#was bc last month the doctor's office suggested it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

twodimecastle · 3 years ago

Text

fifty bucks & six months.

spencer reid x gender neutral reader new relationship, secret keeping nonsense, 4.5k words, ao3 a/n; turns out i love writing texting fic but tumblr destroys the formatting rip

zero months.

You smile conspiratorially, extending a pinkie towards Spencer and he gives you a skeptical look.

“You know the odds of being found out immediately are-” he starts, but you cut him off.

“Astronomical, I know. I know. But don’t you think it’ll be fun to see how long we can push it?” you wheedle, not caring that your voice sounds more like begging than is strictly dignified because seeing the way Spencer’s nose crinkles in amusement at your heavy handed persuasion is too adorable to pass up. You scoot closer on the couch, tapping the end of his nose with your pinkie finger, letting him catch your hand between his as you continue “I think we’ve got a good shot at hiding it for a little while. It would be like a game.”

Spencer draws your captive hand to his lips, brushing them across your knuckles and watching fondly as you forge ahead in your campaign to persuade him, enjoying the show and the attention too much to tell you he’s already on board. Your eyes are shining with the prospect of the caper, and you’ve made no move to take your hand back from him, and Spencer’s pretty sure he’d be more than happy to sit with you in this moment forever. “I mean-” you go on, gesturing animatedly with your free hand, “you’re like-a really good liar when you want to be. And everyone else always forgets how good you are at it.”

He snorts at that and the sound makes you light up, eyes tracking the arch of his brows, the warmth in his soft brown eyes, memorising the way he looks like this; utterly unbothered, completely at ease. It might be your favourite version of him, but that race has always been a tight one with no clear winner in sight. You have lots of favourite versions of Spencer. Twisting your hand in his, you tangle your fingers together, savouring the way you feel his thumb glide delicately along your skin and the unhidden joy in his face at the simple show of affection.

Time to play your trump card.

“$50 says we can hide it from the whole group for at least six months. If everyone figures it out before then, you win. But if not everyone has worked it out by then, I win.”

The mischievous shine in your eyes is irresistible, and Spencer smiles, disentangling one of his hands from yours to extend his own pinky finger.

“You’re on.”

The words barely make it out of his mouth before you’re colliding with him, pressing your lips to his.

two months.

“So, how long has this whole thing been going on?” Derek’s question catches Spencer off guard, and, based on the way he can see you freeze in his peripheral vision, takes you by surprise as well. Sliding into the driver's seat of the SUV, Derek continues “I hope you didn’t think you were gonna be able to keep me in the dark for long, pretty boy. You should know better than that.”

Following mechanically after him, Spencer takes the passenger seat, trying to frame his next statement as carefully as possible as he hears your door close and the car start. “We were-going to tell you guys-” he begins uncomfortably, glancing back to you for support, but you look just as on edge as he feels. “We were just gonna-keep it to ourselves for a while-before telling Hotch and everything-” he tries again, the mounting tension levering his shoulders higher and higher with every passing moment, but then Derek just laughs, shaking his head.

“Hey, I’m happy for you, kid. For both of you.” He spares a look at you in the back seat through the rear view mirror, and you can feel the tension in your jaw relax, the furrows in your brow straightening out at the note of approval in Derek’s voice. “I’m glad you two finally figured it out,” he says, fondly, and you laugh.

“I bet Spence we could keep it from you guys at least six months,” you explain, reaching forwards through the centre console to link your pinky with Spencer’s, and the touch of your hand releases the last of the tension he had been harbouring as he covers your hand with the other one of his own. He knows Derek clocks the motion, filing it away in his mind somewhere, but he doesn’t care about the scrutiny so much right now. Not when your hand is so warm and comfortable in his.

Derek reaches for the dial on the radio and flicks through the channel, thinking about something, and as you watch, a slow mischievous smirk spreads across his face a moment later before he glances first at Spencer and then at you.

“I’ll tell you what,” he says to you, and Spencer can feel a familiar grin tugging at his own lips as he watches a plan take shape in his friend’s eyes. “I’m happy to sit on this information for a while for a cut of the winnings from whichever one of you comes out on top.” He snorts good naturedly as he continues “I have my own bet to win with Prentiss, so if you two help me win that one, I’ll cut you in too.”

“A quid pro quo of sorts,” Spencer says slowly, and he feels your fingers tighten around his, as you snort softly, and he knows instinctually you’re grinning the same way you always do when you’re winning a game. “I think we can do that.”

Derek grins, turning the music up as he nods, eyes on the road. “Then you two love birds have got yourselves a deal.”

two months and two weeks.

PG: youre not as slick as you think you are ;)

YN: ???

PG: ;))))))))) you should invest in some concealer for your work bag sweetness or tell the good doctor to pay more attention to whats visible in your work clothes

YN: oh my fucking god wait how do you even know thats how that happened

PG: im all knowing and all seeing im like the omnipotent goddess of the fbi

YN: derek blabbed

PG: he sang like a canary but also im an omnipotent goddess im also totally clued in on the whole bet situation with em so for the low low price of every single juicy detail about how this adorableness went down you can buy my silence :)

YN: im getting derek decaf coffee on all coffee runs from now on >:( traitors dont get caffeine

PG: darling sweet angel i need deets all of them like immediately

YN: >:( fine ok so. after that case down in georgia a few months ago? the weird one? with the creepy mother son thing?

PG: omg yuck pls dont remind me im here for the CUTENESS not the MURDER

YN: sorryyyyyyy anyway so spence was like being super weird about it all on the plane and whatever but he was doing that super annoying thing where he ignores it and says hes fine so everyone leaves him alone

PG: YEAH why does everyone here do that ALL THE TIME its SO annoyingggg

YN: ikr its insufferable and like super not subtle ANYWAY. spence was being weird and whatever and i just. refused to let him sulk on his own or whatever like i could tell there was something bothering him and so after work i insisted that we were gonna get like shitty diner food or whatever and watch a movie and he knows better than to say no to me

PG: smart boy

YN: so we got fries and milkshakes and then went back to his place to watch a movie and he was still like weird and silent and like brooding yknow? but whatever just figured hed talk about it when he was ready so i put on a movie and offered to make popcorn and then he was just staring at me and he looked so SAD and TIRED and i thought id done something wrong like the poor guy looked like he was gonna cry and i was panicking over fucking popcorn and then he says ‘why are you always so nice to me?’

PG: oh my god hes like if a sad victorian orphan was actually a triplicate phd holder

YN: i was SO thrown off i was like spencer. spencer were best friends. ive been forcing you to hang out with me for years now why do you THINK im being nice to you its bc i care about you asshole and then. like after another million years after letting me sweat it out over whether hes about to cry for like fucking years the asshole grabs my hand and says. i shit you not. ‘you know im in love with you, right?’ !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

PG: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YN: anyway hes my boyfriend now :’) dont tell anyone tho gotta win the bet

four months.

Lingering by the elevator, you glance around at the uncharacteristically silent office building, waiting for Spencer to leave the bullpen. The sound of his footfalls drawing nearer makes you smile and you mentally applaud yourself for suggesting the two of you remained behind after disembarking from the plane, taking advantage of the manufactured privacy to take the same car home, back to his apartment.

When he sees you waiting for him, he can’t help the soft fond smile that tugs at his face, as he reaches for your hand, sliding his fingers into yours with a gentle squeeze, the quiet of the building allowing him to indulge in the show of affection. You return the squeeze, leaning your head on his shoulder with a yawn and as he presses a fond kiss to your temple he’s rewarded by a sleepy hum of approval from you that sends a rush of quiet joy shooting through him.

“At least we won’t be sleeping in hotel beds again tonight,” you say, voice weary, and Spencer nods as he shuffles you into the elevator. The doors slide shut and the elevator starts to move and in the moment of absolute privacy, you steal a kiss, tilting your chin up to catch his lips with yours, revelling in the soft huff of surprise he lets out, even as he smiles against your mouth. Even after months, the simple act of kissing Spencer still feels new and thrilling somehow, like you can’t quite believe it’s something you’re allowed to do.

His nose brushes yours and he breathes “unless something big comes up, we get a sleep in tomorrow too,” and the way you beam at him sends his heart racing in his chest, unable to look away from the fondness shining in your eyes.

As the two of you exit the elevator and make your way through the Bureau car park, you tuck yourself against his side, wedging yourself under his arm with a happy sigh, eager to get yourself horizontal and asleep as fast as possible. Spencer brushes his lips against your temple again as the two of you close in on his car, almost free and clear of the office when a voice behind the two of you brings you up short.

“Reid?”

Spencer is reacting before his mind catches up, turning on his heel towards the sound of Hotch’s voice echoing through the parking lot, conscious of the incriminating way you’re still tucked against his side, even as his brain is rifling frantically through any possible excuses for the current circumstances.

“Hotch-” you step away from Spencer, cheeks flaming, not wanting to chance a look at him. “I-we-thought everyone else had gone home,” you trail off lamely, trying your hardest not to balk under Hotch’s ominously impassive scrutiny. A second passes, then another, and the short silence feels like months, or years even as the three of you stand locked in a stalemate.

“I take it the two of you would prefer to keep this under wraps?” He asks, finally, and it registers with Spencer, somewhat belatedly, that Hotch’s tone isn’t admonishing. It isn’t enough to dissipate the tension coiling in Spencer’s muscles just yet, but he spares a glance at you as he nods, and a moment later, Hotch gives the two of you a curt nod of his own. “I’ll tell you what,” he says, a shade of irony colouring his voice. “If you two fill out the paperwork for in-team relationships for me, I’ll keep it to myself. I understand privacy is hard to come by in our office.”

The words take a while to fully sink in, and you’re conscious that you’re standing there blinking and gaping at your boss like a bemused fish for a good few seconds before you’ve composed yourself enough to say “absolutely, sir. Of course. Thank you.”

Hotch nods again, heading towards his own car, and as he passes the two of you, a brief smile flashes across his face.

“Congratulations, you two. Get some sleep.”

four months and three weeks.

Spencer isn’t sure how late it is, but he knows you’re not asleep yet, the faint glow of your phone screen casting faint distorted shadows across his room as your free hand rests lightly on his chest. In the dark blue twilight of his room, the space feels undefined and dream like somehow, the line between his mind and his surroundings blurry or indistinct somehow, and as you huff out a near silent laugh at something on the screen in your hand, a thought rises to the surface of his thoughts like flotsam on an unwanted tide.

The more clinical part of his mind notes the autonomic response in his body, the way his heart lurches unpleasantly in his chest, heart rate rising with an influx of cortisol through his nervous system, automatically rifling through ways to control the anxiety response. Age old instinct surges forwards, starting to push his spiralling anxiety down out of sight so as not to bother you with it, but then your hand shifts infinitesimally on his chest, fingers curling in the soft fabric of his pyjama shirt, and for once his body is miles ahead of his brilliant mind, your name is leaving his lips before he’s really aware of it happening.

