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youvebeenlivingfictional · 5 years ago

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Don’t Treat My Love Like a Habit Part Two

Part One | Next Part | Masterlist

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x Reader Rating: Mature (this may change) Warnings: Cursing

Notes: Set before the movie. Not beta-read. Reina is Spanish for Queen. Also I am not a native Spanish speaker, so I am sorry for any mistakes! *We’ll let you know what we think as soon as we can. **Make it quick, Garcia, we need to move on this.-- Don't let her sway you too hard, huh? ***Sweet dreams

Summary: Pope needed this. You could see it on his face.

“You alive?” Pope’s voice crackled over your phone. You grunted in return, and he laughed, knowing it was as close as he was getting to a yes. “We got a call from Diego, he wants us to look over plans for a bust. Hernandez has been spotted.” Well that sure as fuck woke you up. You sat up in bed, scrubbing at your eyes. “Wha’ time is it?” You mumbled. “Almost noon. Meet me at the office in an hour. Diego’s gonna come by, give us the run-down.” You nodded. “Okay. Okay, an hour,” You agreed. “I’ll bring coffee,” Pope added. “You fucking better,” You said before hanging up. --

Pope needed this. You could see it on his face. After Isabella had disappeared, he’d been kicking himself. You’d eased up on berating him, even if you would still find yourself seething about it from time to time. The last month had been spent digging into leads that you knew would take you nowhere. But this bust that Diego was laying out... You were trying not to interject, keeping your face carefully schooled into a neutral set as he laid it out for the two of you. He’d sent you files, layouts, pictures of Hernandez that seemed off -- too perfect, almost. You were trying to keep an open mind, but you smelled a rat.

“*Le haremos saber lo que pensamos tan pronto como podamos,” You heard Pope promising Diego to let him know what you thought as he led the man out. “**Hazlo rápido, García, tenemos que seguir adelante con esto. No dejes que ella te influya demasiado, ¿eh?” You watched Diego’s back, eyes narrowing as he told Pope not let you ‘sway him too hard’. You saw Pope’s head turn back toward you a bit. He knew that you spoke and understood more Spanish than you’d let on to the team that he worked with frequently. Had they already talked this out without you? Had Pope already made some kind of commitment to the plan? You sure as hell hoped not. You pulled up the most recent picture of Hernandez that Diego’s team had gotten, scrutinizing it. There was something wrong about it; you could feel it in the pit of your stomach. You reached out, pulling the printed layout of Hernandez’ last known location, and the proposed sight for the bust toward you for another look. The last bit of information that Isabella had given Pope was that Hernandez had an operation that he was trying to set up in Mocoa, in the Putumayo region near the mouth of the Amazon. What the hell would bring him to Suseca? The town was a little over an hour from Bogota-- that was an eleven hour drive from Mocoa-- "So? What do you think?” You looked up to see Pope standing in front of you. He was trying not look too eager, and you felt your stomach drop. Pope needed this. You couldn’t give it to him. -- ”You’re killing me here, Reina.” The words were muffled. You glanced over at Pope to find his head in his hands. He took a deep breath before he lifted his head. “Just...Tell my why it’s such a bad idea,” He requested. “C’mere,” You said, waving him around to your desk. He pushed himself out of his seat, rounding to your desk. He frowned at the negative, pixelated image he was faced with on your computer. “What am I looking at?” He asked, eyes sweeping the screen. “I put the image of Hernandez through forensic photo software. Think of a jpeg as ... the erosion of a shoreline. Every time a wave washes up on a beach, it removes some sand, it’s a loss. In that same way, every time you save a jpeg file, it loses data and quality from the original image. The more you save an image--” You waved toward Pope. “The less quality there’ll be,” Pope finished nodding, “So?” “So,” You turned back to the screen, “this software identifies any modified areas on an image. You have to think of each pixel on a jpeg as a single grain of sand-- each pixel is independently compressed, okay? So if a picture hasn’t been touched up or changed at all, every single one of these pixels should have the same error potential. Do you see,” You raised a pen, pointing to the chunked fragments of pixelation around Hernandez’s frame, “All of this? And look--” You pulled up another screen to tourist site for Suseca, showing the background. “I don’t think this is authentic.” “Or maybe he’s just in the same place, that doesn’t mean--” Pope started, and you turned on him, disbelieving. “I don’t know if you’re not reading me or if you’re choosing not to, but there is something wrong with this. And it’s not just the photograph, alright, it’s the whole fucking thing! Diego’s plan is way too loose,” You turned back to the print-out for emphasis and Santiago stepped away from your desk, “It makes no sense that Hernandez would just surface this far north-- After three months of radio silence? It makes no sense.” “People slip up--” Pope began to rationalize. “He doesn’t. If he did, he wouldn’t be so close to Lorea.” You leaned back in your seat, watching as Santiago paced back and forth in front of your desks. You weighed your words carefully for a moment before you said, “Santi... I know you wanna get this guy. I wanna get him, too. But not like this. Something is wrong here.” Santiago turned to look at you, conflict twisting his features. For a split-second, panic surged through you - you were sure Santiago was going to tell you that you were off-base, that this bust was going down with him anyway. He took a deep breath, fist clenching as he muttered, “Fuck.” He grabbed his phone off of the desk and turned away, heading for the door. “Where are you going?” You asked, half-rising out of your chair. “To tell Diego that I’m not in and that his intel sucks,” Pope snapped before slamming the door behind himself. You lowered yourself back into your seat, raking a hand through your hair. You glanced back at the photo of Hernandez, frowning. -- ”You still in the office?” Was Pope’s way of greeting you this time. “Uh-huh,” You confirmed, tacking on, “What’s up?” “Diego circled back with me. The bust went down-- It was a set-up,” Pope relayed, “He’s fine, but two of his guys are hurt pretty bad.” “Shit,” You hissed quietly, resting your head on your hand. You’d been hoping that what Pope had imparted to Diego would’ve been enough to stop him from going through with the bust, but you’d been wrong. “...Where do we go from here?” You asked. “Well, you go home,” Pope said, “And we go back to figuring it out tomorrow.” You rolled your eyes a little bit. “I’m almost done,” You grumbled defensively. Pope chuckled. “You’re never ‘almost done’,” He teased. He paused. “Thank you,” he added quietly. You smiled. “I should be thanking you for trusting me,” You argued. “Hey, you know your shit. That’s why I hired you,” Pope retorted. You chuckled. “Alright, lemme finish up here and I’ll... Eventually make it home.” “Yeesh,” Pope mumbled. You could practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Night, Santi,” You murmured. “***Dulces sueños, Reina.”

#Don't Treat My Love Like a Habit #santiago pope garcia #Santiago Pope Garcia x Reader #Santiago Garcia/Reader #Santiago Garcia x Reader #Santiago Garcia x You #Santiago Pope Garcia x You #Santiago Garcia #Santiago Garcia/You

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chickwiththepurpleguitar · 4 years ago

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Hello Lilly my beloved!/p

I had one cute idea so I present my bratty and completely self indulgent request:

The band finds Aurora as a real living (fire) breathing dragon and somehow have to figure out how to look after her. Ft. Alex freaking out because FIRE and there is NO INSTRUCTION MANUAL

ty for indulging me 💜/p

I hope you enjoy, Angie, my love! I had fun playing around with your girl :)

read on ao3 here!

“Okay, before you get mad—” Luke begins, and Alex doesn’t let him finish his sentence before he’s jumping up from behind his drum kit with a strangled yelp.

“Luke!” He stares, frozen and wide-eyed, at the bundle of blue scales and claws clutched in Luke’s arms like a baby doll. Luke’s grinning sheepishly, and behind him, Reggie hovers in the studio doorway, practically vibrating with excitement. But Alex barely notices their expressions, too distracted by the claw marks on Luke’s bare arms, the singed and smoking cuffs of Reggie’s flannel sleeves, and the thing they’ve just brought into Sunset Curve’s sacred space. “What in the name of God, John Bonham, and sanity is that thing?”

“Her name’s Aurora!” Reggie pipes up from across the studio. “Cause she eats bad dreams, like Sleeping Beauty!”

“In my defense, Reg thought she was a puppy.” Luke frowns over his shoulder at Reggie. “And apparently is vastly mistaken about the plot of Sleeping Beauty.”

Reggie shrugs, unconcerned. Alex shakes with poorly restrained panic.

“That is not a puppy, ” he sputters, waving a hand at the creature, and then pulls it back with a shout as the thing raises its head and blinks at him with intelligent black eyes. “It’s a… it’s a lizard or something.”

“She’s a dragon,” Reggie corrects, coming forward now that his sleeves have stopped smoking. He reaches around Luke to scratch the underside of the creature’s chin, and his voice adopts a baby-talk tone. “Aren’t you, Aurora? Aren’t you just the cutest wittle dragon in the world?”

“Dragons… uh, dragons aren’t real, Reg,” Alex manages weakly.

As if just to prove him wrong, Aurora coughs up a ball of orange sparks and promptly sets Reggie’s jacket back on fire.

Alex’s eyes roll into the back of his head, and his knees buckle. He’s unconscious before he hits the floor.

***

When Alex comes to, he sees he’s been moved to the couch, a blanket tucked kindly around his shoulders and a pillow placed beneath his head. And then he sees Luke and Reggie have turned his bass drum into an impromptu dragon bed, and he almost faints again.

He does the most sensible thing he can think of. He calls Bobby.

“It’s his studio!” he insists when Luke and Reggie protest, both of them jumping in circles around him to try—unsuccessfully, he might add—to grab the cordless phone out of Alex’s hand. “He at least deserves to know you’ve turned it over to a monster!”

“She’s not a monster!” Reggie squawks. “She’s a baby!”

“A fire-breathing baby monster! ”

“Come on, man, don’t call Bobby,” Luke whines, stretching up on his tiptoes for the phone. “He’s at work, he’s gonna be mad!”

Alex scoffs. “You think he’ll be any less mad if he comes home to half his stuff on fire?”

“Okay, so the house training is a work in progress,” Luke admits, slumping onto flat feet again. “But so far, she’s only burned Reggie!”

“And I see that as an act of love,” Reggie promises.

The dragon pads off of Alex’s drum and onto the studio floor, like she can tell she’s being talked about and would like to be included in the conversation. Alex’s eyes go wider the closer she comes, and he hastily punches Bobby’s work number into the phone. Aurora finally comes to a stop at Alex’s feet and peers up at him, her mouth open in something that would probably be a pretty cute smile if he weren’t terrified of her teeth.

Alex makes a noise of strangled discomfort. Aurora flaps her bony wings and lifts off the ground, landing to nestle in Alex’s hair.

His scream echoes halfway down the block.

***

“Someone left a message for you,” Bobby’s boss tells him when he comes into the back office for his break.

“Oh?” Bobby frowns and wipes his greasy hands on a rag before hitting play on the clunky answering machine.

He flinches back as chaos explodes, centered around Alex shouting, “BOBBY YOU GOTTA COME HOME! DRAGON! FIRE! NO INSTRUCTION MANUAL!” followed by a guttural scream.

“Friend of yours?” his boss says.

“Nah,” Bobby decides. “Wrong number.”

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idreamofplaid · 5 years ago

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A Longing for Home

Summary: The reader has made a home for herself, but it isn’t complete without Sam.

Characters: Sam x Reader; Dean

Word Count: 1641

A/N: It’s another fic from along the way on my journey as a writer. It’s Part 1 of a two parter.

Raindrops hit the window pane gently soothing your worn and bruised heart. You opened your sketchbook and took your favorite drawing pencil in your hand. The sound of the graphite scratching across the page was the only noise in the room. With each line, an image of Sam began to materialize. This was your own kind of art therapy.

When you were done, the result was a good likeness. Anyone would recognize it as Sam, but you hadn’t been able to capture the warmth in his eyes the way you wanted. Who he had been was still perfectly clear in your mind. You still heard his voice whispering to you in the dark of a motel room in Nebraska, Indiana, or Tennessee. It had never mattered to you where you were as long as you were with him. That was when Sam had a soul.

He had no feelings for you anymore, you or anyone else. You’d reached your breaking point and told Dean you needed to get away. It was too hard for you to be around the man who looked so much like Sam but clearly wasn’t him. Your Sam would have never flirted with other women right in front of your face, not that you could even call it flirting. It was too calculated. What Sam did, he did with purpose. And that purpose was to...

You slammed the sketchbook closed and tossed it on the bed next to you. Rain was still hitting the roof in a steady rhythm that should have been calming. You closed your eyes and hugged yourself. The flannel of the shirt you were wearing was soft and warm to your touch. There was a time you had worn Sam’s shirts, and he’d smiled every time he saw you in one of them. Sometimes you’d worn them just to see his dimples, but this wasn’t one of Sam’s shirts.

You shook your head to clear away the memory and dropped your hands to your sides. You scooted across the bed and stood up taking a minute to stretch before heading to the small kitchen. This cabin had always been your refuge. Your aunt had brought you and your cousin, Brianne, here when you were little girls. It was your aunt who had raised you and taught you to draw. She’d also taught you how important it was to take care of yourself. Self care was her legacy to you, and you needed it now more than you ever had.

You wished Aunt Laura was here now to offer her advice or give you a shoulder to cry on. It had been nine years since the heart defect she’d been born with had taken her from you, eleven since Bri had gone to France to be a pastry chef. When her mother had passed on, Bri told you the cabin was all yours. You were, after all, the sentimental one.

It was that part of you that longed for a home. So, you’d made this cabin as cozy as you could and let it serve as the representation of that dream for you. You filled it with your favorite things. There were bookshelves overflowing with every kind of title to suit any of your moods and a big overstuffed chair where you could sit and read by the window. There was a soft wine colored throw draped over that chair that you could wrap around you when you felt the need to be held. The kitchen was stocked with every flavor of coffee and tea you liked best. In the cupboard, there was a supply of your favorite shortbread cookies to have with your warm beverage of choice.

Today, you decided some peppermint mocha coffee was what you needed. You poured some water into the coffee maker and put a filter in the chamber. You opened the bag of coffee and inhaled the rich scent, one of your favorite smells in the world. You emptied some out of the bag onto the filter without measuring. You never measured. The sound of the coffee brewing filled the tiny cabin.

Steaming mug of coffee in hand, you positioned the pillows on the sofa just the way you wanted them and snuggled in with your throw over your lap. The first taste of chocolatey richness was warm and comforting. You picked up a favorite book from the end table with the hope of losing yourself in another world for awhile to take the edge off the pain you were feeling in your own. It wasn’t long before your eyes began to droop, and you lay your head down allowing memories of a better time to invade your dreams.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seeing Sam smile gave you the same feeling you had on the night before Christmas when you were a little girl. It felt like being on the verge of something wonderful and not knowing exactly what it was, but having him here in the cabin, in this place that was so special to you gave you a very good idea of what that something wonderful was for you. It was Sam, being with him, having him as a part of your life.

More and more, you were certain that you wanted him in your life forever. That’s why you’d brought him here. You wanted to let him into your past by opening up this part of you. You’d never brought anyone here. It was your refuge, and you were letting Sam in hoping he would want it to be his too. It was a new feeling for you, wanting to share yourself like this.

You handed Sam a mug of the hot chocolate you’d made and sat down next to him on the sofa tucking your leg beneath you. Sam took a sip then gave a little shake of his head and almost smiled. “I don’t remember the last time I had hot chocolate.”

“If you don’t like it, I can make coffee.” You pulled your leg from beneath you and started to sit up.

Sam reached out and put his hand on your thigh stopping you. “No, I do. It’s perfect.”

He took another sip as if to prove his point. When he finished, this time his smile was big. For right now at least, Sam didn’t look like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. His dimples softened his face taking away the hard edge that was there too often from carrying the burden of knowing too much.

Sam took your cup from you and put both mugs down then cupped your cheek in his hand. He brushed his lips softly over yours, barely touching them before he kissed you with such an intense and tender passion you saw your life flash before your eyes, not as it was but as it could be. You saw the way it could be with Sam in it and how you could show him a little of the normal he had never known. You could feel Sam’s hand resting just below your waist on your hip. It was warm, solid, and strong.

He stopped kissing you to look in your eyes slipping his fingers up into your hair. When he kissed you again, it was even slower and more deliberate. Sam’s tongue pushed against your lips seeking entrance, and you let him in. He held you and kissed away every doubt you’d ever had that you could be happy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of your cell phone ringing pulled you from your dream. You rubbed a finger over your lower lip, the feel of Sam’s mouth on yours still so real. The phone kept ringing pulling you back to now. You pulled it from your pocket. It was Dean. You dragged your finger across the screen to answer it.

Dean got right to the point. “I think I know how to get Sam’s soul back.”

“Sam’s soul is in hell, Dean. In...Lucifer’s cage.” Your voice broke on the words. “It’s not like we can just walk in there and get it.”

“We can’t, but Death can.” Dean outlined his plan. He was going to have someone stop his heart so he could see Death and make a deal. It was a long shot, but it was the only one you had. “I want you to meet me at Bobby’s, Y/N.”

When you ended the call, you sat staring at the phone for several seconds before you moved. Hope stirred in your heart, fueled by the vision of Sam sitting next to you on that sofa with that same hope lighting his eyes. You could hear him saying, “Thank you for bringing me here.” It has eased his pain if only for a little while, helping him forget the apocalypse loomed.

Your hand reached out to the empty place next to you remembering how he’d looked with the firelight reflected in his golden hazel eyes. You whispered the words you wished you’d said to him. “I love you, Sam.” You could feel the prickling of determined tears behind your eyes, and you spoke again to the emptiness. “I’m going to tell you. You’re going to know.”

You walked back to the bed and picked up your sketchbook. You picked it up and looked at the likeness of Sam you had drawn. “You are going to know. This is going to be okay somehow, and I’m going to bring you back here. You will know something besides struggle and pain. I swear it.”

