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yn-ymn-yln · 3 years

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Can i request a klaus mikaelson x reader where the reader is in hayleys place… a pregnant wolf but in the end klaus and her fall in love?

Okay lovie I got pretty carried away with this so it's kinda long... but thank you for the request! I hope you like it!

Clarification

Klaus Mikaelson x reader

*I didn't want to copy the show verbatim so I basically made this completely different from what happens to Hayley I hope that's okay!*

“Nik I’m sorry I didn’t mean it!”

“LIAR!” The pain in his voice has you recoiling. How had things gotten so fucked up?

“I swear, I love you! Please stop!” The hybrid’s furious gaze turns to your father who challenges him for what you all know is the last time.

“STOP IT! PLEASE!” Your father’s corpse drops unceremoniously to the ground within seconds. You can’t take your eyes off of the man that had raised you, tears slipping down your face.

“Remember this day Y/f/n Y/l/n. This is what happens when you betray the original hybrid.”

Three years ago, to the day Klaus Mikaelson had slaughtered every remaining blood relative of your pack right before your eyes, leaving you the sole survivor of his man-made massacre.

Standing at the entrance to the compound you hoped today would go smoother than that day had all those years ago.

Klaus didn’t speak after you’d said your piece. Letting the shared history between the two of you cloud his judgement he’s on you in a second. His hand is wrapped around your throat, pinning you to the wall before you even have the chance to react. Instantly your own hands fly to his wrists pulling harshly to try and free yourself and continue the conversation without conflict.

Klaus doesn’t let up though. His grip gets tighter with each passing second. As his eyes begin to glow, the veins beneath them appear in a show of dominance.

Problem was, you were never one to back down from a challenge.

Growling lowly, you refuse to submit to the hybrid before you. With all rational thoughts out the window you sink your teeth into the arm of the man holding you. His unrelenting choke hold falters offering you your only chance to slip free. You push past him and take shelter behind his oldest living brother.

“Please do tell, what exactly is going on here?” Ever the noble gentleman, Elijah tries to diffuse the rather abrupt display of aggression.

“I’m pregnant.” The words fall past your lips without warning. Elijah didn’t know who you were, none of the Mikaelson’s did except for Klaus.

“Pardon?” Turning towards you, you can already see the look of disbelief color his features.

“She’s a liar! I’LL KILL HER!” The threat did little to scare you off. If he had really wanted you dead, he would have killed you three years ago when he had the chance.

“I’m not lying and we both fucking know it!” Lunging at you Klaus tries to maneuver around Elijah only to be stopped with a hand to his chest.

“I think that’s quite enough. What is your name?” He addresses the hybrid, then you.

“Y/n.”

“I find it hard to believe a woman I’ve never met harbors the child of my brother.” You chuckle humorlessly then.

“I do know him, have for years. He just doesn’t want you to know that.” Admittedly you had wounded more than Klaus’ pride when things had gone south between the two of you.

“Niklaus?” Elijah gives his younger brother a look that reads don’t fucking try lying to me. He doesn’t offer Elijah an explanation, opting instead to leave the room in a huff.

“I know this isn’t ideal, but I promise it’s his.”

“Very well, make yourself comfortable, we’ll find a witch in the morning.” You don’t ask him to elaborate, you knew they all needed proof, he needed proof. Without a word more you trudge up the stairs, Elijah following closely behind you. “If you’re lying about this, I’ll rip your heart out myself, you have my word.” hastily leaving the room you both had entered, he quietly shuts the door behind him.

There was nothing left to do now but wait.

Klaus Mikaelson should have been the last person you wanted to see. The remaining hatred you had for him should have been simmering but it wasn’t. You had never gotten a proper goodbye from the man that had stolen your heart. Your alcohol fogged mind told you there was no better time for a good bye than right now, and what better way to say it then to fall into the bed of the man you had once loved?

Klaus had eyed you suspiciously, his heart locked behind the walls he had built that fateful day.

You hadn’t even spoken, words had never been your winning feature. You had grabbed him by the collar pressing your lips to his.

It was heaven

He didn’t ask questions, choosing instead to lead you out of the bar hand in hand to the only safe place he knew.

His bed.

The months that had followed had been nothing short of chaotic. The witches of New Orleans had “officially” confirmed that you were in fact carrying the child of Klaus Mikaelson. He had taken the news rather poorly. Disappearing for weeks before finally surfacing at the compound again. Though he had returned, his icy demeanor towards you had stayed ever present. So, you kept as far away from him as you could. Until you didn’t.

You had been passing his study when the door had opened quickly causing you to stumble. You were sure your face was about to become very acquainted with the hardwood floor of the hall way when a pair of strong arms hand wrapped around your waist. You hadn’t meant to grip his wrist desperately, one hand flying to your barely showing baby bump.

“Your alright, I’ve got you.” His sentence was clipped, but that had been the most he had said to you since you stepped foot in the compound all those weeks ago.

“Thank you.” You’re not sure what had possessed you to bury your face in his chest but the warmth and comfort was worth the ire you were about to face. You’re surprised to look up and see him peering at you through confused eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t- It won’t happen again.” You leave before he has the chance to yell.

After your bout of clumsiness Klaus had laid off his harsh temper with you. You were sure it had been Elijah’s doing, probably some speech about stress being bad for the baby, but you didn’t mind. The somewhat calm atmosphere had brightened your mood considerably and gave you the tiniest shred of hope that maybe this wouldn’t be such a nightmare.

“ELIJAH!!!” You had never seen a thousand-year-old vampire move so fast in your life.

“What is it?! What’s wrong?!” His panic laced tone has a sheepish smile spreading on your face before you feel the tiny flutter again. Grabbing the originals hand, you place it on your stomach and wait.

“Come on little bean, you can do it.” The look of utter surprise that spreads across his face as a tiny thump reaches his hand is priceless.

“KLAUS COME HERE!” Elijah doesn’t move his hand, the wonder of human life making his undead heart melt. Klaus rushes into the room in much the same manor, the only difference being the glowing eyes and raised fist.

“Come feel!” You don’t hesitate to place his hand over your ever moving child. Elijah leaves the room then, wanting to give you and the father of said child a moment. “Do you feel it? Feel her?” A small smile spreads across the hybrids face his hand pressing slightly harder to the fading kick.

“I do. It’s amazing.” Silence fell upon the two of you, with it your doubts grew.

“What if I can’t do this?” The vulnerability in your words has Klaus looking at you in shock. He had never seen you so unsure of yourself.

“You can love, you are going to be a great mother.”

“No, I’m not, this baby is screwed and we both know it. Fuck, you can’t even look at me half the time. What kind of a family is she going to have?”

“This family isn’t perfect but it’s hers.” His words do little to comfort the growing fear inside your heart.

“I wish my dad was here.” The sob that rips from your throat is deafening, not for the first time Klaus wishes things had happened differently between the two of you.

“I’m sorry love.” You don’t let him finish, far too hormonal to not hug the father of your bastard kid. Klaus holds you tightly letting you release the built-up emotion, kissing your forehead every so often. “We will get through this, I promise.” Nodding your head, you stay firmly planted against the hybrid’s chest.

You hope he’s right.

Things weren’t perfect between you and Klaus, but with each passing day you saw the tension leave his shoulders and felt your anger slip through the cracks.

You loved him. It was simple, but none of it mattered if he didn’t love you back.

Sitting on the couch watching T.V. you traced patterns onto your stomach, mindlessly humming a melody that lived rent free in your mind. Klaus made his way into the living room, lifting your feet before placing them in his lap.

“What are you watching love?” The nickname had become a staple in the conversations between the two of you as of late.

“I’m not sure, I’m not really paying attention.”

“Why? Are you feeling alright?” Rubbing his hand up and down your leg you watch the man before you. Things had been so corrupt between you both, at one point you were sure you could never go back. Now though? You weren’t sure what to believe.

Nodding lightly, you try to defuse his worry.

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“Us.” The word hangs heavily in the air.

“What about us?” Inhaling a lengthy breath, you burst the perfect bubble you had been living in.

“I’m in love with you.” Klaus pauses his movement on your leg shifting his gaze to stare into yours.

“What?”

“I know a lot of shit happened between us Nik, and I know you don’t trust me but I love you. I don’t think I ever stopped. I know you might not feel the same” Your sentence is cut short by the hybrids lips connecting with your own.

“I thought I would never hear you say that again.” Closing the gap again, you press your forehead to his.

“We both made mistakes. I’ll forgive you if you forgive me.”

“I forgave you a long time ago.” At his words you feel the moisture begin to pool in the corner of your eyes.

“Me too.”

The love you and the hybrid shared had never faded, you both just needed a little clarification to see it.

#klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson #the originals #requests

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alderaani · 3 years

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Embers

summary: After Umbara, Boil learns how to endure, and how to reclaim pieces of his brothers marching on | AO3 | series

warnings: canonical character death, grief, animal injury + mentions of animal death (completely not explicit, on the level of canon-typical violence).

a/n: finally another part of my 100 clone prompts - the rest of the series is linked above! i know there’s not much in canon to support Waxer being an animal lover, but i wanted to give Gree a friend to nerd out with and it’s cute. also gotta pay homage to @nibeul’s wonderful art here - while I wasn’t consciously inspired by it, it hits on v similar themes and is just beautiful like...that image of waxer holding up numa lives in my head rent free.

Insects swirled in a halo around his helmet. They swarmed around the seams of his blacks, too, attracted to the small beads of sweat there, to the tiny strips of flesh he couldn’t quite cover. The rising bites itched, rubbing where the edge of his vambraces met fabric, and the buzzing was enough to drive a man mad. Boil sighed, brushing them off half-heartedly and watching them billow angrily away. They’d be back. They always were.

In the reprieve, he fumbled at his belt for the viewfinders hooked there and brought them to his visor. As he spun the dial to within half a klik so that he could search the undergrowth, his thumb settled in the comforting groove where Waxer had dropped them and chipped the plastoid. He worried at it with his nail while he scanned, frowning.

It was too still.

Too quiet.

Had been in his head for weeks now, verging on a month, and he was still waiting to feel something other than crippling emptiness. There weren’t any dreams any more, none except for the oldest one they all pretended not to have; levelling a blaster against Kenobi’s head and pulling the trigger. Even that didn’t feel like the nightmare it used to.

Eventually he lowered the viewfinder, feeling the hair stand up on the back of his neck at the stifled sound of his own breath in the dense air. A faint, humid breeze stirred the leaves, sending a cloud of thick yellow pollen up towards the canopy. Boil blinked to bring up the filter diagnostic on his HUD, keeping his belly low to the ground to avoid the stuff as it drifted lazily overhead.

“Kid, you doin’ alright out there?”

He listened to the static hum of the comm line for a few moments, biting back the panic that crawled up the back of his throat when it dragged on just a beat too long.

“Apart from gettin’ gnawed on by the bugs? Just grand, Sir.”

Potshot sounded a little winded, but that was probably just the heat. Blacks self-regulated temperature, but only to the extent that they made sure you sweated evenly. It never used to be quite so bad; that had been the one thing Phase 1 armour had going for it, for all it was bulkier and less adaptable to varied terrain. He supposed the Republic had had to cut costs somewhere. Waxer would’ve been whining by now that his ass was so hot they could light a flare off it. Potshot was young enough that he’d never known any different.

“Good, you see anything?” Boil grunted, pinging his location anyway. There was no real reason for it; Potshot might’ve still been green but he wasn’t stupid, and he’d done well to keep up so far. Boil could stand being self aware enough to acknowledge that he hadn’t been the most welcoming, or the most patient with the new partner he’d never wanted. He wouldn’t have had any right to be overbearing now, but it was for his own comfort, however small and bittersweet.

“Nothin’ at all. That seem odd to you too?” Potshot said, as the surveillance holos he’d taken popped up. Boil flipped through them, earmarking a couple to show him how to improve the angle later. The important shit was all there - enough to confirm what he’d already suspected. No birds, no creatures, no fresh droppings.

Just the bugs, and the trees, and them.

“Yeah, it’s odd alright. Think we’ve found what the general’s looking for.”

Boil felt pressure around his right boot and turned, vibroblade in hand, to stab into the fleshy vine knotting round it. It writhed and retreated, leaving behind pitted, smoking trails where acid had started eating into the plastoid. He registered the damage with a dull sort of annoyance. It was something else to take care of later, a way to look busy and shape the silence. It would fend off the others and their offers of company, made out of pity he couldn’t bear to look at.

“Really? What’re you seein’, boss?” Potshot asked.

Boil glanced upwards to track the position of the sun; high, almost directly overhead. At the peak of the day this place should have been teeming. Instead the only tracks he’d found had been baked solid, and this wasn’t the shocked quiet that followed a stampede. It was stagnant, aging.

“This forest is in the centre of an old super-volcanic crater, right?” he asked, not waiting for a response. It had been in the mission dossier, alongside profiles of the flesh eating plants, the deadly pollen and the venomous creatures, all of it fenced into the sloped, unforgiving bowl of the terrain. It was the kind of forest that stuck in the mind. “And we know that something has driven the wildlife away.”

Potshot hummed, the comm muffling for a second as he shifted. It took a moment of bitter disappointment coiling in Boil’s belly for him to realise that he’d been waiting for a sharp quip that wasn’t coming. He swallowed thickly, wondering how it was possible to feel so wrongfooted while lying down. If he’d ever find his balance again. If he ever wanted to feel whole now that such a fundamental piece was missing.

Potshot groaned suddenly. “Kriff it, the factories we’re looking for are underground, aren’t they?”

Boil forced a chuckle, choking past the self hatred clawing up through his lungs. The kid deserved better, deserved a superior who didn’t constantly treat him like a ghost.

“That’s it, kid. Just like the simulations, eh?”

Potshot laughed, the easy sound making Boil’s throat seize in longing so strong his teeth ached. Waxer would’ve loved him, and that made it all the worse.

“Hardly. What do we do next?”

“Alright,” Boil said, lifting the viewfinder for one last look at where he could see slight fog rising through the trees. “You get your ass back to forward command and debrief the General, I’m heading in for a closer look.”

“ What? But - Sir! We’re supposed to be working as a team. I can’t leave you -”

“Sometimes working as a team means you do your duty and trust the others to do theirs.” He cut in, keeping his voice steady by force of will. Sometimes, it meant carrying on alone. Boil clipped the viewfinder back into place and prepared to move, even as Potshot continued protesting. Boil didn’t answer for long enough that silence fell on the line.

“...am I not performing to the standard expected, Sir?”

Potshot’s voice was soft, all vulnerable underbelly. Still so shiny, and Boil remembered feeling like that, like there was still a scorecard constantly on his forehead.

“No - kid -” Boil sighed, dropping his head forward. He’d never learned how to be gentle - it hadn’t ever come naturally, and there had been no reason to lose his sharp edges when Waxer had always been there to foil them for him. He felt sharper now than ever, full of shards that didn’t sit right, and fished among the pieces for something his brother might have said. “I trust you to have my back. You’re doing everything right. But...sometimes we’ve gotta think of the mission. We need more proof before we can move in, but the two of us get caught, command loses what we already know.”

“Can’t we just send a comm?” Potshot asked, his voice still tight and hurt sounding and he was fucking this up, shouldn’t have been trusted to try to fix himself without breaking everyone else wide open in the process.

“Don’t trust it not to get intercepted,” Boil said, which was only half a lie, and would have made Cody scoff at the back to front over-caution. “And it don’t all fit in a comm. They’ll need everything you can remember to plan the advance.”

Potshot sighed, but when he spoke again his voice was looser. “...Yes, Sir. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t,” Boil said, feeling his own chest lighten. “If you don’t hear from me by 1100 then raise me on the priority channel.”

He listened until Potshot had stated a reluctant affirmative and clicked off the line, then bellied out of the undergrowth and headed further in, to the epicentre of the unnatural quiet. He liked the way his mind went silent on recon, how everything else fell away. It wasn’t quite the same, tilted just a little off axis, but similar enough to when it had been Waxer at his six that if he didn’t think about it, he could almost trick himself into believing nothing had changed.

Plus, the space was good, just for a few minutes, where he didn't have to pretend for anyone.

It was a quiet journey, for the most part, punctuated only by the steps he couldn’t quite muffle. His thoughts were broken some time later when he suddenly heard it; the distant mechanical boom of something deep underground. He quickened his pace, following the vibrations until the earth under his feet grew hot, the air shimmering unnaturally in front of him. It had been like this at Point Rain, when the sand baked and glinted, glass-like, under the blaze of the overhead sun. If he hadn’t known the super-volcano was very thoroughly extinct, he could have kidded himself that it was just the geothermal energy of magma moving close to the surface. A clever disguise. But not clever enough.

The ground sloped ever downwards the further into the bowl he got. He watched where he placed his feet as it grew rockier, stones and small craters acting like pitfall traps concealed by the moss. Boil pinged his scanner every minute, searching for Seppie probes as the terrain tapered, falling away into a green-rimmed yawning abyss. Set into the centre of it was a huge grate, the source of the searing air. Here were the factories they’d been looking for, exactly where he’d suspected. It was a muted sort of satisfaction.

He crouched at the edge of the drop, taking holos and transmitting them directly to the Commander’s HUD. Then he checked his chrono and sent an unapologetic follow up that he’d be late to rendezvous, seeing that 1100 was about to come and go. Then he minimised the comms on his HUD to flash for priority only; he’d get bollocked for being late sooner or later, but he figured it would be novel to have it fully in person.

Finally he turned, ready to start the rapid scale back towards the 212th's forward camp, when he registered a low, keening whine.

His blaster was in his hands within a moment, trained at the knee-high leaves. The sound came again, higher this time, followed by laboured panting.

He gently brushed aside some of the foliage with his blaster barrel. Dark eyes stared at him from between the leaves. They both froze. It was some sort of animal, obviously; a mammal, probably a predator. It was small too, with paws too large for its scrawny body and a dark, downy fur that rippled with every laboured breath.

Sharp teeth. A narrow muzzle. A long, whip-like tail.

A vornskr, Boil thought, and hated how readily the identification came, how readily he tensed in anticipation of the inevitable Boil can you see - do you know how rare -

He shook the memories away, of Waxer leaning precariously over the top bunk to wave some manual Commander Gree had sent him in his face, bleating about some animal or species that Boil couldn’t pronounce. In the present the vornskr pup cowered away from him, pushing backwards on thin, spindly legs. Deceptively powerful though, he’d bet.

The creature let out another whine and stumbled, an odd abortive movement. Boil pressed more of the leaves away to get a better look and swore when he saw the brutal metal trap closed around one of its small hind legs, paring down to bone. His blaster was up and trained on the thing before he thought much about it. Better to shoot it, put it out of its misery, than prolong its suffering. It was what they did as part of the cleanup sometimes; wildlife was usually pretty good at getting out of the active battlefronts, but there were always stragglers. The too old or the too young, mostly.

Creatures like this one.

The vornskr stilled, staring at him with those big, wide eyes as if it knew exactly what he was thinking. Boil swallowed. Waxer wouldn’t have let him shoot it. Waxer also wasn’t here now to stop him, but Boil felt his arm lower all the same, just a few inches before he pulled the trigger. The vornskr yelped as the trap hinges came apart in two neat halves and immediately tried to run. It didn’t get very far before it collapsed, panting again.

Boil sighed and shook his head, holstering his blaster across his back.

“That was a stupid thing to do,” he tsked, shuffling closer.

He kept half an eye on the tail, remembering something about it being venomous. While being high off his ass on some unknown substance had the potential to make Cody’s dressing down more interesting, it might also kill him before he got there.

The vornskr growled as he leaned over it, baring needle sharp teeth, and made a snap at him when Boil reached out.

“Ah, give over,” he muttered, batting the attempt away. The little body was light in his hands as he lifted it, careful to let the injured leg hang out as he folded it into his chest. The vornskr made an odd, throaty sound and shifted, almost experimental. Then it huffed, and after a pause laid its head across his vambrace.

Boil rolled his eyes at the display, setting off towards forward command as soon as he was halfway sure he wasn’t in danger of losing a finger.

It was...nice, to have that little body cradled to him, reminiscent of better occasions when Waxer just had to stick his nose into every curious happening and inevitably adopted some struggling lifeform. However much Boil had complained, it had never steered them wrong.