Your gaze flashes up from your phone at the sound of his voice, soft and hesitant, and you let the screen go dark as you set it down. You can feel Spencer’s heart hammering against his ribs under your palm, and your brows knit together in concern as you shift closer to his side, tracing gentle circles over his shirt with your fingertips, the repetitive motion intended to soothe, though you’re not sure if it’s for his benefit or yours.

“Yeah, baby?” You ask softly, working hard to keep the rising worry from your voice. After three years of friendship and almost six months of dating, you know him well enough to sense when his propensity for overthinking and catastrophizing is slipping out of his control. You can feel his chest rise as he inhales sharply, whatever he’s about to say cut off by second guessing, doing nothing to pacify your concern. “Spence? Is everything okay?” You ask again.

“This-bet-hiding our relationship-it’s-” he trails off, throat tight as he rolls onto his side, facing away from you, and smushing his face into the pillow, already wishing he hadn’t said anything. You’re the kindest person he’s ever met, but offering up this kind of raw insecurity feels like pulling teeth. Even if it’s you. Especially if it’s you. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to find out if you care about him enough to stay when his racing mind gets the better of him. The pillow muffles his voice as he says “never mind.”

You feel your own heart rate tic up in response to that, matching the wild beat of Spencer’s that you could feel under your palm only a second ago. “Baby, talk to me. What’s on your mind?”

He shakes his head, face still hidden in the pillow. “It’s stupid.”

He can feel the rush of your breath on his back as you sigh, and your voice is almost achingly patient as you say softly “it’s not stupid if it matters to you.” There’s a long pause, and you press yourself against his back, settling close and letting your hand slide over his side to rest on his chest, the heat of his skin sinking into yours even through his thin shirt. In spite of his height, he feels so small as you wrap yourself around him, drawing closer, trying to reassure him without yet knowing what he needs to be reassured of. “Spence?”

“Are you ashamed of-being with me? Is that why you want to hide it?” The words are almost whispered, the sound almost lost against his pillow and your heart sinks, plummeting faster and further than if you’d dropped it off the side of a skyscraper. You should’ve known he might worry about that, should have realised it might have felt that way. Remorse rises hot and bitter in your throat and you swallow it down, trying to steady your voice.

“Spencer. Sweetheart. No. Never. I could never be ashamed. I love you. I’m so sorry.” Your arms wrap more tightly around him and you bury your face against the crook of his neck, the tension you can feel in every inch of his body making you feel more cruel and short-sighted than you already do. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise it might feel like that. I could never be ashamed of being with you, Spence. You’re my favourite person.” He takes the kind of shaky, shallow breath that comes with trying not to cry and your heart breaks a little more as one of his hands slowly moves to cover yours where it rests against his chest, just over his heart.

As his hand rests over yours, his thumb strokes lightly along your knuckles, and he knows you know him well enough to notice the way his hand trembles, just a little, because then your hand is shifting against his, turning to clumsily tangle your fingers with his, holding tighter to him as he tries to collect himself, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath as his eyes squeeze shut. He can hear the contrition in your voice as you say softly “I’ve never really liked having people know everything about what’s going on in my life. And I love our friends but-something like this, that’s so-special? So new? I wanted to be able to keep it to just us for a while.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice comes out a little shaky, scarcely more than a whisper, and it’s more than you can take as you pull back and gently force him to roll over to face you. He’s not crying, but his eyes are glassy and you recognise the fight to keep the tears unshed in the tight set of his jaw and the hard line of his lips. Leaning on your elbow, you lift your free hand to gently smooth out the furrows of his brow, letting your fingers linger along the planes of his face.

“Why are you sorry,” you ask gently. “You don’t need to be sorry, baby. Not for talking to me about things that bother you. We can tell everyone else tomorrow, if you want? We can call off the bet. Derek will live. If he’s got a problem with it I’ll turn all his shirts into crop tops.”

He can tell the joke is a last bid attempt to make him smile, to ease his fear, and it works. In spite of the anxious weight in his chest that feels like it’s pressing him into the mattress, Spencer laughs weakly, meeting your eyes, and he watches as a relieved smile breaks across your face, releasing your lower lip from where you’d trapped it worriedly between your teeth. The unmitigated affection that floods into your eyes renders him momentarily breathless as he takes in the moment. You’re still here, still trying to take care of him. Just as kind and steadfast as ever.

“No,” he says eventually, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you down on top of him like a living weighted blanket, letting your warmth chase the bulk of the tension from his body and luxuriating in the way you curl into him, one hand sliding into his hair. “We shouldn’t call off the bet. We still have to take Emily’s money, remember?”

Your sleepy laugh is the last thing he hears before his eyes close and the feel of your body wound around his lulls him to sleep.

five months.

SR: Can I talk to you about something?

DM: you dying or something? that’s a really fuckin ominous text to recieve out of the blue

SR: I’m not dying, why would that be what you assumed? I just have a question.

DM: just a figure of speech but what’s up?

SR: It’s about your bet with Emily. What’re the terms for it?

DM: wym?

SR: What exactly did you two make the bet about? What needs to happen in order for you to win the bet?

DM: does this count as collusion?

SR: Technically yes, but calling it collusion implies a certain degree of illegality.

DM: whatever anyway the terms i made with em were that you’d make some kind of move before your birthday but she reckoned you were gonna need some kind of near death experience to do anything about your crush why?

SR: I’m just making sure I have all the information.

DM: what’s going on pretty boy? you planning something?

SR: Maybe.

DM: not a helpful answer reid is everything good?

SR: Everything’s fine. We’re just figuring some stuff out. Nothing to worry about.

DM: is there something you’re not telling me?

SR: Don’t worry about it.

five months, three weeks and six days.

In the chaos that was the scramble from the briefing room to the jet, you haven’t yet had the chance to speak to Spencer about the outcome of his most recent thesis defence panel. By the time you’ve got a moment to breathe, the jet is underway, coasting across the country towards Montana, the whole team settled in for the six hour flight. You corner him in the tiny kitchen area of the jet as he’s making a mug of mediocre coffee, fingers tapping out an absent minded rhythm on the countertop as the coffee machine whirs, clearly not paying attention to anything outside of his head.

“Hey, boy genius.” He jumps, whirling around, eyes wide with surprise, and you smile fondly. “So?” You demand, and Spencer raises an eyebrow in confusion. You snort, rolling your eyes as you elaborate. “Your defence panel. Did it go okay?”

You’re shifting your weight and fidgeting restlessly with the belt loops on your pants and as he studies you for a moment, it occurs to Spencer that you’re nervous for him over this outcome. The thought brings an almost giddy smile to his face.

“You know this isn’t my first thesis defence panel, right?” He says mildly, deliberately burying the lede, enjoying the way you scowl in irritation too much to answer your question right away, too enamoured with this display of concern on his behalf.

“Don’t be difficult, Doctor Reid. It’s still a big deal.” He just shrugs noncommittally, and you huff, swatting his arm lightly. “So did it go well?” You ask again, eyes narrowing as you try to dissect his microexpressions, trying to discern the answer he seems determined to keep from you for yourself. A few seconds later, he relents.

“I can now add degree number six to my wall.” He confirms. Getting degrees doesn’t hold the same rush of pride for him now, the accomplishment feeling somewhat less exceptional as he acquires more of them, but the way your face lights up with pride for him reminds him how special the things he’s capable of can be. You’ve always made him feel like more than the sum of his parts somehow, like something infinitely more precious than he always assumed he is.

“I fucking knew it. That’s amazing, Spence,” you say, chest warm and full with pride and love, and his almost shy smile in return is enough to make a decision for you in a split second. Your hand dips into your back pocket, drawing something out, and you carefully hide it from view in your palm as Spencer tracks the motion curiously with his eyes.

Your eyes are shining with affection and something that looks like mischief and the way you’re smiling at him is more than enough to divert his attention as you step closer, just barely noticing as you slip something into his hand. You’re dangerously, distractingly close now, and he’s conscious, if somewhat distantly, that neither of you is concealed from the rest of the team, scant meters away in the seating area of the jet. But you’re smiling and close enough for him to feel your breath on his face and suddenly your lips are on his, and even after nearly seven months of being able to touch you like this, it’s enough to make him forget everything else as he melts into the contact, savouring the warmth of your skin and the faint smell of your shampoo.

You pull back a second later, the kiss over almost as soon as it started, but it’s enough to attract attention, and you can hear a belated ‘oh SHIT’ from Emily in the main cabin of the jet. In your peripheral vision, you can see money changing hands, your friends scrambling to react, but you don’t look at them, choosing to enjoy the bemused, affectionate look on Spencer’s face as his brain catches up to the events unfolding around the two of you.

“I was tired of keeping it a secret,” you say fondly, loud enough only for him to hear. “You win.”

Blinking in confusion, he finally tears his gaze away from yours, fingers uncurling to reveal the fifty dollar bill you had pressed into his palm right before you kissed him. The penny drops and he snorts with laughter, shaking his head in half hearted indignation as his other arm loops around you, pulling you in, letting you rest your head on his shoulder, hiding your face from the rest of the team as he kisses your temple, revelling in the way you wind yourself around him in response.

“I was gonna do this in like two days. I wanted you to win,” he murmurs against your hairline, and he can feel your faint laughter.

“Too bad, baby. I’m used to getting my way,” you say, pulling back to steal another quick kiss before peeling yourself out of his arms with a wink, turning to face the onslaught of ‘care to fucking explain that’ and ‘I fucking told you so’ from the rest of your friends, tugging him with you by your joined hands.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid/you #spencer reid/reader #reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #dr spencer reid #my writing #spencer reid fluff

277 notes · View notes

thesaltyace · 2 years ago

Text

I fucking hate living in Texas.

I had my first obgyn appointment since RvW fell and of course the nurse asked when my last period was.

I was like "I couldn't tell you, idk, they're irregular because PCOS." And even if they were regular, I'm sure not telling anyone now.

So the doctor came in was like like, hey, with the Paragard IUD you really should be having a period and it's concerning if you're not.

I'm like yeah, I get that, but I was told my PCOS meant I might not have regular periods even though I've got an IUD.

She's like Yesssss but if you're not shedding that uterine lining at least every 3-ish months, that can cause issues for you later down the road in terms of increasing your risk of cancer.

So she wants me to start using a period tracking app (🚩) and let her know if I'm not having a period at least every three months. And if I'm not, she wants to prescribe a five-day course of progestin every few months to make sure I'm not building up uterine lining.

I know the increased risk she described is factually accurate. And my grandmother (who we're sure had undiagnosed PCOS) did develop uterine cancer in her 80s. And yeah, I had to do the progestin thing several years ago because I was going 8+ months without a period while not taking any hormonal bc.

She's been pretty cool in the past two years I've seen her, and has made strong efforts to be gender inclusive (in West Texas!!). All signs suggest she's probably a safe provider. Based on our conversation, I am fairly confident she is genuinely interested in making sure I stay healthy.

However.

The entire office from check-in to the nurse's station is full of decor consisting of crosses and Bible quotes. It makes me so angry to say this, but I can no longer place trust in my doctor regarding reproductive rights because she hasn't specifically affirmed her position regarding abortion access. And given the nurse/office vibe, I can't reasonably assume her position, either.