You tore the picture from the pad, folded it, and put it in your pocket. Your rain jacket was hanging on a hook by the door. You put it on and pulled the hood over your head. Then you walked out into the storm. You were going to bring Sam back, bring him home to you.

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chemiste · 5 years ago

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Foresight ~ ch. 2

A/N : hello hi howdy, here’s ch. 2, let me know what y’all think!!

ch. 1

All you could do was weakly nod and follow the large mass of muscle through the crowd with Maggie attached to your arm. He swiped his keycard on a door and led you through a hallway, where you heard voices becoming louder and louder.

Fuck me.

Maggie gave you a reassuring squeeze as the guard knocked and then opened the door, pushing both of you inside and closing it.

There they were, the band members all scattered on different chairs, a few others in all-black outfits with clipboards and headsets, and then, Harry Styles, sparkly jacket discarded on the chair next to him in the dressing room and stressfully running his hands through his sweaty hair. All his rings were placed on the table as though they had continuously snagged his hair and he got frustrated.

The room seemed to go dead silent when you entered.

Then, Harry spoke.

“How in the world did you know those songs.”

You swallowed, “I’m so sorry I—“ the whole room erupted with loud shouts, people whipping out laptops and typing faster than you’d every seen before.

A large man came storming up to you, “Where did you leak it, or where did you find it? These songs are worth a lot more than you miss, so I suggest you speak very quickly so this doesn’t cause more of a problem than it is right now.”

You opened your mouth to continue, but was cut off by a scream across the room, “—what do you mean you can’t find the leaked file?! There has to be one! Look again!”

You tried to butt in, “Please this is all a misunderstanding—“ “Just tell us which server you found the songs on!” “Please sir I—“ “Enough with the babbling! Just tell me—“

A large smack quieted the room, you turned around to see Maggie with the door handle in her hand. She must have slammed the door open and shut.

“Will you please let her speak?” She huffed. You had never been prouder to have Maggie as your friend.

You turned back to all the awaiting people squirming in their spots.

“There is no leak whatsoever anywhere online or physical.”

A few people let out breaths of relief, but Harry spoke up again, this time walking closer toward you.

“But how did you know the songs?” You rubbed the back of your neck and squeezed your eyes shut, “This is going to sound ridiculous but, I’m psychic.”

A couple scoffs were let out and the man that had been previously screaming in your face said, “And you think we’re supposed to believe that?”

“She’s telling the truth,” Maggie spoke up, “She’s been able to know things before others do all her life.”

“Prove it.” You and Harry spoke at the same time. You looked him dead in the eye as he continued, “How am I supposed to be 1000 percent certain you’re telling the full truth?” You said at the exact same time he did.

Now people were intrigued, “As I have your attention, I’d like you to know that I’m very sorry about the whole songs thing. It’s just sometimes I say things subconsciously and can’t register if I should know it already or not—plus the vodka I’d been drinking before didn’t help either.”

You continued, “I only know the songs because the melody had been stuck in my head recently and I guess maybe down the line your fans will figure out your blanks in the song. I only sang ‘tasted’ and ‘ride it’ because I can only predict that’s what they’re going to come up with soon. And apparently, they sing it for you since you don’t.”

Harry’s manager, whose badge read, AZOFF, clapped him on the shoulder with a grin hanging off his face, “Man Styles, your fans are really something.”

That seemed to release the tension in the room. Mr. Azoff told everyone the crisis was averted and people scattered from the room except the band. “I’ll catch you tomorrow Harry, good show tonight.” His manager said as he left the room.

Once the door shut, a dark-haired woman came bounding over to you, “Hey Sarah.” You smiled at her and she seemed to be in awe, “You’re like a superhero!” You scrunched your nose at her declaration, “I don’t think of it that way, more like lucky guesses.” “Lucky guesses! Psh! You knew the George Michael bit of Anna, and we just put that in. You are magical.” Mitch exclaimed for his seat on the couch.

“So now what?” Maggie asked, sitting on the edge of the couch. You looked back to the British rockstar, he smiled and dramatically put his hand out to you.

Hesitantly, you slid your hand into his. “Ms.—” “Y/N” “—Ms. Y/N, will you do me the gracious honor of accepting my apology for believing something so terrible of you.”

A couple snickers were heard from the band, and Maggie as well. You rolled your eyes at his tactics, for a super celebrity, he’s still a huge dork. “Of course I will, I totally understand what a disaster it would be to have something leaked.”

Click!

You both turned your heads to the door, where a woman with a camera stood taking a picture of your hands together. “Hey, are you the psychic people are chatting about?”

You let go of Harry’s hand as she snapped another picture, “Yes I am, my name is Y/N.”

The photographer came inside the door and slung the camera strap over her shoulder. “Lovely to meet you, but Harry and co, its time for the post-concert shot and I want to do it on the stage before they shut down the lights.”

Harry’s head perked up at her request and the band members got up to leave. He slipped his rings back on quickly as well before exiting.

Maggie got up from the couch and everyone headed out back to the stage. You both wandered behind them, not really know if you could leave or not. “What are we supposed to do now?” She whispered.

You shrugged your shoulders as you walked to the side of the stage and watched the talented musicians link up to take a farewell photo. It made you smile, they each seemed truly happy in each other’s company.

As everyone left the stage to finally retire to their respective rooms for the night, Harry walked over to you, with a bit of strut in his step?

“Did you wan’ a photo or somthin’?” He asked with a cheeky smile. You rolled your eyes at the narcissism, “I’ve already got a picture of you to post on my phone, thanks though.”

Now it was your turn to wear a cheeky smile, the man seemed taken back by your denial and Mags, on the other hand, was beyond herself with disbelief.

“Well, if you’re not gonna take a picture with him, I sure as hell am!” Shoving her phone into your hand, she pulled the much taller man in for a hug and smiled at the camera.

Click!

You smiled at the picture and gave the two a thumbs up. You glanced at the time and your eyes went wide. “Oh god, Mags we gotta go! It’s almost 12am.” You put your hand out to shake his, “It was great to meet you but we have to leave, got a train to catch early in the morning.”

“Where are you girls headed off to?”

Maggie gave a little dance, “Paris baby! I’m so fucking excited to see the Eiffel tower again!” Both of you chuckled at her response. He turned to look back at you, “What a coincidence, I’ll be performing there the night after tomorrow. Are you sure you’re not following me?”

“Sorry to burst your bubble superstar, but that’s not the case. This is our spring break trip and miraculously Maggie’s father got last minute tickets from a colleague that couldn’t use them. That’s why we’re here right now.”

“It was lovely seeing you perform, you really know how to use a stage.” You continued. “Yeah! You really did look like sex during Caroli—”

Shit, maybe Maggie isn’t as sober as I hoped, you thought as you immediately put your hand over her mouth.

“Ha ha, um, so ya on that note, we’re gonna go. Bye Harry.” He chuckled as you pulled Maggie away who now realized what she had spilled out.

“Bye Y/N.”

Ding!

It was already 1am and Harry had just settled into bed for the night, he grabbed his phone that had lit up from the notification.

1 New Email : Hélène Pambrun

Harry opened the email Hélène sent him.

Hey, I edited this picture and thought you might like it, maybe something to post. Only if you want to though.

Night.

Attached-JPEG.

Harry click the attachment and smiled.

Then posted it.

“Okay, the timer is a go!”

Maggie ran back over to where you were next to the ledge of the bridge, her ponytail bouncing with each step.

Paris was beautiful at night, and even more so, the Eiffel Tower that was lit up in front of you. You both faced the iconic monument and waited a second for the timer to take the photo.

Click!

Mags went over to grab your phone, “It’s perfect, we are such fashion icons. Even Anna Wintour would be proud.”

You looped your arm with Maggie’s and you headed off to site see some more. You posted the picture while you window-shopped, stopping a couple times to look at certain items before venturing on.

“What’s on the agenda for tomorrow Mags?” You asked as you both entered the hotel lobby, finished with your escapades.

“Well, we should see if the Louvre will even be a possibility—“ “It won’t be.” “—oh, too many tourists tomorrow?” She questioned.

“No, a child will throw up on the entry door and close it down for a couple hours for cleaning.” You answered, swiping the key into your hotel door.

Maggie toed her shoes off and opened the bathroom door, “It’s great traveling with someone that knows if things could go to shit or not.” You cracked a smile and went to sit down on your bed opposite hers.

As you changed into pjs, your phone started blowing up with so many notifications that it was slowly moving off the nightstand.

“Woo’s cawling yoow at tis time?” Maggie asked with a mouth full of toothpaste.

“They’re not calls,” you answered, picking up your phone.

“It’s notifications on Instagram.”

“Huh?” Maggie came over and sat down to read over your shoulder.

Hundreds of comments rolled in on your phone, you checked Instagram and gasped.

“Maggie I have about 3000 new followers what’s going on?” The brunette leaped up to grab her phone and scroll through with you.

“Oh my god, Y/N, it looks like there are videos of you singing at the show going viral!” “What! Why did I not see this beforehand?!”

“I don’t know but these speculators are growing in size, should we contact the Harry Style’s headquarters account? People are already coming up with crazy theories and I’ve only been to one fan account.”

You watched with wide eyes as more people filled your Instagram posts with comments and questions, “Do I go on private?!”

“No!” Maggie nearly shouted, “You can’t do anything that would raise suspicions even more, people already have screenshots of your posts it wouldn’t matter anyway.” Email coming through!

Huh?

Ding! Ding!

1 New Email: Jeffery Azoff

“Mags, I just got an email from Harry’s manager.”

You said with a shaky voice, “What are you waiting around for, open it!”

You clicked the message.

Dear Ms. L/N

Due to a social media outbreak, I would like to meet with you tomorrow before the concert to discuss how to further proceed in light of recent events. Please come by at 1pm, attached is the pass to show security and address of the arena.

Jeffery Azoff

“He wants me to come by before the Paris show! To talk about what’s happening.” She nodded approvingly, “See, the professionals will handle it. Y/N don’t worry, everything will be fine.”

There you were, 1pm sharp with Maggie by your side as you showed the electronic pass to the guard at the door of the center.

You had to squeeze through the line of already awaiting fans which made you feel really guilty as you felt their envious stares on the back of your head as the guard like you in.

You opted to wear something that was not your Ramones t-shirt and funny enough, you seemed to see an increase in that particular band attire as you made your way through the crowd.

You had on your trusty high waisted blue jeans and a thin black semi turtle neck with shiny black booties for height. Maggie dressed down as well, going with a long sleeve red dress and brown thigh highs.

Once you both wove your way through the maze that was the backstage, you arrived at B34, the room Mr. Azoff asked you to meet him.

Here goes nothing.

You opened the door and were greeted with Jeff, a few other crew members and—

“ ‘ello Y/N, a pleasure to see yeh again.”

Harry Styles sat in a chair at the table in sweats and a pink sweatshirt that said ‘fuck I’m cute’ in cursive.

“Come please seat down, we don’t have that much time and I would like to patch things up quickly before the show so that Harry here doesn’t get bombard with shouts about our lovely Ramones Girl.” His manager said.

Well, that made you blush a dark shade of red, you sat down and Maggie sat next to you on the right, giving your hand a quick squeeze before pulling away.

Mr. Azoff rested his head on his arm that was propped up on the table, “So not to beat around the bush, the stats for this ‘new story’ are growing and quickly, E!News has already tweeted out the #ramonesgirl this morning and Teen Vogue liked a post on one of harry’s more dedicated fan pages stylesinlove that has pretty clear video and audio of seeing you and your singing.”

He pushed the computer toward you, “These are a couple of postings you could put up on your feed if you’d like to clear up confusion or,” he paused for a moment and you leaned forward into his hesitation.

“Or what?” You simply asked, curious beyond belief.

“You could simply tour with Harry for a few more shows and make a comment or two for some fan pages that you’ve just been a fantastic friend of Harry’s for a while and already knew the songs since he had shared them with you beforehand.”

You turned to Harry would hadn’t spoken up the whole time, “And you’re okay with that? It’s kind of a big deal to say I’m one of the people you shared unreleased music with.”

He shrugged his shoulders, “I mean, can’t very well tell them you’re a psychic, can we? That would be hard to explain to the press.”

You leaned back into the chair with the realization that this seemed to be the only way unless you wanted to show the world your sorta abilities.

What about Maggie?

“What do you think?” You turned to your friend.

She put her arms behind her head and smiled, “hey, I’ve got to go back to uni two days but honestly Y/N you could just transfer the two classes you’re taking to online and have a blast with Mr. Worldwide over here.”

She gestured to Harry who was smiling into his hand, “I think it’s an opportunity you should not pass up. But you better call me every once in a while okay?!”

You took a deep breath and turned to Jeff.

“I’m in.”

ch. 3

telephone hour for this chapter

foresight masterlist

#harry styles fic #harry styles series #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader series #harry styles concert #harry styles tour #harry styles tour 2018 #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles medicine #harry styles anna

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sephythespooky · 5 years ago

Text

reader insert: back in black mesa

PART 2

Passport acquired, but what now?

words under cut

“Here,” Tommy gently pressed the document into your hand. “Show this to Benrey. I’ll handle e-everything else.” Seeing how pale your lips were, he frowned, then hugged you tight. “It’ll be o-okay, friend. W-we’re the science team! We can do any-anything!”

Reluctant, you stepped out of the hug when Tommy released you and held out your passport at Benrey, whose bright eyes hadn’t left you since you picked it up. “yo, man....that seriously you? you look, uh....look a bit shit in that photo, not gonna lie.”

You look at the photo and snort. It’s your school photo from years ago, the one you hated most. “Yeah, yeah I do.”

Agreement, that was something you knew Benrey didn’t get a lot of from Gordon. But he seemed to like it, grinning with his razors before gently shaking Dr. Coomer out of the repetition of what you now realize was the Wikipedia article for lockers. “old man, like, i get it, but we gotta, uh, gotta do stuff now.”

The white haired scientist shook his head, turning to you and lighting up, “HELLO PLAYER!” He called, then seemed confused. “I should know your name. Why don’t I? Hm...”

Tommy interjected as Benrey began circling you, tilting his helmet this way and that as he analyzed your form, “Dr. Coomer, w-we don’t know them yet. We’re supposed to be waiting for Mr. Freeman!”

“yo, feetman? where’d he go?” Benrey asked, suddenly more interested in what Tommy had to say than in you.

You watched as Dr. Coomer looked between them, then snapped his fingers, “Oh! that’s what I’ve been wanting to say! HELLO GORDON!” He grins, then slumps a bit, “Oh...but he’s not here. I still have to give him his interest playcoins.”

“Dr. Coomer?” you ask softly, almost afraid to speak up, “How did I end up here? Gordon finished the game. You guys should still be with him, but now you’re with me?”

The older gentleman chuckled, “Not to worry, Not-Gordon, we will figure this out. I do love a good puzzle! Let’s get Bubby and have a good ol’ chat about it.”

“least i don’t have to watch you. like i did him. you’ve got your passport,” Benrey still pushes you ahead of him and you squeak, rushing forward to hold onto Tommy’s sleeve.

Tommy moves so you can hold hands, and he swings his arm a bit, sunny smile in place, “We’ll be careful with you, I-I promise! Nobody will be doing any OSHA violations with me on the-the case!”

His presence was comforting, even if you were more than aware of his lack of gun-safety training. But there weren’t guns right now. At least besides the ones you could access.

The closer you get to the test chamber, the more tense you get, so you yelp when Benrey TELEPORTS in front of you and stands in the doorway, “dudes...these are the guys. i told you about them. not thinking about....about anything besides froot loops.”

The basic guards are unaffected, and the door opens behind Benrey with no other fanfare. Dr. Coomer laughs, “Well, I do love sugary cereal with colorful mascots. I prefer Frosted Flakes, though.”

“you would, old, old grampa man.” and then he’s gone, running ahead of you with that cackle that shook a nervous laugh out of you when it used to make you happy.

“Um...would...would petting Sunkist help you? He’s a good boy, and I-I always feel better when I pet him,” Tommy offers and you nod before he can even finish. Sunkist is immortal, and well trained. You’d pet the dang JPEG but you have a feeling things will be different for you in here.

“Okay. I’ll call for him once we find Bubby,” you’re getting close to his room, you think, but being so very near the test chamber is enough to make you jitter.

Your group enters the room with many scientists and you hear Bubby, “GOOD GRIEF! Not only are you late, but you brought an entourage. What kind of bastard are you?”

The yelling makes you flinch, and Dr. Coomer says helpfully as he takes hold of Bubby around the waist, pinning his arms, “Hello! We’re here to fetch you for a confab. We have to figure out how we help our new friend here and then get back to Gordon.”

“Gordon?” Bubby questions, his struggles against Coomer slowing until he’s finally released. “Wait. That’s right! Then why are you wandering around with that fucking idiot Benrey?!”

“bro, not cool.” Benrey hides behind you and blows a raspberry at Bubby. “came here tryin’ to be a great cool and you’re being mean. dr. mean man.”

“I live mean, and you tried to kill me! And everyone else!” Bubby huffs, waving his arms around and fire glinting off the tips of his fingers. “Someone explain this to me!”

Tommy takes a deep breath before he speaks, “Bubby, I know it was scary, but Benrey’s our friend. He only acted weird on Xen because it amplifies negative emotions. That’s why we felt so afraid and hopeless, otherwise it’d be pretty funny for Benrey to be so big, right? And, and fun to jump around like Moonshoes!”

“He has a point, Bubby.” Coomer takes a seat, and you follow suit, even if Benrey does leave and go sit on top of one of the other scientists who, for some reason, are not paying attention to your group. “I would have loved to see how my Power Legs did with the low gravity.”

“Well...I guess a little murder between friends isn’t that big a deal. And we didn’t die so we’re good for now. Maybe,” Bubby makes the hand sign for ‘i’m watching you’ toward Benrey, who is too busy tea bagging the scientist in mid-air to notice.

