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seagreen-meets-grey · 4 years ago

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When Lightning Strikes Ch. 19

When your life is nothing but a cloudless sky, lightning can come and strike you so unexpectedly, you won’t even know what hit you.

Or: When Hiccup and Astrid meet, it is as if lightning strikes.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] [Chapter 16] [Chapter 17] [Chapter 18] [Chapter 20]

Crossposted on ao3 and ff.net

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Hiccup first brought it up on a sunny afternoon in mid-July, one year after that fateful rainy Sunday.

It was a Friday and Astrid’s parents had invited them over for a barbecue. They were both still at work, but Astrid and Hiccup were already at the house and had prepared the food. There was a green salad waiting in the kitchen, the meat was seasoned on a covered plate in the fridge, herb bread was ready to be gratinated in the oven and drinks were cooling in the minibar.

While rifling through the closet for napkins, Astrid had found an old bag of water balloons and, unbeknownst to Hiccup, had filled them in the sink before she’d attacked him in the garden. He’d just arranged the garden furniture and wiped the table with a damp cloth when something cold and wet had exploded all over his back, followed by the hearty laugh of his girlfriend.

“Hey, that’s not fair, I’m unarmed!”

She rolled a handful of balloons over the table and he had to be careful to catch all of them before they fell to the ground and burst all over his feet. He made a show of fumbling with his ammo, catching her off-guard when he suddenly hurled one right at her. It exploded on her chest and while she was momentarily distracted, he escaped from her immediate attack zone.

In no time, they were out of ammunition, with large water stains all over their clothes. Balloon shreds were scattered all over the lawn, some had hit the house wall and there was a wet imprint of a water explosion on one of the living room windows.

But Astrid was in no way done with their water fight, despite her dripping hair and wet left butt cheek. From the garage, she produced two dusty Nerf Blasters, and the battle carried on. The chairs and table were converted into shields and hiding spots, the water faucet was a safe zone to fill up on ammo, and the hammock was off-limits.

After Hiccup accidentally shot a blast in her face, she dropped her gun and wiped at her eyes. He rushed over. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

As soon as he was right in front of her, she made a grab for his Blaster, picked up her own in lightning speed, and pointed both of them at him. “Gotcha. I win.”

“Oh, you!” He tackled her and when they stumbled a few steps backwards, he steered them right into the hammock. Swinging back and forth from the momentum, he pinned her down and started tickling her sides. She writhed underneath him, tried to kick him, but it wasn’t that easy in a hammock. Tears from laughter were gathering in her eyes until, finally, she managed to free a hand and attempted to push him out of the hammock. “Okay, okay,” he relented and rolled off of her.

A light breeze was rustling through the leaves of the apple and plum trees above. Catching their breaths, they made themselves comfortable, gazing at the bright blue sky through a sea of green. The breeze was brushing through their wet clothes, providing a nice change to the summer heat.

He moved his head to the side, watching the game of cat and mouse that sunlight and shade were playing on her face. When the hammock came to a stop, she stuck one leg out to lightly kick at the ground. “Hey,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

“Hm?”

“Do you ever want to get married again?” Her eyes widened slightly as she looked back at him. “Just a general question,” he quickly added. “I’m- I’m not proposing.”

“Yeah, I know. I just…” She wrinkled her forehead, focusing back on the ceiling of leaves. “I’m not sure. I once thought getting married was the right idea and now I’m divorced.” She glanced back at him. “I’m not saying things aren’t different this time. But I don’t know if I want to go through that again.”

For a while, he was quiet, fiddling with a loose thread on her top. He understood what she meant. Maybe it had been a bit too early to ask, anyway, even as a general question. It had only been a little over a year. That didn’t mean his stomach didn’t make a traitorous drop, though.

“That’s okay.” He reached out and played with a strand of her hair, twirling it between his fingers. “As long as I get to be with you, labels don’t matter, anyway.”

“Good.” She kissed him. “Because that’s all I need.” Then she produced a water balloon out of nowhere, probably a stray one that had rolled off earlier, and held it in a threatening way over his head. “Get merked, Hiccup!” He had just enough time to jump out of the hammock before the bomb hit and doused him. The game was back on.

Not much later, a car pulled into the driveway and soon enough, Frederick Hofferson stepped onto the patio. Astrid immediately hid behind him, using him as a human shield. Hiccup just about managed to hold back his throw. The last thing he wanted to do was shoot his girlfriend’s father with a large water gun. Especially since he felt like the man was still not quite used to him, still regarding him as the guy that ended her daughter’s marriage.

“I’m not a part of this!” Frederick shouted and ducked out of the way. While Hiccup was still mindful of the splash area of his projectiles, Astrid had no such reservations. She took her Nerf Blaster apart, dashed over and emptied the small water tank over his head. It seemed the winner was obvious this time, but he would get his revenge soon enough.

The warm weather had dried most of his clothes by the time the first steaks were ready. Frederick offered him to trade places so Hiccup could take over with the meat, but he declined. It was obvious the man was in his element. Astrid leaned over and whispered, “I think he’s trying to bond with you. He’s looking for shared interests.”

“Really?” he whispered back. “That’s great, but I’m really not interested in barbecuing techniques.”

She shrugged. “Then find something else to talk about. He’s finally making an effort. We shouldn’t let that go to waste.”

Hiccup nodded and wracked his brain for a topic to strike up a conversation with Frederick about. He’d never really been alone with the man so far, there had always been at least one other person present to save them from any awkward interactions.

He was so lost in thought, he almost didn’t catch Wilma’s announcement about the party. She and her husband would soon have their 25th wedding anniversary and wanted to celebrate it with family and friends. Hiccup was naturally invited but, after a quick check with Astrid, so was Eret. After all those years he’d been considered part of the Hofferson family, and considering he and Astrid were still on such good terms, Astrid’s parents wanted him to be there with them.

Astrid sent him a sidelong glance, asking with her eyes if he was okay with that. He sent back an answer of, Do I have a choice here?

I can talk to him and ask him not to come, she offered.

He shook his head. No, that’s stupid. We’re adults. I’m okay with him coming. He’s family.

Well, she raised her brows, if you’re sure…

“…no, I don’t think she’s listening. Astrid!”

She looked up. “Sorry, what?”

Frederick chuckled. “Your mother just asked you whether you could help her carry the dishes into the kitchen.”

“Oh, sure, yeah. Of course.” She got up and started collecting the plates, sending Hiccup a conspiratorial smile before she followed her mother into the house. That left him at the table with Frederick.

For several minutes, they busied themselves with their beers and the last pieces of bread still on the table. From inside the house, voices and the clattering of dishes carried over, not quite loudly enough to provide sufficient white noise and deeming a conversation between the two men necessary to drown out the awkwardness settling over them like heavy snow.

Whatever you do, Hiccup firmly told himself, just don’t talk about the weather. Really, anything but that. Or sex. Especially with his daughter. He gulped down the rest of his beer, looking anywhere but at Frederick, infinitely glad that mind-reading wasn’t a thing.

His fingers drummed on the legs of his chair and he couldn’t sit still, shifting around, accidentally bumping his knee against the underside of the table, grimacing through the pain. He was just about to jump up and flee into the house when Frederick spoke.

“So,” he started, leaning forward a little, “I’ve always meant to ask…”

Please don’t be an embarrassing question, Hiccup mentally prayed. “Yes?”

“What exactly is it that you do at your job?” Oh, thank god. Hiccup exhaled. “Astrid mentioned it a couple times, but I never really caught it.”

“Ah, well, I illustrate uh, books?” Why had that come out as a question? “Yeah, um… Mostly covers and artwork for fantasy novels, and I’ve done some children’s books… Uh. Do you like to read?”

“The newspaper.”

“Oh. Yeah, I don’t do that. Illustrate that, I mean. I do read it, though!” Please come back, he mentally cried, hoping Astrid would pick up the brain waves. The other man just nodded and another silence engulfed the table. Hiccup continued drumming on the chair. When Astrid had met his parents, she’d immediately gotten along with them, especially with his dad. Why couldn’t he do the same with hers?

“I’m not very artistic myself,” Frederick continued in an attempt to keep the conversation going. He really was trying.

“You’re a construction engineer, right?”

“Exactly.”

“Don’t you need a certain level of artistic ability for that, too? Designing constructions is still designing, after all.”

Frederick shrugged. “Sure, I can think up construction plans and put them neatly on paper, but I could never draw, say, a dragon. I just don’t have the imagination or patience or creativity.”

“I’d argue you are creative. Where else would you get ideas for constructions from?”

“Well, if you put it like that… Maybe you’re right.”

Hiccup felt a surge of confidence. They were having a conversation and Frederick was agreeing with him. “When I was little, I always wanted to become an engineer. I had a whole room full of Lego Technic stuff and I would spend entire days building, taking apart, and rebuilding all kinds of machines.”

Frederick raised his head in interest. “What changed your mind?”

“Nothing, actually.” He scratched his neck. “There was this engineering school I wanted to go to, but they were full the year I wanted to start. And instead of applying somewhere else, I took their offer to start the next year. In the meantime, I enrolled in a number of illustration courses and liked it so much that I stayed.”

“Do you ever regret it?”

“No, I don’t.” He didn’t even have to think about it. “I love my job. And, well… Through a chain of events it’s what’s led me here.” Frederick gave him a quizzical look. “I mean, uh, my friend and colleague Fishlegs, he… Um, long story short, he introduced me to my ex-girlfriend. And she has a brother who has this best friend and… Ah, you see, this best friend had a fiancée…”

An understanding light went on behind Frederick’s eyes. Nervously, Hiccup waited for the reaction that told him the other man wasn’t very amused by the story, taking into account that he’d probably exchange Hiccup for Eret on the spot if he could…

What he hadn’t expected was for the man to burst out laughing.

“Well, in that case, the engineering school not taking you gave me a second son-in-law.”

“Oh, ah…” Hiccup felt his face heat up at the term. He felt a ramble bubbling up in his chest, about how he’d only barely discussed that with Astrid and how she wasn’t even sure she wanted–

“Don’t worry, I’m just teasing you, son.” With a chuckle, Frederick leaned back in his chair and Hiccup exhaled. “So tell me, what machines exactly did you build as a kid?”

Once he started talking about his Lego inventions from his childhood, Hiccup lost track of time. An indefinite time later, Astrid and Wilma returned to the table, finding the two men deep in conversation. Wide smile on her face, Astrid gave him a kiss on the cheek and shared a pleased look with her mother. At the end of the day, he had to promise Frederick to continue their conversation the next time they saw each other.

Maybe he wasn’t yet an Eret when it came to being an integral part of the family, but he was getting there.

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On the night of the Hofferson’s anniversary party, Hiccup found himself surrounded by several of Astrid’s great-aunts, great-uncles, grandparents, and various other older folk somehow related to or friends with the family.

He’d actually just wanted to take a break from socializing and had retreated to one of the tables in the corner while the party continued on the dancefloor and at the bar. Astrid’s cousins were doing shots, but he’d just so managed to escape. Her uncle had claimed dance after dance with her. Wilma and Frederick were moving from group to group, having a drink here and a conversation there, dancing with friends and family in-between. And Eret stood with the cousins as if he was one of them.

It had been quite a tad awkward when great-aunt Phyllis had walked past the two of them earlier, cheeks red from brandy, and said with a cheeky wink: “Let’s hope she sticks with this one.” Once she had moved on, Hiccup wanted to sink into the ground and Eret was guffawing.

Now, Phyllis was sitting opposite him, another Cognac in front of her, giggling with the group about something he’d said. He’d discovered he had a knack for entertaining the older generation of his girlfriend’s family. They questioned him about every single detail of his life, his family, and their favorite topic, the story of how he and Astrid fell in love. Even after hearing it for the third time that night, they still aw-ed and ah-ed, hanging onto his every word.

“Then what happened with Eret?”

“Larry, he’s right there,” great-uncle Greg groaned and pointed at the tall man downing tequila with cousin Beth.

“But I don’t know the details, old fart!”

“Who are you calling old?! I’m younger than you.”

Grandma Rosie, 93 years of age, lifted her walking stick and threatened to whack them both over the head if they didn’t stop bickering. The men let their squabbling go and grinned as the rest of the group watched, amused, as Rosie’s façade crumbled, revealing the humor in her eyes. Eleven wrinkly faces returned their attention to Hiccup, expectant and curious, some a little wary. They hadn’t heard this part of the story yet and they had caught on to Eret’s change of lifestyle.

Hiccup hesitated. This wasn’t his story to tell anymore. And part of his audience was quite conservative, already scrunching up their noses. Then again, Eret had come here with an official male date. He wasn’t hiding anything. And to their credit, even the most conservative person in this hall had been nothing but supportive towards Astrid’s life choices so far, first a divorce not even two years into her marriage, then bringing both her current and her ex-partner to a family event.

Also her supposed choice of having kids out of wedlock, but since she was currently drinking a glass of wine on the other side of the hall, Hiccup expected that particular rumor to dissolve during the night. Not that it hadn’t given him a minor heart attack, though, when he’d first been asked about it by great-uncle Charles. Hiccup had told her that dress looked a little baggy when she was sitting down, no matter how gorgeous she looked.

“Well,” he started, searching for the right words, “Eret’s date went great. But after a few weeks with Tim, the spark faded.”

“And then he was with that girl from the bakery, right?” Susan, one of the Hofferson’s neighbors, chimed in, leaning forward and lowering her volume just a bit, as if she was passing on a secret. “I saw them together a few times.” Astrid had warned him about Susan. That woman was probably the worst gossiper in all of Berk. That’s why he’d made sure she was the first to hear that Astrid was, in fact, not pregnant.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, “he dated Christina for a short while.” He didn’t specify that this short while had only been three consecutive weekends on which they had hooked up. He also deliberately left out the part where Eret had tried to figure out the exact nature of his sexual orientation, having short flings with several women and men. “But then he found love in unexpected places and that’s been going strong for several months now. And counting.” Finally, he might add. He and Astrid had had quite the bet riding on that one. She still owed him several, well, favors.

“Aww,” cooed the group. No comments or expressions of disgust regarding the homosexual nature of Eret’s relationship. If they didn’t like it, they were keeping that to themselves. These people were here for love, no matter the manifestation. And as a bonus, they liked him. Astrid’s entire family, from first cousins to the great-aunt’s third husband, had welcomed him with open arms. Some more wary at first, some with a sassy comment, but warm and openly, nonetheless. He started to feel like he belonged.

“So Hiccup, tell me,” Susan shuffled her chair a little closer to his, expectant look in her eyes, and asked the question he’d feared would come up eventually. “When are you and Astrid getting married?”

“Ah… Um, I- I–”

“Susan, come on,” Rosie chided the nosy woman with a sharp glare that Astrid had obviously inherited from her, “it’s only been a year. This generation is different from yours or mine. Kids these days don’t want to settle down first chance they get. Let them live life!”

Susan pouted, but she listened to Rosie and dropped the topic. Hiccup smiled gratefully at the old lady, even though the truth was a little more complicated than what she’d said.

With a little wink in his direction, she added, “We old folk don’t need to understand everything the youths are up to. Our time is over. Now we just do our job keeping them humble by telling them horror stories about wars and an age before the facebooks and twittle existed.” She raised her glass of white wine spritzer at Hiccup. “Right, my boy?”

Suppressing a laugh, he mimicked the motion with his empty beer bottle. Individual discussions broke out among the table, varying from rants about kids these days to how old Florence had recently bought a 4k TV set. Susan continued to do her best contributing her share of gossip.

Hiccup was just considering leaving the table to it when he felt it. It was subtle, a twitch of his heart, a prickling in his neck, before not a moment later two arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind.

“What are you kids up to over here?” she asked, her lively voice right next to his ear coating his chest in honey. He didn’t register the following conversation, only felt the vibrations of her laughter, distracted by the warmth of her arms around him, her perfume, her general proximity. Despite being used to it by now, the rush of the feeling still turned his insides into an out-of-control carnival ride.

She shifted behind him, bringing her face closer, and whispered in his ear. “Want me to save you?”

There was no need, he was sure he could just leave the table on his own, but he would never turn down the offer to be saved by Astrid Hofferson, who he was sure was descendant from literal Valkyries… He was getting distracted again. “Yes, please,” he whispered back.

She took his hand and pulled him out of the chair. “Come on, let’s get a drink.” They waved goodbye to the table of elders and made their way over to the bar. Immediately, one of her cousins asked him what he wanted to drink, handing him a glass of rum and coke, and in no time, he found himself included in the conversation. And not just because he was Astrid’s boyfriend. He saw it in their eyes, felt it in his gut. He was part of the family.

At some point a little later in the night, the music switched to hits from the 90s and 2000s, and most people left the bar to dance. Hiccup used the opportunity for a minute to breathe, now alone at the bar except for Astrid and two of her cousins. Olive and June were busy with whatever endless row of texts June was receiving, and Astrid had leaned her head on his shoulder, watching the mob on the dancefloor. He slid an arm around her.

“Look at Hank,” she said and pointed at the crowd. A middle-aged man, her dad’s best friend Hank, was raving in the middle of the dancefloor, completely lost in the beat. His shirt had come out of his pants and there was a large beer stain on his chest. People around him were cheering as the usually so composed office worker was letting loose in their midst.

Hiccup spotted a shock of fiery red hair dancing its way over to him and grinned. “Looks like he found a friend.” Astrid chuckled as they watched Dagur join Hank with his ridiculous dance moves, and the two men took over the entire floor. “I’ve never seen anyone so passionate about the Crazy Frog.”

“I have. Dagur and Eret, at a college party.” She grinned and joked, “I really should have seen this coming when Eret ditched me half the night to dance with Dagur.”

Scanning the crowd for Eret, Hiccup found him talking to the DJ. He’d never forget the day Astrid and he had been over at the man’s place for brunch when all of a sudden, the door to Eret’s bedroom had opened and a yawning Dagur, clad in only boxers and a loose bathrobe, had strolled out, disappearing down the hall into the bathroom.

Eret had cleared his throat. “Yeah, so, when I said I had news, that’s what I wanted to tell you.” However he’d thought Hiccup and Astrid to react, he probably hadn’t expected them to instantly start haggling over winnings and unwritten betting conditions. By the time Dagur had joined them at the table, Astrid had admitted defeat and settled for an I told you so-face directed at everyone.

They really made an odd group, even more so with Heather thrown into the mix. Astrid always got a kick out of explaining to other people how they all met, watching them try to figure out the specific relations and histories between all individuals involved. Hiccup had to admit, it was kind of funny.

The song ended, fading over into a beat he loved to hate, or hated to love, accompanied by a honking sound and a distinct 90s beat. Next to him, Astrid bobbed her head from side to side to the music, and the next moment, Eret’s outstretched hand appeared in front of him.

“Hofferson, this is our song!”

Astrid thrust her drink into Hiccup’s hands. “Hold this for me, babe!” Then she pulled Eret onto the dancefloor, instantly falling into a series of dance moves clearly coordinated with Eret’s. Hiccup blinked a couple of times at the sight.

A snort next to him shook him out of his stare. It was Frederick, ordering a tray of drinks. “Whoever has an elaborate choreography to the Vengabus song figured out, deserves to be best friends. Don’t you think?”

Hiccup smirked. “Oh, sure.”

Frederick saw his expression and mirrored it. “You’re not going to let her forget this, are you?”

“Nope.” He took in every little aspect of the show. Oh, she would never hear the end of this. In perfect sync, she and Eret dragged peace signs in front of their eyes, swung their arms around, twirled, and did something vaguely resembling the chicken dance. This even blew Ross and Monica’s Routine from Friends out of the water.

“You can still run and never come back,” Frederick suggested.

“Are you kidding me?” Hiccup laughed. “Why would I ever leave a girl like her?”

“Good answer.” Frederick boxed his shoulder, then took the tray over to the table of elders. The friendly violence seemed to run in the family.

When the song ended and another took its place, Dagur wedged himself between Astrid and Eret, claiming his new dance partner. Shaking her head with a humorous eye-roll, she walked back over to Hiccup and took her glass back. Upon his grin, she asked, “What?”

“Oh, nothing.” His grin didn’t fade. “That was… Beautiful. Graceful. I- I don’t have the words.”

“Shut up, you’re just jealous.”

He wrapped both arms around her, mindful of the drink in her hand, and kissed her temple. “Yeah, totally. I wish I had moves like that.”

“Yes, you wish.” She was grinning now, too, turning her head to give him a kiss, and then another one. He would be crazy if he ever even considered leaving her.

A few songs later, the beat slowed to a Cranberries song. Astrid put her glass away and tugged at his hand. “Your turn.” She didn’t pull him onto the dancefloor, just stepped a few feet away from the bar, put one hand on his back and laid the other in his. Together, they danced on the spot, her face resting in the crook of his neck.

After a while, he mumbled into her hair, “Susan brought up the question.”

She didn’t need to ask what he meant. “What did you tell her?”

“I didn’t. Before I could say anything, granny Rosie came to my rescue. She said something about generational differences and Susan shut up. We should steer clear of her, though, I don’t think she was satisfied with that answer.”

She huffed. “I can handle Susan.” He knew she could. He just didn’t want to face that question again without feeling the need to explain Astrid’s decision to not get married again; it was none of Susan’s business. If Astrid changed her mind, though, he wouldn’t waste any time. Even if they were in the pharmacy aisle of a rundown big box store, surrounded by diarrhea medicine, and Snotlout was the officiator. Although, come to think of it, he might be able to make himself wait until they’d moved to at least the garden center.

As if she’d read his mind, Astrid lifted her head and looked up. “You want to get married, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer straightaway. “I know you don’t and that’s okay. I want to share a life with you, be by your side, as your partner in everything, no matter what a document says or what last name I have.”

She chuckled. “Oh, so you’d take my name?”

“Sure! Hiccup Astrid Haddock, that has a certain ring to it, doesn’t it?”

She groaned good-naturedly. “You’re ridiculous.” After a short pause, she continued, “You know what? If I ever end up changing my mind, I’ll take yours.”

“Wait, really? What about your family pride?”

“Oh, I’ll make sure my kids know their roots.”

His lips stretched into a smile. “Your kids, huh?”