So! Instead of being able to have a frank, open discussion about my health, I feel like my only choice is to conceal what could be vital information because my ability to access an abortion (should I get pregnant while using an IUD, which is very unlikely but very serious if it did occur) than it is to prevent uterine cancer.

Fuck Greg Abbott, seriously.

#fuck greg abbott #texas sucks #pro choice #reproductive rights #pro abortion y'all

8 notes · View notes

let-it-raines · 4 years ago

Note

Did you see that post floating around about the couple who were dating before they started at an office but didn't tell anyone and everyone kept calling them Jim and Pam and trying to convince them they should date bc they were friendly with each other??? Yeah, you should write that for CS

Nonnie, I did not see it floating around because I, well, don’t really check my feed, but @shireness-says did send it to me to write last night. Then you did too, and it seemed like I had to write a little something!

original post | here |

on ao3 | here |

-/-

This is a bullshit job.

Okay, it’s not, and Emma knows it. It’s a job that’s getting her insurance and enabling her to pay her bills after she lost her last job due to her asshole boss’s gambling problems that burned Queen’s Bail Bonds to the ground. Figuratively, not literally, but Emma really wanted to literally burn it down when it meant she was out of a job. And none of the other bail bonds places in town would hire her because Regina burned a bridge with anyone and everyone she could since she is the actual worst and made enemies with anyone who challenged her. Emma doesn’t exactly have much of an education and has a history that’s a little less than pretty, so after eating three saltine crackers for dinner and considering selling her car for grocery money, she bit the bullet and started applying for office jobs that have always seemed like her worst nightmare.

So, that’s how she got here, sitting in a closed off part of Mass General with no windows and possible mold with a stack of files bigger than her that she’s having to put in the computer because they’re going digital. She’s never thought about medical files before and has assumed they’ve always been digital, but the entire department full of filing cabinets says otherwise.

She’s probably going to be vitamin D deficient by the time she finds another job.

Really, it’s fine. It’s not all that bad. She likes her coworkers, and most days she can listen to music all day and get lost in the repetitiveness of her job. Today Emma’s a little cranky because her car wouldn’t crank this morning, and she should have sold that piece of junk when she had the chance last month.

Spinning in her chair, Emma pops an earphone out and looks across her desk where Mary Margaret and Ruby are talking. They both work in Community Outreach, which is an entirely different department up in the land of people and windows, but their boss sent them to help with the digitization because the hospital realized the temps they hired would take at least six months to do all the work if left to their own devices. Emma wouldn’t mind that, no matter how much she sometimes hates it, because it would mean she has a few more months to figure her shit out.

“Morning, Swan.” Emma groans and leans back in her chair, the wheels squeaking underneath her. Killian stops by her desk, taking a peppermint out of the bowl in the corner, and pops it in his mouth. He’s far too peppy this morning, and she just knows he went for a run this morning and then spent an unnecessary amount of time fixing his hair to give it that disheveled look. She doesn’t understand morning exercise people. They may not be people at all. “How are you today?”

“Exhausted.”

“What? No sleep last night?”

“Only a little.” She shrugs and holds her hand out. He tosses her a new peppermint, and she quickly unwraps it, the mint soothing her throat. The cold weather outside always dries out her throat, and having to walk to work this morning did not help. “My car wouldn’t start this morning, so I think I’m exhausted from walking here and knowing I’m probably going to be out of a car.”

His eyes glance up and down her, lips pressed into a firm line, and she expects him to make a joke that will have her rolling her eyes. Instead, he leans over her desk and presses his cheek to his palm, blinking slowly. “Do you need a ride home? I can give you one after work.”

“I can walk.”

“Swan. It’s no problem.”

Emma sighs and leans back, running her tongue against the peppermint. “You sure?”

“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t. Pick you up at five thirty?”

“See you then.”

Killian knocks his knuckles against the wood and flashes her a smile, walking away from her desk and down the hallway to the IT department, where he’ll spend the rest of the day answering calls from elderly doctors who don’t know how to log into their patient portal. Emma watches him walk away, knowing he won’t notice. Winter in Boston may be hell, but it does have benefits, such as the way Killian owns several fitted sweaters that hug his biceps. There are few perks to this job, and even though there are no windows, there are sometimes views.

When he disappears around the corner, Emma goes back to her files, typing in more patient information, when she hears Mary Margaret and Ruby rise from their chairs, heels clicking against the tile. They’ve got Cheshire Cat grins on their faces, every tooth showing, and if Emma ignores them, maybe they’ll go away.

She knows better than to hope for impossible things.

“So,” Ruby starts, incessantly tapping a pen against the desk to make Emma look up. Her desk has one of those tall, barrier-type things around the top because it’s an old secretary’s desk, which is great for hiding out. The problem is that people know to look for her now, and when they do, there’s no way for her to escape unless she wants to roll right out of the room. “He’s taking you home, offering you a ride.”

“Ruby,” Mary Margaret hisses, “don’t say it like that!”

“Why not? That’s what could happen! He takes her home, she invites him inside for some coffee to thank him, and then one thing leads to another…bam! They’re going at it on her couch!”

“Emma is going to file a complaint with HR about you.”

“If it gets she and Jones together, it’ll be worth it. I mean, come on. They’re adorable, and my God, the sexual tension makes me need some water to cool down.”

“Do you guys have anything new to say or is it going to be more trying to convince me to date the IT guy who walks in here to steal our peppermints and fix our computers when they break down three times a day?” Emma asks, half pretending to still be working.

Ruby and Mary Margaret stop looking at each other and look at her, brows to their foreheads and smiles slipping away more and more each second. “He comes in here to flirt, and you know it.”

Emma shrugs and grabs another peppermint. “He’s a friendly guy, easy to talk to, likes peppermints. I have peppermints.”

“Oh my God,” Ruby groans, dropping her head to the desk. “You’re killing me. Absolutely killing me.”

“You know, Emma, there’s no rule against office romances,” Mary Margaret suggests. “I think you should give it a shot.”

Emma rolls her eyes and keeps typing in patient information. “Maybe I will, but maybe I’m not going to ask him out until my time here is up just to torture the both of you.”

She has no intention of asking him out, but they don’t have to know that.

They gasp, and Emma knows she’s won this round. It doesn’t matter, though, because they’ll be back at her desk to have this conversation again after the next few times Killian walks through the office. And he does walk through the office at least seven more times that day. He has to fix her computer, then Ruby’s, and then there’s a near catastrophe where the digital filing system shuts down. Another time he comes in before lunch, asking everyone in the office if they’d like anything from the hospital deli, and then he comes back with salads for everyone, eating with the three of them and Jeff from IT. Once more he comes in for a peppermint, saying he just couldn’t have his breath smell any longer, but he stays and chats for fifteen minutes about a new ice skating rink he’s thinking of taking his friend Rob’s kid to. He suggests Emma should check it out, and then Ruby makes a sexual joke about ice skating, which is something Emma didn’t even know could be sexual if you weren’t a professional who could do all those lifts and dances or whatever. Emma is fit, but she couldn’t do that.

Finally, he comes into the office a little before five thirty, his car keys in hand, and Emma grabs her things and walks with him out of the office and back up into sunlight, which she forgot existed. She’ll barely get to see any of it, however, because it’s December and the sun basically sets at noon.

She is definitely going to have a vitamin D deficiency soon. Maybe she should start taking vitamins.

She and Killian talk about their days during the ride to her apartment, but mostly Emma sits in silence and listens to the radio, letting her eyes rest from staring at small print and a computer screen all day. It’s an adjustment for her to work regular hours, and all she wants now is to consume an entire pizza and have a large glass of wine.

Or two. Two large glasses of wine sound good.

When Emma opens her eyes, Killian is parked outside her building, his car idling, and she blinks herself away, undoing her seatbelt and sitting up. “Thank you for the ride, Jones.”

“Not a problem, love.”

She twists to the side, looking at him, and thinks of what Ruby and Mary Margaret said earlier.. “You want to come in for some coffee?”

“You know I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I have caffeine this late.”

Emma shrugs and leans over the console to press her lips to his, lingering as Killian’s hand comes to cup her cheek, his fingers threading through her ponytail as he tugs her closer. He tastes like peppermint, and it makes Emma smile.

“I know,” Emma sighs, pressing her forehead to his. “But I need coffee if I’m going to stay up until a normal hour, and I need to deal with my car tonight. Do you think it’s a goner?”

Killian pinches his brows and kisses her again, his tongue teasing her bottom lip, but he pulls back and crosses her arms over her chest, waiting for his real answer, even if she already knows. “I think we can look at it, have a mechanic look at it, and then look at it again when you disagree with the mechanic, but I think it may be time to lay the bug to rest. It had a good run, and I will always hold dear the memory of you nearly hitting me with it.”

“You can’t say I don’t make a great first impression.” She laughs at the memory and the way Killian had told her to go fuck herself, but quickly her heart drops and she groans, wondering how many curses she can mutter in a thirty-second time frame. Probably not as many as Killian did that day. The British know how to curse. “I don’t have the money for a new car. What am I going to do?”

“I can take you to work. We��re going to be at the same place for at least another month or so. And who knows? Maybe you’ll get another job at the hospital. And if not, I can still take you to work and pick you up. We’ve been sleeping at each other’s places most nights anyway. If you don’t want that, there are several different public transportation options. But I think Mary Margaret and Ruby would die if I took you to work in the morning.”

He waggles his brows and smirks, leaning into her, and Emma can’t help the smile that creeps up on her. They didn't want it to be a thing that they were dating because Emma wanted to get the job on her own, so they never told anyone. “They would actually die. I mean, seriously. They told me I should invite you up for coffee and then ride you on my couch, and you know, that doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea.”

“Well, I would have been up for that even without the coffee invitation, love.”

“That a double entendre?”

“Of course.” He reaches over and grabs her hand, threading their fingers together. “When do you think you’re going to tell them we started dating months before you started at the hospital?”

Emma shrugs and leans back, smiling. “Eh, I think one day we should walk in holding hands and let them think it’s new.”

“Tomorrow? I could give you a mark on your collarbone to really drive them crazy.”

“Absolutely not, but nice try buddy.” She nods her head toward the building. “Come inside with me and let’s get dinner. Pizza sound good?”

“Pizza sounds fantastic, love.”

-/-

They walk inside holding hands a month later, and Mary Margaret stumbles while Ruby drops her coffee over her computer’s keyboard. Killian is the one who fixes it, and Ruby is still so shocked she can’t interrogate him while he works.

Emma has a feeling Ruby Lucas has never been shocked silent, and Emma can barely hold in her laughter.

She never does tell them how long she and Killian were dating. She doesn’t think their computers could take it.

-/-

She does find them in their office a year later, though, when they’re back in Community Outreach and she’s working in the conference center – which has windows! – and shows them the ring on her finger.

Ruby, thankfully, didn’t have any coffee in her hands.

