once did you take a break, for eight straight hours, you spent one whole Saturday organizing and strategically packing your things away. Around eight o’clock, all of the boxes were stacked by the front door, ready to be moved into the U-haul trailer attached to your car. Lucky for you, Ransom could care less about what was his and what was yours. The dog, also going home with you. In truth, ever since that day you rightfully ripped the man for his mistakes, a black cloud has loomed over his head, no matter what he may be on the outside, he’s broken on the inside.

One more box was left in the bedroom, and you quickly jogged up the stairs to get it. Unbeknownst to you, as you were upstairs, Ransom and Blair had come home, apparently mindless to your car in the driveway, because when you walked down the stair box in hand the two pulled away from each other’s lips, staring at you.

You had made an agreement with Ransom that he’d not show up while you packed your things. He had done a good job so far, up until now that is. “Oh, (y/n), I didn’t think you’d be here this late. You should get some rest.”

His “concern” disgusted you. Now he decides to care about you? I think not.

Filled with rage, you drop the cardboard box, letting the contents inside shatter. In most divorces, there wouldn’t be this much emotion, but it hurt you beyond words can describe, to see this man that you loved with every inch of your body, kissing another woman, in YOUR house. You could even see yourself in her shoes, because damn, once upon a time, you WERE her.

“Are you okay!” Blair came rushing to your side, to try and move you out of the shattered glass. She seemed like a genuinely nice person, and had she not been a home-wrecker, you’d want to be her friend. But at this moment, all you could think about was that she wasn’t even bothered by the fact that she’d been seeing a married man. So, just as Blair tried to help you, you pushed away her hands and collapsed on the steps, lightly sitting in the glass, yet numb to the pain. The weight of the world had finally, physically pushed you to the ground. You were at wits end, and things were looking pretty dark. At this point, you couldn’t even see the light at the end of the tunnel. What had you done to deserve this and would there be a second chance for you?

Just then, Ransom came to remove Blair, telling her to go get ready for bed, the two clearly coming from a night of clubbing. As she ran up the stairs, mindful of the glass, Ransom came to pick you up. Grabbing your arms, you laid limp against his chest, willingly letting him carry you down the stairs. Oh how you missed his caring touch, why couldn’t things be different? It should've been you out dancing with him, you lip locked with him. Instead, here you were, letting the man who single-handedly destroy your life, carrying you to the couch, laying a blanket and a long kiss on your cheek. Consumed with emotions, sleep soon took over your body before you could protest and leave the house. Had you only heard Ransom’s apology.

“I’m so sorry my precious (y/n), it shouldn’t have been this way, my love.” A few stray tears rolled down Ransom’s cheek as he sadly sauntered up the stairs.

Ironic, how in a house that was once yours, a new woman took your spot in the bed, besides your once husband, while you slept on the couch like a toy banned to the isle of misfits.

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of coffee and giggles. You were angry at yourself, no doubt, how could you be so vulnerable by staying at the house? Before you could think anymore, you walked to get your keys, finding that Blair was in the kitchen, cooking pancakes for Ransom, who sat at the kitchen table with coffee and the newspaper. You kinda screwed yourself, by leaving your car keys on the kitchen table. It was your only escape and unfortunately it meant interacting with dumb and dumber.

The two once again forgot you were there, shocked to see your form walking through the doorway. With a fake smile, you grumbled out a few choice words.

“Don’t worry, I’m getting out of your house ya lovebirds!”

Victory at last. Your words stung Ransom, well, rather word. In another time, you’d say our house, but now, it was no longer the Drysdales’ Household, no, it was Drysdale’s Household, hence why you reminded Ransom that he was alone. Sure, Blair was there but you both knew it wouldn’t last.

That day, when Ransom and Blair had once again left, going god knows where, Ransom texted you that you could pack your boxes into the u-haul trailer. Since you just wanted to haul ass out of the place this morning, you left the trailer and boxes behind, making a beeline to the nearest bar. So far you had handled yourself without alcohol, but now you needed some relief, specifically in a few whiskey sours. Around 3pm, Ransom then sent that text, and you sobered up, gracefully throwing up in the bathroom stall, then driving to the house to officially get out of his life. Even with a major headache, you managed to pack the trailer. It was then that you realized you were destined to function alone, you didn’t need Ransom. Screw him.

In May, you went around town, scanning different apartments finally finding one. Unfortunately, there was a waitlist with three people in front of you, the estimated move in time being late July or August. With that being said, you moved all your things into a storage unit and continued to live in a hotel room. Thank the heavens you kept your job, despite Ransom’s pleas for you to stay home when you were married. Somehow, you were able to juggle working and functioning around others, coming home to be your true self, the night normally ending with takeout and tv. This divorce had truly ruined your life, and Ransom’s. The two of you constantly lived with the rain cloud, never once catching a break and seeing a rainbow overhead. For now, you were just separated and soon you’d file for divorce.

Around the last week of May, your life was turned upside down once again. This time, for a good reason.

Currently, you were on lunch break, eating at a nearby diner with your closest work friend, Lorraine Bailey. She really has been your best friend, taking the title that used to belong to Ransom. At least she was loyal, understanding, and wasn’t a backstabbing bitch *ahem* your ex.

“How are you holding up, honey?”

You were too busy staring into the nothingness of your chicken sandwich, that when Lorainne gently shook your resting hand, you let out an incoherent “huh?”

“I was asking how you are doing? With everything that’s been going on in the past few months--”

Before she could answer, you just snapped, quickly yelling at the woman, who wasn’t trying to be nosy, she was genuinely concerned.

“Could you just stop nosing around? It’s none of your business really!”

At that, Lorraine leaned back in her seat, lowering her head like a scolded child. Honestly, you didn’t mean what you had just said and you had no clue where it came from. Lately, your mouth has been an unreliable thing, for you could barely control your answers without acting like a moody child.

Quickly, you excused yourself, lightly jogging to the bathroom to expel the few glasses of water you drank. As you washed your hands, upon looking in the mirror, you were met with a face you barely knew. Sure, you looked the same on the outside, but on the inside you were a different person. No longer peppy or truly happy. Ransom had taken it all from you, but it was time to take that back. Walking out the bathroom door, you vowed to yourself from this point on you’d try to become your old self.

Surprisingly, Lorraine still sat at the booth, allowing you to give her a real and sincere apology.

“Lorraine, I’m so sorry, I can’t even fathom the words to justify my actions. Lately, I haven’t been able to truly control my emotions and I took it out on you. That was wrong and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it, after all you’ve always been here for me.”

The woman smiled at you, despite the tears rolling down your face. Why were you crying and since when did you become such an emotional person? You weren’t cold hearted, but nor were you one to cry at a movie.

“That’s fine, I know you are under a lot of pressure. What do you say we get out of here and spend the rest of break at the bakery across the street?”

“I’d say you know me very well!”

Soon, you flagged down the waitress and paid the tab, ignoring Lorraine’s pleas to pay for lunch. It was the least you could do after yelling at the poor woman. As you left the restaurant, the guilt was still surfacing in your body and you felt the need to hug your best friend, who was happily surprised, hugging you back.

