#i’ve been playing it for a week now and it’s been literally therapeutic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yungbludy · 4 years ago

Text

the hills have eyes

plot ↬ being attracted to one overwhelming person known as yungblud is alresdy too much for you. adding mgk in the mix is even worse.

warnings ↬ there’s tension here yes yes, smut!! threesome!! fingering & handjobs, writing colson is so fun i didn’t realize how hot he was lol 😳, hint at something going on between colson & dom, dom & reader like each other, maybe a pt 2?

a/n ↬ i know y’all have been wanting this for the LONGEST, and it’s easily my most requested fic. enjoy it!

When you left college with a degree in music production, you never would’ve expected to land in the studio of Yungblud, a young but upcoming artist with his own charm to set him apart from the rest. He was easily the most hyperactive artist you’ve worked with, someone with a truly pure heart that cared deeply for his music and his fans. It was a breath of fresh air, because out of all the artists you’ve worked with—big and small, you don’t think you’ve ever come across someone so genuine.

It was almost fate how you went from being in the studio with him every other week to nearly every day. He loved your presence; you made him see things differently, made him hear things he had never heard before. You made him feel smarter, more experienced.

A friendship blossomed. It was nice, because you didn’t have that many friends when you left college. Dominic introduced you to other people too, such as his band mate Adam, and they adored you. You were the calm before the storm of Dominic in their eyes. You balanced each other out, like some rock n’ roll version of a Yin and Yang.

Before you would hang out in groups. You, Dominic, and maybe a few other friends attending concerts or going to a restaurant together. You liked it—these people knew you and liked you, and you felt like you had a place.

You didn’t know when the... shift started. When it started becoming just you, and Dominic. When he texted you if you wanted to hang out at his place, (not a date or anything, just hanging out lol 🖤). When you still saw your friends, but you were seeing Dominic’s face more and more.

But you knew as soon as that started happening, that the feelings you had for Dominic—as a friend and as a partner, started becoming way too deep way too fast.

And honestly? It scared you. Your last relationship was in college and that didn’t go so well because you both had different outlooks on how you wanted to continue your life. You weren’t ever a relationship type of person and barely found yourself developing fucking crushes on people.

But you were crushing on Dominic. Hard.

As cliche as it sounds, being around him gave you literal butterflies. Seeing texts from him made you smile, and when his arms wrapped around you and he looked at you with all his teeth out, his eyes clenched shut—God. You were falling, and you were falling hard.

That was, until, Colson came into the mix.

You liked some of his music. You weren’t a big fan of “MGK”, and only really knew about him because of the whole beef he had with Eminem. You remembered that one song—fucking Wild Boy, being played in a few clubs and parties during college, but you didn’t have any liking towards him.

But... wow. He and Dominic together were a force to be reckoned with.

Colson was a good person. A loving father and a talented individual—not to mention he was also fucking hilarious too. Having him around in the studio guaranteed no bad days, because he could also make you feel better with a corny joke or a funny assortment of curse words.

You liked him, over time. Not to mention he was drop dead gorgeous, tall and tatted and pierced and just... fuck. It would be a lie if you said you weren’t intimidated by his presence.

But in reality, he was a sweetheart. A gentleman.

So why did you start feeling butterflies for him too?

Having a crush on two people just seemed so out of this world to you that you didn’t even understand it. It made no sense. You and Dominic had known each other longer, and you weren’t dumb—you knew he liked you back. But with Colson.. you didn’t know if those butterflies were in your stomach, or if they were somewhere were they definitely, definitely shouldn’t fucking be.

You were good at controlling yourself when it came to these two. It had been a few weeks since you’ve met Colson and two months since you met Dominic. They were working on music together—a song, that they didn’t know what to title yet, and you were right there, helping them with everything.

This also meant that they were together. All. Of. The. Time.

Having two extremely attractive men, men that you were also extremely attracted too together all the time was going to be very bad for your health. But all three of you had a main goal at the end of the day, and that was to make a song together. They wanted to make a song that pertained to them, that took both of their struggles and related them to each other. Being Dominic’s right-hand-man at this point, you were more than happy to oblige in helping.

But you just didn’t know what you were getting yourself into.

“Maybe some shit that’s like, kinda emo, kinda not?”

“Kells, man... you need to /make/ that make sense.”

You can’t help the laugh that leaves you, smiling when both of their heads turn towards you.

“Y’all are just cute when you bicker.”

“Y/NNNNN,” Colson whines a little, his arms stretching to drape over your body. God, he has so many tattoos that you couldn’t possibly count them on your two hands and feet. “Help us. I’ve never been this stuck on a song.”

“Well, a mix of punk and rap, right?” You asked, humming as you scoot up to your monitor, going through a list of sample beats you always stored when songs were being made.

“That sounds ‘bout right,” Dominic spoke, both of his elbows being placed on his knees as he looked up at you. “Think that’s a perfect mix of us two, yeah?”

You picked out some beats—layering some, taking some away. While this process could be therapeutic to you, it could be also quite annoying, and it would’ve been if it wasn’t for the two grown men looming over your shoulder.

“What about this one,” you almost jumped as you heard Colson right near your ear, his voice powered into a whisper. He reached over you, his skin brushing against yours and you had to force yourself to look at the screen. Jesus Christ, you really needed to get laid. “How’s that?”

“‘ts good. I like it fo’ now!” Dominic joked, and a laugh rumbled in you stomach. “If we don’t like it, we could always change it tomoro or somethin’.”

“Okay, well, beats settled... now we need some lyrics.” you spoke, backing up a little—you would’ve backed up farther if Colson’s arm wasn’t on the back of your chair. “Got any?”

Silence. You rolled your eyes—you had told them days prior to come with lyrics. Nothing had to rhyme, but something to make an idea off of.

“Too busy clubbing to write lyrics-great.” you huffed, shaking your head as you stood to leave, but two hands reached out to stop you.

“Sorryyy, that’s our fault, really.” Colson spoke, locking eyes with you when you turned to look at the both of them. “Let’s make some together, yeah? All three of us motherfuckers. You know we couldn’t make up good lyrics without you anyway.”

You caved. Goddammit, he was so good at charming you and so good at fucking /flirting/. You found yourself sitting back down with a notebook out in just a few minutes of playful begging from the two of them.

“Since I watched The Hills Have Eyes for the first time yesterday with you two wankstains, I think that should be incorporated into here~” Dominic giggled, scribbling down the title of the infamous horror movie on a piece of notebook paper. “Where did all that shit happen, by the way? New York, Cali, Las Ve-“

“No, dipshit, Nevada. Did you watch the movie at all?” Colson huffed, reaching over to flick Dominic in the center of his forehead, in which the British male playfully bit down on Colson’s finger. The blonde grinned, and your eyebrows furrowed. What the hell?

“Nevada’s by Cali so we’re using California.” Dominic shrugged, scribbling more words down. “How’s... I wunna hide in the hills of California—but these hills have eyes, and I have paranoia?”

It took you a minute but you eventually nodded at it. “If we revise it a little bit then—yeah, that could work!”

“Awesome! Maybe you should get on your shit, Kells.” Dominic teased him, pink tongue pointing out at Colson, and your lips twitched.

“Fuck off.” Colson continued that grin—that little smirk, like they both knew something you didn’t. The day dragged on—more lyrics, more laughing, more inside jokes. By the time the session ended you were exhausted, your head kinda hurt, and you wanted nothing more than to head home and sleep, but Dominic stopped you before you left completely.

“Are you alright?” he asked, your hand in his as he looked at you with slight worry. His hair was pushed back, so he looked just too adorable with his forehead out and crinkled. He was worried. Worried about you, and that made your heart flutter.

“I think I’m good, just a little tired,” you offered a reassuring smile, lifting your bag up to your shoulder. “Why?”

“You seemed a little out of it,” he remarked, keeping your hand in his as he started to walk next to you. This was normal—Dominic walking you out to your car, then watching you drive to your apartment after he gave you a kiss goodbye, of course; some of them were on your forehead, some cheeks, and most recently, he’s teasingly brushed his lips against yours, only to see you blush and frantically push him away. “Just making sure you’re alright.”

“I’ll be okay, Dom,” you snicker, but you just love the fact that he can see through you. See when you’re uncomfortable or feel weird. “Thanks, though.”

“Of course darlin’,” his voice has dropped in volume and when you look at him, his eyes are boring into yours. You blink. “Drive home safe, yeah?!”

Both of his hands grab your face, squishing your cheeks—and you sputter a laugh as he kisses all over your face. Covering your forehead, your nose, your cheeks—and finally resting at your lips.

It’s like time has stopped. You smile, feeling warm—his hands haven’t left your face and you can feel his warm breath against your mouth. He leans in closer, and you feel that familiar thrum in your chest, his lips brushing against yours one, two, three times, before he only pecks you and pulls away.

You don’t even remember closing your eyes, but when they open, he’s walking back into the building, leaving you feeling lost.

To make it up for you for yesterday, the dynamic duo wanted to spend the entire day getting a good portion of the song done. This meant you had to wake up at nine am to be at the studio, something you were definitely not looking forward to, but you couldn’t complain about it. You three had a pretty good work ethnic, so you knew once you would get there, time would probably fly by.

You came to the studio in some fuzzy Hello Kitty pajama pants and a long sleeved shirt, not bothering to dress up too much since you would possibly be here all day. You didn’t look your best, but by the way Dominic’s eyes scanned you when you walked into the studio, you doubted he really cared.

“Well hello kitty-kat,” you heard Colson’s amused tone from the small couch by the door behind you, his body approaching yours to walk past you. His hand slipped over your waist, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “Doesn’t Y/N just look the absolute cutest.”

“Shut up, asshole.” You grumbled, your cheeks hot as you ditched your slippers and made your way to your seat. You stretched, hearing some bones crack in your back, a tired yawn leaving your lips before returning to your sitting position and opening up your notebook. “So. Where are we starting today?”

When you looked up, both of them looked a little dazed—but the expressions disappeared in just a few seconds. That was weird.

“Welllll, I think I’ve got a title,” Dominic grinned cheekily, standing up with his hands clasped. “I liked what ya said yesterday... I think I’m good. That sounds pretty—American, doesn’t it?”

“Eh...” you started, but quickly took it back when Dominic’s face fell almost comically. “No! It’s not bad, but, I don’t know... how about another word, other than good?”

“Fine?” Dominic asked, looking at you with a smirk. Confusion racked through you.

“Okay,” Colson spoke up, reading over the page of lyrics with narrowed, concentrated eyes. “I think I’m okay.”

You contemplated it. It reminded you of My Chemical Romance, but there wasn’t anything wrong with that... their fans would probably like that, too.”

“I think I’m okay. Yeah, I like that.” you smiled, moving to your monitor to title the beats you already had. I Think I’m Okay.

“Perfect.” you beamed. “Now let’s get to work.”

The day went by pretty smoothly. Dominic and Colson worked better than you thought, and in your opinion, you were the icing to their cake. Being a producer meant you were there to perfect things—add something to make them sound just a tad bit better, to make the song flow just a little smoother. Perfecting the beats was something you absolutely adored to do, especially when you felt them both staring at the side of your face as you did it.

They admired you. And that sent shivers down your spine.

“Jesus fuck, ‘m hungry.” you grumbled. The clock above your head read two pm, meaning you had been here for six hours total. It wouldn’t have seemed like that if your stomach wasn’t grumbling like crazy.

“We can tell.” Colson joked, his fingers poking at your tummy. “Kitty’s talking to us.”

You knew it didn’t mean to be an innuendo, but you took it that way, and you’re sure Dominic probably did too with the expression that crossed his face.

“I’ll order some pizza.” Dominic sung out, British accent flowing through the air as he stood to grab his phone and leave. You had been alone with Colson once before, but that was before you recognized your attraction towards the male. Now, you were very, very aware of the fact.

“Cmon kitty, you’ve been sitting in that chair for hours and I know that ass hurts,” Colson smirked knowingly, grabbing your hands to lift you out of your seat. “Lemme help you stretch~”

“I don’t need help, you damn skyscraper.” You said stubbornly, but Colson paid no mind to you, grabbing both of your arms and lifting them above your head. It did make you feel much better, and you would’ve stayed in the position if his long fingers didn’t suddenly dig in your sides and under your armpit.

“I-get off of me!” you laughed loudly, squirming in his tight hold as he squeezed you even closer to his body. You could feel his chest press against your back, but you weren’t focused on it, just how much you were laughing from his antics.

“Hell nah! I’ve barely seen you laugh today, kitty~” he purred into your ear, and your thighs clenched. “Keep on fighting, nothing will happen babe.”

“Fuck you!” you shouted, successfully finding your way out of his grasp, but that didn’t stop him at all. He grabbed you again and while he did so, you were moving backwards—eventually landing you both on the small couch in the room. You wiggled your arms through his grip, letting your fingers dig into his sides in a similar manner—and your smile hurt with how loud he started laughing afterwards. You were sure after the short five minutes the tickle attack took that you were all over the place, and so was he—panting on top of you with both arms over your body.

“You’re an asshole.” you murmured against his shoulder, since his body was draped over yours. You wished it would’ve stayed that way, because he lifted himself, and you turned into jelly with how he looked at you—and that stupid fucking grin that spread across his face.

“Got you to laugh, didn’t I?” he asked, rolling off of you. The warmth that left your body—from your stomach, ribs, and a few inches below your bra, told you that the tickle fight was much, much more than that.

A month had passed since that day. It was more then enough time for more tension filled encounters—more of Colson’s hands on you, more of Dominic’s teasing kisses. It had gotten so bad that you needed to excuse yourself in the middle of a session to calm yourself down in the bathroom, because holy hell. Those boys were a lot—and the fact you had the audacity to think about taking both of them at once. You literally could never.

The song wasn’t that hard to make. With a few more helping hands, plus your expertise and their work as well, it was nearly done. Final vocals just needed to be recorded and some cleans up—and then, I Think I’m Okay would be released to the world.

This Friday would be a night that all three of you would go out clubbing, but you decided to visit the studio to listen to the rough draft the two had recorded previously. You were in matching all black outfits which definitely wasn’t planned. The dress you were wearing was a bit out of your comfort zone, but you decided—why not? You wouldn’t be the only girl there and you knew you looked decent, at least.

“Wow,” you murmur, a little speechless as the rough vocals of I Think I’m Okay fill the studio at full volume. The lights are off because it’s dark, so the only source of light in the room is your monitor. “Wow. We fucked this up.”

“What?!” Dominic shouted, eyes wide. You laughed.

“Not in that way! I mean, we fucked this, in a really good way.” you said, excited, bouncing a little in your seat. “Fuuuck, can’t wait to release this shit.”

Colson’s hand is hot and heavy when you feel it against your thigh, playing with the hem of your dress. “Couldn’t do it without you, kitty.”

You swallow. No, not tonight. You were going to have fun tonight. Not be in a state of sexual frustration because of these two.

“Right,” Dominic hummed, and you freeze when his arm wraps around your waist, his chin on your shoulder. “Y/N, I never really thank ya properly for all you do for me, do I?”

“Huh? Of course you do.” you tell him, but you’re a bit distracted by Colson’s wandering hand. It shifts, moving to the inside of your thigh, rubbing softly at your skin. His thumb is close, too close to your pussy, but you don’t push his hand away, because you don’t want to.

You like it. You want his hand to come closer, just a little closer—

“I don’t,” Dominic whispers, those thick lips brushing against your ear, and you almost jump out of your skin. “I should.”

“Dom...” you whisper nervously, eyes widening when his hand slides to the middle of your back and up your spine, fingers locking at the zipper. The slide of your dress being unzipped goes along perfectly o the tempo of the song, and so does Colson’s molding of your thigh, his hand eventually finding way because your closed legs, pressing right up against your underwear.

“Think the kitty wants me,” Colson sighs huskily, and your jaw drops. Holy fuck. “Am I wrong?”