#cs prompts #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan #office antics #Anonymous

73 notes · View notes

foolgobi65 · 5 years ago

Note

Ram/Sita + spy au+ friends to lovers + “you know i’ll do anything for you”

lol this...AGAIN....spun out of my control.....and is apparently 6020 words while still having massive massive holes in characterization and plot and ...general stuff..lol. anyways hope u like it? it ended up being way less Spy Spy and more ....arranged marriage au...... because everything i’ve written has basically been that now lol and raazi is the only spy movie i could think of that works bc rama and sita dont have mr and mrs smith vibes to me. love u!!!!!!

----

“Are you serious?”

The face on the screen is somehow almost as familiar as Sita’s own -- she’s never been one for the gossip rags, but at some point, it’s almost harder not to know the features of someone who’s been famous since his parents announced his conception.

“You know him, then.” Sita’s handler Kaikeyi seems remarkably even-tempered for a woman charging Sita, her top recruit, to attach herself to the arm of Kaikey’s stepson -- a boy that the papers seem to believe Kaikeyi prefers even to her own Bharata. Sita raises an incredulous eyebrow before realizing that Kaikeyi does actually expect Sita to recite what she knows about her newest target.

“Ramachandra Raghav,” Sita recites from memory, “but the papers call him Ram. Only son of Dasaratha and his first wife Kausalya, sole presumptive inheritor to the Kosala industries fortune. Dasaratha Raghav and his wife publicly struggled to conceive and adopted a daughter, Shanta, nine years before they had Ram whose birth coincided with the release of Dasartha’s final film and his entry into politics.” Sita purses her lips, unsure if she should continue, but Kaikeyi remains impassive. “Dasaratha and Kausalya divorced when Ram was five, and three months later Dasaratha married you.” Judiciously Sita chooses not to include the fact that Kaikeyi, who during her acting days had only been paired with the already greying movie star, reportedly delivered her eight-pound son Bharata three months early.

Kaikeyi rolls her eyes, still the same striking green that had made her first film such a hit. “Of course I was pregnant when we got married. What else.”

Sita racks her mind. “The custody case was unusual -- Kausalya shifted to America with her children, but Dasaratha petitioned for them to stay with him in India. Shanta was 16 and decided to finish school abroad with Kausalya, but the courts decided that Ram would spend alternate years with each parent until he reached his majority.” It was the oddity of the arrangement that kept the Indian public so desperate for news about what otherwise might have been just another star-turned-politician’s son: pictures of Bharata, who was constantly being presented at building openings, movie premiers and other assorted Party functions went for nearly a quarter of the price as those of Ram whose arrival at the Delhi airport became more and more of a national event in sync with his father’s increasing political power. The exoticism of his American English was viewed with as much pride as his unaccented Hindi which the Party often used to great effect, having him canvass his father’s constituents on camera the year Dasaratha was put forward as the party’s candidate for Chief Minister and releasing them online.

But it has been a few years since Ram was last in India for more than a month or so’s vacation -- at 16 he graduated from school and sent the Indian media into near paralytic shock when he decided to attend university in Delhi. Not even three years dimmed the public’s fascination, which quickly turned into genuine discontent when it was announced that Ram had accepted an offer to do his doctorate in California and had barely been seen in India since.

“You want me to investigate a Chief Minister’s son?” Again, Sita leaves unsaid the rumors that swirl even in headquarters -- that Dasaratha’s relative competency at state-wide management has made him a viable candidate for even higher office. That after the last election’s dismal results, it is apparent that Dasaratha might be the only remaining Party figure popular enough to lead a coalition that would bring them to power in the Centre after nearly a decade at the periphery.

Kaikeyi laughs. “Not quite,” she says, still perfect red lips twisting in a faint smile, “Ram is in New York now working for the UN, and it seems that he will have a long and illustrious career in diplomacy which will bring him into contact with all sorts of people of interest to our national security agencies. We need someone at his side to make sure that those contacts are being utilized to their full potential.”

Sita frowns. “He’s too young to need a trusted aide or a secretary.”

“Correct. That’s why we’re sending you to New York as his wife.”

When Sita is 18, a woman comes up to her on the street asking if she’d like to be a model. As a laugh Sita shows up at what the woman’s business card says is the head-hunting agency’s main office only to be quickly moved to a backroom, divested of her backpack, phone and shoes and investing her with a new lifelong wariness of strangers with offers too good to be true. Her father is the aging yet venerable University President -- they don’t have the money for ransom, but Sita just as quickly rules out potential trafficking since her father has one or two connections that would raise quite the fuss if he informed them that his daughter was missing. But before she can think of another reason behind her apparent kidnapping, the door opens, and Sita’s life changes with the incoming rush of bright light into the dark room.

“You’re..” she splutters, eyes raking up and down the perfect figure of the woman in front of her.

“Yes,” Kaikeyi Raghav says, sunglasses perched delicately at the top of her head as she adjusts the pallu of her elegant chiffon sari. “I’m sorry for all the confusion, but we really needed to get you alone before we could try and talk to you.”

“Talk,” Sita rasps, suddenly hyper aware of her own dry throat. Kaikeyi sighs, clapping her hands once before taking a bottle of water that appeared almost instantly at the door’s threshold, opening the cap and offering it to Sita who gulps it down. “Talk about what?” Sita asks.

“One of our associates brought you to our attention about a year ago thinking that with some work you could be turned into something quite extraordinary.” Kaikeyi brings up her right hand to pull down her hair from its updo, the cascades only making her more breathtaking to Sita, whose father always had a soft spot for the old Dasaratha-Kaikeyi films. “I’ve been observing you ever since, and recently came to the same conclusion.”

Sita can’t help but glow at the praise, even as she tries to keep her sense of rationality -- she’s been kidnapped after all, even if by one of the nation’s most illustrious figures. First: “Are you trying to traffick me into sex work?”

Kaikeyi laughs, and the sound is clear and captivating like a bell. The more Sita watches, the smaller details begin to stand out -- a mole just slightly to the right of Kaikeyi’s collarbone, the green of the embroidery that brings out those colors in her eyes, the red fingernails that perfectly match Kaikeyi’s lips.

“Do I look like a pimp?” Kaikeyi’s tone is one that does not truly seek a response, though Sita is not sure she even has one. The proclivities of the rich and powerful are rumored to skew to the truly scandalous, and there is no reason that an elegant woman could not be the front for the procurement of such services.

“Then is this supposed to be recruitment for politics?” Sita has never thought herself particularly gifted at deception, which seems to be the first requirement for a fruitful career of public service.

“No,” Kaikeyi laughs again, “but I find it interesting that you didn’t consider that I might be signing you on as a heroine.”

“I don’t have a face for film,” Sita says, “and I have no intention of leaving Delhi.”

“You have exactly the face for film,” Kaikeyi counters, “but I agree -- your mind would be as wasted as mine in Bombay.”

“Then politics?” Sita, who was born and brought up in Calcutta before her father was given a position in Delhi had never given much thought to the Raghav’s stronghold Ayodhya -- she can’t imagine what Kaikeyi could possibly see in her.

Kaikeyi shakes her head. “What do you know about this country’s intelligence services?”

Sita blinks. “You want me to be a spy?”

Five years after their first meeting, Sita has learned how to handle all sorts of weapons including her own body, how to speak a dozen languages, how to scope out a room. In some strange way, Kaikeyi seems to have filled the gaping hole left behind by Sita’s long-dead mother Sunaina, who Sita is not entirely sure would approve of what her daughter decided to make of her life. There isn’t quite a bond of affection, but there is loyalty beyond even what Sita would have given her own mother -- no better proof than the fact that here Sita is agreeing to marry Kaikeyi’s stepson entirely because Kaikeyi demanded it, where Sunaina would have had quite the shock if she had tried to suggest a man for Sita to wed. Sita had dreamed of marrying for love, but loyalty she reasons is close enough.

Ostensibly, Sita has finished her MA with high honors and works at an NGO that enjoys Kaikeyi’s patronage -- this, they decide, is how the papers will be told Kaikeyi knows Sita. There are a few strategically leaked photos of Kaikeyi first paying the NGO a visit, then taking Sita out for a series of lunches. Sita finally travels to the ancestral Raghav mansion in Ayodhya for Diwali, bringing along her father to meet and pay his respects to his favorite screen star.

“You must be Sita’s father,” Dasaratha booms when they approach, somehow brimming with the same vitality and presence that drew such crowds to the theater in his youth. He grins, left arm wound around Kaikeyi’s waist at his side as he turns to speak to Sita. “My wife has grown old and taken up matchmaking to pass the time, but from what I have seen you would be a fine choice for my Ram.”

Janaka stiffens at Sita’s side, hearing about such an arrangement for the first time, but Dasaratha’s charisma pulls him into its orbit as Dasaratha reaches out his hands. “I confess that I was never well educated myself, but I believe it would only bring me and my family honor to be able to call someone as learned as yourself ‘Brother.’”

Janaka is sold. Sita, who has never been quite sure about the real dynamic between Kaikeyi and her husband, realizes with some relief that there is genuine fondness, even love, in the smile she flashes her husband. Perhaps there might be hope for Sita herself.

Dasaratha insists that the informal engagement is enough to justify Sita and her father’s extended stay at the mansion. After one day, he calls Ram himself informing his son that Dasaratha has found him a wife. Within a week, the news reports that Dasaratha’s eldest son has found himself back on Indian soil.

Sita finally leaves the mansion two weeks after Diwali with the instruction that she must treat the property as her own home whenever she returns to India -- after all, Dasaratha booms, she is his beloved Ram’s wife now, and Dasaratha’s daughter now as much as Janaka’s.

“So,” Sita says on their first night, sitting on what's supposed to be their marital bed, “what name should I call you?”

Her husband raises an eyebrow, silent just as he has been for almost the entire week since he was called home. Kaikeyi, when Sita asked for details, had not elaborated on the character of her stepson nor had she offered details about how Sita might best seduce him.

“Follow your instincts,” Kaikeyi had said, smiling at Sita’s frustration. “You’ll know what I mean when you spend time with him.”

Well, Sita thinks perversely, her instincts are telling her to confess everything to the man she has promised herself to in front of her father, and God almighty. Somehow, she is meant to maintain a lifelong relationship with a man she is only now speaking to, and to mine his contacts for information to send back to her handler, his stepmother.

“The papers call you Ram,” Sita says, only a little sullen at the thought of the task ahead of her, “as does your family. Is that what you prefer to go by?”

“My father’s family,” he corrects mildly, and Sita immediately flushes at the mistake. Kaushalya and Shanta had of course come, but arrived only the night before the wedding -- Sita had met them both the morning of, but only enough to touch their feet and have Kaushalya cluck, teary-eyed, over the beauty of Sita in her wedding sari.

“Of course,” Kaushalya had said off-handedly to Shanta standing at her side, “Kaikeyi has always had excellent taste.” Sita had not trusted herself to answer.

“Will we live with your mother in America?” Sita has been provided with what she considers shockingly little information regarding her future living situation -- Kaikeyi insists that, largely, this assignment requires Sita to effectively live her own life and as such being more information than provided a new wife would only detract from her performance.