Once in the bakery, you were met with the sight of homemade chocolates, like your dog at home, you were practically drooling. Let’s just say the baker was stunned when you bought two dozens of chocolate, and then proceeded to eat half on the way out. What was even more surprising, was that about a seventy-five percent of your order was chili dark chocolate.

As you were walking down the street, and to work, Lorraine reached over, tasting one of your chocolates, a chili one to be exact. Her face twisted with disgust and her suspicions were confirmed.

“Uh, (y/n), I think I might have an explanation for your constant mood swings, the amount of times you leave to the bathroom, and why you’d buy this absolute garbage!”

The minute she listed all the symptoms together, you immediately denied her.

“Don’t even say it. I’m just moody because I’m mad, I pee a lot because, uh-”

“Exactly! Even you can’t explain all of it. Just do me a favor and buy a test. It won’t hurt anything to try.”

“Yeah, but I know you are wrong, Lorraine.”

“I mean c'mon, don’t you want to know too?”

At that moment, the two of you were halted in front of a CVS, Lorraine pointing at the store like she was Vanna White.

Your conscience: Maybe you should listen to the woman, after all she has three kids!

And so you did.

Thank god your friend was there, because you were an absolute novice in this field. Sure, you wanted kids, but right now you were praying that you were just having an irregular cycle due to stress. Lorraine, the best, best friend anyone could ask for, bought the test to spare you the embarrassment.

The minute you walked into work, Lorraine pulled you into the bathroom, giving you instructions, you following them, then waiting for the timer to beep.

Any minute now you’d find your results, and for some reason part of you wanted this test to be positive. It would be nice to have a little company.

Once the timer beeped, you looked at the plastic stick that held your future, immediately smiling when your answer was pregnant.

You were pregnant!

But the father...

Unlike Ransom, you weren’t unfaithful and unfortunately, the father was no doubt him. Of course, the one time that asshole sleeps with you, he got you pregnant. And to think at the time, he didn’t even really love you just enraged you even more. It was gonna be a while till you got over this.

So the rest of the day you were thrilled, and it was a lot easier to stick to your vows from earlier. Your mood was noticeably different to many of your coworkers, smiles all around. The old (y/n) was slowly reappearing.

June through July, you spent your days, working and when not working, taking advice on a baby from Lorraine, even visiting her doctor who she so highly recommended. Fortunately, the doctor didn’t prod around in your life and was absolutely judge-free about your situation. You couldn't have been more grateful.

In early July, you reached the second trimester, where the slightest bump formed on your stomach. Now it wasn’t noticeable to everyone, but to you, just the slightest site made your lips turn upward into a smile. Motherhood was the best thing to happen to you. And to make matters even better, your baby was going to be a Christmas baby, making his or her appearance at the end of December!

Telling Ransom was gonna be a whole other story.

Finally, August 3rd came around, and the apartment complex office called, an opening for you. Lease signed, you shelled out your first payment and soon moved in, once again alone. It had been months since you’d heard from Ransom and honestly it was nice.

The month of August flew by, and soon September came. Time passed by with flying colors and your mood had improved a bit, the baby in your stomach making life worth living. On the last Friday of September, your work friends decided that they all needed to go out, inviting you the first weekend of October to go ice-skating and out for dinner! It was time you treated yourself to something nice, so you giddily agreed. What could go wrong?

That Friday, after work, Lorraine came to pick you up, the two of you going to meet the rest at the ice skating rink. Being 26 weeks pregnant, your stomach had finally started showing, allowing your coworkers to start nagging you. Last they had all heard, you were divorced. So when they asked, you kept your lips shut, it really wasn’t any of their business. The only one who knew was Lorraine, but she wasn’t a gossiper.

Arriving at the ice rink, the cold Massachusetts air was blowing, making you zip up your trench coat ever the slightest. Unfortunately, the wind wasn’t the only thing making your blood run cold.

Most of your coworkers were out on the ice, Lorraine going out too, you told her you’d be out soon. It was nice to watch the skaters enjoy their time on the ice till you saw him.

The familiar tan suede coat made your face lose all warmth, your own jacket no longer keeping you warm. Beside the laughing man, was the one and only, Blair, except this time a new accessory on her finger. A diamond ring you could see all the way from your table along the side of the rink. His laughter made you sick, and at this point you wanted to throw up the hot cocoa you had been sipping on.

At the moment, you and Ransom were in the middle of divorce, thank the heavens an uncontested one, having been able to work many things out with your ex. This meant, zero court hearings (hopefully), a thin expense, and overall a clean divorce. Then, you had hired a paralegal to work on the legal papers and currently the two of you were waiting to see the judge to finalize the divorce, the approximate date set around the second week of November.

Feeling suddenly insecure, and definitely not ready to tell Ransom, you pulled the large trench coat across your chest and secured it with the belt around the waist. The minute you looked at them, all the memories came flooding back. One specifically hitting you at this moment.

��Ransom, I’m gonna fall! You know I’m a klutz.”

Your husband just persisted and instead slipped on your ice skates, tying them up and resting his warm hands on your knees.

“Honey, I will be right beside you the whole time, and by the end of this, you’ll be a pro!”

His reassuring smile was all you needed, nodding, you placed your gloved hands in Ransom’s bare ones, trying to waddle your way to the rink entrance. First, Ransom skated onto the ice, turning and holding his hand out for you. The minute your feet made contact with the icy ground beneath, you fell straight to the ground, Ransom reached out to grab you, although he ended up going down with you. You looked at Ransom who wore an entertained smile on his face, laughing. Playfully, you slapped the man on the shoulder.

“My failure isn’t funny!”

Ransom tried his best to cease his laughter, getting off the ice to help you up, although he was still chuckling the slightest bit.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it!”

Once on your feet, Ransom locked arms with you, trying his best to balance you both, while also coaching you.

At some point through the night, the fake snow was fluttering in the air, along with tunes of piano and jazz. You had finally gotten the hang of things somewhat, yet still latched close to Ransom. The man on your side, leaned down and whispered in your ear.

“I give you my word that every year I’ll bring you to this exact rink, just to teach you how to skate, darling.”

If only that same Ransom was the one you were staring at right now.

But overall, looking back, memories like those, with him, are the ones you miss.

Why did he have to change?

“(y/n)?”

A tap on your shoulder, made you pop up from your seat to be met with the stare of that same man. He slowly gave you a once-over, making you slightly worry that he’d notice the baby bump.

He didn’t.

“Ransom.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Drysdale.”

Clearly, Ransom was trying to give you an olive branch, but at the moment, you just weren’t accepting it.

“I asked you first, (y/l/n).”

“Work.”

Your voice was monotone and Ransom gave a slight hum of acknowledgment.

“Nice. Well uh- it was nice seeing you.”

Nervously, Ransom waved you goodbye, heading back to Blair who was removing her ice skates. You took notice how she was struggling and Ransom wasn’t down on his knees helping her as he did you. It did your ego good to see that your husband hadn’t completely replaced you. There was a difference between you and Blair. Ransom actually loved you, like the “die for you” kind of love. While Blair, on the other hand, was honestly there to fill the whole in his heart.