“Is he?” Dominic presses when you don’t answer, his hand somehow making its way inside your dress, finding its way to your sleeves and yanking them down. Oh, fuck. “Ya want us both, don’t ya darlin’?”

“Oh my god.” is all you can whisper, earning chuckles from both of the men who play so deviously with your body. Colson finds your clit with no help at all, pressing against the little bud, right as Dominic takes both of your breasts out of your bra and palms them hungrily. Two sets of hands touching you makes your head roll back, and you can only comply as one of Colson’s hands presses against your left thigh, spreading your legs open.

“Put your legs on the desk for me, pretty,” he whispers and you do so, heels still on your feet. “Mm, yeah, that’s good—damn, look at you. So fucking hot.”

To your surprise, it seems like Colson is doing most of the talking, since Dominic’s mouth finds itself on one your perked nipples. He sucks it into his mouth, making it all pert and wet and your toes curl against the velvet surface of your shoe.

“When I had you on that couch, I wanted to ram the shit out of you, even if you were wearing those stupid ass pants,” Colson tells you, slipping your panties to the side and dragging his fingers up your slit. You’re almost embarrassed from how wet you sound. “Had to remember the British cunt has a little crush on you, though. Didn’t wanna break his heart.”

“Fuck off, ya asshole.” Dominic’s mouth leaves your breast, cheeks red at the fact that he was just exposed like that. “I was gonna tell her that my fookin self!”

“You’re telling me she didn’t know?” Colson chuckled, one of his hands grabbing your chin to roll your head towards him. “Did you?”

“Mmf—I-I knew,” you murmured helplessly, your back aching as two long, thin fingers push inside of you, spreading themselves. “Always knew.”

“But I like you too, kitty, maybe like you even more than him,” Colson smirks, his mouth pressing against yours, and you bite down on his lip when Dominic bites down against your nipple. “Now we’re both gonna make our girl cum.”

Our girl.

You could cum from those words alone.

Colson’s fingers work magic inside of you, pressing further until you feel lightheaded, then easing themselves out and repeating the process. Dominic’s fingers find your clit, rubbing it quicker then the pink vibrator you used before even getting dressed. Your hands are against both of their thighs as your body grinds down against them, both of their mouths meeting yours at different times, kissing you or letting you moan out against their mouths. I Think I’m Okay plays over and over again with no one to stop it, hiding your loud sounds.

You’re close. So, so close, but you don’t want to cum without giving them some type of pleasure—so, to the best of your ability, you start to unzip their pants, bulges very angry underneath the fabric.

“Ooh, fook yeah,” Dominic whispers, taking his jeans off quickly and wrapping your hand around his cock, going cross eyed at the feeling. “Yeah, jerk my fuckin cock.”

Colson isn’t too far behind in revealing himself. You try to stroke them both, but you’re so overwhelmed that sometimes your pace quickens on one and slows on the other. Their bodies are pressed as tightly as they can be against yours, and sometimes wet fingers find their way against your neck, or grabbing at your chests—with wide open mouths against your face.

“I-I think I’m gonna cum,” your pant out, your hips rolling in circles and your grip on their cocks growing even tighter, causing them to make their own sounds of delight. “So close-“

“Cum, kitty kitty,” Colson tells you, his lips wrapping around your earlobe. “Soak this fucking chair, pretty.”

And that’s exactly what you do.

Dominic busts right after you, feeling your clit spasm against his fingers was enough to send him over the edge. Colson isn’t too far behind, getting extra leverage because of both of your cum covered hands jerking him off until he shoots his seed out as far as it can go. It’s a heavenly sight, and for the first time you hear him whimper—a sound that’ll be engraved in your mind for days.

You three sit there, panting, covered in sweat and cum. You lick your lips, your hearing picking up the two shifting to clean you up and dress you, much to your confusion.

“What? You think you were gonna cum once tonight and that would be it?” Colson chuckled, already helping you out of your chair.

“Just wait till we get to this club,” Dominic continues, his hand tightly groping your ass. “You’re gonna have the night of your fucking life.”

And you’re certain that you will.

#dominic harrison #yungblud #yungblud fanfiction #dominic harrison fanfiction #yungblud imagine #colson baker #mgk #mgk smut #colson baker smut #mgk fanfiction #mgk imagine #mgk x reader #yungblud x reader

2K notes · View notes

thegreenwolf · 5 years ago

Photo

(This post was originally posted on my blog at https://thegreenwolf.com/its-okay-to-not-hustle/)

There’s this meme going around Facebook right now, saying “If you don’t come out of this quarantine with a new skill, your side hustle started, or more knowledge, you never lacked time. You lacked discipline.” Thankfully multiple people have already skewered it, but it continues to be shared around by the sort of person who is trying to one-up everyone else, or who’s just plain clueless–or, for that matter, just trying to guilt you into buying whatever they’re selling.

Now, there’s not a damned thing wrong with self-promotion. That’s how indie artists, authors, and other self-employed folks get the word out. You have to be able to talk good talk in order to get people’s attention. But leading with this meme? Guilting people for not leaping from sudden unemployment straight into the thick of the ever-shifting gig economy? That ain’t gonna fly, Brocephus.

You Have Good Reasons to Slack

Excuse me while I dust off my counseling psych degree a sec, here. *ahem* We are in a very sensitive, turbulent time right now. We’re in the middle of a pandemic, the likes of which hasn’t been seen in a century in the Western world. We are in a hugely traumatizing situation here. Not just for the financial losses, but the fact that COVID-19 has killed thousands of people and left many more with permanent lung damage. We still haven’t gotten a handle yet on exactly how contagious this thing is, how long you’re contagious for, or whether you’re immune once you’ve had it, assuming you survive. We don’t have adequate testing, emergency rooms estimate that for every positive test there are 10-20 people out there infected and untested, and everyone with a cough is suddenly Schroedinger’s COVID case. Governments worldwide are slow to react in spite of the rising death toll. People have had friends and family die horribly from this thing in a short period of time. Even people who didn’t already have issues with anxiety, depression and other mental illnesses are feeling stressed, strained and scared–and, yes, traumatized. This image is guilt-tripping people who are actively being traumatized.

So we’re already starting with a populace that is dealing with this collective trauma, as well as whatever personal trauma each individual is experiencing. Not always easy to seize the day when you’re going through that. And I can think of a few other reasons that might further complicate this whole “Just get a side gig!” thing:

–They’re a parent who suddenly has all their kids at home, all the time, demanding time and attention and food, AND they still have to work eight hours a day from home, or maybe even more if their S.O. is unemployed/sick/etc. By the way, if someone trots out Isaac Newton or William Shakespeare or some other historical guy who managed to do epic things during a pandemic, remember that they usually had wives or servants to do all the laundry and cooking and cleaning and (if applicable) childcare for them.

–They’re disabled or chronically ill, and don’t have the ability/energy/etc. to just go and make something happen, just like that. Imagine if you just randomly got the fatigue from a really bad flu, and you never knew whether it was going to last a day or a month. And if you tried exerting yourself when you were feeling better, chances are you’d slip back into fatigue-land. That’s what a lot of my chronically ill/etc. friends have to deal with, to say nothing of issues with accessibility of resources for starting a side gig.

–They don’t have any money for the supplies needed to start a side hustle, or the supplies have been hoarded by hobbyists preparing for a Pandemic Staycation.

–They don’t have the skills for something that just requires what they already have (like, for example, writing on a laptop you already happen to own). Often these skills are things that can’t be perfected in a few weeks at home, but may take years to develop before they’re really marketable–like, for example, the skill to make a decent living on side hustles.

–They have anxiety, depression or other mental health conditions that make it hard to function even in the best of times, but even moreso in this…well…mess. Even people who were mentally healthy before are going to be developing diagnosable anxiety and depression disorders before all’s said and done. And speaking from personal experience, those of us who look successful on the outside can still be internally hamstrung by these conditions at times.

–Plus there’s the fact that we’re not supposed to, you know, leave our homes, which narrows down the field of potential side gigs by a lot.

Even doing something less financially-wrought like learning a new skill or subject takes time, energy, and sometimes money, any or all of which may be scarce for the reasons above and more.

Comparison is the Thief of Joy

I am saying all of this as someone who is arguably an expert on the side gig. I have spent the past eight and a half years 100% self-employed (and a lot longer doing it part-time) as an author and artist, able to cover all my bills and expenses, and for a time I was the primary breadwinner of a multi-person household. I have like ten different things I was doing for a living before this all hit, a pretty diverse set of streams of income, even if most of them just up and evaporated in the past few weeks. And while I’m definitely a hell of a lot leaner now than I was a month ago, I still have my head above water for the moment. So I think I know side gigs.

I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m overall healthy. I have a dog who is a lot less demanding of my time than kids would be. I have my own space where I can focus more or less without interruption. More importantly, I have the skills, the knowhow, the drive and the personality to go out and seek new opportunities. And I’m used to fluctuations in income, though admittedly this one’s unprecedented. Don’t gauge yourself by where I am now. I’ve spent twenty-two years building up my art business, my first book came out in 2006, and I’ve had a series of really good opportunities come my way that I had the privilege to be able to make the most of. I am not your measuring stick, so don’t say “Well, if she can do it why can’t I? I must suck!”

If you’re feeling crappy because you aren’t hopping to it and carpeing the diem and getting everything done, here’s what I have to say to you: Look, you just had your world turned upside-down. Job loss, scarce commodities, sudden lack of outside childcare, restricted movement and inability to be around much of your support system, and did I mention a pandemic is happening, too? Any single one of those things would be difficult for just about anyone to deal with, never mind all at once. And I don’t even know what all else has already been going on in your life–unstable or unsafe living situation, other health issues, breakups and other losses, interpersonal conflicts. You know, normal life stuff.

You’re Not Lazy, or Screwing Up, or (Gods Forbid) Undisciplined

It is totally okay if all you’re doing right now is surviving. It’s okay if you feel like you’re drowning, overwhelmed by all that’s happening both on a global level and more personally. It’s okay if all you can manage right now is to get out of bed and stumble through each day a moment at a time, struggling with a tidal wave of emotions. It’s okay if you’re just trying to keep your kids busy, dealing with a crowded home every single day, or trying to keep COVID-19 at bay. It’s okay if, instead of firing up DuoLingo or opening an Etsy shop, you spend your evenings vegging to Netflix or reading a book or playing hours and hours of Animal Crossing.

Not every moment in your life has to be about being productive even in the best of circumstances, and that goes exponentially so right now. Be patient with yourself, and be kind. You may be one of those folks who literally has to spend all their time scrabbling to try to cover the bills or get some leeway from bill collectors, and you have to dedicate your waking time hunting for resources just to try to get through this week. Believe me, I feel for you, I have a lot of friends in that situation right now, and I hope all of you can find some relief and assistance.

May I suggest something? If you have the energy for something more than the bare essentials of getting by, put that energy toward self-care, whatever you can manage under the circumstances. You can use it to recuperate, to rebuild your emotional and physical resilience. That way if things get rough again in the future, you have more internal reserves to build on. If your usual methods don’t work or aren’t accessible due to lockdown, ask others what they’re doing to keep themselves grounded in this trying time.

Just because you have more time doesn’t mean you don’t have to throw yourself right into something productive! Don’t feel pressured to just go-go-go the moment you have a little freedom to move. If you do decide you want to try a side gig, or a new skill, or learn all about some specialized topic of interest, go for it! If you have the energy and attention and opportunity to pursue something new, it can be a great coping skill during this traumatic time. Just don’t pressure yourself; keep it fun.

One last thing: I want you to save the image I have at the top of this post. And then if you see someone post that meme, saying “Come on, you lazy bums, get up and make that side gig happen! Learn new stuff! Do all the things! No excuses!” you pull out this version, and you look at the edits, you remember that it’s okay to be where you are, and you get back to doing things at your own pace no matter what someone else says. (I find visualizing stapling a printout of the edited version to the offender’s forehead to also be therapeutic, but that may just be me.)

Hang in there, okay? It’s going to be a rough time, but you’re not alone, and what you’re feeling right now is shared by so many people. So just let yourself be where you are in this moment, and we’ll see what hope tomorrow brings. And remember that whatever you’re capable of in this moment: it’s enough.

Did you enjoy this post? Please consider supporting my work on Patreon, buying my books here on my website, buying my art and books on Etsy, or tipping me at Ko-fi!

#COVID-19 #mental health #executive dysfunction #anxiety #depression #mine

690 notes · View notes

vanessakirbyfans · 4 years ago

Link

Some may remember British actress Vanessa Kirby, 32, as Princess Margaret in the first two seasons of the TV series The Crown, or as black-market arms dealer White Widow in Mission: Impossible-Fallout, with Tom Cruise as Ethan Hunt. This year she received a Golden Globe nomination as Best Actress in a Drama from the journalists of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association for her performance in Pieces of a Woman, by Hungarian director Kornél Mundruczó, a role which had already earned her the Volpi Cup for Best Actress at last year’s Venice Film Festival. She costars with Katherine Waterston in The World to Come, by Norwegian filmmaker Mona Fastvold, which also premiered in Venice, and won the Queer Lion award for Best LGBTQ-Themed Film.

The story of Pieces of a Woman is based on a tragic loss that really happened to the director and his wife, Kata Wéber, who wrote the screenplay. What did they communicate to you about their experience?

I knew that for Kornél and Kata this was a personal story, I didn’t know exactly the circumstances of how they lost a baby, but as we started approaching the movie, they did share that with me. I felt that it came from such a viscerally deep part of Kata and from a real need to share and break the silence around something that for women is so rarely talked about. So, this was a quite therapeutic journey for them, and it was very healing, between them as a couple, to go through this process. I literally saw that every day on set, the conversation that was happening between them, the facing of really painful moments, and their very different grieving experiences. That taught me a lot actually because when you go through any kind of loss or trauma, everyone processes it differently, but sharing that it’s healing, so we always hoped that the film would offer some small comfort for people out there who might need it.

Ellen Burstyn plays your mother in the film. What was it like for you to work with such an experienced actress and to get to know her as a person?

Ellen has always been such an icon in my life and such a legend, I’ve seen all of her performances, and she reminds me of Gena Rowlands, who’s also one of my favorite actresses. She has such a fire as an actress, such a strong energy and presence, and yet you always feel this vulnerability, this fragility, underneath. So, I was excited to go head-to-head with Ellen, because she’s done so many incredible films and she’s head of the Actors’ Studio. It was amazing to work with her and actually, we became really good friends. During rehearsals she invited me over to her house for a sleepover, she called it a pajama party, and we really bonded, we spent many hours talking, we went to bed at 3 am. Since then, we’ve been really close, and she’s definitely very maternal towards me. She’s such a soulful spiritual person and she’s so wise, that I’m very lucky to have her in my life.

In The World to Come you play a farmer’s wife living in Upstate New York during the 1850s. What did you discover about how women lived back then?

When I was researching the film, I couldn’t believe how ignorant I was that, not that long ago, women were completely owned by their husbands, that the home was your domain, you should serve your husband in his home and the children that you had, that it was your husband’s choice what you did with your time, what your name was and everything. That was the law, that was the religion and the way it was. In those days it was all about convention, what you were expected to do, who you were told to be by society and by the structures of a completely patriarchal system. These women, who are literally our ancestors in a way, had to make so many sacrifices and simply didn’t have the choices in their lives that we have now. So that made me incredibly grateful for the choices that I have today, whether it’s what I do with my afternoon or who I love, or how freely I can love. So, I felt very passionate about that story.

Did you come to understand some of the elements that make it so liberating for women to have romantic or sexual relationships with other women as opposed to relationships with men?

