#like georgia i mean that guy tried his best but halfway through he just started yelling and i couldnt stop laughing for 30 minutes
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wakemeupinmay · 2 years ago
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My thoughts on the Eurovision songs this year
1. 🇦🇱 Albania - Duje - Albina & Familja Kelmendi
VERY dramatic, but I could shake my ass to the part in which she isn’t singing
2. 🇦🇲 Armenia - Future Lover - Brunette
„I just wanna make art, read books, be loved and called a good girl“ okay ma'am that’s everyone ur not special
3. 🇦🇺 Australia - Promise - Voyager
Do we know why they are headbanging this much? It couldn’t be bc of this song right?
4. 🇦🇹 Austria - Who the hell is Edgar? - Teya & Salena
Not often is a song made spicier by adding some church singing
5. 🇦🇿 Azerbaijan - Tell me more - TuralTuranX
I have just watched the video for the third time and I start to suspect that there is more than one guy singing, I could be wrong tho
6. 🇧🇪 Belgium - Because of you - Gustaph
He looks like a gay musketeer + weirdly enough this song doesn’t make me want to dance, it makes me want to walk???
7. 🇭🇷 Croatia - Mama ŠČ - Let 3
Thankfully for them I love chaos and not knowing what is going on, BUT I did get scared for a second when they undressed
8. 🇨🇾 Cyprus - Break a broken heart - Andrew Lambrou
I am mesmerized but that won’t get me to like the song :/
9. 🇨🇿 Czechia - My sister‘s crown - Vesna
Idk guys, is this a good song or does it just have a good message? It doesn’t bop for me, I’m so sorry I tried
10. 🇩🇰 Denmark - Breaking my heart - Reiley
Okay, do we also have a version in which we can hear his voice in the chorus better? Thanks, the distorted one playing over his singing is a no no. I dig the outfit tho 10/10 very cute
11. 🇪🇪 Estonia - Bridges - Alika
Don’t worry guys, Estonia is bringing the compulsory piano to the contest this year
12. 🇫🇮 Finland - Cha Cha Cha - Käärijä
Very entertaining and very eurovision by the hulk goblin king, very appreciated by me :)
13. 🇫🇷 France - Évidemment - La Zarra
This. woman. has. the. most. snatched. waist. I. have. ever. seen. Other than that, once again France does what it does best, which is being french
14. 🇬🇪 Georgia - Echo - Iru
Did she get turned into a white worm halfway through? + They surely get the award of „lyrics that make the least sense“ this year. „THIS FEELING IS LORD“
15. 🇩🇪 Germany - Blood & Glitter - Lord of the lost
So happy for Germany leaving its shell for once but maybe reconsider the red latex suit. Otherwise they are really cute and make me smile
16. 🇬🇷 Greece - What they say - Victor Vernicos
How did Greece get Tom Shelby’s son dressed like a school boy from the 1940ies to sing about his hurt feelings?
17. 🇮🇸 Iceland - Power - Diljá
So sad Iceland couldn’t keep up the streak of rly good entries. Unfortunately this song holds no PPPPower over me
18. 🇮🇪 Ireland - We are one - Wild Youth
Don’t worry guys, our knights in shining masks are here to save us. Not rly tho, the song is not that much fun :/
19. 🇮🇱 Israel - Unicorn - Noa Kirel
A song called Unicorn has no business being this serious
20. 🇮🇹 Italy - Due vite - Marco Mengoni
What can I tell u…. It’s definitely Italys entry + Does he sound like an italian Michael Jackson???
21. 🇱🇻 Latvia - Aijā - Sudden Lights
The last time I saw lights like these on stage Germany got 0 points, be careful Latvia
22. 🇱🇹 Lithuania - Stay - Monika Linkytė
What does Čiūto tūto mean?
23. 🇲🇹 Malta - Dance (our own party) - The Busker
I see you Malta, trying to have your own little epic sax moment
24. 🇲🇩 Moldova - Soarele si Luna - Pasha Parfeni
This felt like a spiritual fever dream + gotta love the nuns in the crowd
25. 🇳🇱 Netherlands - Burning Daylight - Mia Nicolai & Dion Cooper
This song is all the stages of grief I go through once my favourite does not win eurovision
26. 🇳🇴 Norway - Queen of Kings - Alessandra
Aye aye captain we stan! BUT I would have looooved if the show (costumes, dance,…) were a cringey eurovisiony pirate thing
27. 🇵🇱 Poland - Solo - Blanka
Why is it giving parody of rich spoiled brat that thinks she can sing bc daddy said so?
28. 🇵🇹 Portugal - Ai Coração - Mimicat
I like it, it’s not a ballad and fun also she looks exactly how I would imagine a Mimicat
29. 🇷🇴 Romania - D.G.T. (Off and On) - Theodor Andrei
I didn’t expect to be going to an underage bondage strip club tonight.
30. 🇸🇲 San Marino - Like an animal - Piqued Jacks
He is giving me mixed signals. Am I sexy Aphrodite or do I stink and am poisonous? Why is he chasing me? Is that good or bad? I’m worried
31. 🇷🇸 Serbia - Samo mi she spava - Luke Black
He is very much Melovin coded but I do connect with the message an awful lot
32. 🇸🇮 Slovenia - Carpe Diem - Joker Out
It’s good, I get the hype, curious what they’ll do on stage tho
33. 🇪🇸 Spain - Eaea - Blanca Paloma
Is it allowed to perform religious rituals on stage?
34. 🇸🇪 Sweden - Tattoo - Loreen
After that huge TV fell on that one kpop performers head this performance makes me extra nervous
35. 🇨🇭 Switzerland - Watergun - Remo Forrer
Don’t worry Remo, Switzerland is one of the safest countries on earth
36. 🇺🇦 Ukraine - Heart of Steel - Tvorchi
I think I have never been more surprised by a country sending a generic pop song. Or maybe it was to be expected the most rn. It’s not bad by any means but also def not a winner and everyone knows that
37. 🇬🇧 United Kingdom - I wrote a song - Mae Muller
If I don’t see the name Mae Muller on the writing credits to this song I will absolutely throw a fit
(List of videos I watched)
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batarangsoundsdumb · 4 years ago
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hello yes your thoughts on eurovision?
i think they should've left flo rida in florida where he belongs and nothing in the world could have ever made me happier than the uk getting 0 points.
#i do think they should just not let non-european countries participate like my guy it's called 'euro-vision'#time for some good old fashioned gatekeeping#i mean australia is not even remotely close to europe and we ALL know israel is in the middle east so why the fuck are they participating?#also non controversial opinion but germany shouldve won in 2018 and im still salty about it#i just- *anger*#the winner of that year is called 'the chicken girl' by literally everybody bc she sang and danced like a chicken and still won somehow?#also i think austria's 2014 song sucked and the netherlands were clearly better#and that all the hate on ballads is justified *sometimes* bc a lot of people sing ballads when they can't fucking sing at all#like georgia i mean that guy tried his best but halfway through he just started yelling and i couldnt stop laughing for 30 minutes#but if italy hadn't won i would've been happy with france and switzerland bc theyre talented and shit#no ive watched eurovision and junior eurovision since i was a baby#i still remember the majority of junior eurovision songs from when i was a kid and it physically hurts to think about#i also think its so fucking weird that ukraine and russia are at war right now and both participate in eurovision#when eurovision was in kiev in 2017 there was a whole thing that ukraine wouldnt let the russian singer participate#but the fact that russia wanted to send a participant to the country they are actively at war with is also so fucking weird to me#'we will be sending someone to ukraine the country we are at war with to beat them in an international song contest' is just weird#also how you can literally predict who the jury will vote for depending on who their neighbours are#eurovision is part 'no politics here no way' part 'equality for all!!! unity!!! yay!!!' and part 'yeah were voting for the neighbours'#ye those are the thoughts im so glad italy won tho it was a fantastic song and the bandmembers are also really really hot#and i liked the heels the singer was wearing#and the song fucking slapped too#(i do think ukraine was fucking awesome tho it's like a really hypnotic song and i can't get over it)#eurovision#ask#bataranswers#i promise after this there will be some content that's not me being serious or talking about eurovision (derogatory)
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thewidowsghost · 4 years ago
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Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 1
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So, I started this on my Wattpad, and if figured I'd just put it on here! Just tell me if you want me to add you to the taglist!
Percy's POV
My name is Percy Jackson.
I am twelve years old. I'm a boarding student at Yancy Academy, a private school for troubled kids in upstate New York, and my sister, (Y/n), taking online schooling at home.
Am I a troubled kid?
Yeah. You could say that.
I could start at any point in my short miserable life to prove it, but things really started going bad last May, when our sixth-grade class took a field trip to Manhattan—twenty-eight mental-case kids and two teachers on a yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Roman stuff.
I know—it sounds like torture. Most Yancy field trips were.
But Mr. Brunner, our Latin teacher, was leading this trip, so I had hopes.
Mr. Brunner was this middle-aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning hair and a scruffy beard and a frayed tweed jacket, which always smelled like coffee. You wouldn't think he'd be cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in class. He also had this awesome collection of Roman armor and weapons, so he was the only teacher whose class didn't put me to sleep.
I hoped the trip would be okay. At least, I hoped that for once I wouldn't get in trouble.
See, bad things happen to me on field trips. Like at my fifth-grade school, when we went to the Saratoga battlefield, I had this accident with a Revolutionary War cannon. I wasn't aiming for the school bus, but of course, I got expelled anyway. And before that, at my fourth-grade school, when we took a behind-the-scenes tour of the Marine World shark pool, I sort of hit the wrong lever on the catwalk and our class took an unplanned swim. And the time before that...Well, you get the idea.
On this trip, I was determined to be good.
All the way into the city, I put up with Nancy Bobofit, the freckly, redheaded kleptomaniac girl, hitting my best friend Grover in the back of the head with chunks of peanut butter-and-ketchup sandwich.
Grover was an easy target. He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must've been held back several grades because he was the only sixth grader with acne and the start of a wispy beard on his chin. On top of all that, he was crippled. He had a note excusing him from PE for the rest of his life because he had some kind of muscular disease in his legs. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, but don't let that fool you. You should've seen him run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria.
Anyway, Nancy Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwiches that stuck in his curly brown hair, and she knew I couldn't do anything back to her because I was already on probation. The headmaster had threatened me with death by in-school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip.
"I'm going to kill her," I mumble.
Grover tries to calm me down. "I'm okay. I like peanut butter -" He dodges another piece of Nancy's lunch.
"That's it." I start to get up, but Grover pulls me back to my seat.
"You're already on probation," he reminds me. "You know who'll get blamed if anything happens."
Mr. Brunner leads the museum tour.
He rides up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past marble statues and glass cases full of really old black-and-orange pottery.
It blows my mind that this stuff had survived for two thousand, three thousand years.
He gathers us around a thirteen-foot-tall stone column with a big sphinx on the top, and starts telling us how it was a grave marker, a stele, for a girl about our age. He told us about the carvings on the sides. I was trying to listen to what he had to say, because it was kind of interesting, but everybody around me was talking, and every time I told them to shut up, the other teacher chaperone, Mrs. Dodds, would give me the evil eye.
Mrs. Dodds was this little math teacher from Georgia who always wore a black leather jacket, even though she was fifty years old. She looked mean enough to ride a Harley right into your locker. She had come to Yancy halfway through the year when our last math teacher had a nervous breakdown.
From her first day, Mrs. Dodds loved Nancy Bobofit and figured I was devil spawn. She would point her crooked finger at me and say, "Now, honey," real sweet, and I knew I was going to get after-school detention for a month.
One time, after she'd made me erase answers out of old math workbooks until midnight, I told Grover I didn't think Mrs. Dodds was human. He looked at me, real serious, and said, "You're absolutely right."
Mr. Brunner keeps talking about Greek funeral art.
Finally, Nancy Bobofit snickers something about the naked guy on the stele, and I turn around and say, "Will you shut up?"
It comes out louder than I meant it to.
The whole group laughs. Mr. Brunner stops his story. "Mr. Jackson," he says, "did you have a comment?"
My face is totally red, I think. I answer, "No, sir."
Mr. Brunner points to one of the pictures on the stele. "Perhaps you'll tell us what this picture represents?"
I look at the carving, and feel a flush of relief, because I actually recognize it. "That's Kronos eating his kids, right?"
"Yes," Mr. Brunner says, obviously not satisfied. "And he did this because..."
"Well..." I rack my brain to remember. (Y/n) would have known the answer. She was nuts for this kind of stuff. "Kronos was the king god, and —"
"God?" Mr. Brunner asks.
"Titan," I correct myself. "And...he didn't trust his kids, who were the gods. So, um, Kronos ate them, right? But his wife hid baby Zeus, and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead. And later, when Zeus grew up, he tricked his dad, Kronos, into barfing up his brothers and sisters—"
"Eeew!" says one of the girls behind me.
"—and so there was this big fight between the gods and the Titans," I continue, "and the gods won."
Some snickers from the group.
Behind me, Nancy Bobofit mumbles to a friend, "Like we're going to use this in real life. Like it's going to say on our job applications, 'Please explain why Kronos ate his kids.'"
"And why, Mr. Jackson," Brunner says, "to paraphrase Miss Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"
"Busted," Grover mutters.
"Shut up," Nancy hisses, her face even brighter red than her hair.
At least Nancy got packed, too. Mr. Brunner was the only one who ever caught her saying anything wrong. He had radar ears.
I think about his question, and shrug. "I don't know, sir."
"I see." Mr. Brunner looks disappointed. "Well, half credit, Mr. Jackson. Zeus did indeed feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan's stomach. The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note, it's time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?"
The class drifts off, the girls holding their stomachs, the guys pushing each other around and acting like doofuses.
Grover and I were about to follow when Mr. Brunner said, "Mr. Jackson."
I knew that was coming.
I tell Grover to keep going; then I turn toward Mr. Brunner. "Sir?" Mr. Brunner had this look that wouldn't let you go—intense brown eyes that could've been a thousand years old and had seen everything. "You must learn the answer to my question," Mr. Brunner tells me.
"About the Titans?"
'"About real life. And how your studies apply to it."
"Oh."
"What you learn from me," he says, "is vitally important. I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, Percy Jackson."
I mean, sure, it was kind of cool on tournament days, when he dressed up in a suit of Roman armor and shouted: "What ho!" and challenged us, swordpoint against chalk, to run to the board and name every Greek and Roman person who had ever lived, and their mother, and what god they worshipped. But Mr. Brunner expected me to be as good as everybody else, despite the fact that I have dyslexia and attention deficit disorder and I had never made above a C– in my life. No—he didn't expect me to be as good; he expected me to be better. And I just couldn't learn all those names and facts, much less spell them correctly.
I mumble something about trying harder, while Mr. Brunner takes one long sad look at the stele, like he'd been at this girl's funeral.
He tells me to go outside and eat my lunch.
The class gathers on the front steps of the museum, where we can watch the foot traffic along Fifth Avenue.
Overhead, a huge storm is brewing, with clouds blacker than I'd ever seen over the city. I figure maybe it was global warming or something, because the weather all across New York state had been weird since Christmas. We'd had massive snow storms, flooding, wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn't have been surprised if this was a hurricane blowing in.
Nobody else seems to notice, though. Some of the guys are pelting pigeons with Lunchables crackers. Nancy Bobofit is trying to pickpocket something from a lady's purse, and, of course, Mrs. Dodds isn't seeing a thing.
Grover and I sit on the edge of the fountain, away from the others. We thought that maybe if we did that, everybody wouldn't know we were from that school—the school for loser freaks who couldn't make it elsewhere.
"Detention?" Grover asked.
"Nah," I said. "Not from Brunner. I just wish he'd lay off me sometimes. I mean—I'm not a genius, not like (Y/n). She seems to know everything."
Grover doesn't say anything for a while. Then, when I think he is going to give me some deep philosophical comment to make me feel better, he asks, "Can I have your apple?"
I don't have much of an appetite, so I let him take it.
I watch the stream of cabs going down Fifth Avenue, and think about my mom's apartment, only a little ways uptown from where we sit. I hadn't seen her or my sister since Christmas. I want so bad to jump in a taxi and head home. Mom and (Y/n) would hug me and be glad to see me, but Mom would be disappointed, too. She'd send me right back to Yancy, remind me that I had to try harder, even if this was my sixth school in six years and I was probably going to be kicked out again. I couldn't be able to stand that sad look she'd give me.
Mr. Brunner parked his wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. He ate celery while he read a paperback novel. A red umbrella stuck up from the back of his chair, making it look like a motorized café table.
I am about to unwrap my sandwich when Nancy Bobofit appears in front of me with her ugly friends—I guess she'd gotten tired of stealing from the tourists—and dumps her half-eaten lunch in Grover's lap.
"Oops." She grins at me with her crooked teeth. Her freckles are orange, as if somebody had spray-painted her face with liquid Cheetos.
I try to stay cool. The school counselor had told me a million times, "Count to ten, get control of your temper." But I am so mad my mind went blank. A wave roars in my ears.
I don't remember touching her, but the next thing I knew, Nancy is sitting on her butt in the fountain, screaming, "Percy pushed me!"
Mrs. Dodds materialized next to us.
Some of the kids were whispering: "Did you see—"
"—the water—"
"—like it grabbed her—"
I don't know what they were talking about. All I know is that I was in trouble again.
As soon as Mrs. Dodds is sure poor little Nancy was okay, promising to get her a new shirt at the museum gift shop, etc., etc., Mrs. Dodds turns on me. There was a triumphant fire in her eyes as if I'd done something she'd been waiting for all semester. "Now, honey—"
"I know," I grumble. "A month erasing workbooks." That wasn't the right thing to say.
"Come with me," Mrs. Dodds says.
"Wait!" Grover yelps. "It was me. I pushed her."
I stare at him, stunned. I can't believe he was trying to cover for me. Mrs. Dodds scared Grover to death.
She glares at him so hard his whiskery chin trembled.
"I don't think so, Mr. Underwood," she says.
"But—"
"You—will—stay—here."
Grover looks at me desperately.
"It's okay, man," I tell him. "Thanks for trying."
"Honey," Mrs. Dodds barks at me. "Now."
Nancy Bobofit smirks. I give her my deluxe I'll-kill-you-later stare. Then I turn to face Mrs. Dodds, but she isn't there. She is standing at the museum entrance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at me to come on.
How'd she get there so fast?
I have moments like that a lot, when my brain falls asleep or something, and the next thing I know I've missed something, as if a puzzle piece fell out of the universe and left me staring at the blank place behind it. The school counselor told me this was part of the ADHD, my brain misinterpreting things.
I wasn't so sure. I go after Mrs. Dodds.
Halfway up the steps, I glance back at Grover. He is looking pale, cutting his eyes between me and Mr. Brunner, like he wanted Mr. Brunner to notice what was going on, but Mr. Brunner is absorbed in his novel.
I look back up. Mrs. Dodds had disappeared again. She is now inside the building, at the end of the entrance hall.
Okay, I think. She's going to make me buy a new shirt for Nancy at the gift shop.
But apparently, that wasn't the plan.
I follow her deeper into the museum. When I finally catch up to her, we are back in the Greek and Roman section.
Except for us, the gallery is empty.
Mrs. Dodds stands with her arms crossed in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods. She is making this weird noise in her throat, like growling.
Even without the noise, I would've been nervous. It's weird being alone with a teacher, especially Mrs. Dodds. Something about the way she looked at the frieze as if she wanted to pulverize it...
"You've been giving us problems, honey," she says.
I do the safe thing. I reply, "Yes, ma'am."
She tugs on the cuffs of her leather jacket. "Did you really think you would get away with it?"
The look in her eyes is beyond mad. It was evil.
She's a teacher, I thought nervously. It's not like she's going to hurt me. I say, "I'll—I'll try harder, ma'am."
Thunder shakes the building.
"We are not fools, Percy Jackson," Mrs. Dodds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain."
I didn't know what she's talking about.
All I can think of was that the teachers must've found the illegal stash of candy I'd been selling out of my dorm room. Or maybe they'd realized I got my essay on Tom Sawyer from the Internet without ever reading the book and now they were going to take away my grade. Or worse, they were going to make me read the book.
"Well?" she demands.
"Ma'am, I don't..."
"Your time is up," she hisses.
Then the weirdest thing happens. Her eyes begin to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretch, turning into talons. Her jacket melts into large, leathery wings. She isn't human. She is a shriveled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and she was about to slice me to ribbons.
Then things got even stranger.
Mr. Brunner, who'd been out in front of the museum a minute before, wheels his chair into the doorway of the gallery, holding a pen in his hand.
"What ho, Percy!" he shouts and tosses the pen through the air.
Mrs. Dodds lunges at me.
With a yelp, I dodge and feel talons slash the air next to my ear. I snatch the ballpoint pen out of the air, but when it hits my hand, it isn;t a pen anymore. It is a sword—Mr. Brunner's bronze sword, which he always uses on tournament day.
Mrs. Dodds spins towards me with a murderous look in her eyes.
My knees are jelly. My hands are shaking so bad I almost drop the sword.
She snarl, "Die, honey!" And she flies straight at me.
Absolute terror runs through my body. I did the only thing that came naturally: I swing the sword.
The metal blade hits her shoulder and passes clean through her body as if she was made of water. Hisss!
Mrs. Dodds was a sandcastle in a power fan. She explodes into yellow powder, vaporizing on the spot, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech and a chill of evil in the air, as if those two glowing red eyes are still watching me.
I'm alone.
There is a ballpoint pen in my hand.
Mr. Brunner isn't there. Nobody is there but me.
My hands are still trembling. My lunch must've been contaminated with magic mushrooms or something.
Had I imagined the whole thing?
I walk back outside.
It had started to rain.
Grover is sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over his head. Nancy Bobofit is still standing there, soaked from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her ugly friends. When she sees me, she says, "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt."
I answer, "Who?"
"Our teacher. Duh!"
I blink. We don't have a teacher named Mrs. Kerr. I ask Nancy what she is talking about.
She just rolls her eyes and turns away.
I ask Grover where Mrs. Dodds was.
"Who?" he asks, but he pauses first and he wouldn't look at me, so I figure he was messing with me.
"Not funny, man," I tell him. "This is serious."
Thunder booms overhead.