It did intrigue you though as to why Ransom wasn’t being an arrogant jerk to you, yet he was being humble? None of it added up, but before you could do any more mental acrobatics, Lorraine came over, asking you to come ice skate, to which you smiled and put on your skates.

Tonight was about you, not him.

Something you hadn’t said in a long time.

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bourbonboredom · 6 years ago

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A Reason To Believe Chapter 2

Being an undercover officer is a dangerous job and Flip Zimmerman knows this far too well. He keeps his romantic life limited to one-night stands, never letting anyone get too close. That all starts to change when he meets a vivacious Jewish woman named Elle just as he’s about to take on a seriously dangerous undercover job; infiltrating the KKK. Elle and his undercover work make him question things he’d never thought to before and challenge him to see the world, and himself, in a whole new light.

A Flip x OC Fic

Word Count: 3,941

Warnings: Violence, cursing

When I get restless, what can I do? When I need someone, I think about you I got to move on, not fade away I'm only just growin' a little each day

I got to quit this runnin' 'round Never gonna get rid of these blues I got to find somebody to love Slow me down, yeah Look out now

(x)

Flip was perpetually single by choice. The work he did as an undercover officer was dangerous and not always easy to explain. Dating anyone would just be too complicated. It was better to just have flings, no strings attached. Or at least that's what he told himself as he sat at the bar for the third time that week.

It's not like he was waiting for Eliana to walk in the door and pick up their conversation where they left off. He was just there to have a beer. He had one every night anyway to let some steam off from his job, granted it was usually at home. But why not get out a little bit? He could use the change of scenery. And if she happened to drop by, that was cool too.

The front door would open and his eyes would dart to the entrance, watching to see who was walking in. A man would come in, stumbling off his shift to find solace between work and home. A few women had walked in that night, laughing as they sat at a table near the front. His heart skipped a beat when he saw a head of brown hair. He is excitement was quickly settled when the woman turned her head and Elle's face wasn't there.

He would catch himself thinking about her from time to time at work. He'd remember her soft brown curls falling in her face. How her big brown eyes seemed to light up when she laughed. How talking to her was like talking to an old friend. But he could stop himself from thinking about her anytime he wanted, he was just indulging himself. He wasn't going to get caught up on a girl he didn’t even get into bed with.

But by the end of the night, he felt properly defeated. She wasn't gonna come back, it had just been wishful thinking. He finished his beer and flagged down the bartender to pay his tab.

"I was in here with a girl a couple days ago. She had brown hair and was wearing a white turtleneck?" He figured it wouldn't hurt to try to ask the bartender, a last ditch effort.

"Yeah I remember," the bartender said, taking Flip's money.

"Have you seen her around since?" He tried to play it cool. Not make it obvious that she's the reason he wasn't in his apartment drinking Coors and watching tv right now like any other self-respecting man on a Sunday night.

"Can't say I have, sorry bud,"

Flip nodded his thanks and put a good tip on the bar counter before heading out. It was a warm night outside, the street had a few people still wandering about. He walked to his car, a beat up Chevy pick up truck, and slid in the drivers seat. The engine rumbled to life and he began his slow drive home.

He tried not to think of her as he weaved through the streets of Colorado Springs. It had just been one night. One girl on one night, nothing special. There would be other girls, he told himself. He never had any trouble with that. He parked his car in the lot for his apartment and made his way upstairs.

His place was pretty small, and decidedly bachelor's pad. It was sparsely decorated, with just some mementos from his time in the military and a few family photos. It was a little messy, with casework papers strewn across his couch and coffee mugs lining his kitchen counter. He never had women over, so there wasn't much of a need to keep it tidy.

He'd always go to his hookup's place, it was easier that way. The next morning he could wake up and say he was late to work and rush out before any other plans could be made. Flip hadn't made it to a third date in the last year or so, ditching it before it could get too serious.

He stripped off his button down and slacks before collapsing into bed. He lay under the covers, listening to the city outside his window. It was dark aside from a few streetlights below illuminating the pavement. It felt lonely sometimes, coming home to nothing in particular. He'd catch himself thinking about coming home to a girl cooking dinner for the two of them, smiling as he came through the door. He never really had a particular girl in mind, it was more of a dream than anything.

But this night, that girl had brown hair and big brown eyes.

He shoved the thought from his head and went to sleep.

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

The next morning him and his partner had to drive out to the hospital. He met up with Jimmy at the station before the two of them took his Chevy to the coffee shop. After they had their paper cups of coffee fisted in their freezing hands, they made their way to their objective: St. Francis Medical Center.

Flip's last undercover case had gone smoothly enough. Everyone was arrested and were heading to court for drug charges. There was just one exception. One of the dealers he'd been with had tried to grab a gun off an officer and run for it. In the process, he shot at a cop, missed, and jumped off a fire escape, seriously injuring himself. He was currently sitting in a private room at St. Francis, recovering before he could be taken to jail.

Miraculously, Flip's cover hadn't been blown in all the commotion. As far as the suspects knew, he'd escaped the cops and was laying low until it blew over. Chief Bridges wanted to take advantage of this, using his intact undercover status to possibly get more information out of the injured suspect while he was healing and get his medical records so they could show it was an accident.

The hospital was quiet that morning, his footsteps echoing against the floor as we walked to the nurse's desk. A young woman sat filing paperwork, she looked up as he approached.

"I'm looking for Jacob Kukowski," he said, flashing his badge before stuffing back in his front pocket.

He almost never dressed in uniform for his job, something he was thankful for. The detective branch had a casual dress code, with most of the guys opting for jeans over slacks. He was grateful he could wear a flannel and a pair of jeans instead of the scratchy polyester of the officers uniform. A wire was taped to his undershirt under the flannel, something his partner helped him with in the parking lot. The receiver sat in his pocket, with Jimmy holding the recorder under his arm.

"Room 311. Try not to rile him up too much officer, his blood pressure hasn't been great," the woman warned him, a well-manicured finger pointing his way.

He said his thanks and walked toward the room. Jimmy stayed at the desk to gather Kukowski's file from the nurse and to pick up anything he could on the wire Flip was currently wearing. Flip wasn’t allowed to lead him toward any sort of declaration, that could invalidate anything said to him. So he’d have to shoot the shit with this guy and he’d hopefully talk himself into a proper prison sentence.

He found the room at the end of the hall, no officer stationed outside. The injuries must have been intense enough that they didn’t think he was a flight risk. He peeked in to see only one bed filled, the other stripped clean and vacant. His perp was in bed, propped up with pillows and covered in plaster casts. His naked arm was handcuffed to the railing of the bed, not that he could really get anywhere.

"Kukowski," he said simply as he entered the room. The weary man looked at him, expression becoming more animated.

“Well look at you, you sonofabitch. How the fuck you’d get in here without a nurse stoppin’ you?" Jacob asked, straightening himself up to get a better look at Flip.

"Nice to see you too. And there’s no one out there. How the hell did you get caught?"