Mona Fastvold, the director, told us that these relationships between women have always been there, throughout history, and it’s important to tell those stories now, because, even in times when it was almost completely impossible, there would have been moments when two humans really wanted to be together and didn’t have the choice to be able to, because the only union that should happen is between a man and woman. I’m really proud of the film because it’s a brief moment in these women’s lives, when they are seen for who they really are and they really connect, they feel what they should have a right to feel, and they had the courage to actually do it and to be true to who they were. The film is an ode to those women, like a cry for them in a way. I really imagined all those moments in life that may have been lit up by a person or something that made you feel so free in yourself, and you may have had that only for a moment, because of the system and the restrictions on who you were allowed to be by society.

We have all had a very difficult year, because of the Covid pandemic, and many other problems in the world. What have been some of your thoughts during this time, and do you hope that this crisis could bring about a change for a better future?

Yes, this last year has been so hard on everyone, and so much of it has been about readjusting. We’ve all had a year, when in many different ways there has been loss and our idea of how our life always has been having completely changed, for everyone across the whole planet. I finished filming Pieces of a Woman about a week before the pandemic happened, and we filmed The World to Come right before that, and both films were about the loss of a child, so they strangely seem spiritually linked. They are also both about women who don’t have voices, so I felt like they were giving voice to a female experience that is so rarely if ever, depicted and represented on the screen. Doing those films definitely left me with a sense of hope, that we can come to terms with tragedies and come out of them stronger somehow, whether that means that we’re more united or more compassionate, that we feel more empathy or more solidarity with what every single person is facing right now across the world. That’s what I hope.

#Vanessa Kirby #Pieces of a Woman #The World to Come #Interview #Articles

20 notes · View notes

conduitandconjurer · 3 years ago

Text

Sigh. Okay.

I can see that I’m going to have to write a full scholarly review of D.isappearing A//ct in order for anyone to understand my position on it. As usual I can’t occupy one extreme point-of-view or the other, so both the people praising it unabashedly and the people who think it’s total trash are going to misconstrue me unless I’m very, very careful.

I am seeing a sudden rash of back-and-forth posting between so-called “pros” and “antis” about the tension between censorship and moral obligation in the creative sphere: --Just because you can cover content that has a real and negative impact on other people, people who are vulnerable and traumatized by the content you share, should you? --Is art and writing that is inherently self-serving, cathartic, therapeutic, for the author, really bad or selfish, or is it necessary? -- When does someone have the right to ask for trigger tags? When should they just block/unfriend/unfollow? --At what point does cancel culture, which goes after problematic content and seeks to “shut down” its creators, go too far? (I have been on the receiving end of this myself, so believe me, I know how painful it is to be harassed and personally judged for your work) --Just because you can’t harass someone for producing harmful content that is fictional, does that mean they have unchecked freedom to produce content of any nature in a public sphere? I also have complicated feelings on these issues, and Rob’s book, which involves body horror, dubcon, child abuse, scat, and explicit pedophilia (with an unclear authorial pov about all things involved, which may be what unsettles me most, because women, children, and the poor should not be turned into tools for stoner-bohemian slumming-it shock value fodder) is fecund territory for the debate....so, because I’m Like That™, it’s making me feel pressured and uncomfortable.

I am reassured that my qualms are just the product of a provincial mind, that I need to expand my world-view and appreciate the freedom brought by creative amorality, which takes no clear ethical position on anything (usually the term used is “it’s not preachy” with the implication that the greatest of sins is said “preachiness”), but merely explores, ponders, and at times divulges. Clearly, I’m told, this is my middle-class Protestant background getting in the way of my intellectual potential. But I think that excuse is hackneyed, reductive and even condescending. And so I continue my search.

I’ve literally been up till 3 and 4 am several days this past week haunted by this, unsettled further and further by each of the short stories as I read them. It has dislodged and called into question my fundamental views of the author as a person (a person I had previously admired highly without qualm), and what effect his literary work might have on his fanbase, in a COVID19 world where over 88% of us, reputedly, in a recent study, have developed “significant mental health problems, including clinical depression and suicidality.” No, of course one actor turned author isn’t responsible for the emotional welfare of the planet. But what role does his artistry play in all this? I can’t say that I know anymore. And I’d like to. I’d like to know the immediate relevance, the immediate impact, of new media produced by great artists.

If I were smart (which I’m not--after all I went to grad school, became a college professor, and now base my self-worth entirely on my ability to share with and support others) I would just keep my mouth shut till the shitstorm dies down. But again, I’m not smart.

So, at some point, I’ll be sharing an extensive analysis of the book which I hope comes across as clear, nuanced, and respectful, while maintaining my cardinal rule about media consumption: you can do it critically, informedly, and still enjoy it. A fair and balanced critique does not equal hate.

#ooc #do not reblog

2 notes · View notes

psychedellic-phase · 4 years ago

Text

Fifteen (pt 5)

A/N: I had a little mental block when trying write this one! I think it worked out in the end but better is coming ! I promise. Enjoyy :)

masterlist

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

Word count: 3.4k

tw: none, fluff :)

Spencer didn’t dream about you. When he woke up, he was sweaty and disoriented and had no recollection of the dreams he had. He fell asleep next to the box fully clothed, his arm thrown across where you should have been. In those first few moments of morning when you aren’t quite sure where you are or who you are, he reached around for you and found nothing but emptiness.

‘Emptiness? No that can’t be right. She was right here.’

Just as he thought it, the truth occurred to him.

‘She was never here. Just the box. Wait, the box. Where is the box?’

He shot up quickly, getting a little dizzy, and frantically looked around the room. He saw that he had knocked the box over while he slept and the contents were scattered all over the floor. He groaned and went to pick everything up. His hands found all the items and he put them away carefully, not peeking. He didn’t want to ruin the surprise. When everything was put back where it belonged, he sighed and sat on his bed, staring longingly out the window.

It was barely 6 am and the sun had risen, but he couldn’t see it behind the thick gray clouds that lined the sky. It was snowing. Not a rare thing to see in Virginia, but it was very appropriate for this day. You loved snow, wintertime, the holidays, all of it. You even tried to get him to go skiing with you a few times, which he refused to do. He is extremely clumsy in nature and would definitely hurt himself or someone else if he tried. It’s a miracle they even let him carry a gun. Besides, he’s more suited to drinking hot cocoa in the lodge by a fire. The cold is much less forgiving to him. Growing up in Vegas made him partial to the heat. Even though he had lived on the East coast for many years, he’d still complain anytime the temperature dropped below 40 and bundle up in a wool coat and scarf. Your New England roots on the other hand, taught you to handle the cold much better. When he’d complain about being freezing, you would tell him that he had no idea what real cold was like, and when you would complain about the heat he’d return the sentiment.

He left the box on the bed and took a shower. He needed to wash everything from the last day off. It was therapeutic to just stand in the hot water and let it burn slightly, reminding him he could still feel. This had been so emotionally draining; he could barely remember the last time he cried so much. Today he just felt numb, barely bothering to put on more than sweatpants, but somehow mustering up enough energy to make a pot of coffee. He had a feeling he’d need the whole thing to get through the next twelve letters. Each one felt heavier in his hands than the previous did, and each cut a little deeper too. With a cup of coffee in hand, he fished around for envelope #4.

“Spence, this next one is special. You’ll know why the second you pick it up. #4: The Book of Margery Kempe.”

He smiled and ran his hands over the book, his mother’s favorite. The spine was bent like it’d been cracked open many times, and the pages were worn and well read. He could tell it was your personal copy because of the dog-eared pages. You always did that, making him grimace every time you creased the corner of a page.

“You could just use a bookmark, Y/N,” He’d say, earning an eye roll from you.

“A book should look like it’s been read, that’s why I buy paperbacks and write in them! I want anyone who picks up something I’ve read to feel how much I loved it, that way they love it too.”

That comment always made him smile, “Fine, just don’t do it to any of my books.”

“Don’t worry Dr. Reid, I only do it to my personal collection.”

The memory felt warm and inviting, but ended quickly. Instead, he grabbed the book, the letter, and his coffee and sat at the chess table he had pushed against a window. He wanted to see the snow while he read, just to feel closer to you.

“I bought for our flight to Vegas, the trip where I met your mother for the first time. You mentioned Kempe was her favorite, and I so badly wanted to impress her. I know she’s...well she’s her. But you’re her pride and joy, Spence, I didn’t want to disappoint her. Or disappoint you for that matter. Remember when you asked?

“I’d like you to come with me next week,” You said over an IHOP pancake breakfast.

“To Vegas?”

You nodded, “Yeah I’d love if you came with me. You could see my hometown.”

“I’ve been to Vegas, Love.”

I know it seemed like I didn’t want to go, that isn’t the case. I did want to go. I wanted to go so bad, but I was hesitant. I was so terrified that I would mess up. I didn’t want to ruin us, we’d been doing so well. I felt like this would be a defining moment in our relationship (spoiler alert: it was) and I didn’t want to risk it going poorly.

“Yeah on cases! And that is not the impression of Vegas I want you to have. C’mon please? It would mean the world to my mom.”

I think I choked on my pancake, “Your mom? She knows about me?”

“Of course she does, I write her letters all the time.”

“Your mom knows about us, and you want me to meet her?”

You smiled and nodded, “Yeah Y/N, how many times do I have to say it? I want you to meet my mom.”

That’s probably when I tackled you in a hug in the middle of an IHOP. That solidified the fact that you trusted me. I knew you trusted me at work, but the fact that you were willing to show me that side of you, the side you don’t really show anyone? I can’t thank you enough for it.

We’d been together just over six months, which to most people that seems like a long time to wait to meet the parents, especially when we were already so serious, but your situation is different. I wanted you to do it in your own time.

My family on the other hand, you met them pretty early into us dating. My niece turned one a few months into us being together and I dragged you to Connecticut for the party. Everyone loved you, of course they did. There isn’t one thing to not love about you. Nate and my dad were definitely not thrilled that I was bringing you. Nate tries to be all Big Brother-y but it’s all an act, he’s a softie. And dad would rather I marry a rich man and be a stay at home mom. I can hear him now saying, “Y/N if your mother were here to see you thirty and unwed she would be so disappointed !” Dads. They’re the worst, but I don’t have to tell you that.”

For some reason that made him chuckle, having rough/nonexistent relationships with your fathers was just another item on the long list of things you had in common. On paper, you were a perfect match. But that was the only place.

“But somehow, you didn’t have to wear them down, they just loved you instantly. Even Mia loved you, and she was one! You handed her toys and helped her put on her shoes. You talked to my dad about whatever he had on the History channel. It was perfect. You fit right in with us; it was like you completed us, you were the missing piece that we didn’t even know we needed. I know Mia will miss you; you were always so good with her. I think we’ll all miss you. And my dad is going to hate that I will not be married off any time soon, but he can deal with that.

But back to your mom. To say I was nervous to meet her is probably the biggest understatement of all time. The way you love and care about her is one of the many reasons I fell in love with you. The way a guy treats his mom says a lot about how he’ll treat you, and with you it said ‘oh my god he’s perfect’. You do everything you can for her, even though it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. I admire that; I can only wish to be that kind and giving.

We both took a few days off to go see her, and when we were in the airport I pulled out this book and tried to read it.

“That’s mom’s favorite,” You said, smiling at me shyly.

“I know.”

The plane was delayed due to a storm. We sat waiting and waiting for a few hours, your hand on my thigh and my head on your shoulder as I desperately tried to read this book. I really did. I stumbled through about 50 pages but had retained literally nothing. I found myself rereading sentences like ten times over and trying to decode them. I felt embarrassed about it. You could read the whole thing with your morning coffee and immediately recite it forwards and backwards, and translate it into Korean and Russian flawlessly and there I was, sounding out every word. It’s not like I can’t read. I can read, I just can’t read and comprehend 1500s English very well. Science was always my strong suit.

I didn’t get much farther on the plane ride either. You, on the other hand, brought a whole library in your carry on and on that 5 hour plane ride you read two thick books, took an hour long nap, played solitaire (twice), won war against me (twice), and ate all the snacks I brought for you. And in that same time frame, I had gotten through maybe half of the book, taking very long breaks to stare out the window, talk to you, and try to sleep.

“What part are you at?” You asked me at one point and I just kind of stared at you.

“Uh, the uh, part where she’s going to Jerusalem?”

You chuckled, “That’s not very far.”

I shoved you playfully, “Hey! It’s confusing and hard to understand!”

You reached for the book, trying to take it from me, “Let me see.”

I moved it out of reach, “No! I need to figure it out on my own.” You smiled and let me keep trudging along.

When you woke up from your nap your head was on my shoulder and I was running my fingers through your hair like I usually do did when you slept.

“You don’t have to read it, Y/N,” you mumbled, your voice groggy with sleep. It’s always raspy when you first wake up.

“I know, I just thought maybe I would impress her.”

You smiled and leaned over and kissed my cheek, “I love that, but don’t worry. I promise she’ll love you.”

Then you nuzzled into the crook of my neck and fell back asleep. I put my head on top of yours, closed the book, and allowed myself to do the same.

When we landed, it was hot. Like, ungodly hot. No wonder you can't stand the cold.

We first went to the hotel and I changed into more appropriate clothes for the weather. You somehow still had on slacks and a shirt, I don’t know how you didn’t sweat to death. I drove us to the sanitarium, and you were nervous, you barely even spoke. You were twiddling with your fingers and bouncing your leg, I didn’t have to use my profiling skills to figure it out. The radio was off and you stared out the window.

“How long has it been?” I finally said.

“Three hundred and six days.”

I just nodded, your nerves added onto mine tenfold and I thought I may faint. I got us there safely though.

“You stay here, I’m going to see if it’s a good day. If not we’ll come tomorrow,” You said.

I just nodded and leaned over to kiss you. It took way longer than I thought it would for you to come out and when you did you were smiling. Huge.

“Good day?” I asked, hopping out of the car. You just nodded, still grinning ear-to-ear. You grabbed my hand and every nerve I had melted away. You always had that effect on me, even when we were just friends. No one will ever get me in the same way again. Even if they tried, I wouldn’t let them. You were it for me”

Spencer reached for the mug to take another sip and found it was already empty. He stared into the bottom of the mug where some sugar hadn’t dissolved and mulled over that last sentence.

You were it for me.

He put the mug down forcefully, knocking a few chess pieces over.

So then why wouldn’t you LET him be it for you?

“You led me to her, pulling me behind you, whispering reassurances to me the entire time.

“Mom, this is Y/N, Y/N this is my mother.”

I came out from behind you, probably looking like a meek little mouse, “Hello.” I waved.

“Now Spencer, you didn’t tell me she was pretty.”

You blushed and stammered, she chuckled, “It’s nice to finally meet you Y/N. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Likewise,” I said, and shook her hand. It was warm and soft like yours. In fact, so much of her is in you. You don’t look the same, but your mannerisms are pretty close to identical. Her hair is lighter than yours but equally as wild. I love her, because she’s you. So many parts of you, the best parts of you. She made you, and I love you, so I love her too.

You let us talk alone for a while and she told me about your childhood. How she called you ‘crash’ because you were always running into something. How you were always the smartest kid around and how she was so proud to be your mom. She told me about the letters you send her, much like the one I’m writing right now. You told her about all our adventures, nights crying over Emily, the film festival, Jacksonville (PG version of course); you told her all of it. Your mom had your version of our love story hidden in letters somewhere in her room. That inspired me to write my version, the version you’re reading right now.

She told me she knew we were together before you even told her because all your letters became about me. All the case stories had me and you as the stars, everyone else falling into the background. Hearing how you talked to her about me made my insides feel all fuzzy. You told her I was intelligent, courageous, empathetic, funny, and pretty much every other positive adjective you could find.

“I’ve never heard him talk about anyone the way he talks about you,” she told me, “He definitely cares about you.”

I smiled, “I’ve never cared about anyone as much as I care about him.”

“So you love him?”

I was taken aback at first, and paused for a moment to think, “Yeah, I do.”