I see Mr. Brunner sitting under his red umbrella, reading his book as if he'd never moved.
I go over to him.
He looks up, a little distracted. "Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Mr. Jackson."
I had Mr. Brunner his pen. I hadn't even realized I was still holding it.
"Sir," I ask, "where's Mrs. Dodds?"
He stares blankly at me, "Who?"
"The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher."
He frowns and sits forward, looking mildly concerned. "Percy, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling all right?"
Word Count: 3159 words
So yeah, this is the first chapter of this book.
Not much (Y/n) yet, but we'll get there.
Love y'all!              Kaitlynn ❤️😍
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something-fanfiction-ie · 5 years ago
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Out of the Lion’s Den
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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
Warnings: Mentions of rape (not against the reader), attempted rape and assault (against the reader) angst, cursing, insults, the usual super dramatic shit you see in the taken down of an unsub
A/N: Wowie wow wow wow, so this is kinda long. And I know I said I was gonna post it like two days ago, HOWEVER! In my defense, I started writing it and then about halfway through I accidentally closed tumblr so it deleted everything I had. So I went to bed defeated. But it’s here now, that’s the important thing, right? Remember to like, comment, reblog, send me asks, and just be your usual amazing selves and give me the attention that my parents never gave me as the oldest of eight. As always, THANK YOU FOR SUPPORTING ME AND I APPRECIATE YOU GUYS SO MUCH!!
___
[ Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four ]
December 1998
It felt good to be back home in Georgia. The wind whipped at the trees outside of the diner you and you best friend were currently catching up at. The waitress, Flora, knows you by name and sets your usual in front of you with a ruffle of your hair and a couple of southern endearments.
“Tell me everything.” Madalyn says, reaching across the table for the ketchup that was placed on your side of the booth. You swat at her hand when she makes a grab for one of your fries. Her laugh is loud and feels like home, making you smile into your drink in a way you haven’t smiled all semester.
“I’d like to preface this conversation by saying that I feel like this would be a much cooler experience if I were the same age as everyone else.” You point out, brushing your growing bangs away from your eyes with an annoyed swat. Her eyes soften with sympathy, swirling a fry into the ketchup tucked into a safe space on her plate. She doesn’t say anything though, knowing that you have more to say.
“The classes are awesome. The campus is beautiful. I learn something new all the time, which was never happening when I was going to school here,” you pause long enough to glance around the room. It’s packed with all kinds of people, from old men clustered at the counter sipping on coffees to construction workers munching on hamburgers during their break, even big families squished into booths and tables for a nice Sunday family lunch.
“But?” You shrug in response, knowing that Madalyn will be able to read you like an open book if you meet her eyes. Across the table, the amateur profiler squints her dark eyes at you with suspicion.
“Everyone just kinda avoids me. The guys are cute, but they’re all nineteen and twenty. Most of the things to do on campus, you have to be eighteen for, so I mostly just spend my time at the library or at Aunt May’s doing homework.” At this, Madalyn stops eating, raising her eyebrows with a cheeky grin.
“I bet your grades are super rad,” You resist the urge to throw a French fry in her face after what she says next. “And besides, I’m the only friend you need in your life.”
“Actually, I have made a kind of friend?” Flora is over before you can finish the drink in your cup, filling the glass with a dark, blue pitcher. When you thank her, she reaches out to pat your cheek, mumbling something about missing you while you were gone.
“Should I be jealous? Is she pretty? She may be a big sister type, but I’m your soulmate.” You laugh into your sandwich having to cover your mouth when you take a bite and the laughter doesn’t go away.
Madalyn has been your best friend for four years, although time seems to have no meaning in your relationship because nobody would doubt it if you told them you’d known her since birth. While most kids in your age group had grown up thinking you were odd, Madalyn had decided that you were just interesting. That interest had turned into a friendship that would span years and miles more than many friendships do.
While the things you both enjoyed, like Leonardo DiCaprio and Ben Affleck, certainly brought you together, it was your differences that made you click like the pieces of a puzzle. Only true friends can debate on opposite sides of an argument and then end the night eating popcorn while watching Space Jam in the living room.
“His name is Harvey.” When Madalyn’s eyebrows go up this time, it is from surprise. You’ve never been one to socialize with anyone of the opposite gender, much less become ‘kinda friends’ with them. Plus, as a young lady of very womanly curves, she’s quite aware of the way some guys cross the line on a regular basis.
“(Y/N)-” You wave your hand in the air, once again pushing at the bangs that keep falling in your face. You should have never cut them in the first place, and you never would have if you realized what a hassle they would be when you started growing them out.
“I don’t like him like that. He’s just a really nice guy, helps me with homework and walks me to a class or two. We’ve never even met up outside of school.” Her eyes are still narrowed, a stray dark wave falling from the hair comb that pins the top half of her hair away from her face.
Eventually, she changes the subject. Trusting that you are smart enough to know when things have gotten out of hand and how to take care of it.
“So why are you growing your bangs out? I thought you liked them. Didn’t you say they make you look more grown up?” You unstick your thighs from the leather booth seat, pinning her with a look that she knows all too well.
“Now that’s a crazy story.” She also makes herself comfortable in her seat, preparing herself for a story. It’s probably a good thing you’re a phenomenal story teller, or else she would have gotten tired of all the stories you tell really quickly.
“So last month a girl comes forward and reports that she was cornered by a man she didn’t know on her way from the library back to her dorm. He held her at gun point and rapes her. It got kinda big, because she was rallying a group of men and women to escort girls around campus. And, I mean, I understand the unease she must feel, and I was sympathetic, but I was kind of confused why there was so much uproar over one rape.”
Having finished your own fries, you reach across the table and steal one from your outraged best friend. Before she can grab it back, you’ve shoved it into your mouth.
“Until a second girl comes forward and says that she reported the same thing happening to her a month ago. The campus, meanwhile, is doing nothing about it. No increased security, no curfew, not even acknowledged them.”
“For two girls?”
“For five,” The pause you take is natural, scooting the bottom of your cup across the tabletop so you could sip from the straw without picking the cup up, but it reads as dramatic effect. “And that’s not even the craziest part.”
One dark eyebrow raised into her hairline, waiting for you to continue the story and also answer the question.
“Every victim was a freshman, so they’re a little on the younger side, they all had the same hair color and style, all had the same body type, all were the same height, all had the same eye color.” This time you do pause for dramatic effect, using the silence to build the tension.
“And all of them look exactly like me. Bangs and all.”
Madalyn leans forward a little, suddenly very worried about you going back next month. As she hurriedly tries to make sure you are taking the necessary precautions during a scary time like this, Flora floats around the diner, stopping to fill up the cup of a single man just behind your booth. All he has is black coffee, a textbook of some kind is splayed open across the table but he doesn’t seem to be too interested in it. Instead, he leans back in his seat, his ears listening to your every word.
“So in summary, I’m growing out my bangs because that’s obviously apart of this dude’s type.” Madalyn doesn’t protest anymore when you reach for another fry on her plate.
“Stop looking at me like that. I’m going to be fine. I’ll even color my hair if you’re so worried.” And the conversation continues, your best friend overly worried about you and your life as a fifteen year old college student, and you masking your fear for appearances sake. Harvey, however, finishes his coffee and asks for the bill.
He thought you were smarter than that. He thought you were smart enough to connect the dots and at least notice that he’d done all of it for you. That you were his everything. Apparently that was wrong. One day you’ll figure it out, of that he is certain.
For now though, you don’t even notices when he passes your table to get to the door.
Present Day
Spencer steps away from the car door, the cool wind hitting his cheeks and tousling his hair. It helps the dizziness in his head, and the nausea in his stomach, but it doesn’t help the sharp pain in his heart. His brain is swimming in all of the information, putting the pieces of the crime scene together like it was a puzzle.
“He left her in the driver’s seat after stabbing her from the backseat, walking around the front before knocking her out and carrying her to his own vehicle.” JJ looks back at the car, peering around crime scene analysts as they hurry about collecting evidence.
“She tried to leave, but her tires spun in the mud.” Rossi notes, nodding to the mud splatter along the sides of your car and the tiny graves each tire has dug into the ground for itself.
“There’s blood in the back.” Spencer finally speaks, looking away from the backseat window and back to his two partners. All eyes flick to the back seat where there is indeed two drops of blood on the floor and a smear of it on the headrest of the passenger seat.
“If he’s in any system then we’ll catch him.” Rossi said, nodding for the techs to collect what they could from the back. Spencer turns back to the car, well aware that there wasn’t anything else here for them the find that would lend them any information as to your whereabouts.
“In a system or not, I will hunt him to the ends of the earth before I let him get away with this.”
Back at the BAU, Prentiss makes calls to your mother and your best friend, Madalyn. Both answer on the first ring, and both are all the more willing to answer any questions that may assist the team in finding the man who had taken you.
“Is there anyone you remember (Y/N) mentioning that maybe stood out to you or her as creepy and stalkerish?” Your mother doesn’t recall anyone, having been focused on so many different cases during your childhood and having been so distant from you since you decided to not become a detective.
Madalyn, however, is quick to answer with a name Prentiss recalls crossing off the list of persons of interest.
“Harvey Morgenstein. They were friends in college, and although it weirded me out because he was a lot older than her at the time, he seemed harmless and I trusted (Y/N). But then he became her agent’s personal assistant all coincidentally and it just seemed too fishy to me.” Prentiss writes the name down, sliding it across the table with a pointed look at Garcia.
As quick as lightning, Harvey’s life history is pulled up between computer screens for both women to delve into.
Harvey is a short man with a wide build that, in earlier pictures, shows him to be more soft than muscly. His hair is dirty blonde but his eyes are two dark circles of coal that seem to pierce through the screen and into the souls of both Penelope and Emily.
“He’s totally not creepy looking.” Garcia remarks sarcastically, eyes sweeping across the information given to her the way Reid’s eyes might fly up and down the pages of a book or a case file.
“Tell me about it.” Emily replies, leaning into the seat designated for those on the team who so wished to give Penelope a visit while remaining off their feet.
“Harvey is a pretty normal guy for the most part. Single child of a Harvey and Lucille Morgenstein. Graduated from Georgetown in 2000 with a major in computer technology, minor in criminology.”
“The same graduating class as (Y/N).” Prentiss notes, her eyes just behind Garcia’s as articles and documents fly around the computer. Where some people talked with their hands, Garcia talked with her screens. The constant tap-tap-tapping of rings and fingers against the keyboard was like the audible churnining of cogs in her brain.
“Yeah, he spent some time as an IT guy at Georgetown before he got a job as a personal assistant. The only spot on his squeaky clean record that I can find is that he was a person of interest in a few rape cases involving some girls on campus back in the late 90’s, but he had alibis for every single one so they let him walk.” The pictures of every victim pop up across the screen in the form of a newspaper article talking about the serial rappings.
Gasps come from both their mouths as the dots connect.
“Call Reid and the others, and then call the agent. I think I may know what is going on.”
A couple of hours later and the pieces are all starting to come together.
Harvey had been the serial rapist from the 90s, attacking women who looked like you out of anger over not having you for himself, and pure obsession. After graduation, he tried to move on by distancing himself from you, but when his mother was diagnosed with cancer he fell back into his old stalkerish ways.
He followed your every move through your agent, who was the only person you spoke to the most outside of your mom and Madalyn.
After a little digging into unsolved rape cases in the area, it was obvious from the victimology and an oddly specific M.O. where he bit each of his victims on the neck, that he had also fallen back into his perverted rapist ways.
Harvey might have been content to stay like that, an obvious self esteem issue keeping him from ever approaching you directly for a date, until a month ago. Not even two days after the death of his sick mother, you and Spencer went on your first date outside of the bookstore. A double trigger.
In a sick and twisted display of love, Harvey started killing people the way you’d written deaths in your books. But with every death you continued to ignore him and see Spencer.
“Eventually it all became too much for him to handle and he snapped, kidnapping (Y/N) and calling to taunt Reid over his victory.” Hotch passed a hand over his face. The sirens blared loudly as they raced for Harvey’s house just outside of Quantico.
“This guy has been stalking her for a ridiculous amount of time.” Morgan commented with a shudder, sympathy and guilt from the earlier interrogation eating at him as the black SUV careens around a corner.
When they bust through his door, clearing each room and finding a creepy amount of pictures and papers about you, they realize that he has taken you somewhere else. And who do you call when you’re at a dead end and you need information?
“You’ve reached Penelope Garcia in the FBI’s Office of Supreme Genius.”
___
Breaking a chair that is nailed to the floor is a lot harder than it sounds, and it already sounds kinda hard.
There was a lot of kicking and hitting and some bruises were definitely starting to form, but the amount of blood coming from your leg was scary. The chances that the knife had nicked your femoral artery were relatively slim, especially given how long you’ve been bleeding, but you couldn’t help but waver on the side of caution.
After several failed attempts of throwing your body into the wood and kicking and hitting and pulling and crying and then repeating the cycle, you managed to pop a leg off. While the base of the leg stayed nailed to the floor, you spent the rest of your time trying to tear the chair from the rest of the legs, when you did you threw the top half against the concrete wall.
Taking two spindles from the back, you quickly scurry back to the mattress and wait for him to return. It’s only a matter of time before he decides to come back down here to taunt you or try something.
In your short time in what Harvey has so lovingly deemed ‘your room,’ you have come to a couple conclusions in an attempt to distract yourself from the excruciating pain in your thigh.
One being that this is not Harvey’s home. Of that you’re one hundred percent certain. Upstairs, you can hear the sound of two sets of feet thudding around. You can only assume this is his childhood home. You remember that his mother had died about a month ago, causing him to resign from his position as your agent’s personal assistant. She had mentioned to you that he planned to help his father as much as he could before he too passed away.
The second being that you were probably going to loose your leg. Any move this way or that sends a thousand knives through every nerve in your body. Your throat is scratchy and sore from how long you’ve been yelling, both in trying to get someone’s attention and in pain.
The light coming from the small window next to the ceiling hasn’t even begun to wane with the falling sun when the door opens again. The chain around your uninjured leg clatters when you pull your knee up to your chest. You don’t even attempt to move the other leg.
Harvey appears in the opening, a tray of food balances in his hands as he shuts the door behind him.
“Find some weapons?” He asks casually, setting the tray beside the lamp as he sinks to his knees on the mattress. Your knuckles are white around each spindle, the inside of your mouth is sensitive to the touch from how much nervous chewing you’ve been doing.
“Get away from me, or I’ll kill you.” You seethe, fighting through the swimming in your head that hasn’t gone away since you woke up here. He gives you a look like you’re a misbehaving child, but it’s soon replaced with anger when you slap him across the face with one of your weapons.
You were hoping the attack would break skin, but all it does is turns the skin over his cheekbone dark red.
Faster than you can blink, he pins both your wrists with one of his hands above your head on the mattress, using the other hand to deftly pluck each spindle from your grip.
“I’ve done so much for you. I’ve given you a room, and a career, and so much more, and yet you attack me.” The wooden spindles hit the wall next to the door, his body lowers to yours in a way you know means more trouble.
“You’re a creep and a perv and I don’t want you to touch me! You’ve done nothing for me. Only for yourself.” In a way that would make any young boy proud to know you, you collect all the spit and bile in your mouth before shooting it into his face. Part of it hits him in the eye, causing him to roar in outrage.
He lets you go, giving you a brief moment of relief, but he only wipes away the loogey before rocking his hand back hard enough to crack against the side of your face. In your moment of disorientation, he flips you to your stomach and undoes the cuff from around your leg. The chain rings against the ground when he tosses it to the side.
His knee went to your back, his hands went to your waist, and the moment you manage to come back to yourself, your fingers clawed at whatever flesh you could find near you. You screamed and flailed as much as you could, the shooting pain of your leg barely noticeable when your body was in panic mode.
All you can think as that this is the kind of thing you read about. People don’t actually get kidnapped and rapped by people they knew in college. But you know that isn’t true either. You are the daughter of a detective, things like this were apart of your everyday life growing up. Just never as personal as you or a friend being the victim. For some reason that makes you fight harder, a sickly feelings creeping into your throat when you felt his fingers brush under the hem of your underwear.
Then a sound pulled you from your hysteria, the door fell to the ground and a swarm of FBI Agents descended upon the concrete basement you still refused to call ‘your room.’ Spencer was the last of them to enter, but the unadulterated fury in his eyes was enough to tell you that was not a decision on his part.
To you, and maybe even everyone else in the room who managed to look at him for longer than a millisecond, he looked like an avenging angel. Every chocolate caramel curl perfectly framed his face, which looked like it was carved out of stone. His jaw was so tense you could slice your finger if your ran it along the edge. The revolver in his hands was unwavering, only growing in steadiness when he caught compromising position you were in.
The sob that came out of your throat was one of relief. Harvey lifted you from the mattress, reaching into his pocket to pull out that damned pocket knife. He held you so close to his chest that it made your skin crawl.
“Harvey Morgensten, drop the weapon.” Morgan’s voice boomed around the room. Harvey held you with one arm tensed around the front of your shoulders and the other holding a knife to your neck.
“She’s mine! You weren’t supposed to be able to find us!” He screamed, you winced away from the shrilling pitch that scraped against the inside of your ear. It caused him to push the knife into the skin over your exposed collarbone, blood beading around the the metal tip. Your heart was hammering beneath your ribs, your hands flexing at your sides, your mind racing for a way to get out of this situation.
Spencer’s lip went up in a snarl, you half expected him to let a growl tear through his chest as if he was a lion standing against an enemy. The hairs on the back of your neck stood to attention when he took a hesitant step forward, his eyes softening for just a fraction of a second when he looks down at you.
In that fraction of a second all of his defenses fall and you can see all the grief and panic in the bags under his eyes and the raw skin of his bottom lip.
“She was never yours, Harvey.” Spencer says, wincing when Harvey responds by yanking you even closer than before. His breath is hot on your neck, his lips so close that they brush against the skin on the back of your shoulder when he speaks.
“She was never yours, Dr. Reid. She is mine, she always will be.” You cry out in surprise, your fingers coming up to scratch at the arm around your shoulders when a pair of teeth sink into the crook of your neck as if you were the victim of a vampire or something equally supernatural and territorial.
The action has the desired effect on every agent watching, especially Reid, who stumbles forward before Hotch grabs him by the back of his arm. They don’t have a shot, not without hurting you. That much you can tell just from the look they share. It doesn’t take a genius to look around and see that the end of every gun in the room is pierced right through you.
It makes you angry. You grind the back of your teeth together when a dark chuckles echoes from behind you. In your mind’s eye, you see it all happening the way you see a scene from a book playing before you like a movie.
Reaching up with one hand, you grab the onto the arm holding the knife. With the pad of your thumb, you shove every bit of strength you have into the soft skin at the inside of his wrist. At the same time, you pull your head forward before sending it reeling back onto his already broken nose. This time, you can feel the crunch of bones as your skull makes contact with his face.
Simultaneously, he drops the knife to the floor with a cry and drops his arms to reach for his gushing nose. Adrenaline pumping through your veins, you manage the couple of steps forward into Spencer’s arms. In a quick and graceful display of surprising strength, he carries you back into his embrace and spins around to shield you from the monster staggering back toward you.
Prentiss is quick to catch him in his blind pursuit for you, twisting both of his arms back without an ounce of sympathy for his pain. The jingle of handcuffs precede the finality of each click around his wrists.
“Everything I did, I did for you! I made your book come to life, I ruined the reputation of those girls, I did it all for you.” Harvey struggles against the restraints, twisting his body any way that he can to get a glimpse of you curled into Spencer’s chest.
You brain is caught between reality and a distant world, everything around you feels like make believe. Only the feeling of Spencer’s sweater curled into your fingers and his hand on the back of your head feels real. Harvey’s voice is like a recording being played three blocks away, still loud enough to hear but not close enough to focus on. He’s hissing threats and insults at Spencer’s back, that psycho-something in him finally snapping under the circumstances.
Somebody is yelling for a medic and there, just underneath it all, is the sound of someone wailing in such a way that words could never accurately describe the intense pain and grief being carried on every screaming sob. As the events from the last twelve hours come rushing back to you, reality takes the reins of your mind.
It’s you that’s crying like that. That desperate, broken sound is coming from your heaving chest. When your leg finally gives out from under you, the pain too much for your body to bare, he was already there holding you.
The screams fade into small shattered sobs just in time for medics to descend the stairs. Their hands are voices are everywhere, medical jargon flying over your head as they pry your hands from Spencer’s sweater. You pull back from every touch, the thoughts in your brain flying too fast for you to keep up.
It takes them a while to get you to the ambulance, but when they do you start to panic.
“Spencer?!” You cry out, unable to move your head too much due to the neck brace and head strap holding you down. It takes only a second for him to come into view, his eyes glassy and his smile watery. His hand slips into yours before they raise you up to the ambulance, your hand is icy to the touch.
The paramedics had mentioned a possible concussion, excessive blood loss, and signs of acute compartment syndrome. The fact that you had remained conscious and walking this long was a testament to your strong will and fighting spirit.
“Don’t leave me.” You whispered, the black around the edges of your vision creeping in despite how hard you fought it. Spencer almost winced from how hard you tightened the grip on his fingers. His mouth moved, but you never heard the response, your mind fading quickly with every second.
“Don’t leave.”
The sound of a heart monitor steadily beeping was what woke you up. Groaning from all the aches and pains that surged up with consciousness, your eyes fluttered open before squinting into the bright hospital lights.
Your mother was the first thing that popped into your field of vision. The last time she had looked at you with such worry, you’d been in the ER after flipping your car into a ditch. In your defense, it was dark and, as a young driver, you over corrected when you hit a patch of standing water.
“Mama?” You pushed up on the bed, the pillow behind your head falling to the space between your lower back and the mattress. Your mom was quick to pick it up and fluff it back behind your head. She must really be concerned. Had they found cancer while you were out or something?
“Oh my goodness, (Y/N), you had me so worried.” Gingerly, you pressed the heel of your hand to the bandage that stuck to your hair and the corner of your head. Brushing the butterfly stitches that went across the cut on your cheek, you barely had time to react before she pulled you into a breath-stealing hug.
The wound on your neck smarted with the movement and you hissed in pain. Your mom pulled back, squishing your cheeks between her hands as tears began to collect on her lower lash line. Your mother was not the type to cry, about really anything, as far as you knew of. So to see her tearing up like this only added to the confusion and shock you were already feeling.