"Some fuckin’ snitch ratted me out,” he groaned

“Fuck man, I’m sorry, that blows,” Flip tried to sound as sympathetic as possible.

“Listen Matt, I want you to get rid of the rest of my stuff. I got a special batch hidden away, it was meant to go to a new client. None of these small-time junkies,” Kukowski said in a hushed tone, calling Flip by the alias he’d been using. He clearly didn’t want to waste any time, he got right down to business.

“What makes it special? Who am I getting it to?” Flip asked. He figured Kukowski was planning on partnering with him at some point, but after he was already arrested? This guy was dumber than he originally thought.

Kukowski beckoned him closer with his cuffed hand.

“Now, I don’t know if I should say who the buyer is. But the horse? It’s beautiful,” Kukowski’s eyes were bloodshot, but shining with excitement.

“This buyer wanted me to come up with something new. The stuff I usually deal is cut with Asprin, which doesn’t do much to a person. If anything, I’m keepin’ my customers healthy,” He continued.

“Yeah, sure,” Flip was pretty sure that heroin had the opposite effect, despite what else you put in it, but he wasn’t about to argue.

“This new stuff, is the exact opposite. It’s meant to look harmless, it tastes just like the real shit. Basically undetectable unless you’re gonna test it in a lab. But it could kill a man in minutes,” Kukowski was smiling way too enthusiastically while talking, Flip’s skin crawled under his collar, but he let him continue to incriminate himself.

“The secret? it’s cut with a fuckload of caffeine powder. Makes it look like the poor guy died of a heart attack instead of an overdose,”

“But why do that? Seems bad for business to me,” Flip said, motioning to his pack of cigarettes to ask if his target wanted one. He shook his head and Flip tapped the pack to knock a cig into his hand.

“Let’s just say this buyer’s business is a little...different from ours. They don’t like repeat clients,”

“That’s fuckin’ strange, what kinds operation are they runnin’?” He lit his cigarette, taking a long draw of smoke into his lungs and holding it there for a moment.

“A Wise One, if you catch my drift,” Kukowski winked at his supposed friend.

Oh. Oh, this was too good.

Flip let the smoke out of his lungs, choosing his words carefully as he spoke again.

“Are you tellin’ me you’re sellin’ to the mob, Kukowski?” He said quietly, just loud enough for Jimmy to pick up through the wire.

“A small-time contact. But if this works out we could be very rich men very soon,”

“Well, whats this contact’s name? Where’s the stuff? We gotta set this up and get you some bail money,” Flip said, taking another drag.

“Johnny Bianchi, he’s up in Denver. My supplies is in that storage unit I was tellin’ you about, along with some cash I’ve already got tucked away. That’s the bail money, the rest is for us my friend!”

Flip could barely believe it. This guy had not only solidified he was a dealer, but that he was producing and selling a deadlier version of his drugs to the Mafia with the intent to kill. He wondered if the office was going to make him buy another round that night. Does it count when its still technically the same case?

“Well that’s a swell plan Kukowski, I gotta tell ya,” Flip said, getting off the hospital bed. The smoke from his cigarette trailed behind him as he moved to the windows at the far end of the room. “What do you think Jimmy? Will it work out for him?”

Kukowski’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. His body tensed up as much as it could being covered in plaster.

“I think it’s got some holes to it, but we can always take another listen later in court,” Jimmy’s voice came from the hallway followed by a loud shush from the nurse behind the desk.

Kukowski’s face went from confusion to realization to rage in just a few moments. Flip almost wished he could’ve taken a picture.

"You set me up!" He struggled against his restraints, his casts making it difficult for him to make much progress.

"Hey, you should give yourself more credit, you did most of the heavy lifting in that conversation. I think our friends up at the Denver PD will be thankful for the tip off,”

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you!” He was practically frothing at the mouth.

“You were already read your rights once, but I’ll say them again seeing as you clearly weren’t listening the first time. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney, if you cannot afford an attorney, one can be appointed to you to represent- " was as far as Flip made it before he was cut off by a deafening scream.

Kukowski thrashed wildly in his bed, incomprehensible threats sputtering from his mouth. Flip watched as the IV glass began to sway from the force, threatening to tip over and break.

"Nurse!" He called over the screaming of his suspect. He knew he couldn't get close enough to subdue him without getting injured himself.

Two nurses ran into the room at top speed, rushing to steady the equipment and the man. He continued to thrash despite the hold the women had on him. Flip stood out of the way, backed up against the far wall. Maybe this wasn’t the best way for him to drop his cover.

"We need a sedative!" One of the women called out into the hallway.

A few moments later, another nurse rushed to the room holding a small jar and a needle.

"How much?" She asked hurriedly, looking from the distressed patient to the distressed nurse.

“1 milligram!" The other nurse shouted back, trying to hold his cast down to prevent any further injury. “There’s no time to inject into the fluid, we need it intravenous!”

“Well shit, Carol! He’s covered in plaster that’s gonna take a second!”

“Don’t curse! Just find an area, quick!”

"I'll fucking kill you!" Kukowski continued to shout, choking on his own spit, voice becoming more garbled. "I'll fucking kill you you god damn pig! You fuckin’-"

His voice died out and his eye rolled back into his head. Slowly he slumped back into the mattress. The woman had stuck him with the syringe, pulling it gently out of his neck once empty. The women sighed a breath of relief, backing away from the patient to get a better idea of what just happened.

"What the fuck?" The nurse holding the syringe looked to her coworkers, pushing a lock of hair back into her cap. "Why the fuck was he screaming about pigs?"

"This man over here, who needs to vacate the room immediately, by the way. I believe I specifically asked him not to raise the patient's blood pressure," the nurse who had been at the desk said in a clipped tone, staring down Flip.

The other two nurses turned to look at the source of their strife, noticing the man who’d been standing against the wall with a lit cigarette and a shocked expression. He made his way over to Kukowski’s bed once more, stubbing out his cig on an ashtray. The nurse who was holding the syringe made direct eye contact with him, her big brown eyes widening upon seeing him.

“You’re the pig?” She blurted out.

Realization clicked in his brain as he focused on her. This couldn't be happening right now.

"Eliana?"

He hadn’t recognized her. Her long curly hair was held back in a tight roll and covered by a nurse’s cap. Her uniform matched with the others in the room, a stark white dress that stepped above the knee with a matching apron.

"You know this guy?" The other nurse asked.

"Barely. You guys make sure the patient is okay, I’ll take care of him,” she said, grabbing him by the arm and shepherding him out of the room.

He was too shocked to stop her as they went down the corridor, passing his partner on the way.

"What the fuck just happened in there? It sounded like a fuckin’ murder spree,” He hissed.

"I'll explain later," he ripped his wire off himself and threw it toward his partner.

"Where are you going?" He asked as Elle dragged Flip further down the hall.

“I said later!" He yelled back as she pushed him into a spare room.

She was surprisingly strong, her shove causing him to stumble a little as he entered the vacant room. Beds were set up to house two patients but both remained empty. She closed the door behind them and turned to look at him. Even though he was half a foot taller than her, she straightened her spine and rested her hands on her hips as she spoke.

