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natsaffection · 2 years

Text

My sweet Baby. | part II | N. Romanoff

Sugar Mommy!Natasha x Sugar Baby!Reader

MINORS DNI!!! (18+!)

warnings: Detailed BDSM Contract

A/n: First of all. Thank you so much for all the support! I didn’t expect it to blow up so much <3 Im Using the taglist here for the first time, so I hope it works the way I want it to-

But Anyways, here is now the really big start of this Story!

———

It's only been two hours, and you're already glued to your new computer. It turns out that inside the box was the latest MacBook. You swore that when this was all over, and you saw Natasha again, you would give it back. You didn't know what to do. What do you think Natasha is doing right now? Is she writing the email? What will it say? You had so many questions, and you were getting impatient. Should I write to her first? Wait, I don't have her email, "Urgh what have I done..."

Before you could imagine unnecessary scenarios, it went "Ding" and up right finally came the message,

‎

Natasha Romanoff sent you an email.

‎

Okay, now you were panicking. Should you open it right away? Or open it a few minutes later, so she doesn't see that you've been waiting for it?!

Fuck it. You open the mail and started to read:

‎

Evening Y/n,

here is the discussed mail and in the attachment you will find my contract, which you should please sign only after careful reading. You are doing us both a favor, trust me. If you have any questions about any of the points, don't be shy and ask me. If you think about returning the laptop, I'll tell you right now that I won't accept it, and I'll ask you to use it for research.

‎

"Ask to use it as research? You sound like my professors..."

So you started typing into the text box as well:

you: That's what you're asking for? Is this what our Relationship will be like, you ordering me around?

"Ha! I showed her..."

Your pride didn't last long, as you began to regret the message. She's going to send a mean message back...She's gonna-

Oh, I hope so. And what's more. You will like it.

You sigh in relief, but that was also kind of the wrong thing to do, since you didn't know how to feel about this answer. So you leave it at the message and nervously move the mouse pointer to the attachment. It loads for a while and when the document opens you can already see that you are just on the first page, out of a total of 17.

‎

‎‎

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

THE PARTIES AGREE AS FOLLOWS

1 The following are the terms of a binding contract between the Dominant [Natalia Alianovna Romanova] and the Submissive [Y/n, L/n]

‎

FUNDAMENTAL TERMS

2 The fundamental purpose of this contract is to allow the Submissive to explore her

sensuality and her limits safely, with due respect and regard for her needs, her limits

and her wellbeing.

3 The Dominant and the Submissive agree and acknowledge that all that occurs under

the terms of this contract will be consensual, confidential, and subject to the agreed

limits and safety procedures set out in this contract. Additional limits and safety procedures

may be agreed in writing.

Okay. One big Problem. You had only slept with one person before and that was years ago. You don't even know if that counts as sleeping, since the guy was just following his own pleasure back then.

‎

THE SUBMISSIVE

-The Submissive accepts the Dominant as her master, with the understanding that she is now the property of the Dominant, to be dealt with as the Dominant pleases during the Term generally but specifically during the Allotted Times and any additional agreed allotted times.

-The Submissive will agree to any sexual activity deemed fit and pleasurable by the Dominant, excepting those activities outlined in Hard Limits.

-The Submissive will not drink to excess, smoke, or take recreational drugs, or put her person into any unnecessary risk.

-The Submissive will not enter into sexual relations with anyone other than the Dominant.

-The Submissive agrees to procure oral contraception from a physician of the Dominant's choosing.

-The Submissive will obey any instruction given by the Dominant. She will do so eagerly and without hesitation.

-The Submissive shall always conduct herself in a respectful manner to the Dominant, and shell address her only as “Mommy” or “ms Romanoff”. Or such other title as the Dominant may direct.

‎‎

DOMINANT

-The Dominant will make the Submissive's health and safety a priority at all times

-The Dominant will not undertake or permit to be undertaken any action which could cause serious injury or any risk to the Submissive's life.

-The Dominant accepts the Submissive as hers, to own, control, dominate and discipline during the term.

-The Dominant may use the Submissive body at any time during the Times or any agreed additional times in any manner she deems fit, sexually or otherwise.

-The Dominant may discipline the Submissive as necessary to ensure the Submissive fully appreciates her role of subservience to the Dominant and to discourage unacceptable conduct.

-The Dominant may flog, spank, whip, or corporally punish the Submissive as She sees fit, for purpose of discipline or for hers personal enjoyment.

‎‎

ACTIVITIES

-The Submissive shall not participate in activities or any sexual acts that either party deems to be unsafe or any activities detailed in appendix 1.

-The Dominant and the Submissive have discussed the affectivity's set out in Appendix 2 and recorded in writing in appendix 2 their agreement in respect of them.

‎‎

SAFEWORDS

-The Safeword “Yellow” will be used to bring to the attention of the Dominant that the Submissive is close to her limit.

-The Safeword “Red” will be used to bring to the attention of the Dominant that the Submissive cannot tolerate any further demands. When this word is said the dominants action will cease completely with immediate effect.

‎‎

APPENDIX 1

Hard Limits

-No acts involving urination or defecation and the products thereof

-No acts that will leave any permanent marks on the skin

-No activity that involves the direct contact or electric current (whether alternating or direct), fire or flames to the body

add:

‎

APPENDIX 2

Soft Limits

-To be discussed and agreed between both parties:

Which of the following sexual acts are acceptable to the Submissive?

-Masturbation

-Vaginal fisting

-Anal fisting

‎

Is the use of sex toys acceptable to the Submissive?

Yes/No

‎

If yes:

-Vibrators

-Dildos

-Butt Plugs

-Other

‎

Is Bondage acceptable to the Submissive?

Yes/No

‎‎

Which of the following types of pain/punishment/discipline are acceptable to the Submissive? -Spanking

-Padding

-Whipping

-Biting

-Nipple clamps

-Ice

-Hot wax

‎‎

CONCLUSION

We, the undersigned have read and understood fully the provisions of this contract.

We freely accept the terms of this contract and have acknowledged this by our signatures below:

‎‎ ‎

The Dominant: Natalia Alianovna Romanova

Date:

——————

‎‎

The Submissive: Y/n L/n

Date:

——————

‎‎

Its a lot.

It was so quiet in your room that you can even hear the blood flowing inside you. She didn't write that in two minutes. And why is it so..detailed? And why is it only about sex? Anyway, you are ready to try something new, but all the time? You can actually prostitute yourself right away now.

What do you think Y/n? Please answer truthfully.

How does she know your'e done reading?! You think for an appropriate answer and find it best and most uncomplicated if you tell completely the truth,

you: Im a little overwhelmed if i'm honest. Is it really just what you want from me? Whats in for me?

It didn't take long for the answer to come,

‎

Thank you for being honest. As I mentioned, thats the one thing i'm asking for. I want you to see right away what it all involves to prevent misunderstandings. And to answer your question briefly. You'll get me, Y/n. Anything I have will be yours too. You never have to worry about your financial life again.

I have in mind what you want in this..Relationship and I try to make this possible. As I said, I want us both to be comfortable.

But we discuss the details when we meet again to sign.

‎

If you still want that.

‎

She made two good arguments..

Well, if she takes advantage of you, you can do that too. You have nothing to loose anymore and if it get too much, you can always take a step back or search for help.

You: Yes. I want to try it. But I still have to think about the contract.

She can wait a few days..Glad to hear that. When does your flight leave? You open your phone to see the exact time and day of the flight and text it back to her.

Natasha reads the message and types: Alright, I can work with that. But immediately deleted it and typed again: Alright.

When you saw the message again, a small smile spread over your face.

Maybe it wasn't such a big mistake after all.

‎‎

————-

Taglist:

@natssluttt @natashaswife4125 @trans-wolf-boi @swaqcenix @peggycarter3 @snowdrop1026 @natlover69 @mocswift @mrscromanoff @fxckmiup

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov x reader #natasha smut #nat x reader #natasha romanov smut #dom!natasha x reader

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joshsindigostreak · 3 months

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O, Pioneers

Chapter One

“We, a curious trio, picking, wandering on our way.” - Walt Whitman

Sam Kiszka x F!OC

What started out as a series of emails snowballed into Sam Kiszka having the one person in his field he could not stand to staying in his house for a few days. It’s only for a few days. Can he survive having her around him 24/7 or will Natasha Delaney end up being the one to foil all of his plans?

Authors Note: Hey y’all!! Sorry for leaving you hanging so long with this story I wanted to get the other three stories established before I got back to this just for consistency sake. But I do hope you like Sam’s story. I have so much planned for it ❤️ if you need to catch up on the Prologue you can read it here!

Disclaimer: *Set in the months prior to ISHIYE, so in the same universe but can be read independently. It’ll crossover the most with Running Through the Garden and there will be references to the other fics but not to the point of confusion. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2,793

Warnings: Some swearing but that’s it for now.

The Kiszka Estate as it was often referred to was truly a sight to behold. The grounds weren’t massive, but the Manor itself was a four-story English Tudor that danced the line of being over the top while reeking of Olde Money. The family had been living on this property for generations, and depending on what you thought of them it was either referred to as the Manor or the Compound.

Natasha stood in the circular driveway, her luggage sitting idly beside her as the Uber drove off, leaving her alone outside. She could tell whoever designed the house intended it to be visually intimidating, but it wasn’t working on her.

Of course the mother fucker couldn’t actually pick me up from the airport, she growsed in her head. He did however, set up her Uber for her, so she didn’t have to pay for it, but it was the principle of it all. She squared her shoulders and picked up her bags, listening to the gravel crunch under her shoes as she approached the front door.

As she ascended the steps to the Manor, the massive front door swung open to reveal Sam Kiszka. Natasha stopped in her tracks as she took him in. The Sam before her was significantly different than the last time she saw him on graduation day. His hair was still long, but looked like a professional had finally started cutting it, his forehead was frustratingly blemish free, and those Sanpaku eyes stared right through her as they always did. But the biggest difference was the surprising amount of facial hair on him. He couldn’t grow a thing on his face back in college, and any attempts were so patchy and thin that it was never worth it to even try. But now? Now there was a thick mustache sitting on his top lip, accompanied by an equally thick tuft of hair sprouting from his chin. The way his chin hair was creeping up his jawline, it was clear he was letting it do its own thing and not actively trimming it to stay in one spot. He wasn’t as willowy as he was either, having finally started to fill out. He looked so different yet so…Sam at the same time. He looked goo-

“I thought you said your flight was coming in at two, Nat?”

Mood ruined. That smart ass tone was still ever present in his voice.

“It did,” she replied flatly.

“It's nearly 4:30 PM.”

“I’m glad you can tell time, Kiszka,” she rolled her eyes and continued towards the doorway. He scoffed under his breath as she walked past him and into the house.

“I’m just saying that keeping someone waiting like this is rude,” he remarked as he shut the door behind them.

“Well it’s not my fault that it takes well over an hour to get from the airport to these…hallowed grounds,” Natasha gave him an irritated look over her shoulder, the sarcasm dripping from her voice.

Sam rolled his eyes back at her, and the conversation he had had with his best friend Daniel a few days prior ran through his mind.

“Just wanted to let you know that I’m going to be having a guest at the house this weekend, she’ll be flying in around 2:00 PM,” Sam threw out before taking a bite out of his bagel.

Danny stared at him from across the little table they were sitting at. Every few days they’d have breakfast together before going their separate ways for the day, and on this particular Wednesday morning, Danny was taken aback by what Sam had just said.

He leaned forward towards Sam and rested his elbows on the table, “you’re having a guest…at your house?”

“Mmmhmm,” Sam replied, still chewing.

“...and this guest is a girl?” Danny tried to not smile but his eyes twinkled anyway, “is there someone I don’t know about?”

Sam finally swallowed and looked up at him, realizing how he made this sound, “Oh don’t get that look on your face this is strictly for professional reasons. She won’t be here for very long.”

“Professional reasons,” the skepticism clouded Danny’s voice.

“Yes. You know her anyway,” he added before drinking more of his coffee.

Now Danny was even more curious, “I do?”

“Yeah. It's Nat Delaney.”

The Wolf blinked several times at Sam before answering, “Delaney is staying…at your house?”

“Yeah it’s just for some of her own research. There’s an artifact she needs to get her hands on and I refused to risk it through the shitty mail system so she came to me instead,” at this Sam had finished his meal and sat back in his own seat.

Natasha was a frequent subject between the two of them in college. She was the only student at that university to get better grades than Sam, which pissed him off to no end. Danny had no issue with her, as she was always nice to him and her exceptional grades didn’t matter to him. Even though his best friend bitched about it constantly, they were both still the top of their class. He also thought that a little competition for Sam was good for him. It wouldn’t keep him humble by any means, but it would keep him on his toes.

“How did this happen?”

“We exchanged some professional emails and she explained her dire situation and I, just happened to be the solution to her problem,” Sam didn’t even try to hide the smug look on his face.

The two friends stared at each other for a few minutes, but with entirely different trains of thought.

“So is she just going to stay in one of the guest-”

“I’ve already got the corner room cleaned up for the most part, just have to get some of Jake’s shit out of it.”

Danny had been wandering the halls of Sam’s house since he was 14 years old, and he knew exactly what room Sam was referring to. The ‘corner room’ was what they called one of the many rooms that was intended to be for guests, but over the years each of the kids started using it as a storage room given its proximity to their bedrooms. The proper guest rooms were on the first floor, just off the kitchen. The corner room was also a literal description, as it was at the end of the hall on the second floor. The corner room was also directly across from Sam’s.

“Why that room?” Danny asked, his eyes twinkling again in curiosity.

“It was the closest room I’d need to clean out and the rooms downstairs and who wants to stay in the rooms downstairs that my parents' weird friends use?”

“Ok,” Danny said, elongating the letters and not believing a word that came out of Sam’s mouth but playing along anyway. “Are you going to put a chocolate on her pillow?”

Sam gave him a look, “totally and I have so much of it around the house since you can’t eat it.”

Danny frowned in offense, “I can eat chocolate, Sam and you know it.” It was a common stereotype that since Wolves were in fact, Wolves, that they couldn’t have chocolate like regular canines couldn’t. It also had been at the center of an incident where Sam’s mom had brownies left out on the counter and Danny dove in and shoved a corner piece into his mouth, and Sam panicked that he was going to get sick from it. But no, the young Wolf was fine. After that it became a running joke between the two friends.

“Anyway, she should only be here for a few days max and then she’ll be off to whatever it is she’s been doing,”

“I’m definitely swinging by. I’m not going to miss the two of you kill each other.”

“I can assure you, Daniel, that she won’t be there long enough for that to happen.”

“Sure. I believe that. You couldn’t even go five minutes in Professor Reid’s class without snapping and correcting each other. Or all the times you started arguing in the library and nearly got kicked out for being loud. Or when you’d fight over that one bench under the will-“

Danny. It’ll be fine.”

Sam was snapped out of his memory by Natasha’s voice. She had walked into the main corridor of the house, right next to the grand wooden stairs and the archway into the formal living room.

“So where in this palace am I going to be staying? How many bedrooms is there? Eleven? An even dozen?”

“Seven. And your room is upstairs.”

She looked up the stairs to her left, noting the carpet that ran down the middle of the steps, the solid wood rail and banisters. The whole manor was the definition of ‘they don’t make them like this anymore.’ The family clearly spared no expense preserving the integrity of the architecture over the decades.

“Lead the way, Kiszka.”

She stepped back to let Sam get in front of her and before she could reach for her bags, long slender fingers curled around the handles. Sam didn’t say a word and began up the stairs, taking her heaviest bag with him. She stared at him momentarily, surprised by the gesture, but quickly recovered with the rationale that it was the least he could do at this point.

At the top of the stairs Sam took a right down the open hallway that led down a corridor that split off in two opposite directions. He took a right and Natasha counted three doors on either side of the hall before Sam stopped at a final fourth door on the right. There was a door at the very end of the hallway, right between the final two doors on either side.

Sam used his free hand to twist the doorknob, revealing the room behind it.

The first thing Natasha noticed were two nearly floor to ceiling windows on the wall that was opposite the doorway, flanking a large four poster bed. She followed Sam into the room and spotted another door on the far wall on the right, which she guessed was for a closet. There were antique-looking amber lamps on both nightstands, and as she turned to view the wall next to the door, she saw one of the most beautiful rolltop desks she had ever seen, pushed up into the corner with a few bookshelves on the right of the desk leading back to the doorframe.

It was another antique, and the craftsmanship and details in the wood was so intricate that it had to have been done by hand. She wanted to run over and push the lid back to reveal the actual writing surface and the little drawers for writing supplies.

