#this is what happens when inspiration hits me like a tonne of bricks after having none for a month straight
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
Fools In Love
Kate rolled her eyes at him. "Really? Again?" Still, she couldn't hide her smile; her husband was so damn cute. Circling his arms around her waist, Anthony pulled her close until her back was flush against his chest, and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. "I can't help it," he grinned, beginning to nuzzle his face into her neck. "You truly have made me the happiest man alive and I think the world deserves to know." "I don't think London is the world, Anthony," Kate snorted, squeezing his arm affectionately. To that, Anthony simply smiled and shrugged.
"Maybe not," he replied gently, his lips landing on her neck. "But the Internet is."
Kate craned her neck to face him, eyes wide.
"You didn't," she started, but Anthony was nodding with earnest.
"Oh, I did," he laughed, and spun Kate around until she was facing him completely to stroke his nose against hers. "Why else would I enlist Colin's help in order to learn how to use Instagram?"
----- This is the kind of stuff that happens in my brain when people show me prompts like this. It's so cute, and I have a strong belief that modern Anthony would totally figure out how to use Instagram just so he can post about how happily married he is.
Anyways, they are fools, and their foolishness in love both delights and inspires me. Hope you enjoyed this tiny bit of cuteness from my brain.
#kanthony#kathony#anthony x kate#kanthony snippets#kanthony have altered my brain chemistry#kanthony are fools in love#pictures that inspire kanthony snippets#bridgerton fanfic snippets#enjoy#this is what happens when inspiration hits me like a tonne of bricks after having none for a month straight
121 notes
¡
View notes
Text
The Making Of âYou Calling My Nameâ ~ Im Jaebum
Tears spilled onto the paper as he wrote down the lyrics, only hating himself further for ever making you cry. His mistakes had left him with heartbreak, and a catalogue of lyrics to put together to create his next masterpiece. It was the last thing that he wanted to write about, he never imagined heâd be left with the lyrical scars of you leaving.
As he sat at his desk, as he often did, he expected to hear you walk through the door. It became a habit for you both whenever you came home from work, youâd call out his name and let him know you were home and have a look at what heâd been working on.
âJaebum!â You yelled, closing the door behind you as you stepped into the apartment. You followed the sound of his murmur back at you, opening up his studio door to see him slumped at his computer. âHowâs it all going?â
âIt will get better,â he mused, tapping his lap for you to sit in. âMy inspiration is back with me now so I should be able to get back on with things.
Your eyes lit up, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. âSo, who might that be then?â
âYou of course, silly.â
The silence killed him as he looked back at his laptop, the inspiration had left him now, the only memory he had of that inspiration was the fatal mistake he made that tore his life apart. The studio felt like it was closing in, the pressure of trying to come up with something.
As he began to think about all the things he done, he managed to scribble down page after page of regrets, plenty of comments of wishing that heâd never done what he had done.
âY/N, please,â he mumbled, following you down the stairs as your suitcase crashed down behind you. âWhere are you even thinking of going?â
You spun back around on your heels to face him, âIâm going anywhere away from you Jaebum, Iâm fed up with being here and crying again and again. Iâm worth more than this, you donât deserve to treat me like this Im Jaebum.â
The last time he heard his name come from your lips still haunted him. He always held onto the fact that youâd come back to him and that it would be the last time he heard you call his name, but the anguish and torment was just a small price to pay for breaking your heart.
After hours sat at his desk, the lyrics all finally pieced together, completed, unlike the state he currently found himself. He never imagined missing his partner would hurt so bad, he wished and hoped that youâd come back and piece him back together again, but even he knew that you werenât going to cave that easily.
With the song finally complete, the day finally came for the boys to debut the song on Music Bank. The list of artists performing was given to the boys as they made their entrance, JBâs eyes darted through it, spotting one familiar one at the bottom.
âSheâs here,â he mumbled under his breath causing Jinyoung to turn back at him.
He reached out and pulled the piece of paper out of his hand, âsheâs performing her song, donât cause any trouble for her today,â Jinyoung warned him.
âI donât want to cause trouble, I just want to hear her call my name,â JB sighed, snatching the list back, brushing his thumb over where your name was written before pressing the paper against his heart.
The corridors and the stage were places heâd walked several times before, he still remembered the last time he was at Music Bank, supporting you for your comeback, living the dream. He had the clearest memories of that day, and best of all, being with you at the moment you won.
For the rest of the day, his eyes had been hoping to fall on you, but you were nowhere to be seen. Youâd also caught onto the rumour that the boys were performing, making sure to keep your distance so that you didnât bump into him.
You crept around backstage as you noticed that the boys were next on stage, you looked next to the name of their song. âYou Calling My Name.â hit you like a tonne of bricks, as you glanced up at the stage and saw him for the first time, you paid close attention.
Throughout the entire performance, JBâs mind was only filled with thoughts of you, how bright the days used to be with you, the smile you always had whenever you heard him perform, how he wished that heâd be able to hear you call his name for one last time.
Your heart pounded as the song came to an end, quickly wiping under your eyes before anyone around you caught onto the fact that you were tearing. Your eyes focussed on Jaebum as he walked off the stage, completely unaware that youâd been at the other side all along.
Your head and your heart were still conflicted even once the show had come to an end, you were the first to admit that your performance wasnât quite as you hoped, fogged by the vision of JB being in front of you for the first time in months.
As you closed your dressing room door, you glanced up the side of the corridor, spotting all seven of the members of Got7 leaving the dressing room just three doors down from you. Just as you tried to turn away, your eyes locked with Youngjaeâs, noticing his eyes widen the second he saw you there.
Your body froze as he stepped aside so that JB was in your vision. You closed your eyes momentarily before looking across, staring at the back of his head.
âIm Jaebum,â you called out.
His body tensed up the moment he heard the familiar voice calling out his name. It took a moment before he turned around, feeling his eyes meet yours as soon as he spotted your figure down the corridor. Slowly, he began to step towards you, cautiously placing one foot in front of the other.
âY/N,â he whispered once the boys were out of earshot.
Your head shook at how shy he had become, âI liked the song you guys performed, I could tell that you were into it.â
âWell, thatâs all down to you,â he sighed, brushing his hands through the back of his mullet, âyouâre the reason behind the song after all. Youâre still a part of me, and somehow even thought youâre not around youâre still the biggest inspiration of my life.â
Your head nodded, leaning against the wall as you tried to keep your composure. âAre you really as regretful about what happened as the song suggests?â
âEven more so,â he assured you, finally bringing himself to meet your eyes. âYou and me, weâre still one, we always will be, whatever happens wonât change that. Youâre my reason Y/N, somehow even when youâre not a part of my life, youâre still there.â
You sighed gently, noticing the empathy that was in his eyes, a quality that you missed so much in him when he first decided to break your heart. Your body was pulling you in two different ways, he was still Jaebum, but still the one that had torn you apart.
âI want to hear you call my name again Y/N,â he confessed before you even had the chance to speak again. âI didnât think Iâd miss you this much, but all Iâm asking is for one more chance to be able to prove myself to you.â
âYou really think you can change my mind with one more chance?â You asked him.
His head nodded back at you, âsay my name and Iâll prove it to you.â
âIm Jaebum,â you giggled, taking a step closer towards him.
âIâll never make the same mistake again, just please come back to me Y/N.â
---
Masterlist
#jb#got7#got7 imagine#jb imagine#jaebum#jaebum imagine#got7 scenario#got7 reaction#got7 jb#got7 jaebum#im jaebum#im jaebum imagine#got7 drabble#got7 one shot#got7 fluff#jaebum scenario#jaebum reaction#jaebum drabble#jaebum one shot#jaebum fluff#kpop#kpop imagine
183 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Highlights and insights from the MELE launch cast & crew reunion panel
[rewatch link] [highlights & insights from the N7 Day 2020 reunion]
In case a text format is better for anyone (in terms of accessibility for example). Cut for length.
Some paraphrasing.
If anyoneâs interested in just the line-reading session, it starts at timestamp ~1:04:45.
In addition to the cast and crew from the N7 Day reunion, at this reunion also in attendance were:Â
Mac Walters (Project Director for MELE, Lead Writer of the og MET)
Melanie Faulknor (Lead Producer for MELE)
Crystal McCord (Producer for MELE)
Fred Tatasciore (Saren)
Seth Green (Joker)
Kimberly Brooks (Ash)
Ash Sroka (Tali)
This was the biggest reunion / meetup of the cast so far, and some of the cast and crew were meeting for the first time here.
Itâs been so long since the og MET that PW & KW are getting to watch their kids experience playing it for the first time
JHale doesnât play but since MELE sheâs been sneaking around Twitch jumping into peoplesâ MELE livestreams to lurk, watch and comment a bit
What drew Seth to the character of Joker? The whole concept of the game. He likes games and METâs mechanics (different trees of adventure, stacking reputation, choices carrying between games) at the time were the most sophisticated that heâd ever heard pitched. He thought this was new and exciting and wanted to be a part of it. For the character they cast him based on his personality traits (i.e. he sounds quite similar to Joker personality-wise)
Would Seth ever want to play Joker again if the opportunity presented itself? Sure, he loves the character, and if the writers ever had more things to explore/expand with Joker heâd be down for it.Â
Seth said that itâs a different kind of fan that approach him about this project. The fans have spent many many hours in an intimate exchange with âhimâ that he hasnât been a part of, but they experienced it nonetheless. âIâve hugged a lot of strangers, you know what Iâm saying? Itâs great, you get an interaction with fans that you never get as a performer in any other experienceâ
Seth has been a space guy since he was little, it inspires him
With the state of the world the way it is now [covid, masks etc], does Ash think Taliâs story will be more impactful now than it was before? Ash hopes so, and that anything they do here will have a positive impact on a bigger level. Ultimately thatâs why most of them do what they do, they want to reach people in deep ways. She hopes Tali is an inspiration in courage, bravery, standing up for whatâs right and thinking about the greater good
The [MELE I think] dev team had a last team meeting with Greg Zeschuk, one of the founders of BioWare, who they had invited to it. He was regaling them with stories of the inception of Mass Effect. âYou would imagine this sort of well-laid out, drawing boards everywhere... [but] it was basically just a napkin sketch in a Greek taverna with him and Casey going âWe wanna do a space operaâ, and then it took offâ
The process of creating lore through development is very organic. A lot of it comes from character and story development. It builds up over the course of the gameâs development. They did the codex entries at the end, the idea being that if they saved them for as late as they could, then they could pull from the story, characters and meaningful moments, and build them from there
PW wrote a bunch of the codex entries, elevator banter & lots of little bits of lore. They describe their time on the og MET as being a âbaby writerâ. They originally came in after Mac had back surgery and a junior writer was needed to fill in. âIt was really fun, it was us sitting in a room together going âWhat do you think a hanar or a krogan thinks about this or thatâ?â For a first project for them this was an amazing experience - the world building itself creatively with all these awesome people
They tried to add multiplayer in every game but only got it to work in ME3
They had a lot of plots laid out in ME1 that they called âglobal plotsâ. These were outside the core critical path and would take players from planet to planet, and were sprawling stories. They pulled out a lot of really interesting concepts and ideas from these that did make it into the game, but all of the global plots ended up getting cut due to time. Mac still has old diagrams and spreadsheets which detailed how all of these would have come together
Q. If you all had to take a long-distance road-trip with two squadmates, who would you take and why? PW: âJack and Mordin. Mordin because the drive would never lack for things to talk about at length quickly, Jack because you know you wouldnât pay for the room. You wouldnât know how youâd get the room, but you wouldnât be paying for it.â Courtenay: âIâd take Mordin because thereâd be singing, and FemShep just to have this thing - happen. In the room that I get for free.â JHale at this point fistpumped while saying âYeessâ [then I think what she said was âsteaming hotâ]
Seeing as asari are long-lived, how open is Ali to one day reprising her role as Liara? âSheâs a character very close to my heart, it was such a great opportunity. In some games that we work on the character has already been created or voiced by someone else, but this was really a group effort. When I first went into the booth, the only thing Iâd seen of her was a sort of like, rendering, and we slowly kind of came to her voice and presence. I would love to bring Liara back any time... hey, she can live a really long time guys. :Dâ
Caroline and people who do what she does (Creative Performance Director) are so critical to the quality of games. Caroline: âThis group of people are extraordinary. We were lucky to have such an extraordinary cast. Every [recording] session was new and challenging. It was a labor of love. Iâm tearing up right now thinking about it. Iâm remembering my last session with Jen, she was the last session, just sobbing and sobbingâ. When JHale was trying to say the lines of Shepardâs goodbye with Garrus, a line hit her like a tonne of bricks and she was in tears and was like âShepard does not cryâ. âIt took me a second, I got it out and took another run at it, it was in there but stuffed down as it should have been, and I finished the line [and there was silence in the booth when usually Caroline would have been talking to give direction or instruction] Did we lose her? Did Skype crash?â and it transpired that what had happened was that Caroline was in floods of tears
ME was the first time Keythe had ever come across branching dialogue. âNormally when we work on a script and itâs from page 1 to 100. In this it was get to page 5, then go back to page 2 and play it a little differently. The skill and the fun and joy of it was to be able to go back and play a scene in a different way, with different writing, with different outcomes. This was not only a challenge but a real treat. So to all the writers who dreamed up how this build-your-own-adventure plays out, you have my undying respect. It was a real pleasureâ
VEDA is a proprietary system that BW use to record the dialogue, which is the closest way of having it feel like having people in the booth together (itâs all digital and VAs get to hear the line someone else has done in that scene). Caroline really pushed for this because of the amount of time etc that was wasted due to lack of this sort of thing on ME1. William: âIt was a god send for me, thank you, getting to hear a cue from Jen or Mark.â Ali: âUs being able to bounce off each other helps make it more real. This for me was the most real acting experience on a game I had ever had - the writing being so good, Caroline helping us through, being able to hear each other.â JHale was always early coming in to record relative to the others so only got to use VEDA a few times - a bit of Liara content and the scene with Anderson towards the end. âThose two times, oh my god it was amazingâ. VEDA being a thing also helps from a scheduling standpoint
Seth and Tricia Helfer (EDI) only got to be in the booth actually together 1 time, to record/shoot a piece of promotional video. âWe actually got to record a scene together and we were like âoh my god this is the best thing everâ. It was great, even though I had to stand on a stool. Sheâs the bestâ
Seth:Â âAs an actor, the kind of opportunity to do this kind of material in games just didnât exist.â Fred:Â âOh, never! I had never had a villain part that was complicated like that. In a game? Never before, it was really interestingâ
Raphael always goes back to the fact that ME brought more women into gaming than any other game before it. âThe writing and the complexity of the relationships gave us so much ballastâ. âThis set this apart from running, shooting, gunning, lootingâ
JHale:Â âWhat I noticed in the times before when I got to be around fans, there was a huge hunger among women in the gaming world for something they could really jump into. They were starving for something which fed them what they deserved and neededâ
Mac:Â â[praising Caroline] Caroline would often come to us as writers and challenge us and say, as an example, âDo we really need another male character to do this? Why are we writing another male character for this?â She pushed that very early and to the betterment of everything we createdâ
PW:Â âKarin and Cookie and all of the editors across the trilogy, [were critical in] making sure that Shepard sounded consistent - [especially since] we had a large writing team, writers came and went, Mac is the only one with a significant writing contribution on each of the gamesâ
PW: â[on game dev] Itâs a process of getting hundreds of people pointed in the same direction, all believing that this is something worth doingâ
Ash:Â âHaving all the different possibilities and avenues, going back to play them all out in the different ways [really helped to round the character of Tali out and make her feel like a natural person]â.
VAs only get paid for the original recording sessions, not again (as in they donât any royalties or anything from something like the remaster)
In MELE, they left all the original credits at the end of each game in
Fred:Â âItâs creating in five dimensions [because of all the outcomes and relationships etc]â. Seth:Â âThe cool thing is that the audience feels that. Theyâre immediately struck by how dense, thought-out, prepared and planned the entire universe isâ
How was it for the new MELE devs coming onto this? Crystal:Â âI knew it [the series and fansâ love for it] was big, but I didnât know it was BIG! Working on MELE there was this infectious excitement. Being part of it was so exciting.â Melanie:Â âI came on at ME3, I had a 3 or 4 year honeymoon period with BioWare. Coming onto MELE, Iâm getting really emotional. One of my first meetings originally was going into a cinematic review for an epic Tali scene in ME3â. Crystal:Â âOn MELE, we had an hour or 2 every day where the team came together to play the game. In those reviews, a lot of the devs who worked on the original would tell all these stories. It was really fun to hear all the inside stories on MEâs creation and be a part of thatâ
DC:Â âShould this unit get vaccinated?â Ash:Â âOf courseâ
How do they think ME will be viewed in the next 10-20 years, what do they think its legacy will be? A piece of history, ground-breaking. It broke down some barriers and opened doors for people. Itâs a powerful, powerful community. Itâll continue to age quite well and be enjoyed by a new generation, itâs original and evergreen and thereâs a lot in it that people go back to. Thereâs a lot of universal things in it (personal experiences, like there will always be love, people fighting to belong, trying to make sense of their pasts etc)
JHale and Alix did the âI love you Shepard, now go save the world againâ Shep-Sam exchange and both got teary. It was then Sethâs turn to line-read: âJesus Christ, now that Iâm good and choked up, fucking messâ. Ali was also actually crying from it
Seth: âIt canât be overstated, this community is so large and global, it is one of the most powerful fandoms that Iâve ever been greeted with. Thank youâ. Ash:Â âItâs the most amazing group of fans ever. Weâre all so gratefulâ
Some funny anecdotes/stories:
PW didnât realize that Alix could do different accents. They remember a time when they were listening in the booth and an Alliance soldier was complaining about the gear had been given. They said âWow thatâs really good, who is that?â and the VO producer said âThatâs Alix, Patrickâ, âbecause she wasnât doing her [normal British accent but was doing a Californian accent instead]. Alix roasted me later for not recognizing her voice and never let me heard the end of itâ
Alix: â[on Samâs toothbrush] Carolineâs like, âSo then she pulls her toothbrushâ and Iâm like âWhat? Sorry? A toothbrush?â and obviously itâs funny now as everyone knows that Samâs thing is her toothbrush. Carolineâs like âYeah, youâve gotta like, flirt, over the toothbrushâ and Iâm like âWho wrote this - a frickin toothbrush, are you kidding me? Really guys?â ANYWAY. I was wrong and it worked. :Dâ
Fred:Â âI remember a 12 year old kid coming up to me and being like [flat tone] âOh yeah. I killed youâ.â
Keythe: âThe other assasin I play is Kellogg in Fallout 4. People come up to me like âOmg. I love you so much. And then I fucking KILLED you!ââ
Courtenay once went out to dinner in NZ with a few prominent people from the Game of Thrones cast. âEveryone around was making a big deal out of it like âOmg, itâs so-and-so from GoTâ. I was feeling a bit like âHi, Iâm here, just nobodyâ. And I looked around in the restaurant and there's one guy in the corner and heâs got an N7 shirt on and heâs just looking at me like [knowing look, does a peace sign]. And Iâm like âI got one! I love you guys!ââ
PW:Â âI have a question for the cast members, because I donât know if JHale has done this to all of you or if she just does it to the devs. Show of hands if Jen has ever made you do push-ups.â JHale:Â âItâs just you guysâ
Karin:Â âOne of my favorite editing files that I ever had was a ME file. It was before Seth was coming in for a session. I opened it up and it was just 20, 25 lines with the word âShitâ, over and over again, and I was like, âThis file is perfect, I donât need to do anything to it, have fun!ââ
Seth: âDidnât we do a track thatâs like 60 seconds of laughing? Escalating laughing? I donât know about other actors but for me getting into a laughing fit is kind of like trying to get into a crying fit, it takes the same level of commitment, you start to follow a path until like youâre hysterically uncontrollably laughing. I remember looking through the glass, and Iâm deep in it at this point, and I make eye contact, and I can see from the other side of the booth and theyâre like [making âokay you can stopâ now gestures] - âLike thatâs plenty, we got itâ and I was like âokay, okay [dying]ââ
JHale: âThe craziest thing Mark and I had to deal with was how many times we had to say âI should goââ. Mark: âWe also, Caroline and I tended to use that as short hand when I needed to go to the bathroomâ
The panel host: âThe first time I interviewed Ali was a decade ago. She did the âIâll flay you alive with my mindâ line halfway through, it was my first interview and I literally fell out of my seat [from being star-struck]â
Ash line-read Taliâs drunk omni-tattoo scene and in response DC said âI totally get why people wanna romanticize all these characters :Dâ. Karin: âWeâve had more than one person come up to us and show us actual tattoos that looked like thatâ
[source]
#bioware#mass effect#video games#covid mention#long post#longpost#garrus vakarian#best boy#feels#lul
29 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Screaming Salvation (Part one)
[[ The rest of this author note is from when I wrote it, but this is me now. Hereâs the first chap of the gift I promised. Please remember there will only be 5 chapters and as of now, I have no idea when Iâll go back to finish this.]]