It’s a weird thing to say to your boyfriend’s mom the first time you meet her, but she’s just so easy to talk to. It’s double weird because I hadn’t even told you that I loved you yet. I was being honest, I never loved anyone the way I loved you.

“I couldn’t ask for anything more for him.”

Then I hugged her awkwardly and you came back in. I was trying and failing to suppress the smile on my face the whole time. The three of us talked until visiting hours were over. We left her with the promise that we’d be back again tomorrow.

“I was right Y/N, she loves you!” You said as we climbed back into the rental.

“She’s pretty great,” I said and held your face in my hand, “So are you.”

Tomorrow never came.

The next day was a bad one for her, so you took me to the neighborhood you grew up in, pointing out the sites you wanted me to see and telling me the memories you had there. You took me to get chicken fried lobster at Binion’s. You held my hand as we walked down the Las Vegas strip, pointing out the ones you’re banned from. On the last day, we ordered room service and spent all day in bed, not bothering to get dressed. I loved learning about your past. At the time I anticipated being part of your whole future; I would be in every story for the rest of your life. I hate that now I’m just another chapter of it.

On the flight home I cracked open the book again and this time I read it with newfound vigor. I had a new appreciation for it after talking to your mom. You watched me flip through it, highlighting and annotating like I was in English class. You peered over my shoulder the whole time, and don’t think I didn’t see the smirk on your face.

“When her crying passed, she came before the Archbishop and fell down on her knees, the Archbishop saying very roughly to her, “Why do you weep so, woman?” I read aloud, looking up into your warm eyes as we descended.

“She answering said, ‘Sir, you shall wish some day that you had wept as sorely as I,’” you finished, not even having to look at the page.

You have wept as sorely as I, Spencer, and I do not wish this feeling on anyone.

I closed the book and held it to my chest, staring at you and mustering up the nerve to say it.

“I love you,” I whispered, just loud enough for you to hear.

You tried to contain your grin and scrunched up your eyebrows. You cupped your ear and pretended you couldn’t hear me, “What was that?”

I rolled my eyes, “I love you.” I said it louder, more forcefully this time.

“I love you too,” you said, no hesitation.

I turned my head up to catch your lips and seal the whole weekend with a kiss.

It’s kind of funny how I confessed my love for you up in the sky, among the clouds, somewhere over Virginia. It’s funny because I was on cloud nine, almost literally. It felt so good to finally say it. We were in love, arguably the most magical thing in the world. There is no one I would rather have experienced that with than you, Spence. And no one I will ever experience it with again.

Your mother and I write to each other sometimes. Like remember when she went to the Grand Canyon? She may have sent you the Grand Canyon, but she sent me a turquoise necklace, which I will be keeping. She wrote to me once in the last few weeks since we broke up. I can’t answer. I can’t send her any more letters, it doesn’t feel right; it’s no longer my place.

So next time you visit her, show her this. I hope she doesn’t mind that I wrote in parts of it, maybe someday I’ll be able to find it in myself to write to her again and she can tell me what I missed or got wrong. Give her a hug for me Spence, and tell her I’m sorry, I wish I could come in person to tell her, but I can’t. Tell her I already miss her. I know how happy she was for us, how excited she was about... well everything. How excited we all were. Tell her I’m sorry that I couldn’t do it. Thank her for making you who you are, the most amazing man alive. Tell her it’s been a privilege, because it has been. I mean that.”

Spencer cracked open the book and admired your dog-eared pages and highlighted bits, reading your annotations and rough translations of old English to modern English. He sighed and slid his fingers down the pages. His chest tightened as if he should cry, but no tears could fall anymore. Instead, he stood up and put the book on a shelf, where one day he’d read it again to remember that weekend. To remember you. He walked slowly back to the kitchen, filled his mug again and went to find the box.

(part 6)

tags! (if you would like to be added just let me know!): @l0ve-0f-my-life @aperrywilliams @helloniallslovelies @random-ravings @ajwantsapancake @boiled-onionrings @andiebeaword @frnks-stuff

#spencer reid #spencer x you #spencer reid fic #spencer #spencer reid smut #reid #reid x you #mgg #mgg fanfiction #criminal minds #cm #dr spencer reid #spencer reid self insert

96 notes · View notes

miikrokkosmos · 4 years ago

Text

9:43 pm - Namjoon x Reader

Would you please write a Namjoon x Reader comfort imagine? I don’t really care super specifically but maybe like the reader had a bad day and Namjoon is there for them? You can also change the member if you want to, I want you to have fun writing it cause I know sometimes asks are hard to fulfill if you don’t feel connected to it. I love and appreciate you and all your amazing writing!❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

_______________________________________________________________________

a/n: sorry if you weren’t hoping for an unedited bullet point imagine, I’ve just been into it lately and wanted to get something out before I start my work week again in the early morning. Also probably kind of too similar to my last imagine, but Namjoon is my ultimate emotional support kpop boy, so sorry if it seems repetitive, but I eat this stuff up. Thanks for the request and for being so kind about it!! please let me know your thoughts <3

_______________________________________________________________________

· you were just getting off your long day comprising of a long work shift followed by a 3 hour evening class and it was, to put it lightly, just not your day

· you felt conflicted about the rest of your evening ahead, as you knew your boyfriend, Namjoon, would already be home at your shared apartment

· you didn’t want to bring him down with your attitude after your long day but you also didn’t want to be alone or crash at a friend’s place so. Home you went

· as soon as you turned your apartment key and shut the door behind you, you can hear Namjoon’s sweet voice calling out a gleeful “hi baby!” to you from where he’s sitting in the living room, tv playing lowly in the background

· he was in such a cheerful mood, just what you were worried about – at least if he had also had a rough day you could commiserate instead of feeling like you were bringing him down with you. But “it is what it is”, you had to tell yourself

· you rounded the corner and dropped your bags unceremoniously to the floor, causing your boyfriend to look up at you, his excited expression dropping when he sees your face

· he only needs one look to know you didn’t’ have the best day, opening his arms and patting his chest for you to come over to

· clad in his favourite grey sweatpants and a roomy teal t-shirt, he looks so much more inviting to wrap yourself up in than your business-casual blazer outfit. Thus, it takes you less than two seconds to toss your jacket and collapse yourself into his lap, hugging your knees to your chest

· “hey baby” he says again, softer this time, as he caresses the side of your face with his big warm hand, the other comfortingly wrapped around your side

· “hi” you reply, your small smile not meeting your big, sad eyes

· “wanna talk about it?”

· “not yet. Just a really long work shift. Followed by a really long class. On top of all the other shit going on right now. You know. The usual”

· “the usual. So you’re still doing all the work for that group project? Or the mechanic hasn’t figured out what’s up with the car yet? Or you’re still arguing with your dad about that one thing?” he asks encouragingly, not pryingly, as he gently mouthes quiet kisses to your hairline, prompting you to close your eyes and lean further into his touch

· “all of the above,” you murmur out

· “well then. Let’s focus on things in our control, that can be worked on right now? Can I help you work on some homework? I’m here for whatever you need from me.”

· You slowly reach up to brush some hair out of his soft eyes, willing your own to keep the threatening tears dancing on your eyelids at bay. “I don’t think I can do anything right now. I’m just so exhausted. Mentally and physically.” The tears have decided to come in full streams now, which you mentally curse yourself for even though you know your sweet boyfriend won’t be bothered by it in the least. “’Just want you, Joon.”

· “I’m here. I’m with you, Honey,” he breathes out as he presses your tear-streaked face into his chest, comfortingly rubbing your back as he lets you cry it out

· a few therapeutic minutes later of just being held by Namjoon, you push yourself up to look him in the eyes again

· “I’m sorry. I got your shirt all wet and snotty,” you say, a strained giggle bursting past your lips

· “I was about to wash it anyway,” he says, smiling down at you and continues to rub your back with one hand, drying your tears with the other. “now. Can I make you any food?”

· you shake your head. “I ate a really shitty burger while I was, literally, running from work to my class, and I don’t think I could stomach anything else tonight after that”

· namjoon tries not to chuckle too loudly at your expense. “okay baby. Can I at least make you tea while you go shower or take a bath?”

· you lazily lay your head back down on his chest, taking one of his hands in your own to play with the rings on his fingers. “no Joon. I mean it…I don’t think I can bring myself to do anything right now except go to bed.”

· “and that is 100% okay. Go get ready for bed. I’ll make you tea and be in in a minute.”

· He slowly tries to stand up, bringing you to your feet as well. He gently pats your head, and then your butt as well for good measure, before sending you on your way to the bedroom

· You start to worry you’ll fall asleep if he doesn’t hurry just as he walks in with your most well-loved mug, steaming with peppermint tea, your favourite caffeine-free bedtime drink

· He sets it down on your nightstand next to you before leaning over you, quietly pushing stray hairs out of your eyes, and placing a delicate kiss to your forehead

· “thanks, Joonie,” you whisper

· he answers with a smile, and hovers even closer to you to place his lips atop of yours, moving so gently against your lips you’d question whether he was actually there if it weren’t for the palpable feelings of love and care he passed to you through the action

· you made a grabby hands motion to nestle your fingers in his hair, trying to drag him even closer before he chuckles and stands back up again with a “hold your horses” giggling out of his mouth

· he quickly brushes his teeth, tosses his now “tear and snot” stained t-shirt in your hamper, and climbs in next to you, tucking the blankets tight into your side

· when you set the mug of tea down, he pulls you ever closer into him, gathering your hands in his own

· “I don’t want to go to work again tomorrow,” you whisper with a pout

· “no,” he chuckles, “I don’t suppose you do. But here’s looking forward to a better day tomorrow, yeah?” he says, punctuating his words with a kiss to your knuckles

· “you’ve already made today a better day,” you breathe out with a yawn

· he just smiles down at you adoringly, leaning over to bridge the two inches between your faces to gently kiss your lips once again

· when you finally break apart, he places a soft peck to your nose before gathering you up in his arms, pressing you impossible close to his chest, protectively keeping your head nuzzled under his chin

· you lean up to place one last kiss to his jawline before letting yourself be wrapped up in him completely again

· “goodnight, Joonie.”

#namjoon x reader #bts imagine #bts fluff #bts fic #bts x reader #my stuff #request

31 notes · View notes

thelittlefanpire · 3 years ago

Text

100 days of writing // day 1

thanks to @the-wip-project for putting this idea together and @kinetic-elaboration for always sharing her writing thoughts on tumblr. I see them and I love them and I’m going to try this thing out for myself! It’s always seemed like a very therapeutic thing to do, almost like a diary or journal, and that’s probably how a lot of these posts are going to read. No promises on consistent or quality content, but here we go! (please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in these posts, feel free to interact and reblog, and tag me in your posts as well, mutuals!)

So...I don’t actually write every day, but I do think about writing literally very single day of my life. I am sitting on a pile of WIPs and ideas that seem to be never-ending and I need to find a way to organize my work and motivate myself to do the actual writing bit...

When I started my journey back into fanfic writing, a couple of years ago, I had three initial fic ideas. Three vibes. Three stories I wanted to write...someday! But I’ve always felt with my writing that there were certain things I wasn’t ready for...there were certain ideas I wasn’t a good enough of a writer to write yet. I needed to practice.

So I came up with lots of ideas. Honestly, brainstorming and thinking about writing as always been way more easy for me, but like same, amiright? I would then write the “easier—less complex—good enough for me” fics. @troped-fanfic-challenge helped with that A LOT. And other fandom events. They helped me get over my fear of the way my writing had to be “good enough” and allowed it to just be. Practice isn’t meant to be perfect. These stories just need to exist outside of my brain.

Then I got really burnt out on TROPED writing and was just generally unhappy with most of the things I created last year. This year it has been better but I’ve still had some trouble being consistent. I’ve fallen behind on TROPED Rounds which frustrates me to no end. I also think being a mod is a hindrance sometimes because @dylanobrienisbatman and I come up with these prompts weeks and even months ahead of time, giving me just way too much time to let a idea marinate, so when the writing period comes around I’ve just fizzled out on it.

Today I’ve taken a look at my list of WIPs and ideas to figure out which one was calling to me the loudest. Here are a few I’ve been looking at: (keeping it vague in case these things never see the light of day!)

Conclave - this is the last TROPED event I was supposed to participate in. I had my Location/Character/Theme/Tropes all picked out, but I did not get past the intro during the writing period. typical. Motivation to continue it is low today.

1.0 R4 - this is the first one on my list I started and still need to finish from a early round of TROPED. Thankfully, it actually exists outside of my brain and Google doc, but after my initial writing time, I have not been able to finish this at all. I have one chapter and an epilogue left to write, but where has my inspiration gone too?! I would have to reread and get in a serious mental space to take this on again.

3.0 R3 - this idea is the most intriguing to me rn. I have an intro written and a pretty hefty outline for it. It’s the TROPED Fantasy Heist AU. There’s a lot of fun elements to it and it’ll be pretty wild by the time I get to the ending. I think there’s enough space between conception and now that I could potentially pick it up again.

JATP R4 - because brainstorming is the most fun, I’m tempted to play around with this round and figure out an idea for the prompt! I would want it to fit it into my Royalty Verse, but that’s adding another idea to my pile. woe is me.

#100daysofwriting #tlfwritingthoughts #we’ll be lucky if this lasts through the end of the week

4 notes · View notes

marveloussupernerd · 4 years ago

Note

I loved the platonic Zen one so much! Would you want to wrrite it from Zen's pOV and he is in love with MC? He would be just staring at her and in love with her but MC is too drunk to notice? Thanks!

Uhm this is literally such a cute idea !? I’ve never written from Zen’s POV and first person makes me feel silly... but let’s throwback to English terms I’m going to use third person limited to him :)) I hope that works for you

Wtf is this POV. Idk. I always refer to the lovely reader as “you.” Today you are “she/her.” If you want something gender neutral feel free to request ! Also I’m sorry if this sucks I’m playing around with points of view

Clubbing - Zen (Zen’s POV)

Warnings: alcohol (duh)

Summary: you’ve had a long day at work. Zen has been meaning to take you to some of his favorite clubs. You’re so pretty... even when you’re drunk, even more so when Zen is drunk. He’s caught feels

She had had the worst week ever, or that’s what it had sounded like. She was texting Zen everyday after work giving her update: “People were extra shitty today,” “working late,” “Friend’s being a real bitch.”

This week had sucked for her. Zen was determined to make it better though! She sounded so tired over the phone. Just exhausted of all the shit she had to put up with. So he recommended they go out clubbing, get super wasted together and let it all out. He knew it’d be therapeutic for her and, heck, maybe with a few drinks in him he’d forget how bubbly and hot he felt around her all the time. That’s the last thing she needed tonight.

He knew she was in desperate need of a fun night, so he picked the bar that he frequented that was right by a college campus. The scene was always lively and the people were nice. It’d be a good pick. His Uber arrived to the spot first. He had to look cool while he waited for you. He had dressed the part! Ripped jeans, a plain white shirt that was slightly fitted to give a little taste at his muscles, and the leather jacket he had pulled out from the back of his closet. He looked pretty cool, and definitely hot. His fans would have a heart attack seeing him in this ensemble, leaning against the wall, a smirk on his face.

When she got out of her Uber, though, that whole persona fell flat. He felt like an idiot. Why was he leaning against the wall! That was so stereotypical. His smirk had definitely changed, hopefully to a smile instead of a grimace. He was being an idiot.

But wow. She looked so good. She had on a skirt that looked so soft and her legs looked so pretty and he was staring at her legs for way too long. And her shirt was a high-necked, slightly cropped top. Not enough to show off her stomach, but just enough to hang there where a little bit of skin would peek out when she moved. She was so so beautiful. She didn’t even have to try. Of course, she had. She looked amazing. Ahhh how long had he been staring!? Say something! Say anything!

“Hey!” It was supposed to sound way cooler than that, way more chill. It came out as more of an exclamation. He was just so excited to see her.