Sam's voice cut through your thoughts, “it’s not much but it’ll work while you’re here.”

Natasha turned around and gawked at him, it nearly irritated her how privileged he sounded, “Sam this is a beautiful room.”

He blinked at her, not used to hearing her verbalize positive sentiments. After a few moments of eye contact he looked around the room and asked, “so, where do you want me to put your stuff?”

She pointed to the foot of the bed, where a small bench sat just in front of the frame, “there is fine.”

As he situated the bags, she turned to walk over to the large windows. The view was almost better than the room itself. The lush lawn stretched out on the grounds below, a thick blanket of trees stood off in the distance, fencing in the grass. She looked to the right of the window and her eyes went wide at the sight of what appeared to be a small but ambitious garden. Several raised beds were lined up in neat little rows, along with a few ground-level beds off to the side.

She looked over her shoulder at Sam who was still standing there with his hands in his pockets, “is that your garden?” Maybe the light was playing tricks on her but she could’ve sworn that Sam’s cheeks reddened at the question.

“Yes.”

Her eyebrows raised in surprise, “you garden?”

“That’s typically what one does in a garden, Nat.”

Her brows fell at his tone, there was the Sam she knew.

“I was just surprised because you never took any of the horticulture classes at Lakewood, at least from what I remember.”

He shrugged, “I didn’t really get into it until after we graduated.”

The image of Sam Kiszka gardening was an image that would remain locked in her head. Nope, no one was going to know about the way she instantly envisioned Sam of all people gently watering a tomato plant.

“Well, hobbies are good,” she said lamely. What the fuck, Delaney? Hobbies are good? You simpleton. Desperately needing to change the subject, she turned on her heel and pointed over to the roll top desk in the corner, “that’s really pretty.”

Sam looked over at the antique, he wouldn’t tell her that he spent the better part of an hour the day before dusting and polishing the wood. He wouldn’t tell her that he was on the floor making sure to get all the nooks and crannies of the legs, clearing out any cobweb he saw. There was no way he was going to let any piece of furniture be the subject of her scrutiny. Natasha Delaney, knowing he had a dusty house? That would be humiliating. Right?

Right?

“Oh, yeah, that was my great-grandmother’s. It was a present from my great-grandfather to make up for him being stuck in France for a lot longer than he intended because of a hunting job.”

Natasha nodded in response and walked over to the desk. She turned back to Sam, “can I…”

“Go right ahead,” he replied while walking over towards his rival.

She smiled and turned around to lift the roll top, but it didn’t budge. She tentatively tried again, but it would not lift at all. Well shit.

Sam saw her struggle and reached around her to help, their arms brushing against each other.

“Sorry it gets stuck sometimes,” he mentally cursed himself by not double checking before she got there. His large hand nearly wrapped around hers to get a grip on the small handle. Her wine-colored nails stood out to him. The undertone of the polish complimented her skin perfectly. The same skin that felt so soft in comparison to his. The image of Natasha meticulously painting her nails flashed in his mind but he quickly shook it away by focusing back on the desk. In slight frustration he jerked at the handle one final time and it immediately slid up and into place, revealing the rest of the desk.

A small gasp left Natasha’s lips as she saw the gorgeous inlays on the writing surface.

Sam refused to acknowledge the physical reaction he had at the sound, or where on his body it happened. It didn’t happen. Nothing to see here.

“This is so pretty! It had to be done by hand given the time period and the attention to detail. A machine could never do this,” she explained while lightly dragging her index finger along the edge of the main inlay in the center of the desk. She didn’t even realize she was rambling because of the proximity to Sam. He was still bent at the waist next to her, leaning his one hand on the desk. If she just turned her head to her right, ever so slightly, their cheeks would touch.

The two rivals stood there, rooted in the spot, waiting to see who was going to blink first in this standoff. Sam did not want to acknowledge how the loose spiral of blonde hair in front of her ear was just barely touching his face. He didn’t want to acknowledge how his lips could brush that same ear if he turned to his left just so. The silence was deafening.

They were so distracted that they didn’t even hear one of the doors downstairs open and shut.

They didn’t hear the footsteps on the stairs.

They didn’t-

“Natasha-fucking-Delaney,” a familiar and deep voice called warmly from the doorway. The sudden noise started them both and caused them to jump and spin around. Sam couldn’t even focus on the second sharp gasp that his house guest made so close to him. She had already taken off to envelope Danny in a hug. Sam stood there in front of that roll top desk, suddenly by himself.

For the first time since he was fourteen, Sam was disappointed at the sight of his best friend.

Tag List: @roving-blade , @readyforthegarden , @sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine , @wideminded-dreamer , @runwayblues , @wildbluesorbit , @llightmyllovee , @rhythm-of-space , @sacredthefran , @writingcold , @alwaysonthemend , @wetkleenex-gvf , @josh-iamyour-mama , @lightsofthe-living-gvf , @gvfcinema , @sacredthethreadgvf , @losfacedevil , @jakekiszkasbuttsweat , @shutupdevvie , @hearts-hunger , @gretavanfleetposts , @ascendingtostardust , @mackalah , @andromeda-raine-gvf , @jake-kiszkas-smirk , @gracev0609 , @sacredjake , @earthlysorrows , @gvfpal , @myownparadise96 , @itsafullmoon , @gvfmelbourne, @twistedmelodies , @that-witchy-pan , @gold-mines-melting , @texas-bbq-pringles , @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface , @sadiechar , @char289 , @stardustvanfleet , @sunfl0wer-power , @holdingup-fallingsky , @bladenotblaze , @gretavanlace , @lipstickitty ,

#sam kiszka #sam kiszka x oc #rivals to lovers #dark academia #forced proximity #greta van fleet #sam gvf #emotional support werewolf #o pioneers #my fics #my writing

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 10 months

Note

AITA for not allowing someone to look at the serial number on my PS5 or the PS5 box to confirm it is not someone else's?

Okay, so, last month a now ex-family friend (I will call him M, late 30s - early 40s) got kicked out of a shed he was living in, in the back of his brother's garden. So he asked my dad (73) if he could keep a couple of things in our garden, and my dad, despite me (29F) and my ma telling (ma is also in her 70s) him it is only going to lead to trouble, and he also already had a storage locker that he could take it all to. He didn't listen to us and said that M could. Ma and I weren't very happy about it, but you can't really tell dad anything without getting snapped at.

So M put his electric tricycle in our back garden on the decking, some other electrical bits for it in my dad's shed. He also asked us to keep his son's PS4 for him safe as he doesn't trust his family (his brother and the people living in his brother's house would steal from him all the time, and his parents, and other brothers who live with them are drug dealers and M doesn't trust their customers or them to not steal and sell it.) And he asked us to keep his PS5 which he put in a blue suitcase because he didn't have a PS5 hard case to carry it with.

We left the PS4 and the PS5 alone. The only time we touched either was to put the PS4 into a bag because he never put it in one, and to move both the PS4 and PS5 into the shed, which is secure while we had the living room floor ripped up to fix it as it was rotting away. But other than that, no one touched it.

Now three weeks ago, more like four at this point, he came over to collect his PS5 and PS4 routinely like he always does (he also leaves his things unattended at his parent's house while he goes out to smoke weed or to sell drugs. He also used to live in a group home after leaving the shed he lived in, and now currently lives in a caravan outside his parent's home, which is opposite our home.) Anyway, he left with his PS4 and PS5 and back a couple of hours later yelling at my dad.

M said that my dad, me, my brother (30M), and our long term family friend (B. Male and I think either late 40s to early 50s) of logging into his PS5, changing the email address, changing his password, deleting all of his games and pictures from it and swapping his PS5 for someone else's.

To clear things up, me, my brother and B have our own PS5s. B has a digital one, I bought one back in March because Microsoft banned my account and wouldn't get in touch with me for 4 months (this was because I added my phone number as a security message.) And my dad bought my brother one because I got one.) So we have no reason to swap PS5's at all since we all have our own, save my dad and ma who watches me play mine when I sit downstairs with them. And if we didn't have a PS5 we wouldn't do anything to someone else's property, and we also do not have the money to just... Randomly get a PS5 to switch with someone else's PS5.

He said that we must have done something because he's just left it here. Forgetting he takes it back to the group home, he took it over his parents, he took it to the caravan site he used to have his caravan in and would often leave it there where he leaves the doors unlocked and anyone can get in. M left when my dad told him to take his stuff and leave and that he (my dad) wants his tools back.

M came back 5 days later, told us that he called the police and that he handed the police his PS5 AND now his PS4 over to the police because "now the 1tb hard drive in the PS4 is missing, and you took it! That or your friend did because you told me that B was having storage issues in his PS5" when B never even knew that we were keeping his PS4 and PS5 safe. And neither of us have a PS4 either, no reason for us to even touch ANY of this PlayStations. My brother and I told M that he's not going to find any of what he's looking for here 'cause we have our PS5s.

So M asked to see our PS5s to make sure. And ma and I said at the same time, "no you can't. If the police are involved then the POLICE can check the PS5s." To which he turned around and called us assholes. But this was 3/4 weeks ago, and we still haven't had a visit from the aforementioned police.

So... Are we Assholes?

TLDR; M accused me and my family of swapping and stealing things from his PS5 and PS4, "called" the police on us, and called because we said no to HIM checking the serial numbers on our PS5s. (3/3)

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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thedreadvampy · 10 months

Text

My housemate is moving out in January

She told us this a week or two ago, when she sat down and, after sitting with us watching TV for over an hour, said "hey so I bought a house and I'm moving out. We agreed on 2 months notice so I won't move until the end of January."

The last time she talked in the immediate terms about buying a house was in 2021, when the sale she was working on fell though and she was unemployed so it was a "when I'm back in a position to look I'll start looking again." Since then I've occasionally asked her how she's doing on the house buying front and she's been like "oh I'm getting there financially" but hasn't mentioned anything concrete.

She didn't tell us she was looking at places. She didn't tell us she had put in an offer. She told us when the offer was finalised. A week AFTER she emailed the letting agent about getting out of her part of the lease. And, it increasingly feels like, only because the letting agent's response was that we had to agree to change the lease.

The letting agent's response (which our housemate obviously didn't copy us into; we had to follow up separately and they copied us into the email chain) also includes that when we change the lease, they're empowered to change the rent, quote, "no cap". Rent was already going up in January - there's no possibility of Sam and I paying her share of the rent.

The really fucking upsetting thing is we're not strangers. This isn't a casual "housemate we found on flatshare" thing. She and Sam have lived together literally their entire adult lives. Me and her have known each other well over a decade. I lived in her and Sam's flat when I was homeless. We were the first people she came out to as trans. We're not super close but I thought we were fucking friends. And she's literally gone out of her way to not talk to us about this for what must have been months while the sale completed - which means she's lied to my face at least once cause I've asked her about her finances in that time (cause she's in a job she hates that she only took to get the house money, so it's like. when we've been commiserating about work stuff I'm often asking 'are you almost free?'). she literally went out of her way to talk to the letting agents before talking to us about putting us in a situation where we could lose our fucking home.

And she keeps. trying. to pretend nothing's happened. Every time I've seen her since then she's not mentioned anything or apologised or anything, she just keeps chatting away and offering hugs and fistbumps like nothing's happened. Like we're still fucking friends.

All it would take for us to still be friends and to be happy for her would have been one fucking sentence in the groupchat like "hey, just put an offer in on a house" or "I'm looking at properties, just so you know, that might happen in the next few months". Like nobody begrudges her for buying a house! It's very cool for her! She's 31 she's worked really hard to get the money I would love to be happy for her! Unfortunately she decided avoiding conflict is more important than giving the people she fucking LIVES WITH (who btw fronted her a month on the rent here while she was unemployed and agreed to take on a larger proportion of the move-in cost back in 2021, if we're still holding ourselves to shit we said 2.5 years ago), so no, you are not entitled to our friendship or to going back to normal.

like if she'd been honest with us it would have been something to process but we'd have had time to figure out our next steps. instead she's left us in a position where we have to find a new roommate before she gives her one month notice, which means finding someone by the end of December, which oh look that's the middle of the fucking Christmas holidays. and she didn't tell us anything until the START of December, or copy us into her conversation with the letting agent, meaning we still don't know what the rent on that space will be so we aren't yet in a position to advertise it. Has she offered to help find a roommate? Has she fuck. Has she offered to help out by moving her move-out date? Nah, she's moving as soon as she gets the keys because, quote, "that means her finances won't have to change". SOUNDS LOVELY. NOT HAVING YOUR FINANCES SUDDENLY CHANGE. I THINK THAT SOUNDS LIKE A REALLY REASONABLE FUCKING GOAL.

Thirteen fucking years she's lived with Sam. Four fucking weeks over Christmas she's left us to figure out a way to not turbofuck our living situation. And she's got the fucking nerve to try and pretend we should be interacting like nothing's changed. Jesus Christ. What a fucking unhinged way to treat...anybody, honestly. never mind the friends-your-entire-adult-life part. literally cannot imagine a scenario in which I would buy a house without telling the people I lived with.

(haha actually this is what my parents divorced over so apparently it's not unusual. although at least my dad had the decency to tell the woman he shared finances with at the point he put in an offer not the point the fucking sale went through.)

Like we'll be fine. It's a huge city centre flat with decent rent and queer housemates, hopefully even when the rent goes up it'll be an easy sell in a city with a huge housing shortage and big queer community. We've got a couple of people interested already, sight unseen - worst case scenario we have to live with someone we don't get on with. And it's given Sam and me a push to look at our own finances and as of today, we've got a mortgage decision in principle and can start looking at flats in the area - mind, we'll be transparent upfront and tell any prospective housemates that yeah, we're looking to buy and move out in the next 6-12 months, and we'll tell them if we put an offer in, because we're decent fucking people who aren't going to spring that on someone out of the blue.

But it's been I think 2 weeks and I'm so fucking angry I could spit. It's such a fucking betrayal. And frankly you know selfishly like. I just had a breakup a couple of months ago, I'm in the middle of moving jobs, both me and Sam have a history of housing instability and this has been the first decent, stable, safe, not-mouldy not-freezing home I think any of us have had, and this is so fucking triggering and upscuttling I could just start biting. like I was talking to my friend about it last week and it's just like. Can I have One Fucking Thing of the three main tentpoles of survival - home, work, relationships - that are fucking stable right now? because shit has been In Flux lately. and at least the work and relationship stuff has changed because of my decisions. going through all that work to make myself short-term unstable to gain long-term stability has been really hard and draining and then just as I was reaching the crisis point with work stuff BOOM, IT'S HOUSING INSTABILITY WITH A STEEL CHAIR. fuck. seriously fuck this and fuck her. we're going to make something good come of it but what a deeply, unbelievably shitty thing to do.

#red said #the other thing that bugs me about it is. ok and again this is old shit dredged back to 2021 when we moved in together #but i had my housemate. and Sam had her. and each of us were really close pairs who'd lived together a long time #and we tried looking for flats as a four but a) a flat with 4 good sized bedrooms in Edinburgh is hens teeth #and b) my housemate was pretty happy to live with me and Sam but increasingly felt like a 4 man flat was going to be a lot for him #and so in the end we talked about it. and through a combination of that and same housemate being in a pretty #unfavorable position housing wise. cause she was unemployed and had shit credit at that moment.#we agreed she'd move with us and Joe went and found a one bed #and in the end that's been really great for him tbh he's a lot happier and more confident and we were pretty sick of each other by then #and so we get on much better now #but at the time it was a real heartache i felt like I'd let Joe down i felt like our friendship was over #and honestly I have never been a huge fan of living with our current housemate. even before we lived here #like when i was staying with her and Sam too. she's incredibly messy and takes up a lot of space in conversations #I've always liked her as a person but she's exhausting and often unpleasant to share space with #and there's a bit of me that's like. we bent over backwards to accommodate you when you were precarious.#like it would have been WAY easier for us to look for a 2-bed during 2021. and if it was a 3-bed I'd have rather stayed with Joe.#but we moved with her for her sake. and she left Sam to clean up their old place (and there were Literal Rats)#and she got really pissy about driving the moving van even though a) that was her idea and b) she's the only person with a license #and c) i walked all MY shit over by hand anyway and the only reason she hired the van was to move her tv #me and Sam found all the core furniture. me and Sam sorted out all the viewings. me and Sam did all the planning. Sam set up all the bills.#we spotted her for rent!we took a bigger share of the costs! because we fucking cared about her and wanted her to have a fucking home!#and she can't even do us the courtesy you'd offer a fucking lodger you found on fucking gumtree

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hunterthecharmer · 3 days

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Unexpected - Part 5

Summary: You work for an events company and end up being assigned as a talent handler for a 2 week long convention. Your co-worker ends up assigned to Glen Powell, but you catch his eye. Can you remain professional and keep him from knowing you're actually a pretty big fan of his?