When he got back to command it was to find Cody pacing the perimeter, Potshot perched on a crate nearby. The Commander’s bucket was under his arm. Boil winced. With Cody that was never an accident - usually so he could get the full weight of a glare in, the excavating kind he’d learned from Kenobi and then weaponised so that it pierced straight down to bone.

“Boss!” Potshot exclaimed, pushing off his seat. “You made it!”

“What time d’you call this?” Cody demanded, stalking over. “I was about to -”

Cody stopped short, gaze dropping to the furry bundle against Boil’s breastplate. Something in his expression softened and Boil felt in his heart, panicking as a lump rose in his throat.

“What’s that?” Cody asked.

Boil let his gaze slide downwards to a point far beyond, where two troopers were fighting over a tarp.

“Found it in a trap,” he said, his voice ragged. “Couldn’t - couldn’t let it die.”

He flicked his eyes back to Cody’s face and breathed through the grief and understanding he found there. Cody stepped forward and clasped Boil’s elbow.

“I’m sure Tranq will be able to do something for it.” A little upturn crept into the line of Cody’s lips. “Debrief in fifteen.”

Boil nodded and broke away, tipping his head to Potshot before clearing his throat roughly and popping his bucket off one-handed as he made his way to the medtent. The sun was warm on his face here, the air lighter. A butterfly flew lazily past and the vornskr lifted its head, tracking the motion with large, interested eyes.

Boil smiled, hoisting his bucket under one arm and daring to touch the creature's head with his freed hand. It wouldn’t ever bring Waxer back, but it meant something that this little life continued, because of the choices his brother would have made and all that he had been. Like the phantom touch of the sun still lingering in cooling earth.

It wouldn’t ever be enough. But, perhaps, it was just the right amount to cling onto.

taglist // @nelba @leias-left-hair-bun @simping-for-fives @iscream4clones @bad-batch-of-fics @battletales @majorshiraharu @dom-i-nic @snippytano @missinashkin @808tsuika @eries45 @lussyyung @whatanoof // join here

#clone trooper waxer #clone trooper boil #original clone characters #clone oc potshot #commander cody #212th attack battalion #the clone wars #star wars #the clone wars fanfiction #alderwrites

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hopefullystillatheatrestudent · 4 years

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okay so i’ve been going crazy these past few days. all about cockles/jensmish and obsessively watching their panels or reading the transcripts BECAUSE. THEY ARE LOUD. LIKE. i saw some fancams on twt and i thought people were just exaggerating but noooooooooo!!!???? so, getting to the point. you said that how do we know that jensen is performing masculinity? because jared isn’t and THAT IS A BIG BRAIN MOMENT. ON POINT. I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH. a particular moment from gag reel that jumps out (which you’ve talked about) when jensen goes ‘cas, you are my baby daddy’ and misha goes, ‘i know i love you too’ and jensen goes, ‘i didn’t say i love you’ and misha goes, ‘i know you wanted to’ and jensen says, ‘i love you’ WHAT THE FUCK! that was NOT a joke. yes, people took it as a joke and had a good laugh BUT I HAVE WATCHED IT TOO MANY TIMES AND IT LIVES IN MY MIND RENT FREE BECAUSE IT WAS NOT A PERFORMANCE. THAT WAS JENSEN. THAT WAS MISHA. jensen has a had trouble with the pda and being all touch feely (the breakup theory) and he gradually grew into it, accepted it and misha was right there all along, never pushed it. it was like a deancas au but tbh, 99% of destiel is because of cockles and we all know it. i just. jensen has latched onto dean as an emotional support because he tunes with it. understands it. projects on to it. yeah, i just had to say it and get it off my chest. (and what about those poetry pages on instagram? alma? what is your opinion?) btw, you have a lovely blog and your analysis are right on target.

so there is a LOT i’m going to address here(how dare you bring up [gunshot] i HAVE to talk about it now) so again!!!! under a cut it goes but i hope you appreciate my rambles anon it seems like you do :,)

1. jared vs. jensen and performing masculinity. hell yeah man. jared and jensen are both just ‘guys from texas’ but they are still so vastly different. today i actually had a revelation that i’m pretty sure has to do with me being bi. and it’s that i have a group of straight friends(that i love dearly but they care too much about hockey and pitbull imo could not be me) and i have a group of queer friends(who are also batshit[affectionate]). and it’s like whichever group i hang out with a different side of me emerges? they’re both me, it’s just that certain aspects of who i am as a person only surface depending on who i am around. however, i will say i feel like i watch what i say around my straight friends more. i see that very clearly in jensen as well. around jared during panels and on set, he’s definitely putting on an air of machismo and engages in typical guy talk. i do think an element of it is performative, because he wants validation from jared that they’re still just two dudes from texas taking on the world together despite his sexual identity. does that make any sense??? i hope so. but when he’s with misha he is an entirely different person and his sense of humour becomes wildly different. the machismo fades away, he’s way less caught up in what people think about him, lets his guard down, etc. to go back to my original point which is how j2 are different in that regard....jared does not do this. he is a constant. he does not flip a switch between ‘performing masculinity’ and ‘not’ because he isn’t performing any part of who he is. he just IS. so yeah these two are similar in many regards but there’s somewhat of a dissonance between them when it comes to how they perform masculinity because one of them is putting on a show and the other is merely being.

2. that crypt scene blooper(here just in case you need to see it again. do it. as a treat.) when i tell you i have easily seen this over thirty times??? since it first came out??? i mean it. it is such an overlooked(r*mantic) moment and it means so much more than people think it does. i’ve talked about the context behind it, and i think that’s why this blooper was so meaningful, so i’ll mention it again. jensen and misha had a LOT of trouble with this scene. the reason is that jensen couldn’t wrap his head around why dean would be saying these things, if i remember correctly, and both of them sat down and scoured over how they should play it for a while before filming(teamwork ;) teammates *ahem*). [to be honest we all know why jensen had a hard time with that scene and it is because it is blatantly romantic. rip to him but i would simply give in to it at that point but oh well] so anyway, their heads were scattered going into shooting, which is NEVER a good headspace to be in for a scene, ESPECIALLY not a pivotal one. but they had each other to help them through said weird energy on set that couldn’t possibly have invoked the best feelings, especially considering jensen STILL doesn’t think he played that correctly(but he praised misha on his performance :,) ). and with that context every single part of that video hits haRD

-’stop pulling my face towards your crotch’ i think this is objectively hilarious because it really really looks like jensen is pulling HIMSELF towards misha’s crotch. again, you’re fooling no one, jensen. misha’s wheezing laugh and the way he wraps himself around jensen is also,,,sweet??? like i don’t know how else to describe how i see it but this moment really reads as jensen, in his weird ‘constructing elaborate rituals’ way is asking for security through a physical touch from misha and he happily obliges and gives jensen what he needs. because i mean...watch it again. jensen ‘fights back’, but not really at all, actually. pretty wimpy counterattack. he literally lets himself be smothered by misha, and i would literally describe what they end up doing as cuddling.

-’i need you, cas. you’re my baby daddy’ i love having an actor’s perspective on things bc i think i can explain what’s going on here. jensen just delivered what was(in his own mind) a rotten take of the lines he’s most scared of delivering. so the scene was already messed up. therefore; ensuing fuckery is warranted to help him feel better. but there’s also for sure more than meets the eye for what he says here because of misha’s reaction after??? like he seemed genuinely touched. first of all, he’s saying ‘you’re my baby daddy’ as half-jensen, but not necessarily dean either(because he didn’t say the previous lines as true to his character...you get it), to misha, not cas. i think i’ve made this point before, but every single innuendo in the gag reels is to misha specifically, never once cas. therefore; logical conclusion: ‘you’re my baby daddy’ was for misha and it meant something deeper than we think because of what follows it

-this part. jensen’s giddy ass smile after he sees misha crack and then misha says ‘yeah, i know’ (can i just say his voice when he says this is so intimate???? like am i intruding guys??? sorry i’ll let myself out) also he is smiling SO BIG

- ‘i know’ ‘why are you laughing?’ ‘no i know i love you too’ this analysis is already so long but i still want to get into what THAT whole exchange means. ‘why are you laughing?’ to me sounds like jensen’s pretending to be affronted by misha laughing at something that is serious. and it’s serious because he quite literally meant ‘i love you’. he did. misha knows it. misha’s really REALLY good at cutting the bs and just getting to what people are actually trying to say. he has an innate sharpness to his sense of humour. so yes, misha is being 100% accurate when he says ‘i know, but you wanted to say it.’ misha isn’t lying here. jensen did want and mean to say ‘i love you’. and then he actually does say it(in a jokey way but not really).

- so yeah. it is actually so romantic??? like in a weird way jensen was professing his love for misha here?????? and that’s why this clip will NEVER. ever. get old.

3. jensen having trouble with pda and projecting onto dean: we can all call ourselves dean coded cas girls but NO one deserves that title more than jensen ackles himself. he is dean winchester but marginally less repressed because he actually did admit he was in love with his best friend and let himself be happy, and pretty early on too. one year and two months as opposed to twelve years. so. happy deancas au is correct. and yes about the pda thing: one day i want to write my own post about both of their body language when it comes to each other, but all i can tell is jensen, even in the early days, couldn’t help himself from flirting with misha, but if misha ever crossed a line, jensen would not be happy. clearly he’s come around, however. what i find sweet is that misha always follows jensen’s lead when it comes to how much affection they’re allowed to show each other onstage. it touches my soul

4. destiel is cockles fault. yeah. and the thing is everyone knows it, too. even non-cockles shippers will explain early destiel as entirely dependant on jensen and misha’s wild chemistry. and that chemistry is easily explained by the fact that misha and jensen are literally just wildly horny bisexuals who were crazily attracted to one another and were falling in love on screen before our very eyes. and when you have THAT insider info(which sounds cray doesn’t it!!!! the destiel actors are in love irl??? huh???) everything really does click into place. why destiel got SO popular when the show and actors never ever intended for it to happen.(i know some people think misha was playing cas as gay the whole time for shits and giggles, and i won’t deny that[especially considering he found out early on that destiel was why he was staying on the show], but i don’t think he really wanted it to amount to anything, nor did he care??? i mean he has the real thing with jensen, for one, so their characters aren’t really as important. for two, he loves joking about destiel because it’s a cultural phenomenon and it’s fascinating, and i’m sure he did ship it because he’s unhinged, but i don’t think it was vastly important to him either way.) destiel got popular because everyone was and is unintentionally reading into the real deal. i could pull up countless gifs that people have used as destiel proof that is actually just jensen and misha being messy. mainly jensen. if i’m being honest. the symbiotic relationship between destiel and cockles is why i’ve stayed onboard the destielcule and shellerscape for three solid months now; because it is utterly fascinating to witness and kind of super beautiful, too.

5. alma(and others). so. i do NOT want to really REALLY get into this in its entirety here and now so i will just give you my opinion on if i think alma is misha or not. also; i don’t want to mention the other poetry accounts here bc i feel like that’s a bigger breach in privacy, but a lot of people do know about alma now. way too many, actually. this is why we can’t have nice things. anyway-to answer your question-there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that yes, misha is running that alma poetry account. i am 100% certain. some people think it’s actually three people and they’re all connected to misha in some way but that is so needlessly complicated. as it goes in psychology; the easiest explanation is probably the right one. it’s just one person running that account, and it is misha collins. i don’t know why it’s so hard to believe KNOWN POET misha collins(who is known to spend most of his free time writing poetry anyway) would have created a secret poetry account to write about his intense secret relationship under an alias and also get legitimate feedback since no one used to know it was him. oh and the handwriting is identical??? you are blind if you do not see that i am sorry. and a million other things prove it’s misha too but yeah all you need to know is yes. it’s him. it would take a literal livestream from a random woman on that account to convince me otherwise. and honestly not even that because a random woman could technically still log in if misha asked her too. so. it would take a hell of a lot to convince me otherwise, clearly. that said DO NOTTTTTTTTTTTT GO ONTO THAT ACCOUNT WITH A SUPERNATURAL RELATED USERNAME AND COMMENT THINGS THAT ARE COCKLES RELATED. ARE YOU BRAIN DEAD WHY WOULD YOU THINK THAT’S OKAY. sorry i got heated but god please just don’t be dumb so many people have already gone way too far

6. thank you for your lovely compliment on my analyses!!! i love doing them but i don’t know if people actually like reading them so i really appreciate it

#liz answers #cockles ask #mini analysis #spec #mine

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s-n-a-k-e-p-i-t · 4 years

Text

simple questions / draco x hermione

A/N: coming @ you with some more dramione things that just live in my head rent free until they get moved to tumblr rent free

Warnings: mention of alcohol

Premise: After getting his task from Voldemort, Draco is coming to terms with the fact that once he kills Dumbledore, his life will no longer be his own. Overwhelmed with feelings he decides to do one last thing for himself.

Word count: 2k ish

- - - - - -

It was ridiculous, really, for him to be be so concerned with trivial things, the Christmas ball no doubt. But, he supposed it was a part of his acceptance. Acceptance that after this year his life would never be the same. That from that point forward he would either live forever in fear or be forever feared by others, and if he was being perfectly honest with himself, neither of those lifestyles appealed to him much at all.

He had never really wanted people to fear him, it was just easier that way. Love was complicated, but fear, oh fear was very simple and it had served him for the time being. But the fear he was used to had always been instigated by a couple of harsh words he didn’t really mean or maybe a scowl, and the new fear he would come to be controlled by would follow murder...

He’d have to take life from another human being... when he’d never even squished a bug.

And so he sat, alone in the Slytherin common room while everyone else was at dinner, thinking about all the things he could do while his life was still his, before he’d have to murder dear ol’ Dumbledore, and his path would change forever.

He scoffed. Tad dramatic.

He knew he’d still have his friends after carrying out his task. After all, most of their parents were Death Eaters. One life taken by him was nothing compared to what their parents had all done. They'd be hesitant at first, but eventually would come around, especially once they took their Marks.

A face flashed behind his eyelids and he pinched the bridge of his nose. A sinking feeling filled his stomach and he took a deep breath. That face would surely never come around, not that she thought much of him to begin with. No, he’d definitely never come back from this one with her. These last few months were all he had left with her, better make the most of it.

She had always intrigued him and he had found it hard to ignore her. She was smart, sharp, and she challenged him in ways no one else really had the guts for. They were similar in many ways and he had come to find that he actually really enjoyed being around her. And though she had what his father had always referred to as, “dirty blood” he had found himself caring less and less about it over the past six years of knowing her. He’d even stopped using that awful word their second year after seeing how upset it had made her. He had always wondered that if things were different, if they would’ve stood a chance. And now, with this given assignment, he was sure they never would.

His stare bored into the fire as the gears in his mind continued to turn. The reflection of the flames danced on his face and he pressed his knuckles against his lips. He took a deep breath in and a deep breath out and made a decision. “Now or never,” he breathed. And with that he stood up rather quickly, and slipped into the corridor to make his way to the Great Hall.

- - - - - - -

Hermione had just said goodnight to Harry and Ron, who were turning in early in preparation for tomorrow’s quidditch match. Tired, but not quite ready for bed, she had decided to hang back at dinner. Ginny and Neville were carrying on a friendly, but heated debate, but even they eventually wore each other out and retired for the evening. Hermione stood to leave with them, but as they exited the Great Hall, she stopped and turned to the courtyard. It was a clear night and she enjoyed catching constellations when she got a chance.

Draco rounded the corner, managing to keep his pace calm and his appearance normal despite the fact his nerves were eating him alive. As he made his way towards the Great Hall, assuming she’d still be at the table talking with her glued-at-the-hip companions, a slight movement caught his eye. There she was, looking up at the night sky and completely oblivious to him approaching. He swallowed hard, his nerves threatening to suffocate him.

“Granger,” he whispered. No response. She was completely mesmerized. He inched closer, as quiet as possible as to not scare her.

“Granger!”

She yelped, clearly startled and he instantly felt a twinge of guilt for freaking her out that badly. When she regained her composure, she raised a skeptical eyebrow to him.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” She asked, her voice almost tired of having to ask that question.

He licked his lips. His adrenaline had gotten him to her, but he still hadn’t quite planned out what exactly he was going to say. He opened and closed his mouth. He suddenly felt extremely foolish for thinking she would actually say yes to him.

“Right,” she sighed, “Well, when you think of whatever insult you want to throw my way, you know where to find me.”

She took a step, in an attempt to walk around him, but he moved to his right, blocking her path. He looked down into her eyes, feeling her breath hit his face. They were closer than they’d ever been and she was not having it.

“Malfoy, seriously,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Granger, please, just-” he stammered.

She took a step back and he immediately felt the absence of her presence. She crossed her arms across her chest, waiting for him to get to the point.

“I know I haven’t been the nicest guy in the world-”

Hermione laughed. Out loud. In fact, it echoed off the stone surrounding them. The sound completely engulfed him. He closed his eyes and waited for her to be done. He deserved it and he knew it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but are you trying to apologize to me? Has Hell frozen over? Are you ill?”

His hands balled to fists. “If you’d let me finish, you’d know what I was trying to say,” he clipped back.

The amusement in her eyes returned, “Right of course, carry on.” She was mocking him.

“Granger. I know this sounds ridiculous, believe me, I'm surprised too..” he took a step towards her. “..but, the truth is, you have always interested me.”

Hermione sucked in a breath. That was not what she had been expecting to hear.

“You challenge me in skill, you actually stand up to me when I’m, well, myself and well you’re, um,” he struggled to find the words, ”actually not too hard on the eyes either.”

Neither was he. She banished the thought almost immediately.

“Gee, thanks, Malfoy. Can I go to bed now?”

He rolled his eyes. “Granger, please just listen to me.”

“Let me think about it,” she said, tapping her chin three times before replying with a short, “No.” And then she went to step around him again and he went to block her again, grabbing her wrist. Her eyes met his, they held the gaze, neither one of them daring to back down. When he blinked, she use the excuse to sweep her eyes over his face, noticing how his jawbone stood out more than usual and his eyes seemed to ache for the comfort of sleep. He slowly let go of his hold on her. Maybe he was falling ill.

“Granger. Look everything is going to hell, I’m just hoping for a glimpse of heaven, before you-you,” his voice faltered, “Before you hate me forever.”

She laughed under her breathe and muttered, “Little late for that.” And then louder, “Now if you’ll excuse me, as much as I’d like to pretend you haven’t chugged a flask of fire whiskey and there’s actually a point to this conversation, I’m going to bed.”

She saw the hurt flash in his eyes and decided to use that to her advantage. This time when she stepped around him, he didn’t block her. He was grasping at straws. Admitting feelings? Not something his father had prepared him for. Asking a long time enemy to a ball? Not covered in Bellatrix’s teachings.

“Look, Gra- Hermione please just hear me out,” he tried one more time.

She heard her first name and turned swiftly around. Curiosity danced in her eyes as she took in the sight of him. Vulnerable, pleading, honest...? She almost didn’t recognize the boy in front of her, almost. Luckily, over the past few years, she had seen this version of him a handful of times. Times when his mask slipped and she saw who the real Draco Malfoy was. Not the hard outer shell reinforced by Lucius time and time again, but someone who overcame a great deal of expectations and was tired of playing the part. She would never admit it out loud, but had he been like that all the time, she believed they could’ve been, at the very least, friendly. Her curiosity had the best of her. “What?”

He closed his eyes, another deep breath. She watched him carefully, her walls coming down, but still guarded. His eyes betrayed his normally calm demeanor. She stood, anxious in anticipation.

“Will you go to the Christmas ball with me?” He hadn’t meant to say the words so fast, but his nerves had gotten the best of him. He felt his cheeks immediately heat up, his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

The words hung in the air between them. She certainly hadn’t expected him to say that. Hermione didn’t even realize her mouth had fallen open, shock written all over her face. She shook her head, as if to gather her thoughts and then took a step towards him.

The silence was painful for Draco. His eyes remained glued to her every move as she scanned the courtyard.

“Please?” He added with a shrug, his voice small, sounding very not like himself at all.