He shakes his head. “My mother and Shanta live in New York too, but Shanta needed to be closer to Columbia and...” he looks away, suddenly just slightly awkward. “Things changed so much for Mother throughout my life that I think she was finally able to find some type of stability when I was away at university. When it turned out that I was moving back, I didn’t want to be the one to throw her life back into flux.”

Sita nods. “Are you close?”

Her husband hums, fingers of one hand slightly worrying at the hem of a blanket. “As much as I can be, having spent every other year away.”

Sita can’t imagine -- for years, the story of the boy caught so explicitly between two worlds has always been interesting or amusing, but now that she’s confronted with him in the flesh she knows that it must have been sad, too. She tries to imagine a mother committing to the notion that the child she waves off at the airport gate would not be the one who returned, and finds that it’s impossible.

“It must have been difficult,” she offers, not elaborating on whether she is speaking of her husband’s family, or himself.

He nods. “Father and Mother Kaikeyi always had Bharata, and the Party. I was glad when Mother found Sumitra and the boys.”

Sita’s eyes widen. “A friend?”

He turns his body to look at her for the first time head-on. “No,” he says, eyes boring into Sita’s, exuding the same gravitational force as his father. “Her wife. The boys are my Father’s during a...period of disagreement with Mother Kaikeyi, and when Sumitra decided to keep them Mother brought her to New York to have the children. They fell in love.”

This is a test, Sita realizes, and for the first time, she realizes the wisdom of Kaikeyi’s lack of preparatory material even as she curses Kaikeyi in equal measure. She would have liked to have not been blindsided, but there is a truth to her reaction she could never have mimicked so effectively. Her mind roils with the amount of information relayed in such few sentences -- Dasaratha, already so old, still fathering sons. Kaikeyi and her husband having a disagreement so strident it sent him into another’s arms. Kausalya, raising more of Dasaratha’s children as her own. Kausalya, in love with a woman.

Her silence has drawn on too long during her contemplation, and her husband’s eyes have gone cold as he leans away from her.

“You call her Sumitra,” she decides on, “but if she’s your mother’s wife, should I call her mother in law as well?”

Her husband is wide-eyed himself for a moment, but then his face cracks into a smile just dripping with sudden, unexpected delight. Sita’s heart skips a beat at the sight.

“It would make her very happy if you did,” he says. “And as for me, my mother has always insisted on calling me Ramachandra and none of my siblings use my name at all. You can call me whatever you’d like.”

---

“Rama!” Sita exclaims, trying to rise from the chair behind her desk and managing to trip on the hanging sleeve of the sweater she had been sitting on. She laughs, picking herself up off the ground. “Oh, and you brought the boys too!”

It’s been a year since Sita moved to New York, a year in which she’s found fulfilling work at a South Asian women’s shelter, learned how to navigate herself via subway to find the best of ten different cuisines in New York, read three books related to Shanta’s new area of interest, featured in the boys’ Instagram Lives over 20 different times, and found herself a best friend in the form of her husband.

Ram, she had decided, was how the public knew him even if his father’s family chose the same. Ramachandra was much too long. Rama was short, sweet, vowels easy in Sita’s mouth.

“No one calls me that,” he’d said when she’d first used the name, his tone again one of unexpected delight. “I’ve always thought it was strange that they never did.”

Sita’s due a lunch break, but she’s always been prone to eating at her desk unless she’s eating out -- a budgeted, once weekly expense she keeps track of after the humiliating exorbitancy of her first month’s bill.

“We have money,” Rama had said, bemused at Sita’s profuse apologies. “I’ve got a trust fund, but my salary certainly pays well enough for this.” He’d glanced at the bill Sita had handed him as she had wrung her hands in front of him, so unsure of how she’d managed to spend so much. “It looks like this is mostly just restaurant charges anyway, and,” he’d looked up at Sita with a smile, rising to hold her hands before she could twist them again, “you live in New York now. I’m glad that you’ve spent the last month trying all sorts of the things the city has to offer. It’s exactly what I did when I moved back, except I probably spent twice as much.”

Sita had felt the first of many twin pangs at his kindness -- one pang of joy, at being with someone so well suited to herself, and another of sorrow when she thought of how their relationship was founded on a lie. Kaikeyi had told Sita that there was no need to actively seek out contacts for at least the first year, and so the extent of her real work was having regular conversations with Kaikeyi that easily blurred the line between professional and personal relationships.

“Is he any good at sex,” Kaikeyi had asked one day after asking for a report about Rama’s “family situation” which Sita found distressingly similar to the inquiries of a second wife wondering about her husband’s former paramours. Sita had hung up.

“Sita?” Sita starts, bringing herself out of her reverie and smiling.

“Sorry,” she says, grabbing her coat. “I was just thinking about something.”

“Something interesting?” He takes the coat and holds it out for Sita to slip her arms into, smoothing down the lapels when she turns around. “I spent the whole morning stuck in the single least productive set of meetings, and knowing them they’re probably arguing about what appetizers to get for lunch. I’ve never felt as lucky as I did when I told them all that, unfortunately, I’d already logged that I was taking a half-day to take care of my brothers.”

The boys scowl. “We’re thirteen years old,” Lakshmana says. Shatrughana nods in agreement. “We could have gone home by ourselves!”

Sita flashes Rama a smile, leaning down with an expression as if in deep thought. “That’s true enough -- if you’d like we can send you home and just join you after I finish work, but aren’t your moms on a health kick right now?”

Lakshmana, always the more suspicious of the pair, crosses his arms. “And?”

“Well,” Sita drawls, hearing Rama snort softly next to her, “your brother and I were thinking of taking you to the greasiest joint we can find in walking distance, and then to 7/11 after to find you both snacks for when you spend the weekend at our apartment. But if you’d rather not, that’s totally ok too!”

The boys fall for the line, hook and sinker.

“Oh,” Lakshmana says, voice suddenly a pitch lower than usual as he squares his shoulders in what Sita doesn’t think any of the three recognize is his best imitation of Rama, “that’s ok.” He looks over at Shatrughana, who nods. “Family is important. Let’s go eat!”

“Thank you,” Rama says softly after they’ve finally decided where to eat and are walking in the correct direction. Sita raises an eyebrow. “You’re good with the boys,” he explains, shrugging his shoulders. “I was expecting to have to take them out on my own, and stay at my mother’s when I wanted to spend time with them but --”

Sita interrupts him before he says something truly embarrassing about what she only sees as a pleasure. “It’s easy when they’re such good kids,” she says, “and I would have done it even if it was harder. It’s the least I could have done for you, after everything.”

Everything being the credit cards he’d given her when they landed, his insistence that he wouldn’t monitor her spending and would set up a bank account for her that he would periodically transfer money into but not be able to access. Everything being the books he shared with her and the books he read on her recommendation, in turn, the concerts they’d attended together, the plays and musicals and movies and street festivals. Everything being the conversations they’d had on the couch until late at night, the meals he learned to cook because they reminded her of home.

The one similarity underlying all others between them, Sita realized one day, was that they had both grown up lonely, without anyone person, they could claim truly, entirely understood them. Neither of them had had a best friend until they met the other. By unspoken agreement, they had not consummated their marriage that first night, nor during the first few hectic months of Sita’s acclimation to New York. Eventually, it became easier to simply maintain things as they were and to enjoy the novelty of a companion before things became ... complicated.

If a part of Sita insisted that she hold off from sex so as to not build even more on an inherently unstable foundation -- if that same part screamed that her husband had given her trust beyond all else and she squandered the gift every day she didn’t tell him who she really was -- then that was something for Sita, and only Sita, to think about.

---

“Oh,” Sita hears from the bathroom threshold, glancing through the mirror at the figure Rama cuts in his tailored tuxedo. It’s been nearly a year and six months since their marriage, and what Sita thought of as friendship has since bloomed into a wild, uncontrollable love. Yet, she keeps her love to herself, knowing that it would be cruel to offer him fruit with a rotted core.

He cares too, she knows -- only a fool could willingly ignore the little signs of it he offers so freely, long and lingering looks, kisses to her cheek, forehead, the corner of her lips and the edges of her knuckles. She knows that her resistance to further intimacy must confuse him, perhaps even hurt him, but still, she can’t help but think that things would be worse if she gave in only for him to find out later. Sometimes, she wonders if Dasaratha knows about Kaikeyi -- if Lakshmana and Shatrughana owe their existence to a revelation of the truth which so discomfited their sire that he sought another woman to drown in.

Sita is selfish, far too much so, to allow the truth to poison what she now has, half-life as it is. So she smiles over meals Rama cooks for her, meets the contacts Kaikeyi has started sending her way during lunch breaks she takes less frequently at her desk and begins preparing her heart for when things will inevitably fall apart. Today, she and Rama will attend a gala meant to raise funds for refugees which will double as a drop-point for some dissident’s data collection from the last five years on the inside of their regime’s surveillance operation.

“You look beautiful,” Rama says, walking in. Sita’s hands, haphazardly smoothing down the last wisps of hair that refuse to curve to her skull in their updo, pause when he places his own over them. “Is that my mother’s sari?”

Sita nods. “The style has come back,” she says, reaching out to the counter for the strand of jasmine Sumitra had sent to their apartment to be paired with Kausalya’s sari. “Even Kaikeyi approved, which means that this outfit technically has the approval of all three of your mothers, and your sister as well.”

Rama smiles softly, taking the jasmine and pinning it up with a deft hand that speaks of experience. “I’ve never been one to keep up with fashion trends, but I think you wear it very well.”

“Kaikeyi says it makes me look like a movie star.” In order for the drop to be successful, Kaikeyi had demanded Sita pull out all the stops possible within the relatively demure confines of charity-wear. Sita’s blouse plunges at the back, skin unobstructed by a pallu or bra, and she shivers slightly when Rama’s left-hand traces lines.

“I suppose she would know,” he says absently, eyes raking up and down at Sita’s reflection in the mirror they both face, passing over her eyes rimmed with kohl and her dark red lips. His right-hand falls to his pocket, searching for a moment before he finds what he needs, pulling out a pair of beautiful earrings Sita hadn’t known he had.

“Mother Kaikeyi had me get these from storage a few weeks ago, but I wasn’t sure if they would suit what you were planning on wearing.” They look at the pieces in his hands, realizing together how well the earrings will look with Sita’s sari.

“Will you put them on me,” Sita asks, voice thin and breathy despite herself. His hands are gentle, just slightly cool to the touch as they gently thread the earrings into her lobes, tightening the screws and caressing her ear before moving to ghost over Sita’s hips. If Sita moved into his touch, allowed him to grasp her body so hard that she bruised if she turned her face just slightly and brushed her lips against his -- her entire body is one flame, but even now she is attending this gala with her own motive, even has a small gun she plans on holstering to her left leg as insurance. She can’t.

She can’t. Sita takes one step forward, Rama’s hands falling back to his own sides.

“We’ll be late,” Sita says, moving them back into purgatory instead of choosing heaven or hell.

Rama shakes his head slightly, taking a breath. “Yes,” he replies, tone never betraying a sense of the frustration he must feel. He smiles again, holding out a hand. Sita will tell him one day, she tells herself. He deserves that much.