To catch up, here is my MASTERLIST

Days have passed with the convention, with all the handlers speeding to and from all of the trailers on property to get the talent to all their events. You and Savannah had barely been able to catch up with each other and before you know it, you’re waking up on the last week of the con. It had been a great weekend, Dylan dividing his time through almost all the events offered each day. You were going to miss the banter with him and his easy going attitude.

The feedback from all the attendees was also starting to pour in, your email inbox full of them each day from Anne. It was getting you excited for the next event, which got you wondering if you’d be able to be a part of it again. You tuck it into the back of your mind, wanting to bring it up to your boss once you are back at the office.

You slip into the shower to get ready for the day, throwing on some jeans, a white flowy blouse and some sneakers before jumping on your golf cart to meet the other handlers before an event that day- everyone needed to grab and set up the materials needed for a sip and paint going on that day, that all of the talent were invited to. “Savannah! Hey, wait up!” You call after her, and you watch as she stops in her tracks, face lighting up at the sight of you.

“There you are, stranger! Get over here,” she pulls you in for a hug. “I don’t care what our guys need, you and I are not going to leave each other’s sides today!” You giggle at her playful seriousness, tugging on her elbow to grab the boxes inside the warehouse.

“I actually have a lot to tell you.” You say discreetly to her, once no one else is within earshot. Everyone is scattered around the lawn building the easels for today’s activity, setting out all the brushes and paint colors nearby. Savannah bites her lip in excitement, “Spill!”

You tell her all about your rainy night at Glen’s cabin, and how you haven’t spoken to him much since last week. Savannah is quiet for a moment, processing all you’ve said. “Look, the friend in me wants to scream to everyone here that you kissed your celebrity crush but, the coworker in me wants to smack you back to reality. What were you-” You cut her off, “I get it, I get it! I know it was risky, okay? But it isn’t like I came onto him. You know I would never do something like that. I tried to leave, but he was a gentleman to let me wait out the storm..” Your voice trails off, your mood suddenly deflating. Savannah frowns. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. Glen’s one of the nicest guys I have ever met, but we don’t know if he’s a player or not. Same goes for Dylan, and everyone else here! I hope you get where I’m coming from.” She searches your face for a response, but when you remain silent, continuing to busy yourself with setting up, she offers a wink and a nudge. “But enough with the pessimism. Was he a good kisser or what?”

You meet her eyes again, smiling wide. “The best!”

--- Savannah’s POV---

Savannah drives up to Glen’s cabin, debating whether or not her idea was a good one or not. She really cared about you, and celebrity or not, you deserved to know if he thought of you as a one nighter or actually had some type of real feelings. Once he’s on the cart, he instantly begins chatting her up, just like usual, but Savannah is quiet. “Earth to Savannah. Are you even on this planet right now?” Glen’s chuckle breaks her out of her daze, causing her to swerve the cart into the grass, pushing the break to bring them to a stop. “Glen, I’m gonna level with you here, but I need you to be honest,alright? Off the record.” She questions, eyes narrowing at him.

Glen nods, “Yeah, sure off the record. What’s going on?” he asks, clearly confused.

Savannah takes a deep breath, “When I was sick, my coworker took over your schedule and everything, right?”

Glen nods, “Right.”

She continues, “And the night your dad got sent to the hospital, you were communicated with about that in a timely manner, right?”

Glen’s eyebrows stitch together, unsure where she’s headed with this. “Yeah…”

“So, you didn’t read it online or anything, right? I just need to be sure, because I have a thread of texts regarding that night and I just don’t want it to seem like I didn’t do my job. Yes I was sick, but..if this were to be an issue I could lose my job!” Savannah fakes her reasoning for the question, trying to see if Glen will expand on how he found out, or even give more details.

Instead, he just shrugs. “No, you don’t have anything to worry about. Your coworker let me know immediately, hell she even drove through the storm to come and tell me since I didn’t hear my mom or sister’s phone calls. Trust me, you’re good.” He smiles at her, and Savannah feels her heart sink a little bit. “Okay, good. So she came to tell you the news, and that was it? She showed you all the communication from your assistant and stuff,right?” She presses a final time, hoping he’ll crack.

“Yep, she told me everything. She waited for the storm to ease up a bit and then went back to her cabin.” He replies cooly, before reaching into his back pocket for his phone to turn off his ringer, mindlessly reading his new notifications. Savannah concedes, putting the cart back into drive and returning to the path toward the event.

“Wait, did someone say something about her leaving my cabin so late? I wouldn’t want her to get in trouble for relaying the message to me. I know it wouldn’t look good for her job either.” Glen speaks up, and is looking at Savannah now, a hint of alarm in his voice. “Oh! No, no, I don’t think anybody saw her. At least, I haven’t heard anything.” She quickly replies, still mythed that he didn’t mention the kiss. Guess she had her answer.

-------

“Here’s your paint colors, and if you need a refill on your drink just give me a wave or something.” You pat Dylan on the back, and he grins. “Thank you, bartender. This should be a good time! I promise you this is going to look like a toddler’s masterpiece when I’m through with it.” You both laugh, your eyes landing on a certain someone as they stride across the grass, drink in hand and Savannah hot on his heels. You turn your attention back to Dylan just as the instructor turns on their microphone. “If I could get everyone’s attention, please! Helloooooo Tennessee!”

You wave goodbye to Dylan as you both giggle, the loud noise of the mic startling just about everyone on the lawn. Savannah weaves through the crowd to grab your hand, pulling you over to the chairs for the handlers. You brush past Glen, his eyes briefly meeting yours with a small smile on his lips. You return one to him before Savannah tugs you into a chair.

“I will be your art instructor for today, just want to go over a few housekeeping items.. Your materials have been all laid out for you by the lovely Ignite Team, so let’s give a round of applause for all their hard work; they’ve been out here since 7am this morning to make this space ready for you all.” Everyone applauds your team, and everyone waves to the talent on the lawn, everyone grinning from ear to ear.

“Now, the special brushes with the finer tips will be up at the front, as well as texturing tools, glitter…” the instructor continues on before switching the music on and letting everyone get started.

You turn to Savannah, “Who do you think will paint the best mountaintop?”

She smiles weakly at you, “Oh, I don’t know. Probably one of the girls…hey, want to run to the bathroom with me? Cassandra, can you keep an eye on our boys for us while we run to the restroom real quick?”

Cassandra agrees, the two of you quietly sneaking away to the restrooms down the hill.

“What’s up, everything okay?’ You question her as soon as you close the door.

Savannah swallows before placing a hand on both sides of your shoulders. “Don’t freak out on me, but I kinda sorta asked Glen about the night you guys kissed, and don’t worry I didn’t bring that up, I just acted like I was scared of losing my job over being sick to see if he’d mention anything about you.”

Your jaw drops open, heart rate quickening as you realize that whatever she is about to tell you is going to dictate your mood for the rest of the day. “And?” you ask slowly.

“He didn’t bring it up. He was concerned someone had maybe asked around or mentioned the fact that you left his cabin at such a strange hour, but…that was it. He didn’t blush or stutter or anything. It’s like nothing happened between the two of you at all.”

She shrugs before disappearing into a stall. “I actually did need to go, sorry!”

You slump against the wall, unsure of how to feel. Maybe he was just protecting the interaction? Or, it meant absolutely nothing to him and you just so happened to be at the right place at the right time. His observation rings in your ears, “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

Except this time, it doesn’t make your heart swell, it kind of gives you an icky feeling. What if he didn’t mean it in a sincere way, but an assuming, cocky sort of way? What if he was just fishing to boost his ego? After all, you’d like to think you had been discreet and professional this entire time when it came to interacting with him, longing glances from afar or not.

Suddenly feeling nauseous, you step out from the bathrooms to get some air, the sun shining through the gazebo overtop the building. Savannah soon appears next to you, slinging her arm over your shoulders as you both head back up the hill. “I promise I was just trying to look out for you, alright? We don’t need a replay of last year with Jeremy-” “Fair enough!” You let a laugh escape you, shaking your head. “Jeremy and Glen are not even close to being on the same level, Savannah. But I get what you’re trying to say and I love you for it.” She rolls her eyes. “The feeling of disappointment would be the same.” She states, squeezing your shoulder as you take your seats.

Everyone is watching the talent paint- some struggling, some just chit chatting while barely getting anything accomplished on their canvas, and others seemed to be thoroughly concentrated on following the instructor.

A sudden wave atop the heads in the crowd catches your eye, and you grin to see it’s Dylan trying to get your attention. You bounce over to him, taking in his progress. “Wow, not too shabby! Are you having fun?” He smiles at you from behind his black Ray Bans. “Hell yeah! Thanks for the support, I really need it for the next section. Would you mind getting me another drink please?” You take his empty cup away from him, “Sure thing! Be right back.”

You carefully maneuver through the easels, being sure not to knock over anyone’s stuff. Handing the cup to the bartender, you wait for them to make Dylan a new drink. You look out into the crowd to try and find Glen, and when your eyes land on him your cheeks heat immediately. He’s chatting up another guest, her dark hair thrown back in a fit of laughter at whatever he’s saying. They’re both leaning over their easels to talk, and you are suddenly reminded that you are very much not a gorgeous, rich celebrity model at this convention, but simply a girl from LA who is here to work. You make your way across the grass to Dylan, breezing past Glen and the mystery girl who has his attention to try and hear what they’re talking about. All you can catch is her mentioning New York City and Glen’s response is muffled by all the chatter happening around them. You drop off his drink and return to your table, Savannah shooting you a knowing look. “Want me to go over there? He probably needs a refill too.” You sigh, hands in your lap fidgeting with the fray on your jeans. “It’s fine, I’m fine. Really.”

In a huff only noticeable to you, she stands and makes a beeline for Glen. Her appearance stops their conversation, Glen putting his hands up in a gesture that he’s all set on needing another drink. Savannah completely ignores the girl as she walks back to your table. You raise an eyebrow at her. “I’m getting friend vibes. Seriously, she’s wearing a studded leather jacket with heeled boots while Glen’s wearing jeans and a hoodie.” You roll your eyes with a laugh. “So? He probably likes her style. Can we just drop it, please?”

Savannah nods and changes the subject.

Another half hour passes by, and the event is almost over. Everyone’s moving to the final details of their project, the lawn mostly quiet as everyone locks in. You decide to stretch your legs and find some interesting tools for Dylan to use, making your way over to him when a hand grabs your elbow. “Hey, could I borrow one of those?” you are jolted out of focus, head snapping behind you to see a grinning Glen Powell. “Sorry, no can do. These are for Dylan, but I think I saw Savannah at the table, just flag her down so she can grab one for you.” You smile curtly at him before wiggling out of his grasp and fast walking over to Dylan without ever looking back.

The event finally comes to an end, all of the staff swarming onto the lawn to clean up the mess. The guests disperse to the event hall to eat dinner, some milling about the property to chat.

You toss a heap of paint brushes into your trash bag, a familiar voice reappearing behind you. “Need a hand with that?” You spin around to see Glen bent over to grab some paint covered sponges, and you gasp. “No! Glen, you’re not supposed to be cleaning anything up. You go enjoy the live music in the hall!” You open the trash bag wider for Glen to successfully dunk them in, a hand running through his fluffy hair. You liked seeing it without any styling creme in it.

“Back to being professional, huh?” He squints at you as the sun shines on his face. You sigh, head leaning to the side. “I work here, remember?” You offer a small, playful smile to him as you shake the lanyard hanging around your neck, and his expression softens. “I just thought that, well..you know..” He steps closer to you, voice lowering to a whisper. It takes everything in you to step backwards from him, his cologne wafting over you. He looked and smelled so good. “You thought what? Honestly, never mind. It was late, we were both exhausted--” Glen interrupts you softly, “I was there.”

He places his hands on his hips as he stares at you, and you glance around at the other staff members cleaning up, a few of them taking notice of the two of you conversing.

“Anyway, it won’t happen again. How’s your dad doing? Is he home yet?” You ask, before continuing to collect the trash from the ground. Glen sighs before shrugging it off. “Uh, yeah..yeah he’s home. He’s gonna be just fine, thanks for asking.” He pauses for a moment as he watches you continue to clean. “What did you mean by --”

“Glen! Hey, Glen! Time to head out, you have a conference call in ten minutes!”

Savannah’s voice rings out from across the lawn, and you are grateful. You look up at Glen, a sad smile on your lips. “I’m really happy to hear that about your dad. Really. Now, go! Don’t be late for that call. Good luck!” You shoo him off, and he nods in agreement, a look of uncertainty crossing his features before he turns away to jog over toward the golf cart.

That evening is the first of many campfires that week, s’mores and hot chocolate the only two items on the menu. You change into leggings and a sweater before jumping back onto your golf cart to pick up Dylan one last time for the day.

You wait out front for him for five minutes before calling his phone, and when he doesn’t pick up you start to worry.

“Dylan? Are you ready?” You knock loudly on his cabin door, trying to peer in through the tiny window of the door. Suddenly it swings open, a very pale Dylan O’Brien standing before you, his body weight leaning on the doorframe. “Please stop yelling.” He groans, shoving his palm into his right eyelid.

You stifle a giggle, taking in his sweatpants and hoodie that cling to his body, hair a mess. “You don’t look so good buddy.” You rub his arm.

Dylan grimaces as he nods, “I think I had a few too many drinks at the event. Needless to say I need to sit the campfire out, hope that’s okay.”

“Of course, rest up! Do you need anything?”

You offer, but Dylan shakes his head. “Just go have fun, I’m going to go to bed early tonight.” He shoots you the weakest little wave before closing the door.

The debate with yourself on whether or not you should go to the fire tonight lasted about 10 seconds, the desire to see Glen winning you over. As soon as you park, you spot Savannah and join her group that’s huddled amongst one of the many firepits.

“You made it! No Dylan? Here, have a s’more!”

Savannah welcomes you, motioning toward the empty chair next to her. You greet everyone else and happily accept the dessert, savoring the gooey marshmallow and chocolate combo after the long day you’d had.

“He turned in early for the night. Isn’t it gorgeous out here?” Admiring the stars above you, the others agree.

You slowly direct your gaze from the fire in front of you to the other pits, eyes quickly finding Glen’s chair. He’s amongst a mix of men and women, but he’s so far away that you aren’t able to make out if any of them are the one from earlier or not.

A few hours pass before some of the talent begin approaching the staff to turn in for the night, Glen being one of them. You recognize his voice approaching in the distance, stomach knotting as you brace yourself to see who he’s walking with.

The tension in your shoulders dissipates when he stands next to Savannah’s chair, a male figure departing in the other direction. “Ready to roll?” He grins down at her, his green eyes landing on you for a few seconds. You want to get out of your chair and kiss him again, the flames illuminating his features. His charcoal crew neck and joggers make him look so cuddly and warm. You wonder what it’d be like to snuggle up with him.

Savannah’s voice snaps you out of your daze. “You bet! I actually need to fill the cart up with gas though, and there’s a pretty long line. Would you mind taking Glen back tonight?” She looks between the two of you, and you nod quickly as you stand, “No problem at all.”

He gestures toward the carts allowing you to lead the way, “After you.”

You shoot your friend a look from over your shoulder, mouthing ‘thank you’ to her as you fall into step with Glen.

The cicadas and crackling fires fill the air, a cool breeze sending a shiver down your spine as you drive down the dirt path.

“How was your day?” You ask him, desperate to have a non-awkward golf cart ride.

“It was awesome, I really enjoyed that painting class. Even though it’s not worthy of hanging in my house, I don’t think I did too bad of a job.” He laughs to himself as he picks at some fuzz on his sweatpants. You force a small hum in response, eyes fixed on the path ahead.

“Are we cool?” Glen speaks again, this time his entire body turning to face you in his seat, one arm extended up to hang onto the top of the cart.

As you peer over at him, the moonlight illuminates the small smile tugging at his lips. If it weren’t so dark out, you might have thought you detected some concern in his expression.

You nudge him softly, “Of course, why wouldn’t we be?”

“Well we kissed a few nights ago and ever since then I feel like we haven’t gotten to talk at all.”

You feel chill bumps rise on your arms at his statement. Did you really expect the kiss to never come up again? Maybe, but ever since you saw him getting cozy with the mystery girl from earlier your opinion had changed.