“Have,” Tommy looks at you hopefully, “Have you seen Mr. Freeman since my birthday party? Dr. Coomer tried to send him a message, but we’re not sure if he received it.”

“I have,” you say, closing your eyes to try and relax yourself, “Gordon Freeman is a streamer on Justin TV, like I am. I actually was...streaming myself doing this!”

“Good for him, he lived his dumb dream,” says Bubby.

“you’re streaming this, friend?” Benrey hops off the scientist and shuffles over, “you ever stream heavenly sword?”

“I haven’t yet,” you admit, “but I only heard of it through you talking about it to Gordon, so it took me a while to get hold of the game. I was planning on doing that next week.”

“nice,” the guard flops on the ground, just spread out all over. “m’gonna take a nap now. it’s boring without feetman here to bug. no offence, bro, but you’re too nice.”

“None taken,” you huff, very cautiously giving a pat to his helmet. You get a chuckle out of it.

“I hate to admit it,” Bubby isn’t looking at any of you, picking at the sole of his shoe, “but Gordon’s at least somewhat competent a leader.”

Tommy raised his hand, and Coomer gave him a nod to continue, “Mister....Mister Freeman might know what to do so we can get our friend out of here. But how do we tell him we-we need help? Oh,” he remembered something, then called out “SUNKIST!!!”

A woofing came, and you were suddenly bowled over by a large golden retriever.

“Good dog! Sunkist, you should let our friend up and sit with them. They’re, they’re very nervous.” Tommy giggled sweetly as Sunkist backed up and let you right yourself before laying his big head in your lap. You gently rub your hand down from his head to his shoulders, finally glad for your ability to touch things here. Even through your gloves, you felt how soft Sunkist’s fur was, how warm and strong the body beneath. Tommy had been more than right that Sunkist would make you feel better, and you murmur soft nonsense to the sweet pup.

“Can,” you’re nervous as you begin, “Can I ask why the other scientists don’t seem to notice us? They didn’t seem to really interact with Gordon, or you guys either.”

“I don’t know,” Bubby says as he waves a hand at the folks near the computer in the corner, “Somehow we’ve woken up and have some personality. These goons are dull as dishwater and twice as boring.”

“guuuuuuuuys,” Benrey whines loudly, “unless you know something about games or how to talk to freeman, i don’t caaaaare.” You pat his helmet again, getting a grumpy hurmph and a heavy hand falling on your knee.

“Why are you asking me? I don’t know! It’s not like I have his phone number!” Bubby snaps in response.

Dr. Coomer said with a perk of his head, “Our friend is a streamer, though. Does that mean you and Gordon work in the same department?”

“N-no,” you giggle a bit at the idea. “We all work in our own homes, or in office spaces we rent with others in small groups. Gordon has no idea I exist. He’s far too popular to bother with me.” But an idea comes as you speak and feel the steady, gentle weight of Sunkist on your lap, “But maybe my chat could go raid him? He might be streaming now and if they would go talk to him about this....maybe he’d listen?”

The team nods, and Tommy questions, “Didn’t you say you were streaming before you came here? M-maybe they’re still listening!”

“Might as well try,” you take a deep breath, “Guys in the chat, if you can hear me, go find Gordon Freeman on here. Message him, donate, do anything you can to get his attention on this stream! We need his help or....or I might never get out of here.”

You could only hope that your words got through...and that Gordon was in a mood to listen.

#hlvrai #reader insert #tommy coolatta #benrey #dr. coomer #bubby #sunkist

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ascreamingstrawberry · 7 years ago

Text

Strip Me of My Walls, Please.

Previous : Part 14, Present : Part 15, Next : Part 16

Summary: Logan hires a prostitute to pretend to be his boyfriend. Patton is a prostitute just trying to support his son when he falls with a very rich man needing him to pretend to be his boyfriend.

Chapter Summary : Roman convinces Patton to sleep finally while he, Virgil, and Fid chat.

Pairings: romantic Logicality, future romantic Prinxiety, Elle x Damien (my original characters)

Word Count: 1,385

Warnings : mentions of bruises? mentions of abuse? mentions of prostitution? mentions of abandonment? woman kinda flirts with virge?

Notes : Leave a like, a reblog, message, and reply! I love hearing your comments.

“Patton, darling.” Roman’s voice was light and airy, free of tension. Patton wondered when it was the last time he’d heard it like that, but quickly got distracted by the feeling of Roman’s finger brushing along his cheekbone. His eyes were still closed, it was the best way to stop the tears. Virgil hadn’t returned from his phone call, but Fid was already dozing in the chair.

“Yes?” Patton’s eyes drifted open, and he let a natural smile through because even though Roman’s face was littered with bruises and cuts and whatnot, Roman’s smile was contagious. Beautiful, even.

“How are you doing?” Roman finger stopped short of Patton’s ear, dropped from his face all together

“I’m tired.” Patton replied, quicker than he would’ve liked.

“I can see.” There was a yawn slipped in there, but Roman tried to hide it best he could. Patton smiled, and when Roman reached down to tug on his hand, Patton tried to ignore it. Roman needed sleep, Roman needed to rest. “Come on Pat.”

Patton sighed, knowing very well that the hospital would only yell at them for it later but right now his best friend looked so hurt, and Patton felt so tired, and he just wanted it all to stop for a moment. For the people he cared about to stop getting hurt. For whirlwinds of life to stop taking away his breath away before he had the chance to breathe after the ones before it.

Roman shifted on his side, and everything told Patton to stay awake. To be on high alert. Virgil would be back anytime soon, he was sure, and with Patton being the only one he knew he would need someone to talk to. Roman groaned when he laid on his side, he needed to stretch out to let his body heal. But then Roman was tugging, and soon enough Patton was on the tiny hospital bed, with the railing next to the chair he had been sat in down. Fid’s side still had it’s railing up, but since there was no hiss from Roman when he pressed his back against it, it must have been supporting the younger man somehow. Roman wrapped his arms around him, pulling Patton toward him. They were spooning.

Patton started laughing at the idea of bruised and bloodied Roman big spooning him, but it dissolved into kind of a quiet sob. Roman played with his fingers, hoping to calm him, and soon enough between that and the subtle humming of a show tune in his ear, Patton was able to fall asleep.

Roman wasn’t sure how long he sat there in the uncomfortably cool lit hospital room with the daytime sunshine poking through the window, that is until one of the prettiest boys he’s ever seen walked into his hospital room. He vaguely remember him being Logan’s twin brother, as he now was coming off his medication high, but to be honest the man looked very little like the Logan he’d met.

He was tall and skinny, like Logan, but his brother had curves, kind of, around the arms of his purple tshirt that showed as he slid the hoodie off his shoulders and onto the back of the chair that had been Pat’s. He kicked his feet up. Not on the railing like Fid’s, but on the bottom or second to bottom railing underneath the bed, letting his knees poke up a bit, a little bit of skin showing from the ripped jeans he was wearing.

What was his name? Whatever it was must have sounded lovely, because as Roman scanned up towards his face, he was sure that yes, this man was lovely. He had dark circles under his eyes, so the two shared a certain disregard for sleep, and he had the most exquisite purple streaks towards the front of his black hair. What a vision.

“Like what you see, Charming?” His voice was deep, gravely almost, but not in a way that was offsetting or uncomfortable. In fact it was quite relaxing.

“Yeah.” Roman answered the man’s smirk with one of his own, but his voice was whisper, as not to wake Patton. “So much so, I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Virgil.” Virgil, it seems, blushed. It was a well worth it sight for embarrassing himself, Roman decided.

“A very nice name.” Roman replied.

“No it’s not.” The other man snickered, pulling out his phone to scroll through, what Roman could see of it was, one of Virgil’s social medias.

“A nice name for a nice looking man.” Roman countered, gripping Patton a little tighter as his best friend made a noise in his sleep.

“Oh my god-” Yawn. “Will you two get a room?”

“Fid, you’re in my hospital room.” Roman barely finished his sentence before his voice was fading, his eyes fluttering closed in a way that Virgil definitely didn’t notice. Or at least would never say that he noticed. Or cared for. Totally didn’t like seeing this Roman guy sleepy. That was just weird right?

“Man, do you guys ever get any sleep?” Virgil chucked, reaching behind him to flick one of the table lamps off.

“We’re prostitutes, what can we say.” Fid shrugged, turning in the tiny hospital chair in a way that showed how uncomfortable they truly were. Roman hummed in agreement, looking down at Patton, acknowledging him in a way.

“How does one even get into that kind of job?” Virgil pretend he was still invested in whatever Instagram post was most prevalent on his phone, and not the way Roman’s breath hitched. He also noticed Fid shifting again, hiding her face from where the other men could still see her.

“You looking to get into it?” Fid growled, pulling her arms close to her to make herself warmer.

“No way.” Virgil clicked his phone off. “Just curious.”

Roman opened his mouth to answer, closed it, and then opened it again. This time his voice felt emptier in the room, like it didn’t fill it enough.. “By having the kind of desperation where you would do anything to survive to your next meal.”

At that moment, Fid’s stomach growled and she gave a small laugh, whipping out her pointer finger to point across Roman at Patton.

“By having a son to take care of that you love more than anything.” Her finger moved to point at Roman. “By having a shitty boyfriend that doesn’t deserve you.”

And her voice stuttered as she tried to point to herself, but Roman threw up a pointed thumb back in her direction. “And having no parents. No siblings. And nobody but a flamboyant sex worker looking out for you even though you’re incredibly bright.”

“Yeah right.” Fid snickered, and so did Roman so Virgil figured he could too. As they were laughing the two kind of shrugged in like a ‘what can ya do’ move.

Sometime later the two had fallen asleep. Virgil had got up to drape his hoodie over Fid’s much smaller body that got very much engulfed in the garment, when a nurse had come in. She groaned, reaching over to turn on the light that Virgil had turned off, and was reaching to touch Patton when Virgil cleared his throat.

“You better not even think about moving any of them.” He warned, and she stopped for a moment to glare at him, but moved away from that side of the bed anyway.

The nurse pushed over toward the side of the bed that he and Fid were on, Fid still supposedly sleeping in the chair, and leaned over Virgil to check Roman’s vitals. Her ass pushed against Virgil’s front, and he ignored the wiggle she did when she pushed against him again to leave the tiny area. She had a sway in her hips as she left.

“That was disgusting.” Fid mumbled, clearly in between the states of conscious and unconscious.

“I’m too gay for this shit.” Virgil groaned, plopping himself down in the chair just as he received a jpeg from Logan of Thomas and Jon curled up asleep on Patton’s couch with the caption being merriam webster’s definition of ‘precious’.

“I’m just gay enough for this shit.” Fid mumbled, laughing to herself very fatiguely as she fell asleep again, curling up in Virgil’s hoodie even more.

taglist : @jesjessode @queerly-anxious @bubblycricket @monikastec @definenormalifyoucan @sandersmarvel @sonhadoraativa @strongnonetheless @im-patton @iridescentroyalty @romanthroughthestars

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pendragonfics · 8 years ago

Text

H@CK3R

Paring: Griff/Reader

Tags: female reader, reader is a hacker, established relationship, canon compliant, angst, fluff.

Summary: The problem with being a paid hacker was that you could really do anything you wanted. Legally? Not really. But you still did it, even without the warrant required.

Word Count: 2,056

Current Date: 2017-09-14

The problem with working early was that the bed was too warm. Too soft. Too snuggly. And your bedfellow? Well, he was all that and more. Your boyfriend Griffin had been a one-night stand four years ago, and when you both had tried to sneak out of the motel the next day, you found each other struggling to make a getaway with a sock half on and buttons in the wrong holes, and decided that, instead of leaving it at the best damn sex you’ve ever had but at want to take this to Starbucks? It’s my day off. Then you just couldn’t get rid of each other.

He was like the white splotches to your panda, the cream to your coffee, the accelerator to your 1992 Chevy. When you came home early after early starts, he came home late after late stars, or whenever he pleased, really, smelling of engine oil or whiskey or someone else’s cigarettes. But waking up, well, that was the thing. You wanted so badly to be the small spoon to his larger one, wanted to stay so close to his chest and smell in the musk that was so Griff and trace your fingers over his tattoos until he woke up.

But you had work.

You always had work.

“I gotta get up,” you moan against his chest, one of those bear-like arms tangled close to your back, keeping you near his warmth. It was so nice, and if it was on your little-to-none paid holiday days, you’d savour it, but you can’t. Unless you want to be broke and snuggled up to Griff, you must greet the day. You groan when his arm grows tighter around your waist. “Griff…”

He groans back. It’s a guttural noise, animal-like, ferocious. But to you, it’s nothing but a kitten impersonating a lion. Griff might be built like a hurricane shelter, tattooed like bus stop, drive a battered pickup truck and swear like a sailor, but he’s a sweetie.

“Griff.” You repeat. “We can snuggle later. I’ve – I’ve got to get up.”

He makes another noise. Then, in that handsome accent, “Do you really gotta go?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

---

The problem with being a paid hacker was that you could really do anything you wanted. Legally? Not really. But you still did it, even without the warrant required. The man who hired you always pixelated his face when on the regular Skype, and spoke with a surprisingly All-American accent that most certainly pledged allegiance to the flag and then stole from it. Because that’s what you were – the canary. Back when miners were actual people who had pickaxes and dug for lumps of coal to burn, they had a thing where they’d use a bird to make sure it was safe. That bird was you – scoping out the world from behind a shield of encrypted software and ones and zeroes and code that you could do in your sleep. You figured out the chinks in the armour of Big Pharma and those seemingly impregnable places, and exploited them for your boss to do what he would with it.

And you just did it. You weren’t really morally flawed. Maybe just a teeny-tiny bit. A smidge. You still took the money from your boss, you lived from it. It’s what kept you from being just like your ancestors, starved by poverty or drowned in addictions. You kept hacking, you kept getting paid. Did it make you a bad person? You didn’t want to be a bad person. You helped elderly ladies make it to their cars when it was rainy and they forgot an umbrella. You let younger kids win arm wrestles with you. You knew all the lyrics to Mama Mia! The Musical! Bad people didn’t sing disco.

Griff caught you like this one evening. He came home smelling like engine oil again, his undershirt splattered with traces of it, his eyebrows quizzical and questioning your still fingers at the keyboard on your laptop. He knew you could write eighty words per minute, and when you were still, it either meant there were no words to come out, or perhaps all of them were stuck somewhere, aching to be translated from brain to keyboard.

“Babe?” He asked, and placed one of your knitted shawls over your shoulders. It smelt like something used in the washing machine, but with Griff standing over you, his scent overpowered that. “Something wrong?”

You shake your head, closing the screen. “Nope,” you reach up to stroke his facial hair, enjoying as Griff hummed as you carded your finger through his manicured hair. “It’s probably nothing.”

---

That night, instead of being in the crook of Griff’s arm, you’re positioned on the edge of the sofa arm like you only own that part of the chair, laptop perilously perched on your knees. Or rather, on a huddle of blankets and Griff’s jackets that are keeping you from turning into an icicle in the night air. The screen lights your face up as you plough through malware and firewalls, flicking switches in the code before you until it gives you a green light.

I’m in, you thought to yourself.

Your boss’s computer was not as well-protected as your own, and for that, you wondered how you’d never really thought of getting into the hood of his browser and looking at that secretive life lived. He had a folder of kid’s pictures on the desktop, some Freddie Mercury music, an unfinished picture of a boy with earbuds in from Microsoft Paint program.

You overlooked those. Instead, you fished deeper, going for the password-protected folders (an easy entry, your software could undo it easier than Griff undid your own bra) that were full of pdfs, documentation. Your eyes dart around the titles, and you realise. They’re all your files, things you’ve sent to him over time, all neat and tidily kept deep in his PC like archives of dirty secrets. There are files from six, seven years ago, as well as one you sent just three days ago.

“Tell me more,” you whisper to the empty air.

There’s no reply, unless you count the snuffle Griff makes, a snore, and a shift over the bed to the colder side of the mattress. Your side. But instead of thinking of how damn good it would be to be there beside your boyfriend, you return your attention to the screen. Closing that folder, you find one down the list titled crewmen. While the other folders are ordered by makes and models of cars, a word that doesn’t fit the cypher stands out like a grey hair on a dark-haired head.

You enter the folder, and blink.

It has thirty-six jpeg files in it, all labelled by surname. You know this, because you’re there, and so is Griff. The rest of the faces are unfamiliar, perhaps people you’ve met by off chance once in your life time, because they look bland. Unfamiliar. There’s a boy with sunglasses, like the drawing you found, an African American man, a woman with a small neck tattoo, an Asian man…you could keep looking at these unfamiliar people, but your eyes drift to Griff’s file.

Hesitantly, you click it. The photo is from before you met, and you only know that because there’s a tattoo missing under his ear in the picture. He isn’t smiling. He isn’t smiling because this picture is from a mug shot. You know Griff has done some shitty things and some shady stuff too, you don’t ask, but you just know. From what you can read from the jpeg, he’s from Arizona, has an offshore bank account and a long middle name you’ve never heard him talk about.

Next, you click on your file. It has a photograph of you, swiped from a post uploaded in 2011 from a deleted Facebook account. It has your name, your address, your status with Griff, your abilities, your wants, needs, life catalogued so neatly in Times New Roman font that it makes you retch, splutter, cough. Quickly, you swipe the two files, exit the hack, and toss your laptop onto the lounge, aghast.

You’ve found your answer.

---

When you tell Griff what you did that night, he’s silent. When his burner phone goes off, he doesn’t answer it. He’s just sitting there, looking at the files you’ve grabbed a hold of, lightly scowling at the picture of himself from years ago on your screen. You’re silent too. Sometimes, there doesn’t have to be words to say things. Sometimes, the silence speaks for itself.

“You work for Doc too?” He asks after a while.

You shake your head. “I don’t know who I work for.” You admit. “He’s very American, and we never see face-to-face. But he always wears a suit on Skype.”