Her face changed suddenly, and she spoke. “Look Malfoy, I don’t know what kind of sick joke this is, but I refuse to be the punchline.”

His face twisted into confusion, hurt littering his features, “No, that’s not what-”

“Ha ha! So funny! Go ahead run back to report to your little friends and collect your winnings.” She fought hard to keep her voice steady, but her emotions were threatening to break out. She was embarrassed not just from what he had asked her, but for what admiring him just moments before. She threw her walls back up.

“Granger, please, I just, let me prove it to you, just listen-”

“No, you listen. If this is seriously your idea of entertainment, count me out. I’ve heard enough from you and I will not continue to put up with this garbage. I refuse to play along with this stupid little act. Now if you don’t mind, I really will be going now.”

She stalked away and he let her go, watching her disappear into the darkness of the castle.

When he was finally alone, he let out a big sigh. Perhaps he deserved this, no scratch that, he knew he did. He felt incredibly stupid thinking she would ever even entertain the idea of agreeing to go with him. He hadn’t even stopped to think about how she would take it. And now she had seen him like this. He’d really dug quite the hole for himself.

The bells rang out on the hour and he headed back in. As he made his way towards the edge of the courtyard, he noticed a rose bush. The flowers seemed to have a soft glow under the moon and starlight. He cut a few off of the bush with his wand and stuffed them in his robes before retiring into the castle for the night.

- - - - - - -

She laid in bed that night, tossing and turning. Sleep would not come easily. Had that really happened? Had Draco Malfoy asked her to an event? As his date? She thought of his face, giving way to his real personality. Who he was without his gang of friends, without his father, without his tyrannical leader. She had always thought he had a nice face. And though she could go without the douche personality, she did enjoy his mind as well, how he too seemed to know all the answers and how, without fail, he always managed to be the one to finish her sentences in classes. She remembered glances they’d shared, off character things he had said, and a smile she’d managed to catch a few times over the past few years.

She thought about it all night.

- - - -

The light peaked through her window, slowly stirring her from her deep, dreamless sleep. No one else in the room had woken up yet and so she decided to head out early and get a jump start on some reading. She threw on her uniform and quietly made her way down into the common room.

As she sat on the couch, a new object at one of the tables caught her attention. Timidly, she tiptoed over to the table to find a single rose laying on the warm wooden surface. A small piece of parchment was attached. She picked it up, inspecting it closely, blinking several times to ensure she was in fact, not dreaming.

Just let me prove it to you.

-DM

She put the rose into her bag, careful not to scrunch it up and sighed before exiting the common room in pursuit of the library.

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myheartissetinmotion · 3 years

Note

omg I only just saw your brat pack ask game so I’m gonna be super late and ask you questions for it now: 6, 8, 15, 25, 26, 31 and 33

ahhhhhh ty!!

6. favorite geek?

surprising no one, my heart belongs to MTG’s portrayal, but I also really love Kyle’s and Pip’s (his riffs in the video you sent to the discord that time live in my head rent free)

8. favorite basket case?

QUINN QUINN QUINN

the vulnerability the vibes the vocals all of it

her 🥰

(honorable mention to queen Emily Lopez)

15. song you think is better than the original?

I will yell to the rooftops about how each rebel (specifically Shawn) takes the shallow lyrics of somebody’s baby and turns it into this vulnerable lovestruck banger

25. moment that had you Shook™️ when you first watched it?

the first production I saw was the cruise ship version on Shawn’s youtube channel, and I was full-on vibing up until the rebel’s confrontation with mr; when I say shook I mean SHOOK

theatre. god. theatre

I’m aware that the way I’m talking here makes me sound like some unintelligent teen but I swear I do have Actual Eloquent Nuanced Thoughts about the way young people are treated by authority etc

26. favorite acting choices?

I’m just gonna answer this with the cruise ship production bc that’s the one I’ve watched the most-all of them, truly, but the ones coming to mind include every little breath, pause, and movement in Shawn’s phone monologues, the visceral yearning/regret/resignation/pain/etc of Quinn’s your eyes reprise, Michael’s “I would have died for you” and that entire bit seeming so much more genuine than even the original movie, Katie’s “I just want to let them know that they didn’t break me”, each inflection in Patrick’s voice that makes his character go far beyond the stereotype, Perry’s “I’m a swell guy” making you physically recoil, and EVERYTHING DURING THE ENTIRE DETENTION SCENE

31. favorite costume?

the princess’ during “changes” (which I attempted to recreate when the seniors had 80s day at school a few months ago) has to take the top spot, along with that iconic duckie look and the ensemble outfits

33. what does the show mean to you?

in short, everything.

I first saw a few breakroom clips that had been sent to a zep discord I’m in, at first watching it for Michael and Patrick and very quickly falling for the whole atmosphere. It was my reprieve, the representation of the senior year my friends and I should have had, and the representation of all I want to do as a theatre actress: immersive, joyful work that covers quite a bit of the human condition in an honest way.

When I got more into it and did a bit more digging, I learned of the pre-show karaoke, prom royalty chosen from the audience, discounts for high school students, costumed crowds, even more audience participation, etc, and it was almost painful. This is the kind of show that makes me miss theatre more than anything-I remember watching the cruise production once, and when Shawn said that line about the world hurtling to an apocalypse, I almost cried. The finale was deeply bittersweet for a time, because no matter how hard I sang along, I couldn’t will myself into that moment; I was still in my parents’ living room, headed to a college that’s nowhere near my first choice, the future of the art form I’ve dedicated myself to-not to mention, of course, the world itself-appearing as a menacing question mark. I longed and still long not only for the life being portrayed on that stage, but the life taking place on it.

anyway it’s a Very Good Show, and I’d give anything to be part of it and to work with those people. thank you and goodnight

#my life #musicals tag #ftr: brat pack #ftr #for the record #for the record the brat pack #ftr brat pack #for the record: the brat pack #for the record brat pack #for the record live #my faves #michael thomas grant #kyle sherman #quinn d’andrea #emily lopez #shawn w smith #katie lee #patrick ortiz #perry ojeda

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ohemgeeitscoley · 4 years

Text

"Do you want the room or not?" Ben asks, pushing his hands in the pockets of his sweater. It's so jarring to her. Every story she has ever heard that involved Ben centered around his confidence, his anger, the way he could just command a room.

None of it matched with the image in front of her.

"Yeah," she finally responds. "Yeah. I do."

----

In which Ben learns Rey's nightmares, her favorite tea, and how to sneak into her heart.

Fandom: Star Wars

Pairing: Rey/Ben Solo (Reylo)

Note: None of this would ever have been written if it weren’t for @andyouweremine Not only is she a fabulous beta who makes my writing better, but she’s the one that sent me the post to Reylo Week and said we should write something for it. Also, she listened to me go on and on about this song and all of the feelings it gives me. Seriously, I have no idea what I have done in my life to deserve such an amazing and supporting friend, but I love you a whole lot. Thanks for being my shipping soulmate and spiraling with me on this.

This was written for Day One of Reylo Week 2020 Favourite Song Lyric or Quote. "For Island Fires and Family” by Dermot Kennedy is the inspiration behind this, so I definitely recommend listening to it.

Read on AO3 or below.

But she’s bringing the moon and stars to me

Damn permanent reverie

***

“What do you mean Ben Solo says he has a room I can rent?” Rey asks Poe. “This is the same Ben Solo that seems to personally enjoy making your life a living hell?”

“He’s a defense attorney. I’m a prosecutor. That’s literally his job,” Poe explains, shrugging. “He’s just… annoyingly good at his job.”

“Thanks Poe. I really needed that brilliant explanation as to how the adversarial American legal system works.”

“I’m just saying,” Poe wraps a glass in a piece of newspaper before placing it in the box next to him. “He’s also one of my oldest friends and despite… well, anything you’ve probably heard about him, I know he’s a good guy.”

"And he just happens to have a room available to rent out to a grad student who can barely afford ramen?"

Poe's smile is more like a grimace as he raises his hand to awkwardly scratch at his neck. "That's what he tells me."

Rey grabs a stack of plates from the cupboard, setting them down on the counter to start wrapping. "I still don't know why you would ask him. We barely know each other."

"I was with him when you texted me," Poe holds his hand out for Rey to pass him a plate. "And he offered.

"Why would he do that?" Rey asks, crossing her arms across her chest. "He doesn't even know me."

"Like I said," Poe shrugs, taping the box closed. "He's a good guy."

***

"That can hardly be considered fair rent for living here, Ben," Rey argues, her eyes wandering around the apartment. It is in a much better location and is at least three times the size of her last apartment.

It also isn't in a building that is being condemned.

Ben blushes, looking away from Rey. "It's the friend of a friend discount."

Rey snorts. “I would think the friend of a friend discount would be letting a complete stranger move in with you on, like, twelve hours’ notice. Not offering a bedroom and free reign of the rest of your apartment for less than what I was paying for an apartment that is being condemned.”

“I really don’t need the money,” Ben says shyly.

“They pay you pretty well to make sure the bad guys remain on the street?” Rey asks. She regrets it as soon as she sees Ben tense, the bashful look gone from his face.

"Ben, I didn't… I'm sorry," Rey sighs, glancing at the floor. She counts to three in her head before looking back up at Ben. She ignores the way it almost hurts her to notice that he's stepped back away from her. "I didn't mean it like that. It's your job. And I'm sure not all of your clients are actually guilty. But even if they are you're still just doing your job."

Ben doesn't say anything. Rey is working her way through her mental list of friends that she could call for a place to crash at least for the night. Certainly Poe and Finn wouldn't mind her staying just one night. And even if they did, it was Poe who thought that her staying with Ben would work out and clearly it wasn't going to work.

She reaches in her purse to grab her phone so she can start looking for hotels. She tries not to think about how she decidedly cannot afford to stay in a hotel for any length of time.

None of it matched with the image in front of her.

"Yeah," she finally responds. "Yeah. I do."

***

Rey has nightmares.

Ben doesn't mention them and he doesn't ask questions. But he does make sure to brew the coffee extra strong the next morning and to hand her a cup first thing when she walks into the kitchen. He doesn't know her yet, but he knows enough to know that Rey isn't comfortable talking about herself or her past.

And he knows enough about nightmares to know that they are rooted in the past.

So he stays away. He wakes up when he hears her rustling around the kitchen, hears the soft whistle of the kettle when she makes tea.

But he stays away.

Rey doesn't mention anything to him and he knows that she would if it was something she wanted to talk about.

The more he gets to know her, the harder it is to stay away. She opens up to him slowly, small glimpses into her past when she talks to him about her day while he makes dinner after work or when they are walking around the farmer's market on the weekends planning meals for the week.

He wants to know everything about her. He enjoys being someone that she's comfortable with to talk to about her days, her dreams, and her past.

But he doesn't want to push her. He doesn't want to be too much.

He's always been too much.

He's never had a roommate before and he isn't quite sure where the appropriate boundary line lies for these kinds of situations.

He's scared of pushing too hard and crossing it.

It's just past three am when he hears her whimpering in bed. He stays quiet in his room, rolling over in bed to his side. He listens as she walks out of her room and he hears her sob, and he can't stay away.

She isn't alone, she doesn't have to be alone, and he needs her to know that.

He holds her and she cries against his chest. All he wants to do is comfort her, to bring her peace the way she does for him without even trying.

So he takes her to the roof and opens himself up to her.

***

Rey curls her feet under herself as she settles into the couch. Ben moves around the kitchen, pulling a mug from one cupboard and honey from another. Her eyes follow him, taking in all of his small movements, the way he squints his eyes in concentration to make sure he is squeezing just the right amount of honey into the bottom of her cup before adding hot water and tea. She still doesn’t quite understand exactly how she got so lucky to fall into being his roommate, let alone someone he cares about.

There was a time when Rey’s only knowledge of Ben had been what she had heard from other people, stories of a rather closed off defense lawyer, all tall, dark and brooding. Full of anger. Rumors that Rey knew were based in truth, but did nothing to actually describe who Ben was underneath the facade that Snoke had helped create. If Poe hadn't offered Ben and Ben’s apartment as a lifeboat when Rey needed a place to stay, Rey never would have known anything different.

Ben had only been a part of her life for six months, but the thought of not knowing him hurts her. The idea that she could have gone about her life without knowing the depths in which he could care, the almost constant actions he took to ensure that the people he cared about knew they were cared for threatens to overwhelm her. Rey spent her entire childhood bounced from one bad foster home to the next. Believing that people cared about her isn't natural, but she believes Ben.

Ben who knows what kind of tea she likes to drink after a long day and knows how much honey she adds. Ben who teased her for her odd precision the first time he watched her make tea after she moved in, but remembers it all the same.

Ben who now makes the drink perfectly for her, because he notices without her saying a single word that she's had a bad day. His reaction is to make her feel better, even when Rey knows that Ben's day has been worse.

He first takes care of her.

“Tell me about your day?" Ben asks, stirring the tea a few times before he walks out of the kitchen and holds the cup out for her to take.

“Or," Rey begins, taking the cup from him, "you could tell me about your day instead."

Ben stares at her, eyes narrow as he sits next to her.

"Don't look at me like that." Rey blows on her drink and presses her feet against his legs. "You made me tea for my day, which has already made it infinitely better. You can tell me about your bad day first."

"And what makes you think I had a bad day?"

It's the way he says it that sets her off. The self-deprecating tone of his voice, the attempt to hide from talking to her by pretending that everything is okay.

As if she can't read him as easily as he reads her. As if she didn't hear the clipped way he ended their call when she called asking if he needed anything when she stopped at the market. Like she didn't notice the lack of grammar and unusually high amount of typos in his messages to her at the end of the day.

Or the way he moved around the kitchen making her tea. His shoulders tense and his thoughts loud. The way he kept brushing his fingers across her ankle as they talked.

How when she walked into the apartment he looked at her like she was something he wasn't sure he deserves. And how he only looks at her like that when he is convinced that there are two versions of him: the monster he is at work and the person he is with her at home. When he starts to believe that maybe he's nothing more than a monster and she just hasn't noticed.

Or that she hasn't had an opportunity to leave him for it yet.

She doesn't tell him any of that though.

"I know you," she summarizes. "Tell me about your day."

"You don't need to hear about the things I do at work." Ben's laugh is hollow. "Some days you're the only person who looks at me like I could be something more than I am."

"I hate when you do that," Rey admits, shaking her head. "When you act like what you do at work makes you a bad person."

"I am a bad person." It's an absolute truth when Ben says it and the clear intensity in which Ben believes it breaks her heart.

"The things I do, Rey," Ben shakes his head, his sentence trailing off. “It’s not something that’s up for debate.”

“You’re not a bad person, Ben Solo,” Rey whispers, glancing down at her tea for a moment before back up at Ben. “I hate watching him try to convince you that you are one.”

"Rey," Ben sighs, "It isn't that easy."

"But it is Ben," Rey says, her voice soft. She knows that she can't push, that every time she tries to push him on this he snaps and shuts down and that she hasn't and won't get anywhere that way. And she knows that she has to get somewhere. She refuses to even think about what will happen if she can't. "It is that easy."

***

Ben knows that something is wrong as soon as he walks into the apartment. For starters, the apartment is almost completely silent. He can hear Rey’s footsteps, but there is no background noise.

Rey hates silence.

Usually when he gets home he can hear whatever movie or show Rey is playing in the background, or, if she’s studying, he can hear music coming from her bedroom. Or, he’ll hear Rey mummering to herself as she reads through her notes or textbooks, or she’ll be humming under her breath.

But he’s taken off his jacket, and hung it on the coat rack by the door, and he’s toed off his shoes and slid them next to where Rey’s are and all he has heard are Rey’s footsteps.

The second sign: Rey is pacing.

Ben has only ever heard Rey pace after a particularly bad nightmare. It’s barely 6:30 and Rey is pacing in silence. She hasn’t shouted at him asking how his day was or what he’s making for dinner.

For the first time in six months, Ben is apprehensive about what he is going to walk into when he finds Rey.

“Hey,” Ben says as he walks into the living room, a tight smile on his face.

Rey stops pacing in front of the TV, which is on a news channel, but the volume is muted. Ben doesn’t need to hear the words to know that the coverage is focused on the trial he won earlier in the day.

The case itself was a high-profile case. It’s the reason the results of the trial are being aired on the news. It doesn’t take a lot to sensationalize a brutal murder and sexual assault. Hux had originally been the attorney Snoke had assigned to handle the case. It was reassigned to Ben after a case review when Ben pointed out the inconsistencies in the interviews Hux had conducted with the detectives about when, or even whether, the arresting officers had read the client his Miranda rights.

Ben hadn’t wanted the case. Ben usually was assigned the more white collar crimes, embezzlement, fraud. Occasionally, Ben would get assigned the larger drug trafficking or prostiution rings. But the homicide and violent offenses were hard for Ben to stomach.

But at the end of the day, Ben doesn’t choose his clients. He represents who he is told to represent.

And in this case, Hux overlooking the inconsistencies in the interviews had just been the start to the amount of holes and deficiencies in the prosecutor’s case.

“How do you do it?” Rey asks, her voice almost cracks and Ben knows that this isn’t a conversation he wants to have with her. “How do you represent people like him?” She points back toward the television. “He murdered that girl, Ben. He tortured her for days, he raped her, and then he murdered her. And he just, he gets to go home?”

“Rey.” Ben leans against the wall behind him, folding his arms over his chest. “You say that he did those things, but 12 of his peers returned a not guilty verdict.”

“Because you convinced them to,” Rey shouts, throwing one hand up in the air. “Your job was to convince them that he was innocent and you did it. And I just, Ben, I don’t understand how you can do it.”

“It’s my job,” Ben shrugs. “He is innocent until proven guilty. And there were procedurally a lot of issues. It’s not my fault that the investigation that led to his arrest was flawed.”

“Is that how you justify it?” Rey asks, shaking her head as she steps toward him. “The investigation was flawed? Some human made a mistake while investigating a horrific crime scene and somehow that’s justification to allow a murderer back into society? Is that what makes it okay Ben?”

“Yes,” Ben argues, watching as Rey moves around in front of him. “I did my job. Maybe next time the police and the state will do theirs better.”

“You mean the next time this guy decides to take another girl and kill her?” Rey glares at him and Ben knows that he should walk away now before the conversation goes any further. He’s angry, and she’s angry, and nothing good is going to come from this conversation. “How is that blood not on your hands too?”

“That’s not how it works,” Ben yells. His voice is too loud, too demanding. He flinches when he sees Rey flinch and pull herself back from him.

In that moment Ben knows that he is everything everyone says: too loud, too tall, too stubborn, too proud. He’s everything everyone says he is.

He’s never hated it more.

“That’s just not how it works. I am not out committing crimes or, God, Rey I’m not murdering people,” Ben says, his voice lower and more controlled. “I don’t disagree that the system we have is flawed. But my job is to advocate for my client and to protect the constitutional rights he is afforded. That’s the society we live in, one that believes that it is better for ten guilty men to be free than for one innocent man to be jailed.”

“That’s not how it works,” Rey throws his words back at him with venom. “And you know it Ben. You take advantage of a broken system.”

“I do the best job that I can for those that I represent.”

“You represent monsters.”

“And does that make me one, Rey?” Ben asks quietly, his fingers pressing at her chin to stop her from looking away. “Do you think I am a monster now? Just because of what I do?”

“I don’t know,” Rey responds and Ben drops his hand, taking a step back. “I don’t know what that makes you.”

Ben takes a deep breath, running his hand through his hair.

“I have to go,” he says after a moment, taking another step back from her before turning around to walk toward the entryway.

He hesitates at the door, his hand resting on the doorknob. And he waits for her to call to him. For her to follow him and to keep the conversation going. He’s almost certain that she will, that she won’t let him leave thinking that she believes him to be a monster.

Only she doesn’t.

Ben’s standing in the entryway in silence again, and when he opens the door to walk away, he’s pretty sure a part of his heart breaks.

***

"I thought I would find you here."

Rey refuses to turn her head to look at him. Instead she focuses on the moon shining bright in the sky, on the feeling of the hard cement under her fingers.

She tries not to think about how Ben knew where to find her because he was the one to show her how easy it was to pick the lock to the roof. She tries not to focus on how it made her feel to be a part of something secret with him.