“Never join law enforcement. I thought I wanted you to, but I can’t deal with this kidnapping and near-death nonsense. I’m getting too old for it.” She teased tenderly, releasing your face from the death grip of love to wipe away the tears before they fell down her cheeks.
“When did you get here?” You asked, taking note of all the wires and tubes that connected to your body via IVs and sticky pads. A glance down at your leg eased the fear that you might have sustained a leg wound that would take your leg from you. You didn’t move it for fear of the pain you could already feel throbbing to the beat of your heart.
The bed dipped under your mother’s weight as she sat beside you, gathering one of your hands into both of hers. Scars littered the knuckles that had wiped away your tears and taught you to throw punches.
“I only got here about an hour ago, but you’ve had round the clock protection from the FBI so no need to get panicky. I can see that look creeping into your eyes.” Her own eyes squint a little, those highly observant detective skills kicking in. She’s always been able to read you like an open book, making you wonder if she would have been good at profiling.
Of course she would have, your mother was good at everything she set her mind to.
“FBI?” You’re full of so many questions, but they all fall away when you mom shifts out of your line of sight to reveal the sleeping agent tucked away into the corner of the room.
Spencer is curled onto a hospital chair that is placed into a corner beside the window looking out over the parking lot. His back is leaned against the wall, one shoulder leaned against the back of the chair. One long leg is curled into the seat and the other is stretched out next to the chair. From across the room, you can see the shadows his eyelashes cast across his cheekbones in slumber. Oddly enough, your first thought is of Sleeping Beauty.
The sight is enough to make your heart feel like it’s squeezing around a ball of broken glass. Before your mother can read too much into the mixture of emotions that, surely, skew your features, you look away.
“He’s been here since they brought you in. I met his team, they’re a fine group of agents. You didn’t tell me you were friends with anyone in the FBI.” Before she can say anything else, you clear your throat. Putting one hand, a little dramatically, to your chest you give your mother a look you haven’t used since you were a kid trying to stay home from school.
“Mama, I’m a little hungry. Can you get me something to eat?” It works like a charm. You’ve never seen your mother jump so quickly before, she races out the door like a woman on a mission. It warms your aching heart.
“Maybe you should have tried acting.” Spencer’s voice is groggy with sleep as he sits up and stretches into awareness.
“How long have you been awake?” He meets your gaze, his expression soft and earth-shaking. When you imagined seeing Spencer wake up first thing in the morning, it was never in a hospital room while feelings of betrayal and confusion stabbed into your chest.
“Just long enough to hear your mom talk about my team. She’s a nice lady.” He doesn’t move from the chair, sensing the tension in the room the way only a profiler can. He’s afraid that if he gets up, you’ll make him leave. He doesn’t need to know that he’s right.
“How long have I been out?” You’re asking every question except the one you’ve been dying to ask.
“A day. You had a pretty bad concussion and acute compartment syndrome in your leg. They weren’t sure you were going to be able to retain control of the muscle given how long you were kept hostage with it untreated, but I know you’re too stubborn to let that happen.” The silence that follows is stifling, your eyes interlocked in a battle of wills.
Was this the same man that had accused you of being a serial killer?
You’re the first to look away, fidgeting with a fray string from the blanket thrown over your legs.
“I think we need some time apart.”
“I’m so incredibly sorry.” You both speak at the same time, but your words drain the blood from Spencer’s face when they finally register. He had hoped that, by some miracle, you would forgive him of the unforgivable sin he had committed against you in the name of justice. He understood why you didn’t.
“I just,” The threads of the blanket you recognize from your childhood bedroom bump underneath your fingers when you smooth your hand over it, “I want to forgive you. But all I keep thinking is that none of this would have happened to me if you had used all those brains in your head instead of all the insecurities in you heart.”
It’s like a slap across the face, and yet Spencer can’t help but feel like he deserves it. Even still, none of it hurts as much as the crack in your voice and the tears that you try so desperately to blink away before he can see them.
It isn’t often that Spencer Reid is rendered speechless, but the guilt and heartache have stolen all the words of every language and all the breath from the air right out of his mouth.
“It’s still so fresh in my mind, I think if we distance ourselves then we’ll be able to come back to something rather than trying to scramble to bridge together the chasm that has formed between us.”
He wants to argue, everything in him screams that he needs to fight for you, but the look in your eyes stops him. If you need space, then space is what he will give you. Spencer would do anything to make this right. He wishes he had the intelligence and technology to build a time machine and go back to two mornings ago.
“I understand,” he says solemnly, trying to talk around the hurt in his chest that is growing like a tumor. “But I promised I wouldn’t leave you. I’ll give you space, but I’m only giving you the space of the wall between this room and the hallway.”
And then he’s gone, staying true to his word and sinking to the floor outside your room. When you mother comes back, holding a collection of jellos and cookies and granola bars from the hospital cafeteria, her steps falter at the sight of the young doctor outside your door.
Inside you’re curled into yourself, taking very deliberate breaths into the cotton stuffed pillow you have buried into your chest. You half expect your heart monitor to be screaming for the nurses, but despite a small quickening in the constant beeps, it gives away none of your heartbreak.
“(Y/N)?” You look up, meeting your mothers eyes with tear stained cheeks. Your head is going to be throbbing later, but for now you’re only focused on the sharp pains shooting through your ribs and clouding every other pain in your body.
Between one gasp of air and the next, your mother drops all the foods to the chair vacated by Spencer before rushing to pull you into her arms.
“Can you die from a broken heart?” You whimper, feeling like a small child as you bury your head into her chest. She smells like home, running her hand over the back of your head with gentle shushing sounds.
Outside, Spencer wipes at his own tears, a silent statue of sadness protecting you from everything but himself.
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harderbetterfasterstarker · 5 years ago
Text
as though nothing could fall
hey so y’all know how i wrote a fic and was like, nah i’ll probably never get around to writing these random other fluffy interludes...? guess who had a bad day and wrote a fluffy interlude??? spoiler alert it’s me. you can also read it on ao3 here. if you haven’t read as if even now first, you should. 
“I guess I’m glad we’re on the same page, but I just—no matter how I think about it, I’m not ready yet for the world to know that Peter Parker is Spider-Man. And if it comes out that Peter Parker is dating Tony Stark, the world is definitely going to start looking into everything about me. I mean, and that’s fair, because how on earth is a kid from Queens going to get to date Iron-Man?”
Tony had gone to kiss to the top of Peter’s head, but barely a second later Peter was shooting up to a sitting position. “Tony, I have either the best idea in the world or the worst.”
Tony swallows, his mouth suddenly dry and his fingers desperate for a machine to tear into to stop the racing in his mind.
It’s not that the assembled reporters have made him nervous—he’s decades past being bothered by reporters—or that the fight with the Doombots was particularly difficult—he and Peter had it handled before Rhodey could even get suited up and out to the city, leading to a complaint about having to turn around halfway through his trip.
This was Peter’s idea, he tells himself, pasting a press-ready grin on his face as the reporters swarm closer, barking out first questions about the Doombots, which he handles calmly (if flippantly) before they get to the real meat of what they’d like to talk about.
He and Peter and Pepper had sat down and talked it out, calmly, rationally, like adults—a new experience for Tony. Agent May had been hanging around the kitchen with Sam Wilson, both of them pretending like they weren’t there to play mediator if things went poorly, but, amazingly, they hadn’t. They’d discussed living arrangements—Georgia for Pepper, New York for Tony and Peter—and Morgan—weeks in Georgia with Pepper, weekends with Tony and Peter, at least until summer, when they could alternate more freely—and then the big question. It was the inverse of colloquially popping the big one, and Tony couldn’t think of anything more ironic than the fact that deciding to ask Pepper to marry him had been an impulse decision brought on by nothing more than the fact that he had a press conference arranged and Peter had turned him down, and the question of their divorce was talked over and through and under and upside down until Tony knew every facet of every argument. Pepper made it clear she’d do whatever the group thought was best, but, Pep, always a smart PR girl, pointed out that keeping up the charade of a marriage gave Tony (and by extension Peter) cover, time to figure themselves out without the creeping inquiries of the press. Peter had said he understood, but Tony had been able to see something go dull in the kid’s eyes at that. He’d felt the same lurking coldness in his gut. It made sense, but something about it didn’t feel right. He wanted to give Peter everything he was capable of giving, no strings, no illusions, no facades.
So he’d said divorce, and now the papers were filed and the split, being amicable, was final, and here’s Tony, standing on the corner of the street three blocks from Madison Square Garden, kicking a Doombot and hoping Peter’s certain. Because as soon as the divorce was announced, the press had been a nightmare, all speculation over what Tony must have done for Pepper to leave, practically salivating over the expected return of his salacious playboy days, already rumoring which barely legal model or heiress they’d see on his arm next, and Tony could see the way it affected Peter. No matter how much time Tony spent showering him with affection, breakfast in bed and gifts and lazy weekends where they just got to touch, for as long as they needed, it hurt Peter to go get coffee with his friends and see The Daily Bugle’s headlines screaming about Tony’s impending bachelorhood. He’d admitted as much to Tony, finally, late one night when they were both on the couch in the lab, when heated kisses had, instead of escalating, devolved into soft, exploratory ones, lazy and loving, no pressure of a next step, just enjoyment of each other, of finally having each other.
“It’s not that I don’t—I know that you love me, Tony, and I know it’s all stupid press stuff, but—I just want people to know, you know? That you’re mine. I know it’s possessive, and silly, and immature—”
Tony had shushed Peter with a kiss. “None of the above, kid. Maybe a tad possessive, but I don’t have any room to talk on that one.”
Peter had just sighed, collapsing to rest his head on Tony’s chest at that. “I guess I’m glad we’re on the same page, but I just—no matter how I think about it, I’m not ready yet for the world to know that Peter Parker is Spider-Man. And if it comes out that Peter Parker is dating Tony Stark, the world is definitely going to start looking into everything about me. I mean, and that’s fair, because how on earth is a kid from Queens going to get to date Iron-Man?”
Tony had gone to kiss to the top of Peter’s head, but barely a second later Peter was shooting up to a sitting position. “Tony, I have either the best idea in the world or the worst.”
Tony’s reminiscing is cut short as he finally gets the question he’s been waiting for.
“So, Mr. Stark, now that your divorce is final, how do you feel about going back to being America’s most eligible bachelor? Any plans for your new bachelorhood?” The question comes from a put-together looking man, only Tony’s trained eye noticing the just slightly too much hair product, slightly too ostentatious suit that the man wears like he’s uncomfortable in it but wants everyone around him to think is his standard. Tony hears FRIDAY’s input in his earpiece—Matthew Clark, fresh out of UPenn, reporter at one of those men’s magazines that print paleo recipes next to cheap pick up artist techniques and one good music review and call it journalism.
Tony grins—perfect.
“Well, Mr. Clark, that’s a great question. You know, speaking of bachelorhood…” He pauses, watching as the assembled reporters crowd in closer, waiting for Tony to continue.
He keeps pausing.
Clears his throat. “Speaking of bachelorhood,” he says again, slightly louder, and a few seconds later there’s a loud clang as a webbed-up Doombot drops to the asphalt next to him, followed by a panting Peter, in full Iron Spider suit.
“Sorry, sorry, we missed one!” Peter says, standing up and nudging the Doombot behind him with one foot, cringing at the way the reporters are scrambling over each other to scoot back. “Uh, hi, I’m—uh—I’m Spider-Man.”
Tony almost wishes he still had the helmet up, if only because he knows that the rapid-fire clicks of the cameras are certainly catching the dopey-eyed look of affection on his face—he’s seen it in pictures before, ones Pep and Rhodey have taken and showed him, knows to associate with the warm, sparkly sensation, better than the best champagne, in his gut that only Peter seems to be able to bring out in him.
He doesn’t realize he’s hesitating until he glances over and sees Peter give him a nod—small, subtle, but undeniable—and then he’s turning back to the crowd.
“You guys probably already know this guy—Spider-Man. You know, or, if you don’t, you should know, that he’s been around for a while, keeping this city safe. You might even know that he took a… leave of absence,” Tony’s voice goes thin, only finding strength when he glances to the side to see Peter giving him a thumbs up behind his back, “during the Blip.”
“What you guys don’t know is that Spider-Man was in space with me, fighting to save the universe, before the Blip. What you don’t know is that he was in the fight afterward, too, saving the world again. What you don’t know is that Spider-Man saved my life, during that fight. You don’t know that I wouldn’t be here today without him. You don’t know that, despite the fact that I’ve been doing this hero thing for a few years longer than him, he’s the one who taught me what being a hero really means. You don’t know that, for a lot of people, when they think of a hero they think of Iron Man, but when I think of a hero, a real hero, I can only picture him.”
Tony’s fighting not to get choked up, so he doesn’t register that Peter’s moved closer, is reaching out for him, until he’s turning to take Peter’s hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world, because it is, and the whispers of the reporters are escalating, into a clamorous rustling that seems to fade away as he pulls Peter closer, reaches down to pull the cowl up just enough to show the bottom of Peter’s face, lips he’d know anywhere, over years and across galaxies.
“So, yeah, speaking of bachelorhood—fuck bachelorhood,” he says, and then pulls Peter against him, kissing him slow and soft and trying to pour every ounce of love and pride into it. He can hear the journalists gasping, sound level beginning to rise as they try to push closer, yell out questions, but he’s lost in Peter, and he can feel the kid against him, pushing closer, so—well, he’d planned to at least answer a couple of follow-up questions, and Pep will be mad, but he pulls away just long enough to say, “Gotta jet,” to the gaping crowd, and then take off with Peter in his arms.
<center>*</center>
It’s only 10am the next morning, and Tony already wants a drink. He’d tried to stay away, but found it impossible—impulse control has never been his strong suit—so he’s got a screen up in the living room, watching the talking heads screaming, all of them about them, so, by extension, about Peter.
“Our next guest is here to discuss the ethics of superheroes dating—” “Spider-Man hasn’t even signed the Sokovia Accords, and yet—” “—don’t even know who he is, and we’re expected to—” “—mean, how do we know they wouldn’t risk civilian lives to save each other? Why should we—” “—against God’s wishes, alien invasions are a punishment for our sins—” “—Stark Industries stock dropping sharply after Tony Stark’s surprise announcement—” “—discuss what this split means for the Stark-Potts partnership that has served Stark Industries for years—” “—Stark senile? How do we know what injuries he sustained during the battles?—” “—listen, Meredith, I just think if you have a kid, you can’t be selfish like that—”
The noise stops, and Tony looks behind him to see Peter standing there, remote in hand, arms crossed and frowning.
“That stuff’ll rot your brain, Tony.”
Tony huffs a little laugh, but the amusement fades quickly as his brain goes back to replaying all of the things he’d heard.
“I just—did we do the right thing? I never wanted any of that for you.”
Peter sighs, and comes around the couch to sit next to Tony, leaning his head on Tony’s shoulder and pulling out his phone.
“Tony—it was my call. I knew what I was getting into. And besides, it’s not my fault you’re only watching the old man media.”
Tony opens his mouth to retort, but then Peter’s got Tumblr open, scrolling through and showing him—photos of the two of them, at the press conference and before, even from the ferry fiasco years ago, filled with ecstatic comments and hearts, a long post from someone who said they’d never come out to their parents because they thought their dad would think being gay meant being weak and effeminate until Iron Man showed you could love other men and be strong, other posts from all over the world, about seeing and feeling seen, about being inspired by their story, and Tony doesn’t even realize he’s taken the phone from Peter until he notices it’s shaking a little bit in his hands.
Peter plants a soft kiss on his cheek. “C’mon, there’s one more thing I think you should see.”
He pulls Tony off the couch, shrugs on an oversized hoodie and a baseball cap and throws the same to Tony. Tony follows, because it’s Peter, and because he loves him, until they’re around the corner from the tower, looking at the side of a building, with tourists crowded around taking pictures on the sidewalk across the street from it. Tony knows the place, knows that it used to be the site of one of the murals of Iron Man that had sprung up after the battle upstate against Thanos, when it got out what Tony had done, had nearly sacrificed, to save them all.
Now, Iron Man is still on the mural, but Spider-Man is there too, and instead of Tony looking out at the world, he’s looking at Spider-Man as if he’s his whole world. Somehow the artist has managed to capture that exact starry-eyed look Tony knows he always gets around Peter, has managed to capture the devotion and strength in the way that Peter rests his hand on the back of Tony’s neck, the curve of his gentle smile with half the cowl pulled up. And the words of thanks that used to be there are are gone. Instead, there are tags of all different colors and styles underneath it—“love is love”, “New York’s finest”, “from Stonewall to Stark Tower”—and, right at the top, in big, block letters—“we could be heroes”.
He squeezes Peter’s hand tightly, turns to him, and finds Peter already there, ballcap turned around and leaning up to meet him in a kiss, soft and hopeful and new, like spring in the tired old winter of Tony’s heart, against the backdrop of the mural.
That’s the picture that makes the front page of the Saturday New York Times.
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ahtohallan-calling · 5 years ago
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chapter 2 of don’t read the last page is here!
[kristanna / m / multichap / modern au with actress!anna and vetstudent!kristoff]
3
Anna sat back far sooner than she wanted to; she could have gone on kissing him like this for hours, but that was a capital B capital I Bad Idea. And so she pulled regretfully away with the dainty little laugh she'd perfected in undergrad, not in acting classes but backstage when the guys playing opposite her sometimes got the wrong idea.
"But it feels so real when I'm up there with you," they'd plead, and she'd do the little laugh and say "God, I should hope so, considering how expensive tuition is here. Good to hear my investment is paying off.”
Kristoff didn't seem as thrown off by the laugh as the others had been; he just leaned back a little and raised his eyebrows. She'd forgotten how he had a funny way of looking at a person that made you want to just open right up and spill it all out.
But she wasn't quite sure what she wanted to spill right now, and so she went the opposite direction, closing off even further. "Well, now that we've gotten that out of the way, we can stop wondering about the past and focus on the here and now. Specifically, whether you want that last spring roll or not."
There was a wounded look in the depths of his dark eyes. Good; better now than later. He gave her a familiar crooked smile anyway. "You already ate the other two."
"So you're saying you want it?"
"I'm saying I always liked egg rolls better, but I knew these used to be your favorite, so that's why I got them."
For a moment she wavered, caught between what she wanted and what she knew she should do, but his eyes stayed steady on hers all the same, still that faint hurt hiding in them. It would be awfully easy to fall in love with those eyes.
She moved away, scooting to sit beside him again where he leaned up against the couch. “So,” she said, reaching for the last spring roll and taking a messy bite, “still up to help me run lines?”
Kristoff nodded. “‘Course. Can’t say I’ll be up to par, though, I haven’t acted since our American Lit days.”
“Oh my god, I forgot you were John Proctor! ‘You’re tearing down heaven and raising up a whore’-- and everyone freaked out because they thought Mr. Martin would be pissed you didn’t leave out the cuss word but he was just like…”
She waved her hands emphatically, trying to come up with the right word. “Like...you know. You remember. He thought it was awesome, is what I mean.”
“Honestly, I don’t. I was so embarrassed I was just trying not to pass out.”
She remembered that, the way he’d turned scarlet all the way to the tips of his ears, and she wanted to kiss him again, at least on the cheek to see if she could make him blush like that again, but instead she popped the rest of the spring roll into her mouth and wiped her hands on her jeans and said around a mouthful of cabbage, “Okay, let me get this script.”
Her bag was kicked halfway under the table; she yanked it out, sending loose papers and pens rolling everywhere. “Ah-- shit, sorry.”
He scooped up the pens and handed them to her in a neat bundle while she shuffled through the papers. “God, you’d think they’d do me a favor one of these days and staple these things...anyway, okay, here’s the right order.”
Anna patted the edges neatly into place and presented the script to him. “Don’t let me peek at it, even if I beg. Oh-- and don’t tell anyone about it, either, because I don’t remember or not if I had to sign an NDA or not this time around, and I’d rather not risk it.”
He took the stack of papers with a raised eyebrow. “Okay. So who am I playing?”
“I’m a princess of some country they made up in Europe, and you’re the American journalist trying to kickstart his career assigned to cover me at the start of my...debutante something or other. Basically, I’m supposed to get married off to a prince or something, but then you come along and run into me by mistake outside the palace, and you’re super funny and down-to-earth and it’s this forbidden romance and blah blah blah, at the end I pick you but because for some reason it’s a Christmas movie I still keep the crown, too, and then you kiss me under the mistletoe and voila, roll credits. Oh, and you’re supposed to be from Georgia, so try and do that accent if you can.”
He screwed up his face, trying to-- well, honestly she didn’t know what he was doing. “Y’all--”
“Oh, god, please stop,” she said, putting a hand over his mouth with a dramatic shudder. His breath was warm against her palm as he chuckled. He was making it really hard to do the right thing, which was especially disconcerting considering he wasn’t even trying. 
She fought the urge to stroke her thumb gently against his jaw and instead pulled her hand away. “Just read it like your normal self.”
“Do you want me to try and like...act?”
“Um...if you want to, yeah. Mainly I’m worried about memorizing this. But that’d probably help, so...go for it. Unless it’s weird, in which case--”
“You don’t look like you’re from around here,” he said, and it took her a beat to realize he was reading.
She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders, slipping into the posh British accent they always wanted you to do for these parts even when the movie was set somewhere vaguely north of Switzerland. “Neither do you.”
“What gave it away? The accent or the cowboy boots?”
Kristoff glanced up from the script, looking vaguely nauseated. “Are people really going to watch this?”
“Tragically, yes, because it’s another Netflix thing, and it’ll get all hyped up whether it really deserves it or not.”
“Jesus,” he muttered. “This is why I stick to my DVD player.”
“You do not.”
He just raised an eyebrow, and she gasped. “Kristoff Bjorgman. You are not seriously telling me that in two thousand nineteen you still don’t have a Netflix subscription.”
“I think my roommate does.”
“Well, that basically counts as yours, then.”
“Why?”
“Well, you know, all the password-sharing and--”
She trailed off. By the look in his eyes, he actually didn’t know. “Well-- never mind. Say your line again so I can do mine.”
“What gave it away? The accent or the cowboy boots?”
“Neither.”
“Then what was it?”