-----------
So this one will end up being AU. Focused heavily and my OC and Daryl rather than everyone else. Not much else to say, no idea where the fuck Iâm going with this as usual loool Set before the group gets to Alexandria.
Name of the fic is inspired by a song. The Two Tongues by As It Is.
When I think of him there's comfort in the cold
He gives me solace when I offer him control
Her voice so beautiful will find me and explain
That life is agony but worth it all the same
I've been to hell and back
I've been living in between
Where the sky is always grey
And the grass is ever green
No I'm not sure I'm right
But I'm not sure I'm wrong
I'm just desperate to belong
Her voice like a sunrise
His voice like temptation
She sings to me softly
He's screaming salvation
-------------------------------
The sounds of boots slapping the damp mud in the forest, mixed with her own heavy breathing, were the only sounds in Rosalie's ears. Blaring like an alarm, letting her know exactly just how much she was in danger. And to put it lightly, she was fucked. She dodged and weaved the trees like a bat out of hell, eyes fixed on the break in the trees in front of her. The weight wrapped around her middle was weighing on her heavily, not just physically, but mentally. With each step it was as if she could feel just how heavy the burden placed on her shoulders really was. Like being put to the test, and she really fucking hated it. She had to get out of here, she fucking had to. She could still hear the men back further in the forest, not giving up the unrelenting chase of the young girl. Despite the fact her boots felt like they were filling with blood from her torn up feet, she didn't slow down. She was a lone survivor. Well maybe not completely alone, but she didn't exactly have anyone to have her back. She knew better than that by now. Sheâd been alone for years now. But the weight of having something else to keep alive, something to keep safe, it was a hard pill to swallow, especially when said thing was making life that much more difficult.Â
The cut on her arm stung like a bitch as it bled everywhere, the warm crimson liquid dripping down her arm. She had a fleeting thought that it was creating quite an inviting trail for the dead ones to track her with and have a nice meal, or even the assholes who were after her. She knew it'd need stitches and could only pray to a God that clearly either didn't exist or give a shit, that it wouldn't get infected. At this point, so far past the turn, finding antibiotics was a rare fucking thing. Her lungs burned deep in her chest from her violently sucking in air and heaving it out. She could only focus on getting far away. She knew she'd put a good distance between her and the assholes chasing her, being small and nimble had its perks. But she knew they were still chasing her, and she wondered with a dark feeling if theyâd ever even stop.
She broke out of the tree line, but what should have felt like a small victory rapidly turned on its head as she was faced with a large group of survivors just a few feet away in the road. It felt like a fraction of a second before all weapons were trained on her, and she drew her machete with a shaky weak arm, the other curling protectively around the thickly wrapped sheet around her middle. Her eyes were wild. Fear and desperation clear as day in them. A girl who had seen way too much shit for her age. Twenty...something. She was twenty one when the world fell apart and sheâd lost track of how much time had passed since then. She really wasn't sure anymore, she didnât give a shit. None of it mattered anymore. The only thing that did matter was staying alive. Age had no purpose in the new world because no matter the number, your life could end swiftly from the dead or the living. It didn't matter if you were 5 or 82.Â
Her wide haunted eyes rapidly flit around, taking in the threats as she was assessing them. A man with shaggy hair and a beard, holding a revolver. A dirty man with a crossbow and a scowl that would make Satan shit himself. A black woman with swords, a young boy with a gun. There were more, but her fatigue was making it hard to even decipher them, her stance wavering as she fought hard not to collapse. She wondered if they were part of the group chasing her, but despite the fact they looked worn down and like they'd been dragged through hell and back, they didn't seem like it. They didn't give off the extremely dark vibe that the others had. The others, although clearly living and breathing humans, were more animal than man, and those were the kind you really needed to stay away from.
âI don't want any trouble,â her firm yet scared voice sounded foreign to herself, rough and scratchy from not using it for so long and from not having had a drink. She couldn't remember the last time she had a drink. She often went without these days. There was something much more important that needed it. The others squinted at her, and the man with the revolver cocked his head. She couldnât hide from his eyes that looked like maybe he'd lost his marbles just a little bit. She couldn't really blame him, she had that same look in her own eyes. The one that said she had seen the darkest depths of hell, that said she was desperate and would do anything for survival. It was tense, none of them wavering as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. And then, the bundle wrapped securely around her moved and a small cry came from it. The survivor's eyes widened just a fraction, glancing at each other before back to her. A sound of a baby so strange to them, despite the fact they had one of their own. Some of them wavered their weapons a little, as if the idea of hurting someone with a baby wasn't something they could stomach. If they shot her, they could hit the baby, or the baby would get crushed when she fell like a sack of crap.
Rosalie swallowed thickly and took a shaky step back, her weapon still raised as she tried to see if they would put a damn bullet in her back the second she turned. Her hand held the baby's head protectively as she glanced down, shushing the baby in a low soothing tone. The man with the revolver slowly lowered his weapon, and most of the others followed suit. He was either the leader or they just trusted his judgement, Rosalie mused. He looked almost pained as he glanced at the wiggling bundle attached to the woman, the woman who seemed too haunted. The thought of one girl, one person on their own having to survive with a baby, made the man's blood run cold. He knew how hard it was and he wasn't ever alone anymore. He had his group, his family to have his back. To know that if anything did happen to him, the baby would be safe and protected still. And this girl, with the desperate look in her eyes that he knew all too well, she didn't have that luxury.
She exhaled a shaky breath and was about to leave, but that would be way too easy for the unfortunate events that made up her life. Nothing was ever easy in Rosalie's life. From the moment she was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck to her mother dying in childbirth, it only went downhill after that with her evil father shifting the blame onto the innocent child. Her life was one shitty thing after another, and the new world did nothing to change that fact. If anything, it made it much much worse.Â
The three vile men suddenly appeared out of the trees. It was as if they had somehow not noticed the large group of survivors not too far away, or maybe they were too stupid to care, their eyes on the prize as it were. She thought it was a combination of both. As deranged as these men were, they really weren't too clever or aware of their surroundings. It was how she managed to get away in the first place.Â
Rosalie's eyes widened in terror and took a step back, a low feral sounding growl erupting from her lips as she held her machete up, looking more alert than she did seconds before. She looked like a wild animal ready to attack, to fight for its life and do whatever it took to survive. It was a look that didn't match up with her almost angelic pretty face and tiny petite frame.
âNow now kitten, that wasn't very nice to leave us like that,â the man with long straggly hair sneered. He was thin and sickly looking, a wild gleam in his eye. The man to his left, far too fat for this world and Rosalie wondered how the fuck heâd managed that one, laughed loudly.
âForget the girl, I want the baby,â the balding man to the right side gleefully stated. The words polluted the air and caused the group to gasp, shocked from the other survivors who were watching, weapons drawn and appalled faces. Because no matter the horrors you found in this world, something always came along to outdo it.
With no hesitation, when those vile vile words left the man's lips and then left them distracted by the other group, a loud snarl left Rosalie as she dove at the man, swiping her machete with a force that looked unreal for her small weak frame. The blade sliced cleanly through the man's neck, almost severing his head. And with a sudden flurry of movement and noise, the leader hit the floor like a tonne of bricks, a bullet right through the temple, as the man to his left got a bolt right in the eye and fell next to him.
Rosalie's head whipped to the others, seemingly shocked that anyone had even bothered to help her or the child. Did good people exist anymore? She really gave up that hope a long fucking time ago. She stopped expecting the best of people before the world went to shit and it only went downhill after. The thick silence filled the air and she blinked wearily at them. Fatigue was setting into her bones but she needed to go. She needed to find somewhere to hole up for the night, to find safety for the little thing attached to her that had seemingly taken over her life, the fierce need to protect. She turned her back, feeling like they wouldn't hurt her. Why bother helping if they'd just kill her? She started stalking away, wincing at the pain in her feet.Â
âWait!â the voice rang out in the tense air and stopped her in her tracks, making her turn cautiously, half expecting a gun trained on her. But instead, she found the revolver man who had taken a few strides towards her. She narrowed her gaze distrustfully at him. In response he held his hands up, giving her a weird look, like he was looking at a scared animal and he didn't want to spook it.
âYou should come with us, ainât safe out here on your own, not with a baby,â his words were soothing, like he'd done this all too many times before. Diplomatic and calming. She was good at reading people and she wondered if he was some kind of law enforcement before the shit hit the fan. She'd had enough experience with police in her past to know one when she heard one. Rosalie chewed the inside of her cheek as her eyes flit to the others watching carefully behind him. Although no weapons were pointed at her, she could sense their readiness to do so if needed.Â
âThey won't hurt you, weâre good people,â he said softly, as if he could sense her apprehension. He didn't really blame her for feeling that way, especially not after what they had just witnessed. It painfully reminded him of the other group he came across when one of his own had returned to him. The Claimers. The one slimy fuck that had his eye on his son, the one who ended up with his entrails all over the floor.
She didn't like this. She didn't like people and she didn't want to be part of another group just so they could fucking die around her like the last one all those years ago, not long after the dead started walking and got a penchant for eating people. She already had enough on her plate looking after the kid. She didnât need feelings or attachments, nothing of the sort. One was more than enough. That shit was what got you killed out here. She didn't say a word, turning around and carrying on walking. The man's shoulders slumped a little, the idea of letting her and the baby walk away to an almost certain death not sitting right with him.
âWe have a baby too...We have formula...if you need any. We look out for our own. You come with us, we can make sure the baby is safe,â Just as he hoped, the woman stilled again, but didn't turn to him this time. He could see her clench her fist a little, the one with no weapon. He also noticed the gash on her arm that looked like a defensive wound. It was dangerous to have a wound like that these days, and he doubted she could sew it up herself.
âSomeone can help with your arm, sew it up. Won't be much use to your baby if you die from infection or blood loss,â he prodded, knowing the girl clearly cared about the baby and trying to coax her using that knowledge.Â
She slowly turned around, tugging her lower lip with her teeth as her bloodied arm came around to the babyâs head that was now poking out from what looked like a tatty bloodstained blanket that was tied tightly around her. The dark-haired baby cooed at her, pulling at her necklace, and Rosalie glanced from the man to the baby. She knew he was right, that she couldn't do this alone. If she died, what chance did the baby have of surviving? None. Just like when she had found him. She mulled around the idea of leaving the small boy with the people, but she found a strange pain in her chest when she did. Sheâd at least have to stick around a little to see if she could trust them with such a thing.
After a few tense moments of silence, she looked back up at the man, seeing his hopeful gaze imploring her to do the right thing. If they wanted her dead, they would have done it by now, that much was obvious. Sheâd run into too many bad people already in the new world. She could tell they were different. But despite the apprehension swelling inside of her, she had to. She had to fucking hope that maybe all the people left in the world weren't evil, and that maybe this was her chance to give the baby the life he deserved. The guilt swam deep in her veins, remembering what he said about formula. Sheâd ran out weeks ago, and the baby was surviving on mashed foods that were way too much for a boy his age. As much as she was grateful that the baby was mostly quiet, she knew deep inside of her, part of that reason was because he wasn't getting what he needed, wasn't getting the right nutrients and it was making him weak.
Rosalie took a deep shaky breath to steady her nerves before giving the man a small nod, and he breathed a sigh of relief, stepping closer. He didn't fail to notice how the grip on her machete tightened without her raising it, or how the arm around the baby gripped harder.
âIâm Rick,â he said with a warm smile, holding his hand out but she looked at it like heâd grown three heads. Shaking hands wasn't a thing in this new world. Hell, she didnât shake hands in the old world either. She still took it though, her small hand giving him a weak shake and letting him see just how tired and weak she really was.
âRosalie,â she muttered, her eyes tired and her whole body screaming with pain. She didn't offer up the baby's name but Rick didn't mention it. He would be protective of Judith too. He nodded at her and tilted his head in the direction of the group before walking back over to them. She heaved a sigh before trudging off after him, watching the others eye her curiously, some wary. They should be wary. They didn't know what she was capable of, and she knew they were smart just for feeling the same apprehension she felt about them.
âThis is Rosalie, sheâll be joining us,â Rickâs words were firm as he gazed around the group that had become his family, waiting for anyone to speak up, to challenge him. But the baby cooed again and it was as if the noise itself was enough to soften anyone who may have had doubts, to leave such an innocent thing out in the world like this. The children were the future now, the only hope the cold world may have. And with no more words, they all turned around and started back on their journey. One to find somewhere to call home, to feel safe. Somewhere Carl and Judith could be safe from the horrors of the new world, and now somewhere for this new baby to have the same.
#daryl dixon#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon fanfic#The Walking Dead#the walking dead fanfic#twd#twd fanfiction#twd fanfic
29 notes
¡
View notes
Text
  [ ⎠]   HEADCANONS //  MUSICIAN / SINGER AU :
    DONâT ASK ME WHY THIS SUDDENLY EVOLVED INTO A THING BUT WHOOPS. so this is basically going to be a huge mix of headcanons / backstory for buck.yâs musician au verse ( my spirit doesnât move like it did before ).  iâll be deep diving into everything and hopefully adding some reference photos ! enjoy !! this verse has been mulling in my brain for a few weeks so iâm super hyped to get this written down
  trigger warning :  motorcycle / vehicle accident mention ,  depression,  and brief bone mention.
  james buchanan barnes or mainly known as â buck.y â is a left handed bass player who is also adept in playing acoustic guitar within a band called  the howling commandos.  he switches between lead singer and bass some times during shows and manages to steal the show even when heâs not in the spotlight.  he writes his own songs and showcases some of them in live shows but he sometimes does small shows on his own without the band.  ( buckyâs appearance during this time is clean shaven and short styled hair that always comes unraveled under the hot spotlights ).    however, one day on his way home from a studio recording, barnes unfortunately got into a motorcycle accident on an intersection.  the car ramming into his left side.  he had to under go surgery and a metal support had to be added to his arm because of the shattered bone.  there was a lot of doubt that he wouldnât be able to play again due to muscle and nerve damage.  because of this, he decides to leave the band ( the howling commandos soon disperse after this decision ).  battles depression and the possibility that his entire career could be out the window during his time in the hospital.  but with a long long journey of physical therapy and practicing with his bass and guitar, he begins to gain back his skill and motion. once discharged from the hospital,  he was met with shuttering cameras and a bombardment of questions.  avoiding all inquiries, he takes a taxi home.  he didnât bother to contact any old friends out of light fear and anxiety of seeing them again after everything that had happened. he didnât permit any visitors during his time at the hospital. becoming kind of a lone wolf and soft spoken individual.  a complete 180 turn from his charming and out-going persona of his days in the band.  ( buckyâs appearance during this time is medium length hair and a light five-o-clock shadow.  his arm has prominent scars across it from the accident and surgery ). i have a voice claim for buck.y which is  matt mae.son bc a lot of his songs actually inspired this verse now that i think about it ( specifically straight razor is what set everything off which is a song i have had in my buck.y barn.es playlist for a good few years ) ??? iâll be linking some prominent songs throughout this that i can imagine buck.y singing / writing. i highly recommend listening to the songs as they appear in the story to help get immersed.  after a few weeks of being home and adjusting back into life, he begins to write a few songs in his old notebook heâs had since the beginning when he joined the band. then one day looking in the mirror, he impulsively decides to get a tattoo sleeve across his left arm. feeling subconscious about the look of the scars and wanting to move onwards. the tattoo takes almost a week and a half of consecutive hours of work. ( paneled lines much like the winter soldier design is across his arm. giving it a robotic look, most likely something pertaining to the rod of metal now within his arm, having it take on a new meaning. itâs simply shaded in just black ink at the top of his shoulder but tapers off into more flat lines towards his palm/wrist. a small outline of a star is on the side of his shoulder as a nod to the  howling commandos despite his lack of communication with them all. thereâs some small tattoos upon his fingers and knuckles, subtle robotic like joints across the bands of his fingers ).  dealing with tattoo care for the next few weeks, he manages to write a few more songs out of restlessness. not necessarily planning to do anything with them other than to vent out his emotions in the form of song. portraying his journey in a different light versus what the media had been ruthless in. a year passes, floating in a quiet loss of what to do with himself. going back and forth between the guitar and bass, writing melodies and retouching lyrics. then one night after receiving a majority of missed calls from colleagues, he calls up a small intimate bar/cafe with a good accompanying stage. asking if he can preform a light show there to announce his new album : ghost.  this show would be his first public and solo appearance after the accident in the winter. he sets up and preps a majority of things himself with his coordinator. and with a quiet strike of courage he sends out invitations to some friends he had been avoiding for the past year. nothing accompanying the texts besides the picture of a flyer. and when the day of the show arrives, barnes doesnât expect anyone really to come, not even a good handful of fans. he tells his coordinator not to tell him the numbers no matter what they are.    so the moment he steps out on stage, it hits him like a tonne of bricks.  the chatter of the full house audience dies down almost instantly. within his left hand, he holds his new black acoustic guitar. thereâs a moment of pause out of shock before he continues his way across the stage. a small spotlight with a humble chair waiting for him accompanied with a microphone. he pulls the acoustic over his shoulder. everything is silent as he takes a minute to check the tuning upon the guitar. hands slightly shaken. he then faces the audience. glacier blues quietly search the crowd before his gaze returns to the guitar, bringing the microphone a little closer.   barnes has been soft spoken during most rushed and attempted media interviews. many thinking his vocal cords must have been damaged during the accident.   so when he begins to sing go easy ( this song being one of the first he wrote when he was in the hospital and continued to write after returning home ), his voice takes everyone by surprise. his singing always being the true way heâs expressed himself. but this hits different. his voice holding so much weight and emotion as it accompanies the light sound of his guitar.   it then melds into tread on me ( addressing the eyes of the media and his hard journey within the past year along with the connections he lost during that time ). eyes daring to briefly glance up towards the audience as he sings. voice loud and clear amongst the speakers, as if he were pouring his heart and soul out upon the stage.   cringe ( acoustic / stripped version here )  is then sung ( i imagine this song is directly linked to his change in appearance and change in behavior and attitude across the past year and his anxieties and fears in almost losing his musical ability ).  voice more confident as he sings. beginning to drop back into his element as a performer.   grave digger is next ( addressing family issues and his conflict in pretty much running from friends who wanted to support him during rough times but decided to push them away in anger and fear ). and then, with a long hesitant pause, the audience begins to applaud but with a simple raise of his hand, it dithers out. his gaze keeps to the floor for a moment before it raises. he leans forward towards the mic, keeping his eyes out towards the audience as he speaks for the first time :  â ... this one is for the commandos. iâm sorry. to all of you. â he states before he begins to play  straight razor ( a song i imagine he wrote and preformed during his time with the howling commandos which is eerily now fitting for his current situation ). he canât help but have tears well in his eyes as the final song is sung, but he doesnât let any fall no matter how much they wanted to. Â
 once the last note is played, it echoes out into the audience with a gentle ping. a few beats of silence are given before a few audience members begin to clap. soon it roars across the small space. even the small crowd that had begun to form outside of the bar/cafe joined with the applause. a light nod of appreciation is given towards the audience, managing a half smile through the shine of the spotlights. he rises from his seat to give a small half bow before quietly thanking everyone for coming to the show before taking his leave. an announcer ( most likely the cafe owner ) then starts to direct everyone to the back where they can get a copy of the album. Â
 quietly he packs up his guitar and attempts to leave through the backstage door. but as he leaves, the howling commandos band members are there waiting for him along with a few friends close friends. those welled tears now returning and finally falling as a tight and well needed group hug is given. Â
                â good to have you back, buck. â   buc.ky continues to write songs and is planning to go on a small one man tour soon as his solo career progresses. he keeps in contact with the commandos and is planning to do collaborations with a few of them. now no longer going through life alone.    GUITARS / BASSES BUCK.Y OWNS :    the first is his  good olâ â baby blue â bass.  he still has it even after he left the commandos and uses it for his own shows. it holds a lot of nostalgia for him and he canât imagine having any other bass replace it.Â
   then this is now his iconic  black acoustic guitar  that he uses for his new solo shows. on occasion heâll break out the original wood acoustic, but he prefers this one. he bought it not long after he got out of the hospital.