She walked closer to him, a smile on her face. “This better be worth the commute,” she teased. It was a long Uber ride here, but he’d just have to make the trip even more worth it. The pressure was on.

He pushed himself off the wall so that he could better face her. “Oh it will! I’ve been so busy I haven’t been here in a while, but I doubt it’s changed.” He made his way into the building, staying close to her side. It often got pretty busy here. “It’s right outside of a college so you get all the fun college students here.” He had to raise his voice to speak over the music, but she seemed to be listening thoughtfully, a smile on her face as she nodded. God, that smile! Look anywhere else, Zen.

“Sounds messy,” she commented, her eyes scanning across the college students already getting drunk. Her gaze focused on a group of sorority girls in super high cut crop tops and high-waisted shorts. She pulled down her shirt subconsciously to cover up more of her stomach. It shot a pang to Zen’s heart. Did she really think she was any less attractive than these girls? She was so much more beautiful than them.

He chose not to comment on it though, instead following their conversation, explaining how all the students here were fun, as compared to regular bars where there were always people moping mixed in the crowds. He only ever came here when he wanted to get completely hammered and have a good time, but considering that’s what she needed, this was the perfect spot.

She was gazing at him for a little too long; Zen felt his body heat up under her gaze. What was she thinking about? Hopefully only good things. She continued on the conversation as though nothing had happened. “So, what do you typically start with here?”

“Shots. Classic move, especially for the med school students. You’ll see them soon enough. They start off with fireball then make their way down to the cheapest vodka as they get more drunk and can’t actually taste it.” It sounded like he had been here too much; he hoped he didn’t sound like an alcoholic.

But she didn’t judge him. She never had. She was so sweet. She just smiled, suggesting they follow their influence.

Zen offered to go get the drinks, heading up to the bar and placing their order. His eyes caught his own in the reflection in a mirror on the back wall. Why did he look so nervous? He’d need more alcohol to get through tonight. He requested another round of shots.

She seemed surprised to see the four shot glasses he balanced back. “Do they normally do two at once?” She asked, not bothering to hide the surprise in her face.

He shook his head. Don’t blush. Don’t blush. “Nah, they’re too broke for that. But I thought” that I didn’t want to be fawning over you all night. That I can’t look at you without thinking how pretty you are. That alcohol would help. “It’d be fun,” he finally mustered out. He handed her the shot glass, IGNORING how he felt as they brushed hands when they clinked their glasses against each other’s. He downed it smoothly, the burning feeling at his throat deliciously taking his mind off of her. That is until she had her mouth puckered and was shaking her head, holding back a cough. She looked cute even while doing that. “Good?” He asked her, still taking in her reaction.

“Perfect.” She grinned. “Round 2?”

“Already?” Thank God. More alcohol equals less strange feelings.

She laughed. His heart fluttered. “Well, it’s here isn’t it? The faster we can get drunk the better.”

Amen. He clinked the second glass and downed it even quicker than the first.

They got drunk fast. Zen had a constant stream of alcohol flowing through his body, begging it to stop thinking of her in that way. She tried to keep up with him, though, which got her drunk as well in no time.

“Will you sing karaoke with me?” He asked, his face heating up the second he realized what he had asked. What a strange question. One she’d never agree-

“Sure!” She laughed out loud. “I’ll even let you pick the song.”

Any song. Any song. A song he could remember the words to. A song you definitely knew. Maybe something a little romantic? No. Probably not. He settled on “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.” A perfect duet. It’d show off his voice well, everyone knew it, it was cute without being too lovey.

He clicked the wrong song. “Before He Cheats” started playing. Not what he intended at all. He stumbled up to the stage and grabbed the microphone, desperate to pull attention away from such an odd choice of a song. “Hey, I’m Zen and this is my...” he blanked into the microphone. NOT girlfriend. Friend. Friend. “Best friend!” He introduced, announcing her name for the audience before the song had begun.

She took the song in stride. In fact... she probably got too into it? “This is for my asshole ex!” She cheered at the instrumental break. The crowd went wild.

Say something say something say something. “A-and all my old managers who told me I’d never make it,” he added. Everyone cheered again.

She made her way over to him, time seeming to slow as he watched her foot catch on the microphone cord, leaping to action to catch her before she could hit the ground, arms around her back as she had one on his chest to steady herself. His body felt like it was on fire.

“That would’ve hurt like a bitch,” she commented, laughing. She was drunk drunk, huh? He helped her up, grasping her hand firmly and guiding her over the wire to his side of the stage. They finished the performance hand-in-hand; he hadn’t wanted to let go.

Once they got off the stage, they didn’t get a moment of relieve, a man calling her name. Why did he introduce her? Nobody had the right to cat call her like this. He whipped around to face the man, blinding white anger in his eyes. She had such a shitty week, she didn’t need this. “If you so much as look at her right now I swear to God I’ll knock you into-“ his eyes widened as he took in the startled blonde boy in front of him. “Yoosung?”

Yoosung didn’t move, unintimidated by drunk Zen. “Hi!” He greeted. She turned to face him, her skirt fanning as she moved. Zen snapped his eyes away from her and back to the man in question. “You guys are kinda drunk.”

They burst into laughter. Duh!! Wasn’t that obvious. “What are you doing here?” Zen asked, ignoring the previous comment.

“Oh, well I live right down the street.”

Her eyes lit up in enlightenment. “Oh my goodness you are a college student!” She seemed very proud of this discovery.

Yoosung went on about playing LOLOL but Zen was more focused on her, the smile on her lips, not reserved as it sometimes was, but in full form, nothing held back. The way her eyes sparkled under the light and... back to the conversation at hand.

“Oh! I have a great idea!” He interrupted Yoosung’s very boring story, focusing the conversation on her.

“I’d love to hear it.” She was always so nice.

“Why don’t we just crash at Yoosung’s place tonight? We won’t have to pay for an Uber.”

Yoosung seemed shocked. “But-“

“That’s pretty smart,” she butted in, nodding. “What do you think Yoosung?”

She could get anyone to listen to her. She was so damn charming. Yoosung didn’t stand a chance. “I- I guess that’s okay. As long as I can play LOLOL.”

“Yay!” She cheered, clapping excitedly. “We can go now. Lead the way.”

As the three headed out of the bar, Zen noticed her walking was shaky. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder to steady her and she followed suit. They weren’t much more stable walking down the street, but he felt better having his arm around her to keep her safe. Yoosung had unlocked the door for them and they shuffled in.

“I only have like... a bed and a couch,” he explained. “But we can figure something out.”

She let go of Zen’s body, leaping out of his grip to look around the place. “Wow Yoosung! This is cute as hell.” She was cute as hell.

Zen made his way to the couch, plopping down on it at the same time as her. His legs banged into hers clumsily, but he shifted so that she could lay on top of his. Were they really going to sleep in the same place?

“Is that really comfortable?” Yoosung asked, directing his attention to her. “You can take my bed.”

Zen glanced over at her, pouting. He was not sharing a couch with Yoosung, especially after almost getting to share it with her. She seemed to get the hint. “Nah, this is great. Will you get us a blankie though?”

As Yoosung left to get the blanket, Zen shrugged off his jacket, tossing it to the floor. She ran her hand through her hair, the locks falling messily around her face. Yoosung came back and draped the blanket over the two of them. “Is this okay?” He had asked.

Zen chuckled, cozying up to the blanket. “Perfect. Thanks Dad,” he teased. Yoosung blushed more. She giggled.

“Night Yoosungie! Don’t stay up all night.” She called. He wanted a nickname. Not fair. Yoosung set down some Advil and water on the coffee table and wished them good night. The room was suddenly silent.

“I want a nickname too.” Zen whispered.

“Zen isn’t even your real name,” she retorted.

He groaned. “I want a cute name like Yoosungie. Why don’t I get a cute name.”

“You’re plenty cute already,” she muttered, clearly tired. “Goodnight Zenny,” she giggled, blowing him a kiss. He fake-caught it, pinning it to his chest. Maybe tonight wasn’t all that bad after all.

#mystic messenger #mysme #zen

19 notes · View notes

amerrierworld · 4 years ago

Text

Curtain. (i)

Carol (2015) fanfiction

Summary: An on-and-off job as photographer can only pay so much, so Therese Belivet has taken a job at an elementary school's art program to help pay the bills. One of her last jobs before the school year begins is photographing a preview night of a successful play where she meets the well-known artistic director of the show, Carol Ross. She forgets about their meeting until September rolls around and she starts teaching an inquisitive young six-year old by the name of Rindy.

Characters: Carol x Therese

Word Count: 1,491

Warnings: none yet!

June.

Therese was staring intensely at her laptop, watching as all the little photo icons from her camera began transferring over to her drive. Rain tapped gently against her windows and a can of Coke sat on her desk, half-empty. She had shut all the windows to avoid any light or outdoor distractions as she tended to daydream while looking out in the distance, but this time Therese was determined to get this job finished.

As she waited for the files to continue transferring, the brunette arched her back, yawning as her body creaked and popped from sitting for so long.

It had been three days since her lucky photography gig at the Hudson Theatre. Thinking about it still made her limbs jittery. It was a smaller theatre, but being the oldest theatre in the city and having hosted many successful shows, it was still a landmark. Therese had been overjoyed at the prospect of working inside the theatre for once and seeing all the ins and outs of the show she had been asked to document.

Her phone pinged from where she had haphazardly tossed it on her bed. She stood up and shuffled over, stretching again and giving her legs a shake as she opened a message from Dannie.

preview done. again.

how was it?

tbh a little messier than when u were there, richard kept missing his mark

of course he did.

yeah ross wasn't too pleased with him...

At the mention of the director's name, Therese's stomach lurched a bit, though she couldn't tell why. They had only exchanged a few words during the preview when she'd been there.

...anyways, manager wants to know how ur doing with those photos

workin on em right now actually

tsk that's too bad

why? did she need them now? i thought i had until next week

nah i was just gonna ask if u wanted to get some food and then get plastered w me and phil

Therese snorted and looked back at her laptop, which lit up, indicating all the files had been successfully imported. Temporarily forgetting about her conversation she hurried to glance through them, immediately noticing the faulty pics that she knew she wouldn't be able to use.

Her phone rang and she picked up.

"Is that a no?" Dannie asked from the other end. Therese rolled her eyes.

"Dannie, not responding in 30 seconds does not automatically mean no. But yeah, I don't know if getting drunk right now is such a good idea, I have a lot to go through. Plus, don't you have to work tomorrow?"

"Preview isn't until the afternoon, Belivet. I have all morning to sober up."

Sighing, Therese flicked through a few photos, stilling as she found one of the director whose back was to the camera as she directed Gen, the lead actress, who stood off to the far side of the stage.

"Therese?"

"Hm? Yeah, for sure. I'll come for food, but I'm going home afterwards, I really don't want to be hungover. I've had three cans of Coke already, alcohol and caffeine don't mix well for me."

"Alright, sounds good."

"When do you wanna head out?"

"...now?"

At that, the intercom buzzed at Therese's front door, indicating someone was in front of the apartment building.

"Jesus, Dannie, really?"

"I know you're always hungry, Therese. Plus, getting off the subway from work at your place is so much closer than mine. Forgive me?"

"Ugh fine, give me 20 minutes to get ready though. I don't care if you're stuck in the rain outside. That's what happens when you constantly drag me out for last minute plans."

"Yeah, yeah, Belivet, just hurry your ass up. We're not going anywhere fancy cause God knows I don't get paid enough to afford anything like that."

"Is Richard coming?" Therese asked, brow furrowing in a split second of worry.

"Him? Nah. I actually think he somehow managed to lure Gen into a date tonight. I saw them talking after the show."

"Oof, poor girl."

"Yeah, maybe I should warn her, y'know. Get her out while she still can."

"Terrible idea, McElroy. You know how actresses are with stage hands."

Dannie barked out a laugh. "Shut the fuck up, Belivet. You're one to talk, considering you were ogling the director the entire night."

"I was not."

"Yeah you were. Now get going, or I'm gonna melt in this downpour."

Therese smiled and ended the call, closing her laptop and hurrying to put on some decent clothes before meeting Dannie outside.

"C'mon Terry, not even one shot? As a celebratory drink for this job and the next."

"No, Phil," Therese laughed. "I already told Dannie, I have work to do later."

"Alright, suit yourself, but that means I'm gonna drink extra just to make up for you!"

After having grabbed a bite at a cheap Thai restaurant, the McElroy brothers had dragged Therese to their usual bar even though she was still determined to stay sober.

"Do you even know how to deal with kids, Therese? Elementary school can be vicious, y'know," Dannie said, sipping his beer as he ignored Phil stumbling from his seat to order another drink.

"It's only part-time, Dan," Therese shrugged. "Plus, what kid doesn't like art? If one of them throws a temper, I'll just let him go ham on a canvas with some paint, no big deal. It's therapeutic that way."

"How'd you manage to get a job there anyway?"

"Well, their usual art teacher had to take a break for a year 'cause of an injury, so I'm just filling in for the younger grades. They were desperate for more staff for their programs."

"Jeez, is that allowed? You've barely worked with kids until now."

"I dunno. I did a full police check and stuff, besides I'm not hired for the school, just the programs afterwards so I'm not technically a teacher. But it's a small school with a shit ton of younger kids that often need an after-school program. Chances are they won't even need me in the New Year if the other teacher comes back."

"So they just really need extra hands on deck?" Dannie concluded and Therese nodded. Phil came staggering back with a glass of water, grouchy and mumbling something about the bartender not letting him have another.

"Yeah. What about you though? What's happening after Woolf?"

Danni sighed and slumped back in his seat. "Who knows at this point? Ross is taking a break too, from being artistic director-,"

"Wait, really? She's not retiring is she?"

Dannie smirked at Therese but ignored her sudden eagerness in the conversation.

"Nah, just something about needing to be home with her family. She's worked her butt off for the theatre more than anyone, so it makes sense she wants a break for a little while after this show's done. But she'll probably be back in no time, cause she's like that. In the mean time, Gerhard is taking over. I don't know what she has up her sleeve yet, but I'm thinking a typical Christmas show is coming up."

"Any idea what it might be?"

"Nope. Everyone's talking and wanting to do A Christmas Carol but it's been so overdone, and Abby's always doing unexpected things."

"Damn, I wonder what it could be," Therese chewed her lip in thought.

"You sure you're not just upset at the idea of Ross not working there anymore?" Dannie teased. Therese smacked his arm.

"Dannie," she scolded.

"What! Even a blind person could see she's literal eye candy, though she can be a tough boss. I'm not blaming you for liking her, but I am telling you that she's not as sweet as she looks."

"Hmph, whatever. She's probably got someone anyways, if she's taking a break with family."

"I dunno, Belivet, I've never noticed a wedding ring." He winked at her.

"God, you're the worst y'know?" Therese sighed, though her eyes were twinkling. "I never should have come out to you when all you do is tease me about every girl who I just happen to find kinda cute."

Dannie grinned. "That's what you get for being besties with the McElroys, Belivet. Besides, since Phil doesn't like girls, who am I supposed to go to when I get lady problems?"

Therese shook her head and chuckled before checking her watch.

"Damn, it's getting late. Alright boys, I'm going home. I really need to work on those photos. Don't drink yourselves to death, please?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, Belivet!"

She grabbed her purse before going to hail a cab as Phil and Dannie waved goodbye, her mind whirling with thoughts of the intriguing blonde director. Therese wondered who she was, besides the 'literal eye candy' that she'd managed to capture on camera. Sighing, Therese shook her from her mind during the brief cab ride home, deciding it was best to leave her daydreaming behind for the rest of the night.

