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yoimix · 2 years ago

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「 from eden 」

if the rtawahist theory of parallel universes is true, you are certain that you would hate ALHAITHAM in every single one of them.

it is an ambitious theory, however. alhaitham calls it fiction.

“that’s not what the algorithm does,” he grumbles, lowering his head to rest his forehead against his palm. he looks nearly as distressed as a pyro fungus on water.

“i did not draw the wrong chart.”

“you filled in incorrect values.”

“no way.”

“i can’t believe i’m here with you at 3am.” he heaves his deepest sigh yet, mingling into the cold air outside puspa cafe. you prefer the warm, coffee-scented interior, but to get your words across, you need them to ring inside his thick skull.

“well, what else were you gonna do? sleep?” you roll your eyes.

“yes.”

you pull a face at his expressionless response.

“now, let’s go over the algorithm again,” he presses, eyes piercing enough to draw you closer, and bowlike lips sporting his regular frown. there is no need for him to be here. he just happened upon you at the cafe five hours ago, just to point out the mistake in your assignment. of course, that didn’t end well. you’d rather deep fry and eat a consecrated shell than let a man tell you how to solve your problems. so, he didn’t need to be here. he just never left.

the answer to that is simple: in every single universe, he will choose you over anyone else.

not that you’re aware. alhaitham makes sure you never will be. he’s unfamiliar with languages of the heart; and no amount of your biting remarks and teasing voice, your pensive smile and zaytun perfume, will get him to pronounce the syllables right.

he looks over at you, your full lips moving at rapid speed as you reiterate the contents of your lecture. the side of your neck is exposed, and the distance isn’t so wide that he can lean in comfortably. no, if he did, his shoulder would touch yours, and his hot breath would be against your skin. then maybe he’d get to hear your words die in your throat. these few inches are haphazard, bordering the lines between friends and a face you cannot stand.

what a wonderful caricature of intimacy, he thinks.

“even if this language has the structure you claim, it’s nearly impossible to know. this poem could be dating to thousands of years ago!” you exclaim, growing frustrated, “are you sure about this? i’m starting to think it can’t be deciphered.”

you’re done with translating the first part. it is as abstruse as can be, and you’ve been scratching your head over it for the past three days. you’re not sure if you’re supposed to solve it like a riddle, or agonize through the steps of the translation algorithm to complete. though, the embodiment of agony is already seated beside you.

what is the difference between me and the sky?

hell, if you know. you’re not even sure what’s happening anymore. the letters float across your vision, little taunts in their movement. teetering on the edge of dropping out, you groan again.

“i think you should get some rest,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

your shoulders sag, and alhaitham wonders if he said something wrong.

“don’t patronize me.”

“i am not.”

“i never know what you mean, and what you don’t,” you mutter, picking up your pen again to scribble notes on the corners of the paper. it contains alhaitham’s neat explanations, arrows indicating grammar and some numbers signifying the presumed utilization years of this lost language. yours looks like a little kid’s next to his.

but i say what i mean, he thinks. is there a point to saying it out loud? his chest constricts at the idea of you curling your lips, dismissing his chest laid bare for your predefined ideas. he doesn’t care what anyone thinks of him. but something in your voice betrays this thought of his.

his aventurine eyes settle over you. but you bear no distaste, only mild annoyance from this wall you’ve hit. he must say, you’re a commendable scholar. the relentless pursuit of knowledge has far more meaning than simply possessing it, and he’s seen your weary form in the house of daena at too many midnights. you are self-sufficient and he’s certain you’ll arrive at the answer anyway.

“i’ll be leaving then,” he says, standing up. “i hope your darshan doesn’t find you groveling by a stack of papers in the morning. it’s rather unbecoming of their paragon.”

a shout of exasperation leaves you, your shoulders tense.

“it’s because of you the haravatat are known as snobs!” you shoot, crossing your arms.

“it is your choice to believe in rumors,” he responds, idly gazing at your form. “it reflects you more than me.”

“do you always have to be so robotic?”

“i’m more well off than most, so i doubt changing my mannerisms will be of benefit to me.”

you exhale, on the verge of exasperation. “do you ever hear yourself? i can’t imagine the agony your poor roommate goes through.”

“kaveh has nothing to do with this.” he grits his teeth.

“no one has anything to do with you, alhaitham.” you stand up, glaring at him. “to you, people are no different from cats, or dogs, or- or flies—you don’t seem to understand that our languages were made to bring us closer.”

“they were invented for communication. a group that understands each other survives longer.”

that is true. but you’re not wrong either, even if you’ve chosen more romantic phrasing.

“i think—”

“archons,” you fume. “what about poetry? and literature, and dedication pages at the start of novels? we do it for each other.”

“your own perception adds substance to sentimental texts. i cannot agree with the poets. they led far different lives than i do.”

you scoff. “your little bubble of comfort is all you care about, don’t you? pray tell why you bothered with this anyway. was it to stroke your own ego? i... i genuinely believed you wanted to help.”

that one stung a little.

“you seem to have an entire image of me already. do i have to be present here?”

you heat up in the face, nearing a boiling point. you’ll have to apologize to enteka for causing a commotion; but your mind is heavy and you cannot quite think clearly.

“i understand that you don’t bother with what people think of you. but you could at least be honest with me- without- without your damn glaring, or sarcasm or—”

“i don’t look at you with the intention to glare.” he raises his voice for once. “i cannot let you see what i’m experiencing because i don’t know what it is yet—and it is imperative you don’t poke your nose into this.”

his chest heaves as he steadies his breathing. there is nothing you can say, not when you’re taken aback by his quiet outburst.

“and i’m not frowning like you think i am. i am simply not wearing an expression at all. my collection is unordered but i mark my books alphabetically when i lend them to you. i say i bring an extra cup of coffee to have a second fill even though i know you will ask to have it. i despise the conditioning in people that they must pair up in meaningful ways for a good life. and despite that...”

he catches his breath, not realizing he was holding it in.

your eyes have softened by now, waiting patiently for him to continue.

“...if i were to end my speculations and call this love, i would be satisfied.”

you part your lips and close them again. to expect an answer, perhaps, is a grave overestimation on his part. some things are better left unsaid. it’s how languages die.

alhaitham sighs. “right. it’s too strong a word. i mean to say i feel comfortable around you. and content. though i never thought there was anything amiss in my life. as for affection, i am not familiar with this kind. and—”

you cup his face, still at a loss for words. “you talk so much. i never realized.”

“last time, you said i don’t talk enough.”

“i just like the sound of your voice.”

he purses his lips, and swallows his words. once more, you have decided to speak in a language he has no expertise in. the drumming in his heart says he cannot wait to read poetry in it.

“no more sighing, haitham. and no more glaring. no sarcasm. and no irony.”

he furrows his brows, but he makes no attempt to release himself from your touch.

“say it again. your conclusion.”

his lips part, a sharp breath running through his lungs.

“i believe this is the notion of love. every gesture points to it.”

“is your head clouded?”

“no. it’s never been clearer.”

and he lets you lean in closer, closer till your lips are brushing against his.

“so?” you whisper.

it takes him a moment. he closes the distance, and though he has rarely felt devotion, he moves his mouth against yours in a fervent prayer. carefully, he rests his hand against the small of your back, more to steady himself than you.

this makes sense to him. you’re so familiar. like dragging his fingers on his mirror from ages ago, he finds you a perfect image of what could’ve been. you and him are pages of the same incoherent book, dancing between the same two sentences.

“for clarity’s sake,” he whispers, pulling away. “i say what i mean. i’ve lived long enough to know misunderstandings are beyond my control, and truth is something to be actively pursued to gain. but i cannot stand the screen between my words and your ears.”

his gaze is focused, unwavering. it’s the way he’s always looked at you.

“i know,” you respond, after a moment. “i know what you mean. and if it is your words that you want me to actively pursue—”

he clears his throat. “that- that is not what i said.”

“—then i will do so.”

you smile, and he can feel his lips twitch.

“well, i’m no genius...”

“neither am i,” he interjects softly. “but i’m persistent. i will keep trying, over and over. and if i’m not wrong, you’re the same.”

“you’re not wrong.”

have you always looked at him this way? he thought he’s seen all of your faces before. a new language blossoms in his mind. for once, literary devices are more than just devices.

“the poets are wrong,” you state, laughing bashfully, “it’s not so earth-shattering as i thought. maybe... maybe you were right on that part.”

a small smile forms on his face, and your breath hitches in your throat. “that’s ironic. i thought i finally understood them.”

“really? then do you know the answer to this ancient poem from the sands of hadravameth?” your eyes are curious as ever. “what is the difference between me and the sky?”

he recalls the lines from a long-buried poem, and they click in his head. the sands cannot swallow words as well as it swallows life.