#⎠|| headcanons.#⎠|| verse / my spirit doesn't move like it did before // musician au.#( THAT LAST PART OF THE BACKSTORY REALLY FUCKING HIT ME HARD I LEGIT CRIED  W H E W#that was a Journey to write#idk why i got so attached to this idea but i super love it ???????? i hope you guys love it too aaaaa )#( i'll add a small summary of the verse to my verse pages soon !!! i'm also quickly tagging this as a tw long post just in case the read#more doesn't work oh god )#tw : long post#tw : bone mention#tw : hospital mention#tw : depression mention#tw : motorcycle accident#tw : vehicle accident
7 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Swerve X Reader â Changes - Chapter 3
Chapter 3 - Whispers in the Silence
A/N â After a very successful vote in which Swerve won out, here is the next chapter. As always, a great thanks to @rocksinmuffinâ for continuing to inspire this story with their amazing imagines.
Warnings â None.
Rating â T
As a rule, the Lost Light was a ship that prided itself on noise, adventure and laughter, but with you in sick bay, under the careful operation of three medics and two scientists, the ship held nothing but a deep and terrible silence. It didnât matter that Swerve was quietly sobbing outside the operating theatre; the ship was still a static void in which no sound mattered.
If you were beside him, Swerve knew you would make the best of such a situation, probably saying something like, âHuh, I guess in space, nobody can hear you scream. Whoâdâve guessed?â
When Swerve was in the operating theatre all that time ago, you left him a message to listen to until he got back. He had listened to it over seventy-two times while you were in the medicsâ servos, if only to hear your voice again. Primus, it wasnât fair! Swerve couldnât leave you a message because you werenât Cybertronian, and worse than that, he wasnât even allowed to be in the same room as you because Ratchet had thrown him out when he started to get in the way.
Swerve looked up when he heard a door open, but it wasnât the operating theatre, it was only the waiting room entrance that led to the decks. Tailgate waved awkwardly at Swerve, soon lowering his servo out of respect. He and Cyclonus simply made their way to the right-hand wall and left two small vials of their innermost energon before leaving to stand with the bots in the corridor; that made exactly ninety-seven vials of innermost energon thus far. Swerve was glad that none of the others tried talking to him upon leaving their energon; for once, he was in no mood to talk. He also appreciated that the bots outside were staggering their queue times in leaving their innermost energon. One or two bots would come in every half hour or so to leave their vials, and before the day was through, Swerve was sure there would be almost two-hundred vials for you. It seemed everyone loved you, almost as much as he did.
Another round of sobbing racked Swerveâs body. He pulled out his locket with your hair in it, clutching it close to his spark, as if it might will you back to full health. The two of you had only been married one year, how could the universe be so cruel as to threaten that so soon?
âSwerve?â
Swerve shook his head, as a memory of your voice surfaced, followed closely by a visual feed of the event in his processorâs optic.
â(Y/N)?â Swerve beamed, repeating your confused tone, even though he was well-aware of what you were going to ask.
âI um- I know we said we were going to re-decorate the hab-suite, but why⌠why does it look like the friends set?â
âYou donât like purple?â He asked all too innocently.
You jumped as a laugh-track played aloud, âOh my GodâŚ. You didnât. Swerve, tell me you didnât add a laugh track to the apartment.â
Swerve looked far into the background, winking at nothing, âMaybe.â
The laughter briefly continued, only escalating when you face-palmed.
âWhy are you like this?â
At that, Swerve only chuckled and splashed you with paint, triggering the first of what he hoped would be many paint fights along your life together.
Coolant sprung from Swerveâs optics and he choked out another sob. That memory was from April Foolâs Day and he had re-decorated the apartment with you properly the day after. Swerve prayed to both Primus and every deity he knew of on Earth that you would come out of this okay and that he wouldnât have to live with the weight of his mistake forever.
He needed you. Couldnât the universe see that? He needed you to reassure him that everything would be okay. He needed you to come in the bar every day and lean over to kiss him, no matter what anyone else muttered under their breaths about him. He needed you to waylay the fears and doubts from his mind that he wasnât good enough.
More than that, he wanted to be there for you as-well.
â(Y/N)! ARE YOU SICK? PLEASE, TELL ME WHATâS WRONG!â
Swerve scrunched his optics shut as another memory hit him like a tonne of bricks.
You were curled up in pain, hugging yourself and groaning. You forced yourself to shake your head, shuddering as you breathed out slowly. âShark week,â You winced.
âSHARK WEEK?â Swerve cried. You had already forewarned him of this, but he didnât think it would hurt you so badly. Hurriedly, he ran to your tiny cupboards, bringing out extra blankets, a two-litre bottle of water, several boxes of pills (one of which surely had to be the right one), a large bar of synthetic chocolate, and a heat pad. After you mentioned shark week the first time to him, Swerve had visited Ratchet to learn what would help you and Ratchet had given him these supplies.
âWhich do you need?â Swerve asked frantically.
You could tell he was about to go into full-blown panic mode, as he usually did when he first encountered some new experience of organic life that he hadnât seen before. Before you were married, you had generally avoided him when this happened to save him from any embarrassment, but now the two of you were married, you knew he wouldnât be awkward about organic matters; well, not that awkward anyway.
Sitting up slowly, you took a few sips of water, smiling when the nausea passed, âGood job sweetie. Iâm all better now.â
Swerve pointed an accusatory finger at you, âNo! thatâs your placating smile, not your happy smile. Tell me the truth, do you need Ratchet? Are you still in pain? If so, how much pain? Should I get Rodimus to stop on a nearby planet? I could-â
For once, you left Swerve to rant on, while you simply went to sleep. In retrospect, that wasnât your best idea as he gasped and sped of to the medical bay, dragging Ratchet back with him, but honestly you were too tired at the time to answer his questions. After giving you the once-over, Ratchet gave Swerve a stern-talking to about heeding his research into humans before wasting his time.
âIf (Y/N) says sheâs fine, sheâs fine,â Ratchet glowered, walking out of the hab-suite. âNext time, listen to her before you come to me.â
Swerve chewed his lip anxiously, before approaching you again. Now you were well-rested, you were sat under a blanket with the heating pad over your stomach.
âYouâre really okay?â he asked.
âWith you to take care of me? Always.â
Swerve stared at the operating theatre door. That was the problem; he wasnât there for you now. Granted, Swerve was smarter than most bots gave him credit for, but he wasnât a doctor or a scientist. He didnât have healerâs hands. He was a barman. Why in Primusâ name had you married him instead of somebody useful? You could have been with somebody who listened to you when you told him not to cross that bridge. You could have been with someone who hadnât got you shot.
The hall door swished open again and Rung came quietly in to leave his innermost energon. He looked like he wanted to say something to Swerve, perhaps even comfort him, but he knew the protocol was to stay quiet when somebody's Conjunx Endurae was in in fateâs servos. Swerve could have invited him over, giving Rung permission to comfort him. After all, Rung was almost like a creator to you, but quite frankly, Swerve didnât think he deserved to be comforted when all of this was his fault.
âWhat are you doing married to Swerve anyway? Donât you know there are better mechs onboard this ship?â
Swerve could hear the cheesy 70âs music playing in his bar as if it was yesterday. He had briefly left you to grab some supplies from the back but when he heard Getaway say that, he remained hidden, knowing it was wrong to listen in on you like this, but needing to hear your response all the same.
âPlease donât talk about my husband that way,â You said, giving the overcharged mech a chance to back off and apologise before you ripped into him.
âCome on, heâs not even here right now,â Getaway guffawed, admittedly somewhat jealous that you loved Swerve instead of him, even though the two of you had hardly spoken before; Getaway always coveted that which he did not have. âHe wonât hear what you really think about him.â
âIf only that were true,â Swerve thought, though he still continued to eavesdrop.
âI mean, who would really notice if you and I just kind of slipped away right now to have some fun. Youâve got to have wondered what it would be like with another, more charming mech right?â
Swerve gulped, sure he was going to purge his tanks out of nervousness. He knew for a fact that most mechs considered Getaway to be charming and none considered him to be.
âHmm,â you said thoughtfully. âYouâre really good at sex?â
Swerve fell against the wall, wanting to claw out his audials, but frozen in place as the conversation continued.
âThe best.â
âGood, then go fuck yourself, and never ever talk about my husband like that again. Swerve is ten times the mech you are.â
Giddy elation filled Swerve up and he rushed out from the supply closet, pretending he hadnât heard a thing. He could have waited a little bit longer to compose himself, but he was afraid Getaway might be just overcharged enough to hurt you if you injured his pride any more than you already had. Getaway left irately and you turned your attention to Swerve who pretended he hadnât heard a thing.
âWhatâs his problem?â Swerve asked casually, though he could hardly keep the giggle out of his vocaliser.
You shrugged, âSmall man syndrome.â
âHuh? Okay, whatever you say, (Y/N).â
Before any more memories could torture him, the med-bay door finally opened and Ratchet stepped out, looking grimmer than ever. Swerve wanted to blurt out a million questions, but fearing for your life and knowing every second counted, he waited through the agonising seconds for Ratchet to speak.
âI have sent the medical team into the back so you and (Y/N) can spend some time alone, but I hope you are ready to face the consequences of what you have done Swerve. The lies youâve told her â to everyone on this ship â will not go unnoticed.â
Swerve swallowed fearfully, âBut sheâs alive? Sheâs going to be alright?â
Ratchet considered the question before answering, âPhysically, yes. Mentally however⌠Only time will tell. If you will excuse me, Iâm going to join my team in med-bay two, where we will wait until you are ready.â
Swerve waited momentarily for Ratchet to back-track though the medical bay; it gave him a few minutes to compose himself and think of what he would say when he saw you. Then, forgetting his composure, he ran into the medical bay, stopping short when he saw you, in your new Cybertronian body. He knew there was a chance this would happen, but he had told Perceptor and Brainstorm to wait until they were sure your organic body couldnât be saved.
Swerve looked to the bed across from you, where a sheet covered the corpse of your previous organic body. Why hadnât he immediately told you about the mini-bot shell heâd had made? If he had, he knew the conversation ahead would be easier. All the same, your optics were offline and Swerve knew by instinct that Ratchet and the others had left them off to give him the chance to explain before you saw yourself.
Before he approached you, he took a few silent steps over to the organic corpse. He held the corner of the sheet that covered it, hesitating before he lifted it to look into your cold dead eyes. He needed to see this, to burn it into his memory of what his mistakes brought on. Granted, your mind and memories were still alive, but this mess of a cadaver that had been stitched up by servos inexperienced with organics, that still had patches of dried blood caked around the sealed wound, was his cross to bear.
Finally, when he could look at it no longer, Swerve covered the corpse with a sheet again, and moved to your side.
â(Y/N),â Swerve whispered.
You moved your head frantically to your left where he was standing, âSWERVE?! I- I CANâT SEE- I CANâT-â
Swerve grabbed your servo, âShh, itâs okay. Iâm here. Iâm going to explain everything. What- What do you remember?â
You went quiet for a long time, thinking back to the bridge. Almost silently, you spoke, âI was shot.â
Swerve nodded affirmation, speaking aloud when he remembered you couldnât see, âYeah⌠That was it. (Y/N), Iâm so, so sorry this happened to you. It was all my fault. I never should have put you through that. Uh- (Y/N), the docs here, theyâve been working on you for a really long time.â
âSwerve⌠Am I blind?â
âNo sweetheart, thatâs only temporary, I promise youâre not blind.â
âThen are you- are you in holoform? You hand feels so small, but it doesnât feel like skin. Swerve, whatâs wrong with me? Nothing feels right. I donât feel real. I know it doesnât make sense, but I feel all wrong inside.â
âYeah, about that⌠(Y/N), I need to tell you something⌠Something I should have told you when we got married, and I need you to listen okay.â
âOkay,â You shivered, and coolant leaked from your offlined optics.
Swerve pressed his helm to your servo. âFrom the moment we wed, I was so scared something like this might happen⌠That youâd get hurt and Iâd lose you. So, I had Perceptor and Brainstorm work on something, a- a new body of sorts. I- I was scared that you would think I was trying to change you, so I didnât warn you about it, but now- Well, now youâre different.â
âSwerve,â You whimpered, âYouâre not making sense.â
âI know⌠(Y/N), Iâm going to sort out your eyes, make them work right, yâknow. Please trust me, okay?â
It seemed you werenât focusing on what he was saying, as you groaned, âMy head hurts.â
Swerve sighed solemnly, then opened your head panel to reveal your processor. From there, he connected the wire that would allow you normal control of your optics. As your optics flickered to life, you caught a reflection of yourself and Swerve in the chrome wall across from you. Your previously human mind tried and failed to connect with the newer faster Cybertronian processor. You couldnât make sense of what was happening. Swerve had his servos inside your head and all you could feel was numbness where you should have felt pain. Everything from your past and present crashed together in a way you couldnât handle. Then, you screamed.
Like my work? Buy me a coffee and earn preview of the next fic, or commission me on the commissions page.
#swerve#swerve x reader#swerve x human reader#ll#lost light#The Lost Light#MTMTE#more than meets the eye#transformers#tf#maccadam#transformers idw#idw#reader#reader insert#fanfiction#fanfic#changes#whispers in the silence#chapter 3
100 notes
¡
View notes
Text
I wanna be more than that...
Iâm sorry this is bad lol, I wrote it on my phone in one go. Donât hate me, I donât 100% ship them but how could i not lol?
âThere is no point in using the word impossible to describe something that has clearly happened..â David X Natalie - Pre relationship
I literally donât know whatâs going on! David sighed, plopping himself down on the sofa. âYouâre being dramaticâ! Jason argued, his arms folded. âHe really isnâtâ Zane said awkwardly in the corner.. âHave you not noticed something is going on between them?â David shot Zane a glare to which Zane put his palms up defensively.
âShe canât keep eye contact with me, she doesnât speak to me unless she has to, and I caught her looking at apartments in Chicago!â David almost yelled, not at anyone in particular but yelling at the room in frustration. The boys exchanged glances. This was the first time David had opened up about the rumours and tension thatâs been going on, and they honestly didnât know how to take it.
âDavid...â Jason said softly âNatalie is your assistant, itâs not like she can ignore you, sheâs basically with you 24/7?â David scoffed âha! Yeah thatâs probably whatâs caused this mess.â
There was a pause. Brains silently ticking over, trying to approach the rare sight of David talking about his emotions with care and precision. Carly sat down next to him and placed her hand on his knee. He tried the best he could to give her a smile of appreciation but barely managed it. âDavid.. Natalie knows how much help you need with everything, she wouldnât just jet off and leave, sheâs your best friend?â .. âCarly.. Iâm not worried about loosing my assistant, sheâs so much more than an assistant , sheâs.. sheâs so much moreâ
âWhen is she due backâ Jason asked
âLike any minute nowâ David replied, glancing at his watch. âMaybe just talk to her?â Jason suggested sheepishly. âJason, weâve slept in the same bed countless times over the past couple of months, we stay up till 4 laughing and watching films despite me changing my vlog schedule so I can have more sleep! There used to be this unspoken thing about like physical contact where it would only be an awkward hug but now, more or less anything goes. Trust me part of me wishes it had stayed the way it was but Iâd be lying if I said I wanted to just be her friend. And now sheâs finally caught on and letâs just say itâs the reaction I wasnât exactly hoping for. But do you know whatâs worse than being just her friend? Not being her friend at all... loosing her completely, I canât.. I canât do that! So the fact she wonât even keep eye contact with me during a coversation before Iâve told her anything, I dread to think what she would do afterâ
David slumped back down in his seat, physically and mentally defeated. âIt just sucks you know... I wish I knew it earlier, I wish it happened earlier, back in high school, before the life long friendship thing you knowâ he tried to chuckle at the end to make light of the situation, more for everyone elseâs benefit than his own. Before anyone could think of some empty comforting words, the sound of a Mercedes could be heard pulling into the drive.