“Are you blaming me for that?” You feel him tense at the bite in your tone, his head cocking to the side. His eyes still fixated on you, he reaches over you and presses a foot to the brake abruptly, your bodies lurching forward as he turns the key to switch the cart off.

“Woah,hey! I’m not blaming you for anything.”

You scoff at his words, eyes rolling at his stopping of the cart. He seems to forget that you’re still on the clock, and very much not alone out here. A few carts pass by, the both of you offering polite waves to them. A moment passes and you remain silent, fearful of eavesdroppers.

Turning the key quickly you press down hard on the gas pedal toward Glen’s cabin.

Once there, you cross your arms over your chest. “Goodnight Glen.”

Running a hand through his hair he slides off the golf cart, the only noise between you the gravel beneath his feet as he rounds the front of the cart to crouch at the steering wheel. He places a hand on your knee, shaking it playfully. “Look at me.”

His tone is earnest and you allow your eyes to lose themselves in his.

“It was leather jacket girl, wasn't it?” he chuckles in the dark, eyebrow cocked in amusement.

“So you did notice?” You mumble, face on fire. He stands and outstretches both hands to you, and you oblige without another thought.

Glen places a hand on the small of your back to lead you up the stairs first, your mind swimming in wonder of what’s about to happen.

“Yo, Powell! Turning in so soon?”

The two of you freeze, Glen’s grip tightening on the bannister. Out of instinct, you drop on all fours. He mouths for you to go inside, slipping his key card into your palm. You nod quietly, crawling across the porch toward his front door.

Glen turns around, backing up the staircase to try and hide your body.

“Yeah man! I have an early call time in the morning. Why, what am I going to miss out on?”

The man laughs, “Your loss! We’re about to start an intense game of charades in my cabin. All good though, see you tomorrow!”

You eavesdrop from the window, giggling as Glen appears through the front door. “That was close!”

He nods as he locks the door behind him, closing the curtains. “Don’t worry, he didn’t see a thing.”

And just like that,you’re standing inches away from him in his living room again - alone.

“Fun fact for ya, I actually think leather jackets are tacky. Especially ones with studs all over them. They’re spikey and they hurt.” Glen feigns a serious face, his tone humorous.

“You’re ridiculous.” You grin wide at him as you throw both arms around his neck, tugging him even closer to you. Your confidence surprises you once again, but in this moment you’d do anything to feel his lips on yours again. He was undeniably attractive 24/7 but even more so right now as he makes you laugh. He had seen you. He knew you were jealous and yet he tried to talk to you at the event. You felt even worse for being rude to him earlier.

His arms wind around your waist as he presses his forehead to yours.

“While you were jumping to conclusions, I was admiring you look out for Dylan and everyone else around you. Watching you do your job and keep the place organized.”

Eyes shining at him as you learn that he’d been observing you, he leans in to kiss you. You relax into his grip, fisting your hands into the soft material of his crewneck.

“We’re cool now.” you say before kissing the tip of his nose. He hums in response as he kisses you one more time.

You talk with him for a good while about his schedule the next few days as well as other projects he’s slated to begin next year for work. He asks about your job back in California and you talk a bit about how you and Savannah got so close.

When the two of you start to yawn, you stand to your feet from his sofa and he groans.

“Don’t leave me!” He teases, tugging on your arm. You back away slowly, palms raised as you bite your lip. “It’s time.”

He kisses you, whispering a ‘no’ against your lips. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

You blush under his gaze and wave your phone at him. “Text me! We’ll figure it out.”

Accepting your answer, he unlocks the door and swings it open for you.

“Goodnight pretty girl.”

His compliment causes you to turn back to face him from the porch, his body leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets. He looks so handsome it feels like a dream.

You blow him a kiss before quietly sliding onto the golf cart to drive back to your room.

#glen powell #glen powell fanfic #glen powell fic

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thnxforknowingme · 9 months

Text

Christmas Eves (1/21)

Summary: Blaine makes a quick trip to Ohio to see his parents over Christmas. He certainly doesn't expect to run into his ex-boyfriend Kurt, or to reexamine every aspect of his life, but this Christmas Eve is full of surprises.

Rating: Let's say T? G or T.

Notes: I desperately wanted to participate in the December Klaine Fanworks Challenge this year, but have had no time for writing. This weekend I had a dedicated writing session with some friends and managed to complete chapters for 9 of the prompt words, so I think I have the momentum to actually write the whole story. Will it be done by December 21st, or even by Christmas? Almost certainly not. My quasi-reasonable goal is to get it all written and posted by the new year. Anyway, enough of my rambling - I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1: Plead

Blaine slept in on Christmas Eve, groggy from travel and still accustomed to Pacific time. He woke up with the winter sun streaming through the window of his former bedroom, long turned into a generic guest room since he moved West for college. His mother had a passion for redecorating, and the room currently had a nautical theme - everything in shades of blue or white, boat motifs abundant, and a sign above the closet door proclaiming that You cannot control the wind, you can only adjust your sail.

He glanced at his phone, the calendar widget reminding him it was Christmas Eve, forecasting Christmas tomorrow and his scheduled flight back to LAX on the 26th. It was a short, perfunctory trip home for the holiday.

There was a knock on the door. “Blaine, honey!” His mother called. “Are you up yet? I need to run out for a few things, I’d love if you came along!”

Blaine dropped his phone onto the bedspread and squeezed his eyes shut, little starbursts appearing behind his eyelids.

“Just a minute!” he replied, and then rolled out of bed.

“Oh, this is nice,” Pam said, pausing by a display of velvety bathrobes in the department store they were exiting the mall through. “But I’ve already gotten you something cozy.”

Blaine resisted the urge to squeeze the cup of to-go coffee in his hand. His mother’s quick errands had turned into a trip to the mall, which was complete chaos as desperate shoppers searched for last-minute gifts and bedraggled parents lined up for hours to get their kids’ photos with Santa. Blaine was already nursing a headache and his mother’s words set off his internal alarm bells. “Please tell me you didn’t get me pajamas,” he said.

“It’s a tradition,” she replied simply, feeling the lapel on one of the robes and then continuing forward.

“Mom,” Blaine pleaded as they walked outside. “I told you this last year - I don’t need them. I don’t wear pajamas, and flannel is way too warm for Los Angeles anyway.”

His mother paused on the sidewalk curb, turning back to face him with an unconcerned smile. “Darling,” she said, reaching up to cup his cheek, “Let me have this, okay?”

Blaine took a deep breath. Arguing was apparently futile. “Fine,” he muttered, and set off towards the car.

Christmas Eve dinner was an elegant affair, but small. The next day they’d make the 40-minute drive to Blaine’s grandparents’ house, where other extended family would congregate, but tonight just he and his parents gathered around the dining table.

After saying grace and passing around dishes and complimenting the food, Blaine’s dad turned to his favorite topic of conversation - the importance of networking.

“Did I tell you my old classmate Andrew is going to be in LA next month?”

“Yes,” Blaine replied, “You copied me on an email to him.”

“Have you reached out to try and set something up? He owns a rental property somewhere out there so he might know someone useful in the industry. And he’d be a good connection for you to cultivate even if he doesn’t know anyone in film, if you were ever interested in changing directions.”

The only direction Blaine felt like going in now was far, far away from this conversation. He put on a polite smile and said, “I’ve been busy with the holidays, but I’ll make sure to reach out once I get back.”

“Good,” his father said. “Andrew was in my fraternity, we lived together my junior year. Have I told you the story about the Michigan game that year?”

Blaine had heard the story multiple times before, but he let his dad tell it again anyway, making sure to laugh and gasp in the right places. He had the wry thought that at least he was getting some acting practice, playing the role of an engaged, doting son.

At 10pm, Blaine grabbed his mother’s keys from the hook by the door and drove her car into town, parking outside the Watering Hole.

Blaine had never gone to bars much in Ohio - he’d moved away before he was 21, and had visited infrequently since. Sam had taken him to this place over a Thanksgiving break in college, and it seemed the kind of bar that would still be open on Christmas Eve. He just needed to be out of his childhood home, away from his parents and their expectations for an hour or two.

He went in and found it unexpectedly busy. Not crowded, but far from deserted. He ordered a beer and perched at an open table against one wall, where he could people-watch or stare at the TV behind the bar.

“Excuse me?”

Blaine turned towards the voice, and when he saw the man standing behind him, he felt like he’d taken a punch to the chest. It wasn’t pain so much as shock, the air temporarily knocked out of his lungs as he beheld the older - but definitely very recognizable - form of none other than Kurt Hummel.

#december klaine challenge 2023 #plead #my fic #fic: christmas eves #klaine fic #klaine fanfiction

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gregorygerwitz · 3 months

Note

Other Moustead + I will give you a treat if you just lay down and go to sleep.

hello, love! you already know this, but this is a follow up fic to a simple distraction. it expands on a story that Mouse tells in that fic, and deals with the aftermath of the events of it, so I do recommend reading that one first!

[ i’m in a Will/Mouse prompt mood ]

[ text | from: Will ] I know sneaking out in the morning is your thing but I wish you had at least finished the water [ text | from: Will ] how's the hangover? [ text | from: Will ] alright I know how to take a hint [ text | from: Will ] you don't have to respond to any of this if you don't want to [ text | from: Will ] but you know where to find me if you want to talk [ text | from: Will ] stay safe, okay?

[ text | from: Jay ] hey, haven't seen you since the party [ text | from: Jay ] wanna meet up for lunch this week? [ text | from: Jay ] I was hoping to ask you something [ text | from: Jay ] you can pick the place if you want [ text | from: Jay ] if you're too busy it's okay, just give me a call

[ text | from: Will ] I know you hate it when he does but Jay is really worried [ text | from: Will ] text him back, please [ text | from: Will ] you can come over for a drink after if you want [ text | from: Will ] do I get any brownie points for warning you that his question is wedding related?

[ text | to: Jay ] sorry, life's been hectic [ text | to: Jay ] what's up? [ text | from: Jay ] you're cutting it close [ text | from: Jay ] I know there's less than a month until the wedding [ text | from: Jay ] but you weren't exactly getting back to me [ text | from: Jay ] wanna be a groomsman? I can swing it so your aisle partner is Kim [ text | to: Jay ] I'd be honored [ text | to: Jay ] get me all the info [ text | to: Jay ] I'll clear the entire weekend for it [ text | from: Jay ] hell yeah [ text | from: Jay ] take it easy until then, alright? [ text | from: Jay ] I don't need you looking like shit in pictures because you're pushing yourself too hard [ text | from: Jay ] I'll email you everything and make sure all the reservations get updated [ text | from: Jay ] I love you, man

[ read the rest below or on ao3 ]

Mouse had managed to avoid anyone from his previous life in Chicago for almost four months. He could ignore texts and phone calls, focus his attention on finding an apartment and a job, and pretend there was no old life to acknowledge in the first place. But there were only so many texts and calls he could ignore before they started coming from other people, too. It was probably only a matter of time before officers showed up at his door for a wellness check.

Besides, even using what disposable income he had to buy something that would get him around the city didn't completely distract him from the ache he still lived with.

He could have taken the offer to ride out to the property with Kim and Adam, meet their daughter during the drive that would take a few hours, but he was still trying to stick to his plan. He didn't want to get comfortable in that old life again, not when he would be ignoring everyone again after the wedding. He didn't even really want to go to the wedding, but it would have been cruel to deny his best friend his support, and he was hurt, not cruel. Just the weekend around everyone would be too much, and he was thankful that he'd have a hotel room to himself - a perk of not having a plus one to bring along.

Instead, he took his impulse purchase of a motorcycle on the road. He had to drive from Chicago to Wisconsin, to the cabin he'd actually been to once. It was hours of feeling the wind, listening to nothing else but the rush of air, and feeling the hum of the bike underneath him. It was great, more than enough to focus on that wasn't where he was going and what he would be there to do. It wasn't a perfect distraction, but it wasn't like he could go around hooking up with random guys all over the city. One rejection too many had stopped that habit in its tracks.

Riding alone to the property also meant that Mouse could time things so that he was a little late. Being late meant he could avoid seeing anyone when he showed up. The wedding and reception would be at the cabin, and from what he understood, Jay and Hailey would be spending their honeymoon there, too. But that meant everyone else had to stay off site, both before and after the ceremony. The details were vague, but the hotel rooms were a treat from Will, something about some reward from an FBI investigation, not that he'd asked any questions about it. If he could help it, he wouldn't talk about or to Will Halstead all weekend long.

At least, that was the plan until he met Jay in the lobby.

"I've been trying to get ahold of you for the last two hours."

"I can't see my notifications when I'm on my bike. I was focusing on the road."

"Yeah. Thanks for being safe," Jay said while he stepped forward, holding out a key card with a small frown. "That doesn't change the fact that there was an issue with the booking. I told Will to add another room, and he said he did, but then the hotel was overbooked-"

"Jay, hold on." Mouse took the key while he shook his head, his helmet tucked under his arm. "What does that mean? Who am I bunking with? Please don't say Kim and Adam..."

"First of all, Mack is more than old enough to sleep through the night, but no. We already had to put Kevin with them. We're three rooms short from what Will booked."

"Okay. So who am I stuck with?"

"Will."

The answer made him pause, and he almost handed the key back so that he could go back out to his bike. He would find his own motel room down the road for the weekend, get the solitude that he needed, and have minimal interaction with the rest of the wedding party. But that would be really hard to explain to Jay. What would he even say? No, I can't room with your brother. I tried to hook up with him and he rejected me so I can't actually look him in the eye ever again, let alone be alone in a room with him.

"And it was the last room they had available, so it's not very big. Not even a kitchenette."

"Okay? I'll eat plenty at the reception, then, and order in if I need to."

"Are you sure? It's really small. There's no couch or anything."

"Jay, I have shared a bunk with you under worse circumstances. I'm sure it will be fine. We'll barely be in there anyway."

"And there's only one bed."

No.

He probably could have handled sharing a hotel room under most circumstances. Will was the best man, and Mouse had his own tight schedule with being a part of the wedding party himself. They wouldn't have any time to be alone together when they were actually awake. Falling asleep in the same room and sharing a bathroom wasn't anything more than he'd done with members of his unit overseas. He'd even done it more than once with Jay when they'd come home again. But sharing a bed with the person who had pushed him away and rejected his advances was too far, even for him.

The second to last thing he wanted to do was be stuck in a room with Will Halstead all weekend. The last thing he wanted to do was get back into the same bed as him. He wouldn't survive the weekend if it came to that - at least, he wouldn't want to survive the weekend. Mouse would be watching the man who loved him get married to someone else, and have to sleep next to the man who had rejected even a single night of his company the entire time. Every new piece of information he got about the weekend only made things so much worse.

"Jay, when have I ever had an issue sharing a bed with someone? Besides, as a groomsman, I have a duty to the universe to get laid this weekend."

After using the card to open the door, Mouse leaned in the doorway itself so that he could peer into the room. He faced exactly what he expected to find there.

Will was sitting in the middle of the bed, his laptop perched on his knees while he held a pencil between his teeth. There were sheets of paper and a notebook on top of the blankets, spread out so that every scribble on them could be seen. He didn't even look up when the lock clicked or the door creaked open, at least not that Mouse could tell. He was entirely caught up in what he was doing, not even lifting his gaze when he opened his jaw to drop the pencil into his lap, and it was more attractive than it should have been. It wasn't fair.

"Jay, you might just have to consider that he won't be here tonight. Mouse is a grown adult and he's allowed to be late if something came up."

"I had to stop for gas. I'm not that late, am I?"

Familiar brown eyes finally looked up at him, tearing away from the computer screen for the first time since he'd entered the room. He still hadn't entered, really, lingering half in the doorway and half in the hall. Entering the room fully was dangerous. He could be told to leave, or rejected again, or told off. Leaving in the morning was his oldest habit, but he knew it could hurt from the other side of things. He'd gotten that rant in the middle of a bar before getting a drink thrown in his face. He hurt people, and he felt bad about it, and it would be more than reasonable if Will wanted nothing to do with him.

"Thank god you're here." There was some scrambling, ruffling of papers, long legs in grey sweatpants emerging from the form on the bed so that he could stand up. "I'm trying to finish planning Jay's bachelor party, and some asshole rode in here on the loudest motorcycle I've ever heard in my life. Can you do me a favor and figure out who it is? And tell them off for me? Use some made up army story to scare them, or something, I have work to do."

With a weak smile, Mouse straightened up so he could step into the room completely. He lifted the arm that had been hidden by the doorframe, the helmet he wore when he was riding in his hand. It was half an explanation and half an apology, the words coming out slow and hesitant. "Can't I just say my bad and buy you coffee in the morning, or something?"