“Let’s go.”

One day, it seems, will be sooner rather than later. Sita’s very first drop of this assignment, after nearly two years of prep, and it seems like she’s going to end up just another statistic, shot in the head for all her efforts.

Worse, she thinks, she’s going to break Rama’s heart. The dissident was less careful than they’d thought, trusted someone they shouldn’t have, and now they’re both being held up against a wall and being told to recite any final prayers for their souls. Sita’s single measly gun at her hip wouldn’t change the odds of 10 against 2, especially since no amount of physical training will significantly change the realities of her smaller physique going up against larger numbers of even better-trained muscle.

She only wishes that she’d thrown caution to the wind once, had told Rama the truth and let the cards fall where they may. She wishes she could see him one more time and apologize, reassure him that her love was true even if her initial motives weren’t.

“Hey,” she hears from somewhere in the distance, away from their cluster of a firing squad. Her heart simultaneously sinks and soars to realize that the voice is Rama. “That’s my wife!”

The leader laughs, just as the dissident sobs. Sita clutches their hand tighter. “Then I’m sorry to say that she hasn’t been much of a wife,” the leader sneers, “just another one of Kaikeyi’s little rats meddling where they’re unwanted.”

“Run!” Sita screams, deciding that she’d rather Rama be alive than hear her confessions before he too is killed. “For my sake run, before they decide to kill you too!” In the back of her mind, she knows that it’s already too late -- people are executed for far less than what Rama is doing, which is continuing to walk forward.

He sighs audibly, not even pausing his forward momentum. “I’m sorry,” he says, and for some reason, Sita genuinely believes that he is. “You know I’d do anything for you, but there’s something I haven’t told you yet about me.”

Shouldn’t that be Sita’s line? “What,” she croaks, captivated by how he’s somehow holding the group hostage, each of them curiously watching as he walks right up to wear Sita and her companion stand against the wall. “Please,” she sobs, breaking her own vow to face death with dignity, “if you’ve ever cared about me, you would leave.”

Rama’s fingers come up to trace Sita’s bruised eye, her puffy lip, the cut at her cheekbone. “Concussion?” he asks, completely ignoring Sita’s plea.

“It hardly matters,” she says, “when I’m going to die in about five minutes. Just like you will if you don’t leave right now.”

Rama hums, right hand shifting down to her thigh, where her gun is strapped. Sita’s eyes widen as though the fabric he seems to be easing the gun out and up to where the fabric wraps around her waist. Left hand still caressing her cheek as the right holds the gun in place against her stomach, he leans in to gently kiss Sita’s forehead.

“All three of us are going to live tonight,” he says, so confident that it seems as if it would be absurd for Sita to think anything else as if even three against 10 the odds are stacked firmly in their favor. “Hold this for me?”

Sita’s hand shifts down to the gun still hidden in the fabric as Rama steps away and turns, his hands now busy divesting himself of his tuxedo jacket and the bowtie Sita had so painstakingly learned how to tie for him earlier.

“Now,” he says casually, as everyone watches him worry at his cufflinks, dropping them in the pile now at Sita’s feet, later followed by his wedding ring. “Unfortunately for you all this means that you will not be surviving this encounter. Do you have any last words?”

The leader laughs. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Rama’s left-hand reaches out behind him. Sita, as if in a trance, dutifully fishes out the gun and places it in his hand before realizing that she has something she needs to say before it's too late. His own confidence gives her some of her own, but still how could he possibly win? How will they possibly survive -- and if, against all odds they do, what on earth is she going to say? So: “I love you,” she blurts out, smiling slightly when Rama’s head twists to look at her, incredulous, but before he can respond the first bullet fires and he explodes into action.

For the first two minutes, the fight is 10 against 1 and still, Rama makes it look like child play. Weaving in and out, every shot he fires taking down at least one if not more of the men against him. At some point, he grabs another gun and tosses it in Sita’s direction, whose entrance into the melee serves to turn the tide even further. At least she’s always been a good shot, she thinks to herself, taking a man out even when her head rings with what she knows her husband accurately diagnosed as the beginning of a concussion. Part of her can’t do anything but watch as her studious, gentle husband breaks someone’s nose before shooting them through the heart.

Within five minutes, it’s over. Just like Rama said, all ten men are dead at their feet. The gun drops out of his hand, slippery now with other people’s blood. Sita’s kill count is 2. He’s just killed eight men.

“I...” Sita starts, realizing she doesn’t know what to say. She swallows, looking at the carnage around her and tries again to reconcile the sight with Rama’s soft sweaters, old fashioned glasses, and aversion of horror films. “How?”

Rama purses his lips. “Same as you,” he says, wiping his hands on his pants with a grimace. “Mother Kaikeyi trained me, and while I was in India I was sent on assignment.”

Sita pauses. “You’re a spy?” Even as she says it, she knows that she’s in no position to speak with such scandal in her voice -- yet, she thinks, she had thought she knew him, that he had trusted her.

Rama laughs as he never has: short, hollow, bitter. “No,” he says, “not anymore. And even when I was, I was more of a hitman than anything else. I quit and moved away, and I assume that’s why Mother Kaikeyi sent someone to make sure I didn’t step too far out of line as a rogue element.”

Somehow, Sita thinks, this is worse than she imagined. “No,” she says, rushing forward, hands wringing as if he’s looking again at her first credit card bill. “I asked at the beginning. It was never about you.”

Rama is silent for a moment that seems to stretch endlessly as the adrenaline wears off for Sita, and her aches start to make themselves known. Her face throbs, her head spins, and there’s something in the vicinity of her ribs that twinges while she stands still -- not broken, she doesn’t think, but maybe bruised? Rama’s hands, almost as if it were against his mind’s will, come to stop her hands and tangle his fingers in his own as they do nothing but stare into the darkness over the other’s shoulder. “I’m glad that that’s what you were told,” he says eventually, and Sita suddenly realizes that there is an entire lifetime’s worth of complication she hadn’t known existed.

“I wasn’t told anything,” she says, sure now that Dasaratha knows at least part of Kaikeyi’s truth, because why else would Kaikeyi have made sure that Sita walked into her relationship as transparent as possible. “Everything we shared was real.” She pauses, uncertain. “At least from my end.”

Rama’s hands are like vices, clutching Sita’s fingers so hard it feels like he’s cut her circulation. “From mine as well. So when you just said--”

“Yes,” Sita says, unable to say now what fear of imminent death had so successfully inspired. “Before, I was afraid of you finding out about me, but yes of course.”

Rama exhales. “I’d hoped that’s what was stopping you, but I was never entirely sure that you really were one of Mother Kaikeyi’s recruits,” he smiles with a hint of self-deprecation. “You’re a good actor, you know.”

“No,” Sita says, bringing her hands up to cup his face, finally deciding to be brave. “I’m really not.” She leans in.

Their first kiss is gentle, tastes just slightly like blood, and ends quickly when Sita’s lip is irritated and makes itself known. It’s perfect.

“I love you,” Rama breathes into the sliver of space when they part, one hand drifting to hold her at the waist, another rubbing small circles into the nape of her neck. Sita’s head spins, and not only from the concussion.

“Hey,” she hears from somewhere behind. “I’m glad you two seem to have made up...and also .... that we’re all alive. But can we go now?”

Sita laughs, and then immediately regrets doing so. “Yes,” she says as Rama holds her still, “let's go.”

#ramayana #maya writes #avani008

54 notes · View notes

hermitcraftheadcanons · 4 years ago

Text

To Do List:

What's up, my Herd of Nerds?

Anyway, as you can tell, tomorrow is AU Sunday. But, because it's one after a 'my input' one, it's a follower input AU day! Yay!

So, send me your AUs and I'll put all of em in a hat to pick one randomly. The winner is picked and posted and we'll all try and make headcanons about your AU.

Done:

Zombie Apocalypse AU :: (https://hermitcraftheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/618314308275863552/zombie-apocalypse-au-masterpost)

Pirate AU ::

Currently In The Raffle:

-Toy Story AU.

-Ever After High/Descendants/Vaguely 'nex gen priness' AU.

-Eldritch Horror AU :: Or if that's a bit too out there, a more normal Monster AU. I don't care, but in my heart, I know Cleo is some kind of eldritch horror. Zombie is far too easy.

-Eldritch Monster AU! Hermits are all Lovecraftian horrors who all individually decided that they wanted to pretend to be normal and are all trying to hide their otherworldliness. I also feel like Mumbo or X or someone as the one actually "normal" player on the server would work well. Most hermits don't know that everyone else isn't normal either, but some find out about friends maybe.

-Rabid Debate Club AU :: Random weird au idea where it's basic hs/uni au but like two of them try to start a debate club, then invite some friends just so there's enough people; cut to like two months later, it's all the hermits just fighting over whether or not pineapple should go on pizza or not lol it isn't very good i'm sorry but ya know rabid debate club AU.

-Animal/shapeshifting AU :: (Suggested Twice.) Every hermit can shapeshift into one token animal. (If it's something like "dog," they can only turn into one breed and color of dog, EXAMPLE: doc can shift into a black sable belgian malinois, but not anything else.)

-Wedding Planners AU :: Hermits work in various unrelated businesses such as a bakery, flower shop, etc., but see each other semi-often bc they're semi-often called upon to work together by another hermit's wedding planning business (obvs if you couldn't tell i know absolutely nothing abt wedding planning & businesses n shit lol but it's the /concept/ of it yannknow)

-Avatar: The Last Air Bender AU. (Suggested Thrice.)

-Fusion AU :: (Also suggested by Anon.) (Suggested Twice.) What if Hermits could fuse with each other? (Viva and Jumbo fused into MumboJumbo.)

-SCP AU :: The hermits have spooky powers and are kept locked up bc of it (or they have to keep the world safe from monsters and cursed objects!)

-RPG AU :: I feel like someone already thought of that but I am just wondering about it lately :p -🍋

-Adventure Time AU :: The hermits live in a post-apocalyptic world and the Lich (bad guy) is making everything decay. They need to gather all the gems (belt colours) to unlock the Enchiridion (a book) and have one wish each granted from Prismo (multiverse wish granting dude) before the Lich does. Only 4 elements can enter the multiverse: Slime (The Lich & Jevin), Redstone (Tango or Mumbo?), Ice (Stress), and Dirt (Grian, much to his dismay). Only the elementals can see the book. Grian's the protagonist with his sidekick Scar. He originally started collecting the belts because they were shiny but eventually decided to read the book and find out what they were for when Scar said he didn't see it. Doc, False, and Iskall are major obstacles because they don't believe the book exists.</p>

-Total Drama Island AU.

-Magical Girl AU :: Zedaph's the lead magical girl and rounds up a bunch of other magical girl hermits.

-Pokeman AU :: What are the Hermit's roles in this world? Who's the Champion, Elite Four. Are they scientists? Trainers? Do they compete in competitions, do they specialize in types? Who's everyone's starter? Has anyone encountered any legendaries?