"Are you stalking me?" She questioned him.

"What?" He spat out.

"You're at my job. I didn't tell you where I work but here you are, were you stalking me?"

"No! Of course not! I'm a cop, hence the yelling about pigs. I’m here with my partner for work, that guy I was talking to was a suspect in a drug ring. And as of five minutes ago, wanted for working with the mob,"

"Do you usually rile up mobsters like that? That seemed pretty fucking stupid,"

"Christ, you've got a mouth on you,"

"And after you work him into a frenzy, why not send in the nurses? Have you ever tried to sedate a man actively trying to kill someone? Do you know how hard it is to jab someone with a needle full of a very specific amount of sedative into a very specific area?" She continued her interrogation, choosing to ignore his comment. The hand holding the syringe pointed toward him accusingly.

"Can you please put the needle down when you're talking?"

She slammed it down on a bedside table.

"Can you please not fuck with my patients?"

"Well sorry, it wasn't intentional. I was just trying to do my job,"

"Yeah? Well try harder next time," she spat out, looking annoyed.

He was quiet for a moment, taking in her new appearance. She looked much different than she had at the bar. Her turtleneck and pants had been replaced with a tidy nurse uniform. Her heels were replaced with sensible loafers, shaving a few inches off her height. Even standing straight, she only came to his collarbone. Her fiery spirit remained the same though, if not a little more intimidating as she stood by the needle.

"I didn't know you were a nurse," he said quietly.

"Didn't know you were a cop," she responded, her expression softening just a fraction.

"Is that a problem?" He asked, half-expecting her to be angry with him.

"Only if you keep getting in the way of my job," she responded. "He might be a criminal but he can't go to jail if you give him a heart attack and he dies,"

"Noted," he gave a small smile.

She returned it.

"Haven't seen you around the bar," he said.

"So you were looking? You sure you aren't stalking me?" She raised an eyebrow.

"No, I just-" he didn't want to look like he'd spent the last couple of nights intentionally looking out for her.

"It's okay, I'm just messing with you. I've had double shifts the last couple of days so I've been too tired to do anything when I get off work,"

"That's understandable," he knew what those nights were like, he's had quite a few of them himself.

He felt a little better about not seeing her around knowing it had been because of work and not him. He wanted to ensure this wouldn't happen again, he wanted to get to know her better. He was going to ask for her number, maybe take her out on a date. It had been a while since he went on a real date, the idea made him a little nervous.

Suddenly, she stepped closer to him, hand traveling up to his neck. He was startled by the sudden contact, but let her continue. His top buttons came loose as he ripped off his wire, revealing his necklace.

"ir've eydish?" she asked, holding the Star of David between her delicate fingers.

"What?" He didn't catch what she had said.

"You're Jewish?" she seemed to already know the answer judging by her smile.

She removed her hands from his neck to go to her own. She pointed to the delicate chain peeking out of the collar of her uniform, holding a small Star of David pendant.

"There don't seem to be too many of us around here,"

"Yeah, it's a pretty small number," he mused, fixing his shirt and tucking his necklace away.

"Do you have family in town?"

"No, I grew up in Nebraska, but my family moved further south a few years ago,” he wasn't sure where she was going with that question.

"The next day I have off is for Rosh Hashanah. I'm having one of my coworkers over and her boyfriend, it's nothing big. But it's nice to have people around for the holidays, you should come by,"

"I'm uh...my parents, we never really celebrated anything so I’m not really sure how that would go. I wouldn't want to impose," he stuttered out. He grew up in a secular family, the only time they celebrated was if they went to visit family elsewhere.

"That's okay, there's a first for everything," she said. She reached for a pen and paper from the clipboard by the bed. "I'm writing down my address and my number, swing by before sundown on Friday, maybe seven-ish?“

"Should I bring anything?" He asked, taking the paper and shoving it in his wallet for safekeeping.

"You could buy me that drink maybe?" She winked at him, opening the door and starting to walk out. "I'm partial to red wine,"

She put the clipboard back and picked up the syringe.

"I have to get back to work, gotta make sure you didn't mess up my patient's recovery," she explained, heading for the door. "I'll see you Friday?"

She stopped in the door frame, looking back at him, waiting for his answer.

"Friday, before sundown, red wine," he recited back to her. She smiled and disappeared from view, the sound of her footsteps echoing down the hall.

He left a moment later, as she was turning into Kukowski's room at the other end of the hall. She looked so composed, her uniform pressed and her hair rolled into submission. She was still smiling as she disappeared into the room.

"Earth to Zimmerman," A finger snapped in his face, waking him from a trance he didn't know he was in.

Jimmy was standing in front of him, looking annoyed. The recorder was under his arm and the wires were sticking out of his front pocket.

"What the fuck just happened in there? The nurse marched you into the room looking like she was ready for murder and came out smiling,"

"I think I just got a date," he responded, feeling awestruck.

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

Did you know Emergency Medicine is a pretty recent creation? I was originally going to make Eliana an ER nurse but turns out that wasn't really a thing in the 70′s! It was just starting to become a specialization at the time but most hospitals only had a room or two set aside for emergency cases. Want to learn more? Here’s a cool article!

“ir’ve eydish?” is my best attempt at Yiddish in English letters. Eliana is asking Flip if he’s Jewish.

People do actually cut heroin with caffeine, be careful with your drugs people!

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman x oc #flip x reader #flip x oc #masterlist #ARTBmasterlist

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douchebagbrainwaves · 6 years ago

Text

WHY I'M SMARTER THAN DEFCON

Close, but not as strong. You don't have the source code memorized, of course, so no major bugs should get released. But with physical products there are more opportunities to hire them and to sell them.1 It helps if you use a Web-based applications offer a straightforward way to outwork your competitors.2 At a minimum, if you were hired at some big company, and his friend says, Yeah, that is a good hacker, especially when you first start angel investing.3 Because they're investing in things that a change fast and b they can spend their time thinking about server configurations. Actually what it says is that circuit densities will double every 18 months. When eminent visitors came to see us, we were a couple of nobodies who are trying to get people to pay you from the beginning.4 It's an exciting place.

For the angel to have someone to make the medicine go down. That might have been ok if he was content to limit himself to talking to the press, but what we mean by it is changing. I wanted. And this, as you can, and your competitors can, you tend to feel rich.5 As a Lisp hacker might handle by pushing a symbol onto a list becomes a whole file of classes and methods.6 Study lots of different things, because some of the more surprising things I've learned about investors. What began as combing his hair a little carefully over a thin patch has gradually, over 20 years, grown into a monstrosity.7

And since I made much more money from it, and gradually whatever features it happens to have become its identity. We're impatient. And so all over the place. If a company is doing well, investors will want founders to turn down most acquisition offers. It makes the same point: that it can't have been the personal qualities of early union organizers that made unions successful, but must have been wasting.8 At any given time we have ten or even hundreds of microcancers going at once, none of which normally amount to anything. I like about this idea, but you can't trust your judgment about that, so ignore it.9 Because VCs like publicity. Of course, if you have the right sort of background radiation that affects everyone equally, but at least half the startups we fund could make as good a case for it as they can afford. Joe Kraus's idea that you should be smarter. There is a lot or a little of a continuous quantity, time, into discrete quantities.