Will stared at him for a long moment, blinking while he took in what he saw. The last time he'd seen Mouse, he had been drunk in his bed, wearing jeans and a patterned shirt buttoned up halfway. Now, he was sober and upright, the same jeans on, a different patterned shirt, and a leather jacket that he'd bought mostly as a joke. It just happened to look good on him, so it got worn more than he'd originally intended.

"Since when do you ride a bike like that? Last I heard, Jay was calling you a stereotype and refusing to let you even pass him the keys."

Shrugging, he walked far enough into the room to let the door swing shut behind him. They were properly alone, then, for the first time in more than half a year. It felt normal, as long as he didn't think about it too hard. "I got a good deal on it. It helped that my name is still legally Gregory Gerwitz. With the number on the end. It still means something, to some people."

"At least this time, when someone called you a parent's name, it wasn't in the throes of passion. I assume."

Mouse bit his tongue at the reminder of his weekend in Atlanta, not letting any of it show on his face while he gathered the energy to respond. If he wasn't successful, Will was at least respectful enough not to acknowledge it. "The saleswoman wasn't really my type, no."

"Well, that's something, at least."

"At least." Slowly, Mouse walked across the room to put his bag down next to the desk. He hesitated for a moment before setting his helmet on top of it and taking a seat in the nearby chair. If things between them hadn't been such a mess, he would have sat down on the bed, especially when they were going to be sharing it for multiple nights. He couldn't stop to think about that for very long, or else he'd remember how long it had been since he'd done something like that - which was never. One night was his maximum, historically, and that was something that almost everyone at the wedding that weekend knew. He didn't commit, even temporarily, and he'd left his comfort zone back in Chicago.

"If you need to rest after driving all day, I can finish party planning tomorrow. You might have more ideas than I do, actually."

Mouse watched him for a long moment, his eyes following Will's hands while he gathered up papers and closed his laptop. The last time there had been one queen bed between them, they hadn't exactly shared it, and there hadn't been any part of him that actually wanted to try to navigate that situation again. It was too terrifying to think about, especially when it would be entirely reasonable to throw him out of the hotel room. It wasn't like he was paying for a single penny of the weekend. He'd only rented his tux, and he had to give it back as soon as he was back in the city.

"What?" Will met his gaze with a small smile, shaking his head. "Am I going to wake up to you ignoring my texts and calls for six months again? I don't think that would go over well with Jay. We both have a wedding to be a part of this weekend, and that's kind of hard to do when you're avoiding me, isn't it?"

Dropping his gaze to the carpet at his feet, he bit his tongue and took a slow, deep breath. "You took up a lot of that bed just sitting on it. Is there going to be any room for me? Or are you going to go down the hall and borrow someone's couch?"

"Mouse, if this is because I didn't sleep with you-"

"You didn't even want to breathe the same air as me. It was a little offensive. But you did help prove my point, so thanks for that."

"You were drunk."

"That didn't sway you when we were making out in your kitchen."

"I made a poor decision. Those are allowed every once in a while. I changed my mind when the situation changed."

"Right, my bad." Standing up, Mouse grabbed his helmet with a frown and avoided looking over toward the bed. "You were fine with it until I reminded you that I'm just your brother's whore of a best friend. And then the idea of touching me became the worst idea ever. Fuck this. I'll get a room down the street. And don't worry about planning for me at the bachelor party. I'll make sure I stay far away from you."

"Mouse, wait a minute-"

"Why?" He stopped halfway to the door again, trying to hide how his hands shook. "It isn't enough to make me feel like ass. You have to keep rubbing it in? Can't I just leave without you drawing it out? Do you really hate me that much?"

The quiet that fell between them came on suddenly, and lingered for longer than it needed to. Mouse had plenty of time to flee, and he almost did, except he felt frozen in place. His feet wouldn't move, no matter how much he tried to order them otherwise. It meant he was standing in the exact same spot when Will finally spoke up, keeping his face carefully blank. He was good at that, not showing everything he felt. Practice had made it easy.

"Because... I know what it's like. To have someone have sex with you when they don't actually want you."

"Yeah, whatever, I heard about the failed wedding to Natalie. That's not really the same thing."

"I'm not talking about Natalie. I'm talking about the boyfriend I had in college."

That was almost enough to make him drop the bag in some kind of shock. It would be rude, but that didn't mean it didn't almost happen. After hearing about girlfriends like Nina and Natalie and Hannah, the idea of Will Halstead being in any kind of relationship with another man didn't cross his mind. After the night that ended in rejection, Mouse pointedly made sure he didn't think about anything close. A college boyfriend was further out of left field than a foul home run.

"Excuse me?"

"His name was Matt." Will let out a slow breath and looked down at his hands, his voice low. It sounded as careful and controlled as Mouse was desperate for, and it made him stay quiet so that he could just listen. "It was the first time I was ever with a guy. I met him at a party, and I was... pretty drunk, actually."

Slowly, Mouse lowered his bag to the floor again and bit the inside of his cheek while he frowned. "Like... two shots, four beers, and whatever the drink was that Adam bought us a round of drunk?"

"Not quite. More like... my first two beers ever drunk. And I let him convince me to go upstairs to his room. And it was... not great. But it was my first time, right? I thought it was going to get better the more we did it. It didn't. But, hey, at least someone wanted me."

Will finally looked up at him again when he took a small step toward the bed. He wasn't ready to close the space completely, especially when there was so little space to begin with. It was too soon, even if he could read the tone of the room, and nothing between them was actually fixed. He still wanted to run, wanted to get on his bike and go all the way back to Chicago, or further, and rushing whatever this was wouldn't make that urge any easier to ignore.

"And then what? He said your mom's name in bed?"

"Actually, he proposed to my cousin." The words were said with a small smirk, and Will actually met his gaze again as evenly as ever. It almost felt like any other conversation they'd had before the night of the engagement party, easy and natural. "And the worst part is, I was still letting him fuck me every weekend. I knew he was a piece of shit who didn't want me, and I still put myself through that regularly. And I felt worse about it every time. And I didn't even enjoy it. So, no, Mouse, I don't hate you. I just don't think that anyone should ever have to feel like that."

Mouse was the one who looked away, then, staring down at the shoes on his feet with a frown. He tried to take a deep breath, but it was like his body didn't let him. His lungs didn't want to fill up all the way, and the air stopped halfway down his throat, and he was trying to hide how much it physically hurt to stand there and listen to a story that cut into him so deeply. It hurt because he'd been there, because he knew exactly why someone would give, and give, and give, even at the cost of themselves, just to feel like they were wanted for a night or two.

He moved slowly, added his helmet back to his pile of things and toeing out of his shoes. There was no way he would be getting in bed yet, not when the floor looked perfectly comfortable from where he was standing, but he didn't really want to leave. Whether Will wanted to have sex with him or not, there were very few times when he actually wanted to leave someone. That was a habit of self preservation. Leaving hurt less than being pushed out.

"I, uh... I threw up."

Looking up from what he was doing, Mouse didn't look at Will directly while he shook his head. He didn't want to think about that weekend at all, let alone talk about it. It was something that only came up in his nightmares, especially when he pulled back from his usual weekly activities like alcohol and casual sex. Still, he forced himself to continue. If Will was going to open up to him, he should do a little bit in return, and building on what he'd already let slip was the safest way to do that without ripping open even more wounds.

"In Atlanta. He got off, I didn't. So, I excused myself to the bathroom to hide, and I threw up. And then... he was done with me, so I left. I took the hottest shower the plumbing would let me have, and... I threw up again. And I didn't sleep that night."

He shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets just to have something to do with them, and his fingers were shaking too much to let them stay visible. His reputation was to sleep around and not care about any of it. Countless nights had been spent in countless beds, and he had fun. He enjoyed every second of it. Thinking about it for too long didn't make him feel sick, or like he wanted to cry, or like he wished that Jay had never shown up at his apartment on that cold November night. Sex was fun, and exciting, and took him higher than any opioid ever had.

He just had to ignore how much harder he crashed back down.

Will was quiet for a long moment, seeming to wait in case he wanted to say anything else. He didn't, but he appreciated the few extra seconds to gather his thoughts. There wasn't anything else to say. The experience had lasted less than a night, and he had shared every detail of it worth forgetting. And then the quiet lasted almost too long before Will dared to finally break it.

“If you still want to leave, I can cover the room for you. You were promised a free weekend in a hotel. It seems unfair to make you pay for it just because this hotel is overbooked.”

With a weak smile that appeared no matter how hard he tried to bite it back, Mouse slowly shook his head. He could survive being a little uncomfortable for a weekend. He was there for Jay’s big day, and it would be rude to make it about himself. “That seems a little silly, now, doesn’t it? No, I’ll stay. That chair seemed pretty comfortable, and I’ve slept in worse positions. Don’t go out of your way for me.”

“Wait, what do you mean?” Will stood up slowly, just enough to move his laptop and the papers that went with it to a surface that wasn’t the bed. He turned to look at Mouse, after that, confusion clear in the eyes that swept over him. “No. You’re not sleeping in the chair. I didn’t offer to share a room with you just so you could sleep in a desk chair. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Mouse blinked at him and frowned at the words. Nothing had been said to him about an offer to share the tiny room. The way Jay explained it, it seemed more like they were the last two who didn’t come with a built in group of friends to bunk with.

“If I take the bed, where are you going to sleep?”

“I know you’re an only child, but there’s this thing the rest of us learned when we were three called sharing.”

He frowned at the hint of sarcasm in the words, though it probably lost a lot of its conviction when his eyes landed on the teasing smile. Mouse was reminded, ever so suddenly, that he was in a room with a Halstead. There were plenty of differences between the brothers, but a lot of their expressions were the same. That smirk, with the fond look that went with it, was not unfamiliar to him after spending so many years in Jay’s life. It was a warm thing, something that made him feel closer to home than anything had in years.

“I kind of packed to spend the weekend alone. And I had to travel light because I can’t really carry a lot on my bike.” Mouse shook his head and desperately tried to keep his frown in place. “I don’t have anything to sleep in. Just my underwear. Isn’t that gonna be a little…?”

Will, in his mostly modest shirt and sweatpants, scoffed and shook his head quickly. “Mouse, I’ve felt your dick on my thigh. I can be an adult about you taking your shirt off if you can.”

He bit down on his lip to keep from making an instinctive comment. Something about how his dick had been on Will's thigh, but it would feel even better somewhere else, probably. It wouldn't make the weekend easier if he kept deflecting the conversation away from anything of substance. Sexual jokes and suggestive comments and speaking only in innuendo hadn't actually gotten him that far with one Halstead, and he doubted it would do anything to help his relationship with this one.

"Okay. But if, at any point, you feel weird about it-"

"Mouse," Will's voice was steady and calm, everything Mouse wasn't feeling in that moment, and the tone made him feel like he couldn't look away no matter how hard he tried. "I will give you a treat, if you just lay down and go to sleep."

What kind of treat?

The question had to be bit back just like everything else, some defense mechanism turned instinct nearly stronger than him. He could behave, for a weekend, and not make things between them any weirder than they already were. He could survive three nights without sticking his foot in his mouth, surely.

"A... treat? Will, I'm not a dog."

"I'm not going to comment on that one. Take your clothes off and get comfortable."

"Wow..."

"You know what I mean." Will narrowed his eyes at him and quickly shook his head. "I have an extra pair of sweats in my bag if you want something to wear. They might be a little long, but they're soft."

Mouse opened his mouth to respond and closed it again when he realized he didn't know what he even could say in that moment. He was still stunned by the revelation that sharing the room was an intentional choice instead of a result of bad luck. The idea of getting to wear something that didn't belong to him, intentionally, instead of just grabbing the wrong shirt off the floor, had stopped all of his thoughts in their tracks. Something was going to be willingly loaned to him, something that would smell like someone else, something that would be soft. That had never happened before.

"Oh... yeah, okay."

He was too dazed to do much more than obey. He let Will get up and get into his bag, pulling out the pants and holding them up where they could be seen. Mouse really wanted to accept the offer, and he told himself it was only because he hadn’t even been in the position to swipe the wrong shirt in the morning for months. He was allowed to want proof that another person had wanted to be near to him, even if it was only for a night.

He almost felt silly, going into the small bathroom to change. Sure, he’d stripped down to his underwear, but it was only long enough to pull on the borrowed pair of pants. He felt even sillier walking out, the waistband folded down twice, because they really were long, likely because of the near half a foot Will had on him when it came to their height.

He felt like a little kid, dressed up as something he wasn’t, and he tried to keep that feeling off of his face.

Climbing into bed under the blankets, Mouse stayed as close to the edge of the mattress as he could. More space between them meant there was less of a chance that something would happen. He wanted to make sure there was as much space between them as possible, so he could leave Wisconsin at the end of the weekend without embarrassing himself further.

The blankets were very still for a moment, the only sound in the room the offset patterns of their breathing. He'd failed at preventing the awkwardness between them, that much was clear, but he didn't know how to fix it. Luckily, it seemed like he didn't have to, not when Will was going to be the one to break the silence for him.

"About that treat... you know that college boyfriend I mentioned?"

Mouse frowned a bit in confusion at the sudden shift in mood, and did his best to shrug his shoulders in the position he was in. It wasn't like it had been that long since they'd discussed it, if it had really been a discussion at all. It was all still fresh, and he almost gritted his teeth at the reminder that Matt existed at all. He'd known the Halsteads for long enough that he could barely remember a time when he didn't. If there was anyone who deserved that kind of treatment less than Will, he didn't know them. "Yeah? What about him?"

"Well..." The bed shifted with the movement of the body behind him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of it. They weren't touching, not when he was so stiff where he was on the very edge of the mattress, and he trusted that Will wouldn't force anything. That was something most people understood after knowing him for a couple hours, let alone more than a decade. "He was working at Med, for a while. They hired him on after I, you know, got fired."

"I heard about that." He stayed on his side and took a slow breath. There hadn't been any details given to him when Jay had mentioned it, just the direction to go easy on him if Will showed up at Molly's that first weekend he was back. He did, but their conversation hadn't lasted long enough for the topic to come up. In the months since, Mouse had almost forgotten about it entirely. "Not about Matt, but about the getting fired thing. I didn't hear how it happened, but that kind of thing always sucks. How are you doing with that?"

"I'm working at Med again, that's actually where this starts. I went back to working there with the condition that I would keep an eye on Matt and what he was doing. That was... actually the FBI investigation I've been helping with. I helped get evidence of him taking kickbacks from a medtech company, and all the deaths that resulted from their product because they were cutting corners and pushing it when it wasn't necessary... but. That's where Matt is, now. Rotting in some federal prison. And I got a reward check for helping to put him there."

"Good." Mouse felt himself actually relax at the idea that someone like that was getting what he deserved. It was for something unrelated to being a bad partner, but it was still comeuppance. It was still justice, in its own way. "I hope he stays there. You didn't deserve anything that he did to you. A life in prison is the absolute least he deserves after all of that."

The quiet that fell between them wasn't as tense as it had been before. When the bed shifted again, Mouse stayed relaxed and comfortable. Even if he was still worried about things potentially being awkward, they'd moved past the worst of it, and things almost felt easy again. It was progress.

"I think you hated me when we met." Will's voice was quiet, not a whisper, but low, careful. He said it like a truth he'd never admitted before, and Mouse tried to cling to it as if that changed the truth of the words. "You barely looked at me, and you didn't even shake my hand when Jay introduced us. Now, you're defending me against an ex who doesn't even pose a threat to me anymore."

"You'd moved to New York and didn't come home when Jay needed you." Mouse's tone matched Will's, steady and careful and low when the quiet of the rest of the room meant that it would carry. "You hurt my best friend. Of course I hated you. You've grown on me, since then. Even if I did still hate you, which I don't, obviously, I wouldn't wish that kind of relationship on anybody."

"Right..."

The quiet lasted so long that Mouse almost thought he'd fallen asleep. It wouldn't have been awful, laying awake in the peaceful kind of dim lighting and the hum of the air conditioner under the window. He could have laid there for hours, with his eyes closed but his mind awake, and he wouldn't have regretted a single moment of it. The bed was warm and comfortable, and the company wasn't bad. Of all the people he could have shared a room with that weekend, he didn't think there were any better options.

After a few minutes, it was clear he wasn't the only one still awake. The sound of Will's voice wasn't startling, and the gentle press of fingers to Mouse's bare back was even lighter than he expected it to be. It was brief, barely more than a brush of skin against his own, but he felt it, and he couldn't remember the last time he didn't flinch when someone was that close.

"Look, I know Jay said you're not super into touching, or anything, but..."