She held the silence for a beat, staring deeply into his eyes, practicing her best you-mean-you-really-don’t-recognize-me face? He returned the gaze with an astonishingly good what-is-this-girl-up-to-and-why-am-I-already-into-her face, and either he’d gotten much better at acting in the last few years, or she really shouldn’t have kissed him even that one time, because there was no way that for either of them it would mean--
“Nothing,” she breathed, the line suddenly jolting its way out of her mouth. “I’m just good at reading people.”
They went back and forth through the script, and to her surprise, he didn’t give in even once when she begged him to let her peek at the lines, even when she tried to bribe him with the last dumpling. “No, Anna, you know this,” he’d said calmly, and then suddenly she had, and they’d gone right along. 
The dialogue was still edging dangerously close to falling straight off a cliff into too-cringy-for-Hallmark territory, but somehow when she was reading it with him, it seemed almost-- almost-- plausible.
Except for that bit about the cowboy boots. That was unforgivable. 
She took a sip of Pepsi and flopped back against the sofa, glad she didn’t have to keep looking at him anymore. Not that there was a problem with the view; it was a nice one, if she was being honest, maybe even a very nice one, but that little bit of sadness still hadn’t melted entirely away, and she knew she wouldn’t forgive herself for putting it there for a long time. 
It’s for the best, she reminded herself fiercely. You know you’re a mess. Don’t need to drag him into it just for old times’ sake. 
Beside her, Kristoff let out a yawn. “Oh, shit, sorry--” she said, suddenly scrambling upright, “didn’t mean to keep you up late or--”
“No, no, you’re good, it‘s only eight. I just was working a double today, got up earlier than normal.”
She bit her lip. He hadn’t made mention of that when he’d volunteered to let her come over and read lines. “I-- well. Thanks, Kristoff, so much. For your help and for letting me hang out here for a while. Let me help you clean up and then I’ll head out.”
She hopped to her feet, already collecting discarded chopsticks and napkins, trying to ignore the frown on Kristoff’s face. “Seriously, Kris, you’re a lifesaver. The audition is tomorrow, and I did my best to prepare but honestly, I just had to do a stupid radio interview about the tampon commercial so I could get an easy paycheck because I owe my sister way too much money right now so that’s what I was worried about yesterday and then before that, I was looking at other auditions online too because I feel like my agent just has to be hiding some from me but then hey it was today and the audition’s tomorrow and so I was screwed if I didn’t get help and--”
“Anna.”
She froze.
He got to his feet slowly; she let her eyes trail up his broad frame, taking in every inch of him. Had he hit another growth spurt in college? 
He held out his hand, and for an absurd moment she thought he meant for her to take it, but then he plucked some of the garbage out of her grasp and led her towards the kitchen, pressing the garbage can open with his foot. “I know it’s been a while,” he said, his voice soft but somehow insistent, “but we’re still friends. I’m happy to help you however I can.”
Anna swallowed hard and forced herself to look away at the decidedly less attractive sight of a half-eaten fortune cookie tumbling into the garbage. “Well-- thanks.”
He nodded, and now that her hands were empty it was so tempting to just grab him by the collar and pull him down into another kiss, reality be damned. So she was a complete mess and he had his life together and she was terrible at relationships and he was probably, like, amazing-- what could it hurt, one more kiss?
But she’d only just run into him again, and she shouldn’t have lost contact with him in the first place, and she really didn’t want to lose him again. You only get so many friends willing to share their apple slices with you every day even though apples are their favorite and you take more than your fair share of the peanut butter, she thought morosely. Can’t just waste someone like that.
She brushed past him and swept the script into her bag, tugging it back on over her shoulders and turning to him with a practiced smile. He hadn’t moved; just let his gaze follow her. “Well, guess I’d better be getting home, then.”
“Need a ride?”
Shit-- she’d forgotten he’d driven her over here right after he’d gotten off work, and the metro line she needed had no stops near here, so it’d be at least an hour getting home, and she didn’t really have money for a taxi but if she got in a car with him again, there would definitely be more kissing, and she just really, really couldn’t do that to him.
“I’m good, thanks! I’ll just get an Uber or something.”
He nodded. “Night, then. Good catching up with you.”
“You, too. Thanks again.”
Her heart was pounding as she slipped out the door. She found herself waiting for some idiotic reason to hear the deadbolt click shut and his footsteps walk away until they faded into silence. God, this was pathetic, even for her. She’d always been awful about jumping into things head first, especially when it came to men, and that had never once actually worked out for her. Which was how she’d ended up majoring in theatre and not even doing any education classes alongside it, and moving into her sister’s place just because it was in LA even though she couldn’t afford her share of the rent, and dating a string of guys who were too into pop-up shops or vaping or Soundcloud rap or whatever the big thing was at the moment, and now, apparently, kissing her high school best friend who definitely deserved better than whatever she was right now.
She made her way down the stairs, dialing her sister’s number already. She picked up on the second ring, just like always.
“Anna? Hey, what is it?”
“Can you pick me up?”
“What’s wrong?”
That was what did her in. She found a bush by the sidewalk and crouched down behind it, feeling the tears already start to stream down her face. “Can you-- can you just come pick me up, please?”
One of the perks of having a big sister who actually had her shit together was free pickup and dropoff service all around the city, though unlike an Uber, the rides didn’t come with no questions asked.
“What are you doing all the way over here?” Elsa asked as Anna clambered into the car, still sniffling pitifully. “I thought you were just going to go study your lines at that coffee shop and then go to the grocery.”
“I was, but then I, um…I ran into Kristoff.”
Elsa frowned. “Should I know who that-- oh my god, Kristoff from high school? The one that you had a crush on for like…”
“Years, I know,” Anna said balefully. “God, I probably still have notebooks in storage full of Mrs. Bjorgman signatures.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“He’s a barista.”
“Isn’t everyone?”
She laughed a little at that, and some of the tension went out of Elsa’s shoulders. “Okay, fair. But he’s in vet school, too.”
“Oh, wow, impressive.”
“I know. Just imagine me trying to go back home for a visit now, they’ll all ask questions about you two and I’ll be like ‘oh, Elsa’s this super successful SLP and Kristoff’s gonna be a vet’ and then they’ll ask what I’m up to and I’ll have to say ‘doing cartwheels in a commercial where they taped some string to my shorts so it looks like my tampon’s hanging out because that’s supposed to be cute and quirky’ and then they’ll say ‘oh my god I think I saw a GIF of that’ and then I’ll have to go dig myself a hole and die in it.”
Elsa just rolled her eyes. She was used to these dramatic tirades. “Anna, you’re twenty-four. You’re not supposed to have your shit together yet.”
“You did.”
“I let you think I did,” her sister said in that infuriating older-and-wiser voice she’d perfected way back in middle school. “I’m serious, you’ll be okay. And whatever happened with Kristoff--”
“God, don’t say his name, please, or I’ll just get all worked up again, and I’ve already gotten mascara everywhere.”
Elsa sighed. “Okay, fine, we’ll save that part of this discussion for when we’re home with pints of Ben and Jerry’s. But just...I want you to know that you’re okay, Anna. More than okay. And you’re going to knock it out of the park with this audition tomorrow. I mean it.”
Anna looked away, rolling down the window and sticking her hand out so she could feel the wind smacking against it, turning her wrist so it could hiss between her fingers. Movies made it seem so much easier to have these moments with someone, to open up and cry it out and get an easy resolution. But this was her life, whether she liked it or not, and she had to put up with it anyhow. “Thanks.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
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brandtmax · 5 years ago
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welcome back to gallagher academy, soo-yun ‘maxine’ brandt ! according to their records, they’re a first year, specializing in research & development; and they did not go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of ( sugar-free mints, a messy low bun, wisps of hair alongside her face, the end of a pen between her teeth, the patek philippe calatrava 4897r-010 in rose gold, off-white pants in every fabric ). when it’s the ( virgo ) ’s birthday on 08/23/1997, they always request their japchae from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation. 
henlo it me again i hope u guys aren’t sick of me yet bc i have a new bby named max! i’ve written a lot™️ so brace urself but it’s worth it ( i think ) + trigger warnings: death and alcohol dependency under the cut xxx
the basics
full name: soo-yun ‘ maxine ’ brandt
nicknames: max — just max
age: twenty-two years old
birthday: august 23rd, 1997
gender: cis female
preferred pronouns: she / her
sexuality: bisexual
major: research & development (  formerly a b.a. political science degree from yale university )
known languages: english ( native ) / german ( native ) / korean ( native )
background
nationality: american
birthplace: new haven, connecticut, new hampshire
current location: gallagher academy, roseville, virginia
financial status: upper class
religion: non-theistic
appearance
eye color: brown
hair color: black
height: 5′8.5″
notable features: curly hair on lazy days, rosy cheeks
usual mood and expression: calm, furrowed eyebrows whenever her eyes are on work; lethargic and irritable when she’s overworked ( or without alcohol )
family
birth order: second born
parents: soon-bok ‘ vivian ’ jang and stephen brandt ( d. 2018 )
siblings: min-jun ‘ parker ’ brandt ( b. 1995 ) & georgia ‘ gigi ’ brandt ( b. 2001 )
significant others: chris harmon ( 2013-2015 ) / ava carrillo ( 2015-2016 )
her story so far (this is so long n serious lol)
soo-yun 'maxine' brandt was born and raised in new haven, connecticut, to jang soon-bok ( vivian ), a surgeon, and stephen brandt, a ( n allegedly shady ) criminal justice lawyer.
the brandt siblings were raised like any other blue-blooded, very strict but loving household ( strict = mom / loving = dad )
brandt house rules: get straight a’s, follow the 12 am curfew and don't bring anyone home that you know you’d get disowned for. follow those three rules, and you can do whatever you want.
there was pressure for the brandt siblings to be academically accomplished, but it wasn't anything they couldn't handle. they were well-tutored, semi-popular, attractive teenagers, which were common in new haven, and everyone knew they were destined for ivy league.
in high school, she dated chris harmon, and it was the kind of relationship that could only be described as the personification of a kinder egg. sweet on the outside, a waste of time and money on the inside.
which is fine; it took max about 2 months to get over it when they broke up halfway through senior year, because neither of them thought of their relationship going far. the joy of getting into yale ( already expected ) trumped the feeling of losing a boyfriend. she even bet parker $5,000 she'd get early admission. she won.
during college, she had an on-off relationship with ava carrillo for a year, which inevitably became a permanent off. it turned out that it wasn't a good idea to throw herself into a committed relationship the minute she stepped foot into yale. max never had the time, and ava didn't have the patience. at least she tried it tho !
things seemed to be on the up and up for their family, and the worst thing max has ever been through is being awake for 24 straight hours to prepare for a final presentation. but ! you know what they say about the calm before the storm.
( tw: death ) on december 18, 2018, their father unexpectedly passed away from a heart attack during a layover flight in new york. the brandt family was at home when they heard the news. needless to say, they had a quiet christmas and new year.
the family tried to move on as best they could, but the siblings knew their dad's death irreversibly changed their mom. they have a rocky relationship to begin with, the siblings always feeling like vivian never wanted to become a parent and only did so for their father. they have absolutely no mother-children bond, and it got worse when stephen died. being the older brother, parker took it upon himself to take care of vivian, balancing that with running the home stretch with his undergrad degree.
on the other hand, maxine still had a few years left at yale. no amount of therapy helped her cope with the loss of her father, the way her mother seemed to become a shell of herself, how parker had to break the momentum of his career to be there for their mom, and the constant pressure to do good academically.
( tw: alcohol dependency ) it started with buying bottled moscow mules because she didn't like how beer tasted, and she wasn't dumb enough to go straight to hard liquor. just one to take the edge off whenever stacks of coursework became too much, or when her mother would send her an email talking about her day, and she didn't have the courage to read it. then it went from a one, two, three-time thing to a whenever-i'm-upset thing, which slid into a whenever-i-feel-like-it thing. after a while, it became a daylight thing where she would add a splash of soju ( or whatever ) to her lunchtime drinks, and she genuinely thought it was just a funny idea at first. max wasn't the only day drinker in her social group, anyway. she found it acceptable, no different than how other people would pound red bull every 6 hours like it's their life force. it was manageable for her since she was able to schedule when she'd be indisposed, and she still can.
parker had ( and still has ) no clue. despite the two being close, max spared him the burden of having another thing to worry about. as long as she can control it ( or she thinks she can ) then nobody had anything to worry about.
eventually, both maxine and parker were offered the opportunity to join gallagher academy, with parker in line to graduate with honors in global affairs and maxine, not far behind with her own impressive academic portfolio in political science.
though really, her acceptance into gallagher has less to do with her published papers ( still impressive, tho ) and more to do with her covertly helping her father win cases by doing some expert sleuthing, strategizing, witness dispatching + discrediting, sexc breaking and entering, and good, old-fashioned manipulation !
it was something they both wanted; to be a part of the bigger picture in the world, but they knew they couldn't leave their mother alone. parker, who chose to make the sacrifice, let maxine go and stayed behind to take care of vivian.
( but if we’re honest, maxine would’ve left for gallagher regardless if parker was coming with her, but she’ll never tell him that )
despite the guilt and telling parker she wasn't going anywhere ( cough ), he insisted on her taking the once-in-a-lifetime chance to be a part of something they never knew existed. he knew they were going to end up resenting each other if they both stayed. at least one person in the family should be doing something that made them happy.
and so max dropped out of yale and left for roseville, even though she hadn't thoroughly planned out her career trajectory.
she’s eager not just because of the school, obviously. she can't handle going back to their childhood home and seeing how hollow everything is. plus, the immense anger and denial she feels over her dad’s untimely death has no place in new haven anymore.
she promised parker she'd make it up to him, though. somehow, someday.
who is this b*nch
max is relatively easy to get along with, tbh !
she’s a mood matcher; meaning if you’re nice to her, then she’s nice to you ( and if you’re gonna be a punk bitch, then she’ll be a punk bitch right back )
she’s a lil spoiled, lil sheltered, and lil ignorant but her general friendliness makes up for it, she’s the type to be friends with ( almost ) everyone
internally: perfectionist to the point of being ruthless, first place is the only acceptable place, meticulous, neurotic, workaholic, overachiever, if you’re not useful then what’s your purpose?, slightly egotistical, etc etc
externally: caring, protective, and supportive mom friend who just wants people to get their shit together because inadequacy is unacceptable, fixer, likes to dip into different social circles, consciously makes the effort to be more patient with people
she’s incredibly ambitious ? morally ambiguous ? slightly self-serving and self-involved ? her father’s a criminal “justice” lawyer whose clientele doesn’t exactly consist of the beacons of society so... she learned a lot of lessons about how you can win any case in the courtroom if you’re smart enough to a ) make a good story, b ) get the fitting evidence by any means necessary, c ) discredit and discard the necessary people, and d ) be charming and persuasive enough to rock the jury
she’s actively trying to be more open-minded and assimilate to a diverse group of people because back in yale she was definitely in a wasp bubble, and admittedly there are times where she will come off as super snobby without meaning to and tbh sorry about it
she’s still an extremely sociable person because yale also taught her how to network like a motherfucker, and how it’s important to know / be friends with everyone
honestly, intense people turn her off ( both positive and negative ) a little because she can't handle concentrated personalities in one sitting
even though she’s a little intense herself sometimes but it’s fine, we love hypocrites in this house !
neat freak ? but honestly who doesn’t like a friend who squeegees the shower every day and has a tiny can of lysol in their bag and an aroma diffuser with three ( 3 ) oil blends
she’s like... weirdly aggressive sometimes and most definitely has anger issues ( still in denial over her father unexpectedly passing away and getting stuck with a mom who doesn’t like her own children very much )
but also, she’s just agro in general and has a number of physical hobbies. she’s an ice skater, equestrian, a soulcyclist, and a kickboxer. she can fite.
she’s not the type to make fun of herself because she's not at a point where she sees qualities in her that are okay to laugh at ( unless you’re tight )
keeps her negative juju to herself because she’s a very private person
will prioritize work over play because she'd hardwired like that, but that doesn't mean she's anti-fun ( clearly )
definitely needs to loosen up a little that doesn't involve alcohol... jenga perhaps ? or actually try therapy again ?
very effectively sneaky about her growing alcohol dependency ( sugar-free breath mints, brushes her teeth + uses mouthwash after every meal )
dry sense of humor
at all times: wears a 1-carat, emerald cut, pavé diamond ring ( family heirloom ) + carries her trusty black hydro flask with her ( 24 oz. ) and no one is allowed to drink from it !
her signature scent is le labo bergamote 22 🤍
hmu on my discord @ tin#0697 for plottage !
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toraleistripe · 5 years ago
Text
The Breakup
Fandom(s): Trailer Park Boys
Crossover: no
Summary: Lola has to deal with a bad breakup while also struggling with her feelings for Julian
Character(s): Julian, Ricky, Bubbles, Cyrus, Lola (OC), Perry (OC)
Pairing(s): Julian/Lola, slight Cyrus/Lola
A/N: paragraphs in italics indicate the character is talking to the camera guys. Also, Perry belongs to @toadmaniaboy
Warnings: strong language, suggestive situations
Lola just stood there, her heart pounding hard in her chest as she watched the red Corvette speed away. A hand on her shoulder made her flinch. "You okay, Lola?"
"Huh? Um, y-yeah, I...I'm okay, Bubbles"
"You're better off without that bastard if you ask me"
"Yeah, fuck Cyrus, the prick" Ricky chimed in, grumbling.
The dishwater blonde swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat. "He...he didn't even attempt to apologize. Not to Bubbles or Perry, or me or-"
"He's a jackass, he never apologizes for anything," Ricky said. "I mean, I usually don't like to say this, but-"
"Ricky" Lola said, a warning tone in her voice.
"A toad a so-"
"Damn it, Ricky-"
"What, it's true, Lola, I fuckin' a toad a so! We all said that Cyrus was a no-good bastard, but you didn't fuckin' listen"
"Alright, I get it, I fucked up, okay?!" Lola snapped, her voice trembling. "You don't need to rub it in"
"It's not your fault, Lola," Julian said from where he was standing beside Ricky. He had been mostly silent during the confrontation with Cyrus, forcing himself to not say anything and just let Lola handle it on her own.
Lola scoffed. "Actually, it is my fault. I..." She sighed, shaking her head. "Look, I, I don't want to talk about this anymore. I just, I want to go home. I'll see you guys later, okay?" She quickly turned and walked off in the direction of her trailer before any of the boys could say anything.
"I mean, Cyrus and I only dated for about three months, but for the most part, it was a good three months. I'd never actually met Cyrus before then, even though he's been around Sunnyvale plenty of times before, but he was usually around whenever there was a shootout or some shit like that and I always tried to just hide out in my trailer and make myself scarce whenever anything like that goes down around here, y'know? But I happened to be having a couple of drinks in a bar downtown a few months back and, well...that's when I officially met Cyrus for the first time. We hit it off, he asked me out, and things got kinda serious pretty fast"
Lola took a deep breath as soon as she entered her trailer and closed the door behind her, running a hand through her hair. Georgia came trotting over to her, rubbing on her legs as she leaned down to pet her. She made sure her beloved cat had enough food and water before going into the kitchen and opening the door of the fridge. She was pretty certain she had some sangria left in there somewhere. Spotting the carton, she sighed as she took it out and poured herself a glass of the dark red beverage. Her thoughts drifted back to what had happened earlier that day.
She'd been getting ready for Cyrus to come pick her up, much to her friends' displeasure, and had just been coming out of her trailer when she spotted her boyfriend's familiar Corvette parked across the road. Cyrus was standing near the car and seemed to be talking to Bubbles and another of Lola's close friends, Perry. They didn't notice her as she approached and were clearly arguing about something.
"Why don't you two just fuck off and mind your own damn business?" Cyrus was saying.
"Fuck off yourself, Cyrus. We know Lola's too good for you, she'll wise up and see that you're just using her" Perry snapped.
"Oh, what the hell do you know" Cyrus grumbled. "She's crazy about me, there's no way she's gonna listen to you two pricks. Lola is mine, understand? And I don't need you dickweeds trying to fuck this up for me"
"You don't need us for that, Cyrus" Bubbles said. "Eventually you're gonna fuck it up all on your own"
"Not gonna happen. And if you two know what's good for you, you'll do yourselves a big fucking favor and stay away from my girlfriend-!"
Lola stopped dead in her tracks, Perry spotting her just then. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open for a few seconds. She couldn't believe the way Cyrus was speaking to her friends. She knew that he and the boys didn't exactly get along, but she'd never heard him speak with so much hatred in his voice, not toward her friends anyway. "Cyrus..."
The leather-clad man turned around fast at the sound of her voice. "Lola, baby-"
"What the fuck?"
Cyrus frowned. "excuse me?"
"You heard me," Lola said sharply, swallowing the lump that was beginning to form in her throat. "Where do you get off talking to them like that?!"
"He's a prick, Lola, that's what we've been trying to tell you" Bubbles piped up.
"Shut the fuck up" Cyrus snapped, his voice softening as he turned his attention back to Lola. "Look, doll-"
"I always knew you didn't exactly get along very well with my friends, but...but you have no right to talk to them like that!"
"Babe, would you relax?" Cyrus said, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Let's get out of here and we can talk-"
"No" Lola glared at him, pushing his hands off of her just as Julian and Ricky were approaching. "If this is the way you're going to treat my friends, Cyrus, then we..." She took a shaky breath. "we're done"
Ricky stopped in his tracks when he heard that. "Holy shit, what the hell did we miss, Jules?"
"Looks like Cyrus is finally getting what's been coming to him"
"It's about damn time. I was wondering when Lola was finally gonna leave that prick"
"I mean it, Cyrus" Lola was saying. "unless you apologize right now, I don't want anything to do with you ever again"
She and Cyrus stood there staring each other down for what felt like an eternity. Her friends all stayed put, pretty much collectively having an idea as to what Cyrus' answer was going to be.
"Fuck off, I've got work to do" Cyrus grumbled, turning abruptly and heading for his car, getting in and driving off without so much as looking Lola in the eye.