Griff nods. “That’s Doc.”

You shiver. It can’t be coincidence that you’re both lovers who work for the same man. You’re no criminal, but from what you read, you see that Griff is, and constantly is. He’s the muscle, the intimidator, the man with a gun who tells you Shut up and give me the money! You can’t imagine Griff like that. He’s not like that with you. He’s got the words sand and wich tattooed on his knuckles (that was after a few too many drinks one night), and when it’s stormy outside he turns off his phone and keeps you close to him because he knows how much you hate thunder. But it says he’s killed people. Did it make him a bad person? You didn’t want him to be a bad person.

“I want to run away,” you whisper to thin air. “I can’t be responsible for this anymore.”

Griff types one finger at a time into incognito mode on Google Chrome, spelling out M-E-X-I-C-O. You shake your head. He deletes those letters, and types out, C-A-N-A-D-A. You don’t shake your head. Griff smiles, and while you flop backward in the chair, defeated at life and existence itself, his burner phone rings.

“Is that –,”

He nods. “It’s always Doc.” You swallow, watching as he flipped the archaic little phone open, holding it to his ear. You can’t hear the words on the other end, not with a speaker that’s straight out of 2003, but you get the gist of it from the way Griff’s mouth is twisting. At last, he snaps the phone shut, and a breath escapes your lungs. “Another job.”

You remember submitting a text file two days ago. It’s the last file you’ve sent, and while you’re sure he has a backup for you in case you go AWOL (like you’re planning to do), it’s the thought that counts. The last of your taint on the world around Atlanta.

“After…?”

You don’t need to finish. He nods. “After.”

---

When Griff comes home the night after the last heist, he’s gotten rid of his precious pickup truck and traded it in for an old 1970 Camaro. You raise your eyebrows at the muscle car, but remembering your boyfriend looks like a fiend and totally the type to not blink at in a jaded gem like a Camaro, you keep quiet. Everything in the apartment you can’t take with you has been methodically put into moving boxes stuffed with firelighters and newspaper, and with the sprinkler fire alarms on a well-paced timer, there’s sure to be enough damage there to erase all trace of you two existing in that apartment. There’s no way for sure you’re getting the bond back.

When you toss your bag in the back of the car, you jog up to the apartment, lighter in hand. But before you make the place go up in flames, you see you’ve left your laptop on the table. You know Griff is waiting on the street, and time is precious, but still, you log on, and open Skype messenger.

Screw you, Doc you type.

You flick the lighter, and light the wick leading to the boxes, leaving your laptop open, the screen to be soon burned to a crisp, hard drive fried as you and Griff leave your lives as criminals to become someone adjacent to that noun. You decided then and there, as you both hit the interstate that it didn’t make you bad people to bad things. Just people.

#griff baby driver #griff #baby driver #baby driver x reader #baby driver fanfic #jon bernthal #jon bernthal x reader #chaotic--lovely #pendragonfics #Female reader

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stilinski-jpeg · 8 years ago

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The Preacher’s Daughter: Part 2

Author: @stilinski-jpeg

A/N: I’m sorry this took so long to post, there was a second there that I wasn't sure if I was going to go forward with this series, but I am and here’s part two. I really own @minhosmeanhoe for keeping my motivated and pushing me, she’s my soulmate and I love her. I was going to wait for her to post this, but I know you all have been hungry for some Mitch so I’ll post mine now and Camile will post hers later. Also, the rest of the series is going to be in the readers POV.

Warnings: Cursing, Smut (NSFW 18+).

Word count: 6,085

Parts: 1

I was warm when I woke up, my phone buzzing violently at me from somewhere unknown. I hadn’t remembered falling asleep, the after effects of the alcohol from the night making my brain fuzzy. I cracked my eyes open a sliver, only to see a white wall in front of me. ‘Where am I?’ I thought as I tried to get my eyes to open further. The morning seeped into the room through the windows, trying desperately to wake me up. My phone buzzed again, but I still couldn’t tell where the noise was coming from. ‘Where am I?’ I said again in my head, trying to remind myself of any memory from last night. A groan sounded next me, followed by an arm enclosing around my waist and pulling me in towards a warm body, was what finally woke me. I felt a layer of stubble, scrape across the upper part of my back as the stranger nestled into me. I became increasingly aware of my naked body as I willed my mind to bring back something of the previous night.

My phone buzzed again and I lifted my head to see where it was coming from. Looking around, I could tell I was in a hotel room. Although nice, the room was small with a dresser topped with a TV down by the foot of the bed. There was a table and chairs in the corner of the room, big enough for two people to sit at comfortably. Near the front door was another door that I could only assume lead to the bathroom. The entire place was scattered with clothing, bringing back subtle memories of the guy's hotel room I’d stumbled into last night.

I wiggled out of his grip before sliding to the edge of the bed and sitting up. I rubbed my temples as I finally regained some more recollection of the night before. His face flashed across my mind and I smiled. He was tall, lean, and a bit brooding and I remembered him arguing otherwise. His smile was beautiful, although I could tell he didn't use it often. He watched as Camile and I danced, his eyes beautiful even from a distance. I wasn’t a stranger to men staring at me, it's what I lived for, but he was different.

When she suggested we go get another drink, I didn’t fight Camile. She knew the bartender very well, so well he would serve us drinks even though he knew we were underaged. Our fake ID’s also helped with that. He liked to call us the troublesome twosome, because we were always doing something we shouldn't be. Like drinking at bars and catching the eyes of men without any regard to the fact that they were thinking dirty things about us. That was the whole point though wasn’t it? The danger of it all? I wasn’t always so chaotic, not up until recently.

The thing is, I grew up painfully religious. My mother and father met at a church that my dad was a deacon at. They fell in love, got married, and soon after my father became the Pastor of the very same church they met in. Not too long after, my mother had me in the same church. It wasn’t purposeful, I don't think, she just happened to go into labour and couldn't make it to the hospital in time. So there I was born at the altar of the Lord. Ever since then, my parents drilled religion into me. Constantly telling me about how it was by God’s grace that I was born at the altar and I was destined to be a servant to the Lord. Don’t get me wrong, I was honored they thought so highly of me. I was a good kid, anytime the church was open I was there, I sang in the choir, helped out in the nursery. But the more my dad preached about the sins of the world and how unholy they were, the more I was intrigued by them.

When I was sixteen, I talked Camile into going to a party that some college boy had invited us too. I’d met him at the mall and lied to him when he asked me how old I was. Camile was my conscience, telling me how much trouble we’d both be in if we were caught. I could only agree with her, but I kept thinking about all the things I’d miss out on if I didn’t go to this party. So the night of, we told my parents goodnight and went off to bed only to sneak out of my window thirty minutes later.

The party was a rager, boys bellowing and drunk and girls flirting with any boy that’d give them attention. The music was loud, the drinks flowing, and the atmosphere electrifying. I had my first drink at that party, knocking back six shots in a row like a pro and still able to ward off any guy getting a little too handsy. It was also when any boy looked at me with /that/ look, you know the one. Their eyes are dark and sinful, their mouths salivating at the sight of your body spinning and twisting to the music. The obvious bulge protruding from their pants. All signs of pure unadulterated lust, and I was addicted immediately.

From then on, I craved to be looked at that way all the time. But being the Preacher’s daughter and daddy’s little girl didn’t always provide an opportunity to get laid. Couple that with the modest clothing and the sweet girl act, and I as doomed to a life as a nun before I even had a chance. Which is why Camile and I got fake ID’s and started clubbing on weekends. This however was the first time I’d ever gone home with someone, well technically. I’d fucked in cars, made out in back alley ways, gave blowjobs in bathrooms, but I hadn’t actually ever gone home with someone.

I glanced over my shoulder at the guy, his name was lost on me and I wasn't even sure he'd ever told me. He looked so different as he slept, his features softer. I swivelled around to plant a kiss delicately in his cheek. He stirred but otherwise didn't move as I permanently removed myself from the bed and began collecting my clothes from the floor until I heard my phone buzzing again. I followed the sound to my red dress and lifted it to find my phone with a picture of my best friend flashing across the screen. I picked it up, pressing the large green accept button before hauling it up to my ear.

“Hello.” I whispered as I found my other black heel and attempted to redress myself.

“Where the hell are you?” Camile’s voice screeched out from the other side of the line. I swiveled my head over to the bed making sure the sleeping man hadn’t been woken by my best friend’s voice.

“I’m… actually I have no clue where I’m at.” I said in a hushed voice, trying to zip up my dress and hold my phone with my ear with my shoulder at the same time.

“Well, are you okay?” She questioned, her tone filled with worry.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just had too much to drink and can’t remember the name of the hotel.” I had wedged on my shoe and was on my way to the door, when I realized I wasn’t wearing my earrings.

“Good, because when I get my hands on you - I’m going to kill you.” She spat.

I rolled my eyes at my best friend, knowing she couldn't see me. She was the worrier and no matter how many times I told her worrying turned your hair gray, she still did it. I spotted my earrings on the bedside table and rushed over to them. “Will you just come and get me, I still have to change for church.”

“You’re lucky I love you enough to have grabbed you a change of clothes before we left your house last night.” She said as if she had done me the biggest favor in the world. Which she undoubtedly had.

“Thank you, now hurry your ass up.” I hissed, walking purposefully towards the door and exiting it, making sure not to wake up guy’s name I didn't know. I hung up with Camile, promising I would send her my location when I did. As I waited from my best friend outside of the hotel. I let the memories of last night roam my brain. The feeling of his lips on mine was so prominent still, like they were embedded there forever. In all the nights I’d spent with random guys, something about this one was different. Something about how his touch made me nervous or the way he stared into my eyes made me blush, giving me a feeling that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Before I could give anymore thought to it, Camile pulled up in her car. I could see her scowl even through the tinted windows, but I choose to ignore it as I plopped into the car.

“The only way you’ll make this up to me is if you tell me every single detail.” She said seriously, before pressing on the gas and speeding off.

When my father preached, it was beautiful. It was like he was reciting his own words and not the words of the Bible. It always had the power to make me momentarily rethink my sinful choices. That is until he started spouting off words about the women in the bars only dressing so as to entice the men there, getting drunk off the devil’s water and committing acts only wedded couples should. At some point, I hated my father telling me what I could and couldn’t do. I hated how I couldn’t read a current book or watch a current movie because there was kissing in it. I hadn’t even seen The Notebook up until a few months ago.

The service dragged on and my head was practically throbbing from the loud music and voices booming over the speakers. I was relieved when my father stood from his spot next to my mother and announced the picnic, him and my mother had worked tirelessly to put together. Indicating church was over and I could go outside, drink a lot of water and soaking up all the vitamin D I could. We stood next to him when everyone was dismissed, shaking hands and giving hugs to the congregation before they excused themselves to the festivities outside. As the last few people exited, walking up the aisle way I spotted one of my fathers old family friends, Stan Hurley. My face lit up instantly as I rushed over to him.

“Stan!” I half yelled, as I embraced him into a hug. He hugged back tenderly, lifting me off the ground slightly and making me feel like I was a little girl again. When he finally put me down, I smiled up at him. He was like an uncle to me, often showing up unexpectedly and bringing me treasures from all his worldly adventures. I was far too old from such childish things now, but there was a part of me that still hoped that dear old Stan had brought me something.

“I got this one from Istanbul.” His rough voice spoke, pulling a small golden box out of his pocket and handing it to me. My eyes twinkled as I looked up at him with childlike wonder. I took the box out of his hand, opening it delicately. A beautiful necklace with a blue stone dangling from it sparkled up at me. My mouth dropped open and I tried smiling through my amazement.

“Oh Stan! You spoil her!” My father laughed from behind me as he walked up to greet his old friend.

“Someone’s got to.” He teased back as him and my father collided in a huge hug. I could hear the loud back slapping through my daze as I assessed my new treasure. Their laughter came a second later until a question interrupted my thoughts.

“And who is this?”

I had barely notice the person lying in the wake of Stan, but I could only make out his long sleeve black shirt and dirty jeans from where I stood. I knew my dad was mentally shaking his head at the attire of person hidden behind his old friend. Stan rolled his eyes, turning to make the person behind him visible.

“I was hoping he’d go unnoticed,” Stan practically groaned. “But this is Mitch Rapp, my partner.”

I instantly dropped everything in my hands when my eyes finally gazed upon the person Stan was talking about. He looked completely out of place, standing in the middle of a church dressed like he’d just come from a biker club. His eyes were only on me, an unreadable expression on his face. I gulped, frozen in place, not knowing what I should do. Run? Hide? Did he even remember me? Was the way his eyes raked over my body just my wishful imagination taking over.

“Sweetie, are you going to pick that up?” My mother’s voice brought me back. It was then that I noticed everyone's eyes on me. I could feel my face redden as I bent down to pick up the box and necklace. The rest of my family proceeded to greet Stan’s friend as I stood back, my mouth still hanging open slightly. I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t the same guy, that I was just being paranoid. Which I very rarely was, but for the uncanny resemblance to the guy I was just in bed with three hours ago, gave me every right to be.

“This is my daughter.” My father introduced me, spreading his arm out and coaxing me forward. I smiled sweetly, walking as slowly as I could without seeming suspicious until I was standing before him. This was definitely the guy from the club and the hotel room. He had the same brooding expression he had on his face last night and for some reason that made me smile.

“Nice to meet you - Mr.Rapp, was it?” I asked, extending my hand for him to take. He cocked his brow at the sight of my smile, but shook my hand anyways.

“Just Mitch.” He answered, the warmth of his hands spreading into my body. The familiar feeling I got when he looked at me returned, his honey colored eyes melting me without even trying. It was something I wasn’t used to. I recoiled my hand quickly, turning to look at anything but him. Even though I could still feel his eyes on me.

“Mark, If it’s okay with Nancy, I have to talk to you about something privately.” Stan said, slapping his old friend on the shoulder.

Both men looked over at my mother for approval and she laughed, her smile lines ever apparent, nodding before ushering herself and my brother out to the lawn where the picnic was being held. When I looked back at my father, him and Stan were already walking away toward his office leaving Mitch and I alone. We stood there awkwardly with each other before it became too much and I thought I better take my leave.

“I better go see if my mom -”

“You look different in white.” He cut me off, a rye smile on his face.

I blushed, looking down at my pure white dress. “Everything’s the same underneath.”

“I can only imagine.” He chuckled slightly. Despite the lighthearted conversation, the awkwardness still loomed in the room.

“Well, like I said I should go see if my mom needs any help.” I said shyly, fiddling tirelessly with the box still in my hand.

I wasn’t normally this nervous around guys, literally ever. But this guy had the ability to ruin the saintly reputation my parents had of me. He was a living, walking, breathing example of my sins. Not to mention he looked at me with those same bedroom eyes he looked at me with last night. It made me squirm in a way I wasn't used to squirming. He only nodded in reply and I turned to leave when a thought came to me.

“Can you not tell my parents about last night? Like any part of it?” I asked, turning back to face him.

“What do you think I’m going to say, ‘Oh hey, I fucked your daughter senselly last night. Please continue with your sermon’?” He teased, but I didn’t laugh. I felt like a child asking her babysitter not to tell her daddy that she broke the vase.

“We’re in a church.” I said, tisking him for cursing in God’s house.

He looked cautiously at the ceiling like God would send down a bolt of lightning to smite him any second. I laughed at him and smiled before attempting to leave once again.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were eighteen?” My stomach lurched at the question. I wasn't sure how I was suppose to answer, or what his intention was concerning the question.

“Why does it matter, I’m legal. It’s not like you committed a crime.”

“Expect for buying alcohol for minors.”

“I’m not a minor, I’m just not suppose to drink.”

“Still illegal.”

I smirked, wondering if that’s what was really bothering him or if it was the fact that I left this morning without saying goodbye. He had that brooding expression still on his face again and I took a daring step closer to him filling the gap that was between us only leaving inches of room.

“Well next time, I’ll be sure to let you in all my secrets.”

“I think I know them all by now.” He said in a hushed voice, looking curiously over my face.

“I might have a few more up my sleeve.”

I watched as his adam’s apple bobbed and his eyes flickered from my eyes to my lips rapidly. He began to lean in like a make out session was about to happen right there in the middle of the pews, but I leaned in slightly before flashing a quick smile up at him and pulling away, finally exiting the slightly less awkward but more so sexual tension filled room.

I sucked in a huge breath once outside, letting my lungs fill with fresh air before exhaling the sin I was breathing in by just being near Mitch. I knew when I woke up that morning I wanted to see him again, but I never imagined seeing him this soon and here. My mother spotted me and rushed over to me with her fake smile she only wore when something was happening and she didn't want anyone else to know.

“There you are!” She said through her smile. “I need you to play host while I go help Brother John refill the lemonade pitchers.”

“Okay Mom! I’m on it.” I reassured her as she bustled away from me. I shook my head after her, wondering how refilling the lemonade pitchers was a crisis. I started my rounds to the group of tables, saying hi to everyone and making friendly conversation. I had just made it to the table where all the elder ladies of the church could be found. They were the ones that sewed and knitted and their idea of a crazy night was playing Phase 10 until nine instead of eight thirty. Suddenly, they all burst into laughter which was strange for them and when I was close enough, I saw Mitch sitting between Mrs. Meyers and Ms. Sheldon. He wasn’t laughing nearly as hard as the rest of them, his eyes catching me as soon as I was in sight. I eyed him skeptically, subconsciously thinking he was telling them about our escapades last night.

“Hello Ladies, gentleman.” I said in my sweet preacher’s daughter’s voice. “I see you all made a new friend.”

“Oh yes, Mitch here is such a charmer.” Mrs. Henderson said, taking my hand and squeezing it.

“Well thank you Ethel, you’re too kind.”