“the difference, my love, is that when you laugh, i forget about the sky.”

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham x reader #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact fluff #alhaitham fluff #genshin x you #alhaitham x you #alhaitham scenarios #yoimix.drabble #the switch in pov jesus christ lord knows i can never commit #anyway i want to treat his character with dignity and compassion despite me clowning him every day #i feel like i am contradicting myself haha #kaveh passing them by: BARF #also last part is from the the poem my love asks me by nizar qabbani

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rickswh0r3 · 1 year ago

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i love you @itsgrimeytime for your request with this song 🤞🤞🤞

taglist : @catt-leya @addicted2twd @starkstiless @blazemm98 @sinsandsweetness @bloodyglennrhee @grimesgobbler @murder-jacket @andrewstinkylinky @eternalrose81 @marlboro-reds-13 @dxrkymxrchy @nadiasgf @taylormarieee @loveforcarl

#he needs a break fr !!!#he has suffered more than jesus #i need to hug him #there’s weirdly something so comforting about rick being sad #my little pookie:((#i love this song sm #the walking dead #rick grimes #andrew lincoln #rick grimes smut #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes fluff #rick grimes x you #andrew lincoln smut #rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes x female reader

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stripedstarsblueflags · 4 months ago

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i feel so high school (au) pt. 5.B: pierresteban

anyway here are some high school aus for my fav f1 rpf ships and an exploration of who knows how to ball, and who knows aristotle

(pierresteban continued)

and that should've been the end, but it wasn't. because while middle school (gr 6-8) was a lot of cold shouldering and wistful/bitter looks across the hallway high school is where it got mean. esteban was finding it more and more difficult to stay under the radar, especially since everyone was at the age to really be questioning each other's sexuality. so now it's not just the sexist comments it's the homophobic slurs/accusations too, and it wasn't like he had an easy time making friends in the first place but now he literally can't because people associate him with that danger of earning the negative attention too. and every single time he goes to the studio (he has to either walk or take the bus for nearly two hours) he thinks this is the last time, i need to be normal i need to stop being a freak. and then the music turns on and he completely loses himself and loses the pain and the stigma and he just can't bring himself to let it go. it's the only thing that makes him happy.

he could drag pierre down with him. he almost did. he's threatened to multiple times. but as many stories as esteban has about young ballerina pierre, pierre has 1000x worse and he's got pictures. cause yes when esteban was a kid he tried on the girl's costume for a couple recitals and even though that was way back when he was too young for him to really understand and the adults all figured it was a phase and they could let kids be kids, the risk of what the bullies would do to him if they found that out is too great. so pierre gets away with his behavior.

and esteban's trying to keep pushing, keep his head down, not hit back when he gets shoved in the hallways (he's less good at that, but the school knows how bad it'll look on them if they try to punish him for it).

and then something happens in pierre's life, some family tragedy (i am absolutely not basing this off any event in the real person pierre gasly's life because that's too far even for rpf) so in a similar way to when i wrote galex i'm just going to leave it as some sort of traumatic loss. he doesn't talk about it, doesn't let anyone in, he misses two months of school and nobody knows why. when he comes back he's a broken, hollow shell of himself with shadows under his eyes and too-long hair, he bites his nails and he barely talks and he's lost almost thirty pounds. some of his friends from before make halfhearted attempts to reconnect, but they're shallow and living in the fast lane and emotions make them uncomfortable so they give up on him quickly. pierre lets them go. let's say esteban knows something about pierre's family/home life and he has an idea of what happened, he's the only one in the whole school who might and he's starting to feel pity despite his every instinct and he's more than a little scared but he knows that trying to approach pierre is a stupid idea so he waits in limbo.

and then pierre shows up to a night class.

it's an advanced technique class, less than 10 people, and one you have to make an audition tape for to even be considered. if esteban's right and pierre hasn't danced in years, there's no way he should've been able to get in. but there he is. he doesn't seem surprised to see esteban there, and he doesn't approach. esteban is too shocked stupid to say anything the first class, he just watches pierre step onto the floor and dance with absolute awe like he's watching a fallen god come to life. and he's overwhelmed with memories and echoes of the heartbreak he swore he'd left behind and confusion and anger at pierre and anger at himself and he leaves that class early and punches the wall in his room as soon as he gets home because he has no idea what emotions to feel let alone how to contain him. because everything he hadn't even understood as a kid everything he promised was gone is back.

weeks go by and pierre doesn't drop out of the class. he and esteban are still some of the only guys in the studio and definitely the only two from their school. they pretend not to acknowledge it like they're each daring the other to say something and then one night the teacher has them do partners. and because there's an odd number of people in the class esteban tries to sit out but one of the girls is struggling with the routine and because pierre and esteban are both really good at it– and the strongest in the group– the teacher has them demo on each other.

cue the most intense, terrifying, lust-filled, hate-fueld, what the fuck are we doing you're supposed to hate me/i do hate you/why are you looking at me like that why are you treating me like glass why does this feel like we've done it a million times like we've never left each other and after the music ends and they're supposed to step apart they don't, holding the pose and panting and overwhelmed by each other's body heat until the teacher literally has to clear her throat and it gets awkward immediately and they break eye contact and finally jump apart like they've been shocked. but something's happened and there's no fucking way either of them can ignore it now.

WHY DID THIS GET SO LONG HOLY SHIT okay to be continued

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exilynn · 11 months ago

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The fact that Aby used 'the wild feelings And side Of eddie in Echoes Nocteris

I become so freakin hhdtthssgxkkk

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gina103 · 1 year ago

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Meeting Everyone!

Ember finally meets the rest of the gang! I've got so many ideas that I've been looking forward to writing with them, so I'm so incredibly excited! Read parts 1 and 2 here!

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Ember was pretty sure she was doing what no borrower had ever done before.

Accept help from a human.

Over the next three weeks, her ankle had healed a good amount. She was now able to climb her ropes without extreme pain, and she could go without her crutch for a longer period of time. Although her ankle would still be sore after climbing or walking, it was a bearable soreness, plus the swelling had gone down a substantial amount. One thing was true though, Ember never would have made this much progress without the help of Jamie.

Ever since he had helped her out of the kitchen sink that night, Ember noticed that he would make sure to leave extra crumbs on the countertops, and since Ember had already been seen by him, she didn’t really feel the need to hide herself from him. She would be inside the kitchen cabinets and Jamie would open it, see her, and ask her how her ankle was like it was a regular Tuesday. To avoid falling into the kitchen sink again, every week, Ember would ask Jamie to help her with her water, and he gladly did so. Basically, doing it for her. Even though she appreciated the act, she hoped that when her ankle was fully healed, he wouldn’t have to do that anymore. Ember liked doing things herself, she would never want to become dependent on anyone. Especially not on a human.

Jamie had been incredibly sweet and caring throughout the healing process, always asking her how her ankle felt, if she felt better, if she needed anything, he would even offer to make her hot food, which Ember never accepted.

Although Ember appreciated his help and his concern for her, she still didn’t know what his motives were completely. She knew from how she was raised that she should never trust a human, and she didn’t, she only spoke to Jamie from a reasonable distance, she hadn’t let him touch her since that night, and she only let him help her when she absolutely needed it. But it was a strange situation. She would’ve been stupid not to accept his help because Ember would still be at the bottom of the sink if she hadn’t, but she would be stupid to trust him as well because he’s a human. No matter how badly she wanted to trust him, to believe that his actions truly had no motive other than to serve her, she knew it wasn’t smart to just jump into his hands and trust him. But the way he always helped her without a second thought, the way he never tried to touch her unless she consented to it, the way he has never asked for anything more from her, respected every boundary she enforced, never inquired about her species, never tried to find out where she lived, never called pest control, never set traps, never told anyone else about her, and never harmed a hair on her head, he sure made it hard not to trust him.

So for now, Ember would keep her guard up, accepting his help until Jamie gave her a reason not to, or when she had fully healed. Then, she could go back to her life as it was before. A life spent in the walls, with nobody to talk to, it was how things should be, right?

Right?

Jamie was happy.

It was nice to help out his miniscule third roommate who he now knew as Ember. He was especially pleased to see her ankle healing at a reasonable rate. Anything he could do to make her life easier; he was willing to do it. Although he could still see a lot of hesitation and distrust in her body language when he would, for example, fill up her water cannister for her, it was an improvement from the intense fear or sadness he had seen from her before. She was making progress in multiple ways.

One thing he still had to be careful about was keeping everything a secret from Jesus and Caleb, his other regular-sized roommates. Jamie could tell they were starting to become suspicious, they never said anything about the various changes in his behavior the month before, but he could tell they were noticing it themselves. All Jamie could do was try to act as normally as possible.