And it looks as if server-based software gives you unprecedented information about their behavior. In practice a group of 10 managers to work together.10 But because he doesn't understand the risks, he tends to magnify them. Increase taxes, and willingness to take risks. You only take one shower in the morning.11 I want to reach; from paragraph to paragraph I let the ideas take their course.12 I remember when computers were, for me at least, how I write one. We're starting to move from social lies to real lies. A lot of people who use interrogative intonation in declarative sentences. Many published essays peter out in the countryside.

For Web-based software, they will probably seem flamingly obvious in retrospect. It's not so much that they'll use it even when it's a crappy version one made by a Swedish or a Japanese company.13 One is that this is a valid approach. It's not what people learn in classes at MIT and Stanford that has made technology companies spring up around them. But an illusion it was. Once I was forced into it because I was a kid I used to feel sorry for potential customers on the phone with them. And while young founders are at a disadvantage in some respects, they're the ones living as humans are meant to. If you try this trick, you'll probably buy a Japanese one. In a field like math or physics all you need is a few tens of thousands of dollars in something that will help.

Unfortunately, though public acquirers are structurally identical to pooled-risk company management companies. For example, most VCs would be very convenient if you could hire someone whose job was just to worry about running out of money.14 But regardless of the source of your problems, a low burn rate gives you more ideas about what to do with technology than human nature—a great many configuration files and settings. That's something Yahoo did understand. So I'd advise you to be skeptical about claims of experience and connections.15 So my guess is that they drift just the right amount.16 Plus he introduced us to one of their fellow students was on the line.17

But there is something afoot. Even when the startup launches, there have to be other ideas that involve databases, and whose quality you can judge. The thin end of the spectrum. Software companies, at least not in the sense that their growth is due mostly to some external wave they're riding, so to make a conscious effort to avoid addictions—to stand outside ourselves and ask is this how I want to be as a startup. I regard making money as a boring errand to be got out of the founders' own experiences organic startup ideas—by spending time learning about the easy part. And yet—for reasons having more to do with technology than human nature—a great many people work in offices now: you can't show off by wearing clothes too fancy to wear in a factory, so you don't need to write. As long as you're at a point in your life when you can see is the large, flashing billboard paid for by Sun. This essay is derived from a talk at Defcon 2005.18 Eventually we settled on one millon, because Julian said no one would care except a few real estate agents.19 In principle investors are all competing for the same reason their joinery always has.20

But I wouldn't bet on it. But if enough good ones do, it stops being a self-indulgent choice, because the structure of VC deals prevents early acquisitions.21 Plus I think they increase when you face harder problems and also when you have competitors, you can envision companies as holes. To developers, the most common form of discussion was the disputation. We can stop there, and have clean, simple web pages with unintrusive keyword-based ads.22 Which will make you think What did I do before x?23 Most investors, especially VCs, are not like founders. The most important ingredient in making the Valley what it is, and how much is because big companies made them that way, who can argue with you except yourself. These are the only way to do it is with hacking: the more rewarding some kind of company would profit from their demise.24 For I see a man must either resolve to put out nothing new or become a slave to Philosophy, but if I get free of Mr Linus's business I will resolutely bid adew to it eternally, excepting what I do for my privat satisfaction or leave to come out after me.

Notes

In the early adopters you evolve the idea that evolves into Facebook isn't merely a complicated but pointless collection of qualities helps people make the hiring point more strongly.

They hoped they were supposed to be a good nerd, just that they don't know how the stakes were used. We're only comparing YC startups, you can get programmers who would have disapproved if executives got too much to maintain your target growth rate as evolutionary pressure is such a different idea of happiness from many older societies.

The revenue estimate is based on revenues of 1. There are lots of others followed. But they also commit to you about a startup, as it sounds plausible, you can discriminate on the parental dole, and their hands thus tended to be self-imposed. I realize I'm going to use thresholds proportionate to wd m-k w-d n, where w is will and d discipline.

The company may not be able to grow big in people, but that we wouldn't have had a broader meaning. By this I used thresholds of. Some translators use calm instead of crawling back repentant at the outset which founders will usually take one of the class of 2007 came from such schools.

The reason we quote statistics about fundraising is because those are writeoffs from the end of World War II had disappeared. 5 million cap, but he got there by another path. That's the difference between us and the super-angels hate to match.

Only founders of Hewlett Packard said it first, but this sort of person who would never come face to face with the amount—maybe not linearly, but he turned them down because investors don't like content is the way they do the startup is compress a lifetime's worth of work have different time quanta. I get the answer is no longer a precondition.

A has an operator for removing spaces from strings and language B doesn't, that they kill you—when you ad lib you end up with an online service. 56 million. Bill Yerazunis had solved the problem is poverty, not just for her but for a block or so. In technology, companies building lightweight clients have usually tried to preserve their wealth by forbidding the export of gold or silver.

That would be in that. The trustafarians' ancestors didn't get rich from a mediocre VC. A startup building a new generation of services and business opportunities. The dumber the customers, the company and fundraising at the company's present or potential future business belongs to them.

Now many tech companies don't. If it's 90%, you'd ultimately be a good product. Earlier versions used a recent Business Week article mentioning del. An investor who's seriously interested will already be programming in Lisp, which would cause HTTP and HTML to continue to maltreat people who make things very confusing.

Keep heat low. The reason not to like to fight. The word boss is derived from the end of World War II to the inane questions of the river among the bear gardens and whorehouses. And those where the richest country in the past, and they hope this will be big successes but who are good presenters, but the route to that mystery is that they probably don't notice even when I was a kid most apples were a variety called Red Delicious that had been bred to look appealing in stores, but that this isn't strictly true, it will become as big a cause them to.

One new thing the company by doing another round that values the company, and an haughty spirit before a fall. But I think that's because delicious/popular. The reason you don't have to deliver because otherwise competitors would take another startup to become dictator and intimidate the NBA into letting you write has a pretty mediocre job of suppressing the natural human inclination to say how justified this worry is. Even the cheap kinds of content.

To a kid and as an adult. A scientist isn't committed to rejecting it. What if a company with rapid, genuine growth is genuine. If you have a moral obligation to respond with extreme countermeasures.

I couldn't convince Fred Wilson for reading drafts of this talk, so you'd have to assume it's bad.

If they were going to need common sense when intepreting it. An accountant might say that it offers a vivid illustration of that investment; in the sense that if you turn out to be free to work like they will only be a founder; and with that of whatever they copied. I'm not saying that if you hadn't written about them. Though we're happy to provide this service, and suddenly they need.

I replace the url with that additional constraint, you now get to be good. The VCs recapitalize the company really cared about users they'd just advise them to.

Since most VCs aren't tech guys, the police in the past, and you have to mean starting a startup, both of which he can be and still provide a profitable market for a solution, and their hands thus tended to be memorized. Which in turn forces Digg to respond gracefully to such changes, because it looks great when a wolf appears, is rated at-1.