I had to try really hard not to let my mouth fall open for the second time that day. Mrs. Henderson never let anyone under the age of 45 call her by her first name. Yet Mitch was spouting it off like it was her only she had. I wasn't sure why, but it irritated me that these old hens thought he was so great. It made me wonder what he had told them about himself. Because I, admittedly, knew nothing.

“I’m sure he gets all the ladies from — hmm, where is it that you said you were from again?” I challenged. Mitch open his mouth to talk when he was cut off.

“Oh, don’t pry dear. You’ll scare him off.” Ms. Sheldon said, her eyes fixed lovingly at him.

I rolled my eyes as Mitch soaked up all the attention he was getting, taking that as my queue to walk away. It was clear I could do nothing to tarnish the spotless reputation he'd built with them in such a short time. Just as I did, I heard Mrs. Henderson say something far too loud to be a whisper. “The girl is such a prude. She’s not worth your time, son.”

I looked over my shoulder at the group that had already forgotten my existence, glaring. Mitch was looking at me like he hadn’t taken his eyes off me even after I’d walked away. He was smirking, something dark crossing his face for the faintest of seconds. “I don’t know ladies, anyone can have a dark side.”

“Oh, not her. Her dark side is when she doesn't pray before bed.” The gaggle of ladies all cackled. I frowned, wishing the the older women could know the real me, the secret me. Something like rage boiled up inside me and I stormed back to the table, circling it until I reached Mitch.

“I need to talk to you.” I hissed, grabbing his by his bicep and pulling him up to a standing position. He tried to say something, but I ripped him away before he could.

“Woah kitten, slow down.” He chuckled, but I snapped my head back at him warding him off. Those old hens wanted a dark side, they were about to get one. I lugged him over to the side of the picnic where no one could hear us talk before releasing my grip on him.

“What the hel - ” I stopped for a second, looking up at the cross on the church and remembering where I was. “heck, was that?”

I folded my arms over one another, my eyes burning a hole into his brain. I could tell that I wasn’t the least bit intimidating by the smirk on his face, but I didn’t falter on my anger. There was no way I was letting his charm wear me down.

“I was just making friends.”

“Oh, really? Seemed like you had ulterior motives.”

“I’m the one with ulterior motives?” He asked presumptuously.

I understood what he was talking about, but I chose to ignore it. He was trying to get under my skin and exposing me wouldn’t work. I simply smirked back at him, biting lightly on my bottom lip.

“All my motives are pure.”

“As pure as your virginity.” He retorted, chuckling softly when I squirmed. I was losing and he knew it. I could feel my cheeks growing redder as silence set between us. I couldn't think of a witty enough comeback to counteract what he has just said.

“Love bug,” My mom chimed, adding to the embarrassment I was already feeling. She was about a yard away waving frantically at me for my attention. I smiled awkwardly at her and she finally ascended upon Mitch and I.

“There you are, dear. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I need you to go and get the boxes that are in the backseat of my car.” She dangled her keys in front of me with a sweet smile. I smiled back weakly, taking them from her. I started walking away when my mother spoke again, causing me to stop and look back.

“Do you mind helping her?” She asked Mitch with the same sweet smile. “With your help, I know the two of you will dominate this.”

She gave him a small squeeze of the shoulder before someone called her name and she was off without getting an answer from Mitch. He watched her leave and when she was out of earshot, he looked back to me his devious smirk returning. “Dominate, huh?”

He arched an eyebrow and I rolled my eyes before I walked away. Swallowing the annoying lump in my throat and ignoring the wetness forming between my legs. He trailed after me as I lead the way to my mom’s car, the whole time trying to ward off the memories from last night that kept surfacing in my brain. My body buzzed as I remember the way he whispered ‘kitten’ into my ear as he pounded into me, cumming almost instantly. I knew this was not the place to be recalling those things, but I couldn't stop it. This man was different from any I’d ever met before, he had the ability to break me and that scared me.

The parking lot for the church was across the street, the church being so old and never building it’s own parking area. I got to the edge of the road and crossed the street without even checking if Mitch was behind me. The more distance I could put between us, the better. I weaved in and out of the parking slots until I spotted my mom’s white Jetta Volvo. I clicked the unlock button on the key fob and a small chirp indicated the command was successful. Pulling open the driver’s passenger side door, I slipped my head inside to assess how many boxes I would be lugging. To my relief, there were only two. Making me think that I didn't really need the help after all. A second later, the opposite door opened and Mitch’s face appeared. I huffed in frustration, grabbing the box out of the car roughly and ultimately causing some of the contents to fall back into the car. I groaned aloud, again in frustration, that nothing seemed to be going my way today. I dropped the box on the ground and climbed into the car, searching the seat for what had fallen. Mitch had already pulled himself and his box out of the car, but popped his head back in to check on me.

“Want some help?” He asked, placing his box on the ground.

“It would help me if you weren’t here.” I snapped, reaching under the seat and feeling around for any objects.

“That’s not what you were saying last night.”

“Can you, just like, stop for two freaking seconds? God, we fucked last night, I get it. You don’t have to keep reminding me of it.” I hissed, glaring as he inserted himself in the car too.

“I haven’t said anything about us fucking, gorgeous.” He had that stupid smirk on his face again and his eyes were glowing as he looked into mine. I could feel myself slipping and I knew how easy it would be to just give in to him.

“Yes, you did.” I pointed out, but I know he knew. He knew I couldn’t get last night out of my mind. He knew that I wanted to reenact a few of the things we practiced last night.

“Why are you even here, Mitch?” I asked, out of sexual frustration.

“I’m helping you with boxes.”

“No. Why are you /here/? You could be eating the free food or socializing with old ladies. Yet here you are, helping me with boxes. Why?” I challenge, genuinely curious of his answer. He seemed to think about his answer, but it didn't take him long to respond.

“I’m here for the same reason you are, kitten.” He said, his voice an octave deeper. His eyes had suddenly turned dark, lust taking them over completely. I knew he was right. I could have told him to get lost at any moment, or ignored his very existence but I couldn't hide from the truth. I wanted him here, I wanted him around me, I wanted him.

I didn’t hesitate before I lunged toward him, grabbing his face and pulling it towards my own. Inserting my tongue into his mouth, right away, as we both climbed into the car. He didn’t let my dominance last for too long before his tongue was the focal point of the kiss. It collided with my own, swirling around and over it while his hands went to my waist pulling me closer to him. It was incredible how easily the same carnal need for him pooled at the surface, making me throw everything good I knew out of the window.

“Close the door.” I said into our kiss and we both pulled apart to shut our doors only to be pulled back together again. I weaved my fingers into his hair and hoisted myself up as I climbed on top of him. His hands moved to my thighs, sliding up and down them and every time scooting my dress up higher and higher up on my waist. Our lips stayed connected as I blindly fumbled with his belt and jeans, trying to undo them quickly. I was eager for him to fill me again, my core ached for it. I got stuck on his zipper and I pulled out of this kiss to focus on my task.

“You were quicker at this last night.” He teased, as he finally slid his hands up high enough to reveal my ass. He kneaded and squeezed it before landing a smack on it. I jumped, letting a small moan slip from my lips. Still I continued to mishandle his pants, trying my hardest to free his cock.

“Do you want my help?” He asked, smacking my ass again. I hissed, letting the harsh sting fester until it turned into a pleasurable burn. I looked at him with seduction in my demeanor, finally undoing his button and zipper in one quick motion. I reached into his pants, pulling out his hard swollen cock. I could feel my mouth water at the sight of it. Precum glistened from his tip, begging to be licked clean.

“Come throat daddy’s cock, kitten.” He rasped, landing another blow to my backside.

Somehow the blow gave me a surge of confidence and I brought my hand up to his mouth, covering it. “I need you to stop talking.”

With my other hand, I position his erection so I could easily slide down on it. We both sighed when my slick walls encompassed his hard member. I clenched around him, easily remembering the feeling of him inside me. The feeling of him stretching me felt so perfect and I finally began sliding myself up and down on him, never moving my hand from his mouth. As my pace quickened, the car was filled with groans and muffled moans. I could feel the car rocking as I grinded against him. His hands remained on my ass, smacking every now and again to coax me on. I looked down at him and he was watching me, watching how much I was enjoying riding him. The intense look in his eyes as I slammed down on his lap and rose back up was rejuvenating. I knew I would cum easily like this, I felt in charge as if I had all the power. He muttered something into my hand and I removed it, allowing him to speak for the first time in minutes.

“I think I’m going to cum.” He growled, using my ass to guide me along his cock.

“Already?” I teased, clenching around him.

He sighed, not even trying to bite back. I got the sense that this was something that was new for him, not being in charge. From the looks of it, he was enjoying it. What he didn’t know, is me being in control of everything turned me on even more. I was used to being dominated, but the tables were turned and it was a whole new experience.

“You can’t cum until I do.” I breathed, kissing him softly on the lips.

“Fuck, I don't know if I can.”

“You’ll have to try.” I said, quickening my movements. I could feel trails of fire, coursing through my bloodstream and pooling in my abdomen - cumming wouldn't be hard for me. The very atmosphere between us mixed with the utter lust painted on Mitch’s face was enough to make me orgasm, but add in the car fucking, the way he was looking at me like I was the sexiest thing he had ever seen, and the last good smack on the ass and I was thankful we were in a car where I could scream without being heard. My walls tightened around him, my legs growing weaker as I came mercilessly around his cock.

“Oh shit.” He grunted, before pulling me up off his dick, cum shooting out of his slit and covering his shirt. He stroked himself, finishing himself off while I leaned back awkwardly trying to reach the napkins my mom kept in her center console. His head was resting against the seat, sweat dotted over his forehead when I turned back around. I climbed off of him and he lifted his head suddenly. I smiled, before tossing the napkins in his lap and scooting out of the car. There was an attempt at a protest of me getting out that was silenced upon shutting my door. I pulled my dress back down properly before resuming with the task that brought me to the car in the first place.

I was halfway back to the picnic when I saw Mitch emerging from my mom’s car. I giggled to myself before walking a little faster to ensure he wouldn't catch up. My dad and Stan were exiting the church through the front doors just as I was passing them and they stopped me.

“Hey Lovebug,” My dad smiled, pulling me into a side hug as I cringed at the pet name that I wished my parents would forget.

“Hi dad. Hi Stan.” They both smiled but seemed less than involved with talking to me as they both surveyed the guests at the picnic.

“Love, you haven’t seen Mitch by chance have you?” My dad asked.

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to hold back the smile that was so close to being let out. “You know, I think I saw him cleaning up around here somewhere.”

“Hmph.” My dad sighed, “I guess we’ll just have to tell him later.” The words weren’t directed at me, but Stan who nodded at him agreeingly.

“Tell him what, daddy?” I said, knowing full well that cozying up to him would get him to tell me anything he wouldn't normally.

“Stan and Mitch are going to be staying with us for a few weeks.” He said without faltering, because it wasn’t a secret.

My stomach fell to my ass as I tried to process the news. I thought that Mitch being there that day was a one off. That it was God’s way at saying my slutty ways would catch up to me one day. That I would just have to get through that day and I would never have to see Mitch Rapp ever again. But he was now following me home, where it was going to be hard to pretend that the past sixteen hours didn’t happen. As Mitch came into view, carrying his box,I bid farewell to my dad and Stan so I could bring the box I was still holding to my mom. As I walked, I knew what we had between us couldn't continue. There was no way I could keep up my good girl act with Mitch living down the hall from me. So as I set the box down next to my mom and began to unload it, I promised myself that no matter what — I would not fuck Mitch Rapp.

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bxcketbarnes · 4 years ago

Text

Unexpected

Pairing: Ashton Irwin x Reader

Words: 1600+

Author's Note: I'm back with the boys! One boy in particular. The literal love of my life, which sounds sad but he makes me happy. 🥺 It's been a while since I've posted for 5SOS and it's good to finally get one out. Happy Reading! xox

The sounds of Ashton playing the drums wake you from your slumber, your eyes squinting at the sun peeking through the blinds. You glance towards the clock that sits on Ash's nightstand, seeing it was almost noon.

"Jesus he let me sleep in pretty late," you mumble and sit up. You stretch your arms, letting out a whine before throwing the covers off of your body.

You grab Ashton's hoodie from the end of the bed, putting it on while heading out of the bedroom. The drumming stops as you're heading towards the basement stairs.

"Ash? Love?" You call out and start heading down the stairs. Your black-haired boyfriend whips his head around, a grin coming to his lips.

"Morning, love," he greets while getting off his drum stool. You get to the bottom step when Ashton reaches you, his hands sliding around your waist.

You giggle and lean in for a kiss, your fingers running through his hair. "You let me sleep in for a reason?" You ask as he pulls away from you, his lips dragging to your cheek.

"Mm, no. Maybe you just needed to rest," Ashton explains with an eyebrow raised. "I've heard you up late the past few nights. You're not exactly quiet."

He lets out a giggle and the two of you head towards his drums. Ashton sits back down on his stool while you roll his computer chair towards you. "Sorry about that. Just been having insomnia lately, apparently," you tell him as you sit down.

Ashton pulls your chair closer to him, his hands resting on your thighs. "Hey, it's okay. I'm not mad about it. Just make sure you get the necessary rest you need. I'm not going anywhere," he reassures you and you smile at him, bringing your hand to his face.

"Boy, I love you," you whisper and Ash presses a kiss to your forehead.

"I love you too, sweetheart."

"Have you eaten?" You ask him as Ashton places his headphones on his head.

He glances over at you and shakes his head, getting ready to go back to what he was doing before you came down here. You stand up from your chair and press one last kiss to his lips.

"I'll go out and grab us lunch, okay?"

The man grins and nods his head, earning a chuckle from you. You shake your head a bit before heading back upstairs to get ready to leave.

"You want to do what?" Your friend B asks through the phone as you walk down the streets of LA. You sigh and adjust the mask on your face before running a hand through your hair.

"I want to get Ash something special. I know we've only been together for almost two years, but I think it's finally time."

A noise leaves B's lips and you chuckle in response. "Time for what?"

"Ya know… for the next step maybe? Even though the past couple of nights I've been up because of my mental issues-"

"What's going on? Where is this coming from?"

You groan a bit and rub your forehead. "The past few nights I've been up until God knows when, thinking about if this is something Ashton wants. If he wants to be with me for years on end. I realized today that he does. That he's not going anywhere," you explain to them.

B lets out an aww and you playfully roll your eyes as you walk up to the jewelers. "Then I think it's a great idea!" They tell you and you chuckle before heading into the building.

"Thanks for the help. I'll send a picture of what I get."

The two of you bid each other a goodbye before hanging up the phone, sliding it into your back pocket. The saleswoman is chatting with another customer as you look around, trying to find the men's rings.

After managing to find it you analyze each one on display, trying to find the one that fits Ashton the most. Your phone vibrates and you fish it out, seeing a text from the man himself.

A smile comes to your lips as you open the notification. A blush comes to your lips and you lock your phone immediately, looking around to see if anyone was close by. The audacity of this man… You unlock your phone and bite your lip, thanking the Gods that you're wearing a mask.

In the picture is Ashton in your shared bathroom, a smirk on his lips as you can see water droplets trailing down his naked body. "Jesus," you mumble to yourself and someone clears their throat and snaps you from your gaze.

"Hi! Can I help you with anything?" The older woman asks and you clear your throat, locking your phone once more before putting it away.

"Yes, sorry. I'm looking for a ring for my boyfriend. Kinda like an engagement ring I guess," you ramble and she grins while nodding her head.

"I've got the perfect ring for you," she mentions before unlocking the case. The woman pulls out a silver ring that has a wooden interior and you love it. "Now, I'm hoping you didn't want it engraved because since it's wooden on the inside it physically can't be done."

You shake your head and hold the ring in between your fingers, grinning to yourself. "No, that's fine. This is beautiful," you mumble before handing it back to her. "I'll take it."

You carry the takeout bag into the house and kick the door shut behind you before slipping your shoes off. Ashton walks into the room and smiles at you.

"There you are! You've been gone a while," he chuckles as you set the bag onto the kitchen island.

His hands rest on your hips, pressing a couple of kisses to your shoulder. "Traffic was insane," you giggle while opening the bag.

"Did you get my text?" He asks, his hands gripping your hips and your eyes flutter shut.

"Y-Yeah… A warning would've been nice. I was in public," you stutter. Ashton chuckles into your ear and presses himself against you, a hum coming from his lips.

"Where's the fun in that though? I bet you looked adorable under your mask. Cheeks flushed, biting your lip while making sure no one saw. It's a delightful sight to see, my love," he explains and you're silently cursing to yourself while gripping the edge of the counter.

You turn yourself to face him, a smirk on his lips as he presses your back against the island. "Someone's needy today," you mumble while looking up at him through your lashes.

Ashton dips down to connect his lips with yours, earning a slight moan from you. His hands move to the back of your thighs before picking you up. You wrap your arms around his neck as the man sets you onto the countertop.

"I've just missed you. Miss the intimacy we haven't had in a few days," Ash whispers against your lips as his hands drag themselves up your thighs.

You rest your hands against his face, stroking his skin before reconnecting to your lips with his. Ashton picks you up again before walking towards your shared bedroom, setting you onto the bed after shutting the door behind him.

"Wait," you mumble and get up from the bed, Ashton's eyes following you as you get the ring you bought him out of your purse.

The black-haired man sits on the bed, shirtless while waiting for you to come back to him. "What are you doing?" He laughs and you take a deep breath before walking over to him.

His hazel eyes look up at you as you straddle his lap, giving him the velvety-black box. Ashton's lips part slightly while taking the box from you, inspecting it slowly.

"What's this?" Ashton asks but you don't say anything, just motion for him to open it. He opens the ring box, his eyes widening a bit, and quickly looks back up at you. "Sweetheart…"

"Do you like it?" You ask nervously as he removes it from the box before sliding it onto his finger. "I know we've only been together for two years, but-"

"I love it, baby," Ashton cuts you off and you smile while letting out a sigh of relief. A small chuckle leaves his lips as he places the palm of his hand on your cheek. "I never thought you'd make the first move like this."