The dishwater blonde felt like a piece of her heart had shattered as she was torn from her memory by Georgia jumping up onto the couch and meowing, rubbing on her arm. Her vision seemed blurry as she furiously wiped at the tears that were streaming down her face. She'd been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hadn't even realized that she'd been crying. She blinked hard, her gaze falling on the carton of sangria. She moved to pick it up to pour herself one more glass, but her arm felt heavy and her vision was still blurry. She felt heavy all over as she slowly lowered the carton's spigot over her glass, but her glass only filled up about halfway. She was sure she'd started out with way more sangria than that. Surely she couldn't have drank that much already...
"ugh, whatever" she mumbled, her words feeling thick on her tongue as she set the carton back on the end table, nearly knocking her glass over as she collapsed back onto the couch.
The sound of a door opening and then closing was the first thing Lola was aware of the next morning. That and the painful as hell pounding in her head.
"See, I told you guys, she's fucking wasted!"
"Holy shit"
"Lola?"
The dishwater blonde tried to open her eyes, but they felt heavy, far too heavy.
"Lola," the third voice said again and she was faintly aware of a hand on her shoulder.
Finally forcing her eyes open, her gaze shifted up toward someone standing over her. They were mostly a blur at first, but as her vision began to clear, her eyes locked onto all too familiar blue ones.
"J-Julian!" She blurted out, sitting up quickly, nearly falling right off the couch. A sharp pain shot through her head and she groaned, bringing her hand up to her forehead.
"Take it easy, Lola," Julian said, moving to sit at the opposite end of the couch. "We just stopped by to check on you"
"I came by about five minutes ago," Bubbles said, reaching down to pick up Georgia as she rubbed against his legs. "You didn't answer the door, so I let myself in and saw you face down on the couch with that empty carton of sangria next to you. I knew you were pretty fucked up, so I went to get Ricky and Julian"
"Oh god" Lola mumbled, her face beginning to burn from embarrassment.
"There's no reason to be embarrassed, Lola," Ricky said, taking his lighter and a cigarette out of his shirt pocket. "We've all gotten shitfaced before, it's no big deal"
Lola made a face as he lit up the cigarette, groaning. "I haven't gotten hungover in months. I've never felt so embarrassed...I-I'm so sorry you guys have to see me like this..."
"Don't worry about it, Lola, happens to the best of us" Bubbles said, still holding Georgia as he scratched behind her ear. "You need us to get anything for ya?"
"N-No thanks" Lola mumbled, her stomach growling. "I think I'm gonna puke..."
"Just relax, okay?" Julian said. "We'll stop by later and check on you again"
The dishwater blonde felt her face begin to heat up. "Um, thanks, guys"
"I can feed Georgia before I go, if you want" Bubbles offered.
"Thanks, Bubs, that would be great, actually" Lola mumbled. "Right now I just...I need to get to the bathroom..." Her stomach was growling again and she knew damn well it wasn't because she was hungry. The last thing she needed was to blow chunks in front of her friends. In front of Julian. That was a humiliation she certainly didn't want. She made a move to get up from the couch, but stumbled and nearly fell right onto her coffee table. Lola was suddenly grabbed and pulled to her feet before that could happen, however, and she was hyper-aware of just how close Julian was holding her now.
"Come on, Lola-"
"I-I don't need help, really" The dishwater blonde stammered, her face continuing to burn.
"You can hardly walk"
"No, I-I'm fine, seriously..." She pulled away from Julian and took a step, just barely managing to keep herself upright as another wave of nausea overcame her. She needed to get to the bathroom and fast-
"You are not fine," Julian said, moving next to her and wrapping his arm around her waist. "I'll fucking carry you if I have to"
If Lola's face wasn't burning off by now, then that comment made her face burst into flames. She didn't say a word as Julian continued to lead her down the short hallway and into her tiny bathroom. It was cramped enough when Lola was in there by herself, but being in such close proximity to Julian wasn't exactly making her stomach feel any less nauseous. "Um...t-thanks, Julian" She managed to say, trying to ignore just how close they were standing to each other. She leaned her hand on the sink to steady herself, quickly putting as much distance between the two of them as she possibly could.
"Don't mention it" Julian said, a look of concern flashing across his face when he saw that she had gotten even paler in just the last minute. "You gonna be okay here by yourself?"
"Oh...oh yeah, d-definitely" Lola nodded, forcing a weak smile. Her stomach was twisting in knots and she forced herself to not think about the bile rising in her throat. 'I swear, if I puke in front of Julian, I'm kicking my own ass' she thought.
"Julian, hurry the fuck up in there!" Ricky called. "That dope isn't gonna steal itself!"
"I'm coming, Rick!" Julian called over his shoulder, his gaze falling back to Lola. She was facing the mirror now, looking at her reflection with the most heartbroken expression he'd ever seen on her face. What he wouldn't give to kick Cyrus' ass for causing this. "Hey," He said quietly. Lola slowly turned to look at him, surprised when he reached out and brushed a few hairs from her face. "You'll get through this, alright?" She thought her heart was going to stop beating when his hand came to rest on her cheek, her eyes widening at the unexpected gesture. "You're one of the strongest people I know, Lola. Forget about Cyrus, you..." Julian hesitated, as though he was debating about what to say next. "You can do a hell of a lot better than that dickhead"
Lola was at a loss for words as they stood staring at each other, his hand still resting on her face. God, she loved him so much. She was a damn fool to think that she could ever stop loving Julian. Really, that was a big reason why she'd gone out with Cyrus in the first place. She wanted to get over her feelings for Julian. She'd loved him for years, but had only told a couple of people about it, said people being Perry and Bubbles. She didn't dare reveal her secret to anyone else for fear of Julian finding out. And in their current position, her feelings for him only grew stronger.
"I..." Lola swallowed. "Thank you again, Julian.." She forced a small smile. "You, you're always there when I need you"
"'Course I am" He smiled back, looking like he was about to say something else before Ricky appeared in the doorway.
"Julian, the fuck are you doing, we need to get going"
"Alright, Ricky, for fuck's sake, I'm coming," Julian said, turning back to Lola. "Take care of yourself, Lola"
"Yeah...I will"
"We'll check on you later, but right now we need to fucking go" Ricky snapped, sounding as impatient as ever.
"Yeah, I'm coming, Rick. Let's go" Julian said, glancing at Lola one more time before they left with Bubbles, all of them calling out various goodbyes as they closed the door behind them.
Lola sighed heavily as she felt the familiar feeling rising in her throat again. She coughed and felt her stomach retching as she quickly opened the toilet lid and got down on her knees over the bowl.
A few days later, Lola answered her door to see Julian standing there. "Hey, Lo'"
"Hey," She said quietly, smiling shyly at him. Julian had been visiting her more frequently than usual the past few days. Not that she was complaining, she loved spending time with him and it was rare for it to be just the two of them. The camera guys weren't with him either, which had also been the case during his last few visits.
"Just thought I'd check up on you"
"That's very sweet of you," Lola said, trying to ignore the way her face was burning. "Come in, I was just about to make some coffee. Would you like some?"
"No thanks," Julian said, stepping past her and into the trailer. Georgia came over and rubbed against him, wanting attention. He smiled, leaning down to pet her.
Now it was her heart beating faster that Lola was trying to ignore. If there was one thing that made her fall even harder for Julian, it was the fact that Georgia liked him and always wanted his attention whenever she saw him. As soon as he was sitting on the couch, the black and white cat was in his lap in an instant, purring like crazy and butting her head against his hand.
"Georgia sure is crazy about you," Lola said, smiling.
"Well I'm crazy about her too," Julian said, chuckling as he rubbed the top of the cat's head.
"I think you're her favorite person, other than me, of course"
"She has good taste then" He said as Lola walked over and sat beside him, taking a long sip of her coffee.
"Yeah. Yeah, she does" Lola said quietly, a slight frown crossing her face.
"What?"
"Nothing. It's just..." The dishwater blonde sighed heavily. "She really does have good taste...She couldn't stand Cyrus"
"Is that right"
"Yeah" Lola drummed her fingers against the side of her mug. "I invited him in a few times when he came to pick me up and Georgia refused to go anywhere near him. In the beginning, I thought maybe it was because he was a stranger and she would just have to get used to him, but she hissed every single time he made a move toward her. And she was like that the whole time we were dating. Hell, she even bit him once" She ran a hand through her hair. "I'm such a fucking idiot, that alone should have been a red flag, animals can sense bad people you know, as soon as it was obvious that she wasn't going to ever want anything to do with him, that right there should have told me something"
"You can't beat yourself up over that, Lola," Julian said. "I would've thought the same as you if I were in that position, I would have assumed that she just needed time to get used to him"
"But that never happened, I should have known he wasn't right for me when Georgia never came around whenever he was here. That should have told me something, but I was fucking oblivious"
"Hey, don't worry about it. It's over now and you never have to worry about that prick ever again"
"I know" Lola mumbled. "I just feel so stupid, I got fucking wasted over that bastard"
"You cared about him," Julian said. "You cared about him and he hurt you, I understand why you'd want to just get fucking drunk. I hate to say it, but it really helps with...the pain. Doesn't mean it's right, but that's the truth"
"I know" Lola mumbled, swallowing hard as she set her mug down on the coffee table. "I'm sorry I even brought him up, Julian, I just-"
"No, it's okay," He said quickly. "You're still hurt but what he did, I get that"
"Actually, I..." Lola hesitated. "I'm not that hurt anymore...It's only been a few days, but I don't feel bad about what happened anymore"
"You don't?"
"No...I guess a small part of me does, but overall, I'm already feeling a lot better about it"
"Well that, that's good," Julian said, reaching over and putting his hand over hers. The small gesture sent a jolt of emotion through Lola and she could feel her face heating up. Her eyes met his and she felt an unmistakable tension, a tension that she was sure hadn't been there a moment ago. But she was certain she was the only one feeling it, she had to be. Her heart started to beat faster and she was about to say something when Julian suddenly closed the distance between them, cupping her face in his hands as he kissed her. Lola's eyes widened, her heart fluttering so fast now that she was afraid it would beat right out of her chest. She was frozen in place and by the time she snapped out of the shock and began to return the kiss, Julian pulled back quickly, apparently thinking that he'd just fucked up. "Lola, I...fuck!" He leaned away from her, running a hand through his hair. "Shit, Lola, I...I'm sorry-"
"You, you're sorry?"
"Yeah, damn it, I just..." He shook his head. "I shouldn't have done that, I...fuck!"
"I-I don't understand," Lola said softly. "You're...you're sorry you just kissed me-?"
"No, fuck no, I..." Julian let out a short, nervous laugh, which was unlike him. "Shit, Lola, you just ended your relationship yesterday, it, it's not cool that I just make a move on you like that-"
"Hold the fuck up," Lola said, her heart still beating quite fast. "A-Are you saying that you think you're making a move too fast?"
"Well...yeah, I guess I am"
Lola's head was spinning now, the kiss replaying in her head over and over. "holy shit-"
"I mean, hell, I don't even know if you'd be interested-"
"Fucking excuse me?!" Lola said sharply, her mouth falling open for a few seconds as she gaped at him. Their eyes met again before the absurdity of the situation really started to hit her and she suddenly burst out laughing. A confused look crossed Julian's face as she continued laughing, tears welling up in her eyes. "Oh my god! Do, do you have any idea how long I've wanted to be with you? How long I've fucking loved you?"
Julian's eyes widened. "You-"
"I only dated Cyrus because I was trying to get over you," Lola said, wiping a few tears from her eyes as her laughter died down. "I mean, I was into the guy, don't get me wrong, but it's you, Julian, fuck, you're the one I've always wanted!"
"You're serious"
"Hell yes!" Lola could feel her face beginning to heat up again. She'd imagined plenty of scenarios of her confessing her love to Julian, but this...this was definitely nothing like any way she'd ever pictured it before. "I-I never wanted you to know, to be completely honest, but I can't take it back now. I..." She took a deep breath. "I love you, Julian. I always have"
Julian was silent for a moment, but to her, it felt like forever before he finally spoke. "Shit, I...I love you too, Lola"
Her eyes widened and she was certain that her heart stopped beating for a few seconds. "W-What did you just say?"
Their eyes locked and he reached over and took her hand in his. "I said I love you"
"Y-You mean that?"
"Fuck yeah I do" A small smile crossed his face and she couldn't help but smile back, feeling his hand squeeze hers. "Seeing you with Cyrus, it drove me fucking insane. I was just hoping you'd eventually dump the bastard and then I could tell you how I feel"
"You honestly think I would have stayed with Cyrus if I knew you loved me?" Lola asked teasingly. "I would have left his ass in a fucking heartbeat, Julian"
"Well luckily for us, you won't have to do that now"
"Yeah..." Lola boldly moved to sit closer to him, aware of the shy smile on her face. God, she wanted to kiss him, but there was still a part of her that couldn't help but feel shy and unsure. Hell, there was a small part of her that was convinced this wasn't really happening, that she was just dreaming again.
But when she was suddenly pulled into another kiss, she knew damn well she wasn't dreaming. She wrapped her arms around him, eagerly leaning into him as he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. Neither one of them noticed when the front door suddenly opened.
"Hey Lola, have you seen-, holy shit!"
Lola's eyes widened and she turned around fast, momentarily losing her balance, but Julian just tightened his grip on her waist to keep her from falling. "What the fuck, Ricky, you don't just barge into people's trailers, what the hell?!"
Ricky stood in the doorway, a look of surprise on his face. "Oh shit, were you two about to bang? My bad-"
"Ricky!" Lola couldn't remember the last time she was so embarrassed. "Get the fuck out of my trailer!"
"Hey, don't get pissy at me, I'm not the one about to start banging on your fucking couch-"
"Ricky, whatever it is you want, we'll deal with it later, just get the hell out of here" Julian snapped. He could practically feel how embarrassed Lola was and the sooner Ricky got the fuck out, the better.
"Fine, I'll just get Bubs to help me," Ricky said. "but you guys had better come too once you're done banging-"
"Holy fuck, just get out!" Lola shouted, feeling her face beginning to burn.
Ricky didn't even bother trying to hide the smirk that crossed his face as he backed out of the trailer. "hey Bubbles, I was right, you owe me fifty bucks!" He called as he shut the door behind him.
"Oh my god" Lola groaned, resting her forehead against Julian's shoulder. "He's such an ass" she mumbled.
"Yeah," Julian said, slowly threading his fingers through her hair. "Sorry he barged in like that"
"Me too," Lola said, slowly lifting her head to look at him. "Kinda...killed the mood, huh?"
"A bit"
"Fuck" Lola grumbled.
"Doesn't mean we can't get it back..."
"Y-Yeah?"
"Yeah"
Lola glanced away shyly. "W-What about Ricky and Bubs?"
"They can piss off," Julian said, taking her hand in his. "I think they'll be alright without us for a while"
Lola smiled, her heart racing fast. She and Julian were quick to get up from the couch and make their way down the hall past an oblivious Georgia, who now sat on the kitchen counter grooming herself.
And unfortunately for Ricky and Bubbles, they didn't get any extra help that day.
6 notes · View notes
tumbler-tidbits · 6 years ago
Text
Bunker Bunch- Ch.6 Not in the Cards
Tumblr media
@spnkinkbingo square filled:Impala sex
@spnfluffbingo2019 square filled: Road Trip AU
@spnsongchallengebingo square filled: Meant to Be by Florida Georgia Line & Bebe Rexha
Word Count:roughly 2,800
Pairing: Dean x Reader
Summary: After the wedding you and Dean set off for your Heavenly Honeymoon in Vegas. But since when does anything go as planned for the Winchester’s?
Warnings: language, implied cheating (not really though, you’ll see), roleplay, playing hard to get, brief mention of bad relationships, dom/sub themes, semi-public sex, fingering, car sex, P in V sex, overstimulation, praise kink, FLUFF.
A/N: This is my submission for @crashdevlin 600 follower challenge. My prompt was the song “Meant to Be” by Florida-Georgia Line and Bebe Rexha. Lyrics are in Bold and Italics
A/N2: Thanks to my awesome beta @maddiepants 😘❤️
Finally. The Bags were packed and loaded into the trunk of the Impala, snacks in the old beat up cooler, and your man in the driver's seat. You bid everyone farewell and slid into the sleek black Chevy. Dean turned the ignition and Baby roared to life, it was time to put the pedal to the metal on your Honeymoon road trip to Vegas!
Things seemed to be going smoothly, several hours on the road in companionable silence, singing along to Dean’s classic rock tapes. Finally, after passing what you swore was the same farm three times you had to speak up,
“Dean, do you know where you’re going?”
“Course I do sweetheart, we’re goin to Vegas!”
“No, I mean right now. Where are we?”
“Baby, lay on back and relax, kick your pretty feet up on my dash, stop worrying sweetheart, I've driven cross country my whole life Y/N. I know what I’m doing” he replied calmly.
“But Babe I’m pretty sure we’ve passed the same farm more than once. I think we’re going in circles” you said clicking at the new navigation system that Sam had installed as a wedding present.
Dean looked at you and slowly pulled over to the shoulder. Once the Impala was in park he picked up the navigator and looked at it. He tapped at the buttons but the robotic British voice just kept repeating “turn left at the next stop”.
“Sonovabitch!”Dean mumbled, “its this stupid, convoluted techie crap that Sam put in! It’s busted!”
“Dean calm down. No need to go​ nowhere fast, let's enjoy right here where we at” you said trying to calm his anger and admiring the beautiful fields of blooming flowers.
Dean reached over and opened the glove compartment, only to find it empty.
“I don’t even have the map! He took my map? Dammit Frances when I get back to the Bunker I’m gonna kick your ass!” he shouted slamming his hand on the steering wheel for emphasis.
“Without the map, Who knows where this road is supposed to lead. I’ll have to pick one up at the next gas station” he sighed looking down the main road.
“I’m starving” you said, “how about a picnic over there in the grass? We got nothing but time” you said rubbing his shoulder. Dean sighed and turned the car off,
“As long as you're right here next to me, everything's gonna be alright.”
Dean smiled and grabbed your hand, interlacing your fingers together as you walked through the fields of flowers.
If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be
Baby, just let it be
If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be
Baby, just let it be
After a nice lunch, a quick nap, and some flower picking, you both piled back into the car to continue your trek to Sin City.
So, won't you ride with me, ride with me?
See where this thing goes
If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be
Baby, if it's meant to be
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Three days… three days of pure hell. I mean sure, there were some nice moments, like the picnic with Dean, but for Chuck sake could anything else go wrong?! First the driving in circles, from the busted navigation, then you got a speeding ticket when Dean FINALLY let you drive so he could sleep, you got stuck in traffic for hours because of an accident on the highway, some asshat tried to mug you at a Gas n’ Sip and now? Well now, Dean hit a pothole and Baby blew a tire! And you aren’t even halfway to your Vegas destination!
So here you sit, at a bar, in the middle of the afternoon, while Dean mother hens the mechanic across the street. Your phone buzzed and looking at the caller ID you saw it was Dean. You answered with a huff,
“What.”
“Well hello to you too” he replied
“Sorry” you mumbled
“It’s alright. Look, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news sweetheart but Baby needs a rim replaced too, so we won’t be outta here till late tomorrow afternoon...”
You slammed your fist down on the bar
“Sonovabitch”
Dean just let out a long sigh and you instantly felt bad,
“I’m sorry babe, it just seems like we’re never gonna make it to Vegas! Like the universe is against us and everything that can go wrong is!” you explained.
“I know sweetheart, don’t worry too much about it ok? We just have to adapt to the situation,and make due with what we have. We’ll be alright.”
You hung up with Dean when the conversation finished, and ordered a drink. You weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.
Eventually the evening crowd started to fill the bar, but you just ignored them and continued to nurse drinks. The music was blaring, pool games going,people dancing, all in all the night was a bust and you were feeling lonely without Dean. Then you saw a handsome stranger walk in.
He was tall, muscular, short brown hair and the greenest eyes you’d ever seen. He wore a smirk on his face that accentuated his dimples and implied his cocky nature. He strutted into the bar like he owned the place, and every female had their eyes on him.
He was a sight for sore eyes in his sleek black suit, though you thought that it was strange attire for a night at the bar. You turned back to your drink, no way he would look your direction you thought bitterly, besides your newly married.
So imagine your surprise when he pulled up the empty stool next to yours. He flashed a pearly white smile and you blushed. Actually BLUSHED! What the hell was wrong with you?!
“Heya darlin’ what’s a pretty little thing like you doing all alone in a place like this?” He says.
You roll your eyes at his cheesy pick up line, but politely reply,
“What’s a guy like you doing wearing something like that in a place like this?” You ask gesturing to your shared surroundings.
He raised his eyebrow in amusement at you and reached into his pocket, pulling out an official looking ID.
“Agent Plant, I’m just passing through town for a case” he said nonchalantly.
“Really?” You scoffed “what kind of case?”
“I’m afraid I can’t divulge that information sweetheart” he crooned and you rolled your eyes again.
“Don’t call me sweetheart”
“Well aren’t you feisty” he replied, clearly not swayed by your attempt at disinterest.
“Look, Agent Plant, Whatever your trying at. Ain’t gonna happen” you said pointedly.
He held his hands up in a placating gesture “Not tryin’ anything, just makin’ conversation ‘sall”
When he turned to leave, your heart fluttered in disappointment, and you reflexively grabbed his arm to stop him.
“Wait! I’m sorry, I don't mean to be so uptight, but my heart's been hurt a couple times…” you trailed off.
“Don't sweat it, but if you don’t mind me askin’ who would be crazy enough to hurt you?”
“It was a long time ago. I don’t like to talk about it. It was by a couple guys that didn't treat me right. I ain't gon' lie, ain't gonna lie.”
You looked down at your drink and fiddled with your fingers. Unsure as to why you were spilling your guts to this green eyed stranger.
“Well shame on them. I’m sorry that you weren’t treated the way you should be”
That peaked your interest.
“Oh? And how exactly do you think I should be treated… Agent?” You asked in a sultry voice.
He smiled, all pearly white teeth biting into his plush bottom lip before he spoke.
“Well. You deserve to be treated like the goddess you are. Strong, Independent. Beautiful… but uh, I’m thinking you need someone to show you a good time, and to be totally honest sweetheart, given the opportunity I would show you myself.”
You smirked at that, a warmth pooling in the pit of your stomach, mixing with the butterflies of anticipation. Throwing caution to the wind and suddenly feeling bold, you placed your hand on his thigh and gave it a squeeze before responding,
“ What if I gave you the opportunity?” You whispered in his ear while your hand slowly reached to palm his cock through his slacks. “Cause I'm tired of the fake love, show me what you're made of. Boy, make me believe what your saying to me.”