Hiding a blush, she buried her face in his shoulder. “You know whose kids.” Her voice came out muffled and was nearly drowned out by the next song, louder and faster than the last, but he’d heard her.

“Okay. Deal.”

#httyd #hiccstrid #fanfiction #hiccup haddock #astrid hofferson #eret #dagur the deranged #when lightning strikes #modern au #a bit of angst with a dash of drama #or the other way around #maja writes #ff #fanfic #how to train your dragon #dagret

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impala1967dwinchester · 5 years ago

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Sam Winchester: Smarts

*Not My GIF*

Pairing: Sam Winchester x reader

Point of view: Sams pov

Warnings: lite cussing, cuteness, dash of cockiness

Summary: Sam shows off just how smart he really is in a game of 20 Questions

Rating: R

Word Count: 2,033

Y/n and I sat down in bed after a hard day's work searching and looking for any news of any new cases for them to work on. Y/n had been wanting to spend more time together, make sure we still knew each other like the back of our hands.

So she went looking on Pinterest, all I could hear was the clicking of her nails against her phone screen. She looked for seemed like hours, but in all reality was only 10 minutes. I hadn't asked her not yet at least what she was looking upon her phone until she shoved the screen in my face.

The top of the image read 'Love Map Question' I moved her phone out of my face giving me the ability to again look at her. I tilted my head, not bothering with reading the questions that were down below. "Why are you showing me this Y/n?" I asked in hopes of finding the path in her madness of ideas running through her brain.

"I told you I wanna spend more time with you, so why not play a little game of 20 questions!" Her tone excited, her face was bright the brights I had seen it since way back. "Okay, but if you must know I will most likely win this "game" I know you like the back of my hand Y/n," I said with a cocky attitude.

She had me pull out a piece of paper wanting me to write all the questions down. I looked at her and shook my head taking the phone from her hands. I read the first question aloud.

"Name your partner's two closest friends"

"Castiel and your brother Dean." She said I laughed not only because she was right but because she always had the need to say "your brother Dean" like I didn't know Dean was my brother. "So mister who are my 2 closest friends huh punk," she said rolling her eyes.

"Your 2 closest friends are..... Jody and my mother Mary" I laughed she puffed crossing her arms across her chest making her shirt come down giving me a better view of her chest. I went on to ask the second question

"What is your partner's favorite musical group, composer, or instrument?"

"Ummmm.... definitely not what your brother listens to." She said looking down into her lap. It took me a minute but I don't think she really knows what I listen to. Which wasn't really her fault, just my brothers since you know no else is allowed to play any other type of music.

"First off, it's fine that you don't know who or what type of music is listen. It's my brother's fault anyway. And your favorite composer is Mozart if I do recall." She looked up at me grabbing my arm and lopping it around her waist.

"What was your partner wearing when you first met?"

"Oh my gosh, Sam I totally remember what you were wearing. Of course, you were wearing a green flannel which by the way looked amazing on you, and you had some jeans on" she said with a wide smile written all over his face. "And you y/n you had on some tight fucking jeans, and a red and black flannel unbuttoned like you wanted me to see down your shirt and see those amazing tits of yours.

"What are your partner's hobbies?"

"Your favorite hobbies are Reading about literally anything, and going for morning runs." She said with loving eyes looking back up at me. "Your favorite hobbies are sleeping, an..." she cut me off slapping me in the arm her phone fell to the floor. "Oh come on now I have to get up and get your phone, but no your favorite hobbies are cooking and the gun range." I had to get up and get her phone from the floor, my spot losing the warmth of me sitting there for such a long time.

"Where was your partner born? Well that's an easy question" I said

"Sam, you were born in the good old heart of America. Kansas, Lawrence." The good old heart of America god she was the pretties but not the smartest person in the bunch. "Honey, you do know that Kansas is not the heart of America. But you were born in California, San Diego. The warmest place like ever." I said with a pop in the word place.

"What stresses are facing your partner in the immediate future?"

"If it isn't the end of the world, lucifer, your brother taking on the mark of Cain, or Chuck ending the world. I really don't know Sam." She said while counting on her fingers about how many times the future of our lives had been almost destroyed. I really had to think of an answer to the question.

"I guess, A big stress would maybe be losing me, or something along those lines," I said a sadden tone heard in my voice.

"Describe in detail your partner's day, either today or yesterday."

"That's easy." She said with sass and snap of her fingers in front of my face. "You mister wake up go for a run, come back home shower and then eat some vegan food, read, and maybe research for a case. Then you repeat all over again sir." She said

I smiled pulling her closer to my body. Even though we were already so close to each other.

"And you, you wake up after sleeping way later than anyone else, you shower maybe put on some make-up then you cook or at least try not to burn the kitchen. You then come and find me and mess around with me, and maybe you go find Dean and help him." Jeez, I had never thought about how much she really did mess around with me.

"When is your partner's birthdate?"

"Sammys your birthdate is on May 2nd of 1983" A smile crossing her entire face, and a giggle. "Well, Sam when is my birthday, huh?"

"Your birthday is on June 21st, 1981. You know you're older than me, but I am way more mature than you are baby." I had to add "baby" in there since she would probably be a little pissed because of my comment. "Next question!" She said loudly.

"What is the date of your anniversary?"

At the same time, we said "August 29th of 2017." A huge smile on our faces, we weren't married yet but that was the day that I had asked her out on our first date. I continued reading off the questions.

"Who is your partner's most favorite relative?"

"Well, y/n your most favorite relative is still your grandmother. You know we should visit her sometime." I said trying to lighten the mood. She never really did like to talk about her, she had passed around the same year we had gotten together.

"Umm, Yeah we probably should bring some flowers to her grave to. But Sam your most favorite relative was your mom before and after she passed, and 2nd, of course, is Mr.Singer" She said her head landing on my shoulder.

"What is your partner's fondest dream, as yet unachieved?"

"Fondest dream yet unachieved? To be truthful with you Sam I don't know, maybe living a normal hunting free life." She said while looking over at the tv that was paused on whatever we were watching.

"Your unachieved dream would have to have kids, and knowing you it wouldn't just be 2 kids it would like 5," I said with a laugh.

"What is your partner's favorite flower?"

"I think your favorite flower is... Carnation." She said with her fingers in an L shaped under chin think she was thinking really hard.

"I know your favorite flower, your favorite flowers are hydrangea and roses. You like romantic flowers." I said

"What is one of your partners the greatest disaster scenarios?"

"Zombies, Sam. That's all I am going to say."

"Jeez, I don't talk that much about zombies do I?" She gave me a look like "Are you being serious?". "Anyways, your greatest disaster scenarios are an apocalypse, which is like the same thing as Zombies," I said rolling my eyes.

"What is your partner's favorite time for making love?"

"Ohh some exciting questions now! You have runners high so I would say right after a run even if you have to wake me up. Oh, and you love it when Dean is here you like sho.." She said I clamp my hand over her mouth not wanting to hear anything more about me and my showing off, even though I know I am good at it.

"Fine, wanna be like that, you always, and when I say always I mean every time we win a case. Regardless of where we are. Nasty little girl you are." I said y/n had blushing running over her cheeks and the tip of her nose. Her nose scrunched up while looking up at me. It wasn't the reaction I thought I was going to get but still, it was enough to make her blush, so I would say mission accomplished.

"What makes your partners feel most competent?"

"Definitely after saving the world for what seems like the 5th time." Damn, that just rolled right off her tongue.

"First off, you said that like that is always at the forefront of your mind. Second I would say after we save a bunch of kids during a case." She hummed in response telling me I was right about at least one of those things.

"What turns your partner on sexually?"

"You like my beard when I do have it, definitely when I'm using my smart during a case, and of course my eyes." The cocky attitude rolling off my tongue and into her mind.

"Really, I like your smarts... Jesus. Well, you Sir love my hips, any of my tight jeans, my lips, my eyes, and you love my heart and brain." She knew she had gotten me when she said her heart. I think she knows me a little too well.

"What is your partner's favorite meal?"

"Salad isn't a meal. But that's all I got." She said rolling her eyes while smiling.

"Pancakes and fruit isn't a meal either!" I said laughing, causing Y/n to laugh causing her smile to come out. Which only made me happier then I was before.

"What is your partner's favorite way to spend an evening?"

"You like to sit down and watch the old movies, no matter who is in them," I said

"You like sitting in the library, and snuggling while we read some books, and for you, it doesn't seem to matter what kind of books we are reading as long as we are together, besides each other." Y/n said pulling me further into the sheets and covers.

"What is your partner's favorite color?"

"Oh, Sam your favorite color is green! Just like your eyes sometimes." Y/n said with a giggle and a yawn in her voice. Her voice becoming a little too timid.

"Well missy, you sound and look tired there's only one more question anyways. Your favorite color is red and sometimes purple, and black, and green, and blue. At this damn point, it might as well be all the color of the rainbow." I said but not before Y/n could punch me in the stomach lightly of course.

"What personal improvements does your partner want to make?"

"Personal improvements? Huh, I'd have to say not sacrificing yourself every chance you get Sam, honey." Y/n said with another yawn

"Personal improvements. Probably that you tend to take care of everyone else first and end up forgetting yourself at the end of the day."

I looked over at her, grabbing her chin and pulling her into a soft and calming kiss. She closed her eyes kissing me back and pulled away leaving her head resting on my shoulder. I ended up putting her phone on my bedside table and turned the light off, letting the sleep that wanted to win, finally win over my body.

#fluff #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #fem reader #supernatural fic #supernatural x reader

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leafallsonelines · 4 years ago

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Bizarre Love Triangle

I'm not sure what this could mean I don't think you're what you seem I do admit to myself, that if I hurt someone else Then I'll never see just what we're meant to be -New Order

I didn't want to get into a relationship.

He wore me down and soon enough I was the one crazy about him. I always answer to the undefinably strong pull toward a certain person. I was soul weary and needed a break from emotional turmoil. When you meet somebody else, they're the main character of their own love story (just like I am in mine; as it should be). I'm privy to fact that we all have a history, especially when dating in your late 20's and 30's. I wasn't ready for our stories to collide.

I desperately wanted to avoid cluttering my life with someone else's relationship baggage when I haven't even taken care of mine. He campaigned hard for the relationship. I went for it.

Despite my better judgment I always cave—give in to that desire — anticipate and absorb the pain that inevitably follows.

I told you that story to tell you this one.

Back in 2014 the term Cool Girl ™ was coined to describe women who change their personality for male approval. (The shtick is contrived and annoying once you spot it.) She doesn't have a solid sense of self and basks in attention to fill. That void; hoards men like Thanksgiving hams and gets territorial when she's not The Girl. She gets kicks from seeing how uncomfortable she can make other girls by openly flirting with their boyfriends just to watch them squirm. This act is so played out most people have an eye roll ready for anyone flying the “I'm not like other girls” banner. (Gen Z now calls them Pick-Me-Girls ™.)

I crossed paths with one in 2018 — my boyfriend's best friend of sixteen years. A self-indulgent, selfish friendship. I wasn't initially jealous, didn't interrupt, and it came back to bite me; it was hideously unfair.

For storytelling purposes let's call her “Kate Luu.” Kate, an incestuous tigermom who gets jealous of any girl her son gets with, a petulant toddler that would rather break a toy than let someone else play with it. Probably has BPD. Definitely needs a good therapist.

Like a lot of dewy eyed girls newly in love I conveniently dismissed the red flags around my boyfriend and Kate. I had empathy for them because of my past platonic friendships with flirty undertones. Guys would respectfully fall back when they got into relationships or if I Was in one. I struggled with the slow withdrawal of warmth, missed the emotional intimacy, but recognized it as the right call and moved on. A lot of young adults exploring their sexuality go through this. As I got older I favored female friendships for being uncomplicated, preferring to avoid unwanted sexual tension.

Empathy without boundaries is self-destruction.

A couple weeks after celebrating our one year anniversary Kate texts me, “We need to talk.” Alarms immediately go off in my head. The last few months I had started bringing attention to the bad vibe I was getting and the inappropriate nature of the relationship. I got tired of biting my tongue. He didn't know how to process it or correct it. His lingering infatuation with her made it impossible for him to distance himself or enforce new boundaries. He started hiding it instead. I caught him being intentionally ambiguous about his plans when going to see her. He fumbled himself into an emotional affair.

Princess Diana famously described her marriage to Charles as “crowded.” It was an unmistakable reference to his affair with Camilla. Looking back the (justifiable) anxiety I had was from being crowded. Intuition is not insecurity.

I met Kate for coffee and she read aloud a pathetic five page letter telling me I'm a bad girlfriend and “full of shit.” She was intervening on his behalf as the person who knows what's best for my boyfriend.

“It's none of your business.”

But no, she has the authority to interfere as his best friend of sixteen years and I was a one year nothing. She brought up the fact he was attracted to her first, told me I'm spineless and ruining their friendship with my insecurity. (She _really _ran with the words spineless and insecure.)

Accusations are confessions when they come from a manipulative person. Textbook projection. She was mad her narcissistic supply was tapering off. (Gaslighting Pro-tip: Label rightful jealousy as insecurity.)

My boyfriend gave her personal, intimate details of my life during their oversharings and she used that information to bully me. Nothing was off the table, including my sexual history. I can see how she manipulated him, but it was inexcusable. People who enable They leave the door open for endless rows of inappropriate behavior. All of this was happening behind my back for a year. That kind of intimate toxicity are suckers for ego massages.

Don't you just love a story where the villain puts all the evidence of her misdeeds in one letter and unravels into epic, illogical rage all in one afternoon, in the space of two hours?

How did Kate have time to write five pages of false narratives designed to destroy a relationship she was jealous of? She doesn't have a job. She's a pampered dog mom living in her rich fiancé's house for free. A busybody performatively taking care of other people to avoid a mountain of personal issues. (An unevolved Virgo.)

Don't worry about what I'm doing. Worry about why you're worried about what I'm doing.

Kate has many noticeable traits as an obnoxious, self-important person — an absolute fake. She calls herself a _philanthropist _without having done anything philanthropic or even knowing how to use the word; she literally saw a big SAT word that means good person and attached Herself to it. (A word assigned to big charitable donors like Bill Gates, not bloggers). She has the same relationship with the word “unconventional” and thinks using a bigger word for unique or quirky makes her even more unique and quirky. Nope, still basic.) In place of possessing any actual humor she repeats memorized dad jokes and leans into corny, forced puns. If this isn't annoying enough she then insists she's funny. (Funny people just make you laugh. They never have to tell people they're funny. Barfs in, “I speak fluent sarcasm.”)

If I poked a finger through her shallow veneer I'd find loose dirt and dog shit.

And you know what? I'm not even against intense friend love. I get it. I groove to “One Love.” Emotional freedom is important. Expressions of love are multitudinous. It should transform to fit the situation. She didn't respect basic boundaries to make room for all of us to be comfortable. She was just mad she got demoted and tried to burn the whole thing down.

Kate wanted to be the main character in my boyfriend's love story without ever actually dating him. Oh yes, I know — the audacity, the toxic lack of boundaries, the mind numbing arrogance. She's not even protagonist material — a papier-mâché hipster who got her personality from an Urban Outfitters catalog and can't stop contradicting herself despite the fact she is working off a pre-written letter. I have never encountered someone who thought so highly of herself while having almost no substance. She calls herself a writer , but is just a pseudo-intellectual English major who posts aesthetic word salad on Instagram.

Later on I realized that if someone is mean to you unprovoked it's jealousy. One of the catalysts for the meetup was a heartfelt anniversary post I wrote on Instagram. It's not my usual style, but I felt gushy and really went full blown poetic and swoony She's jealous that her own, brought up love and Birth of Venus, blah blah blah. She mentioned my IG post and even admitted it was poetic and well written, but proceeded to use that as the jumping off point to invalidate the love in it. writing is try-hard drivel; a woman in her thirties mentally stuck in 2011 tumblr cringe.

If she truly wanted him she should have pursued him honestly and not wait to mess with another person. Hell, even just owning up to her feelings and saying, “I realize I may have lost my chance with you. Is there still anything in our sixteen year history that makes you want to give us a shot instead? ”à la My Best Friend's Wedding. Treading some moral gray area, but way more acceptable than actively sabotaging a relationship.

She didn't really want him though. She just wanted to continue their friendship in that inappropriate flirtationship space to feed her ego. After the coffee date she ended their friendship in an email. That really important sixteen year friendship became disposable to her once she wasn't able to control it.

Sometimes trash does the public service of loudly identifying itself as trash and takes itself out.

If you're a female best “friend” to a guy in a relationship and you need to flex on “I was here first” and “We did this before you were in the picture,” then you were never interested in seeing that friend thrive in a romantic relationship. You just get off on being his favorite unfulfilled option. If seeing him in love with someone new has you feeling that miserable you're just being selfish. Real love doesn't overstep in a new relationship so you can hog their spotlight. You're not even a friend; you're a skunk marking your territory and keeping him in the friendzone while not really wanting him to have a girlfriend.

You learn to love somebody in their love language and not just yours. Selfish love is not real love. That's just using someone to fill a place. Maybe a distraction. Seeking anything in return isn't real love because if you want that you actually don't have love to give; it's fake; it's toxic. If there's someone who isn't around anymore and you miss them consider the fact that you might just miss the place they held in your life. (You have the freedom to fill that space anyway you want.)

She realized she burned through all her goodwill thus the sudden ghosting and extracting herself. I never asked my partner to pick me or issued any ultimatums. Sometimes important questions stay unanswered. Sometimes you have to move on without the apology you deserve. There is grief in never receiving closure.

My partner finally saw my concerns validated in the aftermath. I bubbled with rage remembering excuses he made for her. Day in and day out I was drinking from an overflowing cup of righteous anger. So what was his role in this? Stupid or co- conspirator?

He was oblivious.

“I can't believe you could've left me for a wannabe influencer.”

I switched my phone wallpaper from his picture to a solid color. Looking at his face filled me with disgust. There's only so much letting go you can ask someone to do. I knew I still loved him, but anytime a woman is hurt she becomes less interested.

How do you recover from unknowingly letting a toxic bitch walk all over and jeopardize your relationship?

Friends told me to move on, date other people. He campaigned for the relationship again. We did the work of picking up the pieces and starting over.

I'm not pretending to be perfect. I was reeling from back to back traumas. My soft spots turned hard and cynical. It was my turn to be the toxic one. I drove to work sobbing everyday for a month. I complained constantly. My default became anxious and suspicious. I'm so out of touch with the person I was before; she's a stupidly innocent, free-spirited stranger to me. It took time for the poison leach out.

It's a lot of baggage.

The couples who make it aren't always the ones that never had a reason to break up. They're the ones that decide their commitment to each other is more important than their mistakes. Fast forward to the herculean effort he made to earn back my trust and we're still very happily together. (This is published with his permission.)

Our relationship is more grounded in reality now. It's not crowded anymore. Somethings more precious from having almost been lost. Somethings will never be the same. I'm the villain in her story, just as much as she's the villain in mine. We get to live out our own endings and there is peace in that.

Hurtful, painful, memories. Memories of deep regrets, memories of hurting and being hurt. Memories of being abandoned. Only those with such memories buried in their hearts can become stronger, more passionate, and emotionally flexible. Only those can obtain happiness. So Don't forget any of it. Remember it all and overcome it. If you don't overcome it, you'll always be a kid whose soul never grows. -The Boy Who Fed On Nightmares

#coolgirl #pickme #microcheating #emotional cheating #emotional affair

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offrankies · 5 years ago

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A Sky Full of Stars || Rio & Frankie

Timing: Before all the finale nonsense Parties: @3starsquinn & @offrankies Summary: After watching a tired Orion study for hours, Frankie decides to give him some company and some free fries.

Working at Al’s had proven to be easier than she’d expected. Sure, she still had trouble carrying trays that were filled with drinks since they weighed more than she was able to carry normally, and, sure, she still sometimes got an order mixed up and brought a salad to someone who asked for a monster burger; which meant that Frankie had to be on night shifts most of the time since there were less customers at 2am than 2pm. The night population of White Crest had turned out to be more interesting than she had expected. People with the strangest auras had walked in, and more than once she had been sure they had dropped bugs in her hair to annoy her. But, in all honesty, she didn’t mind one bit since everything was potential knowledge for her supernatural guide.

That one particular night had been exceptionally slow. There was a small group of drunken, middle aged friends that had very loudly told her they had reunited for their twenty years anniversary of finishing college who kept asking for beer after beer and the occasional plate of chicken wings. And then, on the opposite side and in a completely opposite mood, a young guy that looked around her age. He’d been there for over an hour, his food basically untouched. With a smile, she went behind the counter to grab an empty glass, filling it with lemonade, before walking towards him, setting the lemonade in front of him, but being careful of his books. “Sooo, your fries are probably cold by now. Want me to bring you more? On the house, of course.”

The Scribe Headquarters was starting to become less feasible for a night’s stay. Not that he had discounted it completely, but with roommates like Winston and Ricky, who actually made him feel welcome in their home, he didn’t really need to resort to old mattresses inside of an abandoned building tucked away magically in the woods. More and more he found himself less thrilled at the idea of staying there overnight during a big research night. Tonight, he took a detour for food before he headed back to his house. He had grabbed whatever he could from the Scribe headquarters, any journals from Scribes that talked about demons. He needed to find something soon before the cursed eye found a permanent home on Rio’s palm. He kept a wrap around the scar on his hand where that terrifying eye may open back up at any time. For now, Darwin had it. But Rio had no idea how long that may last.

Usually, Rio would have devoured the food from Al’s. When the waitress had brought him the food, he had taken a few bites from the fries before finding an especially intriguing entry from a former Scribe who had travelled all over Maine performing exorcisms. It didn’t end up turning into anything useful, but it was still an interesting read. He wasn’t sure how long he sat at the booth, his legs tucked up under his legs and books and stray pieces of paper scattered across the table. The only empty space was occupied by the plate of forgotten food. By the time the waitress came back around again, speaking and breaking him free from his focus. He jerked his head up, somehow missing that the girl had even come up next to him. He pulled the headphones from his ear, not so much using them for music as he did to try to drown out the noises coming from the other end of the restaurant. “Oh thank you so much! I’d love that.” He took a long drink from his lemonade, downing half the glass in one go. He had been surviving mostly on Monster’s and candy at the Scribe headquarters and could feel himself crashing. He either needed more sugar to get the rush going again or the waitress would come back soon to find him passed out on the table. “Do you serve energy drinks here?” Rio questioned, before snapping his fingers and changing his mind, “No! Wait a milkshake. Can I get a chocolate milkshake?” He tapped his fingers against the table in a rapid motion and closed the book he was currently reading and set it away. “Sorry- I know it probably looks like I’m a crazy person right now. But uh- I’ve just been up for like 20 hours or something. So more sleep deprived than anything else.”