Key word, try.

It was a cool October night. Jamie sat slightly hunched over his desk working on a particularly grueling essay for his government class. As he typed the words into his laptop, his mind felt like a sputtering old car, like any moment, he would short circuit and his head would go crashing down onto the desk. As he began to zone out into space, thinking about how great it would be to just give up and jump into bed, he noticed a particular shape standing in the left corner of the desk. When his eyes slowly focused on the peculiar shape, he noticed it looked more and more like a person, a tiny person.

It was Ember.

Jamie jolted in realization, causing Ember to jump and shrink back as well.

“H-hey Ember! How’re you? How’s your ankle?” he said quickly.

“Um, I was just wondering if you had any tape?” Ember replied uncertainly. He noticed that her previously waist-length brown hair had been cut to her mid-back. Even though it looked slightly choppy, like she’d done it herself, it suited her.

“Yeah – yeah of course,” Jamie began rummaging through his drawers, “so, you were able to climb up on the desk ok?”

“Yes, but it’s pretty sore after that.”

A brief silence fell over them as Jamie finally dug out his small roll of tape from his messy drawer. He presented the tape in front of her. His breath hitched when her dark brown eyes met his, they were almost illuminated by the golden light from his desk lamp. His eyes took in her small form, noticing how her little fly-aways and loose hair pieces framed her face, she looked effortlessly beautiful. He almost lost his train of thought before he snapped out of it.

“How much do you need?” he asked politely.

“Not very much…” Ember trailed off, looking at him curiously as she pulled the amount of tape she needed, “This should do fine.”

Jamie nodded, but quickly grew concerned as she turned around to leave. She was still limping quite a lot.

“Hey, why don’t you rest before trying to climb down?" he suggested.

Ember gave him a skeptical look before ultimately taking a seat on a textbook which rested nearby.

A brief, awkward silence passed, with Jamie slowly turning back to look at his essay while Ember sat twirling her fingers.

“What are you writing?” she asked.

When Jamie looked down at her, a smile crept onto his face as he noticed her curious expression staring at his computer screen. How cute. He found himself wishing he could just scoop her up and hold her, but he knew that would dissolve any trust they had built between them. However, that didn’t stop his fingers from twitching with longing.

“It’s an essay for my government class, it’s super boring,” he answered.

“Oh,”

“Yeah, I really hate writing essays. I always get distracted so easily,” Jamie added.

Ember nodded understandingly.

After a minute longer of Jamie trying to focus, he couldn’t concentrate anymore. The presence of Ember made that impossible.

“Hey, I’ll be right back,” he said standing up out of his chair, “I’m just gonna go get a snack. I’ll be back in like, five seconds.”

“O-oh, ok,” Ember replied, watching him leave the room and close the door behind him.

Once Jamie had closed the door, he took a deep breath in and out. Get it together dude.

Ember didn’t know why she stayed.

When Jamie left the room, she should have left immediately, but instead, she found herself staying, sitting in her spot, waiting for him to come back. Even worse, she wanted him to come back. No, this wasn’t right, she couldn’t get attached, he’s a human. But the way he would softly gaze at her, with such a tender look in his eyes, it made her heart flutter. The way his face was magnified to her, letting her see every little detail clearly. She could see all the freckles on his nose and forehead area, the way his wavy brown hair would fall into his face slightly, his huge dark brown eyes that gazed at her so sweetly.

Stop it, she thought. She shook her head from side to side, as if to shake those thoughts out of her brain.

Suddenly, the door swung open once again.

Ember froze, petrified.

It wasn’t Jamie standing in the door frame, it was Caleb.

Jamie’s stomach dropped when he saw someone standing in the doorway of his room.

Realizing it was Caleb, he dropped the bag of chips he was carrying and rushed towards his room. Jamie knew that Caleb would never do anything to hurt Ember, he was a good guy, but the image of the miniscule girl trembling in fear and terror on his desk was more than enough to jumpstart him into action.

“Hey Caleb! What ’cha need?” Jamie darted towards the desk where Ember was, turned around, and blocked her from view.

Caleb looked like he had seen a ghost. “What. The fuck. Was that?” he demanded.

“What was what?” Jamie replied trying to sound innocent.

“Do not fuck with me right now,” Caleb stepped closer, pointing at the desk, “What was that?”

Jamie said nothing, he was never good at lying. He took a peek behind him to see Ember shaking like a leaf, he tried to give her an extremely apologetic look.

“Jesus!” Caleb yelled suddenly, making Jamie jump in surprise. They all heard a distant, What!

“Nonono please don’t call him in here,” he begged.

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do,” Caleb replied looking him firmly in the eyes.

Ember was trying to put on a brave face.

Here she was, sitting on Jamies desk with him, and his two roommates staring at her like they were trying to solve a really complex math equation. Jamie was standing out of their way, looking extremely apologetic, as if he wanted to say to her, this isn’t my fault! Ember didn’t blame him for being discovered, she blamed herself. If she had just left the moment Jamie exited the room, and not gotten lost in her silly little daydream about him, none of this would have happened. She was a disgrace to the name of borrower. What would her family say if they could see her now?

What followed her discovery is what Ember would describe as a full-on interrogation. Caleb and Jesus asked her just about every question their brains could come up with. Some of the highlights included:

“What are you?”

“How long have you lived here?”

“Are you alone?”

“What’s your name?”

“Do you have a last name or middle name?”

“What’s your favorite color?”

All of which Ember tried to answer honestly without giving everything away. The whole time, Jamie was standing off to the side looking incredibly uncomfortable and stressed, a few times he had to step in to tell the guys to back off a bit, or to calm down with their rapid questioning. Ember appreciated this, at least he was advocating for her, she could tell that he was also interested in her answers to the other’s questions as well. After all the boys’ curiosities were mostly satisfied, they mellowed out.

“Dude, it still feels like I’m fucking dreaming, bro” Jesus said to Caleb.

“Yeah, I feel like I’m on some shit cause no way this is for real,” he replied.

“Nice to meet you, Ember!” they both said, exiting the room waving.

“Yeah, feel free to come chill with us anytime!” Jamie promptly closed the door as soon as they both left.

Ember met his eyes, to which he immediately knelt down to her level, looking at her worriedly.

“Are you ok?” his eyes softening, “That must have been so scary for you,”

Ember took a moment to answer, she felt a mix of relief, fear, and bewilderment. She looked straight at him.

“What does it mean to ‘come chill’ with someone?” she asked, her head tilting slightly.

Jamie stared at her for a moment before a chuckle bubbled up in him, a bubble which turned into a full-blown fit of laughter, much to Ember’s confusion. She watched Jamie clutch his stomach on the floor, barely able to breathe through his laughter. She felt herself blushing watching him laugh.

His laugh was the most wonderful music to her ears.

“You, ma’am,” Jamie said gathering his composure, “You sure are something,”

For some reason, that caused Ember to smile.

#g/t #g/t community #g/t writing #sfw g/t #g/t fluff #the borrowers #oc: ember #oc: jamie #oc: caleb #oc: jesus #giant/tiny #I love these idiots so much #next one is the halloween episode

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livvyofthelake · 8 months ago

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i’m sorry. this is the most boring movie i’ve ever seen in my life i cannot finish it tonight…

#it’s not even bad i’m just so bored. can you guys play football or something #it’s like a boring dark academia freak’s wet dream i mean jesus #can there at least be a murder. or a ghost. can anyone do anything #i apologize i’m being mean to the movie now i don’t mean to be coming off as a hater #i’m trying to be peace and love but for the first 20 minutes i just kept thinking ‘this is like if kill your darlings was bad’#and for the next 20 minutes i kept thinking ‘this is like if an ai generated a movie based on fluff fanfiction for the secret history’#again. i’m not trying to be a hater. that hater ass sentence just came naturally from my mind i apologize #i don’t even mean it as an insult it’s still the beginning of the movie it’s too early to be hating i’m still in the giving it a chance era

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deepestbluesky · 2 years ago

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everytime i see something like ‘do you ever just read a fic and Know that the author has never had sex’ i want to break down and never write a fic again!!!!! at least this time it wasn’t the deadly combo of remarks to that effect and then also seeing people i like in fandom say they won’t read anything that isn’t rated M or E because they only want to read fics with adult perspectives 🙃

#i try so goddamn hard not to be insecure about my writing but. jesus christ.#Sometimes People Make It Very Difficult.#for the record! i am actually open to criticism on my fic! it says so on my ao3!#so if im ever out here being embarrassing PLEASE TELL ME #i actually would love to write fic that isn't cute and soft and fluff #but every time i try i get so fucking self conscious and worried that everyone will look at it and go 'awww you sweet summer child'#and then i will simply wither into a puff of sad dust!!!!!!#sorry that i have no Thoughts today brain was elsewhere and then #at the point at which i often have off the cuff late night Thoughts #i got hit with this.