It’s too much.

The constant reminder that the Ben she knows, the one that she knows she is starting to fall for, is the same Ben that passionately advocates on behalf of deplorable people who commit horrific actions.

She can practically hear Poe telling her that it’s his job. And she knows that people aren’t defined by what they do for a living. She's told Ben countless times that his job didn't define who he was as a person, and she never thought that she could be someone who would hold someone’s job against them as a fault. But she can’t quite wrap her head around how Ben, her Ben, can be someone fighting for the wrong side.

How is it possible that the same person who knows without her saying anything that she's had a bad day and makes her favorite tea and sits with her in silence until she chooses to open up be the same person who represents murderers? And does it well enough that they walk away free of a guilty verdict to go back to society to commit the same crimes. It doesn't make sense to her.

She isn't sure she wants it to make sense. It shouldn't make sense.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," Ben says and Rey finally looks back at him, taking a deep breath as she takes in his appearance.

He looks like a wreck.

She hates it. Hates that their fight is clearly affecting him. She hates that they are fighting at all.

She looks away, pulling her knees up closer to her chest, and says nothing.

It's a beautiful night.

The sky is clear of clouds and the moon is bright. There's too much light pollution for her to really make out too many of the stars, but she can imagine them and it's comforting in a way.

The first time Ben showed her how to get to the roof had been after a particularly bad nightmare two months after she had moved in. She had thought that she was doing a better job at hiding them, but Ben proved that he noticed her more than she thought.

He walked out of his room while she was making tea and hugged her. He just held her until the kettle started whistling.

He didn't say anything about the tears on her face when he pulled away, just finished making her tea and asked if he could show her something and took her to the roof.

He stayed up with her, sitting on the cold cement without any complaints, talking to her about the stars and the stories behind the constellations. He talked to her about his childhood and his own nightmares.

“You left,” Rey notes, breaking the silence. She doesn't say how that hurt her. She knows that she doesn't have to. It's almost painful how well Ben knows and understands her.

“I came back,” Ben points out, sitting down next to Rey. “That counts for something, right?”

Rey nods, because it does matter.

Ben doesn't say anything, just sits next to her in silence and looks up at the sky.

"You aren't a monster," Rey says after a moment. "I shouldn't have… I shouldn't have even insinuated that you are. I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize," Ben reaches for her hand, intertwining his fingers with her. "I understand. There is truth to what you said. The work I do sometimes has consequences. And the clients we get at First Order… you aren't wrong about the kind of people I represent."

"Why do you do it?" She asks, turning her head to the side to look at him. "Is this really why you went to law school?"

"No, I went to law school because I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. But I had to do something. Crim law was interesting and it was kind of romanticized, protecting people from the over zealous reach of police and the state, all humans that can be wrong and corrupt. And being recruited by Snoke was prestigious and I liked that." Ben sighs, "Plus it pissed my mom off, which was a pretty big deal to me when I was 25."

Rey rolls her eyes, slowly shaking her head. “'I guess I get how you ended up here. I just don't understand why you stay or even how you can stay. You hate your job, Ben. I know you do."

"I do," Ben admits, looking away from Rey. "But it's all that I know. And I'm good at it. What if it is all that I'm good at? What if I leave and I fail? What if I am only good at defending criminals?"

"That's Snoke," Rey interrupts him. She moves until she's kneeling in front of Ben. She cups his face with her hands, her thumb caressing his jaw, and she waits for him to look at her. "You are so good, Ben. You would be great anywhere."

"You don't know that."

"I do. You're smart, and you listen. You could never be anything less than successful. I absolutely believe that."

"Why?"

"Because I know you. And you, Ben Solo, are a good person."

Ben stares at her, resting his hands on her knees, and his expression is so open and vulnerable. His eyes full of wonder and hope. He looks at her like she's something that he cherishes.

Rey leans forward and presses her lips to his. The kiss is chaste at first, then Ben pulls her into his lap, deepening the kiss as he wraps one arm around her waist, the other in her hair.

Rey pulls away first and Ben grins, his sharp and crooked teeth on full display, and he has never looked more gorgeous.

She has no idea where they go from there.

***

Ben still can't believe that Rey agreed to come with him.

She had been apprehensive about going with him to the Christmas party. But she's here, talking with one of the firm's new associates, champagne glass in her hand. She stands tall with a confidence that Ben knows is all her own. The red dress she spent hours picking out sparkles under the light.

She looks like she belongs.

Rey smiles when she notices him. It's small and private, really it's barely noticeable. But Ben notices and for a moment the room seems brighter. Her smile brightens as he walks toward her and his breath catches in his throat. He has no idea what he has done to deserve for Rey to look at him the way that she does. Let alone for her to smile at him alone.

“Where have you been?” She questions, raising her glass to her lips to finish off her drink. “You spent weeks convincing me to come with you tonight and then you leave me alone with the wolves minutes after we get here.”

“I don’t know that all of my coworkers are wolves,” Ben jokes, trying to get away with not answering Rey’s question.

Rey notices. He knows that she does.

“Wolves. Lawyers. Same thing right?” Rey sets her glass down on the table behind her. “Dance with me?”

Rey knows that Ben doesn’t dance.

But Rey asks, and Ben finds that when it's Rey asking, he isn't very good at saying no.

And so they dance.

Ben places one hand across her back, grinning at her as she mumbles something about his height. She's teasing and he knows it because no one has ever quite fit into his arms so easily before.

Ben's not a terrible dancer. Dancing isn't his favorite thing and he doesn't particularly enjoy the attention that actually dancing brings on, but he can dance. He knows all of the steps and movements for the basic dances. It had been important to his mother, making sure that he knew what to do at all of the different events she needed for him to attend.

If Rey asked, Ben is confident that he would be able to lead in whatever dance she requested. But she seems happy to just sway with him, her cheek pressing against his chest.

"You were gone for awhile." Rey's voice is soft, Ben almost doesn't hear her over the music. "Where did you go?"

"I left my two weeks' notice on Snoke's desk," Ben responds just as quietly, pressing his hand against her back, holding her to him.

He doesn't need to see her face to know she is proud of him.

It's clear in the way she says his name anyway.

"We might actually want to get out of here before he finds it," Ben laughs, enjoying how easy it is to smile with Rey in his arms and the weight of his job off his conscience. "I know you were looking forward to dinner, so we can stay, but--"

"I don't care about the food," Rey interrupts, matching his smile with one of her own. "Let's go home. Maybe I'll even make you dinner."

"I just quit my job Rey, I don't have a death wish."

Rey swats at his shoulder, her eyes narrowing as she glares at him. Ben's smile grows.

***

"Mmmm, no, stop" Rey says, trying to yawn away the sleep in her face while grabbing the books back from Ben's hands. She sets them back down on her desk, rapidly blinking her eyes as she tries to take in her surroundings.

"I wasn't asleep," she lies, glancing up at Ben, trying to ignore the concerned look on his face. "I couldn't have been. Because my final is in three days and I am not ready and I need to keep studying and--

"And you need to sleep," Ben interrupts her, placing his hand on her shoulder. Rey tries to resist the temptation to tilt her head toward him, but his hand is so warm and there and-- "You've barely slept all week. You're going to do great. But only if you sleep."

"What if I don't?" She whispers, looking back at the desk and the stack of notes and highlighted sections of books she still hasn't gotten too. "What if I fail? And I don't graduate? And I never become a social worker? Then what?"

"Then you'll figure something else out," Ben says like it's the most obvious answer in the world. "And you'll be great at it too."

"And if I'm not?"

"I'll still be here to support you, to take care of you."

Rey's heart races at the promising look he gives her.

"It's not your job to take care of me."

"It could be," Ben smiles at her, running his thumb along the side of her face. "It's not like I've got another one at the moment."

***

Rey stretches her legs out in front of her, pointing her toes toward the television. The documentary that Ben is watching is playing and even though Rey has been there the entire time it has been on, she really has no idea what the documentary is playing.

Ben is sitting on the couch behind her, running his hands through her hair. It's nice, the way he massages her scalp with his fingers. Rey hums her contentment, pushing her head back further into Ben's hand.

"You're squirmy," Ben points out as he tugs on a piece of her hair.

Rey grins when Ben separates the piece of hair in his hand and starts braiding. "Is that a problem?"

"Only if you want me to finish braiding your hair. It's hard to do right with all the moving."

"You'll figure it out." Rey leans her head back flat against the couch, her smile growing as she watches Ben huff. He takes apart the braid he had started.

"Brat," he says under his breath, his fingers combing through her hair again, pulling the strands stuck underneath her head out, so that he can start another braid. "Give me the hair ties on your wrist?"

Rey pulls the hair ties off of her wrist and hands them to him. Then she closes her eyes, enjoying the feeling of Ben's hands in her hair, the comfort of having him so close to her. She wishes all of her days could be spent like this.

"Your hands are magic," Rey says after Ben finishes the first braid, right when he's starting on the second.

His hands freeze. Rey smirks, but keeps her eyes closed. She doesn't need to open them to know the expression on Ben's face, or to know how his eyes would be darker than they had been before.

Rey has been more and more blatant with her flirting with Ben since she kissed him, waiting for Ben to kiss her again, or make a move, or, really, to do anything.

Ben resumes the second braid, carefully pulling strands of Rey's hair apart and weaving it through the other strands.

Rey knows that she could have brought the kiss up, but she hadn't. She mistakenly assumed Ben would bring it up and that things would progress from there.

Only he didn't and Rey had felt too awkward to bring up the kiss or her feelings for him.

Which she also knows is stupid because it's Saturday afternoon and she is sitting on their living room floor pretending to be interested in some documentary she couldn't care less about just because he asked her to watch it with him. And his hands are in her hair and all Rey can think about is how nice it feels and how badly she wants to kiss him again.

Ben finishes the second braid and Rey immediately misses the feeling of his hands in her hair. She regrets not moving more and making Ben start over again and again.

She sits up straighter, pressing her back against the couch.

She tries focusing on the documentary, which really should be over but is somehow still going on, but her thoughts keep drifting back to Ben, and the kiss, and her hands.

And, God, how she really wants to find out just how magical those hands could be if he would just touch her the way she wants him to.

Rey pulls her legs up, twisting around until she's resting on her knees and facing Ben. She's mostly eye level with him with the way he's lying on the couch.

"Do you like me?" Rey blurts out. She grimaced at the awkward silence that follows, crinkling her nose as she imagines all of the ways she could have approached that better. "I just, I'm sorry, that's not quite how I wanted…"

Rey groans, closing her eyes. She presses her hands into the couch and stands up, moving away from Ben. If she wasn't so focused on being mortified by the situation she put herself in, she probably would have found the speed and awkwardness of the way he got off the couch and followed her amusing.

"Do you like me," Rey repeats in horror, shaking her head. "I sound like a teenager getting ready to ask the pretty boy in school if he wants to go to steady."

"You think I'm pretty?" Ben asks, placing his hands on her waist. He's smiling at her, and it's that same stupid smile he gave her after she kissed him, and Rey would give anything for that smile to stay on his face forever.

"Yes," Rey answers honestly. "I think you're very pretty."

Ben laughs. "So, is this the part where you ask me if I want to go steady?"

"Maybe." Rey teases, rolling her eyes, while Ben pulls her closer. She places one of her hands on his chest, smiling as she feels how fast his heart is beating. "I guess that depends on what your answer would be."

"I think that you'll find when it comes to you, Rey, my answer is always going to be yes."

***

“I love you,” Rey says without much thought one morning while Ben is placing pancakes on two plates next to the stove. She knows exactly which plate is hers, because the stack of pancakes is at least twice the size of the other.

She isn’t surprised with the way she just blurts out the words without any context or pretense. Honestly, she’s surprised that she’s managed to keep from saying them so many times before. Because she loves him with such an intensity that she feels like she could burst at any moment.

He freezes for just a moment, before he resumes making them breakfast, pouring more pancake mix onto the griddle.

“Ben?” She asks, tilting her head to the side.

“I love you,” she says again.

“Okay,” he responds, carefully flipping the pancakes.

“Okay?” She asks, huffing as she looks at him. “That’s all you have to say?”

Ben doesn't say anything and he doesn't turn around. He stays completely silent as the pancakes finish cooking. He slides them onto his plate before reaching across the counter and grabbing two bananas.

"Ben," Rey huffs, unsure if she's upset that he isn't responding to her telling him that she loves him or if she's upset because he's ignoring her. She's pretty sure it's a good combination of both. "Is that really all you have to say?"

Ben turns the griddle off, unplugging the cord from the wall. He picks up the plates and walks over to the dining room table where she is sitting. He sits across from her and slides her plate across the table.

"Is that…" Rey pauses, biting down on her bottom lip as she looks at him.

She knows that Ben loves her. She honestly knows that to be a fact. And even if she didn't know that, she knew in her bones that Ben would never purposefully hurt her.

So she really couldn't figure out why Ben's only response to her had been 'okay' and complete silence.

"Is that really all you have to say?" Rey finally finishes, dropping her eyes down to her plate.

"You love me," Ben says and Rey looks at him just in time to see him slightly shrug his shoulders. "Okay."

"Ben--"

"Rey. You love everyone that brings you food. So, yeah. Okay."

Rey laughs. She doesn't mean to laugh because this is absolutely the wrong time to laugh. But Ben thinks that she blurts out 'I love you' to anyone bringing her food and not because she's in love with him.

"You think I said that I love you because you brought me food?"

"Sure. Why else would you say it?"

Rey almost misses it, the way Ben's lips twist up for just a second in a smirk.

He is messing with her.

She tells him she loves him for the first time and he is fucking with her.

"I sort of hate you." Rey breaks off a piece of her banana and pops it in her mouth. "Just so you know."

"I sort of love you too," Ben grins. "Just so you know."

***

Rey giggles, honestly giggles, when Ben slips out of her again.

She's already bent in an awkward angle, her hands keep slipping against the tile of the shower and she can't quite hold herself the way she needs to for Ben to stay inside of her.

Not that it has stopped him from trying, numerous times.

He's too tall and the shower is too small for them to have sex. She had spent fifteen minutes explaining this to him when he had joined her in the shower.

She's pretty sure that only made him more determined to prove her wrong.

He drops one hand from her breast to her stomach, using it to hold her back up and he's sliding back inside of her.

It takes Rey's breath away every time. The way he stretches her, how full she feels in that moment, especially with the angle. It's exquisite.

His thrusts are shallow and slow, and it's far more intimate than anything Rey thought she would be comfortable with. But it's Ben and Rey quickly discovered that her relationship with Ben was going to destroy all of the walls that she had spent her entire childhood building.

It scared her at first, the way he could hurt her. The fact that she had let herself care enough about him that he could destroy her.. Now it's just comforting, knowing with everything in her that Ben wouldn't hurt her.

So even though Rey knows that he's going to slip back out because Ben has almost no self control when they are together and he won't be able to keep going at this pace for long. And even if he could, she knows that she'd never be able to come this way, she wraps one of her hands around his wrist, the one that's planted firmly against the tile, and moves her hips back to meet him and enjoys it.

He groans when he falls back out, resting his forehead in the crook of her neck.

She giggles again, turning her head to look at him while he backs up.

He looks so determined. His eyes are narrow as he glances at her and the edges of the tub, as if he's trying to determine the different ways he can have her stand and place her hands to make this work. There are water droplets dripping off of his hair and sliding down his chest. He's so absolutely beautiful that it takes her breath away.

"Maybe if you weren't laughing this would be working," Ben mutters, leaning down to kiss her.

"Yeah. It's my laughter that's causing this problem. Not your apartment having ridiculously small bathtubs," Rey points out, standing up and stretching her arms over her head. "You didn't test your shower out before signing the lease?"

"I can't say 'is my shower large enough for me and my future girlfriend to have sex in' was very high on my list of thoughts when I moved in."

Rey shrugs. "Your fault then."

Ben glares at her, but he's biting his bottom lip and Rey knows he's trying really hard not to smile.

"You could just admit that I'm right and take me to bed so you can fuck me like we both want," Rey offers, tilting her head toward his bedroom.

She can see the corner of his bed in between the gap from the shower curtain and the wall, and she would kill in that moment to be on it with Ben above her.

"Oh no. You are not right." Ben shakes his head, spraying water on her. He leans forward, pressing his lips to her forehead. "I still have ideas on how this could work."

"Ben," she whispers, taking his hand in his. She lifts his hand up to kiss his knuckles. "Take me to bed, please."

"Okay," he agrees, just like she knew he would. "Okay sweetheart."

***

"Move in with me?" Ben asks, his voice low and just above a whisper. He runs his fingers through her hair, grinning as Rey somehow manages to pull him closer.

Rey giggles, her breath warm across his chest where she presses her lips against him in a barely there kiss. "We already live together."

"That’s not-- I'm trying-- I mean--" Ben falters over his words, rolling onto his back.

Wordlessly Rey follows him, adjusting herself until she's mostly laying on top of him and not the mattress. Her elbow is pointy and is pressed into his rib. It's not the most comfortable position Ben has ever been in, but Rey sighs and it's almost as if he can feel her happiness and contentment wash over him.

He can't imagine ever wanting to move.

"Move in with me," he repeats. "And I don't mean live in the same apartment with me with a separate room and a separate bed. I want this to be our room, for this to be our bed. I don't want us to have separate anything."

Ben takes a deep breath, glancing down to meet Rey's gaze. "I love you and I just want to be with you. Stay with me?"

"Yes," Rey breathes, stretching up to kiss him. "Always."

***

"Thank you," Rey says, pulling on his hand and leading him toward their bed.

"For what?" Ben presses his lips against her neck.

Rey tilts her head, giving Ben better access as he continued to trail kisses along her collarbone.

"For giving me a home."

#reylo week 2020 #reylo fic #reyloweek #reylodaily #reylo fanfic #my fic

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sweet-steddie · 5 years

Text

New Beginnings (e.d. & g.d.)

Summary: @slovakdolan sent in a request 50 million years ago that I finally filled! The request was for the main character to get into an argument with her parents and then seek out the Dolans for comfort. As you know, this took me forever and a day to write, so I hope it isn’t hot garbage!

A/N: Here we are at imagine #8! I’m so beyond thankful that people are continuing to read my works, leave feedback AND send in requests! That is every writer’s dream! I will continue to post my work and, hopefully, people will continue to find it somewhat entertaining lol. Enjoy! It’s short, but sweet.

1.9k+

The music in my earbuds is uncomfortably loud; the yelling that I’m trying to drown out is louder. I have tunnel vision as I march toward the front door, bulging overnight bag secured in my viselike grip. I can make out every other vile word being hurled at me as I hurry through the entryway of my family home.

I had seemingly been skating on thin ice with my parents since last week, when they caught a glimpse of the elaborate ink decorating my inner arm over dinner. I had been gesturing grandly in the midst of a story that I was telling them when I flailed my arms just enough for them to catch sight of my newest tattoo; not that I had been trying to hide it in the first place.

As a new graduate with a BA, I’ve been working tirelessly at my job to save up money and move out. The fiasco that ensued earlier today is one of the many reasons that I can’t wait to leave this place. I reflect upon the day; how heat and sunlight had permeated the air, causing me to opt for shorts and sandals before I went about my daily errands. I had returned home, weighed down with grocery bags, seeing as that I make a point to always contribute to buying things around the house while I live here rent-free.

Just as I was setting the grocery bags down on the kitchen counter, I heard my mother before I saw her. “What is that?” she asked in a clipped tone, followed by my full name when I didn’t answer right away. Evidently, she had been sitting at the kitchen table. Confused, I had set down the last of the bags before turning to face her. My father was seated next to her, apparently.

“What is what, mom?” I had asked, eyebrows furrowed with genuine confusion. Her eyes darted down, piercing my skin like spears. She still hadn’t spoken a word. I attempted to follow her gaze until my eyes met the tattoo on my ankle, prominent in my shorts and sandals. I had sighed defeatedly, knowing that I was in for an earful. And that’s exactly what followed.