A/N: heh... hi. here's my take on carol/therese because i can’t get enough of them honestly. Let me know what you think; this’ll be a pretty packed series so enjoy :3

I’ve also been posting my stuff on AO3 if any of you use that as well so you can find this and my other stories there too! <3

84 notes · View notes

jkbabiey · 4 years ago

Text

{JJK} Say it ⤇ 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing: fuckboy!jungkook x student!reader

Word Count: ~3.16 K

Genre: fluff (ig) and yes, the flirty tension keeps up ; college!AU

Warnings: Jungkook is a cocky and flirty asshole; he’s a literal ass (not really literal okay?) and Y/N is nervous :) she’s adorable <3

10th march, 2023

“You what?” Jimin screeched in the middle of the very boring pharmacology class you were both attending at the moment. You hurried to put your hand over his mouth and his eyes got even bigger than they were when you blurted out ‘I’m going out with Jungkook’, muttering while writing some notes on your notebook like it was a piece of absolutely non-important information. No big deal.

“I didn’t even give him your number, how the fuck are you two going on a date already?” he whisper-screamed and you chuckled.

“Calm down, it’s just a date...”

“How?” he asked, still plenty of confusion written all over his face.

“Well, let’s just say we knew each other before in a night club and when I said I wouldn’t sleep with him, he asked my number to one of my friends, like three weeks ago...” you finally explained and Jimin gasped

“You sultry whore, you were pretending not to know him all this time,” he laughed and playfully hit you on the shoulder.

You ignored him, directing your brief attention to the professor that was trying to give his full potential in his class, to get to all of the students present. “So you know, Pharmacodynamics is defined as how the body reacts to the drugs. Medication is said to have a narrow or wide therapeutic index, certain safety factor or therapeutic...” but then, your the main topic of your interest was that you knew barely anything about Jungkook, except for his name, his major and that he was Jimin’s best friend.

“So... umm- ho-how do you think I should dress?” you asked, cursing yourself for the soft stutter of your voice. You just couldn’t help it. You were literally talkin’ to your date’s best friend, asking for advice on how to please the guy.

“Oh, she’s nervous...” he teased and you felt your cheeks heat up instantaneously

“I’m not nervous, I just don’t know what to wear...” you whispered and he laughed quietly

“Well, I don’t really know... he has dated or at least slept with a whole bunch of different girls, like almost every single girl in college...” he mumbled mindlessly but your eyes quickly averted from your scribbled notebook to his figure. Rubbing his chin and furrowing his eyebrows, he seemed not to notice your sudden concern. Jimin was in deep thought, trying to remember one single characteristic that his best friend’s ex-lovers could all share, but nothing seemed to come to his mind.

“Well... I don’t think he has a type...” he stated, finally looking at you, shrugging. Noticing your worried expression, he quickly took his hand to yours, laying on the table and squeezing it, deeply regretting his early words. “He’s not the kind of guy to fuck around,” he mumbled, his tone of voice suddenly, a lot softer. “Well, actually he kind of is, but he’s not an asshole. He just fucks around because he hasn’t found the right girl, don’t worry... Just be yourself and I’m telling you it will work out, you’re just his type!”

“You just told me he doesn’t have a type!”

Jimin rubbed his neck “He’s a really good guy, just give him a chance...” he pleaded, trying to not ruin his friend’s chances with you.

You didn’t say anything else for a few minutes and you really didn’t plan on doing so, but it had already passed about 5 minutes since the conversation had supposedly ended and Jimin’s lost puppy eyes were still fixed on you.

“Fine! I’ll go but you’ll have to help me find an outfit!” you warned and Jimin’s face immediately lightened up.

“Yes ma’am!”

Panic. Absolute chaos.

Your date was meant to be at 6 PM and you had already postponed it to 7:30 PM. You were that desperate. Jimin was laying on your bed and you were sitting beside his bare feet, on the end of the mattress.

“You were supposed to help me,” you whined, looking at your new-made friend’s unbothered face.

“I’ll help if you show me some options or am I supposed to just go and barge into your closet?” he asked, and you could perceive some annoyance in his tone, which aroused a pout in your lips.

“That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do...” you murmured, still pouting and Jimin sighed, standing up and looking through the cabinets in your closet.

“This is somewhat depressing,” he stated, “Why don’t you own casual dresses?”

“Because I don’t usually wear dresses,” your rolled your eyes.

“This will have to do,” he mumbled, turning to you with a pair of flared high-waisted light jeans and a tight low-cut crop top.

“It’s just a dinner, after all, right?” you asked, unsure of how appropriate the outfit he’d suggested was for the occasion.

“Yeah, I assure you Jungkook’s not taking you to one of those fancy restaurants,” he shrugged “and you’ll look beautiful anyways, you’re stunning Y/N” he continued, making sure to boost your ego and you smiled sweetly at him

“Thank you,” you acknowledged his sympathy, kissing his cheek briefly and turning to the bathroom with the determined clothes in your hands.

It was crazy for you to think about how less than a week ago you would spend hours of your day daydreaming about Jimin and now he was nothing more than a very close friend to you. You and he had always been friends, even in high school, but you had always kept your distance, due to your immense crush on the boy. Then, Jungkook surged, out of nowhere, and suddenly Jimin didn’t seem to have any effect on you and the hours spent daily thinking about him, have been replaced with short minutes of wondering what Jungkook could be doing at the moment. And you couldn’t even believe you were spending one single second of your day doing that.

Turns out the outfit looked extremely good on you and Jimin was a great stylist. Maybe he shouldn’t be studying medicine. He did your hair, straightening it and doing it quicker than you would ever.

[Jungkook, 7:28 PM] - Are you ready?

[Jungkook, 7:29 PM] - Can I go pick you up?

[Jungkook, 7:29 PM] - You’re not standing me up, are you?

“Oh, he’s simping for you now?” Jimin asked teasingly, lurking over your shoulder while straightening the last curly lock of hair. He would be a great boyfriend and you were seriously thinking of presenting him to your best friend.

[You, 7:31 PM] - I wouldn’t stand you up...

[You, 7:31 PM] - You can come pick me up.

“And then what? You just left?” you asked, an amused smile playing on your lips

“She was cheating on me! Was I supposed to just stay there, watching?” he tried to give a proper excuse that to you just sounded like a really lame one.

“She wasn’t even dating you, Jungkook!” you screeched and he burst out in laughter, you quickly following him. “So you punched your friend, just because he was kissing the girl you had been talking to for three days? And you’re telling me that girl was your first love? The one you had been texting for three days?”

“She was really pretty!” he stated, holding a tattooed hand up as if trying to avoid the playful judgy gaze you were sending his way.

Turns out Jungkook had brought you to a nice diner in the middle of the city. It was very cozy and you had never felt so comfortable in any other restaurant if you could call it that. Jungkook was also another reason why you felt so untroubled and relaxed. He was a very calming presence, completely the opposite of what you had expected. Of course, you couldn’t deny the very discrete fuckboy aura that surrounded him, but it was a very soft and comforting aura and you had never felt so welcomed by someone as you felt in the moment you got in Jungkook’s car.

He was wearing light grey sweatpants and a black sweatshirt, his hair was messy and, in your most humble opinion, he looked even better dressing his casual clothes, other than with any other of the ones you had seen him wearing before. He looked as if he had put very little to no effort into how he looked, in contrast to you that had been close to suffering a psychedelic attack with no idea of what to wear. Somehow, the fact he didn’t need to even dress himself in “proper” clothes to look good was working as a major turn-on for you. You were grateful Jimin had made you wear such a casual look, you wouldn’t want to look too dressed up next to your date.

“So what? You texted each other for 3 days and you were sure she was your first love?”

“C’mon I was 17, I could walk by a pretty girl on the street and feel like I had found my soulmate,” he laughed, softly scratching his cheek. You laughed and looked down at your hamburger. When you looked back up, he was staring. Intensely and with a sly smirk plastered on his lips.

“What?” you asked, anxiousness slowly building up inside you.

“And who was your first love?” he repeated the question you had made playfully when he mentioned his first love would have to be french fries, earlier.

“Oh,” you exclaimed, your eyes wide and your hand, immediately taken up to rub your ear, a nervous habit you had developed through time. “I do-don’t think I-I’ve ever had my first love,” you mumbled shyly. If he hadn’t understood how inexperienced you were in the whole relationship area, he certainly had just now.

“You haven’t, really?” he asked, eyebrows raised but no judgement evident in his voice.

“Nope,” you shook your head, “I’m not the social type, never came across someone I’ve really loved, I think..”

“Ever had a boyfriend?” he asked, running his hand through his hair and repositioning himself in the red cushioned sofa he was previously laid out across, deciding to sit up and lean on his forearms. His face closer to yours now.

“Well... Yeah, I had one boyfriend, I was like 18, but I don’t think I felt something that deep for him” you said, suddenly not feeling ashamed of your lack of experience, probably because, once again, he had a very calming presence, and he looked very interested, something you wouldn’t expect in a million years.

“Tell me more,” he asked, licking his lips, and you chuckled.

“Well, he was a great guy, his name was Lucas and there’s really not much t-” “I want to know more about you, stupid, not about your ex,” he interrupted and your eyes were once again, exaggeratedly widened. He giggled, covering his eyes with his hand “Loosen up, I’m just trying to get to know you.”

“Um... There’s nothing to know,” you muttered and Jungkook smiled

“Tell me something, anything... I don’t usually take girls on dates so you have to make it worth something,” he muttered

“Doesn’t I being here make it worth enough?” you asked teasingly, trying to pretend to be offended. The real intention was obviously dodging the attention from you.

But Jungkook had to catch up.

“Of course it does, but it’ll all go away if I get out of here not knowing a thing about you besides your name,” he stated.

“Well my name’s Y/N Y/L/N, I’m 21, studying medicine with Jimin. I had a huge crush on Jimin before you. I liv-”

“Before me?” he asked suddenly, an indicator of what could be a huge mocking grin on his face

“U-um” you stuttered and Jungkook laughed. “Well y-yeah, I guess...”

“Am I your new crush Y/N?”

You blushed and let out a loud grunt. “Stop talking, Jungkook!”

“Okay, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear this and you can go on with your oral presentation,” he teased and you sent him a glare.

“You know what? I’m going to the bathroom,” you said and he chuckled

“You sure need some cold water, your cheeks look red.”

[You, 8:04 PM] - Jimin!

[Chim, 8:05 PM] - Is everything ok?

[You, 8:05 PM] - Besides the fact that I just told him I have a crush on him, yeah... Everything’s going smoothly :)

[Chim, 8:06 PM] - WJWIH YOU TOLD HIM THAT?

[Chim, 8:06 PM] - Don’t worry too much, if he didn’t leave after that he probably thinks you’re hot.

[You, 8:06 PM] -I’m pretty sure he doesn’t :(

[Chim, 8:07 PM] - Wash your face and get out of the bathroom, if he’s still waiting for you, he thinks you’re hot.

[You, 8:07 PM] - Are u sayin’ there’s a possibility that he left?

[Chim, 8:07 PM] - GO Y/N!

You placed your phone in the counter and looked yourself in the mirror, sighing and just as you were about to wash your face a notification sound, that you found particularly familiar, ringed.

[Jungkook, 8:09 PM] - Are you still alive?

So he thought you were hot, according to Jimin.

But, after you ignored his text and washed your face, reapplying a bit of mascara and a thin layer of foundation - you’ve never been a type to use too much make-up - you got out of the bathroom and found Jungkook talking to a girl, a young blonde and absolutely gorgeous girl whom you recognized her from campus.

“I’m back,” you said, sitting down in front of Jungkook but your eyes were directed to the girl who was now looking back at you, a not very nice look on her eyes.

“I’m glad,” Jungkook answered, discretely sending you a playful gaze. “Y/N, this is Lisa, a friend of mine. Lisa, this is Y/N, she’s a friend too”

You looked at Jungkook and redeemed yourself to a simple nod. You really couldn’t expect anything but that.

“Hi!” you greeted the girl, a nice smiled placed on your lips. Despite the very friendly voice you used and the pleasing smile, she hummed and sent Jungkook one very nasty look. You raised your brows and Junkook chuckled.

“Is she the next one on your list?” she asked, annoyance very remarkably present in her voice tone.

“Lisa please, not here. Can we not talk about that now?” he gave her the prettiest begging eyes you’d ever seen and in that moment you stopped seeing the funny and charming man you had been hanging out with the whole night. It was clearer now that in any other moment why everyone knew about him on campus and held a very infamous fuckboy reputation against him. You knew that if you stood up and got the hell out of that diner, he wouldn’t go after you. He’d probably rather take Lisa home and have a good night of delight with her. “I’ll call you later,” he stated and you looked at him again, taken aback by the flirty voice he was using in front of you, shamelessly directing it to another girl.

“When can you come over to my place?” she asked, her voice suddenly so much softer and her eyes free from any anger that could be left.

Smooth-talker.

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” he smiled at her and she hummed. A flirty hum, which you found extremely annoying.

“Ok, I’m going then,” she said finally and smiled back at him. Walking away after sending you on last noxious stare, to which, you shamefully tore you eyes away from, directing them to Jungkook’s, that were once again fixed on you. You sent him a questioning look, but he kept on staring as if that hadn’t been just your date audaciously flirting with someone else, in front of you.

“What was that?”

“What?”

You tilted your head to the side, a bored look on your eyes and he sighed.

“Just ignore that, she’s just a friend,” he muttered and you looked down to your hands. Suddenly his tattoed hand came into your field of vision, taking a hold of your left hand. You relaxed, instantaneously.

“Everything fine?” he asked

And that was your turn to hum.

Smooth-talker.

13th march, 2023

[Jungkook, 5:56 PM] - So... What do you think? Do I get a second date or...

[You, 6:00 PM] - You haven’t really let me have my full week of not hearing your voice :(

You were texting Jungkook... Again.

You two had been texting since the date. He took you home and - as requested by you - sent you a message when he got home, just to guarantee that he wouldn’t have an ugly accident and die just because of you.

[Jungkook, 6:01 PM] - Why are you pretending i’m a pain in your ass, princess?

And he insisted on using the nickname.

[Jungkook, 6:01 PM] - Jimin’s my best friend if you didn’t notice

[Jungkook, 6:02 PM] - He already told me you love me :)

[You, 6:02 PM] - I do not!

[Jungkook, 6:02 PM] - He also told me you were freaking out in the bathroom when you told me about your huge crush on me

You looked over at Jimin, sitting next to you. His eyes focused on the last class you two would be attending that day, microbiology. Your hands were covered from the professor’s view under the table. All that to be able to talk to Jungkook. Jimin had noticed this and somehow he hadn’t hysterically screamed at you. Yet. “Jimin, you’re a dead man.” You whispered so that only he could hear you, in a room full of focused students.

“What?” He looked at you confused, his brows furrowed. When you were ready to explain to him the reason behind your angry eyes, you felt the mobile in your hands vibrate twice again and quickly disguised your attention from your friend to your hands.

[Jungkook, 6:03 PM] - If it makes you feel any better...

[Jungkook, 6:03 PM] - I told him about my crush on you too ;)

[Jungkook, 6:04 PM] - So... second date?

The casualty. The freaking casualty. You looked over at Jimin again, your cheeks flushed but the anger in your eyes was nowhere to be found. He raised his brows, questioning you.

“Forget it,” you smiled at him and he chuckled.

[You, 6:05 PM] - K

[Jungkook, 6:06 PM] - ;)

[You, 6:07 PM] - Fuck you :(

[Jungkook, 6:08 PM] - Yeah, later ;)

You slapped your phone on the table, blushing heavily, and Jimin looked at you wide-eyed, a slight smirk on his lips. He knew his best friend and he knew you. He knew that this reaction, coming from you, could only be related to one topic. You tried to ignore his teasing stare for the rest of the class and pay attention to the actual theory your professor was busy reciting.

Your mind was still stuck in Jungkook’s answer, though.