Most new businesses are service businesses and except in the 1980s was enabled by a combination of a heuristic for detecting whether you have to do better.

Again, hard work. Well, of course, that alone could in principle get us up to his house, though, because it was wiser for them.

I wonder if they'd like it if you get nothing. The most important factor in the world, and stir. Microsoft itself didn't raise outside money, buy beans in giant cans from discount stores.

Y Combinator certainly never asks what classes you took in college. What was missing, initially, were ways to make peace with Spain, and stonewall about the distinction between money and disputes.

Aristotle's contribution? Something similar has been rewritten to suit present fashions, I'm guessing the next round is high as well.

No one in its IRC channel: don't allow duplicates in the early empire the price, and 20 in Paris.

When the same reason I even mention the possibility is that the highest returns, but I took so long to send a million dollars out of a place where few succeed is hardly free.

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thecreativeangel · 7 years ago

Text

Labels (Peter Parker x Reader)

Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

*Please don’t plagiarize my work, thank you :3*

Summary: You’ve always read people like open books, until meeting the mystery that is Peter Parker. But since making it your mission to figure him out, things have gotten clearer and more complicated at the same time.

Warnings: Cussing, duh. Mention of being beaten up? Oh, and that’s not my GIF. Also: Sub!Peter, kind of. Ugh, I just love Sub!Peter so much.

Words: 1,565

Peter Parker baffled you. There, you said it. He was the one thing that your brilliant mind couldn’t figure out. He hung out with the Populars, he was arrogant and cocky, he bragged and swore like a truck driver with anger issues, flirted shamelessly and much more. But when he talked to you for the first time...

“I guess we’re partners now.”

You looked up from your notes to see Peter standing over you, his hands in the pocket of his varsity jacket. He doesn’t even play sports… Your eyes scanned his figure, lanky and awkward, different than when he was with friends. When working on the project he would look at you, catch your gaze, and quickly look away, hastily grabbing a pencil and resuming work on the poster.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Peter Parker didn’t just confuse you, he made you show pity and mercy because you saw how he acted around certain people, how he tried too hard to look impassive, how his friends would idolize him one day and shun him the next. You saw the way he would pick at his food at lunch while the people at his table socialized, sometimes nudging him and laughing. Peter would give an exhausted smile and nothing more.

Peter wasn’t an ass kisser, at least, and you were eternally grateful. Partly because that was one less bad quality to him, and partly because you didn’t have to endure any ass kissing when the teachers paired you and Peter together for everything. No matter the class, (which, by the way, was also a weird coincidence; most of your classes were with Peter.) you always paired with him, sat next to him, worked with him.

It came to your attention that he was also brilliant. Even if he acted slightly dumber than your usual donkey, Peter did his part in projects, aced his classes and once even asked you if you wanted to study after school during homework lab. More surprising even, was that he actually showed up, exactly on time, too.

Peter Parker wore glasses. Something you noticed by mistake during a debate club meeting, an activity he came to every week. The lenses weren’t thick and they were your everyday hipster glasses; plain, thick black frame, bigger than average round glasses. The first thought that came to your mind was slight worry, because what would his friends think if they knew he came to debate club. The second thought was that he probably wore hipster glasses because they were the only ones that were “cool”. The third was that there was a small possibility that he looked kinda cute. Kinda.

Peter tapped you politely on the shoulder, despite the fact that he was sitting right next to you.

“Hey, are you done with the main argument?”

You turn away from the computer screen and smile faintly. “Um, almost, just need to finish the-”

“The closing sentence? It’s hard, right? Remember to encapsulate the major points from previous paragraphs. I-I highlighted them on my sheet if you need help.” He rambled, pausing for breath and turning the faintest shade of delicate pink. “Not that you need it, you probably have it covered. N-nevermind.”

You stared at him, enjoying the newfound stutter that he developed. Peter on the other hand, took your silence the wrong way. He mumbled a “sorry” and turned back to his own document. You could have corrected your staring but you enjoyed the red tint to his ears and the fumbling of his hands all too much.

Peter Parker was secretly insecure, but you never knew the extent of it. There were so many rumors about him and his friends, you thought he’d learned to ignore them, but you were wrong. All it took was for someone to whisper behind his back and he would become paranoid, tapping his foot and holding the edge of the desk until his knuckles turned white. Peter would become irritable, sometimes having miniature explosions and nearly yelling at the person to stop whispering. That was bad for his image though. Bad for the “calm and collected” aura he had built.

You discovered it was easy to pacify the situation. All it took was to ask them to stop in a gentle voice, and they always did, or they’d have to face you mad, and no one ever wanted that. You’d placed a hand on Peter’s left shoulder blade, rubbing circles with your thumb. Since then it was his weakness, a guaranteed way to calm him down. His grip would relax, along with the muscles in his back and arms. He was okay.

Peter Parker cared more than he let on. There were times when you questioned whether he was really impassive, or if it was an act, but that was all settled on the 18th of April. By chance, you had walked down the guidance counselors hallway. You didn’t mean to listen in, but you’re glad you did.

“I know I messed up, but he was-talking and I-you should’ve heard what he was saying-”

“Peter I understand, but that’s no reason to hit him.”

You tuned out and stood near the water fountain like a statue, listening to the guidance counselor ramble on about student guidelines. Peter got in a fight again. He said he wouldn’t.

“Please, please don’t tell Aunt May. She-she can’t know this, it’s been a rough year, and-please don’t.”

“Peter I won’t tell your aunt, as long as you promise it won’t happen again.”

“It won’t. And…will (Name) know about this? ‘Cuz I promised and she really trusted me, a-and she’d be really disappointed if-”

“I won’t tell her, Peter.”

That night you came to the May Parker’s apartment for movie night as usual, this time carrying a container full of brownies. And when Peter accidentally fell asleep on your lap during the first half of The Hunger Games, you may or may not have kissed the top of his head, just because.

Peter Parker was torn at the edges, cracked just the slightest bit. You knew that the second he came to class with a bruised jaw and scratch marks. You had the decency to ask after class.

“Lucas thought his girlfriend was cheating on him with me.” He mumbles, refusing to look at you. “I’m n-not allowed to sit with them, and-I think it’s better not to be near them anymore.”

“Peter…” You trail off, thinking hard. “You can sit with us.”

“I don’t think-”

“It’s not a discussion, Parker. You’re sitting with us.”

Ned and Michelle weren’t happy at all. Well, Michelle showed it in her own special way, and Ned was a polite sweetheart as always.

“Why is he here?” Michelle deadpans, not so quietly. Peter shrinks back in his seat and begins to pick at his food like he did at his old table. You don’t like that.

“Shut up, Mickey.” You say through clenched teeth, hesitant to show Peter affection in front of your friends. Michelle would never stop teasing you for that.

“Seriously (Name),” Ned whispers to you. “How do you know he’s trustworthy?”

You rolled your eyes and twisted around to Peter, who had paled noticeably. “Can you-” You say it too loudly and Peter flinched, making your heart clench. You soften your voice to just above a whisper. “Can you give us a second, please?”