The fight - or rather, verbal lashing - that had taken place was a mammoth, to say the least. A lot of “tattoos don’t belong on a lady” and “that looks so unprofessional” and “you’ll never get a job looking like that” and “you’ll never get a man looking like that” and things of the like. I had buttoned my lips as things began to escalate, careful of lashing out at the people who could easily kick me out at a moment’s notice. After approaching the one-hour mark of my parents taking turns using me as a verbal punching bag, I’d finally had enough and silently retreated to my room, where I began throwing whatever I could get my hands on into a duffel bag.

As it currently stands, I’m speeding down the highway with my music blasting, determined to arrive at the only place in the world right now that could bring me peace. In less than 30 minutes, I’m pulling up to a familiar house front, parking in the empty space between a bright blue Porsche and a white Jeep. As I’m approaching the front door, my emotions seem to finally catch up with me and I feel a lump forming in my throat as my vision begins to fog up.

I deliver two sharp, desperate knocks to the front door, foot tapping as my thoughts begin to go haywire. The last few hours of my day come gallivanting back to the forefront of my mind and I feel a passionate rush of equal parts anger and despair. When the door swings open, I watch as Grayson’s expressions spans the spectrum: surprise that I’m here, excitement that I’m on his doorstep, and then worry when he notices the tears spilling down my cheeks.

He’s quick to spring into action, gripping my shoulder and pulling me into his chest without a second thought. I go willingly, accepting the pleasantly crushing weight of his arms that have since slithered around me to keep me close. I bury my nose into the material of his T-shirt, taking in the delicious aroma of his cologne and a tinge of his laundry detergent on each inhale.

He walks us over threshold, kicking the door closed behind us and, blindly, I allow him to steer us in the right direction. Eventually, the backs of my knees come in contact with the plush cushions of a couch and I fall back onto it, Grayson at my side. When we both settle into the couch, I allow myself to slightly disentangle myself from Grayson’s body; enough so that I can look up pitifully into his eyes. I sniffle, lower lip wobbling as another tear begins it’s descent down my cheek. Grayson’s thumb easily swipes underneath my eye, stopping the tear in its tracks, before doing the same under my other eye.

Wrinkles of worry crease his forehead as he peers down at me, warm, brown eyes searching my face for an answer to the question that’s soon to leave his parted lips. “What happened?” he all but whispers, now cupping my face with two large hands, handling me like I’m made of glass.

“Grayson,” I whimper out before anything else and he caresses my face with both thumbs, murmuring a soft shh, it’s okay, you’re okay before I take a deep breath and continue on, “I can’t live at home anymore. My parents are driving me up the fucking wall.” Grayson nods his understanding, waiting patiently for me to go on.

“I’m an adult and I can do whatever I want with my body. I can fill my skin from head to toe with tattoos if I want. I work so hard, Grayson. I work so hard so that I can set aside money to do things that make me happy and I help out so much around the house and I pull my weight financially and it’s just never enough,” at this point, I dissolve back into tears, heaving shuddering breaths as Grayson works, once again, to calm me down. I distantly realize that I haven’t given him much context to work with as far as my adamance about the tattoos, but he seems to go along with it anyway.

“Baby,” Grayson coos, eyes shining with sympathy as his thumbs continue to act as windshield wipers for my tears, “breathe, ok? I know you’re upset, but I need you to breathe. Can you do that for me? C’mon, in,” he takes in a deep breath to demonstrate and holds it until I copy his actions, “out,” he breathes out on a heavy exhale and I do the same. We do this together a few more times before my head finally stops reeling and I tell Grayson as much.

“Thanks, Gray,” I lean in and steal a quick kiss off of his sweet lips, which he readily reciprocates three or four times over before I hear footsteps entering the room. I look up just in time to see Ethan approaching the couch, eyes darting carefully over the scene in front of him as his eyebrows furrow.

“What’s the matter, sugar?” he pleads, using the nickname reserved for our softest moments with each other. “Lemme see her, Gray,” he adds as he sits down on the other side of the couch, pulling me gently from Grayson’s grasp and into his own. He runs his hands up and down my back as he kisses my forehead, warm, pillowy lips pressing to the skin over and over again as he gives me time to collect myself.

“I can’t stand it, E. I can’t live at that house anymore with those people,” I blubber quietly and he shushes me as I begin to work myself up again. He presses his forehead to mine.

“Look at me, sweetness,” he goads gently, causing me to slowly reopen my eyes. In this intimate position, I can almost count all of his eyelashes and catch each speckle of light dancing around his irises. Being this close to him, I feel almost physically attached, like we’re part of each other, and this calms me down considerably.

“It’s gonna be ok. I wouldn’t tell you that if I didn’t believe it,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose with mine a few times before continuing. “There’s more than enough room here, with us,” he references Grayson and I feel the boy in question grab my hand and give it a supportive squeeze. “Come live here. It’s better like this anyway; we need each other,” Ethan proposes softly, sneaking in a little kiss to sweeten the deal while he awaits my answer.

I pull him back in for another, running my fingers through his carefully styled curls before pulling away. I don’t even realize how relieved I am at Ethan’s offer until I sigh out, body physically deflating as I all but fall into his chest. He combs his fingers through my hair comfortingly, squeezing me tight. He chuckles a little as he sways us for a moment. “Is that a yes?” he asks, already well aware of my answer.

“Mmhm,” I affirm against his chest and he pulls me, if possible, even closer to his firm chest and I feel the cool metal of his paper clip necklace pressing comfortingly against my cheek.

“Hey, E,” Grayson asks over my head and I can hear the playful lilt in his voice. I feel Ethan nod, encouraging Grayson to continue. “We get to see our girl every morning and every night before bed. We’re so lucky,” he gushes and, even though I can’t see him, I can hear the smile that he surely has plastered across his gorgeous, pink lips. His words send my heart soaring, as usual. I lift my head from Ethan’s chest, using my hands to swipe away any remaining moisture from under my eyes and smile my first genuine smile in what feels like months.

“I don’t even know how to properly thank you and repay you guys for this,” I begin, searching for the right words to convey my utter jubilation and coming up short.

“You can repay us by keeping us company. Keep saving your money from work in case you wanna move out, although Ethan and I would be fine if you lived here forever,” Grayson pauses for emphasis and I giggle out of flattery. “Don’t worry about rent. Let us take care of you,” he insists and my heart clenches in the best way possible. My smile has at least quadrupled in size in the past few minutes.

“Okay,” I agree quietly and Grayson is quick to pull me away from Ethan while his grip is lax, setting me down on his lap so that I’m straddling him, feet crossed behind his toned lower back. He rests his hands low on my waist, smirking as he bumps noses with me, similar to what Ethan had done earlier.

“‘Atta girl,” he says lowly, praising me for accepting the offer. It’s clear to me in this moment that I’m gonna have to get used to my brain turning to mush and my heart beating out of my chest and my stomach erupting with butterflies on a regular basis. I guess that’s just what it means to live with the Dolan brothers.

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reddieloserz · 6 years

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As Long As We’re Together

IT 2017 - Reddie - WIP StreetPerformer!Richie and Bookstore!Eddie Slow Burn, Slice of Life

“When the end of high school began to gang up on the six of them, they each promised the other that the moment graduation happened they would leave Derry for good. Now each of them were 21 (Bill was 22), and so far they have kept that promise.

They had found an old Victorian Townhouse up for rent right off of Main St. They had all agreed on Portland, Maine. They all knew they would be okay as long as they’re together.”

An AU where The Losers are all roommates in a huge house just off of Main St, where they all work. Eddie is a college student working in a bookstore. Richie is a homeless street performer who relies on his guitar and Voices to make money. Trashmouth soon walks into their lives and turns everything upside down.

Chapter 3 Below Cut Also on AO3

Eddie and the gang ended up going home with Bill at the end of his shift that night. Ben and Bev danced the night away, high on the bliss of being with their partner. After Richie had left, Eddie felt that old familiar cynicism and sat back down at his place at the bar counter.

He talked with Bill most of the night, both of them people watching and laughing at a lot of the absurdity that went down before them. Eddie and Bill were never best friends, thanks to Eddie’s crush (unbeknownst to Bill). But since moving to The House they had grown to be extremely close. It seems that that is what happened with all of them. Once you move far away from everything you know, all you really have is each other. Eddie didn’t know if he would find a better love than that. But as he sat and laughed with Bill, his heart pinned for something more. He hoped that he would.

It had been months since Eddie had stayed out this late though, damn near three in the morning. He was so exhausted he had to have Bill hold his hand and guide him to his small room upstairs.

Bev and Ben drunkenly gave them both a soft kiss on the mouth, and then went hand in hand into their own room. Eddie could hear faint talk and laughter every few minutes, and he knew they weren’t going to bed anytime soon.

Bill helped pull Eddie’s shoes off of his feet, but left Eddie with his thick socks and jacket on. It really was freezing in their house, the fireplace long gone cold since they left the house earlier that night. Bill then pulled the comforter out from under Eddie’s immobile body, and he tucks him in nice and tight. He leans over Eddie, barely grazing a kiss into his hair before he is leaning back up to walk out of the room.

“Night, Eddie. I’m glad I saw you dancing tonight. I love you.” His voice was barely above a whisper, and as he turned around, he felt a small, warm hand grasp his.

“Stay, Bill.” Eddie says quietly. He gave Bill’s hand a tight squeeze, stopping him from leaving the room. Bill turned back around to face Eddie’s sad expression. Bill thought for sure that he had already fallen asleep.

“Stay.”

There was a desperation in Eddie’s voice that he was almost embarrassed about. He knew that Bill’s room, which was the attic, was the coldest and the largest in the whole house. It had to be at least ten degrees colder when you went up there. Eddie would tell himself that he only offered for Bill to sleep with him because of the cold weather, but he knew himself better than that.

He was lonely. He wanted a warm body next to his. He usually took advantage of Bill’s kindness in this way. He would ask to borrow Bill’s coat, or coax him into letting him hold hands. Bill did it because of his nearly father-like love for his Losers. Eddie did it so he could pretend, at least for a few minutes, that he had someone just to call his own. No sharing

Bill’s face lit up at Eddie’s request, and he quickly shucked off his own shoes, coat, tie, and jeans before climbing into Eddie’s small bed with him. He loved any opportunity to get some affection from any one of his kids, and he couldn’t control the grin that split his face in two as he snuggled into Eddie’s back.

“Is this okay?” Bill asked, acting as the Big Spoon without actually throwing an arm over Eddie’s body. The warmth that radiated from Bill was familiar and welcoming, and Eddie took a huge big breath in to smell Bill’s signature scent.

“Yeah, it’s okay. Goodnight, Billy.” Eddie said, feeling contentment and exhaustion take over his senses.

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

Eddie pretended Bill was another person. Tried to ignore just how familiar Bill’s scent was. He closed his eyes, feeling Bill’s soft heartbeat on his chest. He pretended that the hair he felt on his neck was black and curly.

He fell asleep with a small smile on his face.

The rest of his weekend began how all his other ones do- Running errands and doing his house chores. Working full time and having a huge ass house didn’t really give him a lot of extra free time.

Everyone else in the house also had a list of things that they had to get done throughout the month- Beverly usually did all of the laundry, Mike did all of the lawn work, Stan did all of the budgeting and billing, things like that. Eddie insisted that he be the one to clean both bathrooms and the kitchen. He said that most bacteria and viruses were brought about through sinks and plumbing, and nobody else was about to argue with him on that- they all agreed that his job had to be the worst out of everyone’s in the house. He liked it though, it just reassured him that things were up to his cleanliness, especially the goddamn bathtub. Living with four hard working boys wasn’t the easiest for him- they stunk.

He had powered through his chores in record time, so he decided to go down to the basement to help out Beverly. Out of everyone, her job was definitely the most time consuming. A few loads had already been completed. Stan, Mike, and Bill’s small hampers were full of fresh smelling linens. It put a smile on Eddie’s face to see Bev’s care in her folding- even all of their socks and underwear.

They were both sitting and folding Ben and Eddie’s last two loads, when Bill came down to fetch his clean clothes. He immediately swept Beverly up into a huge hug, as he always did, and blew a raspberry into her cheek. She laughed and shoved him off as he said thank you, simply clipping, “Don’t mention it Big B.”

Bill grabbed his hamper, shouting over his shoulder up the stairs.

“BOYS! Beverly is done with the laundry, come get your shit!”

Bill gave Bev one more big smile before climbing the staircase, but halfway up he seemed to remember he needed to mention something. Ben and Stan came thumping down, arguing back and forth about something having to do with plants.

“Oh, Beverly. I forgot to tell you- your friend Trashmouth came into the bar last night.” Bill says. This makes Beverly perk up and Eddie pull a grossed out face.

“Trashmouth?” They say in unison, Beverly in excitement and Eddie is disgust. “What kind of name is Trashmouth?” He adds quietly, finishing up with the pile of towels he was folding.

“Yeah! He came in and auditioned for Keith. He totally got a spot to play every Sunday- our open mic night.” Bill says.

“That’s so fucking awesome, Bill, I told him to go in and talk with you about it! Did you get to meet him?” She says, completely enthralled.

“Yeah, I did. The dude is a total card- seriously bonkers. He hung out with me at my counter most of last night, and he wanted me to let you know he was playing next week.” Bill says, a smile pulling at his lips at the memory.

Eddie hadn’t heard a word about Trashmouth - let alone that Beverly had a friend outside of her coworkers and the Losers. He tried to snuff out his jealousy, but it was loud and irritation panged in his chest. Who was this Trashmouth anyway? And why was he so quickly becoming a favorite for his two best friends?

Eddie couldn’t keep the sour expression off of his face, but Bev and Bill ignored him as they chatted. Ben leaned over beside Eddie to pick up his clothes, before standing up straight and speaking up himself.

“Yeah, I know Trashmouth! He was the first person to sign my petition last week. He is the strangest mixture of weirdo and heartthrob. I couldn’t stop blushing, honestly.” Ben said, shame nowhere in his voice. Ben was extremely secure in his masculinity and it would of made Eddie smile at him if he wasn’t already so irrationally irritated.

This made Beverly laugh and pinch Ben’s cheeks.

“Yeah, Mike and I met him at the Tea Shop yesterday- apparently he is a street performer. Have any of you guys seen him play music on the corner near Eddie’s Bookstore yet? Is he as irritating to watch as he is to talk to?” Stan quips in. He had a strange expression on his face, like he was trying his best to fight off a smile at the mere mention of Trashmouth.

Comprehension colored Eddie’s mind- Oh. So that was who they were talking about. Eddie had to admit, he found Trashmouth extremely magnetic as well. Not only that, but for the past few weeks he had found Trashmouth’s music to be one of the best parts of his day. His gravelly voice and soft guitar would sometimes help Eddie drift off to sleep, just the memory of his music soothing him.

Eddie shook himself out of his thoughts just as everyone began to head back upstairs with their laundry. Eddie quickly picked up his pile of clothes to follow behind them.

“Well, I’m glad all of you already know him, because I was going to use this to lead into another question. I asked him if he wanted to come over tonight for a bonfire- is that okay with all of you?” Bill asked from his place on the top of the stairs, looking down on the four of them with a questioning gaze.

“Yes!” Beverly squealed, her face nearly red with joy and excitement. Ben and Stan nodded as well, simply happy that they were going to be having a fire soon- it was getting cold from the sun going down already.

Eddie knew that this was going to be another long night. How did he always get roped into his friend’s misadventures?

While Mike was getting a fire started in the backyard, Ben was preparing hot dogs and burgers to be cooked over the fire.

The anticipation of their very first guest in their home was getting Eddie pretty riled up. He felt near constant waves of anxiety pool into his belly every few minutes. He hadn’t even met the guy yet, but he couldn’t help but already feel like Eddie wasn’t going to be a big fan. He wasn’t one to judge a book by its cover, but just from the details he had picked up from Ben and Beverly he could tell- this guy was a handful.

Eddie swallowed and rubbed his face. You got this, Eddie. It’s just some guy- just a guest. It’ll be… fun. He thought. The word didn’t sit right in his head, even, and Eddie sighed. He wasn’t the best at making friends, and he found himself lucky that he had managed to make the five that he already had.

Beverly, being able to tell just how anxious he really was, knocked on his bedroom door. He called for her to come in, and she quietly opened the door. She stood in front of him, offering a bowl of something that smelled fruity and held up an entire cucumber in front of his eyes.

“Cucumber facial?” She offered, a smile playing on her lips and her eyebrows raised. Eddie’s face broke into a grin. She always knew how to make him feel better.

They walked into the bathroom and Bev sat down on the floor, legs crossed and back pressed up against the bathtub. She had already applied the light green clay mask to the face, and she got busy cutting up the cucumber on a cutting board she had brought upstairs.

Eddie stood in front of the mirror and began painting his freckled face with the cucumber mask. He noticed his skin was dry and nearly cracked, thanks to the cold climate. He scrunched his nose as he rubbing it into his skin, the mask making his face freezing.

“So… Who was that you were dancing with Friday night?” Beverly asks with a coy smile, not bothering to beat around the bush. This makes Eddie blanch and she giggles at him.

“Oh, what? You didn’t think I didn’t notice, did you? Mother knows all.” She says as she laughs at her own joke. Her laughter was like music to Eddie’s ears.

“N-no! It was just…” Eddie tries to resist the smile that wants to crawl on to his face. “It was no one.”

Richie had actually been on Eddie’s mind almost constantly the last few days. They way his front teeth peaked out over his bottom lip, his thick bush of curls, the blue dress he was wearing. The image of Richie was imprinted into Eddie’s mind. It wasn’t just the way that he looked, either. Richie was funny, flamboyant, and just plain odd. He has the strangest and most addicting energy, and Eddie wanted more. He didn’t think that people like Richie actually existed, let alone would be interested in spending most of their night with Eddie.

“It was not no one. Come on, tell me about him. Are you going to see him again? Or was it just a one-time thing?” Her questioning gets interrupted when she picks up a cucumber slice and bites into it.

“He… We… I think it was just a one time thing,” Eddie begins. “But I really, really hope it isn’t. I actually can’t get him out of my mind, Bev.” He admits, blush hidden behind his face mask.

“What was his name?” She asks quietly, trying to hide her smile behind her cucumber slice.

“Richie.” He says breathlessly, a stupidly dreamy look taking over his face.

“What was he like? He seems to have made quite the impression on you.”

“He… He was electric. He just walked right up to me and grabbed my hand, asked me to dance with him. I was scared shitless but he… He was so himself that I felt comfortable to be myself, you know? Like I couldn’t be any weirder than him, so I felt kind of… Safe.” He concludes, not knowing he felt that way until he uttered the words.

“Did you guys not exchange numbers, or…?”

“I told him I wanted to see him again. He promised that I would.” Eddie blushes even deeper at this, but he is all done applying his facial so neither of them see it. “He said he works on Main St. too… So hopefully I’ll bump into him eventually.”

Just as Eddie finishes his sentence, the doorbell rings.

Beverly immediately perks up, her smile growing to an incredible degree.

“That has to be Trashmouth!” She yelps and hands the cutting board of cucumber over to Eddie. She quickly opens the door and speed-walks to the stairs. She doesn’t even stop to wash the mask off of her face before she is already downstairs.

Eddie quickly follows behind her, placing one cucumber over his left eye and taking another slice to complete his look when he has a moment to sit down. He climbs down the steps just as Beverly swings open the door, flinging herself into the arms of a very tall man.

“T! Hi! Welcome to the Losers Club!” Beverly pulls away from him and giggles, wiping off some of the mask that she accidentally got on Trashmouth’s cheek.

“Hey, Bev! Thank you for having me, Ma Cherie. Where’s Bill?” Richie’s voice asks.

Wait.

Richie’s voice?

Eddie finally steps onto the main floor and just as he takes a chomp of his other cucumber slices. When his eyes rake over Richie’s tall form, he is shocked into stillness. His mouth hangs open, mid-bite. As Eddie stares, his other cucumber falls off of his eye and onto the floor.

Richie’s eyes meet his in that moment, and instant familiarity colors Richie’s dark eyes. A giant grin graces his face and he lifts both of his arms up into the air, walking towards Eddie.

“What?! Spaghetti Man!”