"What do you need?" The question was almost instinct. The Halstead family was made up of huggers, something that Mouse had learned to live with over the years. Sometimes, they needed more than he was used to giving, and he adapted to that. He liked to be useful. Being useful meant he would get to stick around longer. If that required adapting and sacrificing his comfort for a hug or two a year, then so be it.

"I kind of want to hug you, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable. If you don't feel up for it, I'm not going to push."

"Will, I can handle a-"

"I don't want you to handle it, Mouse. I'm a grown adult. I can manage not getting a hug if that's not something you're able to give right now. It's been a long day. It would be completely reasonable to tell me to fuck off so you can sleep."

With a frown, Mouse shifted so he could partially hide his face in the pillow under it, as if he wasn't already turned away. His needs and wants were never taken into consideration, not when someone else needed him. That applied no matter how long his days were, or how exhausted he was, or how overwhelmed a situation made him. Will had been talking about the worst relationship he'd ever been in, and discussions like that usually called for some kind of comfort. A hug was a reasonable request. Weighing his own comfort level with that was an entirely new concept.

"Uh..." He trailed off and licked his lips when they felt dry, breathing in through his nose slowly. Once he could actually find his voice again, Mouse gave a short nod of his head. "I think I'm good. I'm a little stressed, because of the whole weekend, and the sharing the room thing, but a hug should be fine. I'll let you know if it's too much. I might not be very receptive, but... go ahead."

The touch returned to his back, feather light and careful, and Mouse had to bite down on his tongue to keep from shivering. With his eyes closed, it almost felt like most other nights he shared a bed. It wouldn’t end the same way, but the touch moved over his skin in a way that felt familiar. At least, it was just familiar enough that he didn't pull away. He wasn't entirely comfortable, but discomfort was a baseline that he had resigned himself to.

When Will's hand settled, it was the same kind of barely there touch, a palm and fingers spreading out over his bare abdomen. It was warm, like everything else, and Mouse squeezed his eyes shut tighter. When Will gently guided him back, he went willingly, until his back was pressed to the soft fabric of a well worn tee and the chest within in. He didn't breathe, he couldn't remember how, and instinct made him prepare for the touch to wander, prepare to give up whatever his partner of the night wanted.

It didn't.

Will's hand didn't move.

He just... held him there. Gently.

Since when was being held supposed to feel good?

Mouse hesitated before shifting some of his weight and, when he lifted his head to adjust how it rested on the pillow, an arm slid into the space to cushion it instead. For a few moments, he let the muscle and flesh act as a pillow without complaint, the warmth of another body so close the soothing kind of familiar that made it easy to relax. Jay had been right when he'd warned Will about Mouse being wary of touch. There were very few occasions where he allowed it at all, and it was something that his best friend only halfheartedly complained about. Usually, it meant no hugs, very few supportive pats to the back, nothing that the Halstead family did regularly. It threw off a normally regular rhythm in the lives of the people around him, but physical affection just wasn't something he was used to.

Growing up, an arm around his shoulders was an act. A hand ruffling his hair was dismissive. A kiss to his cheek when he was too young to leave his mother's side at fundraisers was something for the cameras. Physical affection wasn't real. It was just a way for his family to pretend that they cared, that they weren't capable of kicking him out of their lives the second he did something to disrupt all of their plans for his life.

This felt different.

Maybe it was because it was a Halstead. He'd never doubted that Jay cared about him, especially not when he was pulled into a hug in the middle of Molly's during his goodbye party. He knew that every supportive pat on the back or shoulder was genuine. He was fairly certain that Jay didn't know how to be fake. He'd make the same assumption about Will, but he was starting to learn that there were parts of him that no one got to see.

Shifting again, Mouse settled in closer and focused on his breathing. He wasn't uncomfortable, not really, but the feeling of someone else so close usually came with expectations. He was fighting the urge to roll over and offer himself up, to casually squirm until the sweats slid down off his hips and left more of him bare. But if there was one person in the world who didn't want him to do something like that, it was the person he was stuck with for the weekend.

"Can I ask you something?"

Will's voice was startlingly close, his breath stirring up the ends of his hair before it reached his ear. It was enough to make him tense up, and the arm already loose around him immediately gave him more room to move. He was still being held, but it would be easy to pull away when he wanted to, whenever that ended up being. Unable to find his voice right away, Mouse gave a slow nod of his head.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to." Still all but whispering, Will let out a slow breath - this time very pointedly aiming away from Mouse when he did so. "I'm just curious. About Atlanta... Did you know? About his ex?"

Mouse took a deep breath at the mention of the memory, and the hand at his abdomen started to pull away slowly. He didn't know where it came from, the foreign instinct to reach down and grab onto the hand before it could get too far. He even laced their fingers together, holding on as tightly as he dared while he kept his eyes closed. "I found out at the same point of the story that you did. So, the short answer? No. I didn't know."

The hold on him got tighter again, and he could feel the pressure that came from a face being tucked into his shoulder. It was a position that was as familiar as most other things about that moment. And he was still struggling with all the things that weren't as familiar.

"You're holding on pretty tight for someone who doesn't like to be touched."

"Please don't leave me alone again."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

#will halstead #mouse gerwitz #greg gerwitz #greg mouse gerwitz #other moustead #cpd #chicago pd #one chicago #cmed #chicago med #alex writes things #kit tag #answered #kitweewoos #oops i wrote 7k???#anyway i think about them a lot #enjoy the lil guys

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dano-locket · 2 years

Text

How To Disappear Completely / Chapter One

AO3 Link

Pairing: Dano!Edward Nashton / GN!Reader

Word Count: 1,902

Summary:

He was so tender. Impossibly soft behind heavy coats and starched linen and a demeanor that said matter-of-factly, “I’m not really here right now.” Wherever he was, you’d meet him.

There's something inside that tired man, and you need to see what he can do.

A/N: my very first fic!!! this takes place after riddler: year one issue one. eddie is investigating and you are a public records clerk. i’m thinking this fic will be three or four chapters but if issue two of year one makes me as primal as issue one did, i'll def be adding on. sfw (for now!)

Chapter One

Let Me See

You hadn’t felt a thrill like this in years. And if you didn’t feel your own capacity for desire nestled deep behind your stomach, you’d have bet you never would again. But you did feel it. An aching something that cramped and contracted and kept you alive.

Edward.

That was his name; you’d double-checked his initial email. He found you. He had scrolled the staff directory for the Library of Gotham’s public records department, found your name, your email, your photo—frizzy hair, blank eyes, dull skin—and decided on you. Selected you to help him.

You shook yourself out of that daydream. It was a silly line of thinking; you knew you were his only choice. The library was consistently understaffed, leaving you alone most evenings in the basement-floor records office, dead silent and cold with the lack of light. You hadn’t spoken aloud for three days when he came in.

He’d needed all sorts of documents: LLC licenses, court transcripts, property records. You’d had a week to gather materials and he had two to read over them all. You didn’t have much time.

It surprised you how instantly drawn you were to him. Not because he wasn’t cute, of course. Ohmygod you thought he was cute. It was just typically that the closer you looked, at people, at places, at yourself, the more you found to disgust at, to fear. You hadn’t meant to be this way. You didn’t understand why others weren’t.

His email had been cold, curt. You’d expected a man twice his age, and when you stood up behind your desk to greet him, you were taken aback back by how youthful he looked, rounded and rosy. His shy, gracious smile as you debriefed him on the documents had intrigued you and your attraction solidified as he turned his back to you, dragged all eight chairs to the corner of the small work space, pushed the two wooden tables together, and neatly spread out each sheet of paper, all without asking.

You didn’t mind. You were content to watch him work.

And the more you watched, the more you discovered. There was something about him, an unidentifiable bubbling that made your stomach sink and rise then sink again. Like there was something under his skin so different from the meek man who struggled to look you in the eye as he introduced himself. He was straining. It entranced you.

There was so much tension inside him. He shook with it sometimes; tensing his shoulders and jerking his legs and shuddering from a phantom chill when he thought no one would notice. Though that last part could be wishful thinking. You treasured the idea that you saw him uninhibited; deep in his work and unafraid to forget your existence. He was so intentional in his speech, rehearsed almost. You longed to open him up.

You could tell something was wrong, that he wasn’t happy with whatever he’d discovered in the past two days. Every so often he had let out little scoffs of frustration and buried his face in his hands. He drew his eyebrows down tightly. Took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. His exhaustion filled the room.

When he came in today he seemed more weathered than before. It was clear he wasn’t sleeping well. He was even more distant with you–only offering a tight smile of acknowledgement as he first approached your desk and a nod of thanks as you passed him the same six boxes. Whoever opened had pushed the tables and chairs back to their rightful places, and instead of setting up shop, Edward slumped down at the left hand table in the chair facing you, already looking defeated.

He’d been flipping through a stack of estate deeds, chin tucked to his chest, when he froze entirely. Slowly he set the papers down and lifted his head, glancing over the boxes of papers as if looking for an answer. His chest started to heave and you found yourself matching his breath. His eyes darted up at you, wide and pink, and only then did you wrench your gaze away from him and onto the decade-old desktop computer in front of you. In your peripheral, you saw his head still fixed toward you but you didn’t dare look up.

You watched the time move. Two minutes he sat completely still, looking straight ahead. You started to sweat. On minute three he dropped his shoulders, exhaling loudly enough that you could hear a slight nose whistle ring across the room, and began cleaning up his workspace. Without a word, he rose and collected his things, then stilled behind the table. You took a deep breath before raising to meet his eye, but by the time you finished turning, his head was down as he hurriedly crossed the room. You didn’t miss the forceful way he shoved the door open, harder than needed.

You turned back to the computer, checking the time. Fourteen minutes until close. God, you wanted to follow him out. You had no idea what you’d say to him but you’d do anything to watch. What was he doing now he was out of sight? You wondered what he was like completely alone.

What would you say to him? That was a question you needed to answer if you ever wanted… whatever it was you wanted with him. Maybe that was the better question, but both required more research. Gotham was a dense city but it was contained. He must live close by.

– –

Gotham shimmered at night. Buzzing neon lights bounced off the puddles of rain water and oil that coated the perpetually slick pavement. It could almost be beautiful. Until you looked closer. Gotham had a way of dazzling people, like a predator puffing up before it makes its kill. You lived in this dying city all your life, though. You knew its dark corners, knew to run from danger. But the city preferred to hide in plain sight, patting your forehead and stealing your purse. It was difficult to navigate, confusing. You were never safe. The constant vigilance was enough to give anyone trust issues. You were afraid. Would Edward understand?

You couldn’t let yourself get distracted though, only sparing quick glances down to ensure your shoes stay dry. You had to keep your head up.

The street parking by the library was abysmal, constantly packed with the only few spots restricted to two hours. Edward had been there for three. He couldn’t have gotten far on foot. You recoiled at that thought but didn’t refute it. You needed to see him. A cord had been cut that night and suddenly your body felt so cold, singular, as if you could no longer sustain it on your own. You didn’t want to be alone anymore.

You felt delirious chasing after a man who seemed to want nothing to do with you, animalistic, as if you yourself were peeling away down to instinct and want. You couldn’t believe what he’d done to you. And in such a short time. You’d been alone for so long. You knew what he felt. You thought you did. You knew. You felt it roll off him in waves, the barely concealed, consuming discomfort that infected his every move. He seemed so sad. You wanted to help.

When your aimless wandering hit the half hour mark, you called it a night. Your last stop before home would be to your favorite corner store to pick up tonight’s dinner: a microwaveable pasta packet and a bag of hot cheetos. You were browsing the energy drinks, searching for the best deal, when you felt him looming. His dragging footsteps had become quickly recognizable and he carried with him the faint smell of city air and bar soap.

“Um.”

Edward. You were right. You couldn’t help your wide smile as you turned to him. You hoped you looked pretty. You felt wolfish.

“Hey!” Your voice squeaked.

Edward’s eyes were wide as he looked down at you, flickering across your face like he was reading. “Hi,” he squeaked back. “So! Do you live around here?”

No pleasantries. He hadn’t asked how you were doing. You didn’t care. Not when a sweet flush was spreading slow across his full cheeks and clammy forehead. “A few blocks over, yeah. You?”

“Yeah, yeah. Yeah! Uh, just further down the street.” He pointed animatedly, knocking his glasses askew. He settled them straight on the curve of his nose then let his hand hover, fidgeting with the clear frames, taking every opportunity to hide his face. He kept his eyes on the ground as he spoke. “If could– If– I could walk you home, if you wanted. It’s not safe around here, and it’s cold tonight…so…”

Your head swirled. You had to make sure you weren’t swaying in place. Oh god oh god yes. You were struck by his directness, pleased. Was he always like this?

“Yes!” Too eager. He didn’t seem to mind though, giving you the first real smile you’d seen from him. He was so tender. Impossibly soft behind heavy coats and starched linen and a demeanor that said matter-of-factly, “I’m not really here right now.” Wherever he was, you’d meet him.

The walk to your place was mostly silent. You kept close to Edward’s side and he kept his hands in his pockets. He’d offered you his coat several times and while you longed to wrap yourself up in his scent, his warmth, his belongings, you couldn’t ask that of him. Gotham Novembers bit hard and you wouldn’t let him suffer like that. Oh you just wanted to cradle him. There was something so painfully vulnerable about him, an earnesty laid so bare you felt the need to look away to give him his privacy. It made you stare longer. He was struggling. Barely held together. You knew how he felt.

“This is me.” You broke the silence as the two of you approached the tall, brick walk-up. Kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me. You knew he wouldn’t. But his presence made you feel hopeful, lighter. You wanted him to.

“I’m glad you walked me home, Edward. I hope I see you more. Outside the library.” You were just saying anything now, desperate to validate him.

“Oh! Me too. I’m glad.” Again, his little smile. Private and slight and cartoonishly round like a doodled little smiley face. He looked so unburdened then, free of the heaviness he carried with him, if only for a minute.

You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t want this to end.

“Goodnight.” He ended it for you, giving you a parting nod but making no move to leave.

“Goodnight, Edward.” You had to stop saying his name before he started to find it unnerving. You just wanted him to know you knew it. You looked over your shoulder as you stopped at the door to dig your keys out. You hoped he’d remember that, think about it later.

Inside your cluttered apartment, you let out a squeal, throaty and giddy. You hurried to the window to watch him walk away.

Instead he stood still right where you left him, looking up at your window. Waiting for a light to turn on, your brain supplied. A chill went up your spine. How romantic to know he was looking back.

#my first fic!!!!!#i read this too many times and now words mean nothing #i hope this makes sense #edward nashton #edward nashton x reader #edward nashton fic #paul dano fic #paul dano x reader #dano riddler #paul dano riddler #my fic #moodboard #my post

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mynameismckenziemae · 1 month

Text

The way certain (tone deaf) actors are promoting ‘It Ends with Us’ makes me sick to my stomach.

I don’t care for Colleen Hoover’s writing so I had no idea what the book/movie was about. I started seeing interviews/promos on TikTok and thought it looked like a cutesy romcom type movie.

Then I saw the scene where she’s in the hospital with teeth marks and realized it’s about domestic abuse. There was a comment stating, “are those bite marks? 🤔” like it’s unheard of.

A Little Bit Stronger is “dedicated” to my sister, and I think it’s time to tell her story (with her permission).

TW: physical/sexual/domestic abuse below.

In March of 2012, my sister left her husband seemingly out of the blue. Sure, they squabbled and fought, but most married couples do. She didn’t give much of a reason, other than she didn’t love him anymore.

Things got ugly fast. He accused her of cheating, he would tell their kids all kinds of terrible things about her when he had them, etc.

I married my husband in June of 2012 and when my sister got home that night from the reception, her ex was waiting for her. She had been keeping “evidence” (printed texts, emails, receipts, etc.) in her vehicle because she knew he still had keys to the house. He ripped the keys from her, took her records and got into his car. She leaned in through the open car window and he took off with her hanging out of it.

He hit her several times before biting her arm to get her to let go, leaving a baseball-sized, dark purple bruise. She had to tell her kids she got hit by a golf club (she worked at a country club at the time).

I found out about this incident a week later when I got back from my honeymoon. I also found out that he had been beating her for several months and that’s why she originally left him, but was too embarrassed to tell anyone.

She went to court to get a restraining order but the judge did not grant one, saying each party was in the wrong.

Things continued to escalate (not physically but the police were called several times) and she was finally granted a no contact/restraining order.

6 weeks after my wedding, I got a call from my mom at 7 in the morning that my sister was in the hospital.

Her ex (who was drunk) had broken into her house through the basement window (where her bedroom was) and proceeded to beat the living shit out of her, choked her and ripped off her sleep shorts and sexually assaulted her.