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olsenmyolsen · 2 years ago

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Three Weeks

Part 26 of On The Inside With Elizabeth Olsen

Word Count: ~6K

masterlist

Liz POV

It's been three weeks since Y/N left. Three weeks since I've spoken to my sister Mary-Kate and three weeks since speaking to Y/N's mother. I wish I could say that all of this was easy or made better due to the fact that I'm actively trying to live a life that doesn't involve me missing Y/N, but it sucks.

This is one of the hardest things I've had to do.

But here I am, waking up in my bedroom alone and sad, for you guessed it, the third week in a row. I think I've slowly morphed into my Character Leigh Shaw. That's who I am now.

A cold, depressed bitch missing her love and looking for answers.

Anywho, I did some of the cliche break-up things you're supposed to do! I cried while watching Rom-Coms and eating ice cream. I dyed my hair! Goodbye, dirty blonde, and hello, brunette Lizzie. I made sure to tell my friends that I was doing better when in reality, I was not.

Scarlett and Aubrey were quick to see through that shit.

That led to a very passive-aggressive forced lunch with a seven-month pregnant Scarlett and her daughter Rose who very sweetly had no clue what was going on. Colin was set to join, but I'm certain Scar made him stay home.

On the other hand, Aubrey called me out on everything once I spilled it all. But she wasn't as upset with me as other people had been. But she made sure that when I'm in LA that I stay with her since Robbie is still occupying our/my house. I told her that wouldn't be necessary since I have other friends and family to stay with but saying no to Aubrey is weirdly tricky.

Also, I took a page out of Y/N's book. Literally. I started writing. Okay, not like writing writing like Y/N but writing my thoughts and what I want to say the next to I see my Coffee Girl. I have a pile of envelopes ready to go. Each one is different but laced with love. They constantly stay in my purse. I'm afraid I'll lose them otherwise.

I know I haven't talked to her since, but.. this hasn't stopped me from trying. No calls, just texts every once in a while. Letting her know that I'm thinking about her and her safety. I know she's doing okay, thanks to certain people, but I can't wait to see that smile shine on her face whether I'm an inch away or thousands of miles.

I yawn and get the sleep out of my eyes before making my way into the kitchen. I haven't been eating the best or a lot lately, so maybe making a big breakfast will help today. It didn't help last week, but I can try again.

Waffles. Eggs. Cut up fresh fruit from my rooftop garden.

This is what I ended up making, and to my surprise and delight, I ended up eating a good majority of it. I compost what I don't eat because I'm not sure when I'm returning.

Oh, did I not mention? I'm flying to Los Angeles today.

I still have a couple of hours until my flight, and I packed last night, so I might as well water and say goodbye to my plants before making one final trip to Y/N's apartment.

Y/N POV

Today of all days, I have to wake up feeling like I got hit by a train.

Everything hurts. My head is pounding like a hammer. My nose is stuffed but also running. Every time I try to clear my throat, it feels like tiny needles are being dragged down my esophagus. This is awful. I knew something was happening, but I blamed it on allergies. I should've known when Nick said, "it's just a cough," he was lying. It's never just a cough. If he wasn't one of the nicest men I've ever met, I'd be so pissed at him.

Speaking of Nick. Since the last time he confided in me that he has feelings for my mom, nothing has changed. My mom knows but doesn't want to pursue a relationship. I understand her completely. I'm not saying I want to see her and Nick be together, especially since no one can replace Davey.

I know Nick wouldn't be, but that doesn't make it easier. But my mom and him have a perfect friendship right now. At the drop of a hat, they're there for each other. Wait-

What's that ringing?

I turn my head as I get pulled from my thoughts. I reach over and answer my phone with a scratchy throat.

"Hello?"

"Pumpkin? Are you alright? You sound terrible." Thanks, mom.

"I think Nick got me sick." My mom groans into the phone. "I told him to rest and that we'd have dinner together next time you visit, but no, he had to make a home-cooked meal for you."

That's sweet. I smile through the pain as she continues her rant. "He's just like your father at times, I swear." My mom laughs at her own words. I don't think she fully realized she just compared Nick to Davey, but I let it slide.

"Yeah.. so why'd you call mom?"

"Just wanted to make sure you'd be up and ready for today." I pull my phone away and see I still have a couple of hours until my flight.

Oh, did I not mention? I'm flying to Los Angeles today.

"Yeah, I packed last night. Remember one big suitcase." I try to stifle a groan as I sit up. But my sickness and back have other plans for me. If one thing is for sure, I can't wait to never sleep on an air mattress again.

"Oh, that's right! I'm sorry I can't see you off."

I roll my eyes, knowing how busy my mom is and that no matter what she says, she wants to keep me here. She practically didn't let me go last night after dinner.

"I know, mom. It's alright."

"Whose picking you up from the airport?" Oh, that's right, I forgot to tell my mom. "James. Max's brother."

My mom accepts the answer and starts telling me about how her morning has been so far while I fumble my way into the bathroom and begin searching through every drawer, looking for cold & flu medicine.

"What's that racket?"

Apparently, I was not as quiet as I thought. "Where's the medicine? I searched everywhere." I ask through a cough.

"Bottom drawer. Behind the green bag." I search precisely where my mom said, and she was exactly right. How do mothers do that? "Be sure to take some ibuprofen two hours from now as well."

"Okay, mom." I throw back the pills before scooping some water from the tap into my hand, drinking like a sick animal.

"Be sure to eat something too." My mom adds, but all I want to do is curl up on the couch and die. "Mom, I'm no-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence Y/N Y/L/N."

"Yes, ma'am." Great, now I'm in the kitchen.

"Oh, before I let you go, dear, what are your plans for your birthday?" Oh shit. My birthday is coming up. "No plans," I say, closing the fridge door with a shrug earning a sigh from my mom on the other end.

"Okay, let me know if you want to come back home for that."

I doubt it.

"Okay, mom. I'll keep you posted."

"Thank you, Y/N. Now I love you. Be sure to eat something and text me once you're on your way to the airport." I nod my head. "I will, mom. I love you too. Okay. Bye."

I end the call and throw my body onto the couch. I try to fight it, but before I know it, my eyes close, and I'm asleep.

Liz POV

They fixed the elevator.

The moving steel box's doors slide open as I reach my designated floor. Y/N's floor. With an envelope in one hand and her key in the other, I make my way to the door. I know she's not here. But a part of me still hopes I'll be in for a surprise when this door swings open.

And she's not here. In fact, the place is almost in the exact same position it was when I left it. Except it looks cleaner? Wait? Has someone been here? I take a couple of steps into the place and do what you're not supposed to do in every horror movie ever. "Hello?" I call into the quiet apartment.

I get no response.

Not fully trusting this situation, I close the door behind me and quickly search the place. It isn't until I find myself in Y/N's kitchen that I find a note stuck onto the fridge.

Hey Oslen,

Knowing you, you'll be back to Y/N's place more than once. But just in case I was wrong (I'm not), I went ahead and cleaned out her refrigerator and tidied up the place. You never know when she might come back, right? Plus, we can't have the place smelling like an old, run-down dumpster.

Anyways I'm sorry I haven't reached back out to you. But I'm happy to know that it looks like Y/N's case is finally on track to be over. Perks of having one of the hottest and best lawyers. ;)

Text me when you see this. And as far as I know. She's safe.

With care, Max

I fold up the piece of paper and place it into my back pocket but not before shooting a text to Max, letting her know that I saw her message and that I'm happy she's safe.

Reminding myself that I have my own piece of myself to share with Y/N. I take the envelope in my hand and walk it over to the coffee table. I hope she sees it. Maybe not tomorrow but some day.

After combing over the living room, I make my way into Y/N's bedroom. Knowing that there's not a murder in the building, I can actually look around to see the improvements Max made. Like for example, not more shirts on the floor. Instead, most of them are folded up on the bed or tossed onto hangers.

My hand immediately gravitated to one of the most recent pairs of shirts she wore. Yes, the pink-fonted Elizabeth Olsen picture collage shirt. I unfold the shirt and bring it up to my face. It still smells like her, but it's not as strong... I have to stop the pout from forming on my face. I've done it like crazy lately. I look back down at the shirt and start to get lost in a train of thought. Without another second, I find a small duffel bag and begin filling it with some shirts knowing that if I wear them out, I'll get seen. And if I get caught, they'll be posted everywhere. Everywhere- for one's woman's eyes to see.

"How did you get more bags?" My driver Mr. Bronson jokes as he takes them from me to place into the truck with my other luggage. "Technically, the one is a guitar case." This earns a sarcastic oooh from him.