Richie is wearing a yellow button up that has psychedelic patterns all over it. It was button only to his sternum, and a little bit of dark chest hair peaked out. It was paired with, you guessed it, a matching colored floor-length skirt and vans. Richie’s hair wasn’t as wild as it had been the other night, but it definitely was voluminous in only the way Richie’s hair could be. Curls cascaded around his face and his beard looked much darker than it had Friday night. He looks absolutely gorgeous, and Eddie couldn’t react fast enough before Richie’s arms were folded around his shoulders, bringing him in for a warm and sincere hug.

Eddie stared wide eyed, not reciprocating the embrace, and staring directly at Bev in horror. She just looked on in fascination. They knew each other?

And here Eddie was, next to the boy of his affections, and he was clad only in tiny red shorts and a yellow shirt, looking like a complete fool. His face was absolutely smothered with his clay mask, and his mouth was stuffed full of cucumber. So stuffed, he couldn’t swallow in time before he had to say something to Richie.

“Hi, ‘Chee.” Eddie says around a full mouth, swallowing painfully. Richie pulls away from him, but keeps his hands braced on Eddie’s shoulder while he gets a better look at the smaller man.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. I didn’t know you knew Bev! Doing a little bit of self care, Princess?” Richie says, wiping away some of the clay mask that had rubbed onto his shirt from hugging Eddie. And Eddie knows that he was not meaning to be condescending, but he felt so embarrassed in that moment he couldn’t help but lightly push Richie away from him.

“Hey! Don’t call me that!” He huffs, glancing over to Beverly in annoyance but she is just staring back at them in complete amusement. She has a mischievous look in her eyes, and she just keeps glancing back and forth between them.

Eddie’s small temper tantrum just makes Richie laugh, and he is bringing Eddie in for another hug, that Eddie begrudgingly accepts. He thanks whatever God there is out there that the embarrassing facial mask is at least covering up an even more embarrassing blush that has spread across his cheeks.

“Wait, wait, wait. Richie? The same guy Eddie was hanging out with the other night? Wait- Your name is Richard?” Beverly asks loudly, walking over to Richie and pinching his arm.

“You never told me your actual name, T! What the hell?!” He retaliates by pinching her back, releasing Eddie from his friendly hold. He keeps going in for pinches a few more times, following her as she guides him into the kitchen to find Bill.

"Trashmouth my stage name! Like Madonna or-"

"Like Madonna?! You think Trashmouth is equal to Madonna?"

Eddie just stands right in his place, not bothering to watch them leave. He was completely shell-shocked. Richie was Trashmouth? The Trashmouth that everyone was so fond of, cascading around Main St like he owned it? Trashmouth, the man that had become the soundtrack to his life since moving to Portland?

The world was much smaller than Eddie ever anticipated.

And Richie just kept getting stranger.

They had all ended up sitting in a circle around their small campfire, and Ben had just finished barbecuing some burgers. Most of the other Losers had little hot dogs on sticks, and everyone was quietly chatting amongst themselves as they huddled around the warmth of the flames. Everyone except for Eddie, that is.

Eddie had quickly gone upstairs and washed his face, changed out of his pajamas, and dressed into something more suitable for a cute boy to see him in. A cute boy that had danced with him for nearly two hours. A cute boy that held him and called him gorgeous. A cute boy that, evidently, Eddie cared a lot about. A lot about his opinion of him, a least.

But Richie hadn’t stopped in his socializing to come talk to Eddie again, not even once, since he greeted him at the front door. He was too busy sharing a beer with Bill, talking about Bill’s art that had recently been put up in The Gallery. Or sitting next to Stan, using different Voices and accents to get him annoyed and riled up until he eventually started throwing buns at Richie while the others begged him to stop wasting food. Richie spent most of his time with Beverly, however, and she was seated on the ground in front of him while he sat in a chair beside Ben, talking quietly to one another.

The Losers had told Richie about how they all grew up together, all sharing the same school, and eventually all running away from home as soon as possible. They told Richie all about their childhood antics, about how Ben and Bev fell in love, about how Stan and Mike had gotten their jobs at the Tea Shop. They basically caught him all the way up into present day, not saving any embarrassing details. They even told Richie about the Roach Incident and Stan’s story telling nearly brought him to tears.

Eddie had decided that his best course of action was to just smoke some weed, eat a hot dog, and stay permeated into the background. Like he always was. At this point he wasn’t even sure if he wanted Richie’s attention anymore. He felt so deflated that he just wanted this night to be over altogether.

He didn’t go upstairs though, because he knew that that would be weird and that the other Losers really did want him there. So instead he remained silent, staring into the fire while he listened to his other friends happily chat amongst themselves. Everyone really was enjoying Richie’s company, he fell right into place with them like a missing puzzle piece. It would of been a very lovely scene altogether, Eddie thinks, if he wasn’t already feeling out of place himself.

Mike seemed to notice his lack of presence, because the large man picked up a lawn chair and plopped it right next to Eddie. Eddie jumped a little, but immediately relaxed after seeing Mike’s warm and friendly face.

“What are you doing all the way over here, bud?” Mike asked, placing a large and warm hand against the top of Eddie’s back. Eddie leans into his touch, gazing back into the darker man’s eyes. Mike just had that effect on people, you know? Where just his presence alone brought a feeling of serenity.

“Nothing.” Eddie shrugs at him, immediately shifting his gaze to the ground. “I guess I’m just not feeling very… social.” His eyes drift over to Richie and Mike doesn’t miss it.

“Feeling anxious about the unwelcome guest?” Mike asks, hitting a complete bullseye. He always knew what Eddie was thinking. No, what they were all thinking. He had to have been an empath or something, Eddie ponders.

“... Yes.” Eddie admits, fingers twitching around his plate. “Not about the guest, just… In general, I guess.”

“You’ve been staring at Trashmouth all night. Why don’t you go talk to him?” Mike asks, rubbing a small circle into Eddie’s shoulder blades.

Because I want him to come over here and talk to me, Eddie thinks stubbornly. He knew Mike was right, of course. If you want something, go get it. He shouldn’t just be waiting around for Richie to make the move, but he was definitely out of his element if he were to be the one to.

“I heard him talking about you in the kitchen with Bev and Bill.” Mike says quietly, eyes trained on Richie so that he doesn’t overhear him. “I think he likes you.”

Eddie’s interest was definitely peaked but he remained steadfast. He wasn’t going to give Mike what he wanted, and decided to be a turd instead. “Yeah, well he doesn’t even know me.”

“Let him get to know you, then.” Mike glances back towards Eddie, giving him a flirtatious smile before getting up out of his seat and moving it back next to Stan.

Eddie feels his heartbeat in his throat as he looks back over towards Richie. His face was illuminated by the orange glow of the bonfire and he looked gorgeous. He was playing with Bev’s hair with one hand, and flicking his cigarette with the other.

And if Eddie was hoping that it looked like he wasn’t pining, he would be absolutely mistaken. Eddie had this dreamy look in his eye that he used to get when he would look towards Bill, but this time it was much worse. His eyes fluttered and he only realized he let out a little sigh when Bev glanced over towards him and quirked an eyebrow.

He straightened up, clearing his throat, and looking away from her and glancing literally anywhere else.

Get ahold of yourself, Kaspbrak. It’s just Richie.

And it was just Richie. Gorgeous, enthusiastic, charming Richie and Eddie hated him for it. He didn’t end up getting up to talk to Richie that night, either. He didn’t even end up sticking around long enough to say goodbye to him when he left. Instead, he tucked himself into bed a few hours early, and willed the romantic thoughts that he had been playing with all weekend about Richie away.

If Richie wasn’t actually interested in him, fine. He wasn’t going to be interested either.

“Does Eddie hate me?” Richie asks a few nights later, as Beverly is getting prepared to close up shop. The thought had been bothering him ever since the bonfire, and he couldn’t get that little firecracker’s face out of his brain. The way Eddie had glared at him all night didn’t sit well in his stomach.

“Hate you?” Beverly scoffs, sweeping the floor. “No. Why would you say that?”

“Because I think he does. Did you see the daggers he was giving me all night?” Richie said, voice rising. “What did I do to deserve the Spaghetti Glare of the century? I mean… I thought we were cool.”

This makes Beverly laugh out loud. “He does have kind of a resting bitch face, doesn’t he? No, T, that is just what he looks like when he’s nervous.”

“Nervous? Why would he be nervous?” Richie asks, completely clueless.

“Wow. You’re completely clueless.” Beverly breathes, staring at him with pity.

“What? No I’m not… Beverly! Don’t laugh!”

“Does Richie hate me?” Eddie asks that same night.

He and Beverly are sitting on the couch downstairs. A movie plays quietly in the background and all the other Losers are fast asleep. Eddie couldn’t fall asleep though, and he had woken Beverley up and convinced her to watch a few movies with him. They both had to work exceptionally early tomorrow morning, but she just grinned at him and said “Of course.”

This didn’t happen too often, but Beverly knew that sleep didn’t come easy to Eddie when he had something plaguing his mind. This isn’t what she thought it was, though, and she couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her mouth.

“What? Beverly, don’t laugh!”

“Sorry, sorry… No, he doesn’t hate you, Eddie. What makes you say that?” She asks, eyes still trained on the television as she tosses some popcorn into her mouth.

“He just… kind of avoided me all night, at the bonfire. I thought that he was going to want to talk with me but… I guess he was too busy.” Eddie’s tone falls completely flat at the end of his sentence, his disappointment extremely evident in his voice.

She hums in acknowledgement, and as she chews on the new information, she picks up the remote and presses pause. Beverly turns to Eddie, crossing her legs, and takes his hands in hers. He just stares down at his lap, feeling embarrassed but simultaneously relieved at the confession.

He couldn’t get Richie off of his mind. Stupid Richie. What gave him the right to invade Eddie’s mind, anyway? They shared a dance, so what? Richie had made him feel alive and wanted for the first time in months… So what?

“You really like him, yeah?” Beverly says softly. Eddie doesn’t reply, just scrunches his face up in mock disgust. She lets out another laugh, but quickly quiets down. Her gaze is burning holes into Eddie’s head and he eventually makes eye contact with her.

“You’re worth getting to know, Eddie. You need to find some self confidence. You’re adorable, and smart, and really fucking funny. You have to stop beating yourself up just because you get a little nervous. It’s normal to clam up around someone you like.”

“But Richie doesn’t clam up! He is loud and.... Abrasive…” Eddie says, letting a little bit of venom slip into his voice. Stupid Richie.

“Yeah, well, Trashmouth is a spaz. I’m sure you can already tell.” Beverly teases. This makes Eddie crack a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And I’m betting that reason is the same reason he was too distracted to remember to talk to you. Boys are stupid. Richie is no different.” Eddie snorts at this, and nods enthusiastically in agreement. Beverly leans forward and places a kiss softly to Eddie’s mouth, platonic and sweet.

“I love you, Eddie. Don’t let some boy make you feel unimportant. If you like him, you let him know just how important you are.”

“Okay. I love you too, Bev.”

The next time Eddie sees Richie is when he is walking to work that Friday morning. He hears Richie before he sees him, of course, and Eddie steels himself. Hold your ground, Kasprak.

You hear laughter,

Cracking through the walls,

It sends you spinning.

You have no choice.

Richie’s voice fills the cold air and he sounds beautiful. His voice is extremely soft and unlike the original song. He has slowed down the song considerably and he is swaying back and forth, looking extremely carefree. Richie’s eyes are closed as he sings aloud, feeling the music in its entirety.

You hear laughter,

Cracking through the walls,

It sends you spinning.

You have no choice.

Just Eddie is unlocking the front door to his bookstore and he is home free, he hears Richie put his hands over the strings of his guitar and stop singing.

“Eddie Spaghetti!” He calls, looking both ways before he jogs across the street and towers over Eddie. Richie’s smile is wide and sincere, his eyes crinkled to the point Eddie could barely see his eyes.

“Don’t call me that, Richie.” Eddie says, but his stern tone doesn’t have much impact because of the smile that graces his face.

“Hey, um… How-How are you?” Richie stutters and for the first time Eddie witnesses Richie’s nervousness. Eddie didn’t even think he was capable of being self aware, let alone nervousness.

“I’m okay. I’ve been better,” Eddie says honestly. He grips the strap of his satchel tightly, but he refuses to drop his gaze from Richie’s.

“I just wanted to say… I really enjoyed seeing you the other night. And seeing you the few nights before that, too.”

“You did?” Eddie asks, straining his voice from sounding hopeful. Stand your ground, Kaspbrak. “You could have fooled me.”

This makes Richie raise his eyebrows and smile self-consciously.

“What?”

“I said, you could have fooled me. You didn’t really talk to me the other night, Richie. I noticed.”

“I didn’t know you wanted me to talk to you.” Richie admits, eyebrows furrowed.

“Why wouldn’t I want to talk to you? I… I told you I wanted to see you again, at the bar.” Eddie says, swallowing hoarsely. He really wasn’t planning to put Richie on blast, but here he was. Eddie was a lot more confrontational than he gave himself credit for.

“I guess I was just… Surprised to see you, Spaghetti.” Richie reaches his arm and scratches the back of his head in embarrassment. Eddie notes this, and tries his best not to admit how fucking cute it is.

“You were surprised to see me? There I was, cucumber facial, and fucking Richie “Trashmouth” walks into my home!” Eddie nearly yells, waving his hands in the air above his head. This makes Richie laugh out loud, and Eddie tries to shoot him a glare but it comes out playful. “I’m serious! And then you basically ignore me all night-”

“Okay, I get it. I do. I’m sorry I didn’t give you all the attention you were looking for, Spaghetti Head. I didn’t know it upset you so much.” Richie teases, bringing his hand from his hair over to Eddie’s to tuck a curl of hair behind his ear.

Eddie holds his breath and silently watches Richie touch him. He shivers softly as his cold fingers graze his flushed face.

“I promise I won’t do it again. Next time we hang out, it’ll be the Richie and Eddie show, I swear it.” Richie says, crossing a little X over his heart. And that is all Eddie really wanted, in actuality. He wanted someone for himself. Richie somehow knew exactly what to say and Eddie can’t help the smile that splits across his face. He lightly shoves Richie away. Then, in a moment of sheer courage-

“Good. I think I deserve to have a boy’s attention for more than one night.” He nods, crossing his arms across his chest and bringing his gaze back up to Richie’s.

His flirtation makes Richie smile gleefully and he throws his head back in a laugh. When he looks back down back at him, if Eddie didn’t know any better, he would of said his eyes were filled with complete adoration.

“I think we’re going to be great friends, Eds.” Richie says behind him as he turns back around towards the bookstore, a smirk evident in his voice.

“Yeah, you wish, Trashmouth.” Eddie drawls, and only the flirtatious swing of his hips gives him away.

Richie just stares at him as he walks away, shaking his head lightly with his signature large grin. He turns away from the bookstore, then, and continues his singing as he crosses the street.

Following the footsteps of a ragdoll dance,

We are entranced.

Spellbound,

Spellbound...

Notes:

Yay! All the Losers finally together! We can get this party started!

Some more headcanons: -If Bill is dad then Mike is most definitely Mom like he is so caring and empathetic, I feel like the moment anyone is feeling off or left out Mike is 100% there to reassure them and let them know how loved they are -Beverly and Richie are honestly the brotp of the century I can't wait until Bev starts to feel comfortable enough to give Richie lil smooches because that guy needs it -I feel like being around Richie is already extremely healing for Eddie, like never in a million years would he be teasing or confident enough to tell a cute boy what he wants -Stan hates and loves Richie in equal amounts, as always, no matter the AU we know this to be the eternal truth like the fucking gospel

Thanks for reading!! Let me know what you think my loves!!!

#my writing #as long as we're together #reddie #reddie fanfiction #reddie fanfic #reddie fic #it 2017 #it stephen king #richie tozier #eddie kasprak #slow burn #friends to lovers

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gplewis · 4 years

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Where to put deleted (composed but not sent) messages now that I’m serious and don’t want to put it in my Notes since sometimes I send those out whole-hog without really checking for what (mostly, WHO) I have haphazardly included?

Just want to thank you again. The other night at the end of a walk, I was reflecting on how proud and excited I was to sing for you when I had practiced and worked on my voice, it really is a privilege to have you hear me and run me through your course of exercise.

I wish I could make you happy, I wish our friendship could be romantic in a complete way and we could be life partners. I’m sorry.

I watched a man today at the bandshell in Golden Gate Park in a pink thong and gold chain lace necklace coming down his front, pointe shoes, wig, ladies’ jewelry do a photo shoot on pointe against the Greek columns. Telling you reminds me of the comment you made about the Baryshnikov clip I sent you, you said “is it wrong that all I see is discipline and years of dedication?”

It is an honor to talk about the seriousness of being an artist with you. Accepting one’s fate is a stage to go through, I am across the threshold and on the other side. I’m ashamed about money, ashamed I have had time to do what I’ve done, ashamed of parental help, ashamed of my fortune —

I don’t mind putting this on Tumblr. Ultimately it’s more stone in the quarry, another example of [not me questioning my sexuality, but being open to name ... thoughts as they come ... that’s boring,

I wish I could have fun with my failure. I miss the idea of creating with others in a mythical Paris - laughing, working, creating, doing it together - this has been so rare for me. Shakespeare coveted the normalcy of being a group-member and I think about that all the time.

All I do is cut myself and bleed literature, I open my attentive voice with a can opener and can’t make a mistake in what I cut out and reveal.

The voice of Wayne Koestenbaum fills my head, that master interpreter, whisperer, creative man, bon vivant, seer, expansive personality where wisdoms mix and music occurs.

I can’t thank you enough for the seriousness and care you brought to my inquiry last night. A third of an hour of your time is valuable, priceless (though surely you could quote me a consulting fee without much trouble) and I can’t thank you enough.

I’m going to ramble here, mostly for my sake (your overall message was on my mind at the moment where I usually transition to “Morning Pages”, an exercise of writing longhand with a pen on paper for three pages about whatever comes to mind, so I’m doing that work here and might send prematurely or not at all, haven’t decided)

Your message had the effect of depressing me and scaring me, which is good. You’re right. It reminded me of quitting alto saxophone when I was 18 — I sent in a lackluster cassette tape tryout for the UCLA marching band (I don’t even remember making the tape or putting my best into it) after having been an award-winning young musician throughout middle and high school. My mother got me private lessons with a local legend but I didn’t practice, I didn’t want to learn music theory, I didn’t want to do what didn’t come naturally.

Eleven nights ago, I played an alto saxophone for the first time in maybe eight years.

Your concerns about my voice are valid. The old books are there, the hundred-year-old masters about how to care for this instrument are there. It is cost-prohibitive in that you have to give up what you thought you were going to be. Is this my calling? You could scoff, like Dory did (you see his insults cut and wounded me deeply, and I have in a sense been on brigade against him to WIN ever since, working harder and longer at my own creative and artistic soul, turning it into a monster who will not be denied) and say “oh how privileged, to have voice lessons and spend all his time reading, writing and doing art, not bringing in any money (my failure to bring in money or to talk my way into overcoming this problem is my life! Truly! What else is my “workday” today but fighting against my not having created the right kind of relationships? I haven’t gotten my needs met! But I do think this is a vital topic, and even if I am a mediocre singer, I won’t be a mediocre writer or thinker — that is my work. Like Maria Callas said “being alone is our work,” I know being alone without the questions answered and attending to that mystery and void with all my rigor and attentiveness...that is my job. Corporate hierarchies are predictable, they are for others...and I’m sorry to say that, I wish I could free you to be free full-time and not have to worry about money — we both deserve it and would both discover something beautiful and true that would benefit all of mankind. We already do it through our relationships. We already light up the world.