Being nosy wasn’t exactly on Frankie’s personality traits list, but it would be a lie if she didn’t try to peek at what the guy was reading, curiosity getting the best of her. At first she had just assumed it was some college boy drowning before finals, but if that had been the case there would’ve been many other late night owls trying to do last minute cramming too. But whatever it was he was reading, it didn’t look like textbooks but rather just some old books. It looked pretty cool, and if her own experience with waitresses had taught her anything, is that they loved some good gossip. As he drank from his fresh lemonade - which, by the way, she’d had to refill once more - she carefully took the fries so none would fall on the open pages in front of him. “No problem. I need to keep the cook awake somehow.” A quick wink, before she listened once more, and she couldn’t contain the soft laugh that bubbled after his sudden change of mind. “Chocolate Milkshake it is. And, for future reference, we do not have energy drinks, but we have hella good coffee.”

The smile decorating her face widened, her cheeks pushing her eyes and slightly narrowing them as she listened him talk at full speed. He reminded her of herself when she started ranting about whatever was on her mind with total strangers, except Frankie never knew when to stop. “Not at all. If anything, those guys are the only crazy I’ve had to deal with tonight,” Her thumb pointed over her shoulder to the only other costumers, who seemed to be banging the table now as one of the crew chugged his beer. It also helped that his aura was super dim in comparison, the soft red mixed with turquoise a nice break from the bright, glowing yellow coming from the other side of the diner. “I didn’t want to interrupt you but you seemed like you needed a refill,” Since you’ve been sitting there practically not moving for a while, she almost added, but lip her lip to stop herself. With her chin, she motioned to his books and papers. “Watcha’ reading?”

The waitress was friendly, and much nicer to talk to than some of the people Orion ran into at restaurants late at night around town. He didn’t necessarily blame them. Most people that were out in the middle of the night tended to be drunk or shifty in their eyes. Rio just so happened to fall into that crowd. He noted the lack of energy drinks which was a bummer. He thanked her, deciding that it wasn’t worth it to let her know that he didn’t drink coffee. When there was a frustratingly loud noise, Rio glanced around the waitress and found the group loudly demanding another to chug by slamming their fists against the table. It was probably loud enough to normal people in the restaurant. For Rio, it was deafening. He cringed, rubbing his fingers against his ears in an attempt to drown out some of the noise. If he was less tired, he may be able to focus it out, but right now he didn’t have much energy left to expend.

At her question, Rio glanced around at the table, a conglomerated mess scattering all corners made Rio look like some crazed lunatic. Maybe that wasn’t too far off at this point. He had wasted some many hours of his day, avoided so much sleep completely devoted to researching these demons and visions. It was tiring. “You’re not interrupting at all, I really appreciate the refill,” Rio began, trying to figure out exactly how to explain the information sprawled out across the table. Any prolonged glance would show that not everything written in the texts was English. While some was Latin, a language Rio had been fluent in since middle school, most of it was some kind of ancient language, assumed to be demonic. He had not made much progress in translating those yet. “Summer classes.” Rio finally settled on, giving a troubled grin to the waitress and shrugging, “Occult studies class. Super interesting stuff but… a little creepy if I’m being honest. Right now I’m actually trying to learn some information about a cult that apparently operated right here in White Crest.”

Noticing that the group of men were annoying him, an apologetic smile replaced Frankie’s curious one, and she raised one finger in the guy’s direction as if asking for one second, before turning around back to the counter that served as a bar. From experience, she knew that the only way to calm down drunk men was to either give them more alcohol or give them something to canalize their energy into, like a football match on tv for the to scream to, but sadly, there were nothing on tv that late at night that could please them, so more drinks it was. Frankie’s eyes kept flying from the beers she was serving to the boy sitting alone and his books. Occult studies. That was interesting, and seemingly very on-brand with the theme this town had. After a few minutes and after bringing the beers with the check to the men who started howling and tried to convince her to talk to them, Frankie walked back to the other side of the diner, standing next to the table once again.

“Sorry, they’ll probably get louder but they should leave soon.” The last few words were spoken louder as she looked over her shoulder, and despite making it sound like she was annoyed with them, Frankie was actually laughing softly. She needed people like them to stay awake and not get bored during her shift, after all. “So, summer classes, huh. You go to college here?” Looking back at the kitchen once more to make sure the cook wasn’t watching, she slid on the seat in front of him. “Do you, uhm, mind if I take a look?” Her hand hovered on top of a book, and though she didn’t understand a word of what it said, it still looked very interesting. Cults. The mere idea of a cult being in town made her want to laugh again, Layla’s voice telling her that she should be careful in this town resonating in her head. “Hey, creepy is the best kind of interesting. Like, have you seen the X Files?” Looking at another book, she tried to read the title out loud, very slowly to try to get the pronunciation right but completely failing. “I think I just butchered that. What language is this? I know a little bit of french and this is definitely not french.”

The waitress disappeared for a moment and Rio glanced over a few moments later to see her taking more drinks over to the group. He smirked to himself, wondering if he had been obvious that the noise had bothered him. “Oh no worries at all, I appreciate the attempt. I don’t have claim over the restaurant or anything.” He shrugged, acting unbothered by the noise. It really wouldn’t bother him if he could get the hearing under control. Instead, certain instances or specific noises would catch him off guard. “I do! Majoring in history and computer science.” The waitress slid into the seat across from Rio and showed an increased interest in what he had been studying. He tried to take a quick assessment of her, to try to figure out exactly why she seemed so fascinated by the topics that Rio was reading. A fellow avid learner, maybe? Someone interested in the supernatural? Or someone that already knew about the supernatural and was trying to gauge how much Rio knew. Rio couldn’t be sure, not yet at least.

When she asked to take a look, Rio just nodded. “The X-Files terrified me. I was always fascinated by the stuff I read about it online but whenever I tried watching it I’d have nightmares for a week.” She read a piece aloud from a text, the pronunciation being off but the words not completely unintelligible. Some of the text that Rio found seemed to be some older type of demonic language translated by humans. It wasn’t easy to explain considering Rio wasn’t able to translate it himself and there was no easy way to explain that it was a completely unknown language. Rio laughed softly, “Definitely not French.” Rio spoke in French, a simple translation. He leaned over to take a look at the book that the waitress was looking at. “Hard to tell honestly.” He tapped his finger against his chin, trying to figure out exactly how to explain it to her without sounding completely insane. “I can see some hints of Latin in it. But most of it is just… nothing. If I had to guess, it was the attempt by some cult at creating their own mix of language to communicate with demons or spirits.” That was not Rio’s guess at all, but it certainly seemed more likely than being the actual language of a demon. “I’m uh- I’m Orion by the way. Or Rio. I go by whichever. It’s nice to meet you!”

Frankie’s hand made a vague gesture, as if telling him it was nothing. “It’s cool, serving drinks and food is only part of the job, I need to make sure all the clients are comfortable.” It had been, probably, the only thing she had been good at so far. Her eyes tried to pick up anything from all the words spread in front of her, but failed miserably. “Wow, double majoring? You must be a huge nerd.” As soon as the words left her mouth, Frankie had a hand flying to cover her mouth, eyes wide and her cheeks quickly flushing into a bright red. “I’m--- Sorry I didn’t mean that as an--- That was a compliment, actually---” Her words stumbled with each other, and she couldn’t find a way to apologize fast enough. The floor of the diner needed to hurry and swallow her already before she started blurting anymore embarrassing stuff to a guy she had just met. His aura didn’t seem to flicker at all, though, which could only mean he hadn’t been bothered by it. It helped her relax a little, and she took another piece of paper between her hands, trying to make some sense of it.

“That’s, uhm, so wild. When I moved in the last thing I expected to run into was a demonic cult. There was this girl back in Nashville that disappeared for like, a couple of weeks, everyone thought she had been kidnapped or had run away but turns out she had joined a satanic cult or something like that. I never understood it, honestly.” Eventually, she let go of the piece of paper, a silent acceptance that no matter how hard she tried, she wouldn’t spontaneously learn neither Latin or… whatever nonsense the cultists had invented. “Oh, right. I’m, uh--” And like a kid proud of a toy, she looked down to her name tag, and then looked back at him, a grin on her face as she pointed at it. “Frankie. Nice to meet you too, Rio.” And because she didn’t know when to shut up, she added. “Have you tried searching for the Orion constellation?”

Orion paused at being called a nerd. Not because the word had offended him, but because her response had stunned him. She had been so embarrassed that Rio had just stared at her for a long moment while she stumbled through explaining herself. Finally, Rio burst into laughter. It was louder than his usual laughter was, a sort of uncontrolled and hysteric chuckling that Rio did not usually allow himself. He could only blame it on the lack of sleep. “You don’t have to apologize for anything,” Rio finally spoke, wiping the tears from his eyes that had escaped during the laughter. “I do take that as a compliment. Plus, I’ve heard enough people say stuff like that intending for it to be taken as an insult that eventually you start figuring out when someone means something in a good or bad way.” That was too much information that this girl, Frankie, did not need to know. “Oh. Yikes. That’s scary, I hope she uh- got out of that cult.” Sounded dangerous. Rio had read enough about cults to know how they recruited people, but he couldn’t imagine himself ever being trusting enough to ever join one. Especially one like that. “So you’re not from around here, apparently? New to town?” It begged the question, why? Why are you here? Why anyone would come to this town would always baffle Rio. “Oh yeah. It’s usually pretty easy to pick out. And I’ve studied a lot of Greek Mythology so it’s cool to tie that in with the name of the constellations.”

Rio’s laugh made Frankie’s embarrassment even worse, her face lowkey burning. Well, at least he took the joke well, and the teen definitely could relate. She was lucky not to get bullied back in school partly because of the cheer squad and because of Layla, but most of her friends were absolutely trashed, and nerd was definitely on the list of worst things someone could be called. “Well, you’re the coolest nerd I’ve met so far, so those who tried to insult you can go suck on a lemon. And she was fine after a while. I mean, she had to do her freshman year again but that was better than the… possibility, I guess.” Whatever that was. All she knew about cults was the little glimpses she had gotten from the very occasional and rare case she could see in the news, and stuff she had seen in tv shows. Not that she wanted to know more, really, her life had already turned confusing enough and adding cults would just make things worse. Leaning forward in the table, the teen rested her elbows and used one hand to support her face, eyes still looking at the scattered paper and open books. “Yeah, I moved in from Nashville a few weeks ago to, uh, be with my girlfriend.” Understatement of the year, but there was no other way to say she had tracked down her werewolf girlfriend after she vanished for a whole year without sounding like a complete lunatic. A humm left her lips, hazel eyes now fixated on the guy. “I always thoughts most constellations were related to the zodiac, you know, since many of them are… well, zodiac signs. I don’t really know much about them. I just liked stargazing when I was a kid and my grandma showed me a few.”

“You need to meet more nerds than.” Orion laughed again. In what alternate hell dimension would Rio ever be considered a cool nerd? There were others that deserved that title way more than himself. Winston, Blanche, Skylar. All three were way cool humans that also happened to be super smart. Rio was still trying to wrap his head around the idea that someone around Rio’s age would willingly move to White Crest when she mentioned the girlfriend. It made his face begin blushing and an awkward smile broke out across his face. “Sounds romantic.” Rio said, unsure if that was the right thing to say or not. Rio wasn’t exactly a guru on relationships. He had never even been in one before. “So you came here with no one else? Just your girlfriend?” Rio asked, before letting out a low whistle, “Woah. That’s… crazy brave.” Rio couldn't imagine how much courage that must take. “There’s this guy I know. I grew up with him sort of. I never really knew what having a crush meant growing up but looking back I… well it checked all the boxes. I still avoid him. On the college campus.” Rio facepalmed himself in embarrassment. He couldn’t believe he just said that. To a stranger. “Are you uh- Adjusting to town well?”

Astronomy had never been Rio’s passion or his forte, neither was stargazing. But he knew enough about greek mythology to have dipped his toes in astronomy. “You're right! A lot of them are related to the zodiac. The zodiac signs actually come from Greek mythology. In fact, zodiac comes from the Greek word zōdiacus which roughly means the cycle of animals.” Frankie had unknowingly opened a can of worms that Rio wasn’t sure he could close back up. “All of the zodiac signs correspond to living creatures. Well except Libra, which is ironically my sign. But anyways, each of the constellations usually relate back to some story from Greek or Roman mythology. Like Leo is tied to Hercules and his labor’s. Hercules skinned a lion and wore it’s pelt, making him practically invincible. Or ScorpioScorpio, who actually has ties to Orion. There’s been a lot of different stories about Orion the hunter. Some say he was put up into the sky by the Goddess Artemis who loved him, others say that he was put up there as punishment for being too boastful. With scorpio eternalized for killing him.” Once Rio finally shut up he realized how dry his mouth had become. This wasn’t an uncommon problem when Rio got on one of his soap boxes. He took a drink from the lemonade that Frankie had brought him and scratched at his neck nervously, “Sorry I uh- get passionate.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. Frankie definitely needed to meet more friends, whether they were nerds or not. Letting out a soft humm, she tapped her lips for a moment as she thought out loud. “I wouldn’t say we came together? I came to this town because she was here.” Brave was definitely one way to describe it. Frankie would always believe it had been her only choice and the right thing to do, whilst her mom kept repeating on the phone that it had been the dumbest and childish idea she ever had. Shrugging, she rested her cheek on her palm once more, listening to his story, letting out a laugh when he covered his face. “That sounds too far from how I realized I liked liked Layla- that’s my girlfriend. We were best friends for ages, and one day we were watching Buffy and she said something that made me look, I don’t remember what honestly, but I just, I kept looking at her instead of the tv and just… kinda knew, yanno?” There were few things Frankie could go on about for hours: math, the meaning behind colors, and how she would follow Layla to hell if she asked her to. Though from recent events maybe she had done that already.

Pursing her lips, she looked at the ceiling as if thinking, before looking back at him with a shrug. “Town’s alright. Definitely not Nashville, but I never was a big city girl anyways.” Meaning, she liked the quietness and the considerable lower number of people on the streets that potentially gave her anxiety attacks. The human listened in silence as Rio rambled, a wide smile creeping in the longer he spoke. In another life where she weren’t a raging lesbian, and in different circumstances that involved not noticing the flaming aura that got more intense as he spoke, she would’ve even found him cute. “Don’t you dare apologize, Orion, trapped by Artemis.” Though she hated feeling like she was taking up his study time, he also looked like he desperately needed a break. After winking at him, she stretched slightly and moved out of the booth, standing in front of him once more. “I will go get you that chocolate milkshake, and maybe you can tell me Sagittarius’ story in return?”

Orion listened intently to the story, fascinated by how this girl had the courage to just pick up her life and move somewhere completely new all to be with her girlfriend. Rio wasn’t sure he would have the courage to do that if he was married to the person moving. But Frankie was fearless, clearly. And Rio could learn a thing or two about taking chances, if his own personal life was any indication. Plus- Wait did she just say Layla? “Hold on- Layla? This may be too much of a coincidence… but like Layla, redhead, born to play Cherry Valance in a remake of The Outsiders, Layla? I know her. Really well actually she’s a friend of mine.” Woah. Rio had heard about a girlfriend, but had no idea that the girlfriend had shown up to town. Admittedly the two hadn’t talked a lot recently. Just with how busy things were with the demons stuff, Rio had turned pretty anti-social.

“Oh good. Well I’m glad you’re not annoyed. I tend to drag on like that a lot so please feel free to cut me off.” He had to admit, it was really nice getting to have a conversation with someone about something other than this demon stuff. He had spent so much time with Winston lately, which was amazing as always because he thought that Winston was the coolest person in the entire world, but with Frankie they didn’t talk about the demons or bodies of water at all. It was just a normal conversation, with a nice person. It was a nice change of pace. “Right well, Thanks for grabbing me the milkshake! And please feel free to hang out. It looks pretty boring in here right now. I can’t tell if you’re joking or not but I can totally tell you about Sagittarius . Spoiler alert, he’s a Centaur.

Hearing him describe her girlfriend made Frankie perk up, eyebrows raising in surprise. “Yep, that sounds like her alright. They say it’s a small world but damn, this town is smaller than I thought.” Coincidences like these never happened back home; and she guessed it was highly likely that Rio knew every other teen or anyone in their early twenties she had met so far. The thought made her smile, and she shoved both hands inside her uniform’s pockets. “Maybe we can do like a double date thingy if you ever decide to stop avoiding your college mate.” Was it alright to joke with something like that? She had never been too good at social situations despite her extroverted nature thanks to her anxiety.

“Oh God no, I love hearing people. I suck at talking so I love when I can just sit back and listen. Besides that’s super interesting and cool. If anything I’m sorry I’m distracting you from your, uh-” She gestured at the table in general. “-- cult investigation.” Maybe if he didn’t mind, she could even ask him about college, considering this was for a summer class. And maybe, if she was lucky, she could get to know him enough to investigate why his aura didn’t seem to flicker away from the red. He didn’t seem like a bad person in the slightest, which only made her wonder deeper why her grandma had warned her so much about them. “Not joking at all. I’m looking forward to meet this centaur boy.” And before leaving, she pointed at the food and said. “Eat your fries before I do!”

#3starsquinn #p: rio #❪ ⋅ ⋆ —— ❛ para ❜ ❫#wickedswriting #A Sky Full of Stars #// aka ty sunny for the title #// take some wholesome

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harryandmolly · 7 years ago

Text

When the World Stops Turning - Chapter 1

Summary: A love story in two voices - cowritten with @achinglyshawn

Warnings: Language

Word count: 10k

Lydia frowns in the mirror. Her hair just ain’t bouncin’ and behavin’ tonight.

She lifts the curling iron again then puts it down. She picks it up again, swirling a thick red chunk around the wand and holding it for a few seconds. She lets it drop. The curl falls weak against her neck. She sighs and unplugs the iron, deciding to stop stalling and just do it.

She hasn’t been looking forward to this dinner party. Her week has been long – 30 hours babysitting and a full class schedule do not make for the kind of weekend that Lydia wants to be spending out schmoozing. But it’s Allison and Kristin’s third anniversary and she missed Allison’s birthday last month AND bailed on drinks with Kristin last week, both due to her schedule, so she really can’t ditch this, as badly as she wants to.

So she shows up. She’s in a short midnight blue dress and heels because of course Allison and Kristin insisted on cocktail attire now that they’ve moved into their new apartment and it’s bougie as fuck. There are even place cards at the table.

She greets the hostesses and gets herself a glass of red, wandering over to her end of the table, wishing she brought a date.

The thought runs cold in her head when she sees the man sitting in the seat next to hers. At first, all she sees is bone structure, curls and broad shoulders. Her fingers tighten on her glass. And then she sees his eyes.

He feels like a proper adult, being at a dinner party in his married friends’ brand new apartment. He brought them a bottle of champagne to christen the place with, because his mum always told him it’s the polite thing to do, bringing a gift, even if they don’t ask.

He doesn’t expect it all to be so formal, considering the parties he goes too are usually, like, drunken dance parties at clubs or friends’ condos (or his own), or hotel and festival parties on tour. He doesn’t ever think he’s seen his name on a place card that wasn’t for an award show before.

He also hates that he’s the only single person here, apparently. He didn’t think to ask about bringing someone when he first got the invite. It’s not like he has anyone to bring. Finding a date last minute isn’t exactly easy when you’re busy all day doing tour promo.

He makes his way to the dining room, and slides into his assigned seat next to his friends Margo and Chris, who are wrapped around each other because the apartment has ‘such romantic ambiance’. Shawn wants to gag, just a little.

He’s pouring himself a glass of white wine from the bottle he found on his way to the table, when he feels movement next to him, sees it out of the corner of his eye. He slides the bottle of wine away and sips at his glass.

He doesn’t want to look over just yet, partly because Chris is saying something about the guitar he’s refurbishing for Shawn, and partly because he’s worried it’s another couple he’s gonna have to pretend he’s not agitated by.

But Margo cuts Chris off when she leans towards whoever just sat next to Shawn, her eyes bright. “Lydia! Hi!”

Lydia. Not ‘hey you two!’ Or ‘Lydia and Steve!’ Just Lydia. Shawn looks over.

Lydia manages to sit next to this tall drink of water without rolling an ankle or kicking him under the table, so she considers it a success.

She beams across the table at Margo who is practically sitting in Chris’s lap. She hopes the look on her face is more smile than grimace.

“Hi, guys,” she says brightly, wiggling her fingers in a little wave. She turns to the man sitting next to her and gets a proper look.

He really is gorgeous in an almost ethereal kind of way. His hair is dark and curly and falling over his forehead just so and she can appreciate a man who can style his hair properly. He wears a suit jacket like no one she’s ever seen, including Paul, her incredibly well-dressed gay brother-in-law who could’ve been the sixth Queer Eye guy. She clears her throat, feeling like she recognizes him somehow. Maybe it’ll come to her if she keeps staring at him like she’s planning to do all night.

“Lydia Hamilton,” she murmurs, grinning at him, offering him her hand to shake, “Nice to meet you.”

He’s not staring. He’s not, really. He’s looking, observing. He’s— fucking breathless. Really. He thinks he’s been holding his breath since he caught sight of her bright red hair. Her face doesn’t help. And then she smiles and he actively has to remind himself that he needs to exhale.

He decides he loves the sound of her voice when she says hi to Chris and Margo. He was jealous of them for having each other before, but now he’s jealous of them for knowing her.

He’s about to turn his attention back to Chris so this Lydia doesn’t catch him staring, but he has a hard time looking away. He gets caught.

She turns and looks at him and just smiles brightly, the same way she did for Chris and Margo, and then she introduces herself by offering her hand. He forces himself not to be a moron.

“Shawn,” he replies, curling his large palm around her small hand and shaking gently. Then, “Ah, Mendes. Shawn Mendes. Nice to meet you, too.”