He grasped your wrist to stop your movements and looked young straight I’m the eyes before asking, “But hold up, girl, don't you know you're beautiful?”
“You think I’m beautiful?” You blushed,
“Hell yeah sweetheart, And it's easy to see.”
He stood then, grabbed your hand and headed for the door, pulling you along with him. You were smiling like a Cheshire Cat, and slick began to pool in your panties at the thought of where the night was headed.
If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be
Baby, just let it be
If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be
Baby, just let it be
So, won't you ride with me, ride with me?
See where this thing goes
If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be
Baby, if it's meant to be
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He dragged you out to the parking lot to a sleek black classic Chevy Impala, polished and gleaming in the moonlight.
Surprised, you stopped walking and had to ask “Wait, I thought she wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow?”
“I’ll be the one asking the questions here Miss, If you would please come with me” he replied, opening the back passenger side door and gesturing for you to get in.
You quirked an eyebrow at him, oh so no breaking character huh? You thought to yourself before getting back into your role.
“I’m sorry Agent” you said with emphasis on the last word, “I’m not going anywhere”.
Agent Plant gave you a disapproving look.
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“I think it would be in your best interest, if you got in the car sweetheart.” He said. “Or do I need to pull out the cuffs?”
You shuffled your feet and squeezed your thighs together to try and alleviate some of the ache in your core. You weren’t exactly sure how you wanted to play this game.
He raised his eyebrow at you in a silent question and you crossed your arms over your chest. He was over to you in three strides, his mouth right at your ear. Hot breath on your neck sending tingles down your spine when he spoke,
“You might really want to think about what you do next sweetheart. I don’t take kindly to being disobeyed” he growled, “Now. Are you gonna be a good girl and get in the car? Or am I gonna have to show you whose in charge here?”
You swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry, and shook your head. He stepped to your left side allowing you access and you quickly made your way to the car, giving a surprised squeak when he smacked you ass as you passed.You quickly slid into the backseat, and Agent Plant followed.
He barely had the door closed before his hands found your face, pulling you towards him as he started ravishing your mouth.
He wasted no time in ripping your shirt open, sending buttons flying all over the car.
“Dean!” You shrieked at the suddenness of his actions,
“Sorry Y/N, I need you, now.”
His hands roamed up your thighs as he pulled your lace panties down your legs, revealing your already soaked core.
“Damn baby you're so wet” he said swiping a finger through your slick, “this all from me playing fed?”
You nodded and moaned when he slid two fingers in and started thrusting. His long fingers easily reached you sweet spot and in no time at all you were crying out your pleasure. When you began to cry out and he clamped his hand over your mouth, while his other hand continued to fuck you with his thick fingers.
“Ah ah ah baby girl, you gotta stay quiet for me. You wouldn't wanna attract any unnecessary attention would you?”
You shook your head, and he slowly removed his hand from your mouth. You bit down on your bottom lip to keep from crying out your pleasure when he added a third finger.
“That’s a good girl” he crooned and with a few swipes of his thumb over your clit you were coming, as he swallowed down your moans with his mouth.
While you caught your breath, he quickly unzipped his black slacks and pulled them down with his boxers, just enough for his hard cock to spring free. You reached to begin stroking him and he stopped your advances,
“No baby, tonight’s about you” he said.
Then he kneeled between your thighs, lined himself up, and slowly pushed into your aching core. He kept his thrusts agonizingly slow and deep. So deep.
He worked you up for what felt like hours,the long slow drag of his cock thrusting in and out of your clenching pussy, an overwhelming sensation.
The only sounds to be heard were the wet squelch of him fucking you, his hot ragged breaths, and the slight creaking as baby rocked with the motions of his thrusts. Mixed with the way your sweat soaked back stuck against the seats as he fucked you into the hot leather was maddening. The coil in your belly was ready to burst, but you just couldn’t let go. Everything was too much and not enough at the same time, and you didn’t know what to do.
As if he could read your mind, Dean leaned down and whispered in your ear,
“C’mon baby, come for me”
“C…. can’t” you sputtered.
You were wound so tight, too tight, and tears of pleasure/pain began to leak from your eyes. Dean leaned down and kissed them away,
“Yes you can Y/N, just relax baby, I got you”
He quickened his pace just slightly, gently rubbing circles around your clit, as he licked at your stiff nipples, sucking one into his warm, wet mouth. That was the final push your body needed and the coil snapped violently, sending white hot pulses through your body as your back arched, and mouth opened on a silent scream.
Dean came at the same time, riding you both through your climaxes until he collapsed over you, spent. He rolled you both so you were snuggled on top of his chest, body limp and eyes heavy.He kissed your forehead and draped his jacket around you, holding you close and you promptly fell asleep.
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The next morning, after you and Dean had showered and had breakfast, you got ready to hit the road again.
“Dean, do you really think we’ll get to Vegas? I mean, our trip hasn’t exactly gone smoothly” you asked. He shrugged his shoulders before responding,
“Maybe we do, Maybe we don't, Maybe we will, Maybe we won't, it doesn’t matter as long as we’re together. But if it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be, Baby, just let it be.”
If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be (c'mon)
Baby, just let it be (let's go)
“Whaddaya say sweetheart? Won't you ride with me, ride with me? See where this thing goes?” He asked, sliding his hand across Baby’s hood. You smiled, and stood on your tiptoes to give him a chaste kiss in his plush pink lips,
“I say let’s get outta here”
You both slid into the car, Dean revved her to life, popped in a Metallica tape and cranked up the volume. Holding each other’s hands with the windows down and your hair blowing in the wind, you and Dean sped down the highway, ready to go wherever the road would take you.
If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be
Baby, if it's meant to be
If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be
Baby, if it's meant to be
If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be
Baby, if it's meant to be.
END
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Taglist:  @idreamofplaid  @dean-winchesters-bacon  @maddiepants  @pisces-cutie​ @covered-byroses @currentlyfangirling99  @spnmightkillme @spnfamily-alwayskeepfighting  @team-free-will-you-idjits-67 @xxhalfbloodprincessxx @supernaturalsammy01  @sammyimpala-67 @lunarboycas​  @ladywinchester1967 @sweetiepie-dean  @fangirl-forevers-world @thoughtslikeaminefield @supernatural-teamfreewillpage​ @ruthiesconnells​ @bobasheebaby​ @evansrogerskitten  @missjenniferb​ @sculptorofbeginnings​ @kbl1313​ @spnskinnyballs @treat-winchesterswith-kindness @justcallmeasmodeus @ain-t-bovvered @purpleskiesandcherrypies @curly-haired-disaster @getnaildbyme @thoughtslikeaminefield @gripmetight-raisemefromperdition
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sugarcoated-pain · 6 years ago
Text
Heavy Rotation Part 5
Thanks to everybody who’s been reading, especially those letting me know what you think! Keep an eye out for Part 6 soon because it is gonna be GOOD! ;)
As always, thanks @sublimehood for all the help, guidance, and general reassurance lol. 
Best Friends to Lovers- original character + Ashton
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
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Over the next few weeks, things started to go back to normal. Well, I mean, as “normal” as things could ever be for us. Ashton and I didn’t speak of the kiss again, and we all did what we could to help him get over his break up. I respectfully didn’t bring up the “friends with benefits” comment while he was grieving, though the thought definitely crossed my mind more than once.
Around the end of January, we got a regular visitor around the studio. Ray is a music producer and owner of a brand new recording studio in New York City, as well as an old friend of Luke’s parents. He’s visiting LA on business, and had never seen the studio, so he stopped by whenever he got a chance, just hanging out and picking up ideas for his own studio.  On his first day in town, Liz was giving him the grand tour and they caught me messing around in the recording studio. Whoops. Ray was amused by this, and also could immediately tell that I am an “East Coast Girl”. Didn’t realize it was THAT obvious.
It’s almost impossible for me to stay away from the studio now that I am getting the hang of how things work in there. When business is slow, Ashton and I have been working on editing my demo, but it’s taking longer than it should, since we’re actually supposed to be working. Ray walked in one day and overheard part of my track, and was intrigued. Ashton played it for him from the beginning, much to my embarrassment, but Ray said it was “really good” and that I have “a lot of potential”. Holy crap. This is amazing.
On his last day in town, Ray approaches me alone while I’m working in the store.
“I’ve been really impressed by you while I’ve been here. You’ve got the same energy that I’m looking to have in my studio. If you decide you’d like to move back closer to home, there’s a job waiting for you.”
I’m initially stunned. He hands me his business card. “Wow, thanks. That’s incredible and honestly really flattering, “ I start, once my brain is able to process what he is saying. “But I’ve already kinda built a life here, and I love what I’m doing.”
Ray glances down at the pile of records in my hand, and gives me an incredulous look, “Stacking records?”
I chuckle slightly. “Touche.”
“Just keep it in the back of your mind, okay? The company would pay to fly you there and there could be a nice signing bonus involved. Hit me up if you change your mind.”
I stand there stunned for a few moments after he’s left, staring at his business card in my hand.
“Hey, you okay?” It’s Georgia. She’s bringing Calum lunch, and has clearly noticed that I’m in shock.
“Uh.. yeah I think so... That Ray guy just offered me a job in New York.”
“WOAH…seriously??  are you..actually considering it?” She asks, looking impressed and also mildly concerned.
“Nah not really… I mean, my gut says no, I love my life here.. But it sounds like it could be good money, and it would be nice to be closer to home…” I reply with a shrug.
“Well, you know we’d all miss the hell out of you, but I’m excited for you and support whatever decision you make!”
I smile. “Thanks, G.”
I was on closing duty for the store that night, and everybody else had shit going on, so once my shift was finally over, I had the apartment to myself. I cooked myself some pasta without anybody getting in my way, and plopped down on the couch to watch a movie. Ashton was the first one home.
“Are you watching the Wedding Singer AGAIN?” He asks, shaking his head.
“I love this movie, leave me alone!”
He plops down on the couch next to me, and before I even know what is happening, he grabs my fork and steals a bite of my alfredo.
“Hey! Get your own!” I snap, slapping his hand playfully.
He smirks triumphantly, taking another bite.
“How was work?” He asks, settling back on the couch.
“Boring as hell. OH but that Ray guy came back and actually offered me a job in New York!”
“What?? For real??”
“Yeah but I'm probably not gonna take it.. it's just kinda flattering, ya know?”
“Why aren't you going to take it?”
“Well, I mean, I've already got a job that I usually enjoy..and I've built a life here.. and there's all of you guys…”
The look on his face is hard to read but I'd say he seems pleased with my answer. His cell phone buzzes and he checks it, then let's out a frustrated groan.
“What's up?” I ask curiously.
“Nothing… just… Camille keeps texting me lately..”
“WHAT?!? What does that skanky bitch want??”
“She says she wants to 'talk’. Keeps trying to get me to meet up with her. She is apparently sorry and made a 'mistake’.” He sighs.
“....you're not buying that bullshit, right??”
“I don't really wanna talk about it right now. Let's just watch your stupid movie.” He adds, the last part in a playful tone. Without responding to the text, he puts his phone back in his pocket.
We sit in silence for a little while just watching the movie together, even though I've seen it dozens of times. I’m hyper-aware of the fact that we seem to be inching closer together on the couch, until the point that our legs are touching. I can occasionally feel him watching me out of the corner of my eye. My cheeks start to feel flushed and the air feels like it’s made of electricity. The tension starts to become too much to bear. My heart is racing now and it’s taking everything in my power not to climb on top of him right here on the couch. Almost a month has passed since the breakup, and I decide in this moment that this is a reasonable amount of time to address the thing I can’t stop thinking about.  
“So.. remember on New Year’s Day when you made that comment about ‘best friends with benefits’?” Before I can finish my sentence, his lips are on mine. Pulling me closer to him, i wrap my arms around his back and run my fingers through his hair as I kiss him back.  “But that’s all this is, right? No strings attached?” I say quickly, pulling away, but with our lips just inches apart. He instantly breaks the space between us to continue kissing me.  It’s a deep, passionate kiss, the kind I pictured every time I imagined this happening, but I need to make sure we are on the same page, so I try again, “Because you’re still getting over Camille....”,
“And you don’t want a relationship…” he retorts, but his lips are back on mine as soon as he finishes the sentence.
“And we’re best friends who live together and anything more would be weird….and I wouldn’t want everybody else to know..” I say into his ear, as he moves his lips down to my neck.
“Just shut up and kiss me.” He pulls me up onto his lap, and I straddle my legs on either side of his.  I move one of my hands from his hair to his back, moving up under his shirt and running my fingernails all the way down. I can feel him getting harder beneath me, and it’s almost too much to take. He runs his hands up under the back of my shirt to undo my bra.
Suddenly, we hear keys in the front door and I jump off of him as fast as I can. We both frantically straighten our clothes and hair, panting. Luckily, Cal and Georgia are lost in conversation and not paying attention when they first walk in. I pull my loose bra through my shirt sleeve discreetly and stuff it under the throw blanket next to me. I notice Ashton is using the other end of the same blanket to hide his erection, which makes me smirk proudly.
“Hey guys, what’re you up to?” Cal asks as they enter the living room
“Just watching a movie .. but it’s almost over and I’m exhausted so I was thinking about going to bed soon.” I reply, with a pointed look at Ashton.
“Yeah, me too.” Ash adds, picking up on the cue. He better know that I expect him to crawl through my bedroom window the second I get in there and fuck me senseless.
“Aw. We actually had a movie we wanted to watch with you guys. The four of us haven’t gotten a chance to hang out in a while.” Georgia replies. Great. Guilt trip. Ashton and I exchange a look.
“I guess I can hang out a little while longer.” I answer. How long can the movie be, right?
I can wait two more hours for the guy I’ve already waited eight months for. But about halfway through, the rush from our little makeout session has worn off and I start to feel drowsy. Last thing I remember is laying my head on Ashton’s shoulder.
I wake up several hours later, wrapped in Ashton’s arms on the couch. Someone appears to have thrown the blanket over us, so that’s kind of awkward. I realize the sun is already up, and reach for my cell phone to check the time. I’m supposed to be downstairs for work in 30 minutes so I gently move Ash’s arms and begin to stand up. He’s still passed out but he instinctively tries to pull me back to him. It’s adorable and everything I’ve ever wanted but this shit can absolutely NOT happen. This was a terrible idea. I should NOT have allowed this to happen.
“Hey, Ash. Wake up. You’ve gotta go to work soon.”
“morning” he says groggily.
I stand up and fold the blanket, and try to give him a second to wake up.“....We need to talk about last night..” My tone a little bit more serious than I intended.
“Why am I getting a deja vu feeling?” he says, as he stretches and begins to sit up.
“I changed my mind. I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to do this whole ‘friends with benefits’ thing…”
“Can I assume you’re not going to give me a reason as to why?”
Because you’re the most perfect man I’ve ever met and I’m secretly falling for you, which makes you the world’s worst distraction for a girl on a mission. “I just don’t want to deal with everybody in the apartment finding out, but I also don’t want to have to sneak around. I think we’re really better off as JUST friends…”
“Well I’m gonna call bullshit because I know you don’t give a damn what anybody else thinks, but fine. If that’s what you really want, then I respect that... Just friends.”
“Thank you. It is.” UGH it’s very much NOT what I really want. Why can’t I just be real with him and myself right now?
I take a super quick shower before work, and all I can think about is how badly I want Ashton in there with me. This is a problem. This HAS to stop. I’m here for my music, and I can’t let some guy hold me back, no matter how perfect he is. It occured to me in this moment that Ashton was the reason why I immediately told Ray no when he offered me the job. This is everything I wanted to avoid. What if this NYC opportunity really was my fast track into the music industry? The fact that I didn’t even consider it for a second all because of Ashton TERRIFIES me.
As soon as I step out of the shower, I reach for the jeans I had fallen asleep in, and pull Ray’s business card out of my pocket. Before I even get dressed, I send him an email asking for more details about the position. As I head downstairs for work, I hear a notification on my phone. It’s Ray, getting back to me much quicker than I anticipated, and the offer almost feels too good to be true. The money is great, I’d get to be helping make music instead of stacking cds and records all day, and I would receive a signing bonus. He even mentioned that there was a flight at the end of the week on the company’s preferred airline that still had seats available on such short notice, so he had used their miles to secure a ticket for me, just in case. That seemed a little presumptuous, but also nice to know that this guy wanted me to work for them that badly.
It was a lot to think about, and I spend most of my shift daydreaming about what it would be like to be back on the east coast, and REALLY working in the music industry. Being closer to my family and old friends would be nice. The reasons to go seemed to be adding up quicker than the reasons to stay. But I realized that my main reason to stay was more important to me than all of the reasons I should go.
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist, and I love hearing feedback!
Taglist: @cheyenne-in-wonderland @drummerboy794 @harrysgucciclothes @emmamarshmellow @rbforsmileycal @asht0ns-world @dukesnumber1
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trade-baby-blues · 6 years ago
Text
Feint
Pairing: Bones x Reader
Word Count: 1934
Warnings: minor swearing
A/N: Based on a request by an anon! The title is a pun bc the reader faints but also because reader and Bones have kind of rude attitudes to each other so it’s a little like feinting (and also I’m super tired so maybe it’s only funny to me lol). Hope you enjoy!!
Nervous was the best way to describe how you felt around Leonard McCoy. The strong jaw, piercing gaze, terrifying medical equipment -it was a mental recipe for disaster, sending you into a panic every time you were near him. Unfortunately, your fight or flight response was biased to fighting (too many years with Jim, Bones always said) and you came off rude every time you spoke with him.
Bones, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out what he’d done wrong. He’d been smitten from the moment you first got wheeled into Medbay. You and Jim had gone on an away mission and decided to race to the bottom of a hill. In a spark of what you called genius, you grabbed an emergency inflatable raft from the transport ship. Needless to say, neither of you realized the hill ended abruptly in a shallow cliff, and you tumbled out of the raft onto the quarry floor below. Luckily for Jim, you broke his fall. The whole ordeal was so stupid it actually endeared you to Bones as you explained it.
The scoldings, on the other hand, were much less endearing. They became more frequent and more intense as Bones fell harder for you. While he was glad to see you so often, he hated seeing you injured in whatever idiotic shenanigan you and Jim had gotten yourselves into this time. It was a waste of his time and yours.
“Can you believe it,” you shouted to Jim, who was in the shower, while you hung upside down from the side of his bed. “He said I was ‘wasting his time.’”
The water shut off. “Yelling is just how Bones shows he cares,” Jim called from the bathroom.
You scoffed. “Then I’m surprised he hasn’t proposed by now. He yells at me for everything. God, did I tell you that he yelled at me for taking a nap in the conference room chair yesterday? Said it was ‘ruining my posture’ and he wouldn’t help me when I started having back problems.”
Jim poked his head out from the bathroom, wet hair sticking up at odd angles. “You took a nap in the conference room yesterday? Weren’t you on shift?”
“Yes, but that’s not the point Jim. The point is Bones has a stick up his ass the size of Georgia and -.”
“And I think that’s enough,” Jim said ducking back into the bathroom before emerging with a towel draped around his waist. “I love a good shit-talk, but Bones is my friend, too. I don’t wanna get in the middle of whatever this is. It’s weird.”
“So is seeing you walking around in a towel, but that hasn’t stopped you.”
Jim turned around on his way to his closet. “Because it’s my room. Trust me, I would prefer to be naked.”
“Aw, thanks for saving me the nightmares.”  
“Get out,” Jim laughed. You acquiesced, bouncing up from the bed so fast you felt a little dizzy. You brushed it off and made your way back to work.
Bones slammed his breakfast tray down on the table. Stabbed his food. Chomped as if his teeth were grinding down rocks instead of pancakes. Jim watched, bagel halfway in his mouth, before dropping it back to his plate with a sigh. “What’s got your eyebrow twitching today, Bones?”
“Nothing.” He stabbed his food again. Stab. Chomp. Stab. Chomp.
“You sure about-”
“I just don't understand what I did wrong,” Bones cut in. “I've gone out of my way to ensure Y/N gets the best treatment and knows how to take care of herself after whatever stupid shenanigans the two of you have gotten into and she acts like I’m some dictator trying to control her life when all I’m doing is trying to show her I care, you know?” Jim nodded along, trying to respond but being cut off again before he could say anything. “I’ll be damned. That’s the problem, isn’t it? I care about her so much I’ve been smothering her. I’ve got to find her.” Bones shoveled the last few mouthfuls of food into his mouth before practically sprinting out of the mess hall.
Jim stared at the empty space in front of him and sighed. “Thanks for the talk, Jim,” he muttered to himself. “You’re a great listener and a great captain. You’re the best, Jim.”
You threw your wrench to the ground, sending it clattering across the engine room floor. Sweat felt like a permanent accessory on your skin, and you weren’t sure which was louder: the roaring of machines or the roaring of your own heartbeat. When had you gotten so out of shape?
“Maybe it really is time for a physical,” you told yourself as you clambered back down to collect your tools for the day. The floor seemed to shift as you bent forward, barely managing to catch yourself before your face hit the metal floor beneath you. “Hm. Weird and not at all terrifying,” you whispered, keeping your hands and knees firmly planted as you waited for the dizziness to fade. “Probably dehydrated, which would also explain why I’m talking to a wrench.” You pressed your forehead against the floor, hoping the coolness of the metal would help abate the heat and lightheadedness plaguing your body.
The noise around you grew quieter as you focused on your breathing, on the solid ground beneath you, on anything but the overwhelming pounding in your chest. You came to realize your body wasn’t hot - your chest was. It felt like your heart was ready to burst out of it, pumping as if you’d run a marathon rather than climbed a ladder. You fought past the ever encroaching whiteness at the edge of your vision to fish through your toolkit for your Comm, hoping to reach Scotty or Jim or anyone and tell them where you were, but you could feel your arms get heavier with each move you made. Your fingers wrapped around the Comm like a life raft as you slipped past the edge of consciousness.