âWell, I guess the rest of you can witness it for yourselfâ David said, motioning towards the door. âErrrr okay quick letâs think of a topic or else all of us sitting here in silence staring at the door is gonna seem real weirdâ Erin said quickly, looking around the room for inspiration. âErmm, errr, the poscast!â Heath blurted out. âSo yeah, Jason, are you going to keep the same length of time and like are you actually going to have guest and..â Natalie walked through the door during Heathâs babbling, lifting her head and giving a slight wave to acknowledge everyone there.
âYeah, David, home depo didnât have the paint you wanted but I can look onlineâ she said, not looking at him but walking towards the fridge. David stood up to follow her, âMaybe I can drive us to Walmart in a bitâ he suggested, looking at her from across the table. With a slight frown Natalie lifted her eyes to meet his own for a brief moment, before turning on her heels with her bottle of water. âNah itâs okay Iâll pop over in a bitâ she said before sitting next to Jason on the sofa.
âWell I donât mind going, I -â David was interrupted by Todd swinging in through the door. âHey, Sorry did I miss anything!? You havenât confessed anything to Natalie yet have you? Todd said with a laugh.
The colour practically drained from Davidâs face, staring at Todd who frowned in response, until he turned the corner and saw Natalie sitting on the sofa, her head now looking up from her phone. Davidâs eyes remained on the front door, despite Todd now having moved into the living room, his mouth opening and closing at a loss for words.
For the first time in weeks, Natalieâs eyes remained locked onto Davidâs features. Her expression was unreadable. Awkwardly looking back and forth between Natalieâs blank stare and David nervously biting his lip, eyes still glued to the door, the others began to make a move towards their belongings.
No one said anything as nothing needed to be said. Zane turned around, the last to leave and gave a sympathetic smile. âSee you later Dave..â
And then it was just the two of them.
It seemed like forever till someone had said something. David had awkwardly made his way round to the sofa and sat opposite her. He was afraid to look at her face. Would she be angry? Would she be confused? Why hadnât she asked what Todd was talking about? Did she care??
âIâm thinking of moving back to Chicagoâ
It was the 7 words that David had been dreading. He squeezed his eyes shut, towards the ground, trying not to let her see. Clearly he was too late to sort this mess out. He had crossed a line and now had to pay the price.
âAre you mad?â She said softly.
âNoâ he managed to croak out, and looked up at her from underneath his brows. She was looking at him intently, if he didnât know better, he would think she almost looked sad.
âWhyâ he said. Already knowing the answer but needing to hear what she would say anyway. âI- I just donât know if this is right for me anymore..â Bullshit, David thought, slightly clenching his fist. He wasnât angry at her, he was angry at himself for being so stupid.
âItâs probably for the bestâ
âWhy???â David questioned, feigning confusion.
Natalie shrugged, unsure of whether to be honest or not.
âSo... what was Todd on about?â
David leant back in the sofa, sighing.
âFuck it..â he mumbled. âHe was talking about me complaining that youâve barely looked at me in weeks, avoid me at any point you can, canât stand near me, let alone sleep in my bed with me. You go to bed early instead of editing with me or binge watching game of thrones. You donât want to go out driving at night or jump on my bed to wake me up in the morning. You shy away when I go to put my arm around you, you donât laugh with me like you used to or dance in the kitchen with me at 3am... I just, I - Iâm sorry I shouldnât have gone thereâ
Immediate regret hit him like a tonne of bricks as it was Natalieâs turn for the colour to drain from her face. He couldnât tell if she was holding her breath or not and he wasnât sure if he was either.
âIâm sorry, I donât want to upset you, I - Natalie forget I said anything pleaseâ He stood up to make his way over to her but she quickly stood from her own chair and walked in the opposite direction.
It stung. Her walking away from him, not wanting to be near him.
âDavid.. what you just described, does that sound like friendship to you?â She slowly turned to face him.
âWhat? Yes it sounds like friendship??â He was confused, wanting to take steps forward but not wanting her to shy away from him again.
âThatâs not friendship David.. Thatâs not platonic friendship between a guy and a girl.â
...
âI donât want to be friends.â
Her eyes flashes up to him, confusion and hurt starting to form.
âI want to be more than that.â
...
âI am more than that, and you know it.â
Taking a couple of strides towards her, he cupped the back of her neck to reach her lips to his. Instinctively, her palms flew up to his chest as he captured her lips with his own only for a moment before he pulled away, looking into her eyes. She didnât hesitate when guiding his head back down towards her own and kissing him, harder this time. She felt him smile against her lips. It should have been weird but it wasnât. Her stomach was doing backflips from happiness and excitement as she pulled him against her to fall back onto the sofa. He chuckled, âyou have no idea how long Iâve waited for thisâ he said against her, deepening the kiss. âMe tooâ she whispered, laughing along with him, both of them with grins plastered on their faces.
#i hate this#david dobrik#vlog squad#davids vlog#youtube#david dobrik fanfiction#david x reader#david x natalie#zane hijazi#liza koshy#writing#louis tomlinson#snk#on my block#international women's day#captain marvel
77 notes
¡
View notes
Text
As Fate Would Have It Part 11
Catch Up Here!
Pairing: 1940â˛s Bucky Barnes x Reader (Readerâs alias is Elle)
Words: 2921
Rating: E for Explicit! Smut be here, all ye be warned!
A/N: So I know I took forever to actually post this chapter (Iâm sorry guys, being inspired and productive is much harder since I got back home) but itâs here, itâs shorter and yes, itâs a bottleneck! We have only a couple more chapters left in the beautiful 1940â˛s and then itâs Winter Soldiering time! Also, I just realised I made like TWO teasers for chapter 11! Oops!
Song: Don't Deserve Your Love by Plumb
;
The rain began to pour in soft, satin-like droplets. Each bead of water causing a shiver down your spine. Your dress and hair were practically soaked. Your hair-pins were weighed down by wet curls that refused to stay put.
Bucky had taken off his jacket and placed it around your shoulders as you headed for shelter. His apartment was closer, so naturally, you had both decided to go there to wait out the weather.
Bucky's shirt had all but soaked through too. Revealing a tease of his muscled chest and strong arms hiding under his clinging white shirt. His arm still on the small of your back as he led you up the steps to his apartment. A second shiver ran through your body, but it wasnât from the cold. To compose yourself, you gripped his jacket firmly around your body, the scent of his cologne, faint but noticeable. It was a smell you'd sworn you'd never forget and to your relief, you were reassured that you hadnât. His jacket smelled just like you remembered. Just like youâd memorised.
Under the cover of the porch, Bucky patted his trousers in search of his keys. "I'm always losing those damned things!" He swore to himself.
You watched as he kept patting down his pockets one after another, before starting again. You bit your lips to keep your grin from evolving into a tooth one. You dug your hands into your pockets and felt the familiar cold tinge of metal on skin. You pulled the keys out of your pocket and dangled them close to Bucky's face. A warm blush settled over his face when he realised they had been in his jacket the whole time.
"Looking for something?" You teased. Right then, for some reason, his stare turned serious. He grabbed the keys from your hands but never broke the contact of his hand on yours. He held your hand close to his chest and you could all but feel his heart hammering against his strong chest.
With one foot forward and another hand cupping your chilling cheeks he whispered, "No. I found it..." As he inched closer you couldn't help but think he wasn't talking about his stupid keys.
"Buck?" You began, but before you could get another word in, he had all but drawn you in. His soft lips brushed against yours, his warm breath tickling your skin -igniting a warm spark that threatened to chase the cold from the rain-saturated clothes. And then, just as you dangled on the electrified precipice of his touch, he pulled back. A cheeky smile and a sly expression on his lit up face.
"Let's get you inside before we catch pneumonia," he joked.
You were so bewildered by the intense emotions trying to surface that you didn't notice Bucky walk you into his apartment and, like the gentleman he was, take the soaked jacket off your shoulders and place it on a set of hooks by the door.
It wasn't until he brought his eyes to your eye-line and shook your shoulders lightly that you realised he had asked you a question.
"What?" You said softly, unsure of what he had said.
Bucky let out a bemused huff of air, "I asked if you'd be more comfortable in something a little less⌠wet?" He said with a harmless smile. But when he mulled his words over, his brows rose up and his eyes went wide. He looked like a child that just got caught eating a cookie before dinner.
You chuckled at the suggestiveness of the question. Something about this moment made you feel exposed. Without armour. And by the nervous tone hanging around Bucky's words, you figured he felt just the same.
Bucky cleared his throat, "What I meant was, I have some dry clothes you can borrow. They're probably more comfortable than..." Bucky searched for the right words, but the sight of you in your clinging dress made it difficult for him to stay on track. It didn't help that the outside world was drowned out by the sound of raindrops hitting the roof and windows in a lulling mood.
You looked down and noticed how tightly the fabric stuck to your body. It didn't leave much to the imagination. Your head snapped up and so did Bucky's.
"Uh, yes. Yes. Dry clothes seem like a good idea⌠Are a good idea!" You had a hard time not stuttering your words.
Bucky tried to wipe away the hungry expression in his eyes by running his hands through his damp hair and taking a deep breath. He walked towards a door less room and disappeared in the unlit setting. When he re-emerged he was holding a folded, crisp white shirt and a pair of brown trousers.
"You can change in the bathroom. It's right through there," he pointed to the only other door in the apartment. When you graciously took the clothes he added, "I'll put some coffee on the stove."
You simply nodded and walked into the bathroom. With the comfort of solitude, you set the clothes on the sink and spent the next minute trying to calm your nerves. The feeling of electricity in your toes and fingertips made it difficult for you to focus your thoughts. You repeatedly waved your hands about as though you were having a hot flash, blowing out air through achingly untouched lips.
"Get a grip. This isn't the first time he's kissed you!" You snapped at your reflection lowly. But the stern execution of your words had no effect on your racing heart and flushed skin. Your eyes caught glimpse of a ticket stub fixed between the mirror and its frame. It had the words '*Coney Island*' printed on it. He had kept the ticket stubs from your date. Guilt and joy caused a storm in your stomach. It felt like butterflies, but also not quite. You sighed, averting your gaze.
Admitting defeat, you resigned yourself to focus on changing out of your clothes. When you put on the white shirt you couldn't help but notice how comforting Bucky's scent smelled. A coy smile spread across your face when you saw how cosy you looked in his garbs. You hung your dress on an empty towel rack. Suddenly, a dangerous thought began to swim around your mind. What if that towel rack belonged to you? What if there were two toothbrushes in the porcelain cup beside the sink instead of one? What if⌠You shook your head. Such thoughts weren't just dangerous, they were ludicrous. Someone like you couldn't afford to place hope in hypotheticals. Your life wasn't your own. The realisation hit you like a tonne of bricks and you felt your steely conviction return.
When you emerged from the bathroom, you were greeted by the sight of a newly changed Bucky pouring two cups of coffee. He wore simple slacks and a shirt identical to yours. He looked particularly domestic. You could imagine him reading the papers in the morning, mentally battling a crossword puzzle while his coffee grew cold just as the morning sun illuminated his face. Those blue eyes of his rivalling any morning sky.
âWhat if'sâ are certainly dangerous, you mused solemnly as you sat at his kitchen table.
"The shirt looks good on you," Bucky mused out loud. You raised a brow at him. He shrugged unapologetically. "Well, better than it ever looked on me." Bucky sat across from you, blowing at his cup of coffee.
"Somehow, I doubt that," Your eyes raked over Bucky's well-toned figure.
"Trust me," he reassured. And then it happened again. That long pause. The hush was neither uncomfortable nor empty. The lingering looks. Your heart, betraying you by skipping several beats while your body yearned to be touched. It was overpowering. You stood from the chair under the guise of perusing his apartment.
You saw a family picture held by a chipped frame hung on the wall where his calendar and key hooks hung. You noticed he hadn't flipped the calendar to the current month. There was a day circled in red pen with a note: Elle's surprise party. Diner. 6pm.
Your throat constricted at the memory of your going away party. Instead of dwelling, you made small talk about the picture. "Is this your family?" You pointed at the frame.
Bucky nodded enthusiastically, "Yup. The proud Barnes clan. In all its glory." He took a sip of his coffee, a proud smile on his face.
"You didn't tell me you had siblings," you said intrigued.
"I would have," he said. You hummed softly. "What I mean is⌠whenever we were together, I planned to tell you but I just got so wrapped up in⌠Us." The way he said 'Us' made it difficult to breathe. You moved on to something else, fighting to keep your composure while Bucky followed after behind you. Â
You walked into his living room, which was just about the same size as your own -just large enough for a rug, coffee table, small bookshelf and a couch. On the table, you saw a hardback bound book. There was a piece of paper wedged between its pages -a makeshift bookmark. You read the title. "Heart of Darkness."
"A little stuffy for my taste but it kept me busy. Steve lent it to me."
"I can agree with you on that." You flipped through the pages and noticed a few scribbles on the edges until it opened on the bookmarked page. Your breath hitched in surprise. Bucky had used the napkin Sally had used to write your phone number and address as his bookmark. With shaky fingers, you ran your hands over the familiar digits written in an overzealous cursive.
And suddenly you couldn't do it any longer. You couldn't keep yourself together. You turned to look at Bucky with tears on the brim of your eyes. He moved instinctively towards you and held you.
You had tried to remain a ghost in this town. You had tried to not leave any traces of yourself. But here you were, a presence in Bucky's apartment even though you had never stepped a foot inside it until today. You were like a ghost kept alive by remnants attached to his memories. The napkin. The unchanged calendar. The ticket stubs. Whether you liked it or not, you had failed at remaining invisible. You were a part of his life and he was undeniably a part of yours. That wasn't a "What if".
"Oh, Bucky. I've missed you," You hugged him closer to you.
"Not as much as I've missed you," he said softly.
You looked up with foggy eyes, your lips trembling slightly, and then you kissed him. Deeply. And he kissed you back with just as much enthusiasm and vigour -if not more. The kiss lingered for ages, but it also felt quick. All the distant worries and words of warning disappeared in a fog. In this room, in this apartment, and in this moment, nothing else mattered except the man whose arms held you.
When the kiss finally ended, Bucky with bated breath, whispered with closed eyes, "Will you stay?"
You stared at his face. Vulnerable and without any armour, and you were completely captured by his raw emotion. You wondered if a tear would slip if he opened his eyes. So you kissed the edge of his face, where you imagined crowâs feet would one day form and said, "Yes."
With the uttering of that one feeble word, Bucky's face lit up like it was Christmas. He opened his eyes and swooped you closer to his chest before he twirled you slightly. You couldn't help but giggle at his giddiness. When he set you down, you were both locked in another kiss. This one was different. Hungrier, more wanting. Before you knew it, the two of you were leading each other to the bedroom, helping each other discard obstructing clothing.
Bucky laid you down onto his firm mattress before removing his t-shirt and vest -hurriedly- before joining you.
"God," Bucky exclaimed as you pressed sweet kisses along his collar bone to his ear lobe. A shiver trickled over his abdomen as he tucked a stray hair behind your ear before pressing a chaste kiss to your nose. "You have no idea how long I've dreamed of this moment."
You looked into his eyes and a coy smile spread across your lips, "And now that you've got me here, what will you do with me, James Buchanan Barnes?" You stressed his name slow and suggestively.
He chuckled low and deep and it reverberated across your chest, "I have a few ideas."
With each new article of clothing removed, you peppered each other in kisses and filled the air with moans and soft sighs. Every nerve in your body came alive with an electricity you'd never felt before. It was both surreal and the most real thing you'd ever felt. Eventually, you were both naked and writhing against each other.
When Bucky entered you, slow and languid, you bit your lip with anticipation. Rocking your hips back and forth to express your own want. Bucky had a hard time controlling his own grunts of pleasure.
"Bucky," you whispered slowly when his pace was slow and tantalising.
"Elle," he whispered back between hot pants. For a moment, it stung -hearing him call out to your false name. You wanted his to moan your name. Your real name. But the overwhelming feeling of being embraced by the man you⌠cared deeply for, was enough to snap your mind back into the blissful moment you shared.
Bucky's pace quickened and his hands began to roam your body. Kneading breasts and gripping your hips with a slight roughness you savoured. You mimicked his movements and soon your own arms began to rake at his back and squeezed the firm muscles of his ass.
"Oh god, Buck! More. Yes!" You were numb to everything but the pleasure of his touch.
Bucky nibbled at your ear lobe and teased, "You're really cute when you moan my name like that!" He chuckled,
You bit his collarbone playfully in retaliation.
"Nggg! That's playing dirty."
"Don't tease, Buchanan. Ahhh!"
And before you knew it, his pace had turned to sputtering thrusts and his kisses became sloppy.
You felt the pressure building between your legs. The friction between your bodies, applying ample amounts of pressure to your undulating core. Specks began to form in your vision and you bit down on your lip and death gripped the pillow to maintain your focus on the wonderful feeling spreading from your centre to your fingers and toes. And just before you climaxed, you screamed, "Bucky!"
Bucky followed a few thrusts later. Your ears were hot and still ringing from your own climax that you didn't quite catch the words that slipped through his shaky breaths.
***
Bucky's thumb slowly rubbed against your thigh as you both laid back completely sated with flustered cheeks. His other hand was draped around you, holding you close to his chest. You could hear his loud strong heart beating beneath you. A warm smile spread across your lips.
"Elle," you felt his breathing pause. "I need to tell you something."
You looked up to see his face, it looked conflicted. "What is it?"
"I- I don't want there to be any secrets between us. Not afterâŚ"
You cradled his face between your hands, "Hey⌠What is it?" You asked softly.
"I enlisted."
Those two small words clashed uncomfortably in your gut. On the one hand, you were proud. How could you not be? Bucky was a protective man. He protected people, just like he did countless times with Steve. That was something that always drew you to him. But on the other hand, it meant one way or another, the reality of you losing him was becoming more and more clear.
You searched your mind for the appropriate thing to say, but ultimately settled for what you felt to be right, "I wouldn't expect anything less."
"I know I just got you back. And I don't want to be apart from you again butâŚ"
"It's inevitable now," you finished his thought for him, placing your head back on his chest.
After a moment of silence, Bucky spoke again, only this time with a slight waver in his tone. "Will you wait for me?"
You wanted to give into the moment and just say yes. You wanted to mean it too, but your life wasn't simply your own to promise away. But your heart was.
"I can promise that my heart will always belong to you, Bucky." You kissed his jawline.
He looked down at you half frazzled, half proud. "Are you trying to say you love me?"
You hummed, "Maybe I am."
Bucky snaked his arms around you and shifted his weight so he was above you once more. He kissed your forehead and smiled warmly. "Good. Because I've been dying to say 'I love you' too."
And just like that, Bucky had managed to knock the breath right out of you and leave you speechless. Your heart felt full and heavy, like it would explode if not for Bucky's beautiful sea coloured eyes keeping you grounded. All you could do was grin from ear to ear to like a happy fool. Which was exactly what you were in this moment: a fool happy in love. And nothing, not time or distance, would take this memory away from the two of you.