He’s not used to needing to tell people his last name, but Lydia said hers and she’s looking at him like she’s not sure who he is. And that’s different. It’s a little refreshing, actually. His smile comes a little easier.

Shawn Mendes. That’s who he is.

When her brain pinged her that she recognized his face, her assumption wasn’t celebrity. It wouldn’t be, anyway, with this crowd.

But there he is. She knows his name, he’s a musician. He’s a pop star, she’s pretty sure. He’s definitely a little younger than she is, but you wouldn’t know it looking at him. And god, is she looking at him. She tries not to bat her eyelashes like a cougar.

Lydia laces her fingers together and looks over at Margo who is observing them with interest. She looks back at Shawn.

“So how do you know Kristin and Allison?”

He doesn’t mean to eye the full curve of her lower lip, to stare at her mouth so blatantly, to study the freckles dusting her face, but he’s already doing it by the time he realizes it’s happening. It’s like forgetting to breathe when he’s nervous. He can’t help it.

Her words snap him out of it, and he really hopes she didn’t notice. He doesn’t want to creep her out, like a fucking idiot, just because he wants to learn the lines of her face. It’s a nice face. It’s not his fault.

He forces himself to look her in the eye, but that doesn’t really help with the whole remembering how to breathe thing.

“Oh, yeah— well, Kristin helped me customize my studio a couple years back. We’ve been friends ever since. What about you?”

Lydia doesn’t hear any ‘asshole rockstar’ in the way he explains his customized studio so she lets her guard down a little further.

“Oh, uhm, Allison’s in my Ph.D. child psychology program at the university,” she explains, sipping her glass so her hands have something to do other than reaching out and grabbing his. He has such big, beautiful hands.

She hopes the Ph.D. thing doesn’t make her sound like an academic asshole. She figures if she doesn’t say it with her nose in the air like her mother does when she tells people about Lydia’s career path, then she’s usually safe.

Ph.D. Well shit. He might be a little out of his depth, talking to her. She’s beautiful, obviously older, and apparently super smart. What the fuck was Kristin thinking, sitting him next to her?

“So you’re like, really smart, then?” He blurts before he can stop himself, because apparently he’s the Pinky to her Brain.

Lydia tilts her gaze down to her name card when Shawn asks if she’s smart. He does it in that cute boyish way that surprises her because he doesn’t seem entirely comfortable to be chatting with her. It’s sweet and unexpected. She would be expecting more of an arrogant Justin Bieber vibe from him and instead she’s getting boy next door. It’s refreshing.

She leans in a little closer as the noise in the room picks up. Everyone’s sitting down now and the caterers are bringing salads. Kristin and Allison really did go all out.

“I’m smart, but I’m not a freaky brainiac,” she assures him, wanting to make him comfortable around her. Some people assume her graduate education means she has a stick up her ass, but she doesn’t.

“You’re a musician,” she says dumbly, blinking at him for a moment. She readjusts when Margo giggles into Chris’s neck.

“I mean, I’ve heard your music. Margo, we’ve heard his music, right?” She raises her eyebrows across the table at her friend who looks way too amused. And who clearly knew this guy was coming and didn’t warn Lydia about sitting next to a fucking Adonis at dinner. It’s so Margo it hurts.

His ears go pink when she figures out who he is, says she’s heard his music. He chokes out a chuckle, looks down at his name card and moves his wine glass in a few small circles on the tablecloth as Lydia asks Margo about him.

“I mean, I get some radio play, so. Maybe you have.”

They’re distracted from their introductory small talk when they tune in to Margo telling a story about a time Chris drunk dialed her in college. Lydia’s giggling and feeling the wine go to her head already. She hasn’t been drinking much lately, too busy with her head in a book. Maybe she does have a stick up her ass.

She stops paying attention to him as people crowd into the room and Margo starts telling a story.

He’s disappointed, to say the least. So he doesn’t pay attention to the story, instead watches Lydia listen and focuses on the way her cheeks flush as she drinks wine and laughs. It’s a pretty laugh. The prettiest he’s heard, probably.

He barely picks at his salad as he pretends to listen to the couple next to him, more concerned with sneaking glances at the woman next to him. He feels kind of like a creep, but he’s not exactly used to flirting with 20-something Ph.D. students with red hair that reminds him of The Little Mermaid.

He has a hard time thinking of something charming to say. It’s easier with fans, anyway. They already love him. He doesn’t have to work very hard.

As people crowd around the table, she feels squished into Shawn’s side but she’s not complaining. He’s warm and he smells like expensive cologne but not too much. She kind of wants to bury her face in his shoulder.

She pushes her wine glass away for a minute.

He’s worried he’s crowding her too much, but he doesn’t have much room to move, what with 18 people at dining table meant for 16.

His elbow accidentally knocks hers as she’s pushing her wine glass away from her. It wobbles.

“Oh shit-“ he murmurs, reaching forward to steady the glass. He lets out a sigh, then glances at Lydia with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I just—“ he laughs, “I’m worried Kristen might send me to the kid’s table if I get wine on her tablecloth.”

Lydia reaches for her tipping wine glass but Shawn grabs it and swears under his breath. She grins watching his long fingers wrap around her glass and push it to where she was going to leave it.

She busts into a girlish giggle when he cracks a joke. She worries it sounds a little overdone like she’s trying to flirt with him. She isn’t -- he’s just really fucking cute.

“Good reflexes. Did you play sports?”

He makes her laugh. He didn’t even think it was that funny, but she laughs and he feels like it’s his greatest accomplishment yet.

He blushes a little and shrugs, “Some soccer, but I spent most of my time trying to get my hands on instruments. Which, you know, requires its own sort of quick reflexes, I think.”

She tries not to think too hard about him playing soccer because he’s tall and looks to be all lean muscle and she has a thing for soccer players as it is.

“What about you? Are you all school, all the time?”

She hums and goes to answer him when Margo pipes up.

“Yes!”

Lydia looks playfully offended. “What are you talking about? I’m so fun! I went to Paint Night at that bar with you guys like… two weeks ago!”

Margo fixes her with a look. “Lyd, that was two months ago.”

Lydia sulks. “Fine. I used to be fun. I’m just busy I guess. I bet you are too.”

He figures getting a Ph.D. is like a full time job, so it makes sense that that’s all she has time for. He feels kind of bad for asking, now, just because he didn’t mean to put Lydia on the spot.

He chuckles, nodding. “Yeah, I’m pretty familiar with a full schedule. And with jerks like Margo thinking I’m lame for it.”

He ignores Margo’s little “Hey!” from beside him, preferring to keep his focus on Lydia.

He keeps cracking jokes and she keeps giggling like she’s in high school and talking to the cute quarterback. She finds herself noticing little things he does that fascinate her and she figures it’s her psychology background picking up on his body language.

She licks her lower lip and reaches for her wine again. “So are you working on music right now or?”

He tries not to let himself stare at her pink tongue when it darts out to wet her lip before she sips her wine. He’s not sure he’s successful, even though he’s trying to focus on her nose instead.

For some reason her question makes him blush. It’s not the question, really, but the person who’s asking it. He finishes chewing a bite of salad as he nods.

“Yeah, I mean I just finished my next album. So right now I’m mostly deciding on singles and doing tour promo. It’s the more boring part than like, actually writing music, but also a really exciting part.”

He can’t help but babble. Finishing an album is the best feeling in the world.

If he won’t stop blushing, she’s going to keep staring at him. And she doesn’t mind that so much especially with the way he’s looking at her all wide-eyed and hopeful. No one’s looked at her that way in a while.

She doesn’t really know anything about music production or what he means when he says it’s boring and exciting at the same time but he’s getting animated and she likes it.

“So does that mean you’re going on tour soon?”

“Beginning of June, yeah. I guess that’s pretty soon,” he says with a breath. “Shit, yeah, sooner than I remember.”

He likes that she seems genuinely interested, and not just interested because he’s famous. It’s like his celebrity status isn’t of much consequence to her, and he likes it. Usually the only girls who flirt with him are ones who want bragging rights or a photo op.

“But that’s— I mean, let’s talk about you, instead. If that’s okay.”

Lydia is a little thrown when he asks to talk about her. She’s trying to remember the last time someone, a male someone, said that to her. She’s drawing a blank.

The entrees arrive and Lydia is grateful for something to fiddle with as she pokes around with her fork, taking tiny ladylike bites like she learned at cotillion before her debutante ball. She remembers her posture and straightens her shoulders.

“Ok. Other than Ph.D. student and favorite of Margo’s to mock, what do you want to know about me?” she hums, leaning into him a little, experimentally. She lets her arm rest against his at the tightly-packed dining table.

He feels a lump form in his chest when she leans into him, her arm sliding against the length of his as they sit almost as closely as the actual couples at this table with them.

Shawn laughs. “Well, I think I’m actually Margo’s favorite person to mock, but we can argue about that later.”

He doesn’t even pretend to pick at his entree, just watches Lydia eat instead. “Are you from Toronto?”

It’s a boring question, but it’s better than asking, ‘What do you look like when you come?’ Or ‘Do you like breakfast in bed?’

She feels very well attended to. He’s not even eating he’s so interested in what she’s saying. She loves feeling so terribly fascinating. It makes her feel sexy and sophisticated, two things she’s not all too familiar with feeling.

She smiles warmly. “I’m from Baltimore, actually,” she tucks some hair behind her ear and shrugs, “My parents are still there and I have a brother in Boston. Most of my family is in New England. They’re all very ashamed of the fact that I’m a diehard Orioles fan.”

American. He doesn’t know why, but he thinks that’s sexy. But maybe he just thinks anything about her is sexy, because he’s pretty sure Baltimore isn’t a particularly sexy place.

He laughs a little and shrugs, finally lifting his fork to stab at a piece of chicken. “Well, I know next to nothing about baseball, so I’m okay with the Orioles thing, if that makes you feel any better.”

Lydia is feeling great. She bites her lower lip as she brings her glass back up to sip at it. She decides to turn it up a little.

“Well, good, because we’re definitely the only single people at this table, so I’d hate to get off on the wrong foot over something like baseball.” Her voice is light and teasing and just a little sexy if she played it right.

Her voice wraps around him like silk, and he feels his heart stuttering in his chest. Everything she says sends shivers down his spine. He watches her lips press against her wine glass and he wishes they were pressing against his lips, instead.

Christ, he’s fucking pathetic. He barely knows her. He’s sure she’s definitely not thinking about kissing him.

“Ok. Ask me something else,” she murmurs, tilting her head at him.

He has to take a sip of his own wine to wet his drying tongue.

“Okay. Why child psychology?”

He asks her her favorite question. She tries not to watch him swallow but he has a really nice neck. She sweeps a wave of curls off her own neck to show off her warm expanse of white skin above her off-the-shoulder dress.

“Because kids are the closest thing we have to magic. So if I can help them, understand them, maybe protect them, then I find that fulfilling.”

He doesn’t get what she means and he feels stupid for wanting her to explain it. But it’s also her profession of choice, so she probably doesn’t mind talking about it. He just hopes he doesn’t come off ignorant, or like a kid himself.

“I thought, like, chemistry or something was the closest we have to magic,” he says with a crooked smile. “And personally, I think it’s music.”

Shawn argues her point gently and not in that horrible mansplain-y way some guys do. He has a differing opinion and he doesn’t mind sharing it. It’s very sexy.

“Music is great. Music is amazing. But kids are the world’s whole future. Their imaginations are as vivid as they’ll ever be. Kids haven’t had the chance to fuck up yet. They haven’t hurt anyone. Kids are magic.”

She finishes the last bite of her food and tries not to look at him like he’s dessert.

He thinks, maybe, he’s in love with her. She’s articulate in a way he hopes to be, tries to be, but she’s effortless with it. Plus, she’s passionate. He still thinks music is the most magical thing they have as mere mortals, but he’s extremely close to conceding, and not just for the sake of flirting.

“Well shit,” he murmurs with a gentle laugh, then takes another sip of wine. He wets his lips after he swallows and chances a glance at her. “Maybe you have a point there.”

She’s looking at him already when he looks over at her. She almost gets distracted by him licking his lips. She smiles, satisfied.

“Oh good, my ‘kids are magic’ routine has another convert,” she jokes, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs toward him. She looks around the table and sees the couples deep in conversation. She’s quiet for a minute, observing. She reaches up to fiddle with her necklace.

He tries to busy himself with food when there’s a lull in the conversation, but then he feels her shift next to him, sees her angling herself more towards him and he’s done for. He reaches for wine instead.

“I can’t believe I’m at an age where I’m getting invited to dinner parties instead of keg parties. It’s a little disheartening, actually.”

He laughs a little when she speaks again. Something brave inside of him makes him mirror her actions, and he shifts in his seat until he’s facing her a bit more.

“I mean,” he begins as he sets his wine down, “I know about a couple of messy ragers going on tonight, if that’s really the scene you prefer.”

Lydia grins for a second when he turns closer to her. It’s like their unofficial, unspoken signal that they’re not interested in the rest of the party. They’ve found who they want to spend their evening with and they’re going to stick together.

Lydia subtly glances down at herself as plates of tiramisu are passed around. She adjusts the dipping strap of her dress and giggles. “Not in this dress, pal.”

He loves tiramisu, and he hasn’t had much of an appetite for anything else, so he decides to tackle a bit of the dessert.

He’s chewing when Lydia reaches down to tug at her dress, and he lets himself scan her body, just for a moment.

“What do you mean?” He asks when he swallows, smirking a bit before continuing, “I think you look great. I’m sure you’d be very popular.”

‘Great’ is possibly the biggest understatement of the century, but Shawn’s trying to play it cool. He doesn’t need her knowing how pathetic he is by waxing poetic about the way her dress clings to her in all the right places.

Lydia lifts and lowers her shoulders, fluffing out her hair again. She eyes him.

“I happen to agree, I really like this dress, so I won’t be wearing it to a messy rager. My messy rager uniform in college was ripped skinny jeans and a ratty band t-shirt, I don’t know if that’s what the kids are wearing these days.”

She laughs it off but she feels a little weird, having said it. She doesn’t really want to point out to Shawn that her rager days are largely behind her, even if she’s the one who brought it up.

He feels his throat go tight because yeah. Tight, ripped jeans and tattered shirt probably looks really good on her. He tries not to choke on his dessert.

“I’m sure you look just as gorgeous in jeans and a shirt, so. I don’t think it matters what everyone else is wearing.”

He hopes he sounded as cool and casual as he was going for, because the way his heart thumps in his chest feels anything but cool or casual.

His compliment burns in her cheeks. She swallows the last bite of her little cake and grins at him through the sugar rush. “Thank you,” she hums.

He’s definitely flirting with her and she doesn’t really care, for the moment, that he’s a legitimate celebrity with millions of Instagram followers. She’s totally developing a little crush. Lydia hasn’t had a crush in forever. She’s not letting go of this feeling.

“But who needs a rager when you have tiramisu?” she almost moans through a bite of cake.

He watches her lips wrap around the tines of the fork as she eats her dessert. He almost moans, like a disgusting pervert. He takes a sip of wine to cool down.

“Tiramisu and some good company,” he murmurs, glancing at her as the corner of his lips tug up into a gentle smile.

They stay at the table longer than most of the other guests, talking and drinking. He makes her laugh a few more times and he decides he never wants to stop hearing the sound.

The party starts to wrap up and she’s sorry it does. She wants to see him again. With a little wine courage in her blood, as he helps her slide into her jacket by the front door, two of the last guests to leave, she flips her hair outside the coat and steadies her gaze on his.

“So, Shawn, can I get your number?”

As they walk to the door, he’s trying to come up with a cool, charming way to maybe get her number when she beats him to it. He flushes, because he didn’t ever think she’d ask.

“You— Yeah! I mean, yeah, no problem. Can I see your phone?”

Lydia loves the little stammer in his voice when he asks for her phone. She hands it over, complete with glittery pink case and a picture of Camden Yards as her lock screen.

Lydia likes being the one to get a number rather than give hers. She’s in control that way. She doesn’t get to be in control of much, usually, but she likes being the one someone’s waiting on.

Not that she imagines she’ll make him wait long. At all.

He types in his number quickly, then presses the home button and notices the baseball diamond on her lock screen. He smirks as he hands the phone.

“You really weren’t kidding about the baseball thing,” he says after they wave goodbye to Kristin and Allison and disappear through the front door together.

“But I guess that’s how I am with hockey.”

Lydia takes the phone back and shoves it in her pocket, wishing she had something else to do with her hands. She wiggles into her leather gloves and perks up when he mentions hockey.

“Hockey? I love hockey. I really like sports in general, honestly. I didn’t really play them growing up but I love watching them.”

They chat a bit more until she’s stopped in front of her old Rav-4 and shivering a little. She leans in to kiss his cheek and decides she’s going to have to distract herself from texting him tonight.

He’s been thinking about her all day. The kiss she’d pressed to his cheek seemed to sear his skin. He catches himself brushing his fingers over the spot again and again.

Lydia’s fidgeting on the couch, trying to study. The stereo is playing Shawn’s album like it has been on repeat all day because, ok, she’s curious and she doesn’t really know many of his songs now that she’s had the chance to look him up.

He hates not having her number. He wants to text her so badly. She asked for his number, so the logical part of him knows she must be intending to text. He just doesn’t know when. The irrational, insecure part of him thinks that maybe she was just being polite, or maybe she’s just looking for a friend, or that she deleted his number the minute they parted ways.

It’s been a few minutes under 24 hours since they met at the party. She had decided she was going to text him tonight anyway but hadn’t set a time for herself. She grabs at her phone and curls her knees in, smiling like an idiot as she crafts a text.

‘Hi! It’s Lydia. How was your day?’

His phone buzzes next to him before he gives himself too much time to spiral downwards into negativity.

‘Oh, hey! Actually not too busy for once, what about you?’

‘Pretty good, a little boring with homework all day so I’m coming to you for entertainment. Can you make me laugh?’

‘Two cookies are in an oven. One cookie says, “Boy it’s hot in here,” so the other cookie says, “Ah!! A talking cookie!!”’

‘Oh my god, I’m a little ashamed at how hard that made me laugh. Is that your go to?’

‘Lol, that’s from like, middle school. I’ve been telling that for years and most people just think it’s stupid.’

‘I’m glad you liked it, though.’

‘I did. I think I’m going a little stir crazy in here. The kids I babysit are on spring break and usually they take up all my energy. I kinda miss them’

‘Isn’t it nice to kind of have a break though?’

'Yeah, it is. And I'll be wishing they were gone when they come back. Do you have siblings?'

‘How old are they?’

‘Oh and yeah, I have a little sister.’

‘Pain in my damn ass, but I love her.’

'Quinn is 4 and Ellie is 6. It's weird being with them sometimes. Everyone always thinks they're my kids.'

'Lucky! I always wanted a little sister. I have a big brother who's married now and I really like his husband so I sort of have 2 brothers.'

‘No way you’re old enough to have kids. I mean. Technically, sure. But you know what I mean!’

‘Little sisters are the best kind of annoying, to be honest.’

'I know! I get all these dirty looks walking around with these kids like people think I got knocked up at 18.'

'And I would trade you Nick for your sister any day. I used to actually put a little sister on my Christmas list for Santa until I was like, 10.'

‘Mom and dad didn’t wanna indulge in that for you?’

‘I guess after two kids, most moms are tapped out.’

'Actually, I was an accident :)'

‘Oh.’

‘Fuck, omg’

‘Well, I think Liyah might’ve been too, so you guys can commiserate.’

'Ha! Is she much younger than you?'

‘She’s 17. Thinks I’m just so lame and embarrassing.’

'Well, to be fair, if she's 17 then you probably are. Plus I bet all her friends have huge crushes on you which doesn't help.'

‘I mean, who wouldn’t have a huge crush on me?’

‘Well. Besides Liyah. Gross.’

'And so humble and charming. Makes the girls swoon.'

‘Even you?’

‘I’m getting there. Would you like that?’

‘I mean’

‘I definitely wouldn’t complain’

‘Good. Maybe if you’re around I’ll see you again soon.’

‘That seems cryptic.’

‘You sure you want to leave it up to chance?’

‘It always works in rom coms. Have you seen Serendipity?’

‘Is that the one with John Cusack?’

‘Also I usually don’t trust life to be much like a romcom’

‘Yes it is the one with John Cusack. And I guess my experience hasn’t been very rom com like either, you have a point.’

‘I guess if I put it out into the universe that I’m usually at the coffee shop on 11th Ave on Wednesdays after my 4pm lecture gets out at 6 then maybe that’ll work.’

'Hm. Yeah, that might help the universe work its shit out a bit better.'

'Have you ever tried the Himalayan place on Yonge?'

‘I have not. Is it good?’

'Oh, it's the best. Staff is super nice and they have the best chocolate croissants in the world.'

‘Oh man you’re speaking my language. I love chocolate croissants!’

‘Yeah? They’re my favorite’

'I bet they're a great study food.'

‘I can’t say I know for sure yet. Should we find out?’

'I'd recommend it. They're great fuel for writing, so I don't see why studying would be any different.'

‘Hmmm. You free this Wednesday?’

'I'm always free for coffee and croissants.'

‘Well, tea.’

‘Perfect! Meet me there at 6:15?’

‘Yeah, totally’

Lydia has a crush. She’d be lying to herself if she says didn’t realize it at the dinner party where she met him. Having coffee with him, however brief, solidified it.

He was taking up a good deal of her attention when she wasn’t either studying or babysitting so she found she didn’t have time, or want to make time, for much else. She’d rather be texting him anyway.

So when she got the invite from Kristin and Allison for sushi and karaoke one Saturday night, she weighed it against cuddling under a blanket with her phone talking to him about nothing and everything. She turned down the invite.

When Margo casually mentioned that he was going, Lydia changed her plans. She walked into that karaoke bar in a clingy black t-shirt dress and her favorite black leather booties.

She might take him home tonight.

He gets to the karaoke bar early because he's so nervous. He figured Lydia would be studying or babysitting this Saturday night, but he'd braved a text to her anyway, asking if she was going. Just in case.