Bones tried to pretend like it didn’t upset him that you were avoiding his calls, but he’d always been one to wear his emotions on his sleeve, and right now his sleeves were pushed to his elbows, crushed and wrinkled, as he buried himself in paperwork to forget about the messages he’d sent you hours ago. Of course, he’d wanted to confess his feelings in person, but, when he couldn’t find you, Bones had to settle for a Comm call. When you didn’t respond, he was forced to settle for a bottle of whiskey and the realization that maybe you simply hated him after all. It was all the same. He’d gotten used to being alone.
That didn’t stop him from jumping from his seat the second his Communicator started ringing. He tried to remind himself that he was an adult, but the mix of alcohol and nerves made Bones damn near drop the Comm half a dozen times before he finally answered.
“Hello.” Bones made a note to not sound so breathless. There was no answer. “Anyone there?” There was a buzzing of machinery in the background but no voice, no sounds of movement. Bones pondered his next move before hanging up and dialing your Comm. It rang and rang but you didn’t pick up. Bones shifted gears and called Jim, asking him to call you before Jim could get a word in. Then, he paced impatiently around his office waiting for Jim to call him back.
“Did she pick up,” Bones started as soon as he answered the call.
“You know,” Jim said, “I am the captain of this ship. I have a job to do. Responsibilities. Plus, I’m technically your boss, so you shouldn’t be so rude to me.”
“Damn it, Jim, I think something might be seriously wrong with Y/N. Did she answer or not?”
“No, she -”
“Meet me down in Engineering.” Bones ended the call as quickly as it started, leaving Jim on the other end, staring into deep space wondering if his being captian meant anything to anyone besides himself.
Everything was bright. Everything was loud. The cotton sheets scratched at your skin, but you were unable to move. Your limbs were lead. Your eyelids like cathedral doors you had to pry open. You tried to focus on the face hovering above you.
“Is that you God? Odin? That cute delivery guy who brought us pizza on our last shore leave?” Your voice came out muddled, but Jim’s laughter hit your ears crystal clear.
“Yeah, I’d say she’s gonna be just fine, Bones.” Jim clapped him on the shoulder.
Bones scoffed. “Just fine? She’s got a heart condition, Jim. There’s nothing fine about that.”
“Someone’s in a bad mood,” you mumbled as you pushed yourself up on the bed. “You’d think you’re the one who got diagnosed with a heart condition.” “As often as the two of you wind up in here, I’m surprised I don’t already have one. God, do you have any idea how dangerous it is to work under the conditions down in Engineering with an arrhythmia?”
You furrowed your brow. “Arrhythmia?”
“An irregular heartbeat.”
“That explains so much…” you whispered in response. Silence fell as Bones glared at you.
“How long have you been having symptoms?”
You avoided his gaze, staring at the hem of the sheet you were lying under. “I don’t know. Not super long. Maybe a couple weeks.”
“A couple weeks,” Bones yelled louder than he intended. He reigned himself in again. “You didn’t think it was something you should mention? I mean, the dizziness, the heart palpitations - they’re all pretty noticeable symptoms.”
“I’m not a doctor,” you said defensively. “I didn’t know what it was! I thought it was just because I have a stupid crush on you and I was nervous or something.” You clapped your hand over your mouth, eyes wide, heart racing again.
“This ain’t a romance novel, sugar,” Bones laughed, which made your cheeks redder than they already were. “Your heart’s not supposed to flutter.”
“Yeah, well I realize it’s not a romance novel or I wouldn’t be lying in a paper gown covered in dust and engine grease in front of a smoking hot doctor.” You crossed your arms over your chest, sinking back into the pillow and wishing, more than anything, that you could sink through the bed and drift off through space to a planet a few systems away from here.
“I like a girl who’s not afraid to get dirty,” Bones teased.
“Aaaaand that’s my cue to leave,” Jim interrupted. “You crazy kids have fun.”
You watched Jim go, hoping he could feel your eyes on his back begging him to stay or at the very least smother you with your own pillow. Either would do. Sadly, he kept walking, leaving you with Bones and a heavy silence as you were both reduced to grade schoolers tugging nervously at your shirt sleeves.
“So,” you started. “Are you gonna...take care of my heart?” You cringed at how cheesy that sounded. “No, that’s. I’m sorry. Can you fix it?”
Bones couldn’t help but laugh. He’d never seen you nervous before. It was a cute look on you. “I’ll take good care of you, doll.” Bones pressed his hand over yours and everything clicked into place. The tornado of thoughts whirring around your brain finally calmed as you focused on the pressure, the warmth of Bones’ hand over yours. It was a feeling you wanted to hold onto forever.
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f05erxay-blog · 5 years ago
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Tip cheap car insurance quotes for young male drivers
Tip cheap car insurance quotes for young male drivers
Tip cheap car insurance quotes for young male drivers
BEST ANSWER: Try this site where you can compare free quotes :cheap-insure.info
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alphacrone · 7 years ago
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in which dex & bitty have a fight, bitty & ransom make out, dex comes to realize a few things, & poor nursey is ghosted for a couple hours. also pie.
[Part of the Blue-Eyed Jack ‘Verse. Set loosely between All Decked Out Like a Cowboy’s Dream and Kitty & the Biscuits]
CW: dubious consent (drunk surprise kissing), vague homophobia, coming out, canon typical alcohol abuse (they are taking very small shots i promise)
CON’T TEXT CONVERSATION BETWEEN YOU AND DEREK NURSE
WP: And then Cait said she’d call the cops and those kids ran so fast, it was hilarious.
DN: who’s Cait?
DN: also LOL
WP: Chow’s girlfriend.
DN: wait i thought you guys were all gay
WP: Why would you think that?
DN: ur the Gay Country Band i thought that meant the Whole band
WP: No.
WP: Just Bitty.
WP: I think.
WP: Chowder has a girlfriend.
WP: Ransom’s brought girls home more than once.
WP: Just Bitty.
DN: what about u?
WP: What about me?
DN: u just listed all the reasons ur bandmates aren’t gay
DN: but not urself
DN: y?
WP: I didn’t think I needed to say it.
WP: What does it matter?
DN: idk just curious
WP: Whatever.
Dex huffed and slumped back against the nasty, green couch. He knew Bitty would make a fuss about sitting on it -- the thing had been a point of contention between him and Chowder for months now -- but the only other option were the lumpy arm chairs and Dex hated those things.
“You texting with Derek again?”
Dex started; he hadn't realized Bitty was home. “Yeah. Why d’you ask?”
Bitty cast him a wry look over the back of the couch. “He stresses you out in a way only Chowder ever has.”
“That's not true,” Dex said grumpily. “You stress me out the most.”
“So kind,” Bitty teased. “Keep up that kinda sweet talk and I'll think you're flirting with me.”
Normally Dex would've laughed at the absurdity of the idea, but today it gave him pause. “Do people really think we’re the ‘gay country band?’”
Bitty’s smile fell. “Well, yeah, sort of. Why?”
Dex shrugged, glancing at his phone. “I don't know. Just something Derek said. I thought it was like...you were the ‘gay country singer’ and we were just your band.”
Bitty’s face grew steely and he crossed his arms over his chest. “I'm sorry you have to suffer through the inconvenience of people assuming you're gay, that must just be so difficult-”
“Bitty,” Dex started, but Bitty was already headed out of the room.
“I'm going to the store,” Bitty said gruffly, grabbing his wallet from the key basket. “Be back later.” Dex stood to follow, hand outstretched.
“Bits-” But the front door slammed shut. Dex huffed a frustrated sigh and punched the wall, not quite hard enough to break anything but just enough to hurt.
Why was it that Derek’s texts annoyed him so much? Dex had never minded being lumped in with the rainbow flags and hell-bound accusations before; the Biscuits were a team and a team stuck together, had each other’s backs. Bitty was the only one of them who was gay, but they all stood for his message.
Except...except maybe he wasn't the only one at all.
It had been about a year prior, and they were on the last stretch of a tour, heading from Boise to Seattle through a long stretch of absolutely nothing. Rans had picked up a thing of decent whiskey in a sketchy, Idaho liquor store and they were in the middle of a rousing game of never have I ever. Chowder was winning at this point, with only a few fingers down, but seemed to be mercilessly targeting Bitty.
(“Never ever I have ever...lived in Madison, Georgia.”
“I swear to God, Christopher-”)
Dex was doing alright himself. He'd been impacted by Bitty’s attacks against northerners and hockey fans, but not in the same way Ransom had. Now they were battling each other ruthlessly, determined not to go out first. Bitty had two fingers left; Ransom had one.
There was something dangerously smug in Ransom’s drunken gaze as he rounded on Bitty, smirk growing. “Never ever have I ever...kissed another man.”
Bitty gasped indignantly and took his shot like a champ, very reluctantly lowering a finger. Before the next turn could be taken, however, he lunged across the circle and pulled Ransom’s mouth to his.
It wasn't the most coordinated kissing Dex had ever seen. Ransom was drunk enough that the force of it knocked him over to the side, and he dragged Bitty with him. Bitty paid no mind to the fact that he was now lying on top of his best friend; they both sort of got lost in the movements of their lips, kissing languidly and sloppily for a moment, like they were the only two people on that bus.
Then Bitty pulled back with a triumphant grin and shouted, “Take a shot, Justin.”
“No!” Ransom flopped back onto the ground, covering his face in his hands. “Bits that was a dirty move. I call foul!”
“Don't be a sore loser,” Bitty chirped, filling Ransom’s shot glass halfway. Dex supposed it would've been filled all the way if Bitty hadn't spilled so much onto the floor of the tour bus.
“Bitty, that was great!” Chowder said through his laughter. “Wasn't it, Dex?”
But Dex couldn't answer, all too aware of the uncomfortable tightness of his pants. He willed himself to calm down, to not show just how much he'd been affected by the scene in front of him.
“Oh, I'm sorry,” Bitty was huffing out as Ransom tried to sit on him. “Did I offend your delicate, Canadian sensibilities?”
“I'll show you delicate,” Ransom hissed, using his full body weight to squish Bitty against the floor. Bitty’s cheeks had gone bright red from the liquor and the exertion, and Dex found the sight more intoxicating than the alcohol in his bloodstream. “You're a huge cheater and I'm gonna make sure the whole world knows.” He pulled a marker from his pocket, uncapping it with his teeth.
“No you don't!” Bitty shouted, struggling against Ransom, but Ransom was twice his size and loomed over him. Dex swallowed roughly. “We have an interview tomorrow! Absolutely not! Do not draw on my face- I will call your mother right now.”
Somewhere in there, Dex excused himself to the bathroom, and hoped no one noticed when he took a little extra time and returned glassy-eyed and out of breath.
When Bitty returned from the “store” several hours later, he was met by the sight of a pie. Peaches and cream, to be exact.
It was nothing fancy, not like the salted rose and honey pie Bitty had made the day before, the crust shaped into beautiful braids and flower petals, but it was the one kind of pie Bitty could never bring himself to make, despite the fact that it was his favorite. Dex had a hunch as to why this was, but had never gotten a direct answer about it. And that didn’t matter right now.
“I didn’t…” He started as Bitty cautiously stepped into the kitchen, eyes wide as he studied the pie on the table. “I wasn’t trying to imply I was- it’s not-”
“Dex, it’s fine,” Bitty said sullenly. “You’re not the first straight guy I’ve known who’s-”
“I’m gay,” Dex blurted out, wringing his hands together. “Um. Yeah.”
Bitty’s eyes, if possible, grew wider. “Oh! Oh, Dex, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve- I should’ve-”
“You didn’t know,” Dex said with a small shrug. “And honestly...I haven’t been sure about it myself. Until now.”
“Oh, hun.” Bitty surged forward and pulled Dex into a tight hug. Dex let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and rested his chin on top of Bitty’s head. “C’mon, let’s eat this pie you made and you can talk about it. Or not!” He added, pulling back with a worried expression. “You don’t have to, unless you want to, but if you want to I’m always here, please know that-”
“Bits.” Dex grabbed both of his shoulders, smiling down at him. “There’s no one else I’d want to talk to about it more.”
“Because I’m the only gay guy you know?” Bitty chirped, moving to cut two slices of pie. Dex rolled his eyes.
“I do have other friends, you know,” he said, pulling out two plates and two forks.
“Sure,” Bitty said lightly. “And I’m an NBA player.” He handed a plate to Dex with a teasing grin.
“Ass,” Dex said, but kissed Bitty’s cheek lightly in thanks. Bitty rolled his eyes but Dex felt a million pounds lighter, just from the sheer freedom of being able to do something like that without consequence, at least in the safety of their kitchen. Bitty took his own slice and shepherded Dex into the living room, chatting a mile a minute about how good the pie smelled and how impressed he was Dex had made it all on his own.
When Chowder returned from Cait’s that evening, he walked into the living room to see Bitty and Dex asleep on the couch -- on top of a beach towel, obviously -- Bitty’s legs perched in Dex’s lap and an empty pie tin sitting on the coffee table.
In Dex’s hand, about to fall to the floor, was his phone, still open to some text thread. Carefully, Chowder took the phone and set it on the table, noticing that the thread was with Derek Nurse, unsurprisingly. They’d all befriended the Falcs the evening Bitty and Jack got together; Chowder himself was frequently in contact with Snowy and Tater, and on occasion Nurse himself. He didn’t look at the thread, but if he had, it might’ve made him smile.
CON’T TEXT CONVERSATION BETWEEN YOU AND DEREK NURSE
WP: Sorry for ghosting. Had a fight with Bitty.
DN: dude u ok?
WP: Yeah, it’s all sorted out.  
WP: Also sorry for being a dick earlier. You didn’t deserve that reaction.
DN: nah im sorry for prying
WP: It’s just...not something I’m ready to talk about with most people just yet.
DN: will you don’t have to say anything you don’t want to
DN: we’re not bffs i understand
WP: No, I trust you.
WP: But it’s hard.
WP: Bitty’s a good first step I think.
WP: Then...friends.
DN: like me?
WP: Yeah. Like you.
DN: that’s
DN: that means a lot
DN: thank you
WP: Don’t let it go to your head.
DN: wouldn’t dream of it. ;)
WP: Ugh I already regret telling you this.
DN: no take backs. Ur stuck with me :D
WP: There are worse things I guess.
DN: chlamydia?
WP: Goodnight, Derek.
DN: night, will. don’t let the bedbugs bite
DN: unless ur into that ;) ;) ;)
WP: Go away
DN: :*
DN: wow did u really text jack to tell me to shut up?
DN: rude
DN: goodNIGHT will, hope bitty feeds u poisoned pie
WP: :*
DN: emoticon. can’t tell if im proud or mad
DN: u better sleep w one eye open
WP: Go to sleep. I’ll still be here to annoy in the morning.
DN: good :)
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jam2289 · 5 years ago
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88.9 Hey Radio, Cloudland, and Me
I love the name Cloudland. Let me paint you a quick picture about a time I went mountain climbing.
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I was 19 and I was halfway through a crazy adventure. I had ridden a bus from Michigan to Washington State for four days. I rode my mountain bike across the desert and over the Cascade Mountains, from Yakima to Mount Rainier, in three days. Now, I was on the second day of my two-day climb of Mt. Rainier. It's a fast climb, and today we are supposed to reach the summit.
There's a glacier that we need to get up before the sun gets too high. Apparently, the idea is that we are going to climb through this section while it's still really cold in the morning. Then, as the sun rises the ice and snow is going to heat up and there will probably be a small avalanche. Then, we're going to come back down this section again later. For the plan to work, you need to not be there when the avalanche happens.
But, one of the guys that I'm roped to is having problems, major problems. He has mountain sickness, he's walking and talking like he's drunk, really drunk, and he keeps falling off of the cliff. This thing is an almost vertical 2,000 foot drop down a glacier. We are weaving our way up it. But he keeps falling off the edge, and we keep catching him with the rope and pulling him back up. It's exhausting. Eventually, our guide tells us that we aren't going to make it in time, we're just moving too slow like this. He's going to radio for help.
The radio doesn't work. We still need help though. My guide anchors us into the ice face and leaves to find help from one of the other teams. Now, it's just me and Jeremiah standing on this little ice ledge looking out from this mountain. The other guy was there, but we couldn't understand the nonsense mixture of sounds he was making, so he doesn't count. Jeremiah and I had a unique experience, to say the least.
As we stood there talking about how stupid it is to die by waiting in an avalanche zone until said avalanche arrives, we watched the marine layer of clouds rise in unison with the sun. Of course, this beautiful sunrise was also the thing that was going to kill us, but... it was amazing. The clouds slowly climbed their way up the mountain. You couldn't tell they were moving, they just kept getting closer and closer, until they were right at our feet. The 2,000 foot cliff no longer existed. It looked, it seemed, it appeared, as if you could just step out onto that cloud. Like Heaven or Olympus had invited us. It seemed like the cloud would just catch you in its soft embrace.
None of us stepped onto the cloud, not even the guy that had tried to step into pure air a few times before. The guide came back with two other guides and a couple more people. My guide took some people back down the path, and I continued on with a new guide. Later that day I summitted Mt. Rainier, and I have a picture at the top where I look a bit dazed. By the time I got to the bottom again my boots were full of blood, and I still have spots where hair doesn't grow on my shins. I've had some brain damage since then from complications after an adventure in Africa, but I still vividly remember that scene of me and Jeremiah standing on that cliff, watching the sun and the clouds rise, and talking of death.
The band Cloudland probably has a different story behind their name choice. Here is their own introduction from their website: https://www.cloudlandband.com
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We’re a four piece alternative rock outfit based out of Athens, Georgia.  Hope and honesty drive our songs, walking the line between what is sacred and what is secular in an attempt to bring you something you might not find anywhere else. We thrive off of fast-paced, energy-filled shows and an honest, homegrown fanbase. We want to love what we do just as much as the people listening. Connect with us on all social media platforms and email, and let’s get a show together.
With love,
Karmen Smith, Hogan Heim, Zach King, & Aidan Hill
@cloudlandband
- - - - - - -
The song we are looking at today is "Over Again". You can listen to it on Spotify here: https://open.spotify.com/album/3BXgF5hBn7QzGbaKDwC0Uk
Let's do the lyrics stanza by stanza and see if anything interesting emerges, or leaps out at us.
- - - - - - -
I’d been thinkin’ this was it
It would all just settle in place
If this is patience I feel spent
I guess I didn’t think it’d be this way
Then I think back to the start
Oh it all just seemed so far
Then I focus back to now
You’ve had a plan for every part
- - - - - - -
This first part seems simple, but it's really rather complex. It's very contemplative, and centers around this idea of thinking back over your life in a nostalgic way, almost from an existential perspective. Whoever wrote this seems to be quite the poet, and poets often create sentences that mean multiple things. I think that's the case here.
I'm not going to be able to unpack everything. But, the first four lines are a little morose, they have a feeling like the acceptance of dissatisfaction. Then, the fifth line is a turning point. We move back in time, "to the start", where the future seemed so incredibly distant. In the seventh line we come back to the present with a new perspective on life that is revealed in line eight. Life seems to have some cohesiveness, it seemed chaotic going through it, but now looking back on it there appears to be order.
This idea of meaning-making is a powerful concept. The great psychologist Viktor Frankl will provide us with a little insight about how meaning-making works when the incidences of life seem chaotic, but maybe the whole makes sense.
"Now let us turn to the question of meaning itself. To invoke an analogy, consider a
movie: it consists of thousands upon thousands of individual pictures, and each of them
makes sense and carries a meaning, yet the meaning of the whole film cannot be seen
before its last sequence is shown. However, we cannot understand the whole film without
having first understood each of its components, each of the individual pictures. Isn’t it the
same with life? Doesn’t the final meaning of life, too, reveal itself, if at all, only at its end, on
the verge of death? And doesn’t this final meaning, too, depend on whether or not the
potential meaning of each single situation has been actualized to the best of the respective
individual’s knowledge and belief?"
Also in that last line our singer is addressing a personified and personal greater power. That's no small thing. My views on it are unusual, to say the least. But it's a little too much for me to address here. I have an article with an obscenely long title that does address it simply and quickly though - "God, the Other, and the Self; Or, The Emergent Concept of God; Or, The Re-Creation of the Self Through the Discovery and Conceptualization of God; Or, The God Without and the God Within": http://www.jeffreyalexandermartin.com/2019/04/god-other-and-self-or-emergent-concept.html
- - - - - - -
So I will do this over again and over again and we’ll be fine
Oh I can see you all over this all over this so take your time
And I’ll have my eyes set on the lights you keep leaving on
- - - - - - -
I'm not sure which way to go with this repetition. Repetition is important for learning, it's how we develop the myelin sheath that wraps around our neurons, which is largely responsible for all of our developed skills and acquired knowledge. Maybe meaning-making is a skill that is developed over time, and needs repetitions. That actually makes a lot of sense.
That last line about leaving the lights on is interesting. The lights are guideposts, I assume. They are signs of opportunity, right decision, and right action. They are trying to lead you in the right direction.
Here's the thing, we don't perceive everything in our environment. It's just not physically possible to process that much information. We are aware of a tiny fraction of the available data in our environment. It's important that our brains and minds become aware of the right data. To do that you need a framework that you're operating in. This is actually called the frame problem.
The psychologist James Gibson created the theory of affordances, the idea that things offer an ability to interact with them, and that's how we first perceive them. We see things as either tools in getting what we want, or obstacles in the way of getting what we want. If something isn't a tool or an obstacle, then we never even become aware that it exists. We truly don't process the data.
So these lights, that are guiding beacons, that the singer speaks about here are tools that have been set in his path to help him on his journey. The journey that doesn't seem to make sense while he's going through it, but makes perfect sense when he's looking back on it.
After repeating this process of looking back over his life to see how it is orderly, he seems to be developing some trust in the process and the guide, so he has faith in these guiding lights, you could even say confidence. Confidence comes from the Latin con fidere, meaning "with faith."
- - - - - - -
Something’s telling me to quit
But then I think to if I did
I’d have the rest of my life
Spend sitting with the could of beens
- - - - - - -
The singer's doubt here is general, it covers everything, doubt and thinking about quitting for any reason. No matter the reason, he navigates through this problem by thinking about what he would regret, the missed opportunities. This is a common strategy for approaching life. The billionaires Mark Cuban, Jeff Bezos, and Ross Perot all cite this as an idea that they use when making big life decisions.