Part 12 Coming Soon!
Please donât be afraid to ask to be tagged. Comment welcome. Like or Reblog if you liked it!
Tags: @fangirl-colo @dormousse @smallmarvel @ren-ni @sargentbucket @nikolett3 @wnygirl2012 @jentismyname @evilgeniuslabz-blog @myrabbitholetoneverland @500daysofbecky
#Bucky Barnes#Bucky x Reader#Bucky Barnes Imagine#Bucky Barnes x Reader#Marvel Imagines#Marvel#Winter Soldier#I lowkey added my distaste for Heart of Darkness in here#Smut#Bucky smut#bucky fanfic#mcu#Sebastian Stan
22 notes
¡
View notes
Text
The Magic of Taylor Swift (Part 1)
@shawnmendesofficial put it well by saying @taylorswift makes the job of creating music for millions of people look easy. But there is a lot more to Taylor than just her ethereal voice, timeless words and infectious melodies. Taylorâs connection with us goes beyond her 6 (almost 7) studio albums and hundreds of awards. I wanted to start a series talking about the magic that is Taylor and also a hashtag #TheMagicOfTS for people to use to talk about their stories being captivated by Taylor's magical spirit
I want to talk about a magical moment that happened to me last night. Iâll start off by saying that, like many swifties, Iâve never met or been noticed by Taylor but she has been one of the biggest parts of my life by far for over 12 years. I look up to Taylor like a big sister, a mentor, a best friend. She inspires me and pushes me to try so hard to reach my unbelievably ambitious (and sometimes completely unrealistic) goals. She inspires me to keep going and to push and try harder to walk my own path and travel the roads that havenât been mapped out yet.
Lately my mental health has not been good, not good at all. I sit in my little invisible life crying myself to sleep most nights. Looking at all my idols and role models and seeing how amazing they are and how groundbreaking their work is and wondering to myself regularly âwhy do I even bother? I should just give upâ because I donât have any of that level of talent or character and will never be able to create anything nearly as mesmerizing as what they create so itâll all be a waste of time. So needless to say Iâve been limping along to my goals lately with very few people in my life who care enough to prop me up when I need it, which has been more or less all the time. Especially now that Iâm living in a new city with no friends. Iâd like to think that if Taylor knew me she would tell me that Iâm cool and good and to never stop trying. But even then⌠I get paranoid every so often that even she hates me and has zero respect for me and my nothingness⌠which would be my biggest nightmare.
So now that weâve got the bleak and unbelievably depressing torments of my own mind out of the wayâŚ
Last night I was cruising through Instagram, looking at all the Time100 gala posts seeing Taylorâs amazing performances, gorgeous look of the evening and adorable happy moments throughout the night with her friends. Sheâs on cloud 9 right now and it makes me so happy to see. 2019 is shaping up to be a beautiful year for our girl! Anyway⌠I noticed she did a few little speeches. Some were funny and inspiring⌠but one little snippet hit me like a tonne of bricks. She says
âI hope you guys have the best night ever. Just keep doing what youâre doing. Even if it doesnât get you on a list even if people arenât clapping, even if it feels like youâre flying into the wind, just keep doing what youâre doing because I appreciate you so much.â
In that moment, a big part of me felt healed. Itâs just something Iâve been struggling with so much. Losing sleep over it for months. Constant pain, depression and anxiety because I donât feel like I have what it takes to reach my goals and change the world doing what I love. Months of agony⌠turned around in a moment. She continues her record of helping me through every single one of the hardest moments in my life, one after the other, in one way or another... like magic.
Again, Taylor doesnât know me at all and never will. But in that moment, I really felt like she did. I felt like that is a comment that could have been directed at me even though realistically in no way could it have been truly meant for me. That⌠THAT is the magic of Taylor Swift. She âknowsâ so very few of us but at the same time she has this spiritual ability to make us feel like she knows all of us. I donât know of any other artist that can do this. I can say personally, Iâve never had anyone that Iâve never even met have the ability to make me feel at peace and like Iâm not alone like that INSTANTLY. And she does this constantly.
Anyone whoâs been to the rep tour can agree⌠yeah, you were in a stadium of thousands of screaming fans. Some of which she actually knows and got to meet. But regardless, she still had this remarkable ability and magical power to make that concert feel like it was just YOU and HER. She made it feel like there was nobody else in that stadium, like she really was talking to you. Not to you as a member of the masses, but you as a person. She speaks to each one of us directly with her words and they resonate with our feelings and thoughts individually, not as a whole. Â
That ability to create such a deep-rooted and intimate connection with every single fan⌠THAT is the magic of Taylor Swift.
9 notes
¡
View notes
Text
the hitchhikerâs guide to getting shit done
so, when iâm lounging about and then my laptop screen blacks out to reveal my shame-filled reflection in an inky black pool of you-sat-down-to-write-and-now-you-havenât-moved-for-twenty-minutes, my expression looks to itself and seems to mutter, âput up or shut up.â and... sometimes that works. other times I have to leave and pour a water bottle over my head and turn on Fall Out Boy really loud to try and motivate myself. sometimes that doesnât even work and then iâm cold and tired for no reason.
i see these posts all the time about âcalling yourself a writer when u ainât touched a pen in ya lifeâ or âman i love being a writer... should would like to write somedayâ and stuff. theyâre all so fucking relatable iâm making a sticker out of one to put on my laptop. itâs all so true.Â
sometimes (an unfortunate amount of the time), writing can be like putting a space shuttle on your shoulders. so... as someone with a backpack full of executive dysfunction and 8 other textbooks, hereâs how i get writing done -- even on the worst days.
okay firstly always have something to write with. notepad on your phone? cool. handy journal? trendy. legal pad in your front pocket? very Daniel Handler. i dig it. just as long as you have something to be able to scribble on whenever those finite, golden moments of inspiration/motivation hit you like Valentineâs goddamn arrow. the second you notice the motivation is there, itâll be gone, so donât be afraid to get shit done (no matter how small, no matter if itâs one thought or one sentence, just a thought or an idea) while you can. i deadass stopped a meeting with a financial aid officer because something he said hit me like a tonne of bricks, and all i could think was âoh jesus, i have to write that down.â and then i couldnât stop. i knew if i didnât get everything down right then, i wouldnât be able to maybe ever, which wasnât a fate I particularly wanted for myself.
he was kind about it, thankfully. i didnât even end up going to that school.Â
what you can do with your notes is separate them by any category you like -- i keep my notes separate by POV, for example. also, title the note. donât forget that part. itâs the only way youâll know what the fuckâs going on. i keep one note for all my story ideas (itâs about 11 miles long, but at least theyâre all in one place!), one note for character names/traits/tropes/ideas... and then drafts are separated by POV. it literally doesnât matter when or where I get the inspiration, as long as Iâm able to get something, anything, down... youâve done something. youâve put your foot on the next stair step, and while lifting your weightâs the hardest part, youâve still made progress.Â
you donât need to have it so fleshed out you can fork it like a steak. you can take time to develop it. the more you practice and absorb the world around you as things you can output into your own universes, the better a writer you become. this leads me to my next point.
secondly, and this is so fucking important, absorb content like a writer. as you watch something for the first time, critically analyze it. why is the story being told this way, why from this POV, why these details and not others, where could this be going? what would you have done as a writer here, why do you think the creator/s made these decisions (differently than you would, if at all)? authors donât do anything without purpose, so how can what iâve seen and learned thus far tell me about the future of this story? what tropes am I familiar with that can be applied here, and what do I know about these characters?
Why are these characters this way? Are they fleshed out, can I hold mental conversations with them? What makes them so 3-D? What can I take from this depth (or lack thereof) and apply it to my own creations?
Iâve been doing that shit for so long. The reason it helps me actually sit down and write, though, is because... okay, like, you know when you leave a pitch-black movie theatre after seeing a production that poked and prodded at your guts a little to hard? you know how blinding and unnerving it is to return to this reality? that feeling. poke and prod at it harder. why are you feeling like that? what about what you just saw/read/whatever is making you feel so skinless? because thatâs material.Â
iâm not telling you to, like, exploit yourself for content. thatâs not what itâs about. iâm saying that if you take realistic depth from your own life, from things that are impactful, you need to understand what happened to make it so impactful and genuine. every grain of rice. that way you can take it and apply that very same authenticity to whatever youâre creating. give yourself familiar language to write down when you have those experiences, and then return to them when youâre lost in the sticky pitch of writerâs apathy. relive those words and moments, and use them for your gain.Â
my roommate planted me on the sofa to watch Coco for the first time a few months ago, and I sat there and told myself, âIâm going to dissect this as it happens.â and do it with everything. everything. commercials, even. it doesnât matter without that tactic, i would have never 1) come up with the ideas for my first two novels and 2) had something to work with from the beginning. world-building is fucking hard, okay, donât be afraid to draw inspiration from other places. it was also particularly fun to watch their face as I guessed plot twists.
thatâs another thing -- you can start to see why/how creators implement their ideas and what it means for the future of their story. it doesnât mean theyâre being shallow or predictable, it just means theyâre developing an arc in a way that allows readers and viewers to be able to inject themselves into the universe. Youâre no longer sitting in a living room and just... watching a separate life play out before you. You like... become Miguelâs meta-conscience. And with those new experiences in someone elseâs reality/ies, you can pull it like a blood sample for your own. thereâs no shame in being inspired.
as a side note... thereâs no shame in struggling to pull ideas/inspiration from content. for me, barely anything gets me worked up to the point of âi want to remember this/use this/etc.â itâs not the contentâs fault and itâs not my fault, it just happens. if youâre really struggling, return to something you know evokes something out of you. iâve watched the same television series eleven or twelve times to pull ideas, because it gets me every time. every time, i find something new to hang on to. content can be analyzed endlessly, so donât be afraid!
thirdly, donât pay attention to progress that others make. canât stress that enough. this day and age treats everything like a competition, where if youâre not the best then why try at all, where the success of others is somehow inherently your failure. itâs such bullshit i canât even begin. having a multitude of societal deterrents in your head isnât helping you.
sure, habits donât go quietly into that good night, but hereâs how it can help you... well, as my brain is helpfully supplying, âkeep the stork flying.â itâs like a blinking neon sign. anyway.
one, return to your notes and your ideas. theyâre all your own. no one can take them from you. youâre the only one who can develop them the way that you intend, with the way you want to tell the story, with the meaning that youâve given them and want to portray. youâre the only one who can do that. even if your friends or family or peers are writers and theyâre making the progress that you feel like youâre lacking, then just remember: youâre the only one who can write your story. itâs yours. itâs yours. if youâre not ready to write it, thatâs okay. thatâs okay. but if you are, if you want to sit down and write it more than anything else, then you can return to your notes. always look back at them. and build on what you have.Â
if youâve juiced them to pulp, reflect on what happens before and after what youâve written. nothing has to be linear, it doesnât have to be directly before and after. if you intend for a moment youâve created to have a specific impact at any other given point, then elaborate on what impact itâll have and maybe draft that. fill in the gaps when you want to, not when youâre forcing yourself to. if you do that, you wonât produce anything youâre proud of, and youâll inevitably start over anyway. if youâre not ready to give it everything, then maybe come back to it later. if youâre determined to write right now even if your brain feels like itâs just crawled out of a swamp wearing a wet blanket, see if you can turn that feeling into something that can be reflected/have influence on your story. is there any situation that could reflect the mood youâre in?
two, it... man, saying this makes me hurt, but use your own experience with being discouraged and put off as inspiration for something a character faces. who cares if itâs self projection. if youâre going through it, someone else is going through it, and maybe theyâll read what was originally a chicken-scratch in the back of your notebook one day, about how shitty you feel for not being able to make progress. maybe theyâll read it and be so fucking relieved theyâre not alone in this... void, really, that it alleviates their discomfort. isnât that kinda worth it?
fourthly, when you feel like shit, write it down. when you feel it, write it down. i know i kind of chipped off layers of this in previous points, but I wasnât done.Â
people like relatable characters. people like seeing themselves in external works. not because weâre shallow, or... anything. itâs because we like to feel like we belong, like weâre not alone. you see it all the time -- headcanons! you see it everywhere. youâve probably made up your own. youâre doing it for a damn reason. pull from it.Â
exhibit a: i have OCD something foul. a facet of that is that i ruminate like a motherfucker. my brain never gets anything done. you know who else experiences that? a startling amount of other people. when I write characters who ruminate, who check endlessly, who find themselves scrabbling over contamination, who... are completely aware how exhaustive their habits are on them, but they fucking have to, because otherwise, x/y/z horrible, horrible thing is going to happen... itâs because iâve dealt with those things. itâs because i know people who deal with those things, and find relief in seeing fictional characters experience it. because theyâre not alone. because someone else gets it. because it helps them feel better. because itâs so immeasurably impactful to see it.Â
so when... i have a thought spiral, i start ruminating, i start shaking because i try to only lock my car door three times instead of four, i write it down. and let myself deal with it in the notepad of my phone. and... use it.
exhibit b: some of the greatest and brightest people in my life are transgender and/or gay. i can list so many characters theyâve since penned on those spectrums in the time Iâve known each of them. itâs the same thing i mentioned before. if youâre... like, struggling with something specific to those identities, to something specific with your mental illness or financial situation, to your race or religion, write it down. use it in your stories. only you can provide those insights, and when others see them, theyâll be able to take them in for benefit.Â
self-projection unto your own characters/favorite characters isnât always a bad thing. i refuse to accept that self-projection is a negative thing. itâs good for you and for your readers. my only recommendation here is that you donât intentionally continue to carve out those negative feelings when youâre drained, because you can end up hurting yourself. take care of yourself first. your work can wait. just take this:
standing closer to the fire doesnât mean you should be burned.Â
fifth, writing is just a slow ass process. asking to speed it up is like asking the earth to spin faster. Stephen King said some bullshit on Colbert about how he writes a shit tonne of words every day, and I donât believe it for a second. it always takes a horrid amount of time to make progress, and getting yourself to make that process in the first place is... fucking drawing blood from a stone. like some Excalibur-level shit.
so, if you canât make it go faster, make it go for longer.Â
i wish i was talking about just having Google Docs open in a tab while you idly scroll social media sites all night. if writing happened that way... i donât even want to dream it.Â
i used to do this thing where everyday was 500 words. it didnât matter what kind of words (rough drafting, planning, or actually revising... sometimes literally just âi know i want to use this word later, so iâm putting it at the bottom of the documentâ), but as long as there was 500 more to count, i could count that as definable and measurable progress. if i did that every single day, every week was a new 3500 words for me to work with. that made at least 14,000 words a month minimum. it was progress.Â
it doesnât have to be rushed or done all in one sitting, either. i almost recommend that none of those 500 words be your final draft. leave it rough. revision is worth taking your time.Â
if youâre like me though and that sweet, sweet executive function bakes you like a cake on a regular basis, sometimes forcing that 500 out of yourself is hard (read: âfucking impossible, why do i even call myself a writer, jesus christâ).
so hereâs my remedy for that: address your audience as you write. not for a final draft or anything, but if you make yourself as a writer or a character break the fourth wall, itâs suddenly... kind of hilarious and easier to move on with. nothing has to be beautiful, either -- write one sentence about what youâre planning to do, beginning with something ridiculous like âall right motherfuckers, buckle up. no, buckle your fucking seat belt, iâm about to tell you how [x]âs car gets totaled on a Tennessee highway.â and write it like youâre ripping someone a new one. then make it pretty. maybe not in the same day, but youâll make it pretty.Â
that not working? make your character tell the future. how would they react if they knew what was about to happen to them? make them tell the story like it happened 20 years ago, or something. and then take out all the insights to make it present.Â
that not working, either? act like youâre being interviewed. like, letâs say your content is soon to be released to the public, youâre at a convention to promote it, and people are asking you about it as you stand at your booth. suddenly, youâre pulling a Tom Holland and accidentally giving something away that... maybe wasnât supposed to be out yet. only write your part of the dialogue/situation, though. youâll have a scene scribbled before you. even if you donât particularly like it right then, you can fix it later. itâs okay.
you can always fix it down the road. thatâs the thing, too -- if thereâs something youâre unhappy with in itâs current form, make it a problem for yourself. if youâre able to attach some urgency to it, maybe thatâll help too. you donât have to have the one perfect solution immediately, either. just brainstorm solutions in your notes, and something will fall into place one of these days. trust me.
on a side note but equally important: i say used to do this because sometimes you need to take breaks. sometimes those 500 words everyday was overdoing it and wringing the dry sponge of my mental capacity for the day. itâs still a practice i hold dear to my heart -- but right now iâm in a place where 50 words a day is miraculous. sometimes lifeâs that way, and thereâs no shame in that. take care of yourself first, and push yourself when youâre ready.
also, be your own devilâs advocate and your own greatest cheerleader.Â
donât let yourself think poorly about what youâre creating, thatâs not what I mean. you have great ideas and theyâre worthwhile, theyâre important. they are. i promise. what i mean is that... like. if being talked to in an aggressive way gets you hyped, then thatâs how you get hyped to write. if you like being given generous validation, then thatâs how you get hyped to write.
me, i like it when people validate what i work on. it makes me feel excited and good enough to write and produce content when people tell me they like it. some people have to be told they âcanât do somethingâ to find the drive to do it -- thatâs the âdevilâs advocateâ part. sometimes youâre the kind of person who can give yourself those messages but have to receive the positive kind from others.
i always imagine my ideal self on the other side of a boxing ring taunting me, my current self, that iâll never get to my ideal-selfâs level. they tell me to âput up or shut up,â otherwise iâll never get there. so thatâs what i have to do. i canât have anyone else do that, though. thatâs just an example.
thereâs a billion rearrangements of this idea to make it work for you. maybe giving yourself encouragement -- or, like, imagining it coming from someone you deeply admire -- could help. maybe itâs the reverse situation, with the reproach. once you find it... fucking squeeze it until itâs not helpful anymore. if itâs not helpful in the first place, then you havenât found the right language yet. if words donât help you at all, work on your bite instead of the bark. what actions get you going instead of words?Â
and maybe this tip is completely meaningless for you. thatâs okay too. i just figured i would include it because it helps me, so maybe... itâll help someone else, too.
maybe lastly... do you know how many creators quit working on their content and made unbidden returns to it? Jordan Peele wasnât sure Get Out would ever be finished because he quit working on it 20 times, and now heâs got an Oscar for it. James Patterson is a worldwide bestselling author, and he dropped out of Vanderbiltâs writing program. JK Rowling was famously rejected by a dozen-or-so agencies before someone gave Sorcererâs Stone a chance. you can fucking do this. i believe in you, even if you donât. itâs gonna take time and maybe itâs gonna suck, but you can do this.
like, maybe this guide wasnât helpful in the slightest. thatâs fine. it happens! if thatâs the case and you need encouragement or anything, you can always hit me up, too. iâll listen and offer what i can, because sometimes having a shoulder is what you need, too.
take it from someone who ended up backing out of a book deal at Harper Collins. you can do this.