He holds his phone with slightly shaking fingers when she texts back twenty minutes later that, yes, she'll be there. He spends the next hour debating what outfit to wear, even though Saturday is still three days away. He even texts pictures to his stylist for her opinion. She always knows how to make him look his best.

So he's sitting at their booth in the corner, right next to the karaoke stage, nervously chewing on some Edamame when he sees her walk in. He almost chokes. She's always making him almost choke. He needs to just... stop consuming things around her.

He wants to wave her over, but he also doesn't want to look desperate, so instead he pretends he doesn't see her and leans in for another soybean. It almost slips out of his fingers, but his musician's reflexes save his dignity.

He’s fumbling with edamame when she spots him. She tries not to grin too hard at the flush in his cheeks. But he’s so fucking cute and it’s been almost a week since coffee. She find herself feeling a little flustered too, actually.

He sees her approach their group and pass out hugs from the corner of his eye, but he keeps his focus on the food and the sake martini he's nursing. God, he wishes he were cooler. He's supposed to be really cool. He's a fucking rockstar. With fans. Who throw bras at him on stage sometimes. None of that translates, though, when he's in front of her.

She strides over and hugs everyone at the table, saving him for last so she can sit with him. She leans in and whispers “hi” into his ear, leaving a little smudge from her maroon lipstick on his cheek. She swipes it off with her thumb.

“Woops. My bad.”

Then he feels her small hand on his shoulder and her lips on his cheek and his heart stutters in his chest. She whispers in his ear and it's all he can do not to groan like a total idiot. He knows his cheeks are pink but he hopes it's too dark for her to notice.

He laughs a little when she has to wipe some lipstick from his face and finally turns to look at her. She settles next to him and he wonders if it's on purpose or out of convenience. "Hey," he says, "You made it!"

She settles in next to him and orders a cocktail because this place has a bunch of funny, crazy drinks. Hers is fluorescent blue and sporting about 30 paper umbrellas. She sips at it for courage.

The drink she orders is like, bright neon blue and he can't help but laugh at her a little while she struggles to sip around all the umbrellas. "You know, I think a sake bomb would bit lot easier to handle for the same pay off."

She angles her chin around an umbrella to reach her straw. “I know, but I hate sake and I like tiny umbrellas. So Thunderpunch is the drink for me.” She winks at him and bites her straw.

“So, who’s up first to sing?” She angles a glance at him.

She looks at him like she's expecting him to hop up on stage, and he rolls his eyes a bit.

"Don't look at me. Maybe I'm tired of performing, for once," he teases as he quirks an expecting brow and smirks.

The table debates who should sing first. Shawn turns it down which she thinks is cute. She’s not sure if he’s being humble or if he’s just not drunk enough yet. He looks at her expectantly and her eyes bug a little.

“Dude, I just got here, I need, like... 3 more of these before I get on that stage.”

Finally, it’s decided Margo will kick them off because she’s already lit and does a surprisingly good job with ��Crazy in Love.”

As she sings, Lydia leans over and swipes a tuna roll off Shawn’s plate with her chopsticks. When he looks up at her, she pops it in her mouth and smirks as she chews.

Lydia gives him this teasing look that makes him feel a little like they’re on a date, and not at a group hang. He rolls his eyes at her and pretends to protect his plate, clicking his tongue at her.

He quirks a brow, says, “That’ll cost ya, you know.”

He reaches over towards her plate with his chopsticks and steals one of her pan fried gyoza. He shoves the whole thing in his mouth then grins at her with a bulging cheek.

Shawn swipes a dumpling and she has to fight the urge to plant a kiss on his cheek as he chews. The Thunderpunch must be hitting her faster than she meant it to.

He swallows the dumpling and wipes the corner of his mouth with his napkin before turning slightly, angling himself towards Lydia. “So, should we get you another Thunderpunch so you’ll get up and put on a show for me?”

She raises her eyebrows. “A show for you? It’s tempting, I’ll admit. But I should warn you I really can’t sing. And yes, I will need another Thunderpunch before I pretend to try.”

She waves down the waiter with a big, flirty smile to get what she wants. The second Thunderpunch arrives within minutes and Chris complains that Lydia’s orders always arrive first.

Lydia shrugs a shoulder and eyes Shawn, “It’s all in the art of the flirt, bro.”

She looks at him like they have a secret to share and Shawn feels his face heat up, just a bit. He wants to scoot closer to her, but he also doesn’t want to seem weird or pushy.

He smirks at her instead, tilts his head and says, “Yeah, and I’m sure the fact that you’re beautiful doesn’t hurt, either,” he glances at the waiter, “Dude’s probably hoping for a phone number.”

He doesn’t mean to like, suggest she should give the waiter her number. It’s just probably true. Like, who wouldn’t want Lydia’s number?

Shawn compliments Lydia like he’s stating a very obvious fact. I mean, she knew by the way he treats her that he’s attracted to her, but hearing him say it so simply has her a little giggly. So does the second Thunderpunch.

“He can hope. I don’t see it happening, though.” She’s looking over at the waiter until she finishes speaking, then she moves her glance meaningfully to Shawn. She sucks down the last of her Thunderpunch and hums happily.

He tries not to read into the look Lydia gives him when she says the waiter won’t be getting her number. He doesn’t want to think on it too hard, doesn’t want to let himself believe that maybe she’s not looking to hand out her number because she’s starting to like him the way he likes her.

He orders a beer when the waiter comes back and realizes he had a good deal of drinking to do to catch up with everyone else.

She’s relieved to see Shawn joining in eagerly on the heavy drinking. She can’t wait to hear him sing. She wonders what song he’ll pick.

But now that she’s heavily and thoroughly Thunderpunched, her friends are looking at her expectantly and it’s time to do the damn thing.

Lydia finishes her bright blue drink and pops up like she’s determined to kick karaoke’s ass and Shawn can’t do anything but grin and watch as she makes her way to the stage. He sits back, relaxing against the back of the booth and sipping from him beer as he waits for her song.

She tries not to think about the fact that there’s a gorgeous popstar with actual singing talent sitting at the table watching her as she ascends the stage. The opening notes to “Stronger” by Britney Spears come on and Lydia grins, starting her performance.

“Stronger” starts playing and that’s so fucking awesome, Shawn has to put down his beer so he can applaud. He whistles as she takes the mic.

It’s more of Lydia shout singing and laughing than actually trying to do Britney any justice, but Shawn loves it. He loves watching her have fun. He loves watching her smile and flush and dance around like she doesn’t give a shit who’s watching.

He really hopes she’s starting to like him the way he so totally and completely already likes her.

She’s not going to be on Broadway any time soon but if it’s a show he wanted, it’s a show he got.

She’s still panting and giggling when she returns from the table, high fiving all her friends as they cheer her on. She saves his reaction for last.

She tilts her head at him and wiggles her eyebrows. She squishes into the booth next to him and orders another Thunderpunch from the very attentive waiter who looks annoyed at how close she’s sitting to Shawn.

He’s laughing and clapping when Lydia comes back to the table, high-fiving their friends along the way. She reaches him last and he feels his heart rattle his ribcage as he smiles up at her, his cheeks aching at this point.

She squeezes in next to him and it’s the alcohol coursing through his veins and the adrenaline from watching her dance around that has him casually draping his arm across the back of the booth close to her shoulders. Nearly touching. One little shift and they’d be touching.

“Ok, Mr. Mendes, were you satisfied with your show?”

He nods eagerly at her question. The bar is loud again as another person gives it a go with an *NSYNC song, so Shawn has to lean into her as he nearly shouts, “Better than Britney, herself, Hamilton!”

She laughs heartily, buoyed by his warm arm so close to her buzzing body. She leans back a little into it.

“That’s very generous. And total bullshit.”

She thanks the waiter when he brings her drink. She crosses her legs toward Shawn and claps for the poor sap who tried to do *NSYNC.

He grins when she calls his crap, but then he shakes his head and wets his lips. He looks at her seriously as he says, “Art is subjective, Lydia. They didn’t teach you that at Brown?”

He winks at her as he sits back a little and sips his beer, realizing mid-sip that now his arm is actually resting against her back. Suddenly, he feels way too hot.

God, he’s winking and joking and teasing her and her whole body is bubbling with it. She wants to kiss him right there in front of everyone, put her hands all over his body. She’s definitely drunk now but she’d still be lusting after him if she were sober, she knows.

“Ok,” Lydia prompts, nudging him with her elbow, “You’re up, cowboy.”

He’s setting his beer down when Lydia nudges him. He shakes his head a little at first.

“I’m not much of a singer,” he says facetiously, giving her a teasing glance.

“But, you know, if you insist,” he forces himself to stand, even though he’s drunk and definitely nervous. And not because of performing, but who he’s performing for.

‘Valerie’ by Amy Winehouse begins to play as Shawn takes his place at the mic. He tries not to stare at her while he sings, and instead plays to the crowd. His heart hammers the whole time.

Lydia scooches out of his way so he can take the stage. It’s a little comical how clearly he belongs there. He doesn’t have a guitar or 30,000 screaming women but he has that fucking voice that has Lydia wet in her panties. She crosses her legs tighter each time he catches her eyes while he sings, closing his eyes when he gets into it, caressing the microphone.

She has to stifle a moan. Margo elbows her in the ribs. Lydia giggles until he sits back down to thunderous applause, not just from their table, but from the whole bar.

She claps for him, smiles wide when he ambles back over to the table as the crowd cheers for him. He squishes himself beside her once more, even though there’s another, wider spot at the other side of the table he could settle into.

“Ok, you threw down the gauntlet,” Lydia laughs, shaking her head at him.

“I mean, you were taunting me,” he says with a smirk, turning towards her and not bothering to pretend he’s not leaning into her on purpose. His arm settles confidently across the back of the booth, pressing gently into her shoulders, and it’s definitely thanks to the alcohol.

Lydia licks her lips and narrows her eyes, tucking some wilting red curls behind her ear. “Honey, if you think that was taunting, wait until you get me started.”

She flutters her eyelashes at him playfully over her glass as she sucks down the last of her third Thunderpunch.

“So are you gonna answer?” He leans in so close his nose nearly brushes her cheek. He pulls back, only slightly, so he can look her in her pretty green eyes. His stomach flips and he suddenly feels like he can’t breathe. She’s so fucking beautiful.

He’s talking so close to her ear, baiting her. She wants to turn and nip at his lower lip to teach him a lesson. Instead, she stares into those delightfully bleary honey brown eyes for a few seconds too long before she turns to the table.

“Who wants to see my party trick?” she calls. Chris’s eyes widen as the rest of the table cheers.

Lydia stands, grinning again, giving Shawn one last lingering look before she heads back to the stage.

Margo nudges Shawn’s arm, shaking her head, and laughs, “You’re gonna love this.”

The whole table cheers for Lydia, and all he can do is smile like the drunk idiot he is and stare at her as she makes her way up onto the stage. He has no fucking clue what her party trick could be.

In college, Lydia was known at parties for two things: 1. She could never remember that she hated gin until she drank it and almost spit it up 2. She could rap Eminem’s “Without Me” flawlessly from start to finish.

He nearly spits out his beer when she starts rapping. She’s not even looking at the screen. She’s playing to the crowd and looking at him and he feels his cheeks go fire red as he cheers her on. She’s doing more than justice to the song, and Shawn swears he’s never had a bigger crush on anyone in his entire life.

The liquor helped her put a flourish on it for him. She has the whole joint singing with her. She leaves the stage to raucous cheers and returns to the table. Standing in front of Shawn, she drops her nonexistent mic.

He laughs at her as she drops an imaginary mic in front of him, and it’s not even a competition anymore. He shakes his head and claps for her as she squeezes back into the seat beside him.

She felt like a rockstar coming back to the table. Is this what he feels like coming off stage every night? This is awesome.

He drapes his arm once more across the booth and her shoulders, leaning in as he shouts over the crowd, “I didn’t know you were secretly a gangster!”

He must be drunker than he thought because his free hand finds her bare knee as he speaks, and he doesn’t even realize it until his thumb’s already busy rubbing circles against her soft skin.

“I did it at parties in college. Made me very popular at frats,” she tells him, almost hissing when his hand meets her knee. He doesn’t even seem to notice he’s done it.

She’s looking between the curls falling on his forehead and his slightly parted wet lips. She swallows.

“HEY!” Margo yells at them like she’s been trying to get their attention for a minute.

Lydia looks over, annoyed. Margo smirks. “We’re doing ‘Island in the Sun.’ But by all means, you two stay here.”

Margo marches off to the stage before Lydia can react. She looks back at Shawn and strokes a hand over his wrist while he continues rubbing her leg.

He hears Margo shout at him but he can’t bring himself to look away from Lydia’s flushed cheeks and full lips. Her eyes shift to their friend, but Shawn keeps watching her. He smiles a little when she gives him her attention again and places her small hand over his wrist. He presses his thumb a little harder on her skin and tugs his lower lip into his mouth with his teeth.

Lydia’s confident smile drops a little when she watches from a close distance as he bites down on his lower lip while he’s staring at her. Like she’s the most delicious thing he’s ever seen.

“Hi,” she murmurs even though the bar has only gotten louder.

He laughs a little, but he nods his head and says hi back. He feels some of his hair fall against his forehead, that one obnoxious curl that always falls down when he’s been bopping a little too hard.

He glances down at her lips for just a moment, then finds her eyes once again. He wants to kiss her. He needs to. His throat is tight and his skin feels too hot wrapped around his muscles, but he manages to find his voice, anyway.

His brows furrow slightly, his head tilting as he asks, “Can I kiss you? Please?”

If she were sober, she’d have noticed that she actually whimpers at the way he looks at her lips. Instinctively, she licks them, getting ready. Before he even asks his question, her free hand is creeping up his shoulder to hold her steady.

Her chest shudders. She grins, feeling confident again when his unflinching politeness strikes again. She brushes her nose over his and nods, choosing not to trust her voice for this.

Her body language almost begs him to kiss her, but he still feels a sense of relief wash over him when she nods her approval, her nose brushing against his in a way that has his heart clenching. He groans a gentle sigh and nudges his face forward.

He seems to sigh in relief when she gives him permission and it may just be the most adorable thing he does all night.

His lips slide against hers and he’s pretty sure he’s forgotten how to breathe. She tastes like soy sauce and alcohol and he has to pull his hand from her knee so he can cup her jaw, steadying himself against her.

He sips at her lips while the bar raves around them, but he can’t hear it. He can only hear the way his lips move against hers and the way his heart thumps loudly against his ribcage. It makes a pretty melody, he thinks.

The kiss isn’t adorable. The kiss is fucking incredible. Maybe they’re both kinda drunk and full of karaoke adrenaline, but it’s quite a kiss. She’s definitely not ready for it to end when he starts to pull away.

So she doesn’t. She loops a hand around his neck and drags him back under, tracing the seam of his perfect lips with her tongue because she needs more, she needs to get closer.

She pulls him back in with a small yet firm hand on the back of his neck. This time he lets himself groan properly as her tongue teases his lips. He opens his mouth for her, let’s her lick at him before he sucks gentle at her wandering tongue.

When he groans into her mouth, she scratches a manicured thumbnail gently across the back of his neck.

She’d be lying if she said she didn’t initially have concerns that he might not be any good at this. At kissing or at anything else. He’s young and even though he’s hot and famous, he might not have had time to get good with a woman’s body yet. And, hell, being hot and famous gives him more of an excuse not to have to try.

But Shawn has put the work in. She can tell. He’s got a big hand in her hair and she suddenly feels very safe with him, like he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

It takes all of his willpower not to wrap her up in his arms and pull her onto his lap. He grounds himself by pushing his hand into her hair and grazing his fingers over her scalp. He hums into her mouth, leaning forward into the kiss so she has to lean back against the booth to accommodate him.

He presses into her and she’s pinned, not aggressively, between him and the peeling fake leather booth and there’s nowhere she’d rather be.

He only breaks the kiss to pant for air. He keeps close to her though, keeps his hand in her hair and his nose pressed to hers as his eyes flutter open and his check heaves.

“So are you good at everything? Or are school, rapping, and kissing your specialities?”

She almost chases him again when he parts from her to talk but she manages to keep her cool. She takes the hand still resting on his wrist to place it on his cheek. It might be too affectionate so soon but she doesn’t care right now.

She stops herself from making a comment about definitely being good at everything, wink wink, if ya know what I mean. Instead she grins and brushes their noses together again.

“I also skateboard pretty well. Or I used to. I haven’t tried in a bit.”

She doesn’t want to get distracted by more small talk so she pulls him back in as their friends’ song ends.

She kisses him again and he takes it easily, sighing against her lip. His head buzzes but he’s not sure it’s from the alcohol anymore. People keep singing, the bar keeps cheering, and they kiss right through it. They’re in the back, basically in the corner, so it’s not out in the open enough for Shawn to be worried.

Eventually Margo makes her way back to the table and Shawn can feel her squishing into the seat next to him while she hollers at them. He pulls away from Lydia’s lips with a blush on his face and drops his forehead to her shoulder. He hides from Margo while she cackles and tells them they should get a room.

“This is a room,” he shouts over the music from his spot on Lydia’s shoulder.

He feels Margo’s elbow dig into his back as she huffs, “You know what I mean!” All he can do is laugh and keep hiding because now he is thinking about a room, alone, with Lydia, and all the things he could do to her. Or that she could do to him. Whatever she wants, really.

Lydia definitely doesn’t notice when their booth fills back up with their friends who have now caught them and fuck, they’re never gonna live this down. Lydia jumps a little when Margo runs up and starts wailing at them about PDA. She feels his forehead meet her shoulder and she can’t help but cradle the back of his head.

He stays there against her arm for a while like a shy child. Lydia plays with the collar of his shirt while half-watching another group sing We Are Family. She’s barely able to make it through the song without looking over and grinning at him like an idiot.

Lydia lets him keep his face pressed to the junction of her shoulder for the next few minutes while their friends chat, holler, and cheer for the group on stage. He likes it, being tangled up in her while her delicate fingers play with the collar of his shirt. His heart clenches.

Finally, the song ends and Lydia can’t take it anymore. She wriggles away from him and stands, addressing the table.

“It’s been fun, guys, but it’s past my bedtime. Margo, thank you for organizing. Uhm, so, bye.”

Before he can get too comfortable, however, Lydia extracts herself from him, slipping out of the booth as she stands up. He frowns, just for the briefest of moments, as he sits himself up and looks at her while she bids the group goodbye. It’s awkward and sudden and for a second he wonders what he did wrong.

Just to be safe, because he seems too sweet to catch her drift without her really throwing it at him, she fixes him with a look and even a little head jerk toward the door before she strides off.

But then she’s looking at him and jerking her head a little. It’s like, the kind of jerking nod that you give when you want someone to follow you. He kind of thinks he’s imagining it. She stalks away from them and disappears through the doors of the restaurant, leaving him to wonder if she really meant for him to follow or if he’s just desperate (re: drunk) enough to have hallucinated it.

He waits maybe 15 seconds before deciding to follow her, hallucination or not. He says a pathetically quick goodbye and practically runs out of the restaurant, scanning the sidewalk when he emerges outside.

Lydia doesn’t have to wait long for him but it is one of the longest minutes of her life. Because if he didn’t get it, she’s going to have to go in after him. Because she really, really wants to take him home.

But, thank god, he scrambles out the door looking for her. Her face bursts into an overeager smile and she gives him a little wave with one hand, Lyft app open on her phone in the other.

“Subtlety is not our strong suit, Mendes,” she teases, glancing around the sidewalk. No ones around because it’s late but she’s suspicious of camera phones anyway. She doesn’t really care but she figures he’d prefer a low profile going home with someone.

Because she’s taking him home. God, she can’t wait.

The Lyft arrives. She opens the door and climbs in, leaving it open. “Shall we?”

Taglist: @softboyshawn @marlahey @smallerinfinities @crapri @the-claire-bitch-project @stillinskislydia @abigfatmess @sippingchai @lostinshawnslight

#shawn mendes #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes fan fiction #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes rpf #shawn mendes roleplay #shawn mendes imagine

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valiantkingdomkitty-blog · 8 years ago

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Boat Trip - Jared Padalecki x Reader

Written For: Tres bellissime challenge

Prompt: 20. This face is made for sitting on Place: 18. Boat/watercraft

Preferances: 25. Hot wax kink

Props: 1. Lip smackers

Warnings: smut, oral sex female receiving, hot wax, language, fingering and outdoor sex

“Here baby let me help you, don’t want you to fall” Jard said extending his arms taking her hands in his, helping her into the boat. “Thank you Jared” Y/n said allowing him to lift her into the boat, he put her on her feet kissing her forehead. “This is beautiful Jared, it’s nice out here” Y/n said pulling her strawberry lip smacker out of her pocket and applying it to her lips.

Jared sat at the drivers seat and turned the key, Y/n sat next to him. Jared docked the boat at a secluded camp site, “wow Jared, I think we’re the only ones here” Y/n said. “Here’s the picnic basket, well bag” Jared said stepping out of the boat and lifting her out. “This was a great idea for our anniversary Jared” Y/n said, “yeah it’s so nice and quiet out here, the boat ride just calms me down” Jared said. They chose a picnic table and Y/n opened the bag and pulled out potato salad and bbq chicken.

They didn’t bother with plates they shared out of the containers. “Mmm that was delicious baby” Jared said, “thank you sweetie” Y/n said. Y/n laughed seeing Jared hold up the candles she packed in the bag, she knew he had one small kink, he liked hot wax. “How about we light this and have some fun” Jared said. “Okay but out here” she said, “there’s nobody else here baby girl” he said. “Plus there’s not much cover on the Y/n” Jared said, she grabbed the little candle, got up and went back to the boat. Jared grabbed the bag and ran to boat and jumped in the boat.

Y/n set the candle on the small table of the boat, she pulled her shirt off as he got in the boat. Jared stripped down to his boxers faster than she’d ever seen, she pulled her pants down with her panties. Jared laid on the bench his legs hanging off onto the boat floor. “This face is made for sitting on” Jared said, Y/n straddled his face sitting on his chest.

He pulled her over so her pussy was over his mouth and he licked up her slit, her hand gripped the side of the boat. Jared slid his tongue between her pussy lips finding her clit. He licked over her entrance, “fuck Jared, yes” Y/n screamed, he sucked her clit into his mouth. Y/n fisted her hand in his hair and he slid a finger into her entrance and thrust slowly.