A blush covers your cheeks and you shrug your shoulders. "You're the first guy I've fallen in love with and I don't see myself with anyone else," you confess to him, your cheeks feeling super warm and Ash grins widely while stroking your face.

"You're so adorable when you're all shy. I'm in love with you too, darling. I wouldn't mind spending the rest of my life with you."

Your eyes flutter shut at his words, your stomach erupting with butterflies as you rest your forehead against his forehead. Ashton's hands trail up and down your back as the two of you sit in silence for a moment.

"Maybe we make it official?" He suddenly asks and you pull away from him. "I go out and buy you a ring," he mumbles while one of his hands grabs your left one, lacing your fingers together.

"I-I mean… if that's what you want, yeah, I wouldn't mind," you bite your lip, and Ash giggles softly.

He flips the two of you around, your back pressed against the mattress as he hovers above you. "Let me make love to you first," Ash whispers against your skin, and your breath catches in your throat, nodding your head in response.

Tagging: @calpalirwin @myloverboyash @sexgodashton @h0tsos @gigglyirwin @devilatmydoor @jessalyn-jpeg @philthepegacorn @frontmanash @tea4sykes @itsasadfishworld @everyscarisahealingplace @talkfastromance4 @irwinkitten @kindahoping4forever @maluminspace @creator-appreciator @g-l-pierce @abb-lan-5sos @hemmingslftv @notinthesameguey @suchalonelysunflower @iwritesiriusly @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof

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siliconwebx · 6 years ago

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Using Artificial Intelligence to Generate Alt Text on Images

Web developers and content editors alike often forget or ignore one of the most important parts of making a website accessible and SEO performant: image alt text. You know, that seemingly small image attribute that describes an image:

📷 Credit: Huffington Post

If you regularly publish content on the web, then you know it can be tedious trying to come up with descriptive text. Sure, 5-10 images is doable. But what if we are talking about hundreds or thousands of images? Do you have the resources for that?

Let’s look at some possibilities for automatically generating alt text for images with the use of computer vision and image recognition services from the likes Google, IBM, and Microsoft. They have the resources!

Reminder: What is alt text good for?

Often overlooked during web development and content entry, the alt attribute is a small bit of HTML code that describes an image that appears on a page. It’s so inconspicuous that it may not appear to have any impact on the average user, but it has very important uses indeed:

Web Accessibility for Screen Readers: Imagine a page with lots of images and not a single one contains alt text. A user surfing in using a screen reader would only hear the word “image” blurted out and that’s not very helpful. Great, there’s an image, but what is it? Including alt enables screen readers to help the visually impaired “see” what’s there and have a better understanding of the content of the page. They say a picture is worth a thousand words — that’s a thousand words of context a user could be missing.

Display text if an image does not load: The World Wide Web seems infallible and, like New York City, that it never sleeps, but flaky and faulty connections are a real thing and, if that happens, well, images tend not to load properly and “break.” Alt text is a safeguard in that it displays on the page in place of where the “broken” image is, providing users with content as a fallback.

SEO performance: Alt text on images contributes to SEO performance as well. Though it doesn’t exactly help a site or page skyrocket to the top of the search results, it is one factor to keep in mind for SEO performance.

Knowing how important these things are, hopefully you’ll be able to include proper alt text during development and content entry. But are your archives in good shape? Trying to come up with a detailed description for a large backlog of images can be a daunting task, especially if you’re working on tight deadlines or have to squeeze it in between other projects.

What if there was a way to apply alt text as an image is uploaded? And! What if there was a way to check the page for missing alt tags and automagically fill them in for us?

There are available solutions!

Computer vision (or image recognition) has actually been offered for quite some time now. Companies like Google, IBM and Microsoft have their own APIs publicly available so that developers can tap into those capabilities and use them to identify images as well as the content in them.

There are developers who have already utilized these services and created their own plugins to generate alt text. Take Sarah Drasner’s generator, for example, which demonstrates how Azure’s Computer Vision API can be used to create alt text for any image via upload or URL. Pretty awesome!

See the Pen Dynamically Generated Alt Text with Azure's Computer Vision API by Sarah Drasner (@sdras) on CodePen.

There’s also Automatic Alternative Text by Jacob Peattie, which is a WordPress plugin that uses the same Computer Vision API. It’s basically an addition to the workflow that allows the user to upload an image and generated alt text automatically.

Tools like these generally help speed-up the process of content management, editing and maintenance. Even the effort of thinking of a descriptive text has been minimized and passed to the machine!

Getting Your Hands Dirty With AI

I have managed to have played around with a few AI services and am confident in saying that Microsoft Azure’s Computer Vision produces the best results. The services offered by Google and IBM certainly have their perks and can still identify images and proper results, but Microsoft’s is so good and so accurate that it’s not worth settling for something else, at least in my opinion.

Creating your own image recognition plugin is pretty straightforward. First, head down to Microsoft Azure Computer Vision. You’ll need to login or create an account in order to grab an API key for the plugin.

Once you’re on the dashboard, search and select Computer Vision and fill in the necessary details.

Starting out

Wait for the platform to finish spinning up an instance of your computer vision. The API keys for development will be available once it’s done.

Keys: Also known as the Subscription Key in the official documentation

Let the interesting and tricky parts begin! I will be using vanilla JavaScript for the sake of demonstration. For other languages, you can check out the documentation. Below is a straight-up copy and paste of the code and you can use to replace the placeholders.

Alright, let’s run through some key terminology of the AI service.

Location: This is the subscription location of the service that was selected prior to getting the subscription keys. If you can’t remember the location for some reason, you can go to the Overview screen and find it under Endpoint.

Overview > Endpoint : To get the location value

Subscription Key: This is the key that unlocks the service for our plugin use and can be obtained under Keys. There’s two of them, but it doesn’t really matter which one is used.

Image URL: This is the path for the image that’s getting the alt text. Take note that the images that are sent to the API must meet specific requirements:

File type must be JPEG, PNG, GIF, BMP

File size must be less than 4MB

Dimensions should be greater than 50px by 50px

Easy peasy

Thanks to big companies opening their services and API to developers, it’s now relatively easy for anyone to utilize computer vision. As a simple demonstration, I uploaded the image below to Microsoft Azure’s Computer Vision API.

Possible alt text: a hand holding a cellphone

The service returned the following details:

{ "description": { "tags": [ "person", "holding", "cellphone", "phone", "hand", "screen", "looking", "camera", "small", "held", "someone", "man", "using", "orange", "display", "blue" ], "captions": [ { "text": "a hand holding a cellphone", "confidence": 0.9583763512737793 } ] }, "requestId": "31084ce4-94fe-4776-bb31-448d9b83c730", "metadata": { "width": 920, "height": 613, "format": "Jpeg" } }

From there, you could pick out the alt text that could be potentially used for an image. How you build upon this capability is your business:

You could create a CMS plugin and add it to the content workflow, where the alt text is generated when an image is uploaded and saved in the CMS.

You could write a JavaScript plugin that adds alt text on-the-fly, after an image has been loaded with notably missing alt text.

You could author a browser extension that adds alt text to images on any website when it finds images with it missing.

You could write code that scours your existing database or repo of content for any missing alt text and updates them or opens pull requests for suggested changes.

Take note that these services are not 100% accurate. They do sometimes return a low confidence rating and a description that is not at all aligned with the subject matter. But, these platforms are constantly learning and improving. After all, Rome wasn’t built in a day.

The post Using Artificial Intelligence to Generate Alt Text on Images appeared first on CSS-Tricks.

😉SiliconWebX | 🌐CSS-Tricks

#Silicon Web Design #Ahmedabad #India #Web Development #WPBeginner #Silicon URL #Web Site #Cloud Host

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abovethesmokestacks · 8 years ago

Text

Make Me Feel Like I’m Real (5/7)

Title: Make Me Feel Like I’m Real Pairing: T.J Hammond x OMC Rating: General Audiences Warnings: swearing, increased hate for tabloids? Otherwise none Spoilers: spoilers for Political Animals (esp. the last couple of episodes)

I am so sorry I flaked out for MONTHS. I got caught with the nastiest flu ever in mid-November and didn’t shake it until week after New Years. In between better and worse periods of being sick, I had a very untimely case of writer’s block, so all in all a shitstorm as far as writing was concerned. Finally managed to finish this baby tonight, and I hope you all enjoy it! Let me know if you want in on the taglist.

TAG LIST: @loup-malin, @ursulaismymiddlename, @sarahsassafras13, @bakexprayxlove, @booksandshowsandmovies-ohmy, @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki,@lilasiannerd, @the-hidden-seeker, @bovaria, @ceebeetumbles, @the-scars-and-the-stripes, @smile-youlookbetterhappy, @captain-amelia-bradley, @mrshopkirk, @amrita31199, @winter-in-wakanda, @avengerofyourheart, @creideamhgradochas, @themcuhasruinedme, @feepsmoothie, @nuvoleincielo, @wellfuckbuck, @callamint, @tatortot2701, @mellifluous-melodramas

<< Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 >>

June 2014

”Please jailbreak me.”

”That bad?”

”I feel like I have ants crawling under my skin.”

”Do I say ‘you’ll be okay’? Or will that make it worse?”

”I hate myself.”

”I love you.”

”I don’t deserve it.”

”I still love you.”

”Please bake me a cake with a rasp inside it.”

”I’ll send you cupcakes and a $1 nail file.”

”How you holding up?”

”Okay, I guess.”

”Really?”

”No. I’m terrible. I remember exactly why I tried to halfass my way through it before.”

”But you won’t now?”

”I won’t. I promise.”

”I’m sorry.”

”What? What happened?”

”No! No, it’s-it’s a step. I should be doing this face to face, and I will, I just… I’m so sorry.”

”Oh.”

”A conversation for next week. Just… I don’t know. I wanted to get a head start.”

He returns home at the end of March.

Rehab was different this time. Same place, a couple of people he recognized from his previous stint, but this time T.J actually tried. Dutifully went to appointments, talked, reflected, fought, accepted. The first week was hell, as expected. One year apparently did very little to tame his cravings. He was commended for making it so far essentially without help, for returning to rehab, and when he stepped outside the doors to finally leave, he felt ready. He could do this. One day at a time.

And then he realizes he promised Aiden he’d call once he was home, and one day at a time becomes one second at a time. They’ve only spoken on the phone a handful of times, exchanged a couple of pictures. Trouble is huge now. The sensation of ants under his skin returns full force when T.J picks up his phone, and he can’t even bring himself to call. He scolds himself for being such a fucking chicken and sending a text.

>>Can I come over?

>>ofc

>>I missed you

>>me 2

Everything seems so amplified. He’s about to see his boyfriend for the first time after three months, for the first time since that night. The rehab welcomed him immediately, and T.J packed his bags, sending Aiden and his parents a short text from the cab. His mother called a couple of times during his stay, asking if he wanted them to visit. He declined her every time. It was better that way. He couldn’t fathom having to deal with himself at times, even less his family. Plus, things were getting serious on the campaign trail. Caucuses and rallies had kept Elaine busy. T.J didn’t want to interfere. Either way, it wasn’t his first rodeo.

His bags feel lighter as he dumps their content on the bed, sorting through the mess. Dirty clothes, toiletries, a notebook he got to keep track of all the things he wants to do, needs to do. It’s gotten to be a pretty extensive list. Smiling, T.J sets it on the bedside table. He’ll have to look through it later, see where he can start. It’s mostly amends, but he figures he can’t ignore them, not if he really wants this to stick.

When Aiden knocks on his door ten minutes later, T.J’s heart kicks into high gear. It’s… He realizes he’s scared. They are together, or so he fervently hopes. What if Aiden wants to take a break, the kind that always remains a break and never has a happy ending? T.J pulls at the sleeves of his henley, trudging out to answer the door. Aiden’s outside, smiling expectantly. It’s not the full-on grin that’s like the sun on a cold winter day, but it’s something. T.J’s heart is still beating hard, but it’s as if the other man’s presence calms it, however little.

”Hi.”

Yeah, it’s awkward, and if he didn’t know better, T.J would say he’s been transported back to high school. For what feels like hours there’s only tentative smiles and hands shoved into pockets before Aiden takes the first step. He brings T.J in for the tightest hug he’s had in three months ̶ three fucking months ̶ and it’s the best thing he’s ever experienced, he’s sure of it. It’s more than the sensation of being held tight; it’s the scent of Aiden that he would happily drown in, and just being home. Aiden presses a gentle kiss to his lips, and T.J can swear he’s flying. He’s home.

It’s not easy to be back, and it takes a couple of weeks for them to get back into the life they were right in the middle of before New Years. There’s the issue of T.J having to adapt to life post-rehab, taking the responsibility he never really bothered with the last time. There’s also, well, life. T.J has things he needs to do. He needs to leave the club, or at the very least renegotiate his position in the hierarchy. Aiden keeps busy, rehearsing with the orchestra for a month-long concert tour that, yes, has T.J worried. There’s also the issue of the election.

Preparations for the final stretch of the nomination process have been going on for a while, gathering support from delegates and maintaining their donor base. Sooner or later they will knock on his door, and he will be asked to do his part. He’s not sure if it will be easier or harder this time. It’s not him the spotlight will be on primarily, but with his history, he will be dragged into it plenty. The addict son of the Secretary of State, now second-time-Presidential candidate, and the former President, at least one suicide attempt, hospital visits that were swept under the rug, plenty of scandals to choose from. Yeah, what opposing candidate and newspaper would turn that down? It’s easier because he’s trying to stay clean, level-headed, and not fall apart at the slightest hint that he’s in trouble. And, he has Aiden by his side. It’s harder because he will have to deny himself the escape when the spotlight eventually stays too long on him and tries to burn him. And… he has Aiden by his side. The tabloid article that ran back in October was nothing compared to what might be published now. He’s not ashamed of Aiden, absolutely not. He just wishes he could shield him from the cruelty of the press.

Some of it is easy. T.J gets out of his club deal, no hard feelings (just an obscene amount of paperwork), and he continues his efforts to fulfill the program outside rehab. Making amends with Gunner has his stomach in knots, and he feels like he’s doing it wrong when the other man nods and pulls him in for a hug. He fucked up another man’s sobriety, and this is it? It feels too easy, and T.J wants to do more, but can’t come up with any gesture that would atone for his wrongdoing.

Most of it is… not exactly hard, but unfamiliar. He thought he’d be more confident in his abilities, in his resolve to stay clean post-rehab, but all he can see nowadays are potential pitfalls. Each passing day bring him closer to Aiden leaving to go on tour, and it’s hard to feel confident when he knows what happened last time he was alone. He also realizes he has to let Aiden go, that he can’t let it stand in his way. He went to rehab so he could get past not only the addiction, but the co-dependency, too. It will be okay. T.J repeats it like a mantra, rehashing the coping mechanisms he’s learned should he be tempted, making sure he has places to be while Aiden’s gone.

When the day comes, he’s restless. By 8 am, he’s already on his third cup of coffee, and keeps rechecking Aiden’s bags to make sure he has everything he needs. It sucks. Things are finally starting to settle between them, they’re doing good, and now they gotta make it on their own for a month. Aiden lets him fuss, until the cab honks angrily outside his apartment, after which it becomes a race to see how many affirmations and kisses and silly little declarations they can cram in before they have to open the door and wave at the cabbie to wait.

”I’ll miss you,” T.J mumbles, straightening the lapels of Aiden’s blazer, fingers tripping over each other from too much caffeine.

”You’ll do fine. You can text me anytime, about anything, and I’ll call you as often as I can, okay?”

”I’ll still miss you.”

”Trouble will take care of you,” Aiden coaxes, nodding to the now very large cat sitting at their feet.

They’ve decided to let Trouble stay with T.J until Aiden gets back home. It’s easier for everyone. T.J gets to stay in his safe space, he’ll have something to focus on daily and Trouble gets taken care of. It’s a win-win for everyone.

”I’ll blame him for everything then.”

Aiden rolls his eyes at him, leaning in for a final goodbye kiss before taking his bag and the cello in its case, and walking out to the cab. T.J feels like some strange 50’s housewife, waving off his man as he rides off into the distance. Only thing missing is a fucking handkerchief. Behind him, Trouble meows loudly, looking very perturbed and apparently knowing that his owner has gone off and won’t be coming back for some time. T.J snickers, picks up his phone and snaps a picture of the groused cat.

>> he looks like he will murder me X attachment img_1293.jpeg

>> Damnit, told him to wait until Friday! X

>> play good ok? X

>> I will. I love you. X

>> i love you X

>> I love you. X

>> i love you X

>> Turning off the street now. I believe in you.

He keeps staring at those four words throughout the day, smiles as he reads through the rest of the conversation. So blessedly ordinary, so perfectly okay. T.J knows the feeling won’t last forever, and revels in it for as long as it lasts. Aiden calls when they get to their first stop, only dropping his phone twice as he tries to unpack and talk at the same time. It’s easy, effortless. He can do this. He can. He can.

For the most part, he does okay. The schedule he’s set up for himself helps. Meetings, dinners, Trouble. He plays a lot, working his way through the treasure trove of sheet music Nana gave him for Christmas two years ago. The first week of Aiden’s three week tour goes by without a hitch. He’s energetic, he has a plan, it works. It goes so well T.J starts worrying, and so is not surprised when the following week he suddenly wakes up one day with a weight on his chest that is another kind of trouble. It’s that dangerous cocktail of loneliness, doubt and a day with no plans. His skin feels electrified, fingers twitching for something to do, the apartment feels too small. The real Trouble meows, demanding his attention, but T.J can’t focus. He makes sure the furball has food and heads out.