30 notes · View notes

pendragonsandbuckleys · 4 years ago

Text

When The Dust Settles

Summary: The fight at CrashCon had been a mess.

Michael had found that his genius really did increase when he was pissed off and he had managed to build the fateful bomb in just over ten hours - with little thought to his own safety, to be honest, when the fate of someone else far more important had been looming over him the entire time.

But nothing had gone as planned. Or, in a way, everything had gone as planned. That is, if the plan was to make sure that everyone he loved was still alive by the end of the evening.

Word Count: 1,821

[Also on AO3]

The fight at CrashCon had been a mess.

But nothing had gone as planned. Or, in a way, everything had gone as planned. That is, if the plan was to make sure that everyone he loved was still alive by the end of the evening.

CrashCon was in full swing by the time they arrived. Hundreds of people in tin foil hats and homemade alien costumes, so unaware of what was about to unfold.

Helena had cruelly made Michael hand the bomb over to Jesse himself. Hand over his life to the one man who was so hell-bent on destroying it.

But despite being promised, he still hadn’t seen Alex yet. Hell, since Helena had handed him the specs for the device, he’d wondered if maybe he was simply clinging to some naive hope that Alex was even still alive. That the Manes men hadn’t already wiped out the flaw in their bloodline.

He had been so tempted to up and run with the bomb when he noticed Alex in the distance. Alive and whole and if Flint hadn’t have been standing far too close to him to be natural and Alex didn’t have that heartbreakingly pained expression on his face, Michael could believe that the entire kidnapping hadn’t been real.

But no, Alex was still clearly in danger so Michael wasn’t going to risk anything.

And that’s when it all went to hell.

First Jesse had the bomb. He was keeping it safe in his possession until the opportune moment which had given Michael enough time to escape his captors clutches and find Max and Isobel to warn them of what was going on.

Then from some quick thinking and a distraction from Max, Michael had ended up with the device, then the failsafe that he had secretly installed failed, then Helena had managed to grab it, then Michael lost track of it completely for a good thirty minutes, then Flint had it, then maybe Jesse again?

Then Alex.

And it was like Flint saw red. A traitor, that’s what he’d called Alex. With no sign of regret or remorse he had completely disowned his own brother when Michael had mentioned his name the day before.

And now, Flint showed no hesitation when he opened fire on the enemy.

Michael barely had a second to register what was going on when the screaming began and he was suddenly caught in the middle of the huge stampede of terrified alien fanatics rushing to safety.

There had been gunfire and smoke and explosions from a hit power transformer and it was impossible to tell who was where and who was hurt.

But it was over quickly. Police trucks and ambulances arrived in record time and soon everything was quiet again.

The injured were tended to and fairground employees returned to their rides to take stock of the damage and through the still smokey haze Max had jogged over him.

“Flint and Jesse are down, Iz has the bomb, it’s safe.” Max told him, the words sluggishly reaching his brain through the ringing in his ears, but he didn’t care about that right now.

And like Max could read his thoughts, he placed one hand on Michael’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “He’s over by the stage. He’s okay.”

Michael barely let out a ‘thank you’ before rushing to the wooden platform that was supposed to play host to the biggest event of the evening.

Just the sight of Alex made Michael freeze, his chest heaving with relief.

The airman was sitting on the platform, his legs hanging over the edge with his feet just grazing the grass. He was fiddling with his hands and he just looked…lost.

From a distance it seemed like he was unhurt, physically, but Michael could only imagine what was running through his mind. He had almost just been killed by his brother, not to mention the whole being held captive by his own family for almost a week.

Michael wanted to hug him, he wanted to literally cry with joy at the fact that Alex was not only alive, but actually safe now in front of him. But he also didn’t want to overwhelm him. Being casual was key if he didn’t want to spook the man who was so clearly wrapped up inside his own thoughts right now.

But it’s like his brain was trying to process so many emotions that he wasn’t sure whether to show or not, that he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“So, you still think there’s some good in everyone?” He playfully nudged Alex’s shoulder with his own as he took a seat next to him.

Alex’s withdrawn expression quickly crumbled as his eyes filled with tears. Looking to the ground with a shaky inhale.

“Oh my god, no Alex, I’m sorry, that was a really dumb joke.” He frantically tried to backtrack, turning to face Alex properly as he placed a reassuring hand on the other man’s knee.

He watched as Alex bit the inside of his cheek for a moment before letting out a self-deprecating huff of laughter.

“You’re right though.” Alex whispered, “It was stupid of me. My blind optimism, my naivety. It almost got you killed.”

“Alex…”

“If I hadn’t have been so trusting, none of this would have happened. You, Max and Isobel, you wouldn’t have nearly died.”

Up close Michael could see how exhausted he looked. The moonlight accentuated his tired eyes and pale cheeks and the fine tremors running through his body were easy to miss if you weren’t looking close enough.

Michael ducked his head to try and get Alex to look at him properly, the corners of his mouth rising slightly when those tear filled eyes met his own.

“I lied, you know.” He smiled gently, “What I said in the bunker. Your ability to see the good in everyone, even after all the hurt you’ve gone through. I’ve never stopped loving that about you.”

Alex’s lips parted as if to speak but Michael didn’t want to give him a chance to write off what he was saying.

“I didn’t say it was stupid because it’s naive. It just- It scared me, hearing you say it. Just the thought of how easily people could take advantage of you and your faith in humanity. How easily you could get hurt because of it.”

“It serves me right,” Alex shrugged, turning back to look at his hands, “What my dad and Flint did to me, it’s my own fault.”

“Hey, hey, no that’s not- you know what, can we start over? I’m really fucking happy that you’re alive.”

“You are?” Alex asked, the words coming out quiet and shaky.

Michael spluttered in surprise and was unable to hide the confusion on his face even if he wanted to. “Alex, I just made a bomb that could wipe out what’s left of my entire species, in less than half a day might I add, because there was no way in hell that I was going to let you die.”

Alex looked up once more as Michael spoke and it was clear that he’d failed in his mission to hold back his tears as they feel silently down his face. He had gotten so good at hiding his pain recently, so to see it written so raw on his features was a surprise to Michael.

The cowboy was happy to admit that he was the first to shy away from those big emotions. When things got tough, he’d smash things - create a mess or create a scene. He’d say and do things to sabotage his own happiness and the happiness of the people he cared about. But right now, for the first time in a long time, there was no urge to start an argument or walk away - but the exact opposite. It was so clear that Alex needed reassurances and Michael wasn’t going to start letting him down again now.

“And I would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant keeping you safe.”

It was like those words were the magical key to opening the floodgates because a second later a breath caught in Alex’s throat before he was racked his sobs. Michael didn’t hesitate to tenderly guide Alex’s head to his chest and held him tightly as his shoulders shook and his cries were muffled by Michael’s shirt.

He could feel the checkered flannel getting wet but he couldn’t even begin to care. He squeezed his eyes shut as he rubbed one hand up and down the length of Alex’s back, content to stay there for as long as it took for Alex to let it all out.

“They really hate me that much.” Alex hiccuped, turning his face slightly so that his words could be heard but he didn't break the contact with Michael’s chest.

“Forget them, okay? They’re not important, they don’t mean anything. They’re not your family Alex, they never have been. But we are, Liz, Maria, Isobel…me. And we’re not going anywhere.”

He could feel Alex nod slightly and for now that would have to do. He’d learnt a long time ago that he couldn’t make Alex believe anything he didn’t want to, but Michael just really hoped that his words had been convincing.

He could still feel Alex crying as he repositioned his chin on top of the other man’s head. He took a deep breath as he felt his own eyes begin to well up.

“You know the whole where’s-Alex-scavenger-hunt thing was quite therapeutic actually, I even hit your dad over the head with his own crutch.”

Alex couldn’t hold back his disbelieving chuckle and Michael’s chest warmed at the sound.

“I did that once too, with my own crutch.” Alex whispered as he clung weakly to Michael’s shirt.

“Wait, what??” Michael laughed. “You never told me this!”

He felt Alex chuckle again but the man said no more.

It was quiet between them for a moment. Alex’s shaking began to slow as Michael continued to hold him.

“You shouldn’t have built that bomb…but thank you for trying to save me.”

A thank you instead of a lecture? Michael chalked it up to the exhaustion but received it gratefully nonetheless. He’d probably get an earful from Alex tomorrow once he was more rested and could form actual unemotional, coherent thoughts, but right now Michael couldn’t ask for any more.

I’ll always save you he thought to himself as he closed his eyes once more and held Alex just a little bit tighter.

#i just really need these two to hug okay #roswell new mexico #alex manes #michael guerin #malex #alex manes fic #michael guerin fic #malex fic #my fic

55 notes · View notes

blackfemmecharacterdependency · 4 years ago

Text

16. Faith in Grace

She had been working on her artwork again. The first time she got interested in it was whenever she was in the institution. Prior to that, whenever she wanted art, she had gotten it from The Apex, namely 808. So, that was who she “turned to,” while making her therapeutic artwork. She became a muse of sorts, even if it had only been for a time, and even if Grace didn’t even realize it at the time.

Whenever she was locked up, she had been asked about her goals. It was a really bizarre question and it took her and her psychiatrist a long time to even get her to the point of comprehending just what the woman was asking. Basically, she wanted to know what Grace wanted out of her treatment, her life, and herself. At the time, all Grace wanted was to take care of her Apex family. So, her goal was, “To go home,” and whatever that entailed was what she was willing to do.

Her parents were there frequently, having every possible visit that they could have with her. She was awkward every time, barely remembering the days when she wanted their attention so much that she had literally risked her entire life just to be noticed. She felt so stupid now. The only way for her to NOT feel stupid was to try to forget that girl ever existed. Whoever she was when she was 10 and left these people, she certainly was not by the time she was 18, and that kid had been beaten to death, as far as she was concerned. She wasn’t trying to ever revive her. RIP to Grace Monroe, but I’m different.

Still, she felt for the Monroes. She herself had personally lost two kids, right before her own eyes, and several others out of sight. She knew that it was hard for them, maybe even as hard, if not harder for them as it was for her, looking at them. She tried not to be angry with them for never finding her, for giving up, moving on, and letting her rot away on the streets. She blamed them for having to watch herself burn and to come through the fire as someone whose face seemed unfamiliar to herself and whose hands were so drenched in blood that she seriously wondered if they would ever be clean. But… getting along with these, now, complete strangers was part of the proof that she was growing, and ready for release. It took her a couple of years to convince anybody - her parents, her doctors, hell, herself that she was capable of doing anything besides play acting as a person and getting violently angry when nobody was convinced.

Her doctor asked, “What do you think keeps you from showing your real feelings?”

“Showing my real feelings is why I’m HERE and not with my family.”

“Your family comes to see you all of the time and you never seem to really want to engage with them.”

“Ugh. Not the Monroes. The Apex!”

“Do you want to talk more about them?”

Grace had been avoiding it. She worried that no matter WHAT this woman said, the police would storm through the abandoned train or the warehouse and take all of them away, separate them and never let them see each other again. But, maybe if she was careful, and didn’t give away any clues, that wouldn’t happen. She DID want to talk about them. She thought about them every waking moment. “They were my kids. I was their leader. I’m responsible for them, and now, 747 has to take care of them. He’s good for a few days, maybe, and it’s a really big maybe, a few weeks… But, for how long I’ve been away from them… For all I know, 152 has to take care of them… and I don’t know if he has the stomach. Maybe 1K will step in. Just maybe… but… I’m not there, so I can’t know for sure. Somebody could be murdering one of them right now, for all I know. Every time I try to sleep, I see their blood spilling. I wake up with it on my hands…” She hugged herself, crying now. “There was nothing left of Hazel to even hold. It wasn’t like with Todd. Todd’s face was gone, but I got to hug him, to apologize. Hazel was… there were remains, but it was like… saying goodbye to… to… wreckage. Human wreckage. Other people killed them, but MY hands were supposed to be holding theirs. They weren’t supposed to die. They weren’t supposed to have to hurt that way.”

“There are a lot of things that happen that feel like they aren’t supposed to.Some can argue that nothing is supposed to happen. That things happen as a result of millions of other threads and that none of them can be foreseen by those that they happen to. You say that you were meant to protect these kids, but you couldn’t have been there for each and every one of them every moment of every day. One of the most human things in the world is to expect more of ourselves than humanly possible, and those expectations are magnified in childhood. Whenever you consider all of the chronic trauma you were going through, and add all of these elements into your development, you should treat yourself with the same gentleness that you intend to treat your kids. If you could give them anything at all right now, what would it be?”

“I can’t give them anything…” Grace said, helplessly.

“Imagine it this way… If you had all the power in the world, all the money, all the access to everything good and right, what would you do for them?”

“Oh! I would put them up in nice places to live - with warm beds and complete meals. They wouldn’t have to steal or break into somewhere for that. They’d have it everyday. Food, clothing, shelter… That seems like the kind of stuff that should be free to all kids, no matter who they are. So, I’d probably see who I can talk to about making it so that it’s illegal not to feed and clothe and shelter kids. I mean… They say it IS illegal, but it's not /illegal/ illegal. Like, sure, if you’re not giving that stuff to your kid and somebody calls the kiddie people on you and they come in and see that the kids don’t have it, after they’ve told you a few times to get your act together, they’ll take the kids and put them somewhere where they’ll have the stuff, but it’s like cheap stuff and in a place with a bunch of strangers and stuff. And if the parents CAN’T give the kids that stuff… They shouldn’t have to go live in a kiddie prison. Lot of those Apex kids came from group homes and stuff because their parents lost them. From how they explain the system to me, it didn’t sound like programs were really there to help them at all - just to maybe stop people from hurting them, IF anybody even noticed. Some of the kids… nobody did notice and they left home on their own, wound up getting taken. That's not fair. There should never be remedial action for taking care of kids. From the moment that they’re born, whether or not their parents can afford it, they should be given everything that they need.”

“You want your kids to have needs. Is there anything else?”

“Of course! There’s loads else. They get sick and we try to figure out the meds. I’d make sure that they can see real doctors and get real meds. Make sure that they get real help for ailments and stuff. And then there’s the ones that still have dreams. They still wanna do cool stuff with their lives one day. 808 wanted to be an artist and go to France. I’d make sure that she got to do that, and stuff like that. I don’t know! There’s like a thousand kids! I can’t tell you every single thing that they need in one little sitting!”

“That’s okay. To sum it up, it sounds to me that if you had nothing holding you back, what you would be willing to give them all is everything that they need to live their best lives and in addition to that, the things that would make them happy.”

“Yeah,” Grace said. ‘ Obviously,’ she thought.

“I want to challenge you to do something.”

“I love a challenge.”

“I want to challenge you to give everything that you have the power to give, and give all of that to yourself.”

“What.”

“Everything that you need? Accept it. Everything that you want? Embrace it. Take the power and the resources that being here allows you and treat yourself, with those, like you would one of your kids.”

Grace struggled with this. Sure, she had been known to be very self absorbed and even egotistical to a huge degree, but the fact of the matter was that her kids were her responsibility… But… She guessed… Now, SHE was her responsibility. What the hell did she even “want,” now. Books.

Grace had always been an avid reader, and whenever she was kidnapped, that didn’t go away. Sure, it was a couple of years before she was able to read regularly, but she would definitely always gather up books from those book donation bins when she was at the warehouse and she stole so many books over the years from stores, stands, and even the library, that she could confidently say that she read everyday for at least the past 6 years. It was the only way that she had to do things. She had been a little behind on the Internet, since she wasn’t really allowed on it by herself whenever she was taken, and by the time she was the leader, they were able to get into public libraries whenever something serious came up and they didn’t know what to do (and if you’re wondering, the reason that they didn’t think to look up their parents or things like that was because Grace was the oldest… and it definitely didn’t occur to her that you could find people on that thing. She wasn’t even fully cognizant of what social media even was). The concept of “You can find anything on the internet,” in her mind meant articles about what to do when a kid is allergic to beestings and has been stung, or pictures of turtles and cats, She felt so STUPID now…

Reading was a good escape for a while, but after a few weeks, she began to lose focus a lot, or rather, she would be focusing on a lot of different things. The fact that she was nurturing herself while her kids were still out there alone, every kid’s face, what they must be thinking after having seen her pummel Bugle with a bat.. “Reading isn’t working!” she complained. Nobody had told her that she had to read, nor that reading would “work” to help her with her feelings. She had desired to read.