Jared added another finger and made a scissor motion opening her pussy readying her for his thick cock. As he thrust his fingers harder and faster while sucking her clit her orgasm shot through her. “Ahhh ohh Jared” she screamed. He sucked her clit working her through her orgasm, when she came down from her high he helped her slide down his body.

He picked up the candle handing it to her, she tilted the candle dripping the hot wax down his body. She started at his chest going down his stomach and ending at the skin just above his boxers. “Fuck baby, I need my cock inside you now” he said, she slipped her hand in his boxers. She took his cock in her hand pulling it out, he helped guide his into her pussy. “Fuck Jared, you’re so big you fill my pussy so good” she moaned.

With very little effort he stood up putting his hands under her ass he got on his knees laying them on the boat floor. Jared kissed her lips sticking his tongue between her lips their tongues danced together. He kissed down her neck while his hands massaged her breasts. Y/n thrust her hips up giving him the signal he could move, he thrust his hips into her.

Jared started out slow but set up a brutal pace, his cock hit her g spot with each thrust. Y/n couldn’t say anything the only thing she only moan and dug her nails into his back. Jared slammed his hips pounding into her pussy, he knew he was close, he slid his hand between their bodies. He put his thumb on her clit rubbing circles on it, making her cry out. After one more hard thrust her orgasm ripped through her, she screamed incoherently.

Y/n dug her nails into his back scratching his skin, “fuck” Jared growled as he pounded into her finding his own release. Jared shot ropes of hot cum deep inside her before rolling onto the floor next to her. They both were breathing heavily, Jared recovered first he put his boxers and jeans on. He grabbed a towel and cleaned a mix of their juices from her pussy and thighs.

Ayer they were both dressed Jared was driving the boat and she was relaxing on her head on his chest. “Happy anniversary baby” Jared said, “best anniversary ever baby, you’re going to have a tough time topping it next year” Y/n said. Jared chuckled knowing she was right.

Tagging @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms @act74

Forever tag list @uniquewerewolfsuit @jenanicolette @jenniferdixon @nrjdmgirl @reedusmorgan @maggieglenndaryl @brielyhnamore @jenickafrank @tarasalana @totallypaletrash @massivelyburningwasteland @ripburninhell @lostmyothershoe-itsoksammy @magicalunicorn84 @superbasementflower @zombiebait92

Supernatural Tags @deanwinchester-smut @one-more-spn-fan-girl @niciwinchester @notnaturalanahi @jensen-jarpad @plaidstiel-wormstache @wheresthekillswitch @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid

#birthday challenge #tres bellissime #jared padalecki smut #jared padalecki x reader #queencwrites

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tryveryhard · 5 years ago

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Six years

One. Tangled up in those big “look-at-me” necklaces, hung in the same cheap wood paneled-closets where women hung such things decades and decades before we, ourselves, were on the verge. So we got to talking. And we hated it, I’m sure. My hair thin and pressed close to my head, braces squeezing my teeth — this was still an era of low-rise jeans and believing life could end in acne-prone boys named Luke and Jake back home in Michigan. A had purple, died hair and didn’t believe in abortion, nor feminism. S had a heart-shaped face and a dimple at the end of her spine and believed in both. We all agreed upon peanut butter and cheap sheets. We were complete strangers doomed to share a room for at least a year. We would have to see one another’s breasts, our curved moons hanging in the dark. We would have to tell one another everything. We would have to share secrets across the room, across that wavy dark carpet, and think: adulthood. We would fall in love with one another by Christmas break.

This all seemed terribly exciting, our semi-sheer shirts and dining-hall salads. I wrote none of this down. I watched a boy get carried out of our dorm hall — Washington Hall, 49 E. Green Drive — and into the ambulance that waited for him on the slick pavement. I watched this scene from the window of my dorm stairwell, all covered in cracked plaster, and thought about how it felt awfully like the slick tile of the bathroom walls in my elementary school. Exotic, cool. I cried several times that year in public, and would pace around the lobby in that yellow glow, all panicked, calling my parents while I sobbed on the floor of the single bathroom that locked. And it always felt so haunted back then, that place. I realize now that’s because the whole placed dripped with the choking sobs of other young people. I touched at least five strange penises that year. I fucked at least two that I can remember. And that year, I became both addicted and un-addicted to Camel Blues. I got my braces off and grew my hair past my ears. I went to Pittsburgh for the first time, teetered around in high heels, and realized I still had growing up to do. The girls I fell in love with, we’d forget one another soon. But I left letters for them the day we left that room. And I think of them each day, trapped in that small square, us crashing against the walls of our teeny-tiny brains. Two. This was the year I got a better down comforter for my twin-sized mattress and became inextricably involved with people in the military. My roommate that year, H, had an eating disorder and a boyfriend who didn’t want to fuck her when she was bloated. She also wanted to be a nurse in the Navy. She studied relentlessly. And somewhere between Pittsburgh and leaving that room, I had fallen impossibly in love with a boy who would leave for a military base that October. I did not realize then that every woman must go through this at least once, this plot. I loved him for his height and for his almost endearing violence when he kissed me in parking lots. Naturally I never told him any of this, but as a matter of perseverance I’m sure he and two other men loved me that winter. I did not know then that it was odd for a 25-year-old to lure a 19-year-old to bed — a bed in his parents’ house, then a guest bed in his sister’s house — when he got off his job at Lowes. This felt perfectly in-line with my trajectory, what I was supposed to be doing when not coaxing my roommate to eat something other than a can of corn and $15 handle of vodka. He broke up with me over text, I threw myself into the student newspaper, then a skinny, short boy who would hold my hand as we left philosophy class. He lent me several hoodies I never returned, and I had sex with him until he told me he loved me and I determined I couldn’t do anything but ignore him for the rest of my life. Nonetheless, I remember wondering if I could marry a short man, if this was my life. Then back to the student newspaper. Work, work, work. Many nights in a fluorescent hallway, fingering the gray carpet and whispering into the phone the whole, I. Can’t. Do. This. One night, after covering a student protest, a boy walked me back to my dorm and kissed me, suddenly. This was the sweetest moment of that year. His dorm room smelled entirely of garbage but it allowed me to climb the steepest set of stairs on campus and observe, so viscerally, the campus I had grown to know in the past year. I never felt afraid. This boy and I, we went to church. Then I took his virginity, and I determined I couldn’t do anything but ignore him for the rest of my life. He asked if we could have one last kiss which I, cruelly, found pathetic. Especially sad because he had once carried me home when my heels were too bruising, and no man would ever do that again. Work, work, work. I suddenly woke up to the fact that my life had been rife with problems. My mother was a drug addict. How did I not realize this before? I did, I did. I started making both more destructive and more impressive decisions with this knowledge. I went to a conference in Atlanta and ate brisket and began telling everyone all at once that my life was a tragedy. I drank cheap wine with strangers and decided, weeks later, to aggressively kiss a boy I had just decided to love. Then I took him back to his home, crashed into his cheap blue sheets, and I told him he was weird, and we saw each other for the next year, just like that. Me thinking he was weird. Me taking him home. Those girls from the first year, at that point, had melted into background noise. But I lived in the attic of S’s mom that summer, which is astounding now that I think of it. I moved into a home with humid green trees, a grand staircase, no furniture. And my bedroom, larger than the one in Queens now, had two windows that framed the bed and buzzed with cicadas. I went there every weekend, and I have no memory of what exactly that meant. I became editor of the student newspaper for no reason at all, except for that I wanted to feel something. I went to New York City for the first time as an adult and drank chilled sangria in Harlem, radiating terror.

Three.

This was the year of machinery. Synapses in my mind click, click, clicking to remind me I was knocking out my minutes and careening toward the end. I made big promises that that are difficult to think of now. I ate so many meals in bed. I was playing dress-up at 20 years old, with all those adult meetings and tears and assumptions that life began and ended with the student newspaper, with my own thoughts. In some ways, I was half-right. I grew my hair long, met with professors constantly. Studied, studied, studied. After all that swallowing of misery, I began the fast climb out of the pits, desperate. I do not remember if I wrote this year. I do remember that I fell out of love quicker than I had fallen into it, would go weeks without talking to that man, would try to end our relationship over and over to no avail. Everyone hated me this year and I could feel it cloaking me, that dismay. I started drinking white wine out of coffee mugs, laying in bed watching documentaries all weekend and thinking about how I was on fire. Big, magic, the life waiting for me outside. This was the year of optimization, the year of Girl Boss. I am sure there were many cardigans in my closet. I sent many emails. Too many emails. I started to have the impression that I was becoming something bigger than myself, bigger than my past, bigger than this school. I kept crying in meetings. This was mania, pure mania, after all. I worked until 4 a.m. some nights, slept until 8 a.m., went to class, never anywhere else. I was made to constantly meet with old men who didn’t care for me much. I went down the hall to sit in Ian’s bed, nightly, drinking beers in silence, thinking that I had never been so exceptional. Every once and a while I completely lost my mind, but never quite openly. I would sometimes get phone calls late at night, a message from the newspaper printing facility saying something had gone wrong, and I’d drive barefoot back to that tower where we made the thing nobody read so I could I’d fix it. And maybe it’s the prospect of fixing that made me feel so unrecognizable and knowing that year. There was so much that was broken, after all. I forgot my one-year anniversary with that guy, yet realized I was fine doing the same thing two years in a row. I do not remember when I discovered I had gotten that internship. I do not remember when I realized I’d move to New York after all. I do remember that before all of that transpired, all of that hope, I cracked and slipped back into angst. I went home and pressed myself into the ink-stained jeans I wore throughout high school, bought magazines on foreign policy, lied to my parents. I was 21. I met with my ex-boyfriend at a Coney Island, laid in his tobacco-scented scrawny arms, and kissed him, shaking with anticipation. A reintroduction to my 15-year-old self after all those nights spent pretending there had ever been anything else, and many more nights trying to forget. We shuddered with all the years we had lost, and I slid under his body again, and we watched skateboarding videos on a thin mattress on his floor. Before I left for New York, I realized it would unlikely work in the long-term. Then I hit his friend’s car on accident, moved to an unfamiliar city, and for whatever reason, slept in the same bed as my ex-boyfriend every night for three months in an apartment that smelled like new paint. He pissed in an Uber. I developed an odd relationship with a comedian named Alec, who I saw once in person, like a mirage, getting off the 2 train and walking away from me. I discovered a new egg and sausage sandwich at Clark Avenue, and I wandered about with Seth, slowly losing my mind. My calves, though, were hardened by all the nervous pacing I did that summer. I got a plane and went back home, with the newfound strength to wear slip-on vans with sheath dresses that hit below the knee. Four.

My room in Athens was haunted by cicadas, rainy mornings. Always impossible hot, yet I surrounded myself in blankets and pillows. I still drew on my eyeliner thick. And my bathtub still clogged with hair, soaking my feet in cold, gray water. I still felt those minutes click, clicking away but I also felt desperate to gain them back. The first night, a Friday, I wore a tank top and met Reba at a wood-paneled bar called Tony’s, drinking white wine, thinking: just like Manhattan. I met my ex-boyfriend from sophomore year thinking: he’s not gay, I think. And I had sex with him half-heartedly that night in one of those dingy college-guy rooms, with the bad sheets and a handful of the posters and the sense that this is all fading fast, just for kicks. But he only lived up the hill from my home, and I knew I could stumble on back to my own bed before 2 a.m. And I did just that. That morning, I ate three scrambled eggs on a plastic plate. I prepared an three boxes amount of pasta because I was determined to have people like me that year. I walked it over to the home of a boy I knew only marginally, named Alex. I wore a black shirt, patterned shorts, sandals, and that thick eyeliner. I was still in a fit of insanity from the night before, thirsting for all my new bad decisions. His roommate was tall, lanky, wore black pants and a short-sleeved button up shirt. I thought: he’s balding, and covering it up with a hat. I thought: he’s odd. He came up behind me when I was drinking my second bottle of red wine in the basement, all caked with alcohol, all under the glare of an ex-boyfriend from my sophomore year. I was playing Danzig, and he made some comment I was too drunk to process. I went up to that yellow-lit kitchen and tried to clean the dishes I had brought. I wanted everyone to eat pasta. I wanted to clean up everything as if I had never been there. I wanted so badly to stop thinking the past three years were for nothing. The boy, the roommate with the hat, stopped me and told me I didn’t have to wash the dishes. Don’t worry about it. I asked him if he wanted to kiss, and he nodded and leaned into me, and we feverishly toppled onto the front porch. I took him to the same bar where I was the night before, kissed him, and he took me into the other bar I was at the previous night — the wood-paneled one — and walked me home. Inexplicably, we sat in my bed while I talked about the summer I had just crawled out of. I told him about the articles I had written, Manhattan. Does this sound impressive? Does this make me likable? He did not kiss me goodbye. He merely disappeared down the stairs, long legs carrying him back to the kitchen with all the dishes I wasn’t allowed to clean. I knew his first name: Michael. And he waved to me the next morning, sat behind me as if I had not disclosed all those things and kissed him on his porch. He left without a word, turning to walk beneath the tall oak trees flush with summer, stepping into that flickering light. And I loved him, honestly. Would’ve died for him. But I spent the next few months tumbling into his bed, trying to deny that. Trying to pretend I was still my productive self from the year prior, but always thinking of him and wishing I were beneath him. One autumn night I ran out of his home, terrified of him, and straight into a field where I laid down without my phone. I thought: I hope I die. Instead, I told him I loved him that January. Instead, I replaced some of my ambition with his Friday nights. I spent my last night of college on his floor, watching heat lightning ripple across that Ohio sky, and was unable to figure out whether I had been incredibly stupid or incredibly astute these past four years, falling in and out of love with many things and people. I did not talk to my roommates from the first year anymore. I did not talk to my roommates from the second year. I was hardly talking to my current roommates, having practically moved into Michael’s. I was still doing the student newspaper six days a week, but part of me didn’t feel as committed because I had gradually become less insane. I thought. I did not write my name on the wall with the rest of the people who had worked there, at the same time, did not say goodbye, because I thought: these people still hate me. And I drove out of Ohio without any tears.

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she-found-herself-taylor · 8 years ago

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Swifties 73 Qs

Hey, taylor Tumblr fam! I know taylor hasn't been on in a while and a lot of us, myself included, haven't been on either because of that. I was recently watching Taylor's 73 questions video and I decided I wanted to do something fun with it that we could have fun with while tay's gone. I've taken all the questions from the video and condensed them into all the questions that any of us could answer so please put in your answers beside the questions, tag your friends, and spread it around taylor nation! 1. What's keeping you busy these days? My lacrosse team is keeping me super busy as well as AP classes :))) 2. What's the most exciting thing in life right now? My spring break!!! 3. What are you completely bored of in life right now? I'm completely bored of my friends being competitive about college. 4. What is something that recently moved you? Ed Sheeran's new song, Nancy Mulligan, about how his grandparents fell in love, it's the sweetest song. 5. Who is your favorite teacher? My parents :))) 6. If you could teach one subject in school, what would it be? I would teach creative writing or yoga. 7. What's your favorite beverage? Water haha. 8. What's your favorite cocktail? Right now I'm on spring break and I'm loving daiquiris. 9. What's your favorite food? Chicken Caesar salad, I could eat it everyday 10. What would you order at a drive-thru? My favorite drive thru is Chick-fil-A and I always order grilled chicken nuggets with fries. 11. What was the best birthday cake you've ever had? When I was little, I had an enormous Barbie cake for my sister and I. 12. What was the last thing you baked? Probably ghiradelli box brownies. 13. What thing do you need to have in your fridge at any given time? Pineapple definitely. 14. What is one thing you still have from your childhood? My metabolism? 15. What's your favorite TV show of all time? Friends!!!!! 16. Favorite TV show that currently on the air? Dancing with the stars! And this is us 17. What is your favorite movie? The Parent Trap definitely 18. What was the movie that made you cry your eyes out? The Last Song 19. Have you ever googled yourself? Yes 20. What do you think when you google yourself? These are not accurate results :P 21. If you have a superpower, what would it be? To heal people :) swear I didn't steal from tay, I heard beauty YouTube and makeup artist Michelle Phan say this a couple of years ago and I just thought it was beautiful 22. Can you show me a really cool or bizarre talent? I can twist my arms around my head while keeping my fingers locked if that's cool haha 23. What's something you can't do? I can't really sing :/ 24. What's the best compliment you've ever received? Compliments that make me feel welcome and like I belong 25. What's the best gift you've ever received? My dog who I got in 5th grade and getting to meet Colleen Ballinger 26. What's one habit you wish you could break? Biting my nails and picking at my skin 27. Do you have any nicknames? My dad calls me JJ, my two best friends call me Jordo and Jorge, and my friend Frances calls me JoJo :) 28. What's surprises you the most about people? I'm still surprised by how ignorant some people can be unfortunately. 29. What makes you laugh no matter what? Jenna Marbles and her dogs lmao 30. What does creativity mean to you? Having an open mind and it flourishes when you're doing what you love. 31. I found out that Nicole Kidman swim with sharks. What's the most adventurous thing you've ever done? I was forced out of my moms vagina three months early, so I was pretty ballsy from day one 32. What's your favorite lyrics of all time? I can't possibly choose. 33. What one song you wish you had written? Dear John 34. What's one accomplishment you're most proud of? I'm most proud of being one of the captains of my lacrosse team. 35. What's something you've always wanted to try but you are too scared to do? Starting my own YouTube channel :) 36. What's your spirit animal? A sea otter, they're adorable 37. My wife and I's anniversary is coming up, where should I take her? You should take her to St. John's 38. If you could raid one woman's closet, who would it be? Taylor Swift definitely. 39. What's your favorite fashion trend of all time? Bralettes, they're so comfy 40. Besides your phone and wallet, what's the couple must have items? Chapstick, hand lotion, earbuds, my laptop 41. My little cousin Julia wants to know, what did you want to do with your life at age 5? I think I wanted to be a vet or an actress. 42. What's something you will not be doing in 10 years? Hopefully I will not still be in school although we'll see where life takes me 43. What do you think is the most important life lesson for someone to learn? I live by "if it won't matter in 5 years, don't worry about it for 5 minutes" I think it's very important to not get stressed out over small things 44. What can you say in other language? I can speak pretty good basic Spanish and I can count to ten and say "elephant" and "balloon" in French. 45. What do you love most about the town where you grew up with? I grew up in Atlanta, and I love the diversity of it even in a state as conservative as Georgia 46. What's the bravest thing you've ever done? Putting my stories up on Wattpad in 8th and 9th grade. 47. Most spontaneous thing you've ever done? I'm not very spontaneous haha. 48. What's one goal you are determined to achieve in your life time? Be fully confident and feel worthy of my life :) 49. What is your favorite scented candle? I love all clean fresh scents, but I love this one candle from Target called "Grey Flannel" and it smells really nice. I'll tag my best friend lovely janey @desparatelyinlove and of course @taylorswift just because I love you

#swifties 73 Qs

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worstzombiehunter-ever-blog · 8 years ago

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[400 Things You Probably Never Wanted to Know About Kris]

1. Name: Kristoph Willhem Becket 2. Nickname(s): Kris 3. Birthday: August 13th, 1993 4. That makes you (age): 24 5. Where were you born (city): Funny story; my family lived in a different area of Florida at the time but mom was supposed to see a specialist in Miami before I was born, but I ended up being premature because she had me on the way there in the car, in traffic. Even back then I guess I had decided I wanted to be in the city, heh. 6. Location right now (planet ): Astoria, Oregon 7. Shoe size: 9 8. How many piercings?: Septum, left eyebrow, tongue, 5 in right ear, 4 in the left 9. Tattoos?: Twelve total; full left hand (skeletal/bone. Lilly), four on the same arm, (stars, skulls, human heart,music notes), right hip socket (solid black star), left ribcage (German text), back of the neck (black star), collarbone (stars}, right forearm (black cross), left forearm (Dates -his siblings birthdays, his parents’ anniversary, the date of the outbreak}, 10. When you wake up you're: Dead to the world, not a morning person 11. When you're about to sleep you're: Paranoid as hell 12. Zodiac sign: Leo 13. Chinese sign: Rooster 14. Righty or Lefty: Right 15. Innie or Outie:The former 16. School: College dropout

Section Two: Looks

17. Nationality: German/Finnish 18. Hair colour: Very blonde 20. Weight: 130lbs 21. Height: 6'0 22. Braces? Nope 23. Glasses? No

Section Three: Private Life

24. Do you have a boy/girlfriend? No 25. If so, who? 26. If not, do you have a crush on someone? Not at this point 27. Who has a crush on you? Nobody? 28. Ever cheated on your bf/gf? No 29. Who was your first kiss: Right out of high school, some guy at a club. Not overly memorable. 30. Who was your last kiss: Marcus 31. Are you a virgin? HA. no. 32. Ever had a threesome before? No; one person is enough to deal with generally. 33. NQ- Every been swarmed by ladybugs?: ...no? Is this some sex-related thing I don't know about? ...now I sort of want to know. 34. Have you ever been in love? Yes, very much so. 35. Broken any hearts? Probably; doesn't everybody? But I never meant to. 36. Got your heart broken? Yeah, a few times. The big one though, he didn't mean to. 37. Ever liked a friend? Yeah? 38. What happened? We nearly got married until the world went to hell.

Section Four: Past Relationships

39. How many relationships have you been in? Dated a lot? Actual relationships; a handful or so. 40. How many were serious enough to count: Two or three really 41. Who were those serious ones: Nick, Angelo, and Marcus; in that order. 42. NQ- Who used to be your best friend: ...Marcus 43. What made them different: Everything. Just everything. 44. What happened: He died and came back, I wasn't there. I still don't know if I would have wanted to be or not. 45. Best boy/girlfriend: Marcus 46. Worst boy/girlfriend: Angie was a jerk, but he was a hot jerk. 47. Ever been kissed: Yeah? 48. Who do you want back: ....a lot of people. Relationship-wise? Marc. 49. Who do you regret: Oh, I could give you a laundry list but...whatever. 50. Why?: I'm good at bad decisions.