I felt a little.. weird taking Y/N's old guitar, but it feels right at the same time. Plus, I keep remembering the texts Sam showed me from Y/N.

If you don't hear from me in the next couple of weeks, just know that I'm fine. Feel free to come to my place tomorrow. (Address) Take what you want.

Also, I don't want this guitar of hers to become lost or thrown out by mistake, and I've been itching to relearn to play.

"Ready?" Mr. Bronson pulls me from my thoughts. I quickly nod as the car slowly pulls away from the curb. I take one final look behind me to see Y/N's place become smaller.

Y/N POV

"Okay what about this." (Video attached)

That's more what I'm thinking.. but faster and don't be afraid to make it more Appalachian.

Y/N It's your song why don't you just record it.

Robbie, first off it's our song and I don't exactly have my guitar with me.. also the lyric is "I only want to be in the passing lane" Not "fastest lane."

Shit. You're right. This will be much easier when you're here.

Couple of hours. Thanks again. I know I've said it a million times but thank you

I should be the one thanking you. But fr stop it. We're helping each other. Also I'm just glad we're past the awkward stage. It's not everyday two exs become friends.(?)

Writing partners *

Writing partners

"Earth to Y/N."

I lift my head from my phone, confused, which wasn't the brightest idea. My head is still killing me. The pills are helping but not as much as I want them to. "What?" I ask whoever is begging for my attention as I close my eyes and rub my forehead.

"Just wanted to know if you needed any help with your bags. You okay?" A male voice speaks.

I pull my eyes over to the voice. It's Nick. He's standing in front of the now-closed front door. How long has he been here? Shit what time is it?

I quickly panic and look at the time displayed on my phone.

Whew. I still have some hours till my flight takes off. But that means we should be leaving soon. Airports are always an annoying hassle.

"Y/N?" Nick's voice is now softer as he sits down on the couch next to me. "You okay, kid?" I take a deep breath and try and clear my painful throat.

"Yeah."

I guess I didn't do a good enough job at the throat-clearing. Nick's face remains unchanged, but his eyes are filled with worry and guilt. He knows I'm sick. And he gave me his cold.

"Did you take medicine?" I gently nod, not wanting to hurt myself more.

"Anything you need?"

"I'm fine." Me saying that and looking "fine" are two different things, but I hate being sick, so dwelling on it makes it worse. Plus, Nick and I are becoming closer. In fact, anytime my mom was at work, and if he had time, we'd hang out. It didn't involve much. Sometimes it was just watching tv or grabbing lunch, but it formed this weird bond between us. Maybe I remind him of his late son, or perhaps he is just a good man. Or, who knows, maybe he's showing me he can be... something more. I don't know. What I do know is that I don't want him to be worrying about me right now. I got enough going on.

Nick looks at me uncertain but doesn't push it. "Are you all packed?"

"Yeah, I did it after dinner." Nick nods his head as he gets up to go to the kitchen. "Tea?" He asks without turning his back.

"Yes, please."

Liz POV

Paparazzi present as always.

They're lining up at the entrance to the airport, just alive and waiting. I guess word got around. I was showing up. I mean, it makes sense the paps would want a good photo of me. I've barely left my place the last couple of weeks so getting a picture of me "out of my cave" makes people go crazy.

"Mr. Bronson?" I ask while keeping my attention on the picture takers outside. "Could you help me with my bags?"

"Of course." I turn to see him already looking at me with a smile. "Hat and sunglasses on." He reminds me. "Ready?" I nod once I'm "disguised."

"Ready."

"Let's go." Mr. Bronson steps out of the car and opens the truck grabbing all my bags placing them on the floor before closing up the trunk. He comes around to my side of the vehicle and sets something next to the door. Before I can think about what it is, he opens the door reminding me to "keep your head down." I nod to him as he places the guitar case in my hand. "Might help." He adds.

It surprisingly works a little. As we walked by the paparazzi, far fewer pictures than usual were taken of me. The ones that knew who I was knew. The others, I think, were taking a gamble and thought I was some indie singer or something. Regardless. I'm here inside the busy airport, from one anxiety-filled thing to another.

Mr. Bronson left shortly once we made it inside. I thanked him profusely, which he, of course, shrugged off. All he told me was to "go get her." I guess he thinks I'm chasing after Y/N.

Speaking of...

I'm now sitting down, opening our very one-sided text conversation. I scroll back up to the last couple of texts she sent me. They make me smile. This was back before the ignored calls. Back before I screwed it up. Back before, I lost the one real thing I've ever known. I remember it.

"Excuse me?"

I quickly close and fumble to put my phone away at a quiet voice speaking to me. I look up through my sunglasses to see a girl. She must be 14 or so. How'd she get into this airport lounge? Doesn't she need to have a credit card and be a member or something? Oh God, is she lost?

I can feel my nerves begin to overtake me. Deep breaths, Lizzie.

"Excuse me?" The girl speaks to me again. Shit, I should probably say something.

"Hello." I give a smile as the girl's face lights up from me just speaking. "Oh my God, It's really you! I wasn't 100% sure. I was going to be mortified if it was someone else." I giggle, calming down a bit at the girl's tone and evident nervousness.

"What's your name?" The girl smiles again before it looks like she's trying to remember her own name. Oh gosh, seeing fans get like this makes me feel a little bad. I don't want them to get too stressed or nervous just from meeting another human being.

"Geneva."

I say the name back to myself internally before gesturing to the seat next to me since Geneva was just hunched over in front of me. "Are you sure?" She looks at me with such worry, but I motion again. "Please. It's okay." Geneva nods before taking the seat next to me. She looks like she wants to say a million things, but at the same time, she's too star-struck to do anything. I got time to kill, and I haven't really been talking to many people as of late, so I'll start.

"Geneva?" The girl turns to me- jaw dropped. "You said my name." I nod. "I did. Can I ask you a question?"

"Anything." She replies quicker than I would've hoped for.

"How'd you know it was me? And where did you see me from?"

Geneva points to her head. Leaving me a little confused. "Your cap." I lift my hand up to touch it. My LA Dodgers Cap? "It's like your calling card. You rep it more than any other celebrity. It's basically your own merch." She tells me with a smile. Huh, I mean, I guess I did buy Y/N her own cap for a reason.

I do wear it a lot, don't I?

"I literally bought one because of you. Oh, and I saw you from... over... there!" I follow where Geneva's finger is pointing. In the distance is an older man watching, waving at our interaction. So that's how she got in here. "That's my dad. I tried explaining who you were and why I was freaking out, but he didn't get it. I hope I'm not bothering you." Geneva quickly adds that last sentence in.

"Not at all. I was getting lost in my own world, so I'm happy you stepped over here." I tell her honestly. "Okay, good." Geneva appears to take a deep breath and relax a little after hearing that. I know that feeling all too well.

"So, where are you going?" I turn my body slightly towards Geneva, so she knows she has my attention.

"My dad and I are going to Oregon for a week."

"That should be fun." I instantly encourage the idea seeing that Geneva looks nervous. "I hope so. I don't like flying."

"That's okay." I go to say something else, but I see Geneva's wandering eyes look over my carry-on purse. "Where are you going?"

"Home." I point to my cap with a slight smile. Geneva slowly nods her head. "Filming?" I shake my head. "Not for a while."

"I loved WandaVision. I think it made Wanda my favorite." She mumbles that last part, but I heard her. "Oh?! Well, thank you, Geneva, but who was your favorite?"

"Bucky and Black Widow," Geneva replies, almost scared that she had another favorite before me. She knows I'm not the Scarlet Witch, right? I subtly laugh at her responses. "Those are cool characters. One is way cooler than the other."

"And hotter!" Geneva replies casually before realizing I'm not one of her teenage friends. She looks at me wide-eyed. "I-uh-I didn't- I'm sorry- don't tell Sca-" "It's okay. Your secrets are safe with me." Geneva still looks a little panicked, and it reminds me of the talks Y/N and I would have about her love of Black Widow.

I will say Geneva and Y/N are right. She is hot.

"Can I say something?" Geneva breaks the awkward yet comfortable silence that is building up in this loud airport. I gesture for her to keep going.

"I'm really sorry for how it happened, but knowing that one of my favorite superheroes or anti-hero or whatever you wanna call Wanda now was being played by someone who is a lot more like me than I thought was important."

This is a conversation that Marla and Rhonda told me that needed to happen. I have yet to publicly confirm that, yes, I am a part of a certain community now. All that's been said is that Robbie and I were no longer together and that I was seeing someone named Y/N Y/L/N—so hearing from a girl who can't even drive yet that I mean this much to her. It makes my heart warm up and break at the same time. I feel ecstatic that I can now be someone for people to look up to, but at the same time, I haven't done enough.