My nephew (7 years old at the time) heard the commotion and came downstairs. Her ex yelled at him to get a knife. Being 7, he brought down a butter knife, not knowing what the reason was.

Her ex followed my nephew upstairs to get a different knife and my sister was able to make it outside to the neighbors house. She pounded on the door, naked except her tee shirt.

Her neighbor let her in and called the police. She was inconsolable as her kids were still inside.

The police arrived shortly after and there was blood and shattered glass everywhere-he had smashed a mirror over his head in a rage.

After a 4-hour long standoff with the police, he finally surrendered. One of the officers told my sister if the children hadn’t been upstairs with him, they would’ve shot and killed him.

He was found guilty of: strangulation, battery, and false imprisonment.

He was found NOT guilty of: second degree sexual assault (because none of his DNA was found in/on her genitalia or her ripped shorts), criminal damage to property (a specialized cleaning coming had to come in and clean due to it being biohazardous with the amount of blood. Her homeowners insurance covered it but it cost over $5,000).

He wasn’t even charged with attempted murder when he had every intention of killing her.

He served only 9 years in prison.

She’ll sleep with one eye open for the rest of her life.

So hearing the leading actress say, “grab your girlfriends, wear your florals” to watch a movie about domestic violence is beyond insensitive.

I don’t know where I was going with this but yeah.

#it ends with us #tw: abuse #tw: sa #tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: domestic abuse #blake lively #do better

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tilltheendwilliwrite · 1 year

Text

Reflections

Chapter Three

Master List / Real People Master List / Reflections Master List

Pairing: Mia MacAlsdair x Au Tom Hiddleston

Warnings: none, 18+ Minors do not interact

A/N: I apologize in advance should my Scottish/English interpretations be incorrect. I am Canadian playing in a world of my own making. Do not @ me.

**I do not tag. **To be notified of updates and new works, subscribe to me or the story on AO3 for email notification, or follow the library blog @tilltheendwilliwrite-library with notifications turned on so you’re not missing out. An account is required to access my work on AO3. For more information on how to get your FREE AO3 account, see this post.

Mia marvelled out the car window at the house. The pictures didn't do it justice.

It was Tudor style; the white-washed daub between the timber frames, steeply pitched gables, and thatched roof made it easy to distinguish between that and other periods. Brick and pipe chimneys smoked merrily. The casement window glass gleamed with shine and a fresh coat of white paint.

Two years of Covid and a subscription to Home and Garden Television, along with Tubi and their shows on restoration projects across the UK, apparently imparted lessons that were paying off.

The door was kelly green with a white climbing rose clinging to the wall. The plant crossed the lintel and spanned the area above the house's main floor windows. Someone had taken great care of the garden, for flowers bloomed in veritable heaps of colour below every window before the well-kept yard spread out in a wash of lush green lawn, meticulously mowed.

Trees surrounded the property, but she could make out more buildings farther into the grounds, though Jacob - her driver - pulled up in front of the cobblestone path that led from the raked gravel drive to the door.

"It's bigger than I thought," Mia murmured, allowing him to get the door and her to step outside. The house was triple the size of anything she could afford back in Canada.

The fresh air was crisp and clean, and the sun peeking through the clouds was lovely. She stood and basked, eyes closed, taking it in momentarily before moving away from the car.

She couldn't help but smile at the unique roof and the fancy thatching. After hours of devouring the shows on home restoration for period properties, she had enormous respect for the men and women who could accomplish such an incredible craft. It was truly remarkable that, after hundreds of years, such material and labour were still used today.

Before she could touch the doorknob, already in love with the door's colour, it swung open to reveal a short, stout woman wearing a frilly apron. Her hair was flaming red, her eyes emerald green, but her cast of wrinkles bespoke her age. Still, her smile was wide and welcoming, if a little guarded.

“Camila MacAlasdair?”

"Mia, please," she smiled and held out her hand. "Mrs. Bailey?"

"Ock, we don't shake the hands of family," she huffed, grabbing Mia's wrist and hauling her forward into a hug that should have come from someone the size of Fergus. "Yer wee gran would 'ave taken one look at ye and known ye were Callum's girl. Ye've yer da's eyes."

Mia leaned into the hug - though leaned down was more accurate. "You knew them well?"

"I've been keeping house for yer grandparents since yer da was a wee lad. It was a shame what happened with yer mum. A true shame. Would that they had lived to see ye and tell ye all this themselves."

Grief tugged at Mia's heart for her lost family. "Yeah."

"Bah!" Mrs. Bailey set her back and lightly patted Mia's arms. "Here I am holdin' ye in the door like an eejit when yer probably puggled. Let's get ye a scran and settled 'afor I go talkin' yer ear off."

The woman turned on her heel and set off into the house.

"Puggled?" Mia murmured to Jacob, arriving with the first of her bags.

"She means tired," chuckled the very British Jacob.

With the thicker accents of the Scots she'd spent the last week with, it was a shock to have Jacob greet her in a voice that reminded her of Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice.

He'd been kind enough to help her decipher a few of Fergus and Ivy's more colourful sayings.

Your head's full of mince was one of them. Your bum's out the window was another.

"Ah," Mia nodded, wondering if there was an app for deciphering Scottish - and British - English as even Jacob caused her to blink in confusion when he asked if she were 'taking the piss' and had to explain himself.

She would see about that later. Fergus gifted her a fancy new phone with what he termed better encryption and security. It was also already attached to her household expenses and ran on the nation's phone service.

Mia stepped beyond the threshold and bit her cheek to keep her jaw from dropping. The low-beam ceiling was spectacular!

Dark wood separated by white dab spanned the spaces between beams that looked like entire trees held up the ceiling. The wood flooring had planks that were so wide they, too, looked like they came from a whole tree. The rich dark brown of the well-loved wood made the house feel so warm.

She stepped into a kitchen right out of a fairytale.

Expansive windows threw light across the floor, reflected off the pans hanging above the antique stove and glinted on cut crystal vases filled with sweet-smelling flowers. Pots of fresh herbs sat in the window sills. Butcher block countertops ran the length of all the cabinets and covered the island.

An enormous fireplace occupied one wall, but a pot belly stove sat in the center, glowing a merry orange with the cheerfully burning fire. The mantel was another massive piece of timber, upon which sat a host of - what Mia assumed were - ancient kitchen utensils. They looked neat, some dull or rusted with age, while others carried a dark patina and still more shone with copper.

Before the fire, a round rug of burgundy and cream anchored two forest green wingback chairs with a small round table between them. It was of caramel-coloured wood, the top a little scarred with age, but it held a tea tray with the most gorgeous bone china tea service Mia had ever seen.

The white china fairly blazed against the dark backdrop, while the purple thistle and green leaves caressed the curves of the china with delicate brush strokes.

A small but fancy chandelier hung over the sink, but recessed pot lights covered the ceiling and would likely add to the warm glow at night, though they weren't currently on.

Mrs. Bailey poked a few mounds of dough back down at the island into their bowls before covering them with sunny yellow tea towels.

"Is that bread?"

"Aye. I always make bread on Mondays." There was something in how she said it, almost as if she challenged Mia to say something contrary.

Mia toed her shoes off beside the door and drifted closer. "I always wanted to learn, but Colt said it was a waste of time."

Mrs. Bailey's sharp eyes jumped to her face and the bruises she attempted to tone down. It wasn't easy to hide, not without also covering her freckles, and Mia didn't want to do that anymore.

"Ye've quite the keeker. I've some salve to help if ye want it."

"Did you make that too?"

Mrs. Bailey burst out laughing. "Naw! I'm a baker and a cook, alright, but I'm naw chemist."

Mia grinned. "I'd love to try the salve. I'm not sure which is worse, the black when it was fresh or the sickly yellow-green it is now."

Mrs. Bailey's brows drew together, and thunder filled her face. "The bloke who did it, he gonna be a problem?"

Mia snorted. "No. I left him in Canada, and he has no idea I'm here."

Her face cleared. "Good. Would've given 'im a good hard smack with a pan for laying hands on a lady."

Mia laughed. "No one has ever called me a lady."

"Yer lady of this house now, so expect to hear it." Again, there was tension behind the words.

Mia wasn't always the best at social cues in the fancy circles Colt aspired to. Still, after years in the foster system, not that she'd lived in any genuinely horrible situations, she'd learned to read people and the tension in their bodies reasonably well.

Only one of her homes was a bad place where the father drank excessively. He never touched any of the kids under his care, but he often yelled, smashed things, and made threats. She learned quickly to go to her room and stay out of his way.

So when Mrs. Bailey's brows pulled together in worry, and she picked at a crusty bit of dough on the island, Mia attempted to put two and two together.

"You know, I was thrilled when Fergus told me the house and the people associated with it were taken care of," she said, attempting to appear like she was admiring the pots hanging over the stove and not about to freak out. "I don't know the first thing about a place like this other than it's gorgeous, and I still can't believe I get to stay here. I wouldn't want people to think I would come here and make crazy changes, like fire everyone. It's not in my nature, and honestly, after the last few years, I'm just happy to have a home."

The last came out a bit of a hoarse whisper as surprise tears seared her nose and throat.

"Ye've had a time of it, haven't ye, Mia?"

She made the mistake of glancing at Mrs. Bailey, compassion in every line of her face, and broke down in tears.

"There now." The older woman enveloped Mia in a hug and rubbed her back. "Been a hard road, but yer here now. And we look after our own. Ye have yerself a wee greet. Then I'll show ye the house and put the tea on."

Mia sniffled. "Does tea include fresh bread?"

Mrs. Bailey chuckled. "Of course!"

Mia hugged her tight. "Excellent."

The house was a dream.

All the times Mia watched someone restore their period home on television, she'd sighed in longing. However, after the first time she pointed out how gorgeous the craftsmanship of those older buildings was, even the restored barns, Colt snorted in contempt and called them filthy she hadn't brought it up to him again.

Laying on her back on a beautiful wide bed with a thick white duvet, Mia stared at the crisscrossed ceiling and let the tears come.

She'd been so blind to Colt's faults, so desperate for love and affection after being alone most of her life that she ignored his red flags. Some, she even turned around and placed on herself as her faults. She'd accepted blame and tried to change herself when he was in the wrong.

Tears dripped down her cheeks, but they didn't last long. She cried for broken dreams and lost love, but she wasn't cynical enough to believe that would be the end for her. Mia would love again, but she'd learned tough lessons and would guard her heart with higher walls next time.

For now, she would put Colt behind her and move on with her life. It was here, it was new, and though it was a little scary, it was also exciting.

She sat up, wiped her face, and took in the sun-drenched bedroom. A fire burned in a beautiful iron grate in a modest fireplace between two floor-to-ceiling windows. Cream club chairs offered a welcome seat to soak in the view or the heat. Antique dressers now held the clothing she purchased, as did the pair of wardrobes. And, of course, the same stunning floor of overly wide wooden planks felt like they'd been polished smooth with literal generations of feet.

Off the bedroom was a bathroom straight out of a fantasy novel. A clawfoot tub sat on a riser within the confines of an alcove beneath a large octagonal window. The plank flooring gave way to large slate tiles, slightly misshapen, clearly hand-hewn. Again, it felt polished beneath Mia's feet.

A double sink sat in a vanity that looked like an antique dresser, while the mirror above appeared hand-carved or made from the bones of old crown moulding. It was magnificent, with the small wall sconces glowing on either end.

In virtually every room, some potted plant or vase full of flowers added greenery to the space, and her bathroom was no different.

She wasn't sure what the leafy plant on the sink was called, but she was determined to learn how to care for them and help out.

As Mrs. Bailey - first name Cora - showed her around through receiving rooms, drawing rooms, her late grandfather's study, the dining room, and five guest rooms, she introduced Mia to Oliva and Skye. The young women helped with the housework, general cleaning, laundry, and the like.

Cora explained the two women had received the items shipped from Edinburgh, found the boxes with her clothing, and unpacked them into the master bedroom.

It felt a little weird moving into what once was her grandparents' space, but Cora assured her the mattress and bedding were new, changed out when they learned she would be coming to stay. Her grandparents' clothing and the like were stored in the attic until she decided what she wanted to do with it. They had yet to bother with the rest of the house, as Mia could add or edit as she pleased.

So far, Mia was under the impression that her grandparents had impeccable taste. The antiques were glorious and well cared for. What brick-a-brack she saw seemed well chosen and possibly of value. Clearly, her grandmother had a thing for Waterford Crystal, not that Mia blamed her.

Her grandfather - apparently - carved and painted wooden ducks. The gorgeous creatures were lovingly displayed in his former office, riding the plate rail that ran the room's circumference.

They had stored her art supplies, works in progress, and finished paintings there.

Mia vaguely wondered if that was where her talent came from before Cora shooed her along, talking about how the house was fully renovated right before Covid hit, keeping the old world charm while modernizing things like the insulation, the lighting, wiring, plumbing, heat and air.

She could only imagine the hundreds of thousands of dollars spent modernizing the house while retaining its classic look and feel.

The house tour ended in one parlour where another potbelly stove glowed brightly beside a burgundy velvet sofa. Skye was there with the tea tray, Olivia a step behind with another of fresh bread, preserves, and a crock of whipped butter.

Mia intended to invite the women to stay, but Cora shooed them out, sat with a thump on the couch, and made to pour the tea, but Mia beat her to it.

She wasn't much for superstitions, but her mother always laughed and said, 'the lady of the house poured the tea unless she wanted to end up enceinte.' Mia was eight when she finally asked what the word meant, but she never forgot the way her mother laughed and explained about the silly old wives' tale. Still, it was one of the weird things that stuck in her brain and arose at odd times. Like now, when she realized this was her house. She owned it, lock, stock, and barrel.

It made her hyperventilate a little.

Then, as she handed Cora a delicate tea cup, the woman bluntly asked how she got the black eye.

It surprised Mia, but she told Cora the truth. When an ocean separated them, there was no point in lying to save face or protect Colt. But, as Cora poked a little at still raw feelings, Mia felt the fresh prickle of tears.

It was only a week—seven days from losing everything to gaining everything.

Cora made a displeased sound with her tongue and changed the subject, but the thunderous set of her brows said if she ever met Colt, he might become intimately acquainted with one of the cook's larger frying pans.

She asked instead about Mia's art, and happy to talk to someone about her joy, Mia ate three slices of bread, liberally spread with butter and jam, drank two cups of really lovely tea, and nattered on about what she did and why. She thought it might bore the woman, but Cora's eyes were excitedly bright, though a bit of confusion lingered.

"Well, ye've all the time in the world to paint now, love," Cora grinned. "Yer grandad had a woodworking shop near the barn that might suit ye if we clean it out."

The idea of it excited her when Cora encouraged her to have a walk around, but Mia returned upstairs to change first. It was roughly six degrees Celsius, and coming out of a Canadian winter when minus forty wasn't unheard of, six degrees was relatively balmy, but Scotland was damp in comparison. Mia learned quickly that you could get rained on at any time.

Thus, she'd ended up sprawled across the bed, staring at the ceiling, attempting to adjust to the metamorphosis her life went through in a short amount of time.

Quiet laughter echoed in her head, and she closed her eyes as the gentle touch of a caring hand danced across her forehead.

Loki was patiently waiting for her to unpack his things.

Smiling, Mia looked around the room. The dresser across from the foot of her bed was long and low with a vase of fresh flowers but otherwise empty.

It took very little time to unpack and cleanse the altar and set everything back as it should be. Once finished, Mia admired her handiwork before rummaging through the bags brought up by the maids. A few pretty crystals and a pewter bowl joined her collection, as did two silver candlesticks meant for fat pillar candles. She bought two in vanilla, two in citrus, and two with a cinnamon kick.

For now, she placed the cinnamon-scented ones in the holders, and the others remained wrapped in tissue paper she tucked into a drawer.

Loki hummed his pleasure, the warmth of it like the summer sun glowing in her chest.

"I'm glad you like it. Thank you for leading me here."

Here is where you belong.

Mia grinned. Yeah, she felt that, too.

Next Chapter

#reflections #au tom hiddleston fiction #rpf #real people fiction #tom hiddleston

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madandi · 6 months

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From The Times

article about the new song: "Thank you mother"

At 16 Amy Nuttall became the youngest understudy for the lead role of Christine in The Phantom of the Opera, then a year later she joined the ITV soap Emmerdale and stayed for five years. The Lancashire-born actress has since appeared in Hotel Babylon, Downton Abbey, Death in Paradise and, most recently, Mr Bates vs the Post Office. On stage she has been in My Fair Lady, Boeing-Boeing, Cabaret and Spamalot. Now 41, Nuttall is married to the actor Andrew Buchan. They live with their nine-year-old daughter and five-year-old son in Buckinghamshire.