Section Five: Favourites

51. Song: I love classical music; it's relaxing. 52. Movie: Donnie Darko amuses me way too much. 53. Food: God I miss really good veggie burgers - but being vegan doesn't work when you're starving. 54. Drink: Dr.Pepper...or any soda really; I need the caffeine. 55. Store: uh? hell if I know 56. Television show: ...I used to really like Twilight Zone..now it seems ironic somehow. 57. Holiday: Halloween 58. Book: Most anything by Neil Gaiman 59. Ice cream: I don't really like it 60. Sweets: Oreos...I would do so much for some Oreos 61. Crisps: Never ate much of those 62. Type of music: Classical 63. Artist: Salvador Dali 64. Word: 'Hell', usually used muttered under my breath, yeah 65. Time of day: Midday 66. Dressing: Like...the stuff you put on a salad? I don't use those. 67. Alcoholic drink: Anything sugary 68. Colour(s): Bright colors, specifically purple and blue. 69. Piece of clothing: These days my boots 70. Character: ?? I don't even know 71. Smell: The ocean 72. Shampoo: Any time I have shampoo and can wash my hair I don't even care what it is. 73. Soap: See the above answer. 74. Smiley: >_> 75. Board game: Battleship 76. Sport: ...not a sports person. 77. Number: 0 78. Quote: "No great artist ever see things as they are" - Edgar Degas 79. Animal: Dogs 80. Actor: I had a really bad crush on Ewan Mcgregor when I was younger 82. Vegetable: Anything; I'm not picky. 83. Fruit: Pineapple 84. Place to be: Anywhere safe 85. Thing in your room: My notebook 86. Gum: Minty stuff, doesn't matter what kind; the fruit flavored stuff is gross. 87. Shape: ? uh...stars? I have a few of them tattoed on me so I guess it counts 88. Country: Here, I guess; I never got to see Germany or Finnland. 89. Mall: Back home in Miami there were a few, wasn't ever much for wandering around them. 90. Car: I miss my car; it's dead now. 91. Boy's name: I like mine? 92. Girl's name: My mom's name is nice; Cammilla 93. Family member: Seriously? Uh...I guess I got along the best with my younger brother. 94. Restaurant: Trying to think about it just makes me hungry 95. Movie place: Don't like theaters 96. Person to go to the movies with: Marc 97. Noise: Crickets; they're so calming, or people breathing when they sleep. 98. Brand of shoe: I don't think I have one. 99. Brand of clothing: Again, no preference. 100. Body part of a chicken: ...their creepy little eyes? 101. Swear word: Fuck 102. Month: August 103. Possession: My notebook 104. Team: Not a sports person 105. Season: Summer 106. Radio station: Right now any of them that work 107. Magazine: Used to read the trashy tabloid ones 108. Favorite grade: I liked my first year in college, it went downhill from there. 109. Least favorite grade: 9th, that was a mess. 110. Teacher: My high school art teacher 111. Least favorite teacher: ...10th grade geometry; Ms. Allen. Urgh. 112. Subject: Art 113. Subject to talk about: People

Section Six: Family

114. Who's your mum?: Cammilla Becket; otherwise known as the ruler of the family. 115. Who's your dad?: Felix Becket; walking encyclopedia of every old story known to man 116. Any step-parents?: No 117. Any brothers?: Yes; Jorge, Andrew, and Fillip 118. Any Sisters?: Annalee 120. Coolest: Me, of course. 121. Loudest: Easily Jorge 122. Best relative: My aunt Lydia; she's hilarious and bakes cookies. 123. Worse relative: ...uncle Gustoph; that man is terrifying 124. Do you get along with your parents? I confused them a lot, I wish...things had been better. 125. With your siblings? With Jorge and Anna, yeah, my older brothers were disappointed in me I think. 126. Does anyone understand you? I don't even understand me sometimes 127. Do you have any pets?: Not anymore 128. If so, what kind and name? I used to have a cat named Chester 129. If not, what do you want as a pet?: I'd like to have a dog again; makes things less lonely.

Section Seven: School

131. Are you still in school? No 132. Did you drop out?: Yeah, from college 133. Your current GPA: ...don't have one. 134. Do you buy or bring lunch?: None of these apply. 135. ABC's?: What? I know what those are. 136. Favorite class: Art theory or art history was fun too. 137. Play any sports at school?: Nope 138. Are you popular? I was, I guess, I had friends. 139. Favorite memory: From school? It's all a blur. 140. Most humiliating moment: Most of my high school days. So many of them. 141. Most funniest moment: ....falling down the steps freshman year; it's hilarious now, was mortifying then. 142. Most scared moment: Nearly getting myself murdered by a really unpleasant guy on the football team.

Section Eight: What do you think of when you hear

145. Chicken: ....nothing? 146. Dog: Warm and fluffy. 147. Christina Aguilera: Radios played her music way too much. 148. Ricky Martin: Ahem. Well he did look really good in leather pants. 149. 50 cent: My neighbors were obsessed with blaring this all night. 150. Poop: ...those emoji things 151. Beach: I miss it so much. 152. Desert: What the world is turning into 153. Water: Necessity 154. Osama: A name? 155. Love: ...lonely. 156. Your little brother: I hope he's still around. 157. Butt: I don't have any overwhelming opinions here. 158. Clowns: Mildly scary. 159. Wonder: Better than giving up. 16o. Brown: Mom's eyes. 161. Banana: Food, or those gross smoothies back home. 162. Sex: Fun, but absent from my life anymore. 163. Parents: Regrets I wish I could change now. 164. Homosexuals: The subtext to my sexuality. 165. God: Gave up on things around here I'm pretty sure.

Section Nine: Do you believe in

166. God: Maybe, but I don't think they're around much anymore. 167. Heaven: I hope it's real, some people I've lost deserve to be there. 168. Devil: I guess you have to have that one around for the other to be real. 169. Hell: ...I've seen a few places that could almost count as that. 170: Boogy man: Things that creep around in the dark and attack you? Sounds too much like Walkers. 171. Closet Monsters: Those at least stopped bothering me in grade school. 172. Fortune tellings: Maybe, but I don't want to know the future. 173. Magic: Sure, why not. 174. Love at first sight: I want to. 175. Ghosts: I feel haunted a lot so, yeah, I do. 176. Voo-doo dolls: Never gave that one much thought, I guess? 177. Reincarnation: In this world? I almost hope not. 178. Yourself: ...at times.

Section Ten: Do you

179. Smoke: Yeah. 180. Do drugs: No 181. Drink alcohol: Used to, not much anymore. 182. Cuss: Far too much. 183. Sing in the shower: Showers are too quick for that now. 184. Like school: I didn't mind parts of it. 185. Want to get married: ....I did at one point. 186. Type with all of your fingers: Yeah 187. Think you're attractive: I have my good points. 188. Drink and drive: Nah 189. Snore: Probably 190. Sleep walk: No 191. Like watching sunrises and sunsets: I used to; sunsets make me uneasy now.

Section Eleven: Have you ever

192. Flashed someone: Maybe when I was drunk. 193. Gotten so drunk til you threw up everywhere: Oh yeah. 194. Told that person how you felt: What person? -That- person? Yeah. 195. Been arrested: No, surprisingly. 196. Gone to jail or juve: Nope. 197. Skateboarded: Too clumsy. 198. Skinny dipped: Yes 199. Rock climbed: I don't have a deathwish. 200. Killed someone: God no; I've never even killed one of the already dead ones. 201. Watched porn: ...who hasn't? 202. Gone on a road trip: A few. 203. Went out of the country: No 204. Talked back to an adult: Ha..yeah. 205. Broken a law: Sure, not any big ones though. 206. Got pulled over: A couple of times. 208: Cried to get out of trouble: ...that was my main go-to as a kid. 209. Let a friend cry on your shoulder: Yeah, sometimes it's all I knew to do. 210. Kissed a brother's or sister's friend: No 211. Kissed a friend's brother or sister: No 212. Dropped something on the floor and let someone eat it anyways: I would say gross but..things change; these days that doesn't even matter. 213. Moon someone: Maybe? Again, if it happened I was drunk. 214. Shop-lifted: No 215. Worked at McDonald's: No 216. Eaten a dog: No, but that's not to say that I wouldn't if I had to. 217. Give money to a homeless person: Yeah. 218. Glued your hand to yourself: Surprisingly no. 219. Kissed someone of the same sex: ...yes, on many occasions. 220. Had a one night stand: A few 221. Smoked: Yes 222. Done drugs: Not really. 223. Lose a friend because of your ex: Yeah, but they weren't worth keeping 224. Slap someone for being stupid: No, but I maybe should have. 225. Had cyber sex: I could have actual sex, so no. 226. Wish you were the opposite sex: ...ah...difficult one, since I don't consider myself one or the other when it comes to gender, or just one or the other, rather. 227. Caught someone doing something: I have a younger brother, so of course, 228. Played a game that removes clothing: Yes, and generally lost. 229. Cried during a movie: A few; damn Disney movies 230. Cried over someone: So many people 231. Wanted to hook up with a friend: On occasion 232. Hooked up with someone you barely met: I can't say I haven't. 233. Ran away from home: Nah, not until I was an adult. 234. Cheated on a test: I should have in a few classes.

Section Twelve: Would you

235. Bungee jump: I don't think there are any planes left around. 236. Sky dive: Again, above answer. 237. Swim with dolphins: I've done that before. 238. Steal a friend's bf or gf: Not on purpose. 239. Try to be the opposite sex: ....I mean; I go back and forth and in the gray between all the time. 240. Lie to the police: Probably. 241. Run from the police: Maybe. 242. Lie to your parents: I had on occasion. 243. Backstab a friend for your own well being: No 244. Be an exotic dancer: ...sure, why not. But I would blind people with how pale I am so I wouldn't make much. 245. NQ- Kill the president: Pretty sure he's already dead.

Section Thirteen: Are you

246. Shy: Only when I'm anxious. 247. Loud: When I'm upset 248. Nice: I like to think so 249: Outgoing: For the most part 250: Quiet: When I want to be left alone. 251. Mean: Nah 252. Emotional: God yes. 253. Sensitive: Very. 254. Gay: Yesss 255. Strong: Physically? Not so much. 256. Weak: I don't like to admit it if I am. 257. Caring: I try to be 258. Dangerous: Only when my brain is being weird. 259. Crazy: ...potentially. 260. Spontaneous: Yes. 261. Funny: I'm hilarious. 262. Sweet: Maybe? 263. Sharing: Yeah. 264. Responsible: Not so much. 265. Trustworthy: Of course. 266. Open-minded: Very. 267. Creative: Yes! 268. Cute: Well..I think I am. 269. Slick: Not by any means. 270. Smart: As much as anybody. 271. Dumb: I don't think so. 272. Evil: No? 273. Ghetto: No 274. Classy: Not really. 275. Photogenic: Ha, I don't even know. 276. Dependable: I try to be. 277. Greedy: Nah 278. Ugly: No 279. Messy: Basically, yes. 280. Neat: Not so great at that. 281. Perverted: No? 282. Silly: I have my moments. 283. A B****: Ha, probably at times. 284. A Good Listener: I like to listen, so hopefully? 285. A Fighter: ....no 286. A Party Animal: Used to be 287. A Game Freak: Nah 288. A Computer Freak: Not really.

Section Fourteen: Future

289. Dream job: ...before the world ended I wanted to work in comic books. 290. Dream house: I liked where I was in Miami. 291. Husband/Wife: ....they're gone now. 292. Kids: Nah. 293. Names: what? I like my name. 294. Pets: I still want a dog 295. Car: At this point, anything that runs 296. Age you would want to get married: ...I thought I already would be. 297. Best Man/Bride's Maid: My brothers 298. Honeymoon: Europe

Section Fifteen: Your friends

this is too depressing; I'm just going to not. do this one. 299. Best friend: 300. Known the longest: 301. Craziest: 302. Loudest: 303. Shyest: 304. Best hair: 305. Best eyes: 306. Best body: 307. Most Athletic: 308. Hot-Tempered: 309. Most impatient: 310. Shortest: 311. Tallest: 312. Skinniest: 313. Best singer: 314. Funniest: 315. Can always make you laugh: 316. Wish you talked to more: 317. Wish you saw more: 318. Who drives you insane after a while: 319. Who you can stay around forever and never get sick of: 320. Ever lose a friend because you took it to the 'next level': 321. Whose always been there when you need them: 322. Who is like your family: 323. How many friends do you have?: 324. How many are really close?

Section Sixteen: The last

325. Thing you ate: Yesterday. 326. Thing you drank: A few hours ago, water. 327. Thing you wore: Clothes I'm wearing now? 328. Thing you did: Walked back to town. 329. Place you went: The edge of town, was restless. 330. Thing you got pierced or tattooed: My right arm 331. Person you saw: Some guy working on a car that's busted. 332. Person you hugged: ...it's been a while. 333. Person you kissed: Been even longer on that one. 334. NQ- Person you beat to a juicy pulp: Yeah, I'm not so good at that. 335. Person you talked to online: The net has been dead for a long time. 336. Person you talked to on the phone: So have phones. 337. Song you heard: Months ago, some old gas station had a busted CD player with batteries but it didn't last long; some old 80s music. 338. Show you saw: I don't even remember. 339. Time you fought with your parents: ....before the outbreak, last time I saw them. 340. Time you fought with a friend: ...probably right before I left River Bend. 341. Words you said: 'Hn'

Section Seventeen: Now

343. What are you eating: Nothing 344. What are you drinking: Nothing 345. What are you thinking: The usual bouncy, weird thoughts. 346. What are you wearing: Clothes? 347. What are you doing: Nothing really, sitting here? I get nervous sleeping at night so I stay up a lot. 349. Hair: Is a fluffy mess. 350. Mood: Tired 351. Listening to: The wind outside. 352. Talking to anyone: No 353. Watching anything: No

Section Eighteen: Yes or No

354. Are you a vegetarian: Yes 355. Are you a carnivore: No 356. Are you heterosexual: No 357. Do you like penguins: Yes 358. Do you write poetry: No 359. Do you see stupid people: Yes 360. You + Me: No 361. Do you like the Osbournes: Yes 362. Can you see flying pigs: No 363. Do you sleep with stuffed animals on your bed: No 364. Are you from Afghanistan: No 365. Is Christina Aguilera ugly: No 366. Are you a zombie: NO 367. Am I annoying you: No 368. Do you bite your nails: Yes 369. Can you cross your eyes: Yes 370. Do you make your bed in the morning: No 371. Have you touched someone's private part: Yes

Section Nineteen: This or That

372. Winter or Summer: Summer 373. Spring or Autumn: Spring 374. Shakira or Britney: Shakira 375. MTV or VH1: VH1 376. Black or White: ? Black I guess? 377. Yellow or Pink: Yellow. 378. Football or Basketball: uhh...basketball. 379. Mobile Phone or Pager: Phone 380. Pen or Pencil: Pencil 381. Cold or Hot: Hot 382. Tattoos or Piercings: oh..hard one. Tattoos. 383. Inside or Outside: Inside. 384. Weed or Alcohol: Weed 385. Coke or Pepsi: Coke 386. Tape or Glue: Tape 387. McDonald's or In-n-Out: Neither, gross.

Section Twenty: Opinions

388. What do you think about classical music: Ha. I really like it. 389. About boy bands: Some of them were amusing. 390. About suicide: ...this world is bad but giving up? I couldn't do it. 391. About people who try to force their opinions on you: They're exhausting, and far too many of them exist. 392. About teen pregnancy: I don't personally have to worry about that, heh. But it's not my business if it's not my body. 393. Where do you think you'll be in 10 years: Alive I hope. 394. Who do you think you'll still be friends with in 5 years: I should probably make some friends. 395. About gay men: I mean, obviously, I like them.

Section Twenty-One:

396. Do you have a website: No 397. Current weather right now: Hot as hell 398. Current time: It's late. Dark. 399. Any shout outs: no? 400. Last thoughts: ...'last thoughts' sounds so ominous.

#ooc #character development #EERIE:TASK

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garden-of-succulents · 8 years ago

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Time for more BITTYPOOTS AU, meaning the story @gutsybitsy and I are working on where Jack is the tormented audience to Bitty and Poots’ unhappy and unsatisfying relationship (Original post / fic tag). NOW FEATURING: established relationship Patater and excerpts from Bitty’s twitter!

(Also accidental outing to a safe/sympathetic audience, and gay gossip.)

Away games in Las Vegas have gotten a lot easier these days. During his rookie year, they meant pitched arguments with Kent that lasted hours and left them both exhausted in the morning. After Kent broke up with him, they meant a couple years of holing up early in his hotel room and eating room service while watching tape.

But now Las Vegas trips are, quite tentatively... nice.

Somehow the crucible of two Stanley Cup finals against each other in the last four years have left the Falcs and Aces with a permanent rivalry that is enthusiastic, respectful, warm, and friendly. It could so easily have been bitter--but if Jack were to name a single factor that turned the tide, it was Tater's defection to Vegas. You couldn't quite hate a man who skated over during breaks and asked how your children liked their birthday presents, who complimented you on your improved form and laughed about your inability to score on his goalie, and then laughed again when you did before putting his head down and putting all his energies to beating your pants off. Tater's shoulders are broad enough to carry all of the game's spirit, its pettiness and nobility, its competition and comradeship--and Kent, the burden of the C removed from him by Tater's presence, began finding it easier to be magnanimous in victory, graceful in defeat.

And the two of them know Jack doesn't like big parties, so they leave Tater's other A to lead the grand night out with the Falcs and whisk Jack away to a quiet dinner at their apartment instead.

Jack indulges in a beer while Kent grills steak on the balcony and Tater uses a feather toy to make the cat run laps around the living room. He's relaxed, amused, comfortable, and his worries and concerns ease up enough to spill out past his lips.

"There's this guy I know," he says, picking at the label on his bottle. "He has this boyfriend who's... really nice. But they're not out, right, and I'm the only one who knows, so they kinda talk to me about it? And..." He wrinkles his nose as the label comes off imperfectly, then licks his thumb and starts rubbing at the ragged edges. "He complains about his boyfriend. Clingy, embarrassing, needy... because he does things like pack lunches or text him for no reason. I just wanna tell him to smarten right up and stop being so ungrateful."

"Fuck yeah," Kent sings from the grill. "I want someone who packs me lunches."

"He wants not me to pack him lunches," Tater says, flicking the cat toy.

"The gods are jealous of perfection, kotyenok. We all have our flaws." Kent puts down the sauce brush and closes the lid on the barbecue again, then comes back in to throw himself onto the arm of the chair Tater's sitting in. Tater's arm comes around his waist to steady him.

"I just--" Jack covers his face with one hand. "I talk to the boyfriend too. He was really happy the other week because he got an anniversary present, and I had to shut up because I was so close to telling him his boyfriend bought it at the last minute in an airport gift shop. Because I told him to. Because he said, 'I can't go out tonight, it's our six-month anniversary and he's making dinner' and I asked what he got as a present and he said, 'You think I should get something?'" Jack gestures, helplessly. "I know I'm not good at this stuff, so how much worse is he?"

"Terrible, obviously," Kent says. "My love, could you assemble the salad?"

"Oh, you trust me with salad now!" Tater grumbles, but he gets up and moves to the kitchen. When Jack gestures, Kent passes him the cat toy, and Jack tries to figure out why Kit Purrson will do backflips for Tater, but ignore him when he tries to do the exact same thing.

After they've demolished half a cow and a small Irish town's supply of potatoes, plus some salad on the side, Kent leans back in his seat and says, "Tell you what, Tates. Let's seduce Fitzgerald's poor boyfriend out from under him."

Tater's making some rumbling noise about that being a good idea while Jack sits bolt upright. "It's not--!" he says. "I didn't say who it was. You don't know it's Fitzgerald."

"Yes, I do," Kent says calmly.

"Elementary deduction," Tater chimes in.

"Someone you spend a lot of time with," Kent says, ticking points off on his fingers. "That you put up with even when he annoys you. That's only someone on your team. Six Falconers are single, and Fitzgerald--what do you guys call him?"

"Poots," Jack says, miserably unable to stop them.

"Poots? Well, anyway--Poots is the only one on your line, and only one of two under 20; Marks came straight out of Juniors, while Poots came out of Gaytopia U."

“It could be--one of the trainers, or--”

Kent swats that away. “The only new hires you guys have made this year have been female. Try another one.”

"You play good with him on ice," Tater contributes. "He is happy to sit next to you when he comes to bench, but when he is the one sitting, you choose somewhere else."

Jack stares at Tater, mouth agape. One, not even he noticed that; two, Tater has a fucking hockey game to play while that kind of thing is happening. Where does he get off paying that kind of attention?

"Some people follow sports," Tater shrugs. "We follow you love life."

"Well you must be bored then," Jack snaps.

"Fuckin' right we are," Kent yawns. "This is the most excitement we've had since Collins left for England."

"I won't confirm or deny anything," Jack says, and the hand with Tater's phone in it bumps Kent's arm. Kent looks down.

"Oh damn, he's cute," Kent says.

Jack's eyebrows furrow. "Poots?"

"Eric Bittle," Kent replies, and Jack's stomach turns to ice. "Oh, don't look like that, Zimmermann. You're talking to two of the most closeted people in the sport. You haven't come out because you've had a sad-sack social life, but we haven't come out because we have people to protect. We're only gossip-mongers like this when we're around you, because it's so fucking nice to not be alone for once."

Jack's mouth twists, and he looks away.

"Very cute tweet from last week," Tater says. "'That feeling when you have the cutest boyfriend in the room.' And a little heart."

"Not hard to find if you know what you're looking for," Kent says, scrolling through Tater's phone. "Your guy's got 30k Twitter followers, follows 22 people in return. Eleven are Falconers, four are official feeds, three are girls, two are guys in Toronto, one's a guy backpacking through Asia, and one is Eric R. Bittle in Boston."

"You're just constructing a theory--" Jack tries again.

"New tweet," Tater says. "Just posted. 'Is it really too needy to want to cuddle?'"

Jack can't help scowling, and Kent says sardonically, "Tell me how I'm making shit up again."

Jack rubs his face with his hands again, and says equivocally, "He deserves so much better."

"We steal him," Tater says calmly. "Make him happy with us."

"You can't do that!" Jack retorts, nettled. "Look, you two, leave it alone. He doesn't need your nonsense."