In writing, singing and all the arts, I am on a 50-year growth trajectory. By my death I will be perfect 😇 so I have no eagerness or urgency to arrive or “be there” once and for all; I know there is no arrival — this is all a response to what you said about working smart as opposed to hard or long. I do want to be doing the best intentional work I can in the next few months and years, even if that means not performing. Though you scare me a bit with how much there is to know, about languages, the body, history, the world...you make me think I am a hack of an artist and don’t deserve to call myself by that word: you are the one who’s a man of the world and of the soul; I am maybe no more than the eager, impatient, horny teenage boy I used to be, even in all my supposed seriousness about my work. (Maybe this is just the old self-loathing and self-doubt that’s part of every creative personality and artistic temperament. Ugh, it used to be a salvation to say with pride that I am an artist. Now I think it finally did come true and it actually is a pain: all the things I read were right, and actually living it with no fanfare is...well, it’s a life, and life is long. I wonder if I am stuck right now, in this apartment, in my game of trying to keep enough money to pay my rent and grocery bill, no other ambitions but to execute my latest daily perfect iteration of 5-7 hours of reading/writing/communicating, outdoor exercise, and singing in the evening. I have clung to this life for so long, and I wonder where it ends. I am somewhat ashamed to keep getting bailed out of my situation by my mother — my father is much harder to ask for money, and the last time I did, I left him in tears. But surely thinking about this is the work: being emotional and vulnerable, and using writing to follow my vulnerability into its source — and surely *there* is the universal voice, because how I feel is how everybody feels.

And I thought I was Geoff Lewis, then G.P. Lewis, I think I’m happy with Geoffrey Lewis which is my actual name. It’s like T.S. Eliot said we arrive back where we started and know the place for the first time.

Editing and deleting are devious, violent, dishonest. Oh, I create the reader by writing; oh, why can’t I start? why can’t I finish? Oh I’m stranded in the middle for always! But I push and smash out ~ I take a rock-hammer to my life and do it all on the page; you read it and doing so changes how you process the next words and moments; the artist is the conductor of life; the artist makes the thing we look at to remember where we’re going — reality’s a strange winding road and it’s easy to get lost, tired, fatigued.

Maybe I really can restore hope and faith to the written word - maybe I really do have a role to play. I can’t believe I haven’t died or been evicted and homeless! My parents don’t really like me lol they’re confused that I refuse to get a job and support this addiction of self-actualization through writing this thing that isn’t asked of me and doesn’t fit anywhere. It is authentic

It is nothing without a reader (that isn’t true; maybe I’m trying to make this thing that’s private to me seen and understood and appreciated by You - oh, am I demanding?

Sadly or strangely I spin down before I give you a chance to react; maybe I keep writing to remind myself that I’m still in touch with the endless; though one day I will run out of eye-lifts (as in, lifting my eyes up off the screen, staring dramatically at the contents of a table in my living room)

I’m lucky to have a home, and ashamed! Give everyone a home, self-actualization should be encouraged. Freedom from drudgery and wage slavery. Freedom for parents from work that...distracts from the work of love and nurture.

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glassy28 · 7 years

Text

Christmas tradition?

This is written for Day 11 ‘Snowboarding/Skiing’ of straykidschristmas2017 by @felixsfreckles. Thank you so much for making this possible. I’m actually so glad, that I was able to finish this before the day ends… Might contain some mistakes since it’s not proofread yet. But soon.

Also on ao3

Genre: slice of life, no angst, humour, romance Characters: Stray Kids (OT9); Bang Byungchan (Chan, Chris), Kim Woojin, Lee Minho, Seo Changbin, Hwang Hyunjin, Han Jisung, Lee Felix, Kim Seungmin, Yang Jeongin Relationships: Changlix, Chan/Woojin Summary: The members of Stray Kids are trying to decide what to do on their free day during the December month. Word count: 1356 words Disclaimer: I am in no way a professional skier, snowboarder or teacher in these sports. I’m taking my experiences as a beginner in skiing only. I have no idea about snowboarding but I did some research. Also I have never been to Korea and don’t know anything about their ski resorts.

A/N: I think Minho, Changbin and Felix can snowboard; Chan, Seungmin and Jisung can ski and Woojin, Hyunjin and Jeongin can do neither.

Enjoy reading this!

All the members of Stray Kids were sitting on the couch in their living room and discussing potential places to go to during their days off. They were all huddling on the sofas and chairs while drinking hot beverages. Due to it being cold and snowy they came to the topic of winter sports. They still remembered how they went ice skating during their show and having a lot of fun, but what Chan didn’t expect was that Woojin, Hyunjin and Jeongin can neither ski nor snowboard.

“What do you mean you three have never skied or snowboarded in your life?! How have you guys never been to a ski resort?!”, asked Chan incredulously.

“It literally means that we have no idea how to ski or snowboard and our parents have never brought us to a ski resort, because they can’t do it as well,” answered Woojin in a matter-of-fact tone.

Chan almost wanted to cry, because his parents always brought him to a ski resort since he was five. Since then they always went and even had annual passes, but since coming to Korea he wasn’t able to ski anymore because no one would go with him.

This gave him the perfect opportunity to finally go skiing again and he was adamant to get his way. “It’s decided! We are going to a ski resort and that’s final!”, Chan exclaimed and pulled out his laptop. “We just need to find a place first and rent some gears.”

“But ehm… Chan-hyung, what if we break our legs or worse our neck?”, Jeongin asked hesitantly. The maknae actually had a fear of heights and wasn’t sure if he was able to ski on high mountains, but he didn’t want to tell them. “Don’t worry about that. If you fall, try falling sideways and with your legs parallel to each other. Also the snow will cushion your fall, so you don’t have to worry too much,” Chan replied easily and already started searching up ski resorts near Seoul.

After doing some research and various discussion rounds, they finally decided on going to the Vivaldi Park since it’s so close and pretty popular with the younger generation and the only thing left to do is wait for their free day to arrive.

Finally the day has come and they decided to split into two cars while Woojin and Chan drive them to the ski resort. There, they lend the necessary equipment and quickly went inside to spend as much time as possible skiing/snowboarding.

“Should we split up into teams? One skiing team and one snowboarding team?”, asked Changbin while adjusting his shoes on his snowboard and was met with an answer by Chan:“Sure! That way it’s easier to go around.”

After they stood in their team Minho noticed how he was in the snowboarding team with only Changbin and Felix. He had a brief deja-vu moment and his face contorted into horror. “Wait! I think I changed my mind,” he almost shouted. He definitely didn’t want to be a third wheel again. During their filming in the park he was constantly a third wheel and didn’t want to experience that ever again. Humanity should ban the possibility of being a third or even a fifth wheel. It’s literally the worst feeling ever and Minho wanted to avoid this as best as possible. Additionally, the Changlix lovey-dovey stuff was annoying him to no end. During the car ride they were sitting besides each other and were in their own little world, whispering things, laughing at not funny jokes and puns and being very touchy. To his horror he had to sit besides him because he didn’t shout ‘Shotgun’ early enough. Jisung beat him to it and he almost wanted to vomit during the whole ride. Many times he wanted to shout for them to get a room, but sealed his lips shut and looked out the window.

“But why?”, asked Felix with a saddened expression. “Don’t you like us?” Minho only rolled his eyes and felt Felix’ puppy eyes on him. “It’s not you guys. It’s me. I think I’ll stick close to our beginners and see if they need help.” “Sure, hyung. Whatever. Have fun with them,” Changbin said and headed towards the lift to finally start snowboarding. Felix quickly scrambled behind him and waved at the other members:“Have fun!”

“Well, let’s start with lesson 1!”, exclaimed Chan enthusiastically and ignored the groan coming from Minho. Jisung and Seungmin noticed Minho’s piercing and annoying glances when Chan was starting with the basics and looked at each other briefly and decided then to drag Minho towards the lift. “Hey, Minho! You wanna ski the hard courses with us?”, asked Seungmin at which Minho perched up.  He nodded vigorously, but stopped himself. “I mean, only if you planned to go there too…” Seungmin smiled at him and told him that it was fine. “Chan can take care of them and occasionally we can go look after them. They’ll be fine. Let’s go!”, Jisung exclaimed and dragged them towards the lifts.

Meanwhile Chan explained every little step about skiing to his new ‘pupils’ and was happy that all three were actually interested in learning. Jeongin was a little wobbly on his feet but gained confidence when Chan praised him for getting something right.

Changbin and Felix never stopped by to look at Chan’s teaching, but would rather snowboard all the different routes and try doing various tricks. They didn’t bother because they knew Chan would do amazingly and they didn’t want to see Chan and Woojin obliviously flirting with each other. Even though they weren’t better, they weren’t at the stage of not being together. They resolved their matter after the picnic filming and since then they couldn’t get enough of each other. Chan and Woojin on the other hand were flirting and dancing around each other to test out the waters. Neither would go for the first move, but all of the members knew they would eventually end up together.

Seungmin and Jisung contrarily took some breaks and helped Chan out. They were always happy to see the progress their friends would make, but seeing them fall down was an added bonus.

When the sun was starting to set, all of them met up again and Jeongin was so excited to tell them all how much fun it was and how much he has learnt from Chan. He actually enjoyed it very much and wasn’t even that scared of the height since they stayed at the children’s mountain. “Can we come back again?”, asked Jeongin hopefully and looked at Chan. It melted Chan’s heart and he could only agree. “If everyone else would love to come back, than sure!”

“Shotgun!”, Minho exclaimed and ran towards the passenger seat when he saw Woojin and Chan taking out their keys. “Damn it, Minho!” Jisung was momentarily distracted by his conversation with Changbin about rap and forgot to call shotgun to be able to avoid the situation Minho was in previously. “HA! Now you get to be the one dealing with the couple. Have fun back there!”, Minho said gleefully and stuck out his tongue for good measures. Jisung wanted to stomp his foot like a child but settled for pouting and crossing his arms in front of him. The rest of the members only looked at them as if they have grown two heads, but didn’t comment on it. They were exhausted from today and wanted to get home quickly.

At the end of the day, they all huddled together in their living room and drinking hot cocoa again. “We should do this again sometime,” Woojin finally said when he put his head on Chan’s shoulder. Everyone nodded along or voiced out their agreement. Chan was content with his new ‘family’ sitting around with some hot chocolate after a day of skiing/snowboarding. He was a little worried that he would force it on them too much, but he was happy to see them enjoying it and wanting to do it again. Maybe they could make this a christmas tradition…

Note: I’M SALTY AF ABOUT THE LAST ELIMINATION. FELIX IS MY BIAS AND HE JUST RIPPED HIM OUT OF THIS GROUP AND I JUST CANNOT DEAL WITH THIS. I literally cried a river when I saw a clip of Stray Kids crying about Felix’ elimination. Well guess what?! We want OT9 (I feel bad that I didn’t include more descriptions of the scenery but whatever… too lazy to change that now.)

#straykidschristmas2017 #stray kids #bang chan #kim woojin #lee minho #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #han jisung #lee felix #kim Seungmin #yang jeongin #skiing #snowboarding #cil writes

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theolddarkmachine · 7 years

Text

Must Love Cats- Chapter One

Levy hadn't planned on being a pet sitter when she'd moved into the city. She also hadn't planned on pet sitting for a sex god either, but here she was.

AKA the one where Levy is a pet sitter, Gajeel is her client, and Lily is the glue that binds them together.

So it turns out y’all really liked the idea of the Pet Sitter!AU, which is good, because I really liked it too. I’ll most likely shoot for updating this thing once a week. (Most likely on Wednesdays given they’re my days off.) But this week we’ll make an exception since Chapter One doesn’t really count since it’s just the prompt from the Gajevy Week Challenge that got us onto this idea to begin with. Expect the actual new chapter within the next day or two! Also, I love to get feedback, so if at any point you’d like to throw me some constructive criticism or some love, hit a girl up! Thanks in advance for swinging by, and a special shoutout and thank you to those who read the original warmup prompt from the Gajevy Week and asked for more! Y’all the true MVPs and this one is for you <3

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As far as jobs went, being a pet sitter wasn’t all too bad. Sure, the days were long if you actually wanted to make any money, and the driving all over the place sucked, but the freedom of being able to work when you wanted and to be paid to hangout with other people’s pets honestly made up for it. Levy had been a pet sitter for about six months now and while she certainly hadn’t moved into the city to do it, it was paying the bills while she was pitching her movie ideas around town. Weirdly enough, she’d ended up pet sitting for big names in the industry and though she never actually met any of them– they probably wouldn’t need her services if they were home– it did seem pretty cool to know she was still just one degree away.

The house she was currently headed to was one of her regulars. The owner, one Mr. Gajeel Redfox, had been gone for about two months now and requested that he have the same sitter as much as possible. Given that she worked six days a week, the man’s visits ended up on her schedule more often than not. She was going to really miss seeing Pantherlily almost everyday when his owner finally returned. (Now that she thought about it, she was sure he was supposed to be home soon.) He almost felt like her cat at this point. In fact, she almost felt like she even knew this Redfox character too. She could deduce from the dark furniture, clothes abandoned in various areas around the apartment, and lack of sentimental items such as photos that he was most likely a bachelor. A bachelor with money given he had an apartment overlooking the ocean with walls made entirely of windows just to look out over them, and the ability to pay for visits twice a day for two months straight. She quickly did the math in her head as she pulled into a guest parking spot in the parking garage for the man’s apartment complex and shuddered. She could pay her rent in her apartment with her three roommates for almost five months with what he’d paid for the visits for so long.

“Must be nice,” she mumbled to herself as she hopped out of her car. Locking the door and clipping her keys to her belt loop– she had a really nasty habit of locking her keys in her car and learned this was the best way to avoid anymore unfortunate incidents– she pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and on top of her scarf she had had tied around her azure hair to keep it pulled back. Walking into the lobby through the door in the garage, she nodded to the man at the counter as she sauntered by. He’d stopped having her sign in after a few weeks, knowing full well that she had the code to the lockbox on the Redfox residence’s door and that if she did do something terrible the security could easily apprehend her. (Her small frame was both a blessing and a curse with this job, not that she would ever steal from a client, but it would be nice to know she could at least have a small semblance of a chance to get away if she did.)

She got into the elevator and pressed the button for the 5th floor and waited for the short ride up. Levy admired herself in the reflection of the mirrored elevator, and chuckled to herself as she took in her disheveled hair that tried to escape her scarf, the worn jeans with a stain from an earlier visit and her shirt emblazoned with her company’s logo. The first time she’d arrived to this visit she had been so self conscious and had felt so out of place. She had been certain that for a second the people at the front must have thought she was a homeless person wandering into their lobby, especially since she distinctly remembered she hadn’t showered that day and had pulled on her oldest pair of sneakers and some sweats. It wasn’t like the pets cared if she tried, but had she’d known she was going to end up some place like this, she would have at least brushed her hair. How quickly that had changed with time. Now she felt almost like she was returning to her own home. It helped that she always started her days and ended her days with Lily. It was just a short walk from the elevator to the front door, where she quickly pushed the numbers into the box so she could open the little door that would allow her to get the key.

As she started to unlock the door, she heard the purring that signaled the black cat was awaiting her just on the other side and the sound filled her with joy. His owner wasn’t one to respond to updates, but he had replied once and all he had said was that Lily didn’t like just anybody. That was pretty obvious just by looking over the updates that had been sent in on the days Levy didn’t work as the sitter that covered her shifts when she wasn’t working had yet to meet Lily at all.

“Hello handsome,” she cooed as she pushed her way into the apartment. The Bombay purred again in response as he started to rub himself against her legs. Squatting down, she started to pet him to make sure he remembered that even though his owner still wasn’t home he was still very much loved. “You’re the best way to end the day, ya know.”

“So I’ve been told,” a deep voice replied. Now, Levy liked to think she was very rational. When faced with a problem, she was very level headed, and thought through every possible scenario of what could happen and every possible solution to find the right one. But in that moment, the only possible explanation that came to her mind was that Lily had just responded to her. Which, was definitely new to say the least. She stared at the cat wide-eyed for a fraction of a second longer before the logical part of her brain realized she wasn’t the only human in the apartment. An inhuman squeak that could probably only be heard by Lily and any other animals in the close vicinity escaped her lips as her head snapped up to see a very tall, very muscular, and very half naked man standing in the entrance between the living area and the bedroom where Lily’s stuff could be found. He had long black hair that looked almost as unruly as hers was, eyes that seemed to stare straight through her, and more piercings than should could count. (And that was just from what she could see. Not that she was thinking about any she might not be able to see. Except, he was very attractive.)

“I-” she started, before locking eyes with the man and completely losing her train of thought. After another couple of seconds she just placed her hand on her chest and said “Pet sitter.”

Wow Lev, she thought to herself as dryly as one can possibly think to themselves, you write entire movies with their own worlds and characters and you can’t even string together a full sentence. There was another long pause before the man burst out into raucous laughter.

“I am so sorry,” he said, smiling at her. His smile was like the smile of a devil, beautiful and dangerous. “I forgot to inform your office that I was getting home early and that I didn’t need the visit this evening.”

This was when she should respond, she knew that. It was just that that damn smile had erased any thoughts from her mind, at least all the ones that wouldn’t get her in trouble for saying out loud. Even that annoying ass voice in her mind was dumbfounded. It was possible that since it had been so long since she’d even had any contact with the opposite sex, but he was the single most sexy human being she had ever seen. It was that, or she was cat sitting for an actual sex god. That was also a possibility. After everything they’d been though, you’d have thought Lily would have told her.

“Since you’re here, if you want you can still spend the 30 minutes with him. You don’t need to feed him or anything, I already took care of that,” the sex god continued, apparently unaware he had the power to strike mere mortals speechless. “You must be the girl he seems to love. He’s a great judge of character, you know.”

That snapped her out of the trance as a smile broke across her face.

“Thanks!” She beamed in response. “I love this little guy. I’m not supposed to pick favorites, but between you and me, he’s mine.” She stage whispered at the end and winked. Oh god, what had even gotten into her. She looked back at Lily and smiled at him as well before scratching behind his ears. Had she continued looking at his owner, she’d have seen the blush that spread across his cheeks.

“Well, make yourself at home, I suspect you know where water is if you’d like to have some,” Gajeel said. “I just got back and was headed for the shower, feel free to leave early if you want, just lock up when you go.” She nodded in response as he turned to go back into the room. She sat down next to Lily, who at this point had laid down and rolled over to get his belly scratched. “Oh, and Levy?” Her heart leapt when she heard her name roll off his tongue.

“Yeah?” She asked, looking up. The man smiled that damn smile again.

“Thanks for taking such good care of Lil while I was away. I know I’m not supposed to pick favorites either, but between you and me, you’re mine.”

And with that, he went back into his room, unaware that he had just completely stopped her heart and left her there like she wasn’t going to need medical attention. Once she heard the water turn on in the bathroom, she looked down at Lily, who was looking up at her and wondering why she’d stopped scratching his belly.

“You really could have warned me about your owner looking like that.”

****

He knew that the sitter would be gone by the time he got out of his shower, but that didn’t stop him from being slightly disappointed when he got out of his shower and saw Lily curled up on the foot of his bed all by himself. He didn’t want to say he was jealous of a fucking cat, but here he was jealous that his cat got to spend so much time with such a breathtaking human being.

“God dammit, Lil,” he growled as his heart stuttered when he thought of her wink. “You really could have warned me about your sitter looking like that.”

#levy mcgarden #gajeel redfox #gajevy #gajeel x levy #panther lily #fairy tail #fanfiction #fairy tail fanfiction #alternate universe #uh more tags to tage eventually lol but i think that's all i can squeeze outta this chapter for tags XD #it's technically a repost but can you blame me #i want all the chapters to have the title and summary and whatnot #I JUST WANT TO BE AESTHETICALLY PLEASING OKAY

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misstincu · 6 years

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My Realistic New Year Resolutions

I remember a NYE from a few years ago, it was 2013 I think. I was visiting my friends in Worcester, England and when the countdown started at midnight, I thought about all the resolutions that I wanted to come true for me. At that time, I naively believed that resolutions are like magical wishes that come true without me having to lift a finger. Hilarious, I know.

Turns out resolutions are actually a list of realistic goals you set for yourself to be accomplished within a set amount of time - weeks/days/years.. You don’t just make the resolutions list, you also develop an action plan for each goal and break steps down into achievable chunks for each week. All of this sounds great, and I would really love to discipline myself and get off my ass and actually achieve my dreams rather than being anxious, overthinking and crying about what I want to do but can’t because I constantly put too much pressure on myself.

I know everyone has big plans for 2019, but I don’t. Whenever I think too big, I tend to lose myself in the details. There is nothing wrong with aiming high, but it just doesn’t work for me - I need to take it step by step and not think about the higher goals all the time.