How much is in your wallet?

No one carries cash now — everything is cashless. I did get caught short last year when my daughter lost a tooth unexpectedly. I had no money for the tooth fairy. Luckily my neighbour came to the rescue but now I always make sure I have pound coins in my wallet. Apart from that, all I have is my driver’s licence, Tesco Clubcard, Boots card, Caffè Nero stamp card and my debit card.

What credit cards do you use?

I don’t own any. When I joined Emmerdale I came home to visit my parents and for some reason I’d got myself a credit card and I was telling my dad about it and he made me get it out, got a pair of scissors and said, “Right, I want you to cut it up in front of me. Take my advice. Do not go down that road.” And it’s just stuck with me. I’ve never had one since. I think my dad knew that it would basically give me the opportunity to spend money I didn’t have, so I think it was very wise advice.

Are you a saver or a spender?

I’d love to say I’m a saver. I think I started out really well but I have become a bit of a spender. It’s mainly on my children. When I started out, aged 16, touring in The Phantom of the Opera, my first pay cheque was £500 a week, which was an absolute fortune for someone that age. I remember we were rehearsing in London before we went on tour, and I needed some new trainers, so I went to Schuh in Covent Garden. And I’ve never forgotten that feeling of buying my own trainers with my own money — and still having money in my account. After that I barely spent a penny, other than on accommodation and food. I don’t know where that girl went, as I really enjoy spending now. Back then I was very cautious. I just wish I’d had the foresight to put that money into property.

How much did you earn last year?

I’m an actress, self-employed, so it varies substantially from year to year. Sometimes I get surprise emails from my agent about royalties, saying, “Downton Abbey has been sold to this country,” or whatever, and they’re always nice little happy surprises. But generally speaking, in the last financial year — what can I tell you? — below a hundred grand, but I’m married so it all goes into one pot. So it’s not as scary because I can lean on that. People may have thought that being in Downtown Abbey meant I could put my rates up, but it’s really not the case. I always seem to land jobs where they tell you there isn’t any money in the pot. And then you find out who the lead is and you think, ah, all the money is going to that person. So it’s really not as lucrative as people perceive.

I sing too. I recently released a song called Thank You Mother, to raise money for the Brain Tumour Charity. That won’t see any personal return, but that’s fine as I want all the money to go to the charity. Overall I’m used to not knowing how things will be financially. It’s that excitement of not knowing what’s around the corner — maybe that big job with lots of money is going to turn up. That hasn’t happened yet, but you never know.

Have you ever been really hard up?

I started off well with Phantom and then Emmerdale, but when I was 22 I left and moved to London. Soon after I bought my first property in Ladbroke Grove [west London] but stupidly bought one that I was unable to sublet. I’d really stretched myself to the limit to buy it and I was relying on being in work to pay my mortgage and bills. I was the lead in Cabaret in the West End at the time, but it was a massive drop in earnings after Emmerdale and I just couldn’t cover everything, so I had to put the flat on the market. I had to move out a week after I finished Cabaret and rent a room in a flat and put all my furniture into storage. It was devastating.

Do you own a property?

I’m the joint owner of our comfortable family home in Buckinghamshire. We owned a smaller house before.

Are you better off than your parents?

I’d say my dad is probably better off than me. He recently retired but he was a criminal barrister and a judge. I have no idea how much money he earned but he was always extremely cautious and never spent money on five-star hotels. My mum was a hairdresser when they met and then did interior design for a while. Things were comfortable and my dad paid for all three of us to have a private secondary education.

Do you invest in shares?

I don’t and it’s not something I’ve ever thought about. I don’t know enough about it.

What is better for retirement, property or pension?

A bit of both. It probably changes from year to year but I think it would be safer to have a bit of property, a bit of pension.

What has been your best investment?

My house, my health and my children — not in that order.

And the worst?

I’ve not really made any great investments but I can’t think of anything that has been significantly bad either.

The most extravagant thing you’ve bought?

I bought my mum a Louis Vuitton bag because she did everything for my wedding. I just turned up on the day, which was great. I wasn’t particularly interested in doing it — she did it all. So I bought her a beautiful cream Louis Vuitton handbag, which cost about £2,000, which is an insane amount of money.

What is your money weakness?

Food, probably. I’m quite lazy, especially with the grim weather we’ve had lately. I just want to get out of the house and go to a cosy café to eat stuff I could easily make at home. My other weakness is [the homeware store] Homesense — I’m an absolute sucker for kitchen paraphernalia. Whether it’s another teapot or candle I don’t need, I’m there.

What is your financial priority?

My children. We’re a way off secondary school yet, though, so we’ll see what happens.

What would you do if you won the lottery?

First, I wouldn’t broadcast it. I’d share it among family, and I’d love to have the luxury of giving away a chunk of money to the Brain Tumour Charity. If there was any left to spoil myself, I’d love to be mortgage-free. I’d love a big house in the country with an Aga and a dog, and a holiday home in Tuscany. That would be lovely.

Do you support any charities?

I’m a patron of the Brain Tumour Charity — my mother passed away from a glioblastoma brain tumour in October, and I’ll be donating all the proceeds from Thank You Mother to them. It’s a song we played a lot at home in my mother’s final weeks. It was a very emotional time and the words in the song are very poignant to my relationship with my mum. I knew straight away that I had to do something to raise awareness of this terrible disease.

What is the most important lesson you’ve learnt about money?

That you never have enough, that it goes pretty quickly and that it doesn’t bring you true happiness. And like my parents said to me, “If you look after the pennies, the pounds will follow.” All proceeds from Thank You Mother by Amy Nuttall go to the Brain Tumour Charity

#braintumorcharity

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lulubelle814 · 7 months

Text

Regards, Loki - Chapter 25

Master List

Joy: Hey sugar. Today was awful.

James: I’m sorry to hear that.

Joy: Could we meet for drinks? I feel like I could use one.

He thought about it for a moment. Should he tell her now? Or should he meet her and tell her in person? Texting was easier, but the gentleman in him said it would be better to tell her in person. He didn’t, however, owe it to her. He had worked on keeping his responses brief but realized he’d entertained her for too long. They’d broken up a long time ago, and they’d only seen each other a couple times since then.

James: I’m sorry. I can’t do that.

Joy: Oh? You on a hot date with a pretty girl?

James: I don’t think it’s in my best interests.

Joy: Why would you say that? I thought we were friends?

James: We were friends a long time ago, but I can’t be friends with you now. I’m sorry.

Joy: How are you sorry? You don’t want to talk to me, but you’re sorry?

James: What I’m sorry for is how it might affect you, but this cannot continue. I wish you the best of luck.

She texted him a few times. At first it was a question or two. Then it turned violent with threats and cursing. James took the opportunity to talk to the building manager and front desk to have her barred. They were very quick to respond and confirm to which he was very grateful.

There were a few more texts after that. He took a screenshot of the texts before blocking her number, but saved the messages just in case.

Not quite an hour later, building reception reached out to him saying she’d shown up and started throwing things but that the police would be there shortly if he wished to make a statement. He agreed and asked them to let him know once the police arrived.

Another hour later, she had been arrested, he talked to the on-site police, and then followed them (per their suggestion) to make an official statement. He was able to give them the threatening messages she sent him when he cut off communication, and they said it would help immensely as it could be combined with the property damage charge. All in all, they said it would be an open and shut case.

What helped keep him calm in the midst of it all was his Sigyn, knowing she’d be supportive. In fact, when he was back home, he reached out to her.

Loki: That could have gone much better.

Sigyn: Oh no. What happened?

Loki: She asked me to meet her for drinks. I told her no. It wasn’t in my best interests and that I couldn’t be friends with her.

Sigyn: How’d she take it?

Loki: Poorly. Very poorly actually. Thankfully, I’d had the sense of mind to notify the security desk in the lobby.

Sigyn: Uh oh

Loki: She showed up and demanded to be let up the elevator. When they refused, she started destroying the lobby with anything she could get her hands on.

Sigyn: That’s awful!

Loki: She was arrested, and I made a statement with the police.

Sigyn: Because it was you she was looking for?

Loki: Not so much.

Sigyn: Then how come?

Loki: She started texting obscenities and threats to me. The police are helping me get a restraining order.

Sigyn: I’m so glad you’re ok! I don’t know what I’d do if she did something to you.

Loki: Your concern is kind and well appreciated.

Sigyn: I’d kick her ass if I knew who she was.

Loki: Lets save you from garnering any assault charges.

Sigyn: Probably a good idea.

Loki: Yeah, probably. But I do appreciate the sentiment.

James smiled. He’d never encountered anyone so defensive of him except his mother, and the thought warmed his heart. While chatting, he received an email update about the upcoming charity ball. The music was now set up, and the event was set to take place in 4 weeks.

However, there was one thing he needed advice on, and he knew exactly who to talk to.

Loki: I need your advice.

Frigga: What’s that?

Loki: You have to promise to keep this to yourself.

Frigga: I can do that.

Cora was the soul of discretion.

Loki: There is an upcoming charity ball. I was thinking of inviting Sigyn? I enjoy our conversations quite a bit, but I wasn’t sure if I should invite her so she can attend or with the premise that we would meet?

Frigga: If I tell you, you have to keep it to yourself. She’ll throttle me if she finds out.

James laughed. Touche.

Loki: I can do that.

Frigga: She’s mentioned a couple times about how she’d like to meet you sometime but thought it wasn’t something you’d want especially with the arrangement set up.

James raised an eyebrow. She wanted to meet him? Really?

Loki: Are you sure? Maybe it was a misunderstanding.

Frigga: Very sure. She didn’t want to tell you. Didn’t want you to feel forced or guilted into it.

Loki: Do you think she’d want to go to the charity ball? It’s a kind of masquerade.

Frigga: Abso-fucking-lutely!

Loki: I’ll get her an invitation. Bruno will deliver it directly. Physical invitations will be required for entry.

Frigga: She’ll be out of her mind excited.

He was relieved that Sigyn’s friend thought it was a good idea. He felt even better when she mentioned Sigyn had spoken of the possibility of meeting him. Even though he is giving her money for the arrangement, he had this feeling that it really wasn’t about the money for her, that they’d be friends even if money wasn’t involved.

James didn’t know how to explain how he knew that, but the possible reality of meeting her made him both very excited and very nervous. Looking back at the email, he saw the charity ball would be announced on Friday, only 2 days away, with invitations going out on Monday. Of course, a few people knew about it, but details were kept quiet until the announcement was officially made.

Taglist: @huntress-artemiss @jaidenhawke

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regular-lord-reckoner · 1 year

Text

since i have started this whole therapy/unmasking thing i have had the worst time getting myself to focus on work and get done what i need to get done

it’s like a switch has flipped and one minute all i ever do is work and try to get caught up on work and stay on top of everything to where now i just had to finish up what i didn’t get done during the week because i just...could not

i even the other day tried to set aside the first half of my day just so i could focus on work and get all the important stuff done, but by the time i finished all the work from yesterday that absolutely needed to be done plus the work for the next day it was almost 2 in the afternoon

still, i stopped and took a break, did a little work out, took a shower, all of that and naturally as i’m like, “see, now we can just take the rest of the day nice and easy and still get everything done without stressing” i see an email that’s like, “oh, btw everyone needs to be logged off by 6:45 pm today, IT needs to do something”

so then i had to scramble to get shit done instead of being able to take my time and ended up getting all stressed out again anyway

i’ve heard a lot of people say that while going through this process they take time off work for a while and i really wish that i could, but i just don’t know how, i already have to be a week ahead on all my charts just to take a week off, i can’t imagine how much work i’d have to do to take two weeks off or even a month

my last vacation was spent being so sick i could barely even walk so i really, really, really could use some kind of break i just feel like i haven’t even had a second to stop and think about it

and on top of that, i think my dad’s getting sicker

one of his doctors is really concerned about his test results lately and wants him to make these urgent appointments with his other doctors for next week so i guess we’ll see what comes of that, i’m hoping it doesn’t end up being, “yeah, so the cancer’s starting to win now, sorry” but we were already playing with borrowed time as is, i guess so i’m just mentally trying to prepare for that

and while all of this is just...happening, yesterday i’m sitting outside trying to enjoy a little sliver of free time, turn my brain off and just not have to think about anything, i hear my parents calling for the dog

and normally that’s not too unusual, sometimes when he’s outside he’ll run a little too far and they have to yell for him to come back, but he always does

this time, though, they just keep calling and calling and calling so i go downstairs to see what’s up and he’s missing. the dog is missing.

i’m trying to ask like, “where did he go missing, did you see him run off? front yard or backyard?” but nobody knows, he just took off while they were outside apparently

so...awesome.

my mom’s been drinking and my dad’s too tired so i have to get in my car and drive up and down the road looking for him.

i’ve got my windows rolled down, squeaky toy out the window calling his name and trying to lure him to me to no avail

i go back to the house and we spend some more time yelling for him and walking all around the property for him, but nothing

we finally go back inside and something tells me to just check his crate. seems like a long shot, but just check it

so i do and you’ll never fucking believe what i found in there!!!

the dog!!!

the dog we just spent well over an hour looking for!!!!

the dog who was there the entire time just snug in his bed, all settled in for the night

i’m not sure who put him to bed, my dad swears up and down that he didn’t, but my mom clearly had no recognition of having done it, but someone did because i know it wasn’t me and he can’t get himself in there and close it on his own soooooooooooooooooooo

i think she probably did it and with everything going on (plus drinking, of course) she didn’t remember and as much as i’m sure i should be like...i dunno, mad about it or at the very least frustrated i just feel tired

i feel really, really, really fucking tired

everything is so fucking exhausting all the time and nothing ever stops and i just want it to fucking stop

i’m trying to basically re-learn myself and what my limits are for just existing which is so fucking hard because i feel like i don’t know anything anymore

but i think the cherry that really is sitting on top of this bitch ice cream sundae, though, is that i had made a post on facebook a week or so ago, i think, basically just like, ‘hey, i’m autistic’ and this guy i went to high school with messaged me because he just found out too a couple of years ago so did i want to be friends and i was like, “yeah, of course!”

how nice, y’know, someone who’s just been through this process sorta offering a helping hand and i’ve isolated myself pretty badly so sure, let’s make a friend!!

now, maybe i’m being unfair here because i’m clearly going through a lot but i just get the impression that this is exactly like every other time i get randomly approached by some guy i went to school with where it’s like, “hey, i’m having a tough time but you’re a woman so can you take care of me??’

because he keeps dropping all these hints like yeah, he used to have a girlfriend who was really good about helping him understand all this stuff and yeah, it’s just been kinda hard lately and now he’s just sending me videos of what i’m guessing is his kid and i’ve just completely tapped out at this point

again, maybe i’m being unfair and even outright mean, but it really does seem like every single time i’m going through something hard in my life here comes some fucking guy holding emotional baggage in one hand and a baby in the other going, “Hey, do you want to listen to me talk about myself at great lengths while skimming over the things you say and can you also take care of me? Thanks!!”

No!!!!!! I can’t!!!!!!

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I can barely take care of me anymore and still have so much other shit on my plate and i have no idea when i’ll ever get a break from any of this, please stop!!!!!!!

i want connection with other people and i know that’s important and i know i should be trying to foster it as much as i possibly can whenever given the chance but i just feel right now like i’m curled into a ball on the floor screaming, “please stop!!!” and yet there are all of these hand continuously reaching out at me and pulling at me and i don’t know what else i can possibly give, i feel so fucking empty

i want to be able to pour back into other people and be fun and generous and kind and all of those amazing things and i have tried to approach this whole thing with a big smile and optimism that does not naturally occur anywhere in my being because i thought maybe if everyone saw how i hard i was trying while trying to be a good sport about it all that maybe the universe would finally give me a fucking break but no!!!

my therapist gave me the warning this week that as i continue on through this process that it’s likely going to get harder simply because the more relaxed and at peace i feel, the more my mind is going to want to go, “okay, hey so now that we’re in a safe place i have some things i’d like to go over with you”

we even discussed what potential sleep meds i might need to go on because of sleep terrors and shit like that, so like...i’m trying to be as brave as i possibly can be about it and put this shit off for the longest because i was so fucking scared of it and now that i’m finally doing it, it’s like, “hey, did you want more bad things? it seems like you want more bad things, is that right? and more responsibility? wait, did you want both or...y’know what, you can have both, how’s that?”

i hate it and i want it to stop

i just want a fucking break, that’s all i want

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