This needs to change.

I look over to Geneva.

"As I said, I'm sorry for how it happened, but you and your girlfriend look really cute together."

Girlfriend. I quickly use my acting skills and cover up and frown or look that suggests otherwise.

"Thank you very much, Geneva! Yes, we are cute, aren't we." I chuckle at the same time she does. "And I still look at Wanda as a hero, so you can too." I nudge Geneva.

Geneva looks down as her phone lights up. I didn't even realize she had it in her hands. "Oh, looks like we're about to board." Geneva looks up at me. "If it's not too much trouble, could I get a picture?" This child is so kind.

"Of course." I quickly take off my sunglasses as Geneva has the camera ready. I lean in close to Geneva, but not enough, so we're touching. "I won't take too many."

"I think a couple will be fine." I calmly but sternly tell her.

"Okay. One.. two.. three.. GAY!" My smile quickly morphs into a laugh that I cover worth my hand. I was not expecting the girl to say this. While laughing, another picture gets taken. "I can't believe I made Elizabeth Olsen laugh!" Geneva says a bit too loud for my liking reminding myself where we are.

It looks like we're done with the photos, so I quickly take the time to cover my face back up. "Thank you so much. Omg, this is the greatest thing I've ever taken."Geneva shows me, and it's a typical one, and then Geneva smiling as I'm dying of laughter. "I'm glad to be a part of it." In the distance, I see Geneva's dad making his way over here. I guess they're running a little late now.

"Thank you again! This means so much to me." I smile. "Me too." Geneva starts to walk away, but I stop her. "Geneva!" She quickly turns back. "Yes?!"

How do I say this?

"Do you mind waiting until tomorrow to post that picture? If you do it now.. the paparazzi will be worse in Los Angeles." Geneva thinks about my words. "Sure. I don't want it to be worse for you." I graciously nod. "Thank you very much."

"Of course, Lizzie. Happy Pride Month." Geneva waves at me before walking to her now crossed arm dad.

It is the start of pride month.

I quickly pull out my phone, exiting my text conversation with Y/N and opening the one with Marla and Rhonda.

"An interview needs to be made today. People need to know who I am."

Y/N POV

The ride to the airport was uneventful. Aside from the occasional small talk and "I'm sorry for getting you sick" from Nick, nothing happened.

Now we're inching the car closer to the departure zone.

"Hey, kid?" When he first started calling me that, I thought it would go away because of how annoying it was, but it didn't, and I've grown to like it.

"Hmm?" I turn to face Nick as his eyes are watching the cars in front of us.

"Is the reason you left New York waiting for you in LA?"

"No," I say without another thought to the question or to the pain in my throat.

"Do you want them to be?"

I purse my lips and think. I don't know.. I've been avoiding Elizabeth for weeks but saying that I don't want to see her at all would be a complete lie because I miss her. I truly do. For the past couple of nights, I've been having dreams and nightmares about her. Maybe that's what's making my move to LA easier.

"I don't know," I whisper my answer out as Nick nods his head and drops the subject.

"You know, getting to know you these past couple of weeks has been wonderful. I'm happy to know Laurie has such an amazing daughter." The car has now reached my drop-off area. I turn to the older gentleman next to me.

"It's been a pleasure getting to know you too, Nickolas." Nick smiles but rolls his eyes at the awkward way I say his name causing me to laugh, which I regret doing as my warm throat starts fighting me.

"Need help with your bag?" I shake my head no, but Nick is already out of the car, opening the trunk for me. Once I'm about, he's already wheeling my suitcase to me. "Text your mother when you land. She'll be worried sick otherwise."

"I will."

Without thinking, I wrap my arms around Nick and hug him. I feel Nick hesitate before doing the same. It didn't last long, but it was nice. "Thanks again for everything." "Sorry for getting you sick, kid." Now I roll my eyes. "It's alright. I'll see you, Nick." I turn around and start walking to the airport doors.

"Wait!" I turn around to see the car window rolled down with Nick leaning over the passenger seat. "Don't forget to check your bag! You're flying to LA; who knows what someone might do if it's left in the overhead bin." I shake my head at him like he's crazy until I remembered the conversation over dinner last night.

"Literally pee all over my luggage. Someone left their child's toilet up in the top, and during take-off, it flew to the back, smacking everyone's precious cargo." (A/N this story happened on a podcast I used to listen to)

My face morphs in disgust. I shoot Nick a thumbs up as he laughs at my face. "So long, kid!" And with that, I turn back around and head straight towards my airline's desk. Ready to check this bag.

Okay, so that took longer than I thought it would. Of course, it's the beginning of summer, and this place is packed. What was I thinking? Now I'm sprinting, yes, sprinting to my gate! Mind you; I'm still feeling terrible!

It's like a scene out of a movie. I make it to my gate just as the last couple of people are shuffling on. The ticket on my phone goes through, and now I can finally breathe! I follow the people onto the plane, double-checking that I have everything. Phone? Obviously. AirPods? Duh. Cards and ID? Front pocket because what if my bag gets lost because I listened to Nick? Okay, time to find my seat and get rid of this headache.

I picked the worst day to fly.

Does anyone watch the stewardess do the safety instructions in case something happens and you need to step up, or is this just my anxiety making me watch them?

Anyways I feel relieved once they finish up. The person next to me couldn't give a shit. They were on their phone the whole time, and let me tell you, they were getting screamed at by someone through text.

Which weirdly reminds me.

I open my phone. I never finished my conversation with Robbie.

wasn't ignoring you just got on the plane. I'll text you when I land.

After a couple of minutes, Robbie responds.

No sweat I started taking a crack at that other song All Eyes On Me. Are you sure this is suited for me?

Moody indie? Uh yeah dude.

🙄 Saving it for when you get here. have a safe flight.

👍🏼

I exit that conversation, and I'm surprised to see a text from Max I don't remember getting.

"Elizabeth stopped by your place again. I think it might be for the last time. She's leaving ny."

Oh wow. Trying to copy me, Olsen?

I'm trying to formulate a sentence to type back, but I get interrupted when the mean stewardess tells me to put all electronic devices on airplane mode.

I'll just text Maxine back later. As of right now, though, I think it's time to pull out my AirPods, put on a relaxing playlist and tune out that crying baby five rows ahead of me.

Liz POV

Even in first class, I'm nervous. I don't know what it is today, but my nerves are doubled. Ever since we touched down in my home state, I've had this weird feeling.

Was I wrong to leave? Is it wrong to come back home? I should've apologized and seen my sister before leaving. No, I should've fucking chased after Y/N when I had the chance. Oh, God. Should I change my sunglasses and hat?

"Miss Olsen?" I dramatically lift my eyes up from the spot where my engagement ring used to be to see the eyes of the kind stewardess saving me from myself. "If you'd like to follow me." I nod before getting up and following her like a lost puppy. Except lost puppies don't get the stink eye from people, you never met.

Once we make it to the gate, the stewardess leads me to a man waiting with my bags. Well, all except one thing. Y/N's guitar case. Also, who is this man? Why is he here? I can carry my own bags.

"Thank you," I say to the stewards, who gives me a tight-lipped smile before turning back onto the plane. I walk up to the man and thank him for gathering all my belongings, but I can take it from here. He obliges as I double-check that I do indeed have everything except the guitar. I do! So with my purse securely on my shoulder and the bags and cases in my hands, I make my way to baggage claim.

Y/N POV

Two naps in one day.

I feel better after the second one. Or at least I thought I did. My eyes aren't tired. My head isn't killing me. But my throat. My throat got worse. Yes, it doesn't pain me as much to speak, but it's extra scratchy, and anytime I do try and speak, it's not my voice. I sound like a different person. Oh goodness, I need cough drops and water quick.

A text to James, Robbie, Max, and my mom later, and I'm the last one off. I've never been that last one off a plane, so I guess I can cross that off my bucket list. Why is it called that? Anyways with no bags carried on with me, it's now time to try to find my airline's baggage claim.

Oh yeah, also, I've never been to LAX before, so this is a new terrifying experience.

I hate that I'm doing this by myself.

I shouldn't have listened to Nick. I swear I've watched hundreds of people come by and be gone while I'm still here. I literally watched a guy walk around the corner, come by, scoop up his bag and walk straight into a car waiting for him. What the fuck?

Also, some people have zero sense of fashion. I know I don't, but I was learning a thing or two from the Olsens. Plus, I'm gay, so it's different.

Anygays, after watching the black suitcase with red lining pass by for the 7,495 time, I'm about to give up when brand new bags start coming down.