#writing tip#tips for writers#writer's block#writing help#writing inspiration#inspiration#ideas#help for writers#writing tips
39 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Familia & Regrets
According to my countdown iâve had on my phone since July.....I have 11 days and 15hrs until I land in Chile (HOLY SH*T). Â Since my last blog post Iâve had to do so many goodbyes already and I have still many to get through! The closest family are the people I have seen recently.
(Fran came over in September to âfaceâ my mum )
I never thought iâd have any regrets because when you do have them, generally itâs too late to do anything about them. However over the years Iâve absolutely sucked ass at being a family member to my own blood. Never went to see my mum as much as I should, or the rest of the family as much as I should. I mean....iâll be honest, if it wasnât for Facebook, iâd forget half the birthdays in my life.Â
I donât mean I have ever intentionally hurt them or would never do anything to bring them harm.... I love them. Iâve just never had that âMUST SEE THEMâ connection, or must pick up the phone every few days.  My grandma & grandad came to watch pretty much every football game I played but when I hit my early 20â˛s ..... and when I stopped playing football as much, I stopped seeing them.Â
Perhaps too selfishly engrossed in my own world or more obsessed with other people. I canât put my finger on it.  My single biggest regret is not spending time with the people who helped make and shape me into the guy I am today. We see each other at Christmas, perhaps on a birthday or a special occasion, but very rarely have I visited them simply from âI miss youâ point of view.  When I sat there with my mum, brother and his wife the other day, It just hit me like a tonne of bricks that I felt like iâd missed about 10 years of life without them.Â
When I went to see my mum she presented me with a bag with two gifts wrapped in Christmas paper..... âMerry Christmas Son..â she said.Â
This was the first Christmas In 35 years I am without my mum...my brother....my family. She genuinely looked so sad and this is where things flipped in my head and started to feel what she might be feeling..... I was her baby boy and I was going far away and she couldnât do anything to stop me......just give me her well wishes. I could feel what she was feeling and this just made me break down. My mum is genuinely scared that when I get on that plane, she will never see her baby boy again!Â
However, the biggest emotional hit was to come. Iâd missed a present in the bag, like the moment was set for 300% drama increase. My mum and my bro told me to reach into the bag again and open something I had missed. I opened the wrapping and there it was, a family album. Â
Every single page that turned was like an emotional punch in the face, memories coming back.... moments iâd forgot existed and moments i didnât even realise happen or even captured. I previously had perhaps 1 or 2 personal photos of my dad but now I had many. It was incredible....amazing but it also made me feel a little angry and sorry that iâd not given more to these people when iâd given so much to other people in my life.Â
My Mum (Julie) & Dad (Dick)
These two as a couple were amazing. Always full of banter and constantly taking the pi** out of each other. I remember just being in awe of them when I was a kid because of how much they showed love to each other. Â
My dad was a painter & decorator & my mum worked at the primary school I attended.
Back when my mum was just 15, she had a horrendous accident where she was kicked in the head by a horse. She was in a coma....
What she had to suffer with for the next 10 years wasnât pleasant. Unfortunately from the accident half her face was smashed up and she lost an eye and received some lasting effects in other areas. My mum had no sense of taste or smell. The poor woman also spent the years where most ladies are starting to really experience life, with people staring at her, calling her names and having to feel normal like everyone else.Â
What my mum probably doesnât realise is how inspirational she really is, and only wish iâd shown her this more.Â
Can you imagine after this accident what she would least like to do as a career or hobby? HORSE RIDING right?
Well the crazy lady not only continued her love for horses despite the accident, she went onto be a fully qualified horse riding instructor for several years. Iâve grown up spending my times on farms with these powerful beasts who need to be respected but WOW was my mum both brave and just incredible for achieving what she did given the circumstance. Â
Unfortunately when my dad died......so did a huge part of my mum and I think this is the biggest reason Iâve distanced myself. My mum was depressed and in a way, probably still is. You never truly realise how much you miss or love something until itâs gone. I just struggled to cope with that sadness and be there for her how she probably needed.Â
My dad....well this guy was my hero. He was a proper manâs man who had a temper and didnât hold back when dealing with things.Â
His friends called him Dick (His name was Frederick) - which as you can imagine going through school with a dad called âDickâ was ....erm......fun.Â
Even better when people used to say âSo.....Julie loves Dick??? Your mum loves Dickâ  Ok ........itâs funny!Â
Dicky boy was quite old in terms of going into fatherhood and was older than all the other dads, but he did his utmost to make sure I was looked after and entertained. He was my biggest fan and also my biggest critic. Â A Coventry FC football fan, and a lover of Pamela Andersonâs boobs on Baywatch! That was a proper Father & Son bonding programme hahahaha.Â
My dad always gave me and my bro two pieces of advice.....
1. Never date or marry a woman with horses - your life is done
2. Never date a woman with big boobs. Youâll have the endless struggle of both staring at them yourself and to watch the rest of the world look at them too.Â
Sage advice Father, but myself and my brother have chosen to ignore at least one of them.Â
I miss that man every single day and I only wish he could be alive to meet Fran and make my mum happy all over again.Â
Finally, iâll get onto my brother, Shaun.
We are so very different in so many ways but at the same time so similar! Right now is the closest we have ever been, which again is a little sad given the time Iâve chosen to move away.Â
(Blurry drunken fun with Shaun last year)
When we became teenagers, it was clear that we didnât get on that well. Because we have different interests and different personalities we clashed and it led to fighting over friends and time spent in local pubs (We lived in a tiny village where friends were few)
As I got into my 20â˛s I started to need my bro more and lean on him more when I needed advice or help. Like me.. he had quite a few relationships and experiences in his 20â˛s but then he met someone who turned his life around.Â
Shaun became a husband and a father figure to four young children. Â He might not have his own kids but he has played such a big part in making sure all four have turned out amazing. Â They all look up to him and have the most incredible bond. Shaun, if you read this..... you really should be proud of who you are and the guy youâve become. Some blood fathers canât do anything for their kids or wonât even see their kids, yet youâve devoted time, money and most of all unconditional love to children that arenât yours. Youâre an incredible guy.
(Hereâs my broâs wedding and his clan from a few years back)
I am so very lucky to have this family around me and I deeply regret not doing more for them, but in turn I hope I can be just like them in what theyâve achieved in family life....and make them proud on my travels & in life.Â
Cheers to my family, and cheers to yours.Â
#chile#blogging#travelling#familia#regrets#myjourney#travelblog#adventure#family#southamerica#Doncaster#lifestyle#travelblogging#lol#vintage#follow#history#blogger#blog
1 note
¡
View note
Text
My Loveâs So Strong
Pairing/Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Dad!Tony Warnings: stalker behaviour, kidnapping, attempted sexual assault, angst, fluff Summary: You're a very valuable team member of The Avengers and that means you have fans. Some fans just don't know their boundaries. Word Count: 2.5k+  A/N: I deadass know nothing about Philly only that my mom's real brother live's there lmao
INSPIRED BY THESE TWO ASKS:
You admired your boyfriend from the comfortable seat as you held a book just below your eyes. He smirked, feeling your eyes focus on him while he played around on his phone.
"I can feel you watching me." He catches you off guard and you shake your head back into consciousness,
"I have no idea what you're talking about." You answer, blushing and biting your thumb with a smile,
"Mhmm."
Most people would say to never date someone who works in the same field as you but if that was the case, you and Bucky were the exception. You were more than a couple. You were a team. An exceptional duo for the team and the most valuable at that. The super soldier with the metal arm and the daughter of Pepper Potts and Tony Stark, the brains that can battle like there's no tomorrow; You were The Vixen. Your father had first put a 'no go zone' sign your forehead after arriving from a 'special school' but when he saw the way you trained and the way you strategized, he knew exactly who to team you up with. Before you knew it, you'd leaned into him and his lips were locked with yours, Tony Stark's 'no go zone' was now Bucky's favourite person to be with and you were both inseparable.
"Doll?" He bugged,
"Yeah?"
"What's a Twitter?" You laughed at him, putting down your book. You walked over and straddled his lap, taking his phone from his hand,
"Twitter is a way to communicate with friends and fans, I guess."
"I want one."
"Well, you need an email first." You suggested,
"I have one of those, Natasha made me one."
"Alright, well, let's get started." After thirty minutes of telling your boyfriend chill out and wait as you set up his account, it was done. He smiled and took his phone from your hands,
"What about the photo? The profile photo?"
"Well, you can take one if you want or you can use one they've taken of you." You got up from his lap only to be pulled back, your lips landing perfectly on his cheek as he snapped the photo, "Bucky!"
"What?" He dragged out, "We look perfect."
"Well, you do."
"You always look amazing." You blush at his words and give him a kiss on his lips, "You reallg know the way to a woman's heart, don't you, Barnes?"
"Only yours, doll."
"I guess I'll have to follow you on Twitter." You groan, jokingly. You open your phone and go on your Twitter app. You quickly follow Bucky and then go through your hundreds of mentions, suddenly scanning your eyes on an all too familiar account,
'@Johnson_Dylan80: @LaVixenStark I'm coming for you.'
'@Johnson_Dylan80: @LaVixenStark I love you so much. You're mine.'
You couldn't help but shudder. Every day, the same messages for 3 years. You tried not to think about it, maybe everyone had these types of followers. Maybe this Dylan guy wouldn't do anything, it was just an account. But you had a bad feeling in your gut and your gut was never wrong.
Bucky watched as your body language changed. He suddenly held onto your hip tightly, your eyes focused on your phone, unable to explain how you felt.
"Babe, are you okay?" He asked, bringing you back to consciousness, locking your phone,
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"You sure?" You nodded, trying to let him shrug off his worry. Your dad walks around the corner with some envelopes in his hand, not too bugged about you and Bucky on the couch,
"Y/N."
"Hi, dad." You smiled,
"Sweetheart, I have some mail for you and I want you to do something for me, so, meet me in my office in five, okay?"
"Yes, okay, sure." He gave you your mail and a kiss on your forehead, "Thanks dad."
"Who's it from?" Bucky asks, rubbing your arm,
"One's from school and this other one," You shrugged with uncertainty, "Guess we'll just find out." You smiled. Opening up the envelope, inside there is a letter and a polaroid, you'd ignored. The letter had read:
'At night I see, Your eyes asleep, At day I know, My heart you keep, And even though you're with him, I know your heart belongs to me.
DJ'
You take the polaroid in between your thumb and pointer finger. Your eyes could not believe what you saw. A blood covered organ which you assumed was a heart, you dropped the items in your hands and covered your mouth in shock.
"I- I have to go see my dad." You tell your boyfriend whose eyes are full of concern. As you walk away, Bucky picked up the items you'd dropped and looked at them. He saw what'd horrified you and felt the need to protect you more than he already did.
You made your way to your father's office and slapped a fake smile across your faces as you opened the door.
"You wanted to see me, father dearest?" You joked,
"Yes, my one and only offspring!"
"The only one you know of, dad." You winked,
"Oh I wasn't that bad, sweetheart."
"Mom says otherwise." You both laugh, "Where is mom, anyways?"
"She's out and about, anyway, you, being the little actress that you are, I need you to go undercover for me, it'll take a day, tops."
"Oooh, yes!"
"I'll let you be creative with it, I have some files I need to get." He starts going through an overview of your mission.
You get dressed into your disguise; a simple floral off the shoulder top which landed just on top of your blue jeans and a pair of black Converse shoes, a red beanie finishing off your look. Your dad had attached a small microphone into your belt, making sure he could hear you.
"Dad, I look like I'm 16..." You complained, rolling your eyes,
"Good, that's what you're supposed to look like," He smiled, "the party will be in Alex Ames' house, his parents have some connection with HYDRA and they'll be out on a mission where Steve and Sam will take care of them." You nodded, "There should be files on some nuclear weapons HYDRA has created and some of their spies who are in this building, you got this Y/N?"
"Always do, pops."
"Don't say it like that, you're making me feel old."
"You are old, Dad." He laughs and gives you a kiss on your temple. As you begin to walk away, he calls out your name, you turn to face him, "Yeah?"
"Come home safe, okay?"
"Of course, I will." You run up and give him a hug, "I'll just go and say goodbye to Bucky and I'm off."
"I love you, sweetheart."
"Love you too, dad." You pulled away from your father, quickly waving as you walked away. You made your way up to your boyfriend's bedroom, calmly knocking on the door, "Hey, I'm leav-"
"Woah..." He needed to take a second glance, almost not recognising you, "Why do you-"
"Look illegal?"
"Young..." He chuckled at your response, "Not the term I was looking for."
"I'm undercover."
"Roleplay, huh?" He smirked,
"You know I love it, da-" Before you could finish your sentence, you heard a voice through your clear ear piece,
"Don't you even dare finish that sentence, Y/N Stark." You jumped at the sound of his voice,
"Fuck, sorry, dad." Bucky laughed at you and you playfully pushed him off of you, "I gotta go, okay? I'll see you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow." He kissed you on the lips and gave you a tight hug, placing a kiss on your neck, "I love you."
"I love you too, Sarge."
"Be careful, okay?" You nodded, walking out of the building and into the black Mercedes-Benz CLS Coupè.
You drove to Philadelphia, two hours going by like the wind, getting there just as the party started. Teenagers flooded the house resting somewhere in Chestnut Hill, music blaring as parents begin to crawl out from the other houses, inspecting the noise of the neighbourhood. You park your car and lower the driver seat mirror. You adjust your hair to make sure your ear piece was covered and finally, applied some lip gloss. You step out of the car, swinging the door shut, making sure the car was completely locked. You entered the house, the smell and vibe of the place hitting you like a tonne of bricks. Everyone one was either dancing or sitting in the corner with their significant other doing god knows what.
"Go down the stairs, Y/N, it's first door to your right." Your dad said through your ear piece,
"Okay." Your fingers grazed against the wood of the railing, the sounds and the music of the party fading out as you entered the neatness of the downstairs office, the scent of fresh wood hitting your nose,
"Alr- on- Hel-" You dad's voice began to cut out through the ear piece,
"Dad? Dad! Hello? FRIDAY come in, FRIDAY." You shouted in a whisper,
"You need something?" A voice said behind you, making you jump in surprise, Â
"Sorry." You laughed in a high pitched manner, "You scared me, I was looking for the bathroom but I stumbled in here."
"I've never seen you around, what's your name?" He asks,
"I'm Britney O'Connor, I just move here from New York."
"So, you're a city girl." He laughs,
"I guess so." You giggle back,
"I'm Alex Ames." You're so pre-occupied by distracting him, you don't hear him lock the door, behind him, "You look a lot like someone I know."
"Yeah? Is she pretty?"
"Very." He steps closer to you and before you know, his hand has landed on your waist, his other leaning on the bookshelf behind him, "In fact, she lives in Manhattan, you know where that is?"
"Of course, my boyfriend lives there."
"He does, does he?" His face is getting closer to yours, "Little Vixen." You eyes widen and suddenly, a hard object hits your head, knocking you out unconscious.
Tony hasn't slept since your last interaction with him. He paces his offices and bites his nail as every second slips away. There's a knock at his door.
"Tony?" He hears Bucky's voice from the doorway,
"Make it quick frosty, I have Y/N to worry about."
"Y/N? What happened to Y/N?" He asks, concern fully wrapped in his tone,
"Nothing."
"Tony..."
"Her mic cut out," He says, "I haven't heard from her since last night."
"What!? Tony, we have to go get her!"
"I know."
"Then why the hell aren't we moving?" Bucky's begun to huff, unsure of why he's still standing there when he could be saving you,
"We can't just barge in there, Barnes!"
"Why the fuck not!?"
"We have to have a plan." Tony explains,
"I'm going now."
"Bucky!" Tony calls out as Bucky walks out, Bucky's hands curled into fists.
Bucky steps out into the open, his motorbike just waiting outside the building. It didn't matter that he'd promised not to put on his suit again, he needed to save you, he just wasn't going to kill any body. Â His motorbike roared as he sped away, making two hours seem like thirty minutes. Before he knew it, Tony had landed beside him. He gave Tony a weird look.
"She's my daughter." He shrugged. Bucky checked the house for clearance when he suddenly heard a crashing of a door. He ran to the front to find that Tony had busted down the door, "What? You wanted to rush." Bucky shook his head. They'd checked the house up and down but you weren't to be seen. To his surprise, Bucky had found some blood on a snow globe in the downstairs study room, sending him into a panic,
"Y/N..." He whispers. Bucky runs up the stairs to find Tony, meeting him outside on the porch,
"She's not here." Bucky nods,
"There's blood on a snow globe downstairs," He huffs, "we need to find her."
"You don't think I know that!? She's my fucking daughter and I'll do whatever it takes to get her back."
"The tracking device." Bucky blurts out, "What?"
"The tracking device you put on her phone, s-she was telling me about it, we can find her through that." Tony nods,
"FRIDAY, find Y/N's phone." Tony says into the suit,
"Her device tracker has tracked her in Princeton, New Jersey." FRIDAY begins to track your destination point, giving them directions to your whereabouts. Tony thanks FRIDAY and within an hour both he and Bucky had found where your kidnapper had taken you.
You opened your eyes, head pounding. You couldn't move your hands, the rope around it too hard to tug on, and you realised your mouth was gagged through the first strained groan you let out. You moved a little too much and a little too roughly, making the chair you were tied to tip over.
"Fuck!" You whisper shouted,
"Did you like my heart?" Alex asked, running his finger on the railing of the stairs. You looked up at him with murderous eyes, "It's hard to kill someone when they haven't done anything, you know? But I wanted them to be pure, like you." He pushed your chair back up and ran is hand over your shoulder, "I've dreamt about you for so long, Vixen." You sould feel the heat of his mouth against your cheek, his hand coming around your head to untie the cloth from your mouth,
"You're him. You're Dylan."
"You're very right, baby girl."
"Don't call me that." He grabs your hair, roughly pulling you back,
"I will call you whatever I want, you're mine now." You shook your head from his hands,
"Fuck you." You spat,
"I know you wanted to and I will give it to you." He starts kissing your neck,
"Don't fucking touch me!" You yelled, trying to get him off,
"Stay still!"
"She said," before you could react he was pulled off of you, "don't touch her!" You opened your eyes to Bucky's figure,
"Bucky..."
"No! No, she's mine!" Alex yelled from the floor, "She belongs with me! I love her!"
"Well, buddy, me too." He helps you up and out of the ropes, before punching him unconscious, "C'mon, sweetheart, your dad's waiting upstairs." Your dad walked out of his suit and gave you a hug.
"I was so worried." He whispers,
"I uh..." You took the hidden files that you shoved in the back waist line of your jeans and handed them to your father, "thought you'd still want them."
"You definitely are my daughter." He chuckles, "Let's go home."
You swung your legs on Bucky's motorbike and clung onto him tightly.
"Never again." Bucky whispers,
"What?"
"I'm never letting you go like that, ever, never ever again, we go together like we always do, okay?"