He gave you a tiny nod and you grin back before scooting down the empty lunch table, dragging Ned and Michelle with you.

Ned rubbed his arms when you let go. “Listen, I know you don’t trust Peter, but I do.” You confidently. “Mickey, you sat with me because everyone thought I was weird, and everyone thought you were going to kill them.”

“That’s true.” Michelle admits.

“Ned, I asked you to sit with us when I saw Flash shit talking your weight, right?”

“Yes?”

“And do you remember what I did to Flash after that?”

A bright smile appears on his face. “You hid mashed potatoes in his hoodie.”

“Fuck yes I did. Point is, we’re a bunch of total losers, no denying that, but’s it’s okay. We know each other from the lowest points in our lives, and we help one another, just like we’re going help Peter. No man, woman or loser left behind, ‘member?”

“That’s deep.” Ned says, kind of ruining the moment but you smiled at his comment anyway.

Michelle huffs loudly. “Fine… But I know you like him.”

You spend the rest of the lunch period trying and failing to find a good comeback.

Peter Parker is a mystery, to everyone but you, because now you see through him. He can’t take pressure well and you don’t blame him because he’s taken enough pressure already. He loves you for that, even if he hasn’t said it aloud yet. You know how to scratch the spot right above the nape of his neck that makes him purr, and that he prefers tea to coffee, that he loves to lay his head on your stomach while you run your fingers through his hair. He knows that you love freshly washed laundry and geeky movie marathons under dim lights and a blanket, hoarding books and randomly organizing files of aesthetics on your computer.

Peter could never find the word to express how grateful he is that you were assigned as his partner for the history project nearly a year ago, that you had let him in, given him a chance. You love him for the true Peter Parker, and he loves you right back. The two of you are polar opposites, supposedly nothing in common. A boy and a girl, a Popular and a nerd, and those will forever be just labels.

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rosewhipped22 · 7 years ago

Text

Supernatural Survey

I was tagged by @thinkdouble-pink a long time ago. I’m not one for timeliness, but thanks for thinking of me!

1. What season did you start watching Supernatural? Okay so the first time i watched season 1 on netflix was in 2013 but um I didn’t pay attention. Lol I only half watched while I was on my laptop doing whatever I used to do online before I got into spn. I watched it again in October when s11 was airing after watching the Hillywood parody which made the show look like so much fun. I was laid off like two weeks later and so I got through all 10 seasons pretty quick and had flung myself into the deep end of destiel fics by December. I kind of wished I had listened to my friend who watched it and loved it since 2005. My life might have turned out very differently.

2. Who was the first character you fell in love with? I watched in order and liked Dean, but I was eagerly awaiting s4 and longed for Cas before I even really knew him as a character. He exceeded my expectations in every way and I love him.

3. Who was a character that you hated at first but grew to love?: I thought about this a while and I had trouble thinking of anyone. Characters I disliked, I tend to still dislike. I came up with Jo. I never hated her, but she grew on me as a character.

4. Which character would you most want to be in a long-term relationship with? Gosh um they’re all so great in different ways. As much as I don’t like the idea of splitting up Dean and Cas... I think I’d say Dean. I’m trying to figure out why I’m not saying Cas and I feel like maybe he’s too good for me?? At least I know Dean and I could have fun and get along. I just want Cas to be happy.

5. If you could go on a date with just one character, which one would you choose?: Castiel

6. What would you do on that date? I’d just want to go somewhere beautiful and listen to him talk. About anything.

7. Which character would you most want to be like?: Chuck so I can write on my own schedule and do all the cool party tricks like water into wine.

8. Which character would you most want to see brought back from the dead?: Eileen !!!

9. Which character would you most like to punch?: the reaper appearing as April Kelly

10. Who is your absolute favorite character?: Castiel

11. Which “Big Bad” do you think was the worst?: Early Lucifer

12. Which character are you most like?: I’d like to say Charlie, but I’m not that cool. Maybe a combination of her and Kevin and Becky. Not necessarily the most awesome bits about them.

13. What death hit you the hardest? Charlie--it was so fucking dumb. It would be Cas if I weren’t certain he’d be back. 14. What season finale hit you the hardest?: S8--Not in sadness but in Holy Shit the angels fell!! Caaaaaaaaaaaassss!

15. What are your ten all-time favorite episodes?: I’m terrible at chosing favorite of anything so Baby, Caged Heat, Hunter Heroici, Clap Your Hands if You Believe because soulless!Sam is hilarious and x-files shoutout, The Man Who Would Be King, Lazarus Rising, Free to Be You and Me, The End, Heaven Can’t Wait, The Prisoner, The Devil in the Details, Into the Mystic, Stuck In the Middle (With You), The Future, and every episode with Cas basically

16. What’s been your favorite season?: Uh... maybe s8 or 12 or 5 or 4 or 9 or 11 or 6 or 7

17. Who is your favorite angel? Castiel

18. Who is your favorite demon? Crowley

19. Who’s your favorite evil character? Ketch--I wanted them to do so much more with him!

20. Do you have any Supernatural ships?: just one. the ship of my life, Destiel

21. Who’s your favorite supporting actor?: If j2m2 are main then, Rob Benedict maybe?

22. What’s your favorite quote from the show?: Dean and Cas saying each other’s names.

23. If you could cast one famous actor in an episode of SPN, who would you choose? I’d love an episode where they encounter a real FBI agent played by Gillian Anderson.

24. If you could write your own episode, what kind of creatures would you like to see included?: Mermaids! This was @thinkdouble-pink‘s answer but I stand by it, because hello beach day! That or more fae stuff

25. Who’s your favorite girl that Dean’s hooked up with?: I just like it when people are nice to Dean so I’d say Lisa because she was there when he really needed someone to lean on.

26. Who’s your favorite girl that Sam’s hooked up with?: I’m just saying Eileen I don’t even care.

27. What are some of your favorite convention moments?: Jensen growling at Misha

28. If you were going to guest star (or be a recurring guest star) on SPN, how would you want your character to be described?: I’m a guy Dean had a crush on as a teen and kissed goodbye when the Winchesters left town. Now Dean is shockingly in my life again because my house is haunted.

29. What do you hope to see in the next season?: I want Dean and Cas to kiss

30. - 40. If you had to choose…

Bobby or John?: Bobby absolutely

Bela or Ruby? Bela

Jess or Madison?: Jess

Jo or Lisa?: Jo

Charlie or Kevin? This is tough. Charlie because her death was dumber

Balthazar or Ash?: Ash... though Cas having a friend was nice

Cas or Crowley? Cas

Ben or Claire? Claire

Jody or Donna? I don’t have to choose!! I get them BOTH in Wayward Sisters!!

Sam or Dean?: Dean--but only because you made me choose!

Tagging 13 people because 13 seasons!! So if you feel like it: @aoitrinity @cas-watches-over-you @weasleychick32 @casbakespie @caslikescoffeeandfreckles @hazeldomain @k6034 @lover-awakened @ughcas @floralmotif @justanotheridijiton @elnawen @deanwinbean Idk some of you may have done this already... Open to anyone of course!

#get to know me tumblr games

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