I watch as the crowd around me starts to grow. I had to do a double take when I thought I saw a woman in an LA Dodgers cap hanging around, but I didn't see her anymore, and I have to remember I'm actually in California now, so that's probably normal.

Finally, I saw it! My large suitcase was making its way to me. Without much of a struggle, I'm able to pull off the belt and make sure that, yes, it's mine. I'm about to finally walk away when something catches my eye.

I watch as it slides its way down before slowly making it was past me. It can't be. I look over the stickers on the case. Surely someone else has my exact same ones.

Except no one has my Davey-made sticker for my high school track team. Only one was made.

And there it is.

I watch as the case passes the people to my right. "Hey." I croak out of my throat as I watch a hand go and grab the case. Shit. They didn't hear me. When did so many people get here?

"Excuse me." "Get out of my way." "Sorry."

These are all the things I'm spitting out as the power starts coming back into my voice as I'm rushing to whoever thinks they can't steal my guitar case.

How the fuck do they have it?

"Hey, stop," I call out once I'm behind the person. "You with the case!" Fucking unbelievable! They're ignoring me.

"Hey!" I clear my throat once more and get right up behind the person before grabbing the bottom of my case from them pulling them back towards me.

"Who the fuck do you think you are!"

Liz POV

It took long enough, but it's finally here in my hands. I'm surprised I haven't been recognized with how long I was just standing there waiting.

I thought I saw someone who looked a lot like Y/N peer their way toward me, but I lost them in the ever-growing crowd.

Anyways. It's finally here in my hand. I hear some commotion behind me, but I'm too tired to see what that's about. I just want to "Hey!" get to Aubrey's before bringing this guitar to Robb-

"Who the fuck do you think you are!"

I feel the guitar case being pulled from behind as my hand gets yanked back, turning me around.

"Hey!" I yell before our eyes meet.

Y/N & Liz POV

It's her! She's here in front of me!! Don't fuck this up.

Part 27

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paimonial-rage · 3 months ago

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reading ur tags and… will u ever open commissions?!? HAHAH — @milkstore

There's this lady on tiktok that posts videos of her talking to her nail clients and they'll be requesting things from her like duck nails and she's like, "Honey, no, that shit ugly. 😱😔😓" And her clients will be like, "Yeah, but I'm a paying customer so you have to do it for me." And she's like, "No, I don't want to, that shit ugly. You can go to other girls, but I don't do that ugly shit. 😐😠🤬"

Anyway long story short, that's me.

#interactions #about me #i'm just....... way too picky and judgmental #people want really fluffy and romantic fics and like.... IM SORRY #i REALLY don't like claiming the term 'aromantic' for personal reasons but like...#i am way too aro to write things like that like jesus christ #i just find such requests boring unoriginal pathetically self-indulgent etc etc etc #like i'm sorry #I CANNOT GIVE YOU WHAT YOU GUYS WANT OKAY I'M SORRY #even with requests for my short fics like this recent prompt event #two people requested 'sway' and it never occurred to me until a day ago that people can take this as in like.... a dance #to me i always interpreted this request in 'to have sway' or 'to be swayed' Not a literal 'sway' aka dance #and i think that's the reason why people requested that prompt. for the literal definition #i feel like people are always requesting overtly romantic prompts from me and that makes me uncomfortable #like a lot of people requested 'opposites' to which i assume they're expecting the trope 'opposites attract'#i'm not romantic enough to be able to write overt romance and fluff and that's what i feel will be requested of me should i open commission #i'm not capable of that i'm sorry #i find such things uncomfortable to write about. like you need to understand i understand romance on a very elementary level #not to mention the love language i'm the most deficient in is physical touch #as it is i am not capable of giving people what they want. if i opened commissions i'm scared of getting things i will not be able to write #i also find such requests very...... undesirable #to me 'that shit ugly'#overt romance and fluff really really repulses me. it grosses me out and i look down on people that want that #it's always focused on the young puppy love and the honeymoon stage #like have you guys ever noticed that's like 9/10 reader-insert fics. maybe 19/20 reader-insert fics #i understand love past the honeymoon stage but nobody ever wants that #long story short i am way too picky and judgmental to open up commissions

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thundersoothers · 16 days ago

Text

john price, his wife, and... the dog (derogatory)

who: John Price x wife!reader

what: inspired by this thought about john price being an absolutely softie for his wife. continued here!

word count: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of cheating but it’s NOT TRUE! you’ll see… just fluff that reallyyyyy makes me want to marry this man.

It’s 2AM on a Saturday in the summer when John Price thinks he hears his wife cheating on him.

“Shhh!! You have to be quiet, you’ll wake up my husband.”

He opens his heavy eyes to see the TV paused at the end credits of some movie he can’t even remember the name of. The screen reflects in the crystal of the empty rocks glass on the coffee table next to his feet, holding only a warm whiskey stone.

He groans and stretches, his old t-shirt riding up to show a dark happy trail disappearing into low-waisted flannel pajama pants. He has one sock on with a hole in the toe. You told him to get rid of them and got him a pack of 20 of the same sock (he’s very particular about his socks), but he still wears these ones, anyway.

“Stop moving, I’m trying to concentrate here. Damn lock… can never— oh, shit. Heh. Wrong key.”

He can hear you muttering and giggling and the scratch of the key against the lock as you struggle to get it in.

It’s your girls’ night and he likes to wait up for you to make sure you get in safely. He saw you off around 8PM, pouring himself a glass of whiskey as you took a shot of tequila. You planted a big kiss on his cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark that he didn’t bother to fully wipe off.

“Sorry, I know you’re eager to get inside. I bet you’re so cold, all naked. Here, you can go in my dress, is that better? Fu—ow! Don’t bite my tit, Jesus! Sharp teeth…”

Price suddenly feels much more awake. He pushes himself up from the couch and starts to walk to the foyer.

“This damn door… ah! There we go.”

The door creaks open and he hears you tiptoe inside in your heels (wearing heels and tiptoeing—are two actions that are mutually exclusive, especially when you’re plastered).

“Remember, we have to be quiet. My husband waits for me to get home, we don’t want to wake him up. He’s very nice, you see, but he can’t know you’re here.”

Apparently, you have gotten home safely—with an extra guest who just bit at your tit. And you’re being louder than your guest, who you keep telling to be quiet.

“My husband is gonna be soooo mad. He’s gonna be so mad at me, but once he sees how cute you are, I think he’ll forgive me. He’ll understand. I had to. I just had to!”

He hears rustling as he gets closer to the foyer, you fumbling around in the dark.

“Stay there, don’t move, okay? Stay, yeah? You know that, don’t you? Mummy will teach you if not. Just stay right there. Lemme get these damn heels off…”

There’s an odd sound of something quickly clicking on hardwood floor that makes his eyebrows furrow, and then you gasp—

“Wait, don’t run—“

Bang!

You groan loudly.

Price flicks on the lights.

You’re lying face down on the rug. You have one heel on. The second heel is twisted around your other foot—what you fell over. Your little dress is flipped up over your ass and your arms are outstretched.

“You okay there, love?” John asks, torn between amusement and concern. You just groan. “Sounded like you fell pretty hard.”

“I tripped,” you say into the rug, sounding very sad.

“You hurt?” he asks. “Anything broken?”

You shake your head and curl up a little. “I’ll just sleep here.”

He laughs softly. “Come on, none of that.”

“It’s so comfortable. I’ll just—“

There’s that clicking sound again and he’s almost startled by the abruptness of your movement. You push yourself up with one arm, stretch the other out and fucking snatch the quick-moving little brown blob that’s moving toward you. You pull it to your chest and cradle it, shielding it from John’s view.

He blinks. “What you got there, love?” he asks after a second.

“Nothing,” you say innocently.

“Right.” He crosses his arms, looking you over. “Who were you talking to just now?”

“No one,” you say quickly. “Myself.”

“Right,” John says again slowly. “Show me what you have.”

You look over your shoulder up at him through your lashes, vision blurry. “No. You’re gonna be mad.”

“Just show me.”

“Promise you won’t be mad.”

He sighs. “I won’t be mad.” You give him a look. He sighs again. You’re wasted—he can tell by your eyes. They’re unfocused and heavy. “Promise. Now show me.”

You look down at whatever you’re holding to your chest. “Okay,” you whisper (to your tits?), “you need to be very well-behaved, okay? No biting, please. Be very nice for Daddy so he will like you, okay? Can you do that? Yes? Okay.”

You glance up at John again over your shoulder and then turn yourself around in a very clumsy movement. Then, as if presenting whatever it is like you’re Mufasa from the Lion King, you lift it up in the air toward your husband.

It’s a puppy.

It’s quiet.

The little dog wriggles in your hands, wagging his tail so hard his whole body shakes. He barks up at John, high pitched. A small pink tongue lolls out of his mouth.