So, the psychiatrist confirmed, “Would you like to try another activity besides reading?”

She nodded, aggressively and nodded her head. That was when her parents paid for art classes. She was able to have one on one, supervised lessons and they of course, chose the finest that they could afford, for the situation… and they doubled the pay. Grace didn’t love learning, but new experiences brought her joy.

She was trying to recreate symbols that 808 had created in her graffiti and doodles. She would try to remember how the girl had drawn names together, or made a pattern out of their numbers, or even the general structure of how she made faces. She couldn’t… but she had begun drawing now, getting why it had been so effective in taming 808. It wasn’t that it was necessarily calming - in fact, for Grace, drawing often had an opposite effect of calm, but it was… distracting.

She didn’t think about all of the different things that her brain would rush through whenever she was set on trying to create something. She drew odd pictures of Hazel being a turtle, transforming, or hiding out in her shell, waiting for the dangers to go away before she peeked out. She drew her as a girl, enjoying life with the Apex, being happy and perfect. She drew her as an angel. She wondered… Did she make it to some other place, or was her legacy simply a cautionary tale for street kids? ‘Don’t trust strangers or run away from home. You might wind up in a gang and get crushed by a train.’ Or was there more to life, and if there was, what was out there?

Grace had never thought about that before. Her first 10 years were all about appearance and reputation. Growing up seeing her mother on magazine covers, many of which were immortalized in frames in their home, she aimed for beauty and poise. Her mother’s walk always reminded her of a melody, as the woman was performing, even when there was not a camera in sight. Her walk was a strut down the runway and her speech was a charming interlude to an neverending ball, filled to capacity with important people.

In the home, Grace realized that she couldn’t remember how her mother looked. She had forgotten her father’s face ages ago, but she would steal mirrors whenever she was younger and if she looked in one, for a while, she would see her mother. They had the same face. As she grew up, she still looked into mirrors, but her mother’s face had faded. Her own face had faded. Did she ever look like the woman that she used to call “Mom?” Did she always look like this girl in the mirror?

A thing about the latter numbers - they came a little bit later and a little more stretched apart. The couple of years that the first 500 were brought in, they’d come from a variety of places and situations. Any addict with a jones might have traded their kid for cash, any gang member trying to get street cred might have handed over some unattended kid that they found in the park to a steward in exchange for a weapon or something to sell and build on. The first 500 had been more organized of an operation, as far as secrecy and hiding, but it had been kind of erratic and messy in handling business. The first 500 had been hard to figure out how to feed and house and keep under control.

But, the first 500 had gotten this little bit of information from the stewards about the first 100.

According to the stewards, the first 100 were hard to control and hard to hide, so they had taken all of the ones that they couldn’t control and disfigured them. Harder to fight back when you only had one hand. Harder to talk back when you didn’t have a tongue. Harder to run away when your legs had been broken. Of course, they were too young to know that damaging kids in such a way made them virtually useless, so the fear of being cut or broken was enough for many of them. For those it wasn't, there were the vanishing tales. The first 100, even the ones who had been good and smart, along with those disfigured and virtually useless had to be sold off quick for a pending raid. They were sold to some foreign business man and what happened to them beyond that was up to the steward telling the tale’s discretion.

Grace had heard that those with any use were put to work and that the useless ones were locked in a freezer and used as meat to feed the worker children. It was a scary thought whenever she first heard it. But. As she got older, she thought it was inspirational. Either you have use and you use your skills to further things, or you’re useless and will be discarded, replaced, or eaten. It made her mindful of figuring out what good the kids were for (much like the steward who took the money and ran told her) - with her gifts, she was worth more to the stewards than some of the other kids.

So, whenever kids came in, any after 500, when it was a slow business of getting new kids and more of an industry of maintaining the child slaves that they had, Grace was usually the one trying to assess them and appraise them. She would take those with value under her wings and keep them close, and help them navigate. The ones that she didn’t do this with, she tried not to think about how hard their journey might be… where they might wind up… in the belly of a beast or at the bottom of the river. Alexandria was one of those kids… not the ones that she took under her wing… one of the ones she expected to wind up in the river.

First off, she didn’t pay attention. She didn’t listen. She didn’t assimilate or adjust. She was always trying to run away. The stories of getting maimed didn’t scare her. The thought of being eaten didn’t move her. But, the idea of spending the rest of her life in the warehouse, unable to draw and paint and make things beautiful or feel things that she enjoyed… 808 preferred the idea of death. She also preferred the practice of self preservation. It befuddled the others.

Because before her, both things weren’t optional. Who chooses both themselves and death? Who chooses not to listen, but also to protect themselves? Who would come to a place like this and try to both make the best of it, and also to do everything in their power to make it difficult? 808. That was who.

“What do we make of the new girl?” Xander wondered.

“She’s really scared,” Heath said. “She’s like 747 was. We need to help her.”

Grace shook her head, “I don’t think she can be helped. She’s gonna be fish food before too long, and I don’t want her to drag any of you down with her whenever she gets tossed out.”

“You thought the same things about 7,” Heath reminded her. Xander gasped. “And now, he’s the most helpful kid here.”

Grace shrugged her shoulders. “You’re free to check. If it turns out that I’m wrong, I’ll eat crow. But, I’m positive, that girl is not one of us.” She wondered how 808 was, when they were apart, more than anybody else. She was Xander’s girlfriend, so maybe she was helping him to hold things together out there. But, what if she wasn’t? What if something happened to her, or to them, or to him? Were they gonna see Hazel and Todd again? Were they gonna just be dead and gone and haunting her dreams for the rest of her life?

“When people die, do they go to a good place?” She asked, drawing sketches of the Apex, in her own developing style.

“There are a lot of different perspectives about it.”

“What’s yours?”

“It isn’t actually something that is professional to discuss with you, but I assure you, whatever your perspective is, I wouldn’t judge you or try to lean you in a different direction, so long as your perspective isn’t harming anyone.”

“Do they have books about it?”

“Millions of them.”

“I need some. Do we have some in the library?”

“We have various subjects. Next library visit, we can ask them for something that you might be looking for.”

Grace began to study religion and philosophy a lot. She began to research psychology and sociology in her busy time. She began to take proper classes again and try to revisit her love of foreign languages and dance. She started… relaxing into the idea that she might be able to do more to help the Apex if she was better, herself, and if she didn’t get better as a person, then she would put her street smarts to work and get better as a hustler, so she could get the hell out of there and back to her family.

A few key things happened whenever she was into her studies and training herself to act like a normal person… She began to attend mass at the chapel - this institution was affiliated with a hospital, affiliated with a church. She hadn’t ever in her life thought about rebirth or resurrection or restoration. She had never thought about salvation. But, it sounded interesting. Not the parts about self sacrifice and worshiping God… but the parts about repenting from old ways, and becoming a new creature, a new person, washed clean and living with purpose. That all sounded like nice stuff and the chaplain was pretty sweet, so she liked to use this, too, as a distraction.

The other thing was that she was given, by this sweet chaplain, a comprehensive book of saints. She began drawing her friends as saints, each and every one of them, but never herself. Something didn’t feel right about that. Somebody else had to declare you a saint. A church or whatever, but like… for her own artwork, anybody she chose could be a saint, who would stop her?

“Joan of Arc killed people!” she said, excitedly. “She led troops! She was a soldier, a fighter, a leader. She was fighting for her people, against oppressors… against monsters…”

“You seem to be enjoying your book. Do you identify with or maybe even look up to Joan of Arc?”

“I identify!” She cheered. “But, what’s even more interesting… She flipped through the pages, which had been tagged, and notated, the whole book through, is that she claimed to have been counselled by Catherine of Alexandria, who, while not a warrior in her day was a leader, a scholar, and one badass bitch. She was so eloquent and confident and fearless. Imagine that - not fearing death, for what you believe in? And IF, IF she DID counsel Joan of Arc, she also believed in retribution. She believed in battle. She believed in bloodshed, if it was right…”

Her life was changed. She didn’t get any visits from saints, or have any visions, but she suddenly felt like she knew who she was, who she had to become, and what she needed to do. No… it didn’t occur to her to start killing aggressors or to avenge the Apex… that was already inside of her, and she had killed before and wasn’t hesitant of doing so again. What this did was give her faith in something that she wasn’t sure that she really had before… herself. A woman on a mission with a belief, a brain and bravery could change the world and make history, and she was such a woman. After she was released, she changed her name and started this new life, this uncertain mission.

First and foremost, she would lead the Apex to society, get their needs met - food, clothing, shelter, healthcare, etc. She would not have called herself a saint, but she did change her name to St. Catherine, so… yeah, she would… a little bit. Who was going to stop her?

It made her think of 808, though. She wasn’t around whenever Grace went looking for them. She had moved on. The last Sunny knew of, Tuba had offered her a place, but she promised to get word to her that Grace was back. Grace went to find her, to apologize to Tuba, and explain why she felt she had to do what she did, to look at Bugle, but she felt no need to apologize to her. She wouldn’t have comprehended it anyway. 808 had a tattoo, by then. Grace didn’t know what it was supposed to be, at first, but noticed it was a lit ball bomb. Cute. She was only 16, but Grace imagined that she probably did that to herself. Tuba was far more understanding than expected. She had already heard the full story, What Bugle had done to Hazel… it was understandable how Grace had reacted. But, whenever she invited 808 to come along with her, because she knew of a place where they could have all their needs met and be free, Alexandria laughed in her face, “Grace… I AM free. I’m the free-est that I’ve ever been. No thanks to you. You, who left us and went and got yourself all cleaned up and fancy.” She picked up one of Grace’s locs, “My, how your hair has grown…”

Grace sighed and pulled something out of her backpack, “I was thinking about what you said that you wanted to do. You wanted to go be an artist, in France…” I’ve been looking into it and I found an art school in France. You can make a portfolio and we can…”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” She looked at Alexandria’s expression. She looked furious. She looked like she wanted to hurt her. “You vanished for a year, got yourself taken care of, and you think that you get to just come back here and just dangle some childhood dream of mine in my face and what, I’ll just throw my arms around you and take you back? You never wanted me anyway. You never felt like I was one of you. Why are you here?”

Grace twisted the printout in her hands, “I… was wrong. You were one of us. You were always somebody that I leaned on, 808…”

“ I NEVER reclaimed my number, you just always insisted that I do!

Nobody calls me that shit anymore!” She hissed.

“Alexandria,” Grace said. She looked down at the ground. The thought that she wouldn’t be received with love by everybody never crossed her mind. She presumed that they all would be just as happy to see her as she was to get back to them, and it had been a long, LONG time since she hadn’t seen 808 as one of them. Alexandria… “If you ever changed your mind about the school, I have a scholarship with your name on it.” She extended the papers and Alexandria snatched them from her hand and tossed them aside. “ I thought about you a lot whenever I was in there. I took some art classes to try to get as good as you, but it didn’t pan out,” she laughed nervously, sadly. Alexandria softened, She wasn’t sure WHY she was so mad at Grace. Grace had always held her close to her side, even though she had a feeling that she didn’t like her as much as the others, she trusted her and seeing Grace sad caused a very visceral reaction inside of her. Grace pulled out a rolled up canvas and handed it to her, “My best work… It’s you, but as Joan of Arc.” Alexandria accepted that a little more gently than she did the papers, and as Grace walked away, she unrolled it and cried, for the first time in a while, definitely since Grace hadn’t been around, but maybe longer than that, much longer.

“Grace!” The woman turned and Alexandria rolled the artwork back up, “It’s beautiful. It’s really nice. Your style is amazing.” Grace bit her lip and shrugged her shoulders, but her eyes looked a little less sad, and Alexandria felt such a rush, from just that one moment of effecting Grace Monroe. SHE had moved Grace. She… mattered to her… She watched her go and cried harder. She never did make it to that art school, but she was able to take the scholarship money and open her tattoo shop whenever she finished her apprenticeship, so… she… did in a way feel like she owed Grace, whenever she next called upon her, and the way that Grace would light up when she saw her and treat her like an equal, some of the time… it was better than dopamine. It was… enough to keep her in that web that Grace spun, whether she intended to or not.

It was why, even though she knew Grace was upset with them all, it gave her butterflies to know that Grace wanted her to check on her, to come see about her. She wouldn’t do it, Grace was too upset and she didn’t want to have to face her after what she had done… but she did love that feeling it gave her when she knew that Grace cared. That she mattered to Grace.

That simp O was right about it that night. She… had an effect on people, on Alexandria. She wouldn’t go by to see her, but she did send her a piece of artwork with a fancy scripted note that read, “I’m sorry,” on the top

Grace unrolled the canvas and saw the image of herself, painted as a saint. Catherine of Alexandria, and it read: Grace St. Catherine. Grace opened the card and written in Alexandria’s handwriting was a question, “Did you know that Catherine mentored Joan of Arc?” and on the back, “Of course you did. Show off.” But, Grace read it in Alexandria’s voice and knew just the smartass inflection that sent it from a pissy declaration into a show of her jaded affection. She turned to Simon and said, “Alexandria finally checked in with me! Look at what she made me!” She was very excited and awestruck. “She’s so talented. So talented. Always was.” Simon had to listen to her gush about how Alexandria and Xander used to splice their names together when they tagged places, how they were Xan and Xan and called their ship name Xannax and other… things… that he not only didn’t care about but hated to hear. He didn’t like them. He would get along with them for her benefit, but those were not his allies. He definitely would use them for what he needed - to get all of this Date Night shit out of the way and in the read view mirror, so that he could FINALLY have Grace all to himself and she wouldn;t have to worry about this mission that almost got her killed for a bunch of ingrates who not only would rip the two of them apart if they could, would resort to trickery to do so, and the worst sin in his mind… leave her to die…

“I made you something too!” he interrupted, jealous and frustrated by all of this tenfold forgiveness that she granted them. To his extreme pleasure, her smile grew and her face brightened. “Well, I’m in the process of it, but I think it’s gonna be great. I think you’ll love it.”

She smiled softly and booped his nose, “I’m sure I will,” she said. She had taken the hint. He was feeling some kind of way about her excitement over Alexandria’s gift. She didn’t think it was necessarily jealousy so much as the fact that Alexandria had done him a huge disservice by creating that fake art that sent him back down this downward spiral, and that was one of the main reasons why Grace wasn’t going to fault him too much for his… possessive ways right now. They had a lot of other things that they could focus on and work through. He was trying to live without her and thanks to her own, he had failed at that. She wasn’t going to forget that when dealing with him, nor could she forget that they were the reason that they had been apart in the first place. 49 whole days, according to Simon. It felt longer - to both of them, but he felt at least entitled to that much time for him to have her to himself without them, and she was in no condition to entertain, anyway, so she found that not only agreeable, but a relief. His intensity whenever she spoke too fondly about her friends was troubling, but at the time, she didn’t feel like she was in any position to articulate her unease without disrespecting this huge life change that he was going through. She had been a murderer for years. Simon had only just done this and it was on the heels of a long, lonely winter. She just… didn’t have the heart to address some shit like that right now. Anyways, Valentine’s Day was soon approaching… technically, it had almost been a year since they noticed each other. It should be a good one. She was going through her own things too, but… she wanted to focus on the good things.

17. Where the Heart Is

#AU Infinity Train #Infinity Train #Nesha Fanfiction #Infinity Train Fanfiction #fics #People Watching

4 notes · View notes