-College AU

-High School AU

-Wizard101 AU :: I (🦊) recently got this AU idea and recently started going off somewhere with it in terms of writing, but, like, Hermitcraft meets Wizard101. Tons and tons of magical shenanigans, monster hunting, and idk what else.

-Magic AU

-My Hero Academia AU :: Headcanons can be about which hermits would have what quirks and occupations based on them.

-So I'm writing an AU where there's a second game of Demise but 5 years later. So far the first 2 hermits (Joe and Xisuma) have died, and their dead forms are cracked with an arrow in his chest (Xisuma) and cyborg (Joe). So since it's Saturday, I'm looking for what some skins would look for.

-City AU :: I mean this is really just a normal everyday AU.

-School AU.

-Terraria-Minecraft Fusion AU :: Who chooses what class? what events do each hermit prefer? how to they deal with the world infections? preferred biomes? Favourite NPCS? It has potentiallllll.

-70s/80s Teen Horror AU :: (like Stranger Things, Carreie, The Lost Boys, Halloween, etc.) -🦇

-Demi-God AU :: Sort of like percy jackson (everyone being the children of different gods from all different cultures.)

-Supernatural AU

-Marching Band AU :: Xisuma is the band major and all the show music is the remixes. I need to come up with some ideas for uniforms. Outfits and flags for the colorguard too.

-Different Eras AU :: (Suggested Twice.) All the hermits are from different time periods or eras. Like Wels is from the mediveal/dark era, Mumbo is from 1890-1920's, Iskall is from 2030, TFC is from 2020(?), Cleo is from 2130, etc!!! Like the mobs/animals became feused with humans, is when the mob players came from.

-Star Trek AU :: Like maybe they could be on one ship and each have different roles like engineers or doctors? I don’t know if this has been suggested but hope you enjoy! - 🐦

-House Mates AU :: ApartmentAU but scaled down?

-Atlantis AU :: (Could be merged with Mermaid AU???)

-Fighting Game AU :: Some influences would be Street Fighter, Mortal Kombat, and Ultra Instinct, that kind of stuff.

-Time loop AU :: The hermits each have to deal with their own time loop.

(All those above in red are from our community's lovely Anons!)

-Superhero/superpower AU :: They each have a unique power/powerset that is in some way connected to their personality. (ie Mumbo *could* control electricity because of his love of redstone) Some Hermits may even choose to be "villains" and prank their other servermates. If you need power ideas, I've got a couple. (12u3ie)

-Daycare AU :: The recap peeps are the caretakers :P (-@tikauniverse.)

-Incredibly Long Cross Country Train Ride AU :: they all are in the same train car, telling stories of where they’re going, backstories.)

-Stuck In An Airport AU :: pretty similar to train au but they can be going diff places.

-Doctors AU :: they’re all doctors working at the same hospital.)

-Circus AU (Also suggested by an Anon.) (Suggested Twice.)

-Spy AU (Also suggested by @shadeswiftdraws.) (Suggested Twice.)

-Runaways AU :: The hermits are all teenagers who have run away from home, they all live on the streets until TFC takes them in. Head canons can be about backstories, living on the streets, or when they’re with TFC.

-Criminals and Police Officers AU

(-@lookitsspacekween)

-Dancer AU :: I mean, I already got a list kind of planned out, but headcanons for why specific styles are chosen would be appreciated! :) (usedtobelucythefallenangel)

-Broadway/Musicals Hermits AU :: The hermits are all casts of various musicals and when this newly-built theater opens up they all fight for which musical gets to play in it first (they have a riff-off maybe?) musicals mainly included are Hamilton, BMC, DEH, SiX, Beetlejuice, etc (feel free to add more!) (-@heyitsroby.)

-DnD AU (Also suggested by Anon.) (Suggested twice.)

-Mermaid AU :: In honor of the end of Mermay

-Space exploration AU :: There could be different ships, command centers, aliens.... Maybe someone could even get stranded/crash on a new planet? Who knows, could be fun.

-Paranormal/ghost hunter AU :: A couple Hermits could be the ghost hunters going to haunted locations to prove/disprove their hauntedness, others could be camera crew, owners of haunted buildings, or even the ghosts themselves.

-Camping/Vacation AU.

-Summer Cottage AU :: They all spend summers/weekends along the same shoreline and do different summer activities together. Outdoor fun and shenanigans!

-Space AU :: like star trek or similar.

-I would say evil clone au but I think that's pretty much the entire Hermitcraft tumblr right now lol. (Suggested twice.)

(-@shadeswiftdraws.)

-Magic AU :: Magic exists and all the hermits have powers. They can also summon a weapon but what that weapon is depends on the hermit. I'm thinking it'll take place in a sort-of Demise 2 in S7 with a big war. So far I've got: Grian - Cloning himself to his different personas (each has a different power). Xisuma - Making barriers, teleporting, and transforming into different mobs. Scar - Making mutant plants & boosting other hermits' attack & health. (-@datsaltyperson.)

-Demon AU :: Something enters the overworld and turns into a supernatural style-demon through Dimentional Distortion. Who gets posessed first, who goes crazy, and who actually kills it? Honestly I think that, if anything, Tango would know how to gank it, for obvious reasons. (-@fireflower-dusk.)

-High Street AU :: Everyone owns a different shop on the same street or some run a shop together (-@violets-arepurple.)

-Cat AU :: Either they're were always cats, or Hels turned everyone, including himself, into a cat, and they have to survive and overcome challenges in the Season 7 world. An example of a challenge would be Cub's a Sand Cat(the cats that always look like kittens no matter how old they are and live in deserts), and everyone's not sure if he can actually swim, so they have to find a way for him to get around without involving water. (-@scp10000.)

-How about a secret AU.. Every hermit has their big secrets and when Grian joined. He doesn't really know anything about those secrets even till season 7. Not many hermits talked to him in S6 anyway.. Mumbo was the closest to him so they would have regular chats For Iskall is mostly business related things Grian wants to know why so he set out on a quest to force the others to at least talk to him so he wouldn't be lonely. (-@babylightstudentbiscuit.)

-Hermit Family AU :: Xisuma is very busy dad but when he isnt busy the kids and younger hermits annoying the hell out of him. Grian once asked to use Xisuma's computer and crashed the whole thing trying to download illegal gamesites and get money off the internet. Mumbo and his trains run through the entire house and Xisuma trips on them daily. (-@gamerutx.)

-College AU!! But they are not students. THEY ARE THE TEACHERS (-@ivi-prism.)

Ones I planned to do anyway but Hermitblr Hivemind and all that:

Battle of The Bands AU: i believe u once mentioned a bands/ battle of the bands au... thats my jam... (Anon.)

#hcraft #hermitcraftheadcanons #raffle day #notaheadcanon #masterpost #au to do list

42 notes · View notes

bruneburg · 5 years ago

Photo

Um I kinda forgot to mention. I had my first ever art exhibit ever this year. Together with two other artists at a pretty beauty salon in my hometown Berlin. That is my corner there. And me posing on the day of the vernissage. And the pieces they chose out of everything I had shown them.

This got to happen bc a roomie of the salon owners asked around per mail if someone wanted to do it bc one artist bailed 2 days before the vernissage and I just happened to see that mail per chance. And to be the first to answer. And to have an art style the salon owners liked. And to have these prints and frames ready. I got to sell a framed print of the sad banana man. And am currently trying to sell the largest one (still negotiating the price. I hope I didn’t scare the person away with the first price I suggested aaaa). And even despite the sheer luck of how it all got to be - it sure did feel very validating. To have hipstery folk walk by the paintings look and point at them as if they were in a museum or smth. I feel just a bit legit now. One of the folks asked me to explain what the creature in the striped socks is if its a ghost or smth and I really didn’t know how to answer that. (How am I supposed to know that.) The exhibit lasted about 4 months and my dad and me picked up the originals and prints today. My next goal is to make some prints and new arts to showcase at my doctors office. Hope I can make that work out!

#art exhibit #vernissage #bruneburg #anita bruneburg #art #painting #art prints #art print #update #bruneburg update #sorry for not informing yall before the exhibit ended i was a complete mess about that

65 notes · View notes

kindar-life · 5 years ago

Text

<h1>The problem with Crossing the Border (09-01-19)</h1>

The problem with Crossing the Border (09-01-19)