"Okay." He cups your face in his hand, carefully caressing your cheek,
"It's you and me, Y/N, I can't have a me if there ain't no you."
"I love you, old man." You laugh,
"I love you too."
MASTERLIST
PERMANENT TAGLIST: @winchester-negan-one-shots @stevette60 @marvelous-fvcks @megandrawsspace @marvel-fanfiction @potterhead1265 @zoejohnson8 @frickin-bats @iamwarrenspeace @kenmen02 @captianwintersoldier @noelia8villa @bucky-bear-barnes @hollycornish @capsheadquaters @duncedgoofball @abouttimefortea @buchananbarnestrash @minervaem @barnes-heaven @buckyywiththegoodhair @mellifluous-melodramas @heartmade-writingbucky @hellomissmabel @justanotherbuckydevotee @alphaabucky @firebendergirl33
SEB STAN/BUCKY TAGLIST: @yana-tardis-drwho @cassandras-musings @charlesgrey1875 @zxcorra @journeytresbien @chipilerendi
CLICK HERE TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST
#sebastian stan#bucky barnes#the winter soldier#robert downey jr#iron man#sebastian stan fic#sebastian stan imagine#sebastian stan oneshot#sebastian stan x reader#sebastian stan smut#sebastian stan x reader fluff#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x reader fluff#bucky barnes x reader smut#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes oneshot#bucky barnes smut#the winter soldier fanfic#the winter soldier fic#the winter soldier imagine#the winter soldier oneshot#the winter soldier x reader#the winter soldier x reader fluff#the winter soldier x reader smut#rdj#tony stark#dad!tony stark#dad!tony#mcu
887 notes
¡
View notes
Text
Rain rain go away (Zeezee) - Bitney.
Summary: Courtney gets stood up on a date. When she decides to leave the embarrassing scene, it seems luck isnât on her side. Drenched, she hitches a ride with an old friend she hasnât seen since High School graduation. 2 years later, sheâs still blonde, New York lights still kill the stars, and sheâs still obsessed with the lips of Del RioâŚ
A/N: Inspiration came from the song âStrangersâ by Halsey/Lauren Jauregui. 20 year old lesbian fic. I hope you enjoy! - Zeezee
tâDo you think the universe fights for souls to be together? Some things are too strange and strong to be coincidences.â â Emery Allen
Courtney sat alone at Square Diner, stirring what was now sludge in the bottom of her sundae glass, staring out the window at the murky view of New Yorkâs deserted street. She rest her cheek against her hand, letting out a pathetic sigh as she gave into the confused, shamefaced tension racking her body. There she was, watching the hours draw in the evening, beautiful but tragically alone. There werenât many other people at the diner but a few of High Schoolers, a couple with their new born baby and an elderly man reading his paper.
Sheâd waited over an hour for a date that was supposed to be perfect for her. A 6ft tall, brunette rugby player from Liverpool England, 23 years old and described to be broad and brutish. âA mans manâ Alaska had told her, wriggling her eyebrows suggestively. He worked at the veterinary with Alaska and Farrah and both girls had recommended him highly, sending her countless photos of him at the reception desk, usually containing cringy emojjis or crude captions. He was stunning, and Courtney figured she had nothing to lose.
Alaska organised the blind date with high hopes the two would have a happy ever after ending. Thatâs how Courtney Act found herself alone, with her sad melted treat and her phone buzzing continuously with apologies from Alaska.
âHeâs a wonderful guy, I promise! Sorry about tonight, he got caught up at home with an emergency apparently!â
Courtney had given up answering after a while. Sheâd pretty much read the same thing at least 5 times: Alaska apologising, trying to reorganise, begging her not to blame herself and repeat. It wasnât as if Courtney had put all her eggs in one basket and was relying on this stranger to be her soul mate, but she was excited for some intellectual dinner conversation with someone she could see herself getting lucky with. She liked how sharp his jaw was in photos, or how thick his arms were, and she bought herself an adorable baby pink summer dress that feathered her frame elegantly especially for the date, sheâd rather it didnât go to waste.
Courtney had never been stood up before. She was slim, athletic, blonde, and had a light aussie accent, and eyes a person could swim in - pretty much the moment a person set sights on her, she had them putty in her hands. Courtney wasnât big headed, but she knew what she had to offer and the luck that she had been blessed with. Advantages came with her appearance that she liked to use when appropriate. Dates would drool at her feet, and it had been that way since puberty- she figured this muscle-bound crumpet would have been as easy as cake to land. Maybe Alaska hadnât shown him a flattering photo of her, or any photo at all! Had she forgotten to reveal Courtneyâs strengths, her stunning good looks?! Did she paint a repulsive, unimaginative, cruel picture to her blind date that he had no choice but to give her the cold shoulder?
She pulled her cardigan over her shoulders a little more, frowning as a breeze hit her. It had been a long time since sheâd been on a date, which wasnât because no one was asking, she had just put them off for a while to focus on her work. She thought it was about time she put herself back on the market, but apparently it was meant to be that sheâd stay alone.
Rather than pity herself any longer - which was probably an hour too long already - she stood up and threw her cardigan over her shoulder, strutting out the diner.
New York City was as alive and breathing as Courtney was. She took every step like the beginning to a waltz and let the rich excitement of a New Yorkâs  spin her in a tranquil frenzy. The contradiction of New York was what kept Courtney laughing through all the hardships - no matter what the time, she could rely on the city that never slept to lull her with a lullaby. Some people hated the constant noise, but for Courtney it kept her from being driven mad by her own incessant worries. She walked down the streets with the upmost confidence, swinging her arms at her sides and swaying to the tune stuck in her head.
It was a particularly quiet evening, suspiciously for New York, but it didnât stop Courtney organising an orchestra in her walk. A pristine, proud faith in her beauty, that caught the eye of a few passersby and one puerile car of frat boys that couldnât resist wolf whistling as they sped past her. She enjoyed the attention, twirling on the spot before they were out of sight and giggling with enjoyment at the ego boost. She may not be on a date with a hunky man, but walking through the city when the sun is almost settled feels just as wonderful right now.
An optimist till the bitter end, that was Courtney.
Her apartment was quite a distance from the diner, but she didnât feel like calling a cab. The walk would do her good she figured, so she took the time to gather the passing thoughts that had been floating around her head. When should she call her mother next? Should she get to the studio an hour early tomorrow for extra practice? Had she saved up enough money for next months rent as well as this one? The small worries that felt massive when she was rushing around the place. Â
About 10 minutes into her walk, her phone starts to ring. She digs into her Ted Baker piggy pink handbag and fishes out her mobile.
âHello?â She cheerfully answers, her mimi toned lips spread from cheek to cheek.
âHay baby, itâs me!â The nails on a chalk board voice let her know, it was Alaska. âListen, Iâm sorry about what happened. I just spoke to dreamboat, and he is dying to meet you. How about we reschedule for tomorrow?â
Courtney wrinkled her nose, concealing the irritated groan that wanted to come out. It wasnât that she wasnât still interested in the date - she had a working pair of eyes and knew exactly what she wanted to do with her English muffin, but the tedious job of getting dressed up all over again and forcing a sickeningly sweet smile just to prove there were no hard feelings for standing her up today just seemed to tier her out at the sheer thought of it. Alaska had the best of intentions, but Courtney wasnât sure going along with the charade was worth a chance at sex.
âI donât know AlaskaâŚâ She was about to go on when her friend interrupted, fumbling over her words in a desperate attempt to keep Courtney interested.
She listened fondly, grinning as Alaska listed the endearing qualities of her mystery man. It seemed like he didnât have anything wrong with him, and when she was about to give in to rescheduling, Courtneyâs attention was suddenly cut off by a loud crackle from the sky. She looked up, and there it was, the clouds disguised amongst the evening shades. Grey and ready to burst. Her eyes widened as she realised she was still 20 minutes from home, with no umbrella, and not a cab in sight.
âWhat the hell is going on today?!â
âHmm?â Alaska half heartedly hummed.
She began scuttling toward a velvet shelter, leading into a hotel. âSorry, itâs about to rain. Iâm walking home!â
âCall a cab?â
âYeah, there are none around. None! How is this New York without a damn cab anywhere on the roads? Is this a sign of the apocalypse of something, where is everyone?!â
âOh, you know, I did hear there was going to be a massive storm today.â
Courtney wished it were possible to slap someone through the phone.
âAre you far away from your place?â
âYes! I still have another couple of blocks to go!â
All of a sudden, the heavens opened up and let loose the nerve wracking tonnes of rain, drowning the earth in misery. Courtneyâs mouth fell open as she watched the rain pour down and smack the sidewalk, the sound harsh like bricks being thrown at a wall. The water bounced off the ground aggressively and she felt splashes hit her ankles. It was going to be a hellish mission to get back home with the mightiest waterfall releasing on the streets on New York City.
âI donât know what to say-â
âLook Lasky, Iâll call you laterâŚafter I have a brisk shower!â and before her friend could answer back, Courtney hung up. This was unlike anything Courtney had ever experienced with rain. A storm, pulling the city apart with the power of 20 dozen men, focused in on the wind. Courtney felt a sudden gush rush past her legs and blow her dress up. She squealed in panic as she tried to smooth it back down.
Courtney squinted her eyes as she stared out into the distance. Everything was decorated a dirty blue blur, the rain washing out any view there might have been. Why would Alaska organise a date when she knew there was a God damn storm?! Courtney cursed, stomping her heel and sighing. It wasnât going to let up, leaving her with two choices: to stay stranded underneath the shelter of a hotelâs entrance for however long it may take, or run home and risk pneumonia. Her new highlights would probably get ruined, and sheâd have to throw out her Sophia Webster Evangeline strappy heels, but the impatience her father had passed down to her began to take charge of her instincts.
After a few minutes of watching the streets practically flood, she took a deep breath and began running, squealing every few seconds when her foot got drenched in a puddle. The rain beat her bare skin mercifully, cleaning her of any sins staining her skin. The pain was horrific, she could feel the bruises being left already. She ran as fast as she could given she was wearing heels. Courtney was in good shape, but the humid air of heavy rain was enough to wind anybody regardless of their fitness.
It didnât seem to let up at all in the short time sheâd been running. In fact, it felt like it only got harder, hammering down as if it had been sent by God himself to smite the wicked. Maybe this was Courtneyâs punishment for when sheâd lied to that homeless man about not having change- she didnât believe in a higher power until this moment, where her new outfit was ruined and her hair was a soggy mess. Thatâll teach her to lie on her way to window shopping for Mikimoto earrings.
Adding to the disaster of her drenched appearance and the damning weather, a loud crashing suddenly announced itself, practically splitting Courtney in half as she screamed in panic and fell over herself. She landed on her hands, muttering profanities under her breath realising sheâd cut up her palm on the rough stone pathway. The sting shot through her arms all the way upward. She clenched her teeth at the pain, trying to keep herself calm. A ruined outfit, cut up hands, and her worst fear lightening. Could it get any worse? She scooted over to the doorway of a small bakery nearby and sat, nursing her wounds and trying not to panic every time the heavens irrupted with a flash of light and a terrifying roar.
She felt like a drowned rat.
âChrist almighty.â Courtney blew at the cut on her hand, clearing the dirt and wincing when a particularly painful sensation shot through her veins. She looked out at the block she was on - cobblestone pathways, classic red bricked houses, the real sense of timeless nostalgia that still read modern and fresh.
Courtney sighed, watching the rain crash down upon the streets violently. It wasnât going to let up anytime soon, and she must have had that thought more than enough times by now. The optimist she was kept hoping it would clear up and sheâd be able to flee home without anymore inconveniences. Alas, it never came. She sat on the step of the bakery for 5 minutes, with no progress on the weather wearing off.
In the distance, the first car sheâd noticed on her run, pulled up on the curb in front of her. An old fashioned 1972 navy chevy nova, glistening against the bolts of rain. She glared at it for a good minute, cautious of who the driver may be, and eventually the car beeped. Long and drawn out, demanding her presence. She sprang up in shock and rushed toward the passenger side, leaning over to peer in the window.
Thatâs when she saw her, the all too familiar face that use to send her through the motions in High School, making her crazy whenever her name slipped off the lips of another person. Suddenly the rain slamming around her didnât exist, and all she could fathom was the ghost before her. The same slick eyeliner, the same pointed nose, the same bulbous ruby lips-
âLong time no see, cum biscuit.â
The same crude sense of humour.
Courtney laughed, pushing back the extensive strands of soaked hair from her face and signalled to open the door. Bianca nodded, and Courtney clambered in, shivering when the difference in temperature hit her.
âYouâll freeze in that get up. Get unchanged, Iâve got spare clothes on the back seat-â
âTrying to undress me in under a minute. Thatâs a new record for you.â
Courtney smiled, completely smitten with her joke, but was met with nothing but a stern stare. She nodded knowingly, and kept quiet while she reached back and grabbed the clothes. Some baggy sweat pants and an oversized tee with a few stains of paint. Courtney timidly wriggled out of her clothes, her eyes on Bianca as she drove on completely focused on the road. When she was in the new clothes, she pulled out the top and raised a brow.
âDo you paint now?â
âNah, itâs an old top my roomie Shangela borrowed. She took up art to impress some pretentious French guy she met at a bar. Now heâs out of the picture, I get back my ruined top.â
âWhy keep it?â
âItâs easy to throw on. You know, if Iâm ever entertaining in the car,â Bianca rolls her head on her shoulders and gives Courtney a cocky smirk, snickering, âLike old times.â
Courtneyâs eyes widened and she had to look away, in fear the rouge of her blush would open too many old wounds.
Bianca had once been the most important person in Courtneyâs life just a few years ago. She was the the fire in her loins, the crack of her whip, the definition of desire for Courtney Act. Back in Highschool, it all began when they were 16 in gym class. Bianca threw a dodgeball directly at Courtneyâs head and hit her so hard she fell a few inches backward, straight on her bum. Bianca had apologised profusely, helping her stand and getting her a cold water bottle to put against the blow. All the while Biancaâs friends giggling with one another at the whole scene. Courtney didnât take it to heart. She shook off the initial shook and accepted Biancaâs apologies, giggling herself. Somehow, they ended up good friends. Inseparable almost, having to be with the other like they supplied the oxygen to their lungs. Bianca would go to every football game just to see Courtney cheer, and Courtney would stay behind after school as Bianca did extra work for her textiles class. Like opposites attracting, the two girls found themselves utterly obsessed with the goings-on of one anotherâs life.
Then Bianca came out, and Courtney found herself in dire need of Biancaâs affections more than ever. They spent what felt like everyday round each others homes, bitching and flirting. Courtney took the risk on Biancaâs 17th birthday, when Bianca took Courtney into the kitchen to cut her a slice of the cake her mother had baked and was shocked to be kissed. Then they kissed all the time, every chance they got, without any regrets or concerns for what anyone else might think.
It seemed like a forever feeling - stars aligning and air tasting like sugar, the two teens madly in love with each other. There were no hardships, no bitter exes, no rude homophobesâŚit was all too perfect. Bianca would fall a thousand feet under the earth if it meant she could make Courtney sublimely happy. Hands in a frenzy for the skin to skin contact, and hair caught in mouths, and legs trembling to stay solid. They made fire look like ice compared to them caught in the heat of a moment. There was nothing to complain about; they were in love, truly, madly, deeply so.
Then High School ended. Bianca went to college with two of her friends from class, Shea and Sasha, and Courtney got an internship in a studio as a mixer. Her girlfriend was miles away Courtney couldnât just drive for a quick visit, and then the rumours started speculating. Alaska heard Bianca had slept with some grungy wanna be singer, then their mutual friend Bob told Courtney sheâd been hanging around some girl called Adore a lot, and thatâs when the safety pin of Courtneyâs sanity was pulled, and she ignited like a grenade. The stupendous love sheâd had was suddenly dust in the wind, and her trust for Bianca broke.
Courtney stopped returning Biancaâs calls. She made excuses to stay home rather than visit her girlfriend. Eventually Bianca broke up with her out of frustration and they hadnât spoken since. Two years since the melt down, and here she was, soaking wet in her passenger seat.
Was it fait? Was that something Courtney even believed in? She hadnât thought about Bianca in months, and even then, she hadnât thought anything pleasant about her since the break up.
âI umâŚâ Courtney coughed, trying to loosen the knot in her throat. âI can walk to my place, you know. I donât want to be an inconvenience.â
âYou really want to get back out in that?â Bianca asked, tossing her head toward the window, a sly grin on her face at the idea of Courtney struggling any more to get home. Courtney awkwardly laughed, shaking her head.
âHow did you even see me in this weather?â What she really wanted to ask was âWhat the fuck were you doing in my neighbourhood, picking up girls off the streets? Regardless if it ended up being me of all people!â
Bianca looked as sexy as she did when they were a couple, Courtney shamefully thought. She didnât want to see Bianca as such still, but that girl had an overwhelming power over Courtney, she couldnât control her thoughts. She alluded such ease and comfortability, tousled and uncaring, like a true college student. Her hair was dyed blonde, unkept and fallen around her chest, and the dark brown of her roots had began to peak. She wore a lazy over sized blue denim shirt, hiding the booty shorts and black tee, and oversized punk dock martian boots. Her makeup was heavy, as it always use to be, and persist, in a way only Bianca could wear it and somehow come off casual. She was the same old Bianca, from the cosy clothes to the sharpe brows, not a colour outside the lines. Courtney wanted to spend all her time looking at her, recalling the familiar awe that always smacked her round the face when Bianca looked her way.
Bianca shrugged. âI have good eye sight I guess. I was heading back to my place, and I saw a blonde in the rain. Iâm not one to let a damsel stay distressed!â Bianca joked. Her smile lifted high across her face, and there were the same dimples Courtney had fallen in love with. The dents in her skin, so unimportant, seemed to have meant the whole world to Courtney at one stage of her life.
âSo,â Courtney took a hair tie out from the bottom of her handbag and messily threw her hair up in a bun, âWhat have yo- wait, where are we going? Do you know where I live?â
âOf course I donât, dim wit. Iâm driving to mine.â
âWhat? No! No, no, no, I just want to go home-â
âI havenât seen you in how fucking long, and you want to skip out on a catch up?â
âI just want to take a shower and relax.â
âYou can shower at mine.â
Courtney took a deep breath, frowning. âI donât think thatâs very appropriate, Bianca. I want to go to my apartment. My address is-â
A sudden boisterous roar of thunder tore through the air, causing Courtney to screech in distress. She dug her fingers into the leather of the car seat, as a shiver sent down her spine. She hated thunder, and even more so lightening. Bianca peered over, and rolled her eyes.
âSave it. My place is like 5 minutes away. You can dry off, Iâll make you a coffee and then Iâll drive you back to your place when the storm dies down.â She took a turn, then faced Courtney. It was hard for Bianca to keep a stern, cold look when she was met with the sunny, bubbly old flame of her affections. âI promise.â
Courtney remembers exactly what it was about Bianca she first fell in love with: her undeniable charm, laced in the gravelly tone and devilâs smile. Sheâs met with gorgeous, sparkling brown eyes, and she canât seem to find the will to fight her corner anymore. Despite not having thought about Bianca in months, all she wants, more than anything, is to hear about her life, and be caught in the translucent fairytale of her what-once-was.