It’s dangerous, and he knows it. Last time this happened… He lets out a shuddering breath, digging his hands deeper into the pockets of his jeans. It will be okay. It’s not even noon, he would be foolish to try, he’s been doing good, he just- he has to come up with something to do. T.J keeps a running commentary on himself as he stalks downtown, heart aching because he wishes Aiden was here. His first truly bad day since coming out of rehab, and of course Aiden has to be away. He knows he’s supposed to be okay, that his sobriety isn’t and shouldn’t be tied to his boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean this feeling of anxious worry in his chest will go away as easily as it would if Aiden was by his side now.

>>not doing so good 2day. trying 2 find smth 2 do. miss u.

It takes Aiden all of two minutes to respond.

>>Tour is overrated. Can’t wait 2 come home. U will make it through 2day, I know it. Call me if u need to, travel day 2day. xo

This man, he’s too good for him. His body this aches and wants and writhes, but T.J fights. He ends up going to lunch, finding a reason to kill an hour. It becomes two hours, a staffer who used to work for Elaine on Dougie’s team recognizes him, comes over to talk. It’s good, normal. Smalltalk and business talk and empty phrases. ”I don’t know anything about that, and even if I did, you know I couldn’t say anything about it.” ”Tell Doug I said hello.” ”Sure, I will!” T.J can’t even remember the guy’s name.

He visits Nana, determined not to let anything tempt him today. She’s surprised at first, but seems to realize he needs refuge from the world. They play showtunes and watch horrible soap operas for hours before T.J feels safe and centered enough to return home. Trouble needs him. It’s a strengthening thought. He’s needed. The cat climbs him like its own personal tree the second he’s inside the door, and he holds the purring fuzzball close, doesn’t mind when Trouble curls up next to him on the bed. He can’t wait for this loneliness to come to an end.

He should have known even thinking about the possibility of being happy once Aiden gets home was tempting fate. The days have felt impossibly long, and he has gone stir crazy trying to work through the combined stress of loneliness and worry about his resolve. T.J can practically see the finish line. One more day, one more night. He can do it.

With one day left, he’s pulled back into the harsh reality. T.J’s phone explodes around 9 am, sending Trouble into a tizzy that ends with claw marks etched into his arm before the spooked animal sets off like a rocket to hide under the couch. Hissing at the quickly reddening marks, he fumbles for his phone and blindly sliding the blinking icon to answer.

”Yeah?”

”Aw. You sound like you’ve had a lot of sad, lonely nights.”

”Aiden?” T.J sits up, clenching his fist so as not to itch the scratches. Aiden snickers at the other end of the line.

”Were you asleep?”

”Are you surprised? It’s Saturday!”

”I thought you’d be lying dramatically on the couch, crying your heart out,” Aiden rebuts, and though the tone is teasing, the comment confuses him.

”Are we- Should I know what you’re talking about?”

”Oh. Oh, okay. You haven’t seen it. We’ve apparently broken up according to at least two tabloids.”

T.J’s blood freezes in his veins. He tells Aiden to hold on, bringing up the browser on his phone, taking a steadying breath and then does what he’s long learned he shouldn’t do. He googles himself. In less than a second, his screen is filled with headlines screaming at him.

HEARTBREAK FOR HAMMOND?

ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST? - FORMER FIRST SON SPOTTED ALONE

TWEAKING T.J? NO THANKS!

LOVE 'EM AND LEAVE 'EM?

THE SINS OF THE FATHER… A YOUNG BUD HAMMOND IN THE MAKING?

His eyes skitter from one headline to the other, feeling his heart rate increase and his mind instantly kick up a whirl of ”What did I do?” It’s only when Aiden calls his name loud enough for him to drag him out of the judgmental tailspin that he takes a moment to calm down. Nothing has happened, it’s just gossip. They’re still together. Aiden is just away, doing a concert tour. No heartbreak.

Right?

”Aiden…” he begins, rubbing his forehead. ”I’m so sorry, I-”

”T.J, don’t. This isn’t your fault. I don’t blame you. You told me this could happen, and I accepted it. I know we’re not over, I hope you know that, too.”

”Of course! I miss you like crazy, and I’ve- I have had a few hard days. I’m still good.”

”I’ll be home soon, T, I promise. Are you eating okay? You looked a little pale in the pictures?”

Of course there were pictures. T.J groans.

”I’m not subsisting entirely on takeout, if that’s what you’re asking,” he replies, making a mental note to take out the boxes that have accumulated in his kitchen. ”I’ve had dinner with Nana a couple of times. Wholesome, filling meals. You would be very proud.”

His phone beeps, indicating another call, and he misses most of Aiden’s no doubt sarcastic comment checking his screen. Elaine. Fuck. He bites his lip.

”Mom’s calling,” he says, putting the phone back against his ear. ”I gotta take it.”

”Of course. Text me if you need anything, okay?”

”I’m sorry. Again. And again.”

”And I love you. Again. And again.”

They say goodbye, and T.J has to call Elaine back. She’s somewhere in Wisconsin, incidentally also heading home to prepare for a rally set for next week. Apparently she has put him on Google alert, and T.J’s not sure if he’s supposed to be grateful or miffed. As is, his mother is more worried than angry, asking if everything is okay, if he needs anything.

”I’m fine, mama, I promise. It’s all lies,” he assures her, crouching to hold out his hand when Trouble crawls out from under the couch to check if things have calmed down.

”You sure, sweetheart? I’ve got staff working on finding out the source for the articles. The timing is a little too convenient. They’ve left you alone for so long now, and suddenly running a purely libelous excuse for an article this close to-”

”I promise. I’m okay. Nothing I haven’t seen before. Aiden will be home tomorrow, he’s… he’s actually kinda amazing about this whole thing.”

On the other end, Elaine lets out a breath, and he can almost see her trademark smile. T.J can’t help but smile in kind, not caring that she can’t see it. Trouble comes trotting towards him, sniffing his hand to check if there’s a treat waiting.

”I’m glad. I’ll be home in a few days. We’ll talk more then, okay?”

After promising he’ll come by with Aiden once they’re all in the same city, they say goodbye, and T.J quickly works through his notifications. Doug has sent a bunch of texts, and the righteous anger almost jumps off the screen. Nana and Bud have both left voicemails, a bunch of emails have dropped in. Nothing to worry about in the grand scheme of things. And yet…

He can’t help himself. Against better judgment, T.J scrolls through a couple of the online articles, knowing they’re worse than the printed versions. Whoever invented the comment section should get a swift kick to the shins with a steel toe boot. It’s all variations on the same spiel, T.J Hammond spotted alone, looking tired and haggard, where is the still unknown boyfriend he’s been sighted with, are drugs behind the supposed breakup, and… There’s a picture of him talking to the staffer – what the hell is his name again? – that makes his stomach lurch. He still looks tired, but the pap has managed to catch him in a moment where he’s smiling, however tentative. Even though this is – should be – ��same old-same old to him, the insinuation that he’s cheating or moving on because of a relapse makes him nauseous.

By some miracle, T.J manages to tear himself away before he makes the terrible mistake of delving into the comment section, fearing it might set him off and make him do something stupid. He clenches his teeth, shutting of his laptop and pushing it away from himself. It’s.. not okay, but he’s okay. He can do this, it’s nothing he hasn’t encountered before. Only it is, his mind quietly tells him, and T.J can’t really protest. There’s never been anyone like Aiden in his life when this has happened. It’s been months, they’re good, even with his recent stint in rehab. All things considered, they’re good, he’s clean, why does this have to happen?

It’s a blessing to wake up to knocks on his front door the next day, to Trouble galloping to serve as welcoming committee, to Aiden’s smile as he sets down his bags and bring T.J in for a hug and a peppering of kisses, to calm in his soul. Couldn’t the paps capture this instead? Is this not as desirable?

”Next time, I’m bringing you with me,” Aiden speaks against the crook of T.J’s neck, holding him tighter. ”I don’t care how, you’re going in my suitcase. You’re getting contortionist classes for Christmas.”

”I missed you, too,” T.J replied quietly, drawing in the scent of his boyfriend.

He still smells a bit like bus and airplane, but there’s that ever-present smell of sandalwood hidden underneath, the soft cotton of his shirt evening it out. Aiden smells like safety, his tall and slender frame so easy to wrap oneself around, always warm no matter the season. Maybe it’s regressing a little bit, but right there, wrapped up in Aiden’s arms, T.J can’t help but feel relieved. He’s back, he can breathe a little easier. It is a nice little moment, tender and stretching out until seconds feel like minutes.

Until Trouble decides he’s done being ignored and uses them as his personal scratch tree.

They have a nice two days before Elaine calls to inform T.J that she’ll be home the next day and wants to have dinner with them both. He can almost hear how smug she looks when he turns to Aiden to ask if the time is okay, and he’s not entirely sure why it makes him blush a little. So Aiden hasn’t gone home since he got back. So maybe they’re enjoying the domestic bliss. So maybe it makes him feel better and not think about the articles so much. So maybe he likes it.

Aiden hasn’t been over for dinner with his family since Christmas, and T.J feels like he’s introducing him for the first time all over again. The way he hugs his mother is perhaps a tad perfunctory, but his stomach does a wild little somersault when he sees the way she smiles brightly at his boyfriend, hugging him as tight as she would her own two sons. Nana, true to her nature, is as brash as ever, holding her arms open for T.J and beckoning him over with a ”Come here, you little shit.” He’s almost surprised she doesn’t slap Aiden’s ass when they head to the dining room, where Dougie and Anne are waiting for them.

They chat amicably, polite questions about Aiden’s trip, about his parents. Dougie goes on a tangent about something that happened in Minnesota, and T.J can’t help but look at Anne by his brother’s side. She looks good, a lot healthier than she did back before they married. As fucked up as T.J had been, of course he’d noticed; the way she shuffled her food around her plate, the sometimes less than subtle excuses from the table. It’s a struggle, just like his own, and he can’t even bring himself to be jealous of her progress.

”So, how you holding up. T.J?”

Smooth, Dougie.

”Your faith in me is breathtaking, bro,” he shoots back, chewing demonstratively on his food.

Doug pulls a face at him, huffing. ”I just meant, it’s been a while since-”

”I’m good. It sucks, but it comes with being a Hammond. Same old, same old.”

”You know that’s not true, honey,” Elaine admonishes him, setting down her knife and fork.

And T.J knows that’s not entirely true either. The second Bud announced his intention to run for president, their lives were never the same. They became public property, something for people to scrutinize and put expectations upon. It’s not his father’s fault, but he’s not sure if he should put the blame on the people or the ones that cater to them.

”Any luck finding the bastard behind this?” Nana, always there to distract, even if it brings them back to the matter at heart.

”Nothing substantial yet,” Doug says, but T.J can tell from the way he clenches around the cutlery that there is something. ”I talked to Daniel-” That’s the fucking staffer’s name! T.J thinks triumphantly, ”-he didn’t seem like he was hiding anything.” His brother turns to him. ”Asked if you were okay.”

”Peachy.”

”Come on, man, we’re trying to help you!”

T.J is about to launch into a rant of his own, feeling the exasperation rise in his throat, but it lodges there, frozen in place when Aiden places his left hand over his under the table. It’s Thanksgiving and Christmas all over again, thumb running smoothly over his knuckles, a quiet show of solidarity, a simple gesture to say ”I’m here. It’s okay.” His outburst dies before it has time to potentially ruin dinner.

”I…” His voice comes out thick and low, and he squeezes Aiden’s hand. ”I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, it just makes it worse.”

”I know you don’t,” Elaine tells him, reaching out to pat his cheek. ”But if this is something… more, I want you to know that we’re not going to stand for it. You’ve been through enough, darling.” She pauses for a second, eye contact briefly breaking to look over at Aiden. ”Why don’t you bring Aiden with you to the rally next week?”

”Mom…”

Elaine pulls back, once again sitting straight in her chair. ”If you don’t mind?” She looks inquiringly at Aiden, and T.J can feel him stiffen in his seat.

”I… guess not? I-I just gotta check m-my schedule?”

”You don’t have to do this,” T.J assures him, then turns to his mother with a sharp look. ”Right?”

”Of course not, I just thought you would appreciate having him there. I know you don’t like these things all that much.”

Well, she’s not wrong about that. Elaine’s first campaign had been taxing enough to get through and that was when he could battle the pressure of presenting a perfect picture with blow. He’d been high a couple of times throughout, it was easier to smile and pretend that way. That’s not an option now. No floating through rallies and fundraisers in a blur, all edges smoothed out. T.J hates the way his mother managed to trap him, hates the way he can’t look at Aiden for the rest of the dinner, hates the way conversation dies down to hums and platitudes. He’s almost thankful when the family disperses after dinner almost like they knew this was painful. Aiden carries most of the charm as they say goodbye, thanking Elaine for the delicious food, giving her a hug that to T.J’s eyes looks as sincere as anything. He himself barely manages a light kiss to his mother’s cheek before he’s out the door.

”You’re angry,” Aiden states, slinging his arm around T.J’s shoulder.

He’s not sure whether to contest the statement or not. It’s not quite anger, not all of it. It’s worry and disappointment and apprehension, all swirling inside him, and T.J knows he needs to get a grip on it before it sets off his itch.

”You don’t have to come,” he murmurs, still keeping his eyes trained downwards, following his feet as they steer homewards. ”I can manage. Done it before.”

”But you don’t have to.”

Aiden stops mid-step, holding onto him gently to make him stand still, too, before placing both hands on his shoulders.

”I’m not… wild about the idea of standing in front a crowd, waving and smiling, but I can see what your mom’s thinking. If we go… if we stand there together, it’s a statement, right? We prove them wrong.”

”I hate that we have to do that,” T.J says, reluctantly looking up, breathing slowly in and out. ”I never thought I’d have to bring you into this, not this much. If she- If mom becomes President, I won’t move back. I don’t think Doug will either. It shouldn’t be as exciting as last time, people were going on and on about how the White House had not one but two First Sons, the first since JFK junior.” He uttered the last few words with rehearsed disdain, having heard them so many times, always with the same expectations attached to them.

”They came after you, T. You’ve done so well, and I want them to see that. If it helps that I stand by your side and show them just how much I am still in love with you, then baby, I’ll do it. I’ll dress up in my best suit, and I’ll kiss you on national god damn television if that’s what it takes.”

They both break down in snickers at that, T.J leaning in to press a kiss to his boyfriend’s jaw.

”You only have one suit, idiot.”

Aiden grins, kissing him back. ”Then clearly it’s my best one.”

It doesn’t take away all of his worries, but it eases them slightly. They spend the following days preparing, Aiden asking questions upon questions, getting asked questions in turn as he’s cleared by Elaine’s security to attend the rally as part of the family. It’s the only time before the rally T.J sees him even a little bit nervous, sitting with his hands clasped tightly in his lap, shaking and nodding his head so vigorously when he answers it sets the tight curls of his hair dancing. T.J draws a small sense of pride in being able to be the supportive one, to be the one who has the answers, who knows what will happen.

It doesn’t change the fact that they’re both a mess the day of the rally, hands shaking as they tie their ties, cursing under their breaths. True to his word, Aiden is clad in his only suit, hair pulled back into a tight bun. Though his heart is thundering in his chest, T.J can’t help but admire the man in front of him. It’s been almost a year since that first kiss, two years since they first met. It’s strange to think how much things have changed since Aiden came into his life.

”Hey,” he whispers, taking hold of Aiden’s hands as the man struggles to wrestle the silk into a tidy knot. His own fingers steady as they pry Aiden’s hands away, taking hold of they tie to twist and turn it in a pattern familiar to him. ”It’ll be fine. Find something to focus on. Not the people, that’s… overwhelming. Look at a flag, there’s always flags. Or balloons. I usually try to play connect the dots with them. One flag, linger. Another flag, linger.”

”And here I’d worked on my royal wave,” Aiden jokes, voice shaky as he exhales.

”You can wave.” T.J tucks the wide end of the tie through the loop he’s created, pulling to tighten the knot. ”I’ll be there.”

He smooths out Aiden’s shirt, pulling lightly on the lapels of his suit jacket. Aiden smiles weakly at him, fixing T.J’s tie in kind, straightening the collar before cupping his cheeks. T.J relishes in the sensation, the lightly calloused finger tips against his cheeks, the warmth emanating from the contanct. Tilting his head, he kisses Aiden’s hand, taking hold of it with his own, letting their fingers interlace.

”Ready?” he asks, gaze flickering over Aiden’s shoulder to the door behind which the public awaits.

”As I’ll ever be.”

It takes them both by surprise at first. Aiden, who has never been in front of this large a crowd before, breathes out a surprised ”wow” as they step onto the podium, squeezing T.J’s hand a bit harder. For T.J, it’s been a while since he’s been in the spotlight, but he eases into character sooner than he’d guessed, an easy smile gracing his features. He waves to the masses, his heart doing a little somersault when he sees Aiden doing the same from the corner of his eyes. The booming roar rises when Elaine finally takes the stage, and for a second, it’s almost like he’s back in that ballroom in Chicago.

The ruckus dies down as Elaine begins to speak, motioning with her hands for people to calm down. It’s always been fascinating to T.J how skillfully his mother can work a crowd, how with a simple gesture or a few choice words she can make her audience listen with bated breath, even when it’s just the standard phrases that precedes her true message.

”I am so happy to be here today, to see all of you. Your support and your enthusiasm are truly inspirational,” Elaine starts off, making a sweeping motion with her right hand. ”These are tough times, and we face even tougher times ahead of us. It is so important to stay strong, to stay together through these hardships.” The open palm becomes a fist, striking down with a decisive thud as her voice softens. ”It is far too easy to take the easy path, to turn a blind eye to injustice. I say, no more. No matter what happens, I will protect what matters to us, to this country. We are all family, and anyone who tries to challenge us, who tries to harm us,” She pauses, looking out over the crowd, and T.J can swear she is zeroing in on one of the cameras filming, “will see that we are prepared to defend ourselves.”