It’s still quiet.

You lower the dog a little so you can look up at John. “You said you wouldn’t be mad!”

“I’m not mad,” John says, sounding mad.

“You look mad.”

“I’m not mad,” he says again. “It’s just… dirty.”

You gasp. “He’s not dirty!” you exclaim, sounding offended on behalf of the dog. You pull him to your chest. “He’s just a little mangey, you see. But that’s okay. It can be fixed. You know—they have medicine for that. Or lotion, or whatever it is. He’s very nice, John, I swear. I know he’s a little… skrunkly but he’s very cute and—ow! That’s my hair, no biting Mummy, please.”

“You’re already calling yourself his Mummy?” he asks, bemused, eyebrow raised at you. Yep. You’re fucking wasted.

“Yes, and you’re his Daddy.” You hold the dog up again, this time facing him toward you. “I think you’re very cute, puppy. You’ll grow on Daddy. Just be very good for him, you can do that, can’t you? Yes, you can.” You whisper, as if John isn’t standing right there, “We’ll wear him down. Don’t worry.”

“I thought it was something else,” Price says.

“What did you think it was?” you ask, not looking away from the dog.

“Where did you find it?” he asks instead of answering.

This is much better than what his traitorous mind momentarily supplied. You, cheating? As if.

How silly of him to even think that. For a moment, his stomach twists with the guilt of doubting you. He should have known better.

Of course it’s this. What else could it have been?

A puppy.

A puppy!

“Oh, hello, there.”

You crouch down in your dress and heels and hold out your hand to the little puppy emerging from the bushes by the side of the road.

“What are you doing here, all alone? Come here, love, I won’t hurt you. Come on, puppy, come to me. Yeahhh, there we go. Oh, look at you. You’re so cute. You’re all mangey, though. Oh,” you say pitifully, “you little baby.”

You’re drunk as fuck at 2AM on a Saturday in the summer, halfway through your walk home from the bar, squatting in the middle of a back road in England, about to cry while petting this puppy clumsily—but he doesn’t seem to mind. He wags his tail and nips at your fingers.

“Where’s your Mummy? You shouldn’t be out here all alone. No collar… oh, goodness, what should I do with you? I don’t want to leave you. I’m not sure what to do.”

He barks at you, high pitched.

You nod at him seriously. “Oh, yes, good point.” He barks again. “Mhm. Yes, yes. I thought so, too. Exactly right.”

He runs in a circle around you.

“What are you, a month? You should be with your Mum, you shouldn’t be all alone. Oh, you little baby, you must be so scared.” (He’s wagging his tail.)

“It’s so cold.” (It’s summer.)

“Maybe you can come home with me?” (Your husband would be so mad.)

“Yes,” you decide. “You’ll come home with me.” (Your husband is going to be so mad.)

That’s how you end up stumbling home with a puppy in your arms, rambling to him about yourself and your life.

“Well, puppy, my name is Mrs. Price. I’m from around here. I live in a nice three bedroom house with my husband, I think you’ll like it very much. It’s very cute. He let me decorate it. He doesn’t understand feng shui, you see. You should see his office, puppy, it’s so bland. No taste for interior design.”

“Our house is only 10 more minutes away. See that big tree there? That means we only have 10 minutes left until we’re home. I’m not great with street names, you see, so I go by landmarks.” He barks. “Yes, yes, you get it.”

“Anyway. So, I’m—stop wiggling please, Mummy’s going to drop you—I’m married to a very nice man named John. I love him very much. You’ll like him, too,” you tell him seriously, “he’s very likable. I like lots of things about him, puppy. Actually, I like everything about him.”

“He says I can’t have a dog, though. He says it’s for my own good—booooo. Boo! But maybe we can sneak you in. What do you think, puppy? Should we do that? I think we should do that. We’ll have to be very quiet, though. Very quiet.”

“John waits for me to get home safely—he’s so nice, he’s so kind to me, I love him sooooo much—but we have to make sure not to wake him up. This is one of them—uh, covert operations. He’s very well-versed in those. My husband is very talented, puppy, he’s a Captain. So we’ll have to be extra careful.”

And that’s how you end up trying to sneak into your own house and then trip over your shoe and fucking slam! your face on the rug.

“Where did you find it?” John asks you as you sit on the floor after you presented the dog to him.

“On the way home from the bar, kind of my that big tree.”

“By Notting Street?”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Notting Str—I dunno. Maybe? I just know the big tree. The one with all the branches.”

“‘The one with all the branches,’” he repeats, nodding slowly. “Right.”

“But he was there all alone so I took him home. I couldn’t leave him, John, he’s so little. And he’s very cute, look at his little ears? And his little feet? His toes are soooo small. His little teeth are sharp, though—like a shark. Fuckin’ hurt, he almost bit my tit off.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

“You heard? Oh. I was trying to be quiet. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

He smiles at you. “I know.”

You smile back.

“Give me the dog.”

You frown. “No.”

“The dog, please.”

“No.” You hold him tighter. “You’ll take him from me.”

“Well,” he says, “yes.”

You sigh heavily. “Be gentle.” You hand him to John and he takes him in one hand and holds him out, frowning, as if it’s offended him.

A puppy.

“Can we keep him?” you ask hopefully.

He glances at you and then back to the puppy and then back to you and then back to the puppy. “No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“But…” You trail off and he looks back down at you. You’re starting to tear up.

“Oh—love, don’t cry.”

“He’s so little and soft and nice and he’s all mangey and he’s all alone and he’s just a little baby and…”

“Okay, okay, darling, we can keep him.”

(By that, he means you’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober, and by ‘talk about it’, he means, ‘no.’)

“Really?!” you gasp.

The way your face fucking lights up makes John pause. For a second, he almost feels like he lost his balance.

“Oh, John, really? Oh, thank you so much! Puppy, did you hear that? Daddy said yes! See, he’s very nice, just like I told you, remember? He’s very nice and kind and he’s very handsome and I love him very much, and I—“

“The dog can’t understand you.”

“You don’t know that,” you say defensively.

He looks down at you. “Right.”

You stare up at him, standing over you as you sit on the floor. “How are you handsome even from this angle?” You frown deeper. “Stupid face,” you mutter.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Let’s get you up.”

“I’m so comfortable.”

“Hand.” He tucks the dog under his arm and extends his other hand toward you. He crooks his long, thick fingers at you. “Now.”

You look between his hand and his face, and then slip your hand into his.

“Good girl.”

He fucking yanks you up and, in one movement that’s somehow graceful, bends down and throws you over his shoulder.

He, naturally, slaps your ass and you squeal. “Hey!!”

You kick your feet (still with only one heel on) and he laughs, resting his hand on your hip, heavy fingers digging into the plush of your butt, as he makes his way up the stairs with you on his shoulder and the dog in his hand.

Gently, he drops you onto the bed and you fall back with an oof! and stare up at him.

“Well,” Price drawls, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You grin. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” He takes off your shoe (singular), your dress, and your makeup as you hold the dog, curled up, on your chest.

“You’re so good to me, John,” you say, your eyes closed. “I’m so lucky. I don’t know how I got so lucky. And, you, puppy,” you mumble, petting him slowly, “you’re so lucky, too. You’re about to have the best Daddy in the world. He’s so good to us.”

“‘Puppy’ is asleep,” John says. “And,” he adds, scooping him up in one hand, “puppy is not sleeping in the bed.”

You just groan, too tired and drunk to argue.

He holds the dog out in the air again, turning him around and upside down to examine him. He yips and wriggles in his hands, but John shushes him. “Hush now. Your Mummy is asleep.” He shakes his head and sighs. “What am I going to do with you?”

He takes the dog to the bathroom and puts him down on the floor. His paws slip a little on the cold tile. John puts his hands on his hips, staring down at the dog. “I can’t believe this.”

He reaches over to turn on the heated floor (which he got installed for you) and says to the dog, “You are so, so damn lucky I love your Mummy.”

In the morning, despite John Price’s best efforts to say no to you, you end up convincing him to keep the dog. He’s a military Captain but the pleading of his wife is enough to make him crumble.

The happiness on your face when he finally says yes, makes him wonder why he ever said no in the first place.

note: thank you for reading! this is my first time posting in years–and in a totally new fandom. thank you for your patience and your support. let me know your thoughts! merry christmas!

posted 12.26.2024. revised 01.02.2025.

do not repost or modify any of my original words on any other platform.

to masterlist.

#john price #john price x reader #call of duty #call of duty imagine #cod imagine #john price smut #well wait I guess not #for once #lux.writes #lux.price #john price fic #john price drabble #call of duty fic #I haven't done tags in forever what else do I do #call of duty smut #price

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