If I get excited and talk to others about my creative ideas, I feed on their positive reactions to my ideas and end up being content with that, without actually making those projects. Yikes! My goals for 2019 are pretty realistic and small, because in some aspects, I have to learn how to walk before I run. Without further ado, let’s jump into it:

1) Break my digital hoarding habit

Hoarding tendencies run in my family, and this affects not only the hoarders but the people around them. It’s difficult and heartbreaking to live with or visit a hoarder when you know how beautiful and good their life would be with be if they wouldn’t hoard. Hoarding is a mental health issue, so it’s important to understand what the hoarder is going through before forcing your help on them.

Right, back to my own hoarding. I am a new type of hoarder - the digital hoarder. I don’t have my own house, so moving from one rented apartment to another doesn’t allow me to collect many items. But you know what I can collect? Digital trash. Ever since I had my first internet connection, I started to collect memes, gifs, music, films, every photograph I've ever taken, every video I ever filmed, every project I ever made. For this reason, the storage on my computer, hard drive and phone is full of folders, files, photographs and clips that are just thrown randomly everywhere. Most of my files/folders/pics/clips have idiotic names that have no connection to the content of the file. Whenever I need to search for anything, it can take me hours to find anything - and that’s if I even find it. This hoarding is not only on my devices, it’s also in my dozens of Youtube playlists (that I don’t watch/listen to) and in my saved items on Facebook, Instagram and my Internet browser. It’s time to sort out my digital hoarding, because this is no way to live.

2) Create Digital Family Archive

Most of us don’t care that much about our family tree, ancestors and all that jazz until we are much older. Why do I care about this at the age of 26 years old? Well, I care because most of the people from my family are dead - like, 75% of them. Some have died of old age, others of cancer. I am also doing this because of regret - I was too young to think about this when key members of my family were still alive and would have been able to provide more accurate information about our family history - some of is pretty tragic. I know this regret is created by my own mind, because maybe preserving our family history should have been more important to previous generations.

As I am the only one with advanced digital manipulation skills in my family, I somehow feel like it’s my duty to try to salvage and archive all photographs, documents, notes and other relevant items that I have access to at this time. Of course, I will do this in collaboration with other members of the family. The ultimate goal is to create a well structured family archive and a huge family tree, as well as personalized family trees for each family member. This process will probably take years, but I’m excited to embark on this journey and learn more about my roots and heritage.

3) Create content

Last year I created so much content... in my head. I want to bring that content to life and write, film, talk about everything that matters to me. I want to help and inspire people through my work. I just need to get off my ass and out of my head. Bare with me, I’m getting there!

The truth is, not making enough money and not finding much work has cock blocked me hard and I just spent all my free time researching, coming up with creative projects, being anxious, crying and overthinking. However, dreams don’t work unless I do. I don’t want to jinx my motivation and discipline skills, so for now I won’t say more on this topic.

4) Dress-up again

When I was single, I spent so much time on my looks - I wanted to to express myself through fashion and hair and make-up and I did it. I was still unhappy with my life, but I looked fabulous. Now I’m very lucky to have the most wonderful person on Earth next to me, and I couldn’t be happier. I work from home and I don’t earn a lot - so the fact that I don’t need to exit the house much and I can’t splurge on things like I used to kind of turned off my inner desire to dress up and feel empowered and fabulous. I’m not sure what the root of this is and why my auto-pilot goes into “your worth is in how much money you make”. When I don’t make enough money I feel like I don’t deserve to look and feel great, and to express myself. It probably has something to do with my impoverished upbringing. Anyway, this goal is about ignoring the voices in my head that try to cock-block me from dressing up - will keep you updated on how this goes.

5) Focus more on my mental health

This goal is very important to me. Last year I went to therapy for about 6 months and it changed my life - not only it worked for me, but somehow it was the cherry on the cake I have been building up for many years. It was so wonderful to discover that all the psychology research I did over the years, all the time I dedicated to introspection and to trying to understand thought patterns was not in vain. It actually helped me to be better prepared for taking in all the challenges I had to complete in therapy.

Having a really good therapist who was straight up my alley played also a huge part in my therapy sessions.

I have anxiety issues, depression tendencies and probably many other issues. I am very good at coming off as a “well balanced person”, which is amusing to me when I hear it. I am lucky to have an inner fire that constantly pushes me to dust myself off and try again. But living with these mental issues is hard work and work that has to be done daily for the rest of my life. I have seen how bad these issues can become if you ignore them in my own family, so I am determined to do the best work that I can to not pass on all this mental baggage to the next generation, if we ever decide to have a child. Last year I received the training on how to deal with my mental health issues, this year I have to try harder to implement what I learned. Being captive into your own mind, in this cage built out of overthinking and anxiety is not fun, and I just want to get the hell out of there and enjoy life.

How about you? What are your realistic New Year resolutions? Let me know in the comments below.

#creative struggle #mental health

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populistmedia · 6 years

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[EXCLUSIVE] Day in the life of an activist: Walk Away Campaign Founder Brandon Straka

Brandon Straka is the founder of the #WalkAway Campaign, and he shares his thoughts with Populist Media readers. Thi is an article written by Brandon. You can find him: on Twitter On Facebook This is Brandon's First video that helped him start a large and growing movement of Facebook testimonials: https://twitter.com/usminority/status/1007191747355729920 AND THIS IS HIS STORY, IN HIS WORDS: Six weeks ago I was a normal guy. Just a normal guy in an increasingly abnormal world. The majority of my agitation usually being derived by the ever-worsening breakdown of subway reliability on my long commutes back and forth to my apartment in Harlem, and the majority of my stress hinging on swinging my monthly rent and student loan payments. My life was, by most accepted measures, typical. But like many other Americans, I also carried an additional burden through my day today. A burden which hangs darkly over the landscape of normal life, making it impossible to forget that at any moment the thunder may crack, the lightning may strike, and once again, the downpour begin to siege. You see, I live amongst people who have become unhinged. In a liberal city like New York, the tenets of liberal ideology are sacrosanct and Trump Derangement is a celebrated condition. One is often reminded while engaging in a conversation where they fall on the privilege hierarchy totem pole. Furthermore, lest we allow our privilege to make us complacently presumptuous, deftly alert watchdogs reside in plenty to assure that we not assume to know another person’s preferred gender pronouns, that the world would be an indescribable utopia if heterosexual white men received their righteous abdication, and that no matter what you may have experienced in your life or what you are currently going through- that dark-skinned lady sitting across from you on the subway has things much, much worse. The President of the United States never leaves the purview of most liberals’ minds. He is the boogie man- always lurking- perhaps in the closet, perhaps under the bed, but he’s there... always. Like an unwanted fixture in a Manhattan studio apartment, he resides in their minds, taking up space, making it impossible for them to imagine arranging the thoughts in their minds without the obstacle of...HIM in the layout. He appears in conversation constantly. The rules of engagement now so acceptably lax that even the most illogical introduction brought about by non-sequitor or abrupt emotionally charged asides is considered common play. His omnipresent influence over the thoughts, plans, considerations, and of course, the most valuable liberal commodity- feelings- of leftists is inescapable. “How was your day today?”, “I mean, it was fine... considering how bad things are these days.” Thankfully, I am also inspired to be surrounded by the selflessly brave, “All we can do is continue to resist” I am told. This full force of this resistance usually manifests itself in the form of a facebook profile pic border garnering that very word, or a posted meme reminding us that this hero among us is very, very “woke”. I myself used to be a liberal. In the spring of 2017, just months after the election of Donald Trump, I had what is commonly referred to as a “red-pill experience”. I didn’t mean to take this pill. I didn’t actually even know it existed. I ended up swallowing the pill by accident- and tried my best to spit it out multiple times along the way. It began with a need to understand how half of the voting population could support Donald Trump. The media sources I trusted- CNN, MSNBC, The Huffington Post, and of course the greatest resource of all- my educated liberal friends had been affirming and reaffirming for months that this man was a racist. A bigot. A homophobe. And so much more. And his followers were just as bad! After all, how else could we explain away that 15 second soundbite that got so much airplay, in which we clearly saw this monster on the right mocking the disability of a reporter to the rousing cheers of his rabid brain-washed followers. It was a sickening sight to behold. I found myself unable to get through a day without feeling that pit in my stomach that reminded me how much I hated this man, and felt trapped under a dome of his domination- trapped in a world with those who covertly supported all of this- while I was unable to identify those who had betrayed our common decency. I needed to understand how this could happen in order to find a modicum of peace. I, too, had become Trump Deranged. So I began by taking to social media and pleading with Trump voters to help me understand. Most of the time, nobody would answer me. The more i asked and went unanswered, the angrier I became. I made a vow to never return to my home in the midwest again. I considered cutting off my parents. What other choice did I have? The media told me every day of the wave of violent crimes against minorities that he had brought on by “dog whistling” to his most dark and hateful base. Story after story was shared on social media by terrified LGBT people and racial minorities, with the rapidity of machine gun fire, warning us that the next day would bring an Executive Order repealing our hard-earned rights. When the orders never came to fruition, they provided a reasonable excuse, and ominously assured us it would be coming next week. How could our fellow Americans do this to us? And why don’t they care? Why won’t they answer me and be held accountable?? Finally, after many weeks, a crack appeared in the dam. I was reached out to by a school administrator who still resides in the quiet plains of the rural midwest. She told me all about Obama era regulations that resulted in the destruction of local small businesses and damaged their communities. She told me about the influx of illegal immigrants and the very real impact that these things have on the real people in small town America who are affected most. I was shocked and confused. The media had told me for years about the great and seemingly infallible man who had held office for 8 years, the man who held the rare accolade of completing a “scandal free” presidency. I had been told time and again that anybody who could criticize such a nearly perfect human being who honored us with a nearly perfect presidency could only do so because they are clearly consumed with hatred, driven mad by a black man occupying America’s most esteemed office. I researched the points this woman had made and was amazed to find that what she had said to me was true. My eyes had been opened a bit, but... this was hardly a smoking gun. And besides, maybe the liberal media did go a little soft on Obama. But that doesn’t explain or justify supporting the second coming of Hitler for Obama’s replacement. And what about that incident of mocking a reporter’s disability? No amount of dissatisfaction for our previous president could justify that national disgrace! And so back to social media I took to ask middle America what became of their conscience? How could they have overlooked this? This time it was a former babysitter, Diane, who reached out to me privately. “Have you seen this?”, she asked in her private message- including a link to a video titled “Debunking that Trump mocked the disabled reporter”. I was stunned and angry just reading the title. How brainwashed could these people be?? The media had explained to those of us on the left that we were being “gaslighted” by those on the right- now my own babysitter was trying to gaslight me, too! Arrogantly, I gave Diane an “lol” and told her I’d watch this propaganda piece when I got home. And so I did. And what I saw next was officially the moment the red pill touched my tongue. I stared, spinning and disillusioned as I watched the compilation of footage in the video- mostly of Trump on his campaign, some clips even going back ten plus years, showing Donald Trump using the exact same voice and gesture used to mock the reporter- but in every circumstance he was imitating somebody who was groveling- caught in a lie, behaving dishonestly. For the first time I watched the entirety of the segment of him telling the story about the reporter at his rally. And it became very clear to me. He did not mock that man’s disability. But the media I trusted told me that he did. What was going on? I began to dig deeper, and the more I researched the more unwanted truth was presented to me. I didn’t want to accept what I was discovering. Stories of black Americans going to Trump rallies to support him and being cut out of the shot when the liberal media arrived and framed up their camera angle to capture an image consistent with their “white people only” narrative. Numerous moments which were isolated and taken out of the context of Trump speaking on the campaign trail, spun to give the impression that his rallies were conventions of hate and the resurrection of racism and bigotry. The cover ups for Hillary Clinton. The dishonest poll skewing. The omission of inconvenient truths because they revealed the good in this man and those who support him. The dishonest manipulation and peddling of fear- primarily to those in minority communities, keeping us suspended in a constant state of fear. Donald Trump was not the master under the bed. It was the media. And the politicians on the left who were in cahoots with their agenda. I tried talking about what I had learned with those around me- friends and fellow New Yorkers. And most usually I was met with anger and contempt. “What are you doing!? So what, you love Trump now??”. And at that time, I didn’t. I truly just wanted to understand- and share what I was learning with someone else who could understand me. In the isolation of my experience, I took to the internet and sought comfort in finding others who had been through this same type of awakening that was happening to me. This is when I discovered this term... “red pilled”. There were others. Other people had spent their lives, like me, believing in the good of liberalism- even as we watched it be co-opted and absorbed by the very characteristics it claims to fight against. Others, like me, had discovered that the media is capable of not only omitting truth when delivering the news, but actually beginning with a deceitful narrative and plucking out moments and sound bites to twist and spin until they neatly support their agenda. That the left wing politicians who for so long had assured me they would support me and the gay community at large, went along with the false narratives and fear mongering that kept me and my community up at night. I attempted to expose these things on social media. My intentions were pure- I didn’t want others to have to be afraid the way i was afraid. The response I got from fellow liberals and never Trumpers was astounding. When I was lucky, I would be unfriended. In many other circumstances, friends and family used social media to proclaim me mentally ill, unstable, on drugs, self-loathing, starved for attention, insane, stupid, ignorant, and a victim of body- snatching- a once good person now replaced by a brainwashed bigot. My invitations to social events came to a standstill. The texts stopped. The calls stopped. When people ran into me in public they would often behave uncomfortably, squirming to get away, treating me as a defective who was frightening to be around. The truth about liberalism became clear to me. This is a religion, one which demands unquestioning groupthink to be an accepted member of the clergy. Any dissenting opinions on any host of issues ranging from gun rights to the legitimacy of the wage gap is grounds for removal. To belong, you must believe in a privilege hierarchy which separates people by race, religion, gender, sexual orientation and organizes them into camps of victims and oppressors. You must believe the media, no matter how preposterous the lies are that they tell. You must hate the president based off of these lies. You must engage in acts of resistance based of this hatred- including supporting jokes about his beheading, urinating on his name on a public street, threatening and intimidating his supporters. You must always retain instant access to anger- so as to become enraged at any moment when the signal to do so is sent out by the left wing media and politicians. If you are unwilling to comply, the implications of this choice are clear. The threat of loss of friends, family, career and social standing are liberalism’s greatest weapons to intimidate its members into never straying the flock. Unfortunately for the left, they messed with the wrong guy. In May of 2018 I sat down to write what I call the “definitive manifesto” on everything that is wrong with the Democratic Party and liberalism. I shot a slick video using the script and devised a campaign to accompany the video, knowing there are surely hundreds of thousands or more who have been waiting to be set free just as I had set myself free. I called the movement the #WalkAway Campaign. I encouraged others to #WalkAway from the Democratic Party and the hatred and rage which has now become synonymous with the left. I asked those who were willing to leave to tell their own stories by making video testimonials and posting them to the facebook group: the #WalkAway Campaign. I had hoped the campaign would be a success and that others would open their eyes and feel inspired by my lead. Just six weeks ago I released the video and the campaign. And back then, I was a normal guy living in an increasingly abnormal world. Now, everything is different. Within a month my video had received millions of views and been shared tens of thousands of times. Conservative media picked up on the movement. I dedicated myself to speaking to anybody who was willing to talk about the Campaign. No less than five interviews a day. Sometimes twelve. And the people began to #WalkAway in droves. Today, just six weeks after launch, the #WalkAway Campaign has nearly 120,000 members on facebook. Thousands of testimonials- video and written, by those who want civility to be the norm again. People who want their friends and family back. True patriots who fear an impending civil war and see #WalkAway as a possible last ditch effort to save America from imploding- done in by the dishonesty and derangement caused by the liberal media and current leftist lunacy. I have become a public figure. This is not something that scares me, nor is it something that I wish to run from. I’ve always been a leader. As a performer, I’ve always felt at home on a stage. I never dreamed I’d be leading an international movement as a conservative political figure. But I’ve now learned that God has a hell of a sense of humor. I’ve been called to action, and I take this call seriously. The response from the left regarding #WalkAway has been typical. They ignored us as long as they could. Then the denials. Then the lies. And then the retributions. They said the Campaign was a non-movement. A silly trending hashtag that was barely worth mentioning. As #WalkAway grew and the hashtag became one of the most used on the internet, out they came again with outlandish conspiracies about Russian bots and foreign interference. I have been accused of being a Putin puppet. I have been accused of being a (very stupid and very untalented) actor, hired by the Koch brothers, the GOP, the Trumps. After being recognized from television, I have been refused service in a store and labeled “alt-right”. I have had left wing news sources accuse me of working in tandem with subversive extremist clicks and organizations. They have attempted to erase the members of the #WalkAway Campaign, whom I call “the Patriots" by reporting that they are not real. Despite their video testimonials, these people who are bravely opening their hearts and minds for all the world to see and hear- telling their truth about the pain, disappointment and loss of hope they have experienced by those who engage in these very behaviors- they do not exist. They are “bots’. And the dishonest leftists have social media on their side. Facebook regularly removes thousands of members of the #WalkAway Campaign at a time. The platform has currently blocked my ability to message the Patriots or respond to their messages to me. Their ability to share about the group is also often blocked. Just as the left can not allow themselves to handle the thought that liberalism and the Democratic Party has scammed them, they can not allow themselves to accept that #WalkAway is a real movement and a real threat to their existence. The same irrational, unhinged, inability to deal with reality is manifesting itself once again in their refusal to listen to the real words of real people, and instead live in a state of denial about tens of thousands of people walking away from their party. Should the midterms and 2020 election prove to be a conservative windfall, the implication of this refusal to accept reality will surely show itself once again, in the belief by those remaining on the left that world is becoming even more racist, more hateful, and even more manipulated by outside propoganda. Sadly, many will never see that the truth of these assertions lies only in the mirror of the accuser. Read the full article

#BrandonStraka #WalkAway

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theolddarkmachine · 7 years

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Super Late Gajevy Love Week 2017: Warm-Up Prompt- AU

You can also find this floating around AO3. As per the notes there, I am getting my writing sea legs back by taking on the Gajevy Love Week challenge that happened like two months ago. (Wah, I’m literally always tardy to every party.) There will be smut eventually, but this one is smut free.

As far as jobs went, being a pet sitter wasn’t all too bad. Sure, the days were long if you actually wanted to make any money, and the driving all over the place sucked, but the freedom of being able to work when you wanted and to be paid to hangout with other people’s pets honestly made up for it. Levy had been a pet sitter for about six months now and while she certainly hadn’t moved into the city to do it, it was paying the bills while she was pitching her movie ideas around town. Weirdly enough, she’d ended up pet sitting for big names in the industry and though she never actually met any of them-- they probably wouldn’t need her services if they were home-- it did seem pretty cool to know she was still just one degree away.

“Must be nice,” she mumbled to herself as she hopped out of her car. Locking the door and clipping her keys to her belt loop-- she had a really nasty habit of locking her keys in her car and learned this was the best way to avoid anymore unfortunate incidents-- she pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and on top of her scarf she had had tied around her azure hair to keep it pulled back. Walking into the lobby through the door in the garage, she nodded to the man at the counter as she sauntered by. He’d stopped having her sign in after a few weeks, knowing full well that she had the code to the lockbox on the Redfox residence’s door and that if she did do something terrible the security could easily apprehend her. (Her small frame was both a blessing and a curse with this job, not that she would ever steal from a client, but it would be nice to know she could at least have a small semblance of a chance to get away if she did.)

“I-” she started, before locking eyes with the man and completely losing her train of thought. After another couple of seconds she just placed her hand on her chest and said “Pet sitter.”

That snapped her out of the trance as a smile broke across her face.

“Yeah?” She asked, looking up. The man smiled that damn smile again.

“Thanks for taking such good care of Lil while I was away. I know I’m not supposed to pick favorites either, but between you and me, you’re mine.”

“You really could have warned me about your owner looking like that.”

****

“God dammit, Lil,” he growled as his heart stuttered when he thought of her wink. “You really could have warned me about your sitter looking like that.”

#gajevy week #gajevy #gajeel redfox #levy mcgarden #gajeel x levy #fairy tail #does the gajevy week tag even work anymore?#probs not #whoops #gon use it anyway whaddup #alternate universe #au #fluff #one shot

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