T.J has to fight to keep from frowning. It’s a tad more aggressive than he’s come to expect from his mother, almost to the point where it’s retaliatory. He steals a glance at Doug, looking proudly at their mother as the crowd breaks into cheers and applause. They all follow suit, but T.J can’t help but think there is something else going on, something in this speech he is missing, someone who will listen to it and see so much more than the impassioned outcry of a presidential candidate. He plays his part, knowing full well he will be in the papers for the coming week. He and Aiden have talked about it, prepared for it as best they can. The need to protect Aiden from the uglier sides of this mess boils in him, and through the final minutes of Elaine’s speech, he’s terrified that he made a mistake in letting Aiden convince him to come with him.

The man in question must have caught on to his discomfort, as he lean in to T.J when Elaine wraps up her speech.

”I’m fine,” he whispers under the thunderous roar, his breath tickling.

Something in him shifts, slotting together like pieces of a puzzle. They have made it. One year of sobriety and relapse and rehab and now the articles. It’s not gonna get easier, but they’ve made it this far. T.J thinks about how he’s been the older brother all his life but constantly been the one needing taking care of, needing protection. He wants to take that responsibility now, wants to be the man Aiden sees in him. When he smiles up at Aiden, there is true joy behind it. It stays etched on his face throughout the rally, on the walk home, settling into the kind of smile that lives in your eyes. Aiden stays the night again. Trouble sleeps nestled between them. T.J briefly wonders if this is what love really feels like before drifting off to sleep.

It takes the tabloids two full days to find out who Aiden is, running his life story over the following week. There’s nothing in there T.J doesn’t already know, but he can see the hurt in Aiden’s eyes, understands what he’s feeling. Someone has trespassed into his lover’s life. The way Elaine and her staff handles it makes warms his heart. She still refuses to say exactly what was up with her speech at the rally, brushing it off or switching the subject. T.J doesn’t believe for a second that the pointed jabs were just theatrics to win over the crowd. Maybe he’s not as invested in politics as Doug, but he’s sharp enough to see the broad strokes; the upswing in the polls leading up to the Democratic convention, the way the tabloids slowly back down from reporting on their every move. He’s sharp enough that when he sees President Fred Collier congratulate his mother on winning the nomination, he spots the unbridled disappointment and malice that the man tries to hide behind a slimy smile and grovelling words.

This man tried to destroy him. T.J swears to not let it happen again.

#t.j hammond #t.j x omc #political animals #political animals fanfiction #political animals imagine #fic: make me feel like i'm real

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ceaselessnomad · 7 years ago

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And so this is Christmas...

New Post has been published on https://ceaselessnomad.com/2017/12/26/and-so-this-is-christmas/

And so this is Christmas...

Christmas can be very stressful at times but I truly missed all the fuss for this year. As I was lying in my bed a while ago I was wondering how time was so fast that I did not realize that it has been a few weeks since Halloween.

I have read somewhere that as you progress in life, you become less aware time with instances where you even lost tracking it. But I think aside from me ultimately beginning to become an adult, the increase in the pace of this world’s affairs also come to play.

Imagine, I just bought a new phone weeks ago but it already is quite outdated (by the looks of what models are available right now). It’s poignant that one aspect that needs to change in adulthood is the feeling of Christmas.

Losing the Feeling

As someone who lives in the Philippines (and subsequently a Christmas-celebrating Christian), I was conditioned to treat the holiday season as a happy season. Kids would often look forward to this celebration and yearn for the gifts. But now, even the kids are not that excited and overt materialism has overcome that special feeling every December.

Are people getting more mature? Are we starting to think practically? Isn’t Christmas a time for accounting the whole year and prepare for the next one in line?

As per my faith, Christmas starts every first Sunday of Advent and this year, it never failed me. But I want my childlike eagerness to celebrate the season back. I want the daydreams, the simple joys, the happy face I bear when I see Santa Claus. Where are they? Is this a sign of adulthood? Or is this the sign of the times?

Getting Depressed

Depression has been given proper attention this 2017 with all the suicide stories and mental health awareness all around. However, what most people don’t know is that Christmas is actually associated with depression and suicide compared to other holidays in the year.

We cannot express all the losses that we had for 2017 plus all the disappointments. Society tells us that Christmas is a happy celebration and most of the time we are forced by societal norms to be happy. This, in turn, leads people to be angry towards the holiday as their woes are not considered by many.

Perhaps a change of perspective will help? It is always OKAY not to be happy and no one must force us to feel otherwise.

Joining the Waves

I’m finishing up this post by the beach, drinking coconut water, listening to the waves. Christmas was yesterday and it was a great one. Maybe I was just too melancholic with everything that’s happening around me.

As much as I would like to force myself to celebrate, I would instead join the waves and let all of this pass. Maybe 2018 would be a better year. We could only hope.

But until then, Merry Christmas.

#Christmas

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appleos11-blog · 8 years ago

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11 Things You Ought to Know about I-OS 1 1

I-OS 1-1 is available these days, either via iTunes or Settings > General > Software Update. I have spent the past couple of months recording it for "assume control of i-OS 1-1" -- that we've upgraded to version 1.1 to coincide with the state i-OS 1-1 launch.

If you were after tid-bits, you've probably seen articles we have been writing about i-OS 1 1, for example as "A Prairie HomeKit Companion: What is Coming at i-OS 1-1" (7 July 20 17), "ARKit: Augmented Reality for Over Gambling" (28 July 20 17), along with "i-OS 1 1 to B-ring don't Affect While Driving" (21 August 20 17).

Those articles hopefully whetted your appetite for i-OS 1 1, however until you pull on the cause, listed below are 11 things that you want to understand.

No1: Your favourite Programs Might Not Function -- Do not state you've not been warned! Adam Engst indicated this may possibly materialize in "Apple into Deprecate 32 bit i-OS Apps," (1-5 May 20 17) along with Marc Zeedar told you it'd in "The issue With Abandoned Programs," (17 July 20 17): programs which have never been upgraded to perform in 64 bit manner stay in your own device, nevertheless, you'll get an error message if you attempt to release them.

If you should be running i-OS 10.3.1 or after, assess Settings > General > Around > Programs to observe a set of that programs in your own device, if any, won't run under i-OS 1 1. For those who have a few critical ones on this list, visit whether there is an upgrade available, likely like a fresh program. Otherwise, postpone on i-OS 1 1 and soon you determine a remedy.

However, that you never need to be concerned about this tid-bits News program! As a result of Matt Neuburg, it needs to continue for many years ahead (see "tid-bits News Shows Just How an aged 32 bit i-OS App Becomes 64 bit," 16 May 20 17).

Notwo: Several Characteristics Are Missing -- Three main attributes that Apple guaranteed for i-OS 1 1 in WWDC are overlooking: Messages in I-Cloud, persontoperson Apple Purchase, and air-play two (watch "i-OS 1 1 Gets Smarter in Little methods," 5 June 20 17).

The theory behind Outlook in I-Cloud is that it is going to save your attachments and messages in I-Cloud (where's it storing them now?) , making sync more reliable. The feature was within previous betas, however, Apple removed it mid way through the cycle due to unspecified factors. In internal beta-tester records, Apple has pledged to make it back later, however the provider has said nothing regarding the average man or woman.

Personally, I had been skeptical about this feature, because it relied from the I-Cloud storage clauses and attachments to talk could possibly find big. No additional messaging service charges its clients because of such standard functionality, and possibly some one at Apple realized that it is moving too much.

Apple has additionally postponed person to person Apple Pay obligations. The idea is that you are able to utilize an iMessage program to send money right to someone else via Apple Pay. Earning money is going to be kept on an electronic Apple Pay Money Card. It is unsure what the hold up is, but of course say, financial products are somewhat complicated, therefore it's perhaps not entirely surprising.

Apple supported the delay at a media launch:

Anyhow this autumn having an upgrade to I-OS 1 1 along with watchOS 4, Apple Pay customers Will Have the Ability to send and receive cash from Family and Friends fast, easily and safely

Additionally, air play 2 is apparently overlooking. Apple says air-play two will allow you to manage recipients with your home program, output sound to multiple recipients, and also work more faithfully complete. But, in line with my own testing, in addition to AppleInsider's, it will not seem to get implemented nonetheless. Oddly enough, Apple does say air-play two at the programmer release notes to tvOS 1 1. Perhaps it's executed in tvOS, however, perhaps not i-OS? I guess we'll learn more if Apple starts the HomePod smart speaker.

We're as annoyed with the delay of those features because you can find, and I will upgrade "assume control of i-OS 1-1" the moment they are readily available.

No3: keep clear of New Photo and Video Formats -- automagically, i-OS 1 1 will capture videos and photos from the brand new HEIF and HEVC formats -- even supposing your apparatus has an a-10 Fusion processor or better. Which usually means that the i-phone 7 and after, and also the 20 17 I pad Guru models. Since Glenn Fleishman clarified in "HEVC and HEIF Can Make Video and Photos Cheaper" (30 June 20 17), those formats offer a plethora of advantages, most especially low file sizes, however they will have one huge disadvantage: an overall absence of compatibility across the business!

Windows computers can not read those formats yet. Nor can Apple products conducting operatingsystems until i-OS 1 1 and Mac-OS 10.13 High Sierra. Pictures I have recorded in HEIF on i-OS 1-1 cannot be viewed at full resolution once synced into some 10.12 Sierra-based Mac via I-Cloud Photo Library.

Besides I-Cloud Photo Library, this really should not be considered a big difficulty since imitating from Photos from i-OS 1 1 and High Sierra generates files from standard formats. Of course if it's a issue, you're still able to catch videos and images from the JPEG and H.2 64 formats at i-OS 1 1 when you go to Settings > Camera > Customize and selecting Most Compatible.

No4: control-center Is Crazy -- Among the largest shocks after installing i-OS 1 1 is going to be the brand new controlcenter. It's totally bonkers! It's really so different that I devote an whole chapter of "assume control of i-OS 1-1" for it. I really don't have the space to replicate it all here, but here are some quick tips and notes:

Controlcenter was paid off from a couple of pages from i-OS 10 to one page at i-OS 1 1. Which should lower any confusion.

Now you can customize control-center to some degree from Preferences > Control Center > Customize Controls. Most importantly, you may add a number of Apple-provided controllers -- it will not seem that independent programmers provides control-center buttons. And even though you can get rid of afew default option controls, many others have been adjusted: the networking Bar, the social press Bar, Orientation Lock, Don't Affect, Screen Mirroring, Brightness, and Volume.

Alter which Controls appear and in what sequence in Preferences > Control Center > Customize Controls.

I detect three of those recent controls are specially useful: Low Power Mode, Screen Recording, along with apple-tv Remote. Yes, there's currently an Apple television Remote at control-center, using no program setup demanded. It can be my only favorite i-OS 1-1 feature.

There are two strategies to govern control-center controls: press and tapon. Tapping usually triggers the controller, while pressing shows more options. You are able to test out every individual or simply browse my descriptions at "assume control of i-OS 1 1."

No5: way too long, Notification Center -- At a movement that seems obvious in hind sight, Apple has removed Notification Center at i-OS 1 1, incorporating its own functionality in to the lock display.

Here is the best way to access to notifications today. If your device is closed, the lock-screen shows just brand new notifications. To show notifications that are past, you may either swipe up on the lock display or swipe down from above the cover of the screen, just like though you were dragging down Notification Center.

If your device is unlocked, then swipe down from above the cover of the screen to show the lock display and most of your notifications. It will not actually lock your apparatus -- either push House or swipe up from below the base of the screen to come back to where you had been.

No6: I pad multi-tasking -- Apple dedicated to the I pad experience in i-OS 1 1, making it more specific interface features along with simplifying its own multitasking system.

The celebrity of this new multi tasking strategy could be your re designed Dock, that works and looks similar to the Mac Dock. It holds upto 1-5 programs and also has a section into the proper that displays recent and usually used programs. That is also where hand-off programs currently appear about the I pad.

You are able to invoke Slide On or Split View in lots of ways, however, it boils to dragging 1 program out of the Dock or Home screen on the other busy program. Therefore you can:

In a program, swipe up from beneath the bottom of the display to display the Dock. Grab a program icon from the Dock on the open program.

From the Home screen, start dragging any program icon, and then, with the other finger (perhaps in another hand), tap the program's icon to the Home screen or at the Dock to start that, then discard the first program.

Perform the exact activities starting on the search screen, or simply by shifting programs with the Command-Tab program switcher for those who own a keyboard attached.

If you lose the dragged program on the key window whenever it's revealing its perpendicular lozenge, it opens into Slide Over, then overlays the major app on the ideal side of this screen. Publish a Twist Over program to Split View by tapping upon the pub at the top of its own window.

But if you continue pulling that lozenge to either side or right border of this screen, the perspective changes to imply that falling it's going to start in Split View. It's amazing that now you can set the new program on each side.

There is so much going on with the I pad in i-OS 1 1 that I dedicated an whole chapter of "assume control of i-OS 1-1" for it.

No7: Immediate Notes -- When you've got an i-pad Guru running i-OS 1 1, you're able to tap on the lock display using an Apple Pencil to automatically produce a fresh note from the Notes program (the screen has to be alert, and I have found an additional tap can be necessary).

But you do not want an I-pad Guru and Apple Pencil to create an Instantaneous Note. If you put in the Notes button on get a grip on focus on almost any i-OS apparatus, you're able to tap the button to produce an Immediate Note as soon as your device is already locked!

You can correct Instant Notes' behaviour in Preferences > Notes > accessibility Notes out of Lock-screen. The default option is Always Produce New Notice, nevertheless, you may also place it to restart the previous note you worked on, which may be handy if you should be taking notes at a meeting or class.

#8: Explaining Immediate mark-up -- Each year, Apple introduces a few obscure group of features under one advertising term, that I need to find out how you can spell out. Immediate mark-up is the season's entrance.

The i-OS 1-1 release-notes mean that Immediate mark-up usually means that in the event that you tap an Apple Pencil into an I pad Guru, then you can markup anything is onscreen. That is incorrect, and again, that you never require an Apple Pencil.

As an alternative, Immediate mark-up features are sprinkled during i-OS 1 1. Listed below are a Couple of examples:

Have a screenshot by pressing on Sleep/Wake and Home. A thumbnail appears at the lower-left corner of this screen. Harness it to draw on it using mark up programs.

Open a photograph in Photos, tap Edit, tap the ellipsis button, and then tap Rename to draw onto a photograph.

In Safari, tap on the Share button, subsequently create PDF, and then your mark icon at the upper-right corner to indicate the page up for a PDF.

In I Books, tap on the mark icon whilst watching a PDF to indicate this up.

Do not misunderstand me -- it's amazing that this functionality can be found through the duration of i-OS now. It's only that Apple's promotion is somewhat misleading, and the way you get it's inconsistent.

No9: Emergency SOS -- This brand new iPhone-only feature is crucial, but you should be careful with it. Press the Sleep/Wake button twice in rapid sequence. You need to find three sliders: Turn to Power Away, Medical ID, and Emergency SOS. Do not touch with the Emergency SOS slider before you've finished reading this particular section!

To begin with, only by obtaining that screen, you've deactivated Touch ID (and possibly Face ID to the coming i-phone X). In most authorities, the law says that you are able to be forced to unlock a computer device having a fingerprint however, maybe not just a pass code. Bear this at heart, but bear in mind that police force and edge guards are able to get your life miserable if you will not extend a pass code (see "Obtaining Your Devices and Data On the U.S. Border," 14 April 20 17).

Since you can expect, the Slide into Power Away slider opens your i-phone off, and also the Medical ID slider displays your own health care ID, that it is possible to configure at medical program, at the health care ID view.

What exactly does that scary reddish radiator SOS slider perform? To begin with, it requires emergency services -- 9 11 at the USA. Once the decision has been completed or cancelled, then it automatically sends a text message into your emergency contacts and also stocks the local area using them.

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Listed here is the message that it sends in my iPhone 7 Plus. There does not Seem to be some means of changing it:

Emergency SOS Josh Centers has generated a crisis telephone. You're receiving this message as Josh has recorded you as a crisis telephone.

You set up your emergency contacts in Settings > Emergency SOS.

When it informs your emergency connections, it displays your own health care ID, presumably to help some other emergency responders.

Remember: five quick presses on this Sleep/Wake button can save your bacon. It's well worth trying it to remember to recognize what's included, but do not slip that Emergency SOS button till it is really a true catastrophe. We expect the feature will not cause a lot of calls.

#10: off-load Apps -- Apple continues to be stingy with storage space to i-OS apparatus, also it happens to be difficult to handle storage from i-OS. I-OS 1 1 improves the circumstance, as a result of some other storage control screen, that you may see in Settings > General > i-phone (or even I pad) Storage. It gives hints for a variety of issues you can perform or enable to conserve distance.

However, I would like to point out a certain fresh atmosphere, which may likewise be seen in Preferences > I tunes & App Stores: off-load un-used Programs. This setting automatically uninstalls proprietary programs, but keeps their own data. In the event that you later re install the program from the appstore, it's as if you have deleted it!

The single reason not to allow this particular setting will be should you have far more storage space as you will ever utilize. For the remainder of us, it might free up space free of probability of data loss.

#1-1: quick-start -- It is new i-phone season, also while installation isn't a terrific hardship, it's by far the most time-consuming portion to getting a fresh i-phone. For a long time, you've managed to prepare an appletv mechanically by setting an i-OS apparatus near it. You can now finally install i-OS 1 1 apparatus the exact same manner!

Consequently, for those who get a fresh iPhone 8 to just how, for example, I strongly suggest upgrading your existing i-phone into i-OS 1 1 until it arrives. Afterward, whenever you install your new iPhone, then you are going to save yourself from penetrating Apple ID credentials, wi fi passwords, and so on. Simply follow the on screen prompts at installation or have a look at the What is New chapter of "assume control of i-OS 1-1" for guidelines.

I trust you found these strategies along with emphasizes helpful, and checkout "assume control of i-OS 1-1" for even more i-OS information!

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