- - - - - - -
So I will do this over again and over again and we’ll be fine
Oh I can see you all over this all over this so take your time
And I’ll have my eyes set on the lights you keep leaving on
- - - - - - -
I'm sure I could go over this one again, but I'll let you think of some instead.
- - - - - - -
Oh take your time
Oh won’t you take my time
Oh won’t you take your time
Oh won’t you take my time
- - - - - - -
Alternating between "your time" and "my time" is intriguing. Is there a difference? Is it my time? Or God's time? Or our time? Powerful questions indeed.
- - - - - - -
So I will do this over again and over again and we’ll be fine
Oh I can see you all over this all over this so take your time
So I will do this over again and over again and we’ll be fine
- - - - - - -
And that's it folks. That part where he says "we'll be fine", the "we" interests me. Is it the singer and God? Is it the singer referring to himself as a plural? (Which is a major psychological concept.) Is it humanity? Is it a specific set of people? I'm not sure, you'll have to make your own guesses about that one, and see how the song speaks to you.
That went quite a bit differently than I expected it to. Here are the original notes that I wrote down.
- - - - - - -
meaning making
self and other
past present and future
regret
guilt
confidence, with faith
split between self and other
basic trust
rise and fall of israel narrative
eliade, the sacred
otto, the holy
- - - - - - -
I included some of that, but other things were left out entirely. The idea of walking the sacred/secular line from Cloudland's description of themselves intrigues me, but that subject will be left for another day.
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Read more of what Jeff deems worthy of attention at: http://www.JeffreyAlexanderMartin.com
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dracoisthebae · 6 years ago
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The Wonder of a Fairy-tale (Chapter 1)
James Ryan Haywood has felt something inside his mind telling him he doesn't belong here for a long time, telling him he needs to head away.
Gavin Free wants to escape but doesn't really understand why? Will Michael and Jeremy stop him from making such a big decision or will he meet Ryan on the journey of a lifetime? 
Hello, welcome to my new fic! I've been planning this since watching Mamma Mia Here We Go Again so it's been a few months in the making, I'd appreciate any feedback I can get.  
This was it. James Haywood was out of here. Three years of college had left him with a degree and a whole lot of debt, but that was something that future James could worry about. All through his youth James knew that there was no way he would enjoy the life his mother had planned for him, succeed in high school and head over to college where afterwards he could get a respectable job and raise his own family only to have her force his children through the very same thing. Before today he had only ever had slight instances of rebellious behaviour, growing his hair and staying out at night despite the fact that he didn't drink was about as bad as it got. But now, James Ryan Haywood is an adult, legally he doesn't have to live with his mother anymore. So this was it, this was the adventure of Ryan Haywood. He'd taken the decision that with his drastic change in life he was going to go by his middle name. He'd felt that a change like that was necessary to brace himself for what he was about to do.
After his graduation, he returned to his apartment with Geoff Ramsey and Jack Pattillo his two roommates whom he'd spent the last three years with. The apartment itself was quaint, originally sold as a one bedroom but the three of them had managed to fit, had a small kitchen that went mostly unused unless James felt up to cooking his famous enchiladas as well as one bathroom and a storage room. It was a vast improvement to the university digs from the first year. The apartment had a large fire escape attached to it that the three of them referred to as 'the balcony', even taking it upon themselves to move a set of chairs out on it.
"So, what now?" Geoff questioned, he and Ryan had sat out on the balcony while Jack went to grab two beers and a Diet Coke for the three of them. The other two never questioned Ryan's choice to not drink, instead choosing to accept and move along with it. At the beginning of their friendship, Geoff's only comment was that the less than James drank more left for him.
The three of them looked like a strange bunch of men, Geoff having a curly moustache and a fair amount of smile lines despite his age after spending so much of his life giggling, Jack and his big burly beard contrasted by the bright ginger tones within, and James. Ryan, James... he hadn't entirely gotten used to going by his middle name yet, he'd read somewhere that it was something the Welsh did. Ryan looked like somewhere between a frat boy and a hippie, he hadn't yet decided on his 'look' and honestly, he thought he never would. In his opinion, it was better to go off personality than looks.
"I say we just do what we did for the last three years but without the whole education bit," Jack responded, placing the drinks on the table before taking a seat next to the other two.
"What? So stay inside playing video games? Somehow I don't think that would work." Geoff spoke as though the thought of that was impossible despite the fact that they had seen many people do so before. But they had needed to live with their parents.
Ryan took in a deep breath and spurted his thoughts, "I'm leaving." Ryan turned to look at the two other men, the shock and confusion on their facer was clear. Geoff spluttered out the sip of beer he had just taken in.
"What do you mean you're leaving?" Jack questioned before Geoff butted in, "James, where would you go? You've just graduated?"
"Greece. I'm going to Greece, I just feel it calling me, You knew this wasn't for me. This life. This city. I've booked a flight to Paris tomorrow and then I'm going from there. I've decided that I'm going to be Ryan Haywood. No James. It's not me." Ryan stood, walking out toward the edge of the balcony and gazing out at the city. "I feel like my life just isn't gonna happen here, not that I don't like you two. You guys are the best friends I could have had, but... I just don't feel like me here."
Geoff turned to face Ryan, his hands had gone up to massage his face, "Right, but why the fuck are you going to Greece? It's a bit far, isn't it? Couldn't you just go to like a national park or something?"
"I don't know, I guess I understand the need to travel. Maybe you'll meet someone. I'm not quite sure why you waited until after a degree and a heck of a lot of debt before travelling the world though..." Jack had moved to stand next to Ryan, placing his hand onto Ryans back before continuing, "So is this a long-term thing or just a holiday?"
Jack had always been the voice of reason amongst the three, ironic considering him and Ryan had very similar voices. Jack also understood the tension between Ryan and his mother.
Ryan turned away from the balcony, "I don't know... For however long I need to feel complete. I wish I understood. It used to be so nice, it used to be so good" Taking the few steps back into the apartment, he began to pack his clothes. "Guys, you made me feel alive, but something died I fear. I really tried to make it out, but there's only so much of this type of life I can take. There's more I know it."
Ryan didn't have much in that apartment that was his, he'd always known that he wasn't going to stay. His bags were almost constantly packed for this very reason. Geoff and Jack had questioned his lack of possessions once or twice, he guessed it was all clicking in his head now. The only reason he came to college was for the sake of his mother. Ryan had always known that he was destined for something more than software development, the thought of working in a small office and doing the same thing every day until he was sixty was horrific to him.
Ryan sat on his bed, closing his suitcase and turning to his two roommates.
"They passed me by, all of those great romances. It’s as if you’re robbing me of my rightful chances. My picture clear everything seemed so easy. And so I dealt you the blow, one of us had to go. Now it’s different, I want you to know..." The two other men knew that Ryan was talking about his mother, he hadn't spoken much about her but what he had said was enough for them to understand that he had been forced into this college and career path.
Geoff moved towards the bed, picking up what was left of Ryans possessions. He could tell that Geoff had warmed up to the idea of Ryan needing to find himself as he began speaking, "One of us is lonely, one of us is only waiting for a call, sorry for himself. Feeling stupid, feeling small. Wishing he had never left at all. We know that you didn't want to come here."
"We just hope that you let us visit," Jack said as he moved over to the other two and helping pack away what little possessions Ryan had.
Ryan moved the last few items into his bag, "I saw myself, as a concealed attraction. I felt you kept me away from the heat and the action. Just like a child, stubborn and misconceiving," He stood up, moving towards the door and motioned to the other two, "Come on, walk with me. That’s how I started the show, one of us had to go. Now I’ve changed and I want you to know." His bag held in one arm, using the other to open the door.
Jack tilted his head to the side while Geoff headed towards Ryan, "You have told her haven't you?"
A great sigh left Ryans throat, "She'll find out, wherever she is. She'll know."
The three college graduates headed out into the damp streets, the recent rainfall reflecting the street lights back into their faces. Ryan knew that the other two would understand everything after a while, it was just the thought that he hadn't planned it despite the fact that Ryan had been planning this for his whole life.
"I have a plan, a loose one, I'm heading to France. Finding a hotel there and travelling. There's this island, Kalokairi. Only accessible by boat, I've been researching it every day in the library. Talking to the geography lecturers. I know that that's my goal." Ryans hair had flopped in front of his eyes, the shaggy locks were something he probably should've fixed before now. The recent sun had highlighted parts of his mane to become a light blonde.
His clothes were another thing, he didn't have many. Loved living a minimalist lifestyle while still having clothes that expressed himself. Brighter tones that played up his blue eyes to a shine that he knew never belonged in Georgia or even America.
"James, do we want to know the name of the game? What's your reasoning? Upturning your entire life for this feeling in your gut?" Jack appeared concerned for Ryan, his eyebrows had knitted together along his forehead.
"Yeah, I get feelings in my gut all the time but its usually just telling me I need to vomit." Geoff barely got through the sentence, giggling halfway and ending with a wheeze.
Jack glared over at him, "Time and a place Geoffrey."
Ryan turned around, walking backwards, "Schoolbag in hand, I left home in the early mornings. Waving goodbye with concern in my eyes. Is it so much to want a different life for your self? I feel everything slipping through my fingers. The feeling that I'm losing myself without even entering the world." His empty arm raised, "I let precious time go by."
"What happened to those wonderful adventures, the things we had planned to do?" The tone in Jacks' voice was honest and confused.
"We can still do all of that, think of all the adventures we can have when you visit, I'll write to you every chance I get." Ryans arms had lowered, a smile gracing his face. "A new place, new people, new adventures."
The main thing that had appealed to him when they had been hunting for apartments had been the fact that theirs was so close to the airport. A quick escape. No time for emotions to get the worst of things. In almost no time at all they had arrived at the airport after walking down the cobbled road, Jack finally accepting what Ryan was about to do.
"We'll be thinking about you." Jack had raised his palm onto Ryans shoulder while Geoff pretended that he wasn't crying his eyes out, "Yeah, you better share everything with us!" He had been so happy when he had finally gained an appropriate amount of facial hair to call a moustache, but now Geoffs moustache had drooped with the frown on his face.
Ryan took a deep breath, he had spent years thinking of this moment and he knew that all the thoughts he'd had didn't weigh up to the real thing. He turned to the two other men, "Bye gents, I'll share every moment with you." Ryan turned to rush up the stairs towards the check-in desk.
The first thing Ryan noted about the airport was that it was bright, almost congratulating him on making the decision. Walking over to the lady manning the desk he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, "Uh hello!"
She looked up, her hair was tied back into a bun and she had a fake smile plastered on her face, "Hello Sir, where are you flying to?" Her hand came out to reach for his ticket, Ryan handed over the blue and white piece of paper that held his fate in its print.
"Ah, Paris. A romantic I take it then?" She looked back up at him, the smile had transformed. Oh... She fidgeted with a loose hair that had fallen out of the hold of her hairspray. Ryan moved a hand up to rub at his neck, this wasn't quite what he was expecting... The feeling in his gut told him to ignore her, Greece was more important, he would find his fate along the way.
"Uh, not really I'm just going around Europe looking for something..." The ticket lady scoffed and handed the ticket back to him, and Ryan said his thanks and went on his way over to security. This was right.
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thewalkingdeadimaginings · 8 years ago
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Beauty of A Secret: Chapter One
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Beauty of A Secret
I have a norman request for you. Hopefully you like. You've been working on the set of TWD as a stylist for a while and you and norman have been secretly dating for the last several months. You've just found out you're pregnant but you're terrified to tell Norman... every time you try someone interrupts for whatever reason. He finds out accidentally n doesn't handle it very well at first. I hav several idea of how to really make this into a long fic if you're interested. Love your stuff xx
Alright, I know what you guys must be thinking…she’s starting a new story? This girl takes forever to post updates AND requested one shots. What the flippity flop girl? I’M SORRY OKAY THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA AND I HAVE NO SELF CONTROL AND I JUST WANNA WRITE EVERYTHING hahaha and this just means you guys will get a third requested one shot so it’ll still be equal rotation. I swear I will be better at updating more haha I was on a roll in the beginning. My first few followers remember hahaha but I’ve fallen behind like a chump. Just so you guys know, she’s getting a name since this will be a full fanfiction. So I hope you enjoy this!!
To the person who requested this and has ideas and whatnot, make sure you message me ‘cause I’d love to hear your ideas.
ALSO, if any of you know where I got the title of this story from, you’re good in my book ;)
Chapter One: October 27, 2010
It was crazy the way life took off without you even knowing how fast you were going. Until one day, you wake up feeling like an entirely different person in an entirely different world.
At least, that’s the way Wendy Harper felt. She never expected this massive level of success in such a short amount of time. One day she was doing hair and makeup for short film projects with her friends to being on a real life set. It was for a show that was based on a comic book series. That wasn’t on Wendy’s list of interests but she did enjoy zombie movies and this would be a TV show involving a lot of zombies.
It was called The Walking Dead. She joined the crew about halfway through filming so it was a little awkward joining a group of people that were already close. Of course, everyone was so nice to her and welcomed her with open arms but it didn’t take away from the awkwardness.
Thankfully, she wasn’t alone in that feeling. The same day she’d joined the crew, someone else had joined the cast, playing a rather cranky redneck. But the actor himself, Norman Reedus, was completely different from his character, Daryl Dixon. He apparently liked working with Wendy the most because she was new like him and they had bonded over that.
Norman was such a sweetheart. Everything his fans said about him was a hundred percent true. He was goofy and weird and had the most wonderful smile that was contagious. And that was just a few of the many things that made Wendy fall for him. They hadn’t known each other for very long but they had such a good time together that everything progressed so quickly but it still felt natural. It didn’t feel rushed or wrong. By June, they were dating. By July, Wendy had her own drawer in his apartment where she was staying quite frequently.
They hadn’t told anyone about their relationship. And with Wendy’s new following on twitter and Instagram, that was definitely the way she wanted to keep it. She’d been guilty of snooping around the internet and she’d seen how some of Norman’s fans had spoken about his previous girlfriends and Wendy didn’t want anyone being so horrible to her. Did she care about what people thought of her? No, not really. But it still would hurt to see such mean things like that. No one could be possibly be bullet proof like that. Still, Wendy had such strong feelings for Norman and the feeling was mutual. Whatever they were doing was working so they kept it private.
Wendy was enjoying her days of sleeping in. Being on the show forced her to be awake at the crack of dawn and last week she was flying all over the place with Norman. Finally, the two of them were getting a break. She was enjoying it now because when May came back around, she would be saying good-bye to sleep for the next few months.
Norman was sleeping soundly beside her, his arm draped over his eyes. Wendy rolled over, pushing his hair off his forehead and kissing his scruffy cheek. Norman grunted as his eyes fluttered open and he stretched his arms above his head.
“Morning,” he groaned. He moved his left arm and wrapped it around Wendy’s waist, gently stroking her back with his fingertips, “How’d you sleep?”
“I slept great,” Wendy replied, glancing out the window, the curtains open just enough to allow a little sunlight to peek through, “I have to get back to my own apartment today though.”
“Why?” Norman asked, his arm wrapping tighter around her and pulling her closer.
“I’ve slept here so much, I ran out of clean clothes,” Wendy said. She climbed out of bed and reached for her jeans that were folded on top of Norman’s dresser.
“I have a washer and dryer,” Norman countered.
“That’s not the point,” Wendy giggled. Norman hugged her from behind and threw himself back, falling back into bed and taking Wendy down with him. Wendy squealed, playfully smacking Norman’s arms until he let go of her, “Norman! You’re crazy.”
Wendy stood up once more and Norman allowed it, sitting at the side of the bed as he watched her get dressed. Once she was all ready to go, she stood between his legs and ran her fingers through his hair.
“I’ll only be gone for a few hours,” she said, “And when I get back, we can give you a trim.”
“You seem to enjoy my hair,” Norman chuckled.
“I do,” Wendy replied, pushing all his hair back, “I can’t help it. Alright, I really do have to go. I’ll be back tonight and then I’m all yours the rest of the week.”
“The show premieres this Sunday,” Norman remarked, “You’ll be here for that?”
Wendy grabbed his face and crashed her lips onto his, “Of course I will. I wasn’t there for the first half so it’ll be fun seeing it with fresh eyes.”
“True,” Norman said.
As she picked up her duffel bag and her purse, she turned back to Norman and smirked, “Plus, I’ve gotta see how well my work held up!”
Norman had turned the premiere of The Walking Dead into an event. Wendy wasn’t surprised though. This was a huge moment for the two of them. It was new and exciting and for Wendy, it was her first major job. Her name would end up being in the end credits and she couldn’t wait for that.
“You’ve got popcorn,” Wendy said, holding up two glasses, “And I’ve got the wine.”
Norman took a piece of popcorn and popped it into his mouth, grinning as Wendy hurried into the kitchen, returning moments later with the bottle of wine. She flopped down on the couch beside him and started pouring, “I’m so excited. Can you tell my hands are shaking?”
“You’re fine,” Norman laughed, taking the bottle from Wendy’s hand, “Don’t be so nervous.”
“I don’t even know why I am,” Wendy muttered, “I didn’t even do anything on this episode.”
“Well, your moment’s coming up,” Norman said, kissing her cheek.
“This wine should loosen me up a little,” Wendy said as she started guzzling down her first glass of wine, allowing the sweet, tingly liquid slide down her throat. Norman did the same and refilled their glasses.
“I wouldn’t mind loosening up,” Norman said, sliding closer next to Wendy, handing her glass to her while his free hand slid up and down her thigh. Before she could look down at his hand, he pulled it away and lifted her chin, placing a delicate kiss on her lips.
“Hang on a second,” Wendy said, lightheartedly pushing him away with a giggle, “You’re in a real hurry, aren’t you? Don’t you wanna watch this episode first?”
“Yeah, I can wait an hour,” Norman mumbled, though he continued with kisses up and down her neck. Wendy tried to contain her pleasure since the episode would come on in less than a minute.
“Norman, if we’re gonna wait, you’re gonna have to stop,” Wendy mumbled, nearly lost in his kisses and in his touch as his hands slowly moved up her thighs, “I don’t want you to miss anything but in a minute, I won’t be able to resist.”
“You’re right,” Norman said, kissing Wendy’s lips one last time just as the episode was starting. He leaned back on the couch, holding Wendy close to him as she held the popcorn bowl on his lap, “Sorry, you just look so damn good tonight. But I’ll be patient. It’ll be worth the wait.”
Maybe it was the excitement of the premiere or of the future ahead of them or maybe it was just the wine kicking in but once the episode was over, the rest of the night was the best Wendy had ever spent with anyone. It was intense and it was sensual and she was so full of love it almost made her heart ache. And it got better in the weeks that followed. A week after the show premiered, it was renewed for another season. Everyone was responding to the new show so well. Wendy had such a wonderful new job and a loving, sweet, and caring boyfriend. Everything was working out in Wendy’s favor.
It was nearing Christmas now and Norman was working on their living arrangements for their stay in Georgia when they came back to start filming the second season. Despite it being their first Christmas together, they would be spending it apart. Norman would be with his son while Wendy would go back home to see her family. They hadn’t even told their own families about their relationship so they would have to do their own little Christmas on another day. With just a week left together before leaving for the holidays, they had some things to get done, which included their stay in Georgia.
“Wouldn’t it be cool to get a house out there?” Norman said, “You remember what it looked like. It was gorgeous, wasn’t it?”
“It really was,” Wendy said, “But the show is still so new. Maybe we should wait a little longer before we go and get a house.”
“I guess you’re right,” Norman said, “I don’t know, we’ll figure it out later. I’ve gotta get back to my apartment and finish packing. You need any help here before I leave?”
“No, I’ve got it,” Wendy said. She brought Norman to the front door and kissed him passionately, holding his face. Norman was surprised by the sudden show of affection but he didn’t fight it. He wrapped his arms around her waist and returned her kiss.
“Well thank you for that,” Norman said as Wendy pulled away and opened the door, “I’m really gonna miss you these next few weeks.”
“I’m gonna miss you too,” Wendy replied, “But soon, we’ll get back home and we’ll have our own little Christmas. Eventually, we’ll tell our family and friends about our relationship. Probably should in the next month considering our anniversary will be in June.”
“I’m surprised we’ve managed to keep it hidden this long,” Norman said, “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow morning and we’ll go to the airport together, okay?”
“Sounds good,” Wendy said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetness.”
“See you.” Norman planted one last kiss on Wendy’s cheek before leaving her apartment, shutting the door behind him. She waited for a few minutes, listening to Norman’s footsteps getting quieter and quieter until they were gone. Wendy hurriedly locked the door and ran into her bathroom.
Wendy threw open her medicine cabinet, pulling out a plastic bag she’d kept hidden inside there for the past day, just waiting for Norman to leave. This was wrong. She should’ve told him. He should be here to go through this with her. She’d suspected for a while but a part of her thought it was all in her head and she wouldn’t have to deal with this.
But now, there were three pregnancy tests in her hands and if they all came up positive, she would have to deal with this. But, there were so many things to think about and it was all so terrifying. She never actually thought she would be sitting in her bathroom peeing on a stick. And something else occurred to her while she was taking the tests. Her relationship with Norman was still so new. It had barely been six months and no one even knew they were together. This was definitely not the plan she’d had in mind for her future with Norman.
Wendy refused to leave the bathroom while she waited for the results. It was as if she didn’t trust the tests to be accurate if she walked away from them. She just set a timer on her phone and stared at it, on the edge of tears. Why had she sent Norman home? This was too difficult to do this on her own. She needed him.
After a while, Wendy sat on the linoleum floor, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her head against her legs. How would it be to have a baby? She didn’t have any nieces or nephews. Her friends didn’t have children. She didn’t know anything about babies. The closest she’d ever come to holding a baby was in middle school when she had to take care of a baby doll for home economics class.
The alarm on her phone went off abruptly, making her jump. She scrambled back onto her feet and nearly slipped getting to the counter, “Come on, give me some good news. Please, just good news.”
Wendy leaned against the counter, looking down at the three tests lined up in a row. Her heart pounded against her chest as she focused on the three little plus signs staring back at her. Before she got those three positive results, she wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. But now, she wasn’t sure where her emotions were. All she knew now was that she needed to tell Norman what was going on.
She picked up the tests, gazing at the plus signs for a little longer before taking a deep breath and acknowledging it, “I’m…pregnant.”
Hope you like this first chapter! Let me know what you think <3
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