"Nonsense," Kent says to Tater.

"No, I mean it! He's a nice guy and it won't help to get pulled into your stupid sex shenanigans, he doesn't need you two, he needs someone stable, someone steady--"

"We have shenanigan?" Tater asks Kent.

"No babe, we got tested by the clinic, we're clean."

Jack makes a frustrated noise, and pitches a napkin at them. It lands unsatisfyingly short of either man. "Stop it."

"I don't hear you calling dibs," Kent says archly.

"Dibs," Jack retorts. "Dibs, dibs, dibs. Leave him alone."

The moment he says it a smile blossoms across Kent's face, like Jack's sprung a trap. He scowls fiercely back. "You like him," Kent says, delighted.

"So what if I do? He's taken. And it's none of your business."

"All right," Kent says, but he concedes like it's a victory, grinning to himself as he nestles into Tater's side. "Just remember, Zimms. He might not stay taken forever."

"I... have something to confess," Jack says awkwardly, while they watch Poots at the billiards table. So long as they keep their heads close together, they're muffled by the overall noise of the bar. "I told two friends about you and James? I tried to stay general, 'a guy I know', but they figured out who it was. They won't tell anybody, but they know, and I'm sorry that I kind of outed you."

Bittle gives him a brief frightened-rabbit look, then bites his lip and watches his boyfriend thoughtfully for a minute. Then he turns back to Jack. "You trust them?"

Jack nods, then leans into add, "It's my ex and his boyfriend. And if you ever want to leave James for an NHL captain, um... apparently that's a possibility."

Bittle blinks at him again, looking astonished and absolutely edible, then says, "Your ex is an NHL captain?"

Jack grins uncertainly. "Yes?"

Bittle blinks those enormous eyes a time or two, and looks over at his boyfriend with a smile spreading across his face. He looks back to Jack once, for another second disbelieving, but Jack pastes on a smile and nods, and Bittle's features relax with relief and joy. He knocks his shoulder against Jack's in a friendly way, then turns and asks, "Can I tell James?"

"Sure you can."

"God, maybe it'll help to know he's... not alone," Bittle says, and reaches out for his beer. "Make him relax."

"Anything to help the two of you," Jack says loyally, and reaches out for his glass of water to hide his expression.

#bittypoots au #patater #kent parson #stuff i wrote #fannish synergy

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mastcomm · 5 years ago

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John Bolton, Kobe Bryant, Grammy Awards: Your Monday Briefing

(Want to get this briefing by email? Here’s the sign-up.)

Good morning.

We’re covering new evidence related to the Trump impeachment inquiry, reaction to the death of Kobe Bryant, and the Grammy Awards.

New Ukraine details in John Bolton’s book

President Trump told his national security adviser in August that he wanted to continue freezing $391 million in aid to Ukraine until officials there investigated Democrats including the Bidens, according to an unpublished manuscript by the since-ousted adviser, John Bolton.

A key element of Mr. Trump’s impeachment defense has been that the aid holdup was separate from his requests for investigations. Here are five takeaways from Mr. Bolton’s book.

Mr. Bolton has said he would testify at Mr. Trump’s impeachment trial if he were asked to do so, but lawmakers said the Senate was highly unlikely to call new witnesses.

How we know: Multiple people described Mr. Bolton’s account of the Ukraine affair to The Times, but the White House did not answer questions about Mr. Bolton’s assertions. Mr. Bolton’s lawyer accused the White House of disclosing the book’s contents.

What’s next: Mr. Trump’s legal team is to resume his defense today, starting at 1 p.m. Eastern. During an abbreviated session on Saturday, the president’s lawyers attacked his accusers as partisan witch-hunters trying to remove him from office because they couldn’t beat him at the ballot box.

Coronavirus outbreak intensifies

The death toll in China from the respiratory illness rose to at least 80 today, and the government extended the Lunar New Year holiday by three days in an effort to limit travel. Here are the latest updates.

A top Chinese health official warned on Sunday that the virus’s spread was accelerating despite a lockdown affecting 56 million people. The quarantine could make the situation worse, including by exacerbating shortages of medical supplies.

The details: Most of the nearly 3,000 people who have contracted the virus live in China, but it has spread to 10 other countries. Five cases have been confirmed in the U.S.

Go deeper: Compared with China’s response to the SARS epidemic in the early 2000s, the government has responded faster to the current outbreak. But there are signs that officials, especially those at the regional level, were slow to recognize the danger and are continuing to mishandle the crisis.

Another angle: Many airlines are accommodating travelers who want to modify, delay or cancel China itineraries. Here’s what to expect.

Mourning an N.B.A. great

The death of Kobe Bryant, his 13-year-old daughter and seven others in a helicopter crash in California on Sunday shocked the sports world and generated an outpouring of grief.

Thousands of people gathered at Staples Center, and condolences poured in from presidents and celebrities. Several entertainers paid tribute to Mr. Bryant at the Grammy Awards, which took place at the arena hours later.

The helicopter carrying Mr. Bryant, 41, went down near Calabasas, about 30 miles northwest of downtown Los Angeles, in foggy conditions. Here are the latest updates.

Catch up: The helicopter was on its way from Orange County, where the Bryant family lives, to Mr. Bryant’s youth basketball academy, where he coached his daughter Gianna, who died in the crash. A baseball coach at Orange Coast College in Costa Mesa was also killed, as were his wife and daughter. The other victims haven’t yet been identified.

Obituary: Mr. Bryant jumped straight from high school to the N.B.A. in 1996 and won five championships with the Lakers before retiring in 2016. He was an unquestioned basketball great, but his legacy is not so straightforward.

Iran’s 72-hour lie

The country’s military officials knew for three days that their own forces had shot down a Ukrainian passenger jet over Tehran this month, but it took a resignation threat from President Hassan Rouhani and an order from Iran’s supreme leader before the government acknowledged its fatal mistake.

We have an in-depth report on the cover-up and its political implications. The main takeaway: The Islamic Revolutionary Guards Corps, the elite force charged with defending Iran’s clerical rule at home and abroad, effectively sidelined the elected government in a moment of national crisis.

How we know: The Times interviewed current and former Iranian officials, ranking members of the Revolutionary Guards, and people close to the inner circle of the supreme leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei.

Another angle: The Pentagon said 34 American service members had sustained traumatic brain injuries when Iran fired missiles at an Iraqi military base this month. President Trump said last week that the troops’ concussion symptoms were “not very serious.”

If you have 6 minutes, this is worth it

The faces of life after the Holocaust

A ceremony today at Auschwitz will commemorate the 75th anniversary of the liberation of the Nazi death camp in German-occupied Poland.

Before the event, our Opinion section published portraits of 75 Holocaust survivors. Among them are, clockwise from top left: Esther Meron, Motke Weisel, Sara Leicht, Thomas Geve, Batsheva Dagan and Avraham Harshalom.

Here’s what else is happening

A Middle East peace plan: President Trump is expected this week to reveal details of his long-promised proposal to broker peace in the region. But with the Palestinians refusing to participate in the process, diplomats in past peace efforts see the plan as a way to aid the re-election efforts of the Israeli prime minister, Benjamin Netanyahu.

20 questions with Democrats: The Times interviewed six presidential candidates about foreign policy, the last book they read and more. Watch their answers here.

Changes to your credit score: Under a tweak to the widely used three-digit score, consumers in good financial standing should see their scores bounce higher. But those in financial distress may experience a fall.

Snapshot: Above, Billie Eilish accepted the Grammy Award for song of the year, “Bad Guy,” on Sunday. The 18-year-old won five awards and swept the major categories. Here’s a full list of the winners.

Metropolitan Diary: In this week’s column, a fresh start, a table at Grand Central and more reader tales of New York City.

What we’re reading: This Boston Globe investigation of the U.S. government’s inaction on E. coli outbreaks. The story of a 2-year-old boy who ate some of his father’s salad and developed the illness is “heartbreaking, terrifying and riveting,” writes our Times Insider editor, Jennifer Krauss.

Now, a break from the news

Cook: Slow cooker red beans and rice takes only about 20 minutes to set up in the morning.

Read: In her latest comic book endeavor, Roxane Gay adapts a short story, “The Sacrifice of Darkness,” from her 2017 collection “Difficult Women.”

Watch: “Miss Americana,” a Netflix documentary about Taylor Swift, premiered at the Sundance Film Festival last week.

Smarter Living: Wirecutter recommends five cheap(ish) things to make over a cluttered closet.

And now for the Back Story on …

Bill Clinton’s impeachment

We asked Peter Baker, our chief White House correspondent, to reflect on a major moment in the lead-up to the last presidential impeachment and compare it with the current trial. He has covered both.

Twenty-two years ago this week came a milestone moment in the last presidential impeachment drama. President Bill Clinton was on the defensive after The Washington Post, where I was working then, broke the news that Ken Starr was investigating whether the president had committed perjury to cover up an affair with a former White House intern.

Mr. Clinton took to the microphone at the end of an event, glared angrily at the reporters in the room, wagged his finger and, with Hillary Clinton standing behind him, forcefully said, “I did not have sexual relations with that woman, Miss Lewinsky.”

We were struck by two things: One, that he seemed to briefly blank on her name, referring to her as “that woman,” before summoning it. But the second was the intensity of his denial. He was white-hot mad.

At that time, before the DNA and the grand jury testimony, we didn’t know if the story we were pursuing was bogus or if the president of the United States was lying to us and to the country. Of course, later we found out which it was.

Now, as Ken Starr re-emerges as a lawyer for President Trump in the current impeachment trial, and the administration’s explanations of what happened continue to fluctuate, it’s hard not to feel déjà vu.

That’s it for this briefing. See you next time.

— Chris

Thank you Mark Josephson and Eleanor Stanford provided the break from the news. You can reach the team at [email protected].

P.S. • We’re listening to “The Daily.” Today’s episode is about whether football is too dangerous for children. • Here’s today’s Mini Crossword, and a clue: Chunk of ice (four letters). You can find all our puzzles here. • Monica Mark is our next Johannesburg bureau chief. She has covered some of the biggest stories in Africa for Bloomberg News, The Guardian and BuzzFeed News.

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chichirod · 6 years ago

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Content. The addiction to the flow of the internet.

Sonny.

Maybe it’s a time travel piece. I love the idea of time travel. And done in a grounded way, What if the time travel was extremely mundane. Why sonny? Well he’s got this tone to his personality that feels like he’s being surprised by everything that happens.

What if he could time travel, but it only took him to one specific place.

Sonny and his dog. Maybe his dog is racist?

Sonny the karaoke man.

Sonny hits a car in a lot. He’s parks somewhere else. He thinks he’s off, but someone sees him. Stops him.

What are the ways that sonny could be confronted?

Sonny

Pulling wallet out to pay. The false gesture.

The tip. He writes a cheap tip, but he notices something wrong with the bill. He has to confront the waiter. The waiter confronts him. Waiter asks what percentage it is, he can’t do the math in his head.

He’s somewhere public. He’s watching an inappropriate vid. Gets called out.

Shits himself.

Self sacrifice.

Goes for a date with a girl. Girl says something a little racist.

He nicely ends the date. He tells his friends, but one of his friends tells.

Sonny he’s a man who wears his emotions. He’s consistently apologetic.

He’s a hopeful auditionee. He’s not bad actually. He sings karaoke. Records it. He’s nervous. But he makes an enemy. He ends up shitting himself mid audition.

Maybe the first scene is him hitting the car, getting caught. Getting caught by the lady and then leaving the note. Or Sony watching the game and someone fucking the moment he is waiting for. Sonny and the guys waiting for this moment. Maybe they’re auto shop guys.

We are in a ship cafeteria. A man lays dead on the floor. The checkout lady realizes asks who wants his food.

The set-up. The conflict. And Every choice creates consequences.

In the dentist chair.

Scene:

Sonny he’s with one of his friends outside a restaurant. They see a famous boxer passing by. Coop asks him politely for an autograph. The boxer is pissed. He’s sick of being stopped. Coop says, well you’re a celeb man, it comes with the territory. The boxer does’t like it. Coop says, c’mon man, I watched you at Caesers in 2014. He steps in and snaps a selfie, the boxer knocks him out. Sonny stands there. Boxer- I’m tired of being objectified. Coop comes to. Holy fuck. Are you ok? Ya. Dinner. They sit at the table. The dude has a huge welt. He’s ok, but he sits pretty silently. Sonny tries to keep his mind off of it. Makes small talk. Still, nothing from Coop. Then, he spits it out. Why the fuck didn’t you do anything? You just stood there. Boomgaurtner? What the hell was I supposed to do?

Woman talking about how brutal her period is right now. Eventually sonny and this woman hook up. She turns the lights off. … We cut to him having a pee, blood all over his face. OR Someone comes in?

These are the two stories. A satire. And. A docudrama.

One character. No lights. Small crew.

A gymnast. A hockey player.

INTRO

Sonny

Gymnast?

- open on videos of her as a kid jumping and enjoying the gym. Cut to today, in the bathroom. Nursing blisters and malformed toes.

- Eating toothpaste.

- The brutality of the bar.

- Mom locking the door to the fridge.

This is the story of a child gymnast. She’s is skilled, but she’s not naturally talented, but her coaches see a physical ability that they want to harness. They see the opportunity in her. A glory that they never had. They use her as an outlet. Pushing her is also a way for them to control something in their own lives. There is physical pain yes, but worse is the emotional warfare. The sacrifice that she must make while every other 12-year old goes to school, watches tv, plays on their phones. The final image?

Man and woman rent a cottage. A creepy neighbor, but oh well. They have a nice time. A new-sh couple. They have romantic time. They are making dinner. And they get into an argument over gender politics.The man is a better cook. Woman have lost their place in the kitchen because of a taboo. That night they go to be upset. The woman fingers herself quietly. The man realizes. He gets mad. He goes into the bathroom to JO. The creepy neighbor is seen coming towards their house. The two of them are scared. The woman wants to come into the bathroom, The man refuses. He argues. She should go downstairs if this relationship is equal.

- possible stories

- she kills her coach.

- she is paralyzed.

- amputates her chest.

A undocumented worker. Their parents dying. Working on a farm in California. Witness a crime. Wife kills abusive husband.

Guy parking at an office. He hits a car.

First scene should - eat the type of world we’re dealing with. A bite of satire.

What is the final image of the film.

The wrestler -

Find him at his glory, in the ring MSG.

Cut to the locker room. Present day. Creaky version of himself.

Fans visit him. Remember the good days.

He goes home. Door locked.

Sleeps in his van.

Next morning bang bang bang.

Woken up by kids. Wrestles with them.

Car pulls in, interrupts the moment. He watches the car.

Int office. Moments later, he tries to bargain with owner of trailer

Nothing.

Woman runs him extension chord for his blender.

Goes to work in supermarket

Asks for more shifts.

We see him working with the Mexican dudes. Lugging.

Int gym. He holds a glass vile. His buddy says its as good as the German stuff.

Plunges the needle into his naked ass.

Cut to mall. Greets a shopkeep friendly. He gets into a tanning bed.

Hair salon. Korean woman bleaches his hair.

Driving. Eyes. The strip club.

INt shitty wrestling match. A promoter lists the matchups.

They prep for the match. Going through moves with some young blood.

Ram - a chick is here to see you.

In the hall - hey kiddo. A young girl greets him.

She there to root on her old man? No. She’s there to make amends. 12-stepper.

Interrupted by two meatheads. He puts on his act for them. The girl is pissed at the interruption.

In the ring. Kid loco taunts him. Calling him a loser. Something turns and he takes the upper hand. Ram Jam

Int dressing room. Gets offered the 20th anniversary rematch with the ayatollah.

Stip club. Door man asks for hgh. Bartender slides him a beer. Cassidy is working vip. Girl same age as his daughter on the pole

Walks passed the VIP. Casidy is being berated for being old by frat boys.

Randy busts through. Makes them apologize. Expects a thank you. Cassidy is just pissed.

Cassidy warms to him. Lapdance. Ram’s explaining the 20th’ aniversary opportunity.

They chat. Ram bleeds. Cassidy helps him. Leads to him showing her his scars.

Cassidy quotes from passion of the christ. The sacrificial ram. Her song comes on and she’s pulled to stage.

99c store. Picking up weird supplies. Thumb tacks.

Cut to match .

Randy’s heart is giving way in the match. Has a heart attack. They pull him out of the ring.

Hospital - Bypass.

Dr says no more wrestling.

Gets trailer back.

Showers.

Plays vids with Adam.

Adam leaves. Ram does jumping jacks. He gets winded. He starts to cry.

Goes to Cheetahs for comfort. He asks her out. Something more real.

She meets him out back. Sympathy. But he’s overstepping.

Looks at old pic of Daughter. Goes to visit his daughter. She’s studying child development

SHe’s on her way to class. Tries to evade hum, but he charms her a bit.

He gives her a ride. Fesses to heart attack and she loses it. Now he wants to make good!? Now that he’s scared of dying?

Goes to fan expo. Learns from an old promoter that he’s been left out of a reunion.

He watches another old wrestler. In a wheelchair. Piss trickles into a catheter bag.

Back at trailer. Scared to go in alone. Drives to..

Cheetahs

Cassidy tries to get dances, no takers. SHe’s happy to see randy show up.

She asks about daughter. Randy doesn’t know much about what she likes. Cassidy suggests a second hand shop.

Randy goes to bar, cassidy a little rejected.

She comes to him, offers to go with him on Saturday to the shop.

Randy goes to work. Asks for something more permanent. Wayne offers deli counter.

Saturday, ram meets cased at the second hand shop. First time seeing cased clothed.

They find a shitty green jacket. Cassidy doesn’t like it, randy does, she plays nice.

They are about to part ways. Randy asks for a beer. Cassidy resists. She’s got a kid. 9years old. Ram gives her an old toy of him. Take care of that 300 bucks on eBay. Really? Nah. Cassidy obliges. One beer.

Talk about kid. Her hopes to move. Quitting cheetahs. Def leopard. Randy dances for her, They sing together. They bond over that pussy Cobain boo hoo Seattle. It’s the moment they need to meet. No contact with customers she says after they kiss. She’s gotta run.

Deli counter. Robin name tag.

Serving customers, he’s clueless. Bad exahcnage, bad exchange, then a nice one. 57… O-57 bingo. Whats my prize?

College. Ram meets his daughter. What are you stalking me? DO stalkers bring gifts?

They walk along a midway. The reminisce about when she was young.

They sit on a bench. Mint chip ice cream. He accepts her unspoken apology. Drops her off. Hope the wasn’t too painful.

Ram puts a photo of them on his fridge. On the phone. He tells a friend to count him out. He’s retiring.

Cheetah’s. Guys put dollar bills in Cassidy’s g-string. Randy tries to put a purse envelope in.

They sit. It’s a thank you card. Rand tries to ask her out to a cover band bar. It’s becoming too much for her. You think I’m a stripper.. but I’m a mom with respoonsibilities. You’re a customer.

Randy slides a 20 across the table. Cassidy slides it back. You’re refusing a customer? Argeument. Embarrasment. Randy storms out.

Shop-rite. Old lady pound of potato salad.

Guy recognizes him somehow. Teamsters? Softball? Ram Jam. Slicer fingers get closer.

Trailer. Drinking Touching scar. Turns on gun and roses. Dances around his room like it’s a ring.

Collectibles store. Scott Bromberg. Asks for referee opportunity. Booker D tries to work him into the gig. During the match randy steps in. Gets hit with a chair. They shower. Praise Randy as the master.

Hotel bar. Shit pit story.

Hotel bar. Hanging with girls. Coke dealer walks in. I don’t do that anymore. Me neither. Cut to them in the bathroom doing bumps.

Morning. Eyes open to find a poster of fireman.

Leaves the house. Gets home opens the fridge. Dismay. Picture of him and daughter on fridge.

Bang bang bang on her door.

Daughter pissed. She waited in the restaurant for 2 hours.

She hates him. Throws a pot. He grabs her. I’m sorry. You don’t mean it. You’re right. She calms. She’s totally done Wirth him.

He leaves. Starts to cry.

Shop Rite - line at the deli counter. “You believe these fucking morons?”

Slice slice. More pressure. Customers complaining. Slice slice. Jams his thumb into the slicer. Blood everywhere. Smears blood across his mouth. He smashes into the shelves dodging a woman.

At home. Calls the promoter. He wants in. Shaves. Tan in a can. Peroxide in the hair.

Cassidy shows up. How’d you find me? Big Chris.

Cassidy explains she’s trying to get to a place in her life and she can’t bring anyone from… good for you. Quitting is hard.

He hands he the flyer. Drives off.

Cassidy’s apt. Tells the sitter. In bed by 11, no bargaining. Her son plays with the ram doll.

Cheetah’s - cased dances.

She leaves the stage.

Randy at roadside payphone. Gets Stephanie’s answering machine. Tells he loves her and that he’s going back in the ring.

Randy naps on side of road.

Gets to auditorium. Man on the phone. Man business is rocking Just opened a third dealership. Randy looks on. This is the ayatollah

They chat. Did thnink it was on. Then I get a call , its on.

Randy wants to go over the moves. Ayatollah wants to wing it.

Cassidy at gas station. Asks for directions.

Int locker room. Ram taping up.

Cassidy pulls up. Looking for locker room

Randy now suited.

Ayatollah music begins to play. Announcement.

Randy turns to find Cassidy there. She tries to get him to bail. He’s still going through with it.

Randy- this is where I belong. Listen to them.

Randy enters the ring. Ramming chairs.

He grabs the mic.

I just got one thing to say to you people. Thank you. I started in 1982. I was 6 foot 1 3 back surgeries… End of the speach. The crowd roars. Ayatollah is about to smash him.

Randy is a little intense for the ayatollah. They trade revenge moves each more real than the last.

Their in the ring out of the ring. Chocking with flags and poles.

Ayatollah - You wanna bring it home?

Cassidy pleads with ringside.

His heart is giving. Pounding. Irregular. Hard. Ram is about to finish him. Ayatollah says just pin him.

Cassidy leaves the match sobbing.

Horns are out.

He leaps . Glorious and immortal.

Some things last a long time.

I’ll eat your sandwich if you’re not eating it.

You’re got me going. You really got me going.

I can’t believe you got th t sian out.