-
The sound of rain trickling down glass is the sweetest serenity that could mend a broken soul. Soft pitter patters grazing rooftops, tiny droplets splashing the grass and making it shimmer under the glow of the moonlight. Rain was truly beautiful when angled correctly. New York City, where the buildings shot up high into the heavens, and the lights blinded the angels above, it was hard to have a romanticised version of rain like others experienced. By the Irish sea in the countryside, with the tears of a vengeful God, translating into a peaceful shower for mother earth. Washing the nature, bringing life to the crops, and giving that grumpy old farmer another thing to complain about. New Yorkers could never have that same wonderful simplicity; but Bianca would be damned if she didnât try and find tranquility in the rain.
Bianca had the delightful task of ringing out Courtneyâs summery dress over the kitchen sink and resting it on the radiator. She didnât mind all that much, but when she thought about it, it seemed more perplexing of a job than it should have. Not physically, but emotionally.
Courtney immediately jumped into the shower upon arrival, so all Bianca knew so far of her ex was she still had a killer body, and she had found herself lucky in riches somehow, noting the shoes and the handbag and the jewellry. She boiled the kettle and leaned against the counter top, pondering on the possibilities that could be Courtneyâs lifestyle now.
Bianca lived in a shabby, run down apartment with three other girls. There was Sasha, the two agreeing to live together in New York after collage. Sasha was dealing with her heart being stretched to the point of snapping where Shea decided to stay in Chicago, so to be in the company of a friend was at least a little relaxing on her strained love. Then there was Peppermint, an overly enthusiastic girl who waited tables in the day and performed on stage in the evening. She always came home with treats for everyone and an infectious smile. Finally, there was Naomi. A buggy, twig-like creature who was never around very often since she was usually galavanting all over America modelling, but when she was there she was quiet and well-kept, and bitchy enough for Bianca to get a kick out of her company.
That was her life. A normal, hard working life, with bills, an empty fridge more than often, and a ton of stress weighing down her shoulders. Bianca was often jumping between jobs - being hired to do hair and makeup for special events or making costumes for party shops, and just recently sheâd been employed to shadow a costume designer for a Broadway design company. Looking at Courtney, she saw all the success she only hoped to have in 5 years time, accelerated in the form of a beautiful, young fighter. Maybe even a little bit of a careerist, which, was a good thing and a bad thing. Not exactly the nature of the free spirited flower child she use to know, who preached love, peace and reaching for the stars.
What were the chances of running into Courtney after two years of separation? Out of all the zany characters that inhabited New York, she had to pity the pretty blonde that just so happened to be her ex. It couldnât have been an underwear model, or a cougar, or even a prostitute! It had to be Courtney fucking Act.
Bianca pulls out two mugs from the cupboard and pours out the coffee. She stirs both cups, adds sugar, milk, then takes a refreshing sip from hers. The warmness alights her after the bitter cold of the outside, and she canât help but smile to herself. She moves toward the couch, resting both cups on the coffee table to throw on the ratty grey cardigan draped over the arm of the chair, and settles in for the night. The idyllic setting of a dimly-lit room and the rain drumming on the glass, Bianca let out a heavy breath that had been stuck in her lungs for far to long, rigged and knotted with tension.
The shower shuts off, the door unlocks, and eventually Courtney walks through in the same oversized tshirt sheâd borrowed in the car, her girly boxer briefs with love hearts covered by the material, and a towel wrapped around her hair. Bianca finds it near to impossible to look anywhere that isnât the svelte legs, glistening with the few beads of water sliding down her skin. Courtneyâs face now fresh and pink, with just a trace of mascara caught under her eyes. Sheâs divine, walking toward Bianca and shyly offers her a coy smile.
âMade you a coffee.â Bianca gestures to the lonesome cup, and Courtney skittishly takes it, mumbling a thank you before sipping the drink. Bianca resists the urge to roll her eyes. How was I ever with someone like this? She thinks.
âThank you for the lift. I donât mean to be an imposition.â
âYouâre sat on my couch in your panties. Youâre already some what of an imposition, but itâs fine.â
Courtney chews on the corner of her lip, avoiding eye contact as she tucks her legs into the excess of the top. In the absence of conversation, she looks around the apartment and admires the cosy decor. Clothes thrown wherever they balance, more than often brightly coloured and fitted, shoes discarded wherever the day ended for the owner, and run down, tacky furniture. Not styled or desired by anyone, but affordable and comfy, and good enough. The decor was exactly that: good enough.
Bianca groans, putting her mug down on the table and leaning forward. The look on her face makes Courtney nervous. âCan we just address the elephant in the room?â She gruffly asks, barely waiting for the other girl to interject. âThis is weird. You, being in my apartment. Me, picking you up. This is all a little too fucking coincidental if you ask me, and Iâm not into it.â
Courtney blinks a couple of times before clearing her throat. âWh-what do you mean?â
Bianca raises her brow. âAre you messing with me? You know what I mean, Courtney, donât play dumb-â
âIâm not! I just,â She gently places her coffee mug down and repositions herself, taking a deep breath. âI donât know what to say, Bianca. Not many people get this kind of opportunity, to be reunited with their ex. We didnât exactly end on good terms after all.â
âI know. You stopped talking to me, and then you became a bitch.â The statement punctured Courtney. The many shades of red pouring out like the accusations that left peoples mouths all those years ago when they dirtied Biancaâs reputation; dirtied their relationship status.
This girl in front of her, this stranger she once adored, made her angrier than anyone ever had in her whole life. To even dare insult her, after the intense admiration she once held for her- at least she stayed faithful in their relationship. There was no frolicking with other girls and completely destroying the relationship they had both cared for.
She crossed her arms and glared wickedly at her, hoping flames would burst around the scene. âYou have some nerve to call me a bitch after what you did! You didnât even come down from Chicago to break up with me! You were too busy galavanting with other girls werenât you?!â
âWoah, what?â
âYeah!â Courtney shouted unexpectedly, recoiling back into herself and looking around embarrassed. She hoped none of Biancaâs roommates were home. âI know you were cheating on me, Bianca. Some little floozy, I canât even remember her name, but a bunch of people told me.â She lied - Courtney remembers the girl was called Adore, and she knew Bianca ended up very close to her, according to all the photos on her Facebook.
Bianca stayed quiet, her face completely shocked and her eyes flickering back and forth as she racked her brain for any name she might have meant. After too many silent seconds, she finally snickered, which escalated into proper laughter, and soon she was cackling. Courtney glared at the girl in fits of laughter till she couldnât take it and shoved her.
âItâs not funny, Bianca! You cheated on me-â
âNo I fucking didnât.â Bianca tittered, sitting up. âI didnât cheat on you. I would never cheat on you, why would I?â
Courtney opens her mouth to speak but stops herself, taking in the statement. Sheâs not sure how to take it, as a good thing or a bad thing given how long it took to even process at the time. The heart ache she endured, took as nothing but the truth- at the time it felt like someone had reached into her chest and poured acid over the wounds of her heart, squeezed it till it popped, and left her to survive with the damage done. At the time, love seemed like the most important thing in her life. It overpowered every other aspect of her being, warping her understanding of unity and strength, and she became accustomed to needing Bianca. No matter how many times she talked about wanting to sell albums, wanting to be a successful singer songwriter, her girlfriend would trump everything else on the table. Courtney could have died for Bianca, and it felt like she did when they were over.
Now she was older, sat in her exâs living room, half naked, learning that what they threw away was for nothing. Childish insecurities and fiendish whispers, all acted as the fuel behind the out of control flames, setting their tender affections alight. Courtneyâs mouth dried up, her chest collapsed, and the weight began to reopen the stitches on her poor, beaten heart.
âYouâŚyouâre lying?â She hoped, as peculiar as it seemed. To imagine sheâd thrown away the best part of her teenage years all because of pathetic hearsay. Sitting beside Bianca, looking into her hypnotising eyes, she felt the familiar weakness that was once so pampered by her impulse to please her love. Biancaâs lips curled, and the dimples punctured more holes in her, deeper and more painful.
âIâm not lying, Court. Who even told you that?â Bianca asked, the undertone of chuckling still sewn in her voice. Courtney felt like heaving, but remained calm. She had no choice- how could she freak out after two years of no contact (especially in a situation where she wasnât even wearing any trousers)?!
âAlaska, and BobâŚeven Chi Chi said she suspected something-â
âWhy the flying fuck would you believe Bob and Chi Chi?! Those two have the biggest mouths around! Alaska I donât fucking know what her damage was, but I can assure youâŚNever listen to Bob and Chi Chi.â
Biancaâs smile use to bring such comfort to Courtney. Now she just wanted to throw up.
âWell, what about Detox? She came to the studio when I first started working there. She told me you had your eyes on someone else?â
Bianca sighed, rubbing her forehead in annoyance. This was the conversation they should have had so long ago. 2015, pigtail, crop top obsessed Courtney. Flared jeans, brown hair Bianca, trying to contain the fireworks off entering adulthood, both separately and together.. This was a conversation that was well overdue.
âDetox is an asshole.â
âBecause she told me the truth?â
âNo. Because we had a huge fight when we were drunk. She visited me in Chicago and I wouldnât let her sleep with my friendâŚâ Bianca pinched the top of her nose before letting out a drawn out groan. âMy friend Adore had just gotten out of a pretty serious relationship and she was going a little off the rails. Detox wanted to sleep with her and I called her an inflatable fuck buddy-â
âBianca!â Courtney playfully slapped her, giggling nevertheless. Bianca faked being shocked, holding her arm as if she was in agonising pain, and then they laughed in sync.
What a sound, the harmonies of their happiness.
âIf sheâs gonna pump silicone in her ass and tits, Iâm going to mock her for it! Anyway, she was so drunk and accused me of keeping Adore all for myself. And so, Iâm guessing, as soon as she got home she decided to tell you some bullshit as pay back for me preventing her from getting laid.â
âHmm. Sounds a little contrived if you ask me.â
âWell thatâs the Godâs honest truth. You know Detox has a sneaky side. Sheâs all bark no bite.â
Courtney pursed her lips, eyes falling to her drink. It had stopped steaming at this point. She thought about their conversation, the implications it had, and the stupidity she felt.
âSo youâŚyou never slept with Adore? Or, anyone?â Courtney timidly asked, feeling the size of a mouse the second the question left her lips.
Bianca scoffs. âOf course not! For fuck sake, Courtney, I thought the sun shined out your ass I was so in love with you! How in the name of Bob Mackie could you even believe I would dare ruin what we had?â
âI meanâŚyou did break up with me.â
âYou were ignoring me!â
âBecause I thought you were cheating on me-â
âWhich I wasnât!â
They stayed stuck on one anothers gaze, before bursting into laughter. Lovely, light laughter like soft violins or flutes, floating through the air, singing along to the tunes of morning birds. Bianca rubbed her temples, being the first to stop laughing. Courtney still did the cute snort when she laughed- the one she despised, that Bianca always adored.
Honestly, Bianca did have fleeting feelings from time to time of great saudade. There was no English word to do it justice, the empty space left when they broke up, with the attempt to fill it with passing flirty gestures and sheets stained with faked moans. There was the occasional nights, when the moon was full or a star finally burnt out, that she remembered how she use to be a beatific vision when in the company of her love.
When she stopped laughing, their eyes met under a whole new context. It was strong and overwhelming, like a tornado. They felt sucked into the power of this feeling. Bianca now knew that Courtney worked at a studio, that she at least had a reasonable excuse to have been a bitch all those years ago, and she still possessed the easy-to-read hunger in the corner of her eyes.
âIâm sorry.â Bianca whispered, afraid to scare the moment.
âIâm sorry too.â Courtney whispered back, even quieter.
Bianca caught Courtneyâs gaze flicker between her eyes and her lips. Usually she wore red lipstick- she cursed herself for not wearing red lipstick, it was always a winner, but it seemed the shade still had an effect on Courtney. Still staring, lustfully, her thin, pink lips slightly parted so Bianca could see the pearly sparkle of her front teeth.
God I missed those teeth.
What a strange thought? Bianca didnât pounder on it for too long though, because soon she was reminiscing on all the things she missed; the freckle between Courtneyâs collarbone; the light scar that defined when her frown lines rose; the bruise on her right knee that seemed to always return unbeknown to how it got there. Looking into Courtneyâs eyes, Bianca was reminded of all the wonderful memories they shared together before the great storm-
âShit.â She pounced from her seat, making Courtney jump, and she ran to the window. The weather had let up, and now it was only mizzling, a pathetic excuse for dampening the streets. âThe stormâs stopped. Well, thatâsâŚâ she turned back to face Courtney, scratching the back of her neck. âGood.â
Courtney forced a smile. She unwrapped the towel from her hair and got up to rest it on a radiator. âYeah, thatâs great.â She combed through the wet strands of her hair, wincing as she caught a knot, before throwing it all back and looking at the other girl. âIâll go put on my dress and uh, get out of your way-â
âWait, Court.â Bianca interrupted, overly eager, rushing toward Courtney. They stood a few centimeters apart, not enough to lean forward and kiss, but enough to feel the wires connecting them tense. âThereâs no rush. I mean,â She shrugged, âitâs been so long, you and I. We have a lot of catching up to do. Donât youâŚâ Biancaâs breath fell from her, the nerves rattling her bones. âDonât you think?â
Only fools rush in, wise men recite, like a grand law. Yet, Courtney couldnât help it. She was undeniably drawn to the magnetic force that ran through Biancaâs blood. Only fools rush in, wise men warn, but what other tragedies could fall upon Courtney when sheâd already lost Bianca once? She looks into the other girls eyes, and all the anger sheâd stored up from two years ago melts away beneath her feet, and sheâs filled with a fizzling warmth instead, intimate and dear like how it once was.
Maybe it was stupid, but when her gut was telling her the same thing it was when she was barely 17 at Biancaâs birthday, she knew to listen. In a sudden spur of the moment, Courtney grabs Bianca by the scuff of her cardigan and kisses her, deep and passionately.
Her lips are still the same. Pillowy, smooth, and the best damn sensation a person could feel on their own. Courtney doesnât let go of her cardigan in fear of falling through the floorboards, losing this feeling to the adrenaline. She wants this to be the kiss that repairs the scars on her heart- the kiss that transforms the apartment into the darkest corners of the galaxy, soaring through the stars trying to capture the beauty of light. She opens her mouth just enough, to seem sensual, and keeps kissing her like there was never a two year silence between them.
Bianca relaxes, and smiles against her lips. She links her arms around Courtneyâs waist, and the dent of her back is so cold where her hands have been gone so long. Courtneyâs lips still taste like cherries. What working girl in her fucking 20s wears flavoured lip gloss? She thinks, though never complains. It was like sleeping in a bed you havenât been in for weeks - all too familiar, and cozy, but strangely surreal. Her tongue slips past Courtneyâs lips, and she lets loose a low moan, pulling the girl into her more as if there was any space left between them. Courtneyâs body melted against Biancaâs, and she was lost for power in the situation, completely surrendering to the will of Biancaâs lust.
She pulled away, for just a minute. Courtney whimpers, resting her forehead against Biancaâs, panting. The world around them has been put on mute, and the picture is but dark static. They are the only colour in the room. They exudes the importance of second chances, as their hearts beat in sync, racing to make up for lost time.
âYou agree then? We have a lot of catching up to do.â Bianca said, kissing Courtney on the tip of her nose. Courtney blushed, biting her lip and letting a content sigh escape.
âIs this weird? It feels so normal but, itâs weird, isnât it?â
âMaybe a little, but who fucking cares. Iâm fine with weird if you are.â
âOh definitely, without a doubt! Iâve always been fine with weird, from the very second you threw that dodgeball at my faceâŚto the time you coincidentally drove through my neighbourhood and picked me up in the pouring rain.â
Bianca snickered. âI certainly know how to charm âem, donât I?â She pulled one of her hands around from Courtneyâs back and tickled under her chin, guiding her back to her lips. Hungry with the desire to never end, a kiss that left them breathless with such simplicity. They both smiled against the others lips.
âI donât even know why youâre back in New York, and here we are kissing in your living room.â Courtney purred, resting her full weight on Bianca so she was forced to sit on the edge of the sofa.
âI finished college. It was a compressed course, remember. I could have stayed on but me and Sasha were done, too much to deal with.â Bianca flicked the earring dangling from Courtneyâs ear, making her flinch and jerk her shoulder to hide her ear. âHow about you, big spender? Where are all the expensive brands coming from?â
Courtney clicked her tongue. She was thrilled to be in Biancaâs arms- even if an hour ago this was the furthest thing from her list of known desires, but she knew not to reveal everything to fast. Once a secret is out there, itâs no longer a secret. She had to keep some parts of her life a mystery.
For now.
âMaybe Iâm just so good at my job, they over pay me!â
âAt an internship?â
âIâm not interning anymore, Iâm the real deal! I mix records, I sit in on the production for radio stationsâŚI, Bianca Del Rio, am a real working woman. Iâm even working on an EP.â
âYou are?â
âSure am. I already have a single, so an EP is the next step. I donât know, I just got lucky with money I suppose.â Courtney put her arms around Biancaâs neck, playing with the strands of hair that fell at her back. âThatâs not important right now.â She bit her lip, eyes fallen dark and the black blown wide with lust. âWe should really talk about whatever this is weâre starting.â
Bianca takes a deep breath through her nose, and lightly pushes Courtney off her. It all feels surreal, even kind of overwhelming now that sheâs not swimming in Courtneyâs perfume, distracted. âWe did sort of jump the gun there, didnât we?â
Courtneyâs smile fades. She feels her nerves stiffen, watching the strangely despondent expression on her face, and she tries to recoil the sudden thrill of a moments ambitions, rather than let her imagination run wild like when she was a teenager. She puts her arms down by her side, and scrunches her hand in a ball, pinching her palms. Â âThatâs not a bad thing.â
âNo. No I guess not. We never exactly did things conventionally anyway, did we? I mean, remember our senior leavers do, and you wore the pin stripe suit, when all our friends thought Iâd wear one-â
âOh my God yes! And you wore the bubble gum pink dress! You were so cute.â
âAnd very out of my comfort zone, but I would have done anything to make you happy.â Bianca smirks, taking Courtneyâs hand. âSoâŚyou and me against the world, part two?â
Courtney could count on one hand all the moments in her life she felt this ecstatic. The release party for her single, when her parents renewed their vows, and the first time her and Bianca said I love you to each other. Truly happy moments, where she was left a little breathless and dizzy, but drugged up on the thrill of that moment. She couldnât let this slip away, no matter how unexpected.
She squeezes Biancaâs hand, cheeks practically burning at the pain of her stretched smile. âAnd to think I had a date tonight.â
Bianca raises her brow. âWell, thatâs an interesting way to say yes, but Iâll take it.â
-
56 notes
¡
View notes