Or an alternate title: I have ADHD, Big Surprise Out of curiosity, anyone has border crossing stories? They don’t have to be horror stories; they can be good. I’m mainly curious how it’s been for other people. So this week could have gone great, and for one the problem wasn’t on my company’s side. We did everything right, it’s the shipper and the border who dropped the ball. So, did the delivery on Monday and as my manager is on vacation, St-Germain was the one handling it, and before they were done unloaded, I had my next assignment. a pickup, 5 hours away, for Wednesday morning. If my manager had been handling it, I wouldn’t have found out until later on Tuesday, forcing me to rush there, his justifications would be that he was looking for something better in the meantime, which is BS, since that shipper is about the only one we have in all of BC anymore. I only drove an hour, I mean, what’s the point. I’m on eastern time, so 3 hours ahead of them, and going to be a day early. Also, Hwy 3 from Hope to Grand Forks, is horrible and there is no way I want to do it in the dark. It was still dark by the time I left on Tuesday, but was light before I hit the really tight curves going up and down hills. It’s the summer, so it wasn’t as bad as it could be, and I was empty, but I’ve done them in the winter. I never look forward to driving on that road. Made it mid-morning for them, checked in, pointing out I was a day early and they said to drop it, their shunt driver would put it in a door within minutes and within a couple of hours it would be done. Which was great news for me. If I could get in the US a day early, I’d be able to take a two-day weekend. Remember that ‘IF’. The trailer is ready in three hours, but it takes another hour for me to find out because I was looking at the wrong drop lot. I decided to go in and get an update and, on the way, I saw it in the opposite drop lot. Got my papers, confirmed I was good to cross the border and headed to the Laurier crossing. I like it because it isn’t busy and the road on the US side is nice, even if it’s a 2-lane highway. No big hills, few tight curves and only a handful of towns. There is Spokane when it reaches I90, but I found a way around it. It’s a little longer, than driving through Spokane, but a lot easier. Get to the border, go inside. It’s so quiet they don’t have truck booths. I hand in the papers, the officer looked in his is system and asks. “Where’s your permit?” “I’m sorry,” I reply, “What permit?” “your permit to cross here.” Here is the thing. We’ve been crossing at this border for eight months. And we’ve never been asked for a permit. It turns out that no officer should have ever allowed us to cross there, but they weren’t doing their jobs properly. The reason we don’t have a permit is that the shipper never added us to the list of approved Carrier to cross there with their product. I did not know there was such a situation possible. So I turned around, stopped in an aside in the hopes it was an easy fix and called the shipper. Only to find out the person who deals with the border had already left for the day (it was 4pm locally, in the mood I was in, I wasn’t thinking good thing about a person who didn’t have to work until 5pm like all office workers.) I called dispatch to advise them. Drove back to the shipper to park for the night, they are only 10 minutes from the border, another reason I like crossing there. Next morning, 9am their time, noon mine, I go in and find out there’s nothing to be done about it, they can only add a carrier to their list once a year, in December. The closest crossing that is a ‘Commercial Crossing,” is in Ossoyoos, two hours west, over all those horrible hills and turns. Tell dispatch about it, get told it can’t be, we cross at Laurier all the time. I tell them, yes, but we can’t anymore, check with the shipper if you believe your driver is so determined to drive over horrible hills. By the time I bet close to Ossoyoos, I still don’t have my papers so I park at the truckstop there. Only have to wait an hour and I do. I have to drive later than I prefer but I make it to Post Falls, ID, where I like to park anytime I have to cross at that border. My 2-day weekend is gone, but I can take it easy, there’s plenty of time to get to Laredo. Or not. Friday morning my manager, the one who is on vacation, calls me to ask when I’m going to be there. I tell him something on Tuesday. I’m not concerned since it doesn’t need to be there until Friday. He starts asking why so late, it need to be there ASAP. I tell him I need to do a reset (not true, technically, but don’t tell him that) I tell him that the best I can do is be there Monday late afternoon, and he asks why? I have plenty of hours and it’s a holiday on Monday so I need to get there earlier so I can get a load. And here I need to pause. The earliest I could be there, pushing as hard as I legally can would be Sunday, and the office there is closed. If it’s closed on Monday too, what does it matter if I’m there on Monday? If there is a load there for me to pickup on Sunday, it’s still going to be there on Monday. I still don’t budge on my reset. I have stopped caring about them changing delivery times after I’ve done my pickup a long time ago. If I’m given inaccurate information, it is not my problem. He grumbles and tells me to be there Monday without fault, as if I told him I might not make it. So I had to drive a little harder but I got her on Saturday, and rested. One of the things I did while I waited for all that was get more writing done, so you get five chapters of Taking the Line, Chapters 44 to 48. If there is the usual wait time in Laredo, the last five chapters should be done next week. Chapter 16 of Blind Spot is written, and I finished book 5 of LRK’s origin story. 13 chapters. The longest one to date, I hope the longest period. So I’ve started the newest Going Home, which will explore McKannon, the industrial sector of Tiranis, as well as Eric finally making contact with one of his relatives. if you want to read all that, it's only 1$ on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/posts/29632610 Another thing I did is take an ADHD test. There’s a warning about how it isn’t a medical tool, but if you score about a certain point, you really should talk to a doctor because, really, you have ADHD. And I do. I didn’t go in hoping I had it, but I strongly suspected I was somewhere on that spectrum. On the lower end, but on it none the less. There someone called ADHD Alien on Tumblr, and they post comics about how ADHD affects their daily lives and quite a few of them resonated with me, but one of the reason I never looked at the condition was that I was successful in school and the stereotype of someone with ADHD as that they aren’t good at school. Things is plenty of people with ADHD are good in school because it’s fun, there’s a lot of new things to learn and we soak up that knowledge easily, so easily most of us never have to bother studying, so we never learn how to study, and then when we hit college, of in my case the last two years of secondary school(I was in Quebec, they have their own system there) things start going badly. I was able to finish Secondary, but College was a bust. I just couldn’t figure out how to study and the concept I now had to deal with were so complex I couldn’t simply absorb them. I mean, I’m bright, but not that bright. So I dropped out, hit the work force and never regretted it. I was also lucky that my parents didn’t have expectations of me going to university and becoming a BIG SHOT™. They were surprised when I dropped out, but it was my life and they let me live it as I wanted. I love them for that. I love them for letting me screw up, then offering to help me up with a “See, that didn’t work, you might want to try something else, I can offer suggestions if you want but that’s up to you.” My mom picked up quicker than my dad that the suggestions that worked best were the kick in the ass kind of things and to then let me assimilate them and proceed. My mom told me months before I did it that I should write in the morning, that’s always been when I was at my best and I snorted, yeah right, mornings, who’s functional then? Eventually I ran out of things to try and did that. When I told my mom that she was right about it she smiled and said “I know.” But yeah, back on the ADHD thing. Learning that it was possible to succeed in school because you had ADHD and then fail for the same reason realigned my thinking. And add to that, that for the few things I can focus laser like on, like my writing, there are tons of them I am incapable of staying focus on. No matter how badly I want to learn them. So, yeah, I have ADHD. Will I seek treatment? No. for me to consider treating any condition I have, it has to either affect my ability to earn a living, or my health(and to be fair, when it comes to my health the potential down side have to be bad for me to even think about talking to a doctor about it) I can do my job without problem; I can do my writing without problems. The rest? Frankly, nothing else matter to a level I am willing to put those two at risk. I don’t Suffer from ADHD, I simply have it. I built my coping mechanism even without knowing I had something. Being Scatter brain? I either write it down, or accept that I will forget about it, and if I forget about it I accept the consequences. I don’t make myself a mess over forgetting it. I fix the problem it caused and move on. I do know now why Minecraft is such a trap for me now. It pulls at my focus by giving me things to do, always more things to do until I reached the point where I’m near panic because I can’t do all of them and I push it away. Until I’ve calmed down. But Minecraft commits the Sin of interfering with my writing by taking over that mental space. It’s why I no longer play it. It’s also why the craving is always there, but me and cravings are old friends. I have no issues staring him down. Okay, this is way longer than I expected so I’m going to pass on the movie and book review this week. You' all have fun, and come on, talk to me. Ask me questions, share your stories, it gets lonely talking to the void<chuckles> And that’s it, so I’ll see you on the next one.

Posted using PostyBirb

1 note · View note

marcholasmoth · 5 years ago

Text

OSRR: 1845

so this brand of mine, it's sort of a brand i guess, is probably just gonna stay my brand, no matter what happens to my activity in the church. i doubt i'll ever be hostile, since people are often kind, but for now i think i'm good with not being a part of it. i just wanna make my own decisions, because of what i want to do, not because of what someone else wants me to do. it's basically me in my "i'll do what i want" stage of life. if at some point, i feel i need it again, then i know where to go. but for now, i'll be in and out of stuff. i know i may be disappointing some f you, and for that i apologize. but i love you all, and i know all of the higher powers in the universe - and the universe itself - love you, and i will be here for you. in the meantime, it may take me a while to extract myself. just so you're aware.

anyway, not the way i expected to start my post. but here it is, my thoughts from the last few months on "paper." i'm fine, nothing is wrong, and it's nobody's fault, but i just want to respect myself enough to make my own decisions and not let someone or something else dictate my choices by guilt or coercion. so yeah. like i didn't go somewhere with my mom because i didn't want to, i'm not gonna do things because other people expect me to. if someone asks me to do something and i do it, it's because i've made that decision myself. that's it. it's time for me to exist as my own person.

anyway, today was good. for the hearing for my ticket, there was a bunch of people with the same hearing time, and we were all waiting to see the prosecutor. there was this one lady... i swear, i almost committed murder today. UGH. her voice was so grating and obnoxious, and the accent she had made it APPARENTLY impossible for her to say things correctly. and??? the line was working just fine before she got there???? but she couldn't figure out that we were going based on the order we arrived in so she went downstairs and got someone to come upstairs and direct people in a line????? and then wOULDNT STOP TALKING ABOUT HOW SHE WAS THE ONE WHO MADE IT ORGANIZED???????? i swear to the high heavens i almost took her grandmotherly life with my bare hands. i texted joel and asked, "if i commit murder while waiting to see the prosecutor, can i talk about it then?" thankfully she stopped talking before i got to turning around with claws bared, so i didn't actually murder anyone today. but yeah, it was a quick in and out with the prosecutor for me - i just explained what the officer told me, pulled out my certificate of completion for the attitudinal driving course from back in may, he took some notes, told me he'd get the case thrown out, and told me to have a nice day. easy peasy.

so i had no ticket and no blood on my hands as i left the courthouse. good times.

after bringing joel home from work, we just cuddled and chilled out for a while. we watched youtube videos, as is common for us, and john made dinner. we went back downstairs and watched a few episodes of suits, and after a bit i had to leave as it was getting late.

but yeah. joel didn't realize until halfway through the last episode we watched that today was the twentieth. he said, "i write dates all the time, and i still didn't-- it's fine, it won't count until like, three years anyway." which is cute. because he's saying he thinks we'll be together for at least three years, which, same. i still have a lot to work through personally, and i think i'll call the doctor tomorrow to see if i can get in sometime soon for a preliminary visit, but once i'm back in therapy, my ability to communicate should improve. i have a hard time talking to him sometimes bc 90% of the things i say aren't funny or relevant or interesting. it's just? stupid things? and that makes me self-conscious. the things i "know" i don't actually know because it's mostly speculation anyway, and it's just. it's frustrating to me that i'm not an interesting enough person to talk to. so i've found that driving is a quiet affair. yeah. i don't even know what to say anyway, because 100% of the "good" things i would say i've already told him.

any suggestions on overcoming that, or other topics to research to have an interesting conversation? what are your favorite things to talk about with the people you care most about? suggestions for overcoming being awkward 150,000% of the time?

#molly rambles #operation srr #osrr #1000s #1800s #sunshine boy #i need Help™

1 note · View note

tabbran · 6 years ago

Text

the return of drugblog

after months (and months) of struggling with this decision, a few weeks back i decided that i wanted to get back on ADHD medication. I stopped taking my medication in 2013 because it was a real hassle to renew my prescription.

the process went something like this:

since you can’t auto-renew ADHD medication (bc it’s a scheduled substance) you have to see a doctor every time you run out of medication -- so you gotta make an appointment, yourself

(most ppl I know with ADHD probably have already tapped out here and are gonna just live with it lol. same, fam)

you will then get all in your head bc you have internalized the messaging that ADHD is not a real thing that people have and suffer from and that you, yourself, are actually faking this whole thing and that it’s actually just a moral failing on your part and you should just be better at what you are doing and maybe have some fucking self discipline for a change and by the way you’re absolutely drug seeking for your fake fucking disorder so you’re actually a degenerate on top of being a failure and the doctor you are seeing sees right through you so you’re going to see him and get rejected for a prescription renewal so why even try

you overcome this and make an appointment to see the doctor who basically is uninterested in anything you have to say and might actually really think you’re drug seeking and you’re wasting his time but he refills your prescription anyway because why should he care (this required calling out a half day at work)

since where you saw the doctor doesn’t have an on-site pharmacy you have to go across town to the in-network pharmacy that works with your insurance but you either have to go to work since you took a half day off or you came from your half day at work but the pharmacy is now closed since it’s after business hours -- and you need to schedule another half day or drive 45 mins on the weekend to the 24hr pharmacy and wait 3 hours for your prescription to be filled bc everyone in the fucking world also has that exact same idea

spend two literal business days to get your medication and look at the pill bottle with dread as every day you take one the count dwindles to the moment you have to repeat this entire process all over again

anyway

that’s not how it went this time, i called up a few weeks ago and there was a new in-network office near my work, and they’d take my appointment early enough that i could go there before work and while there isn’t a pharmacy on-site there’s one five (actually seven but i’ll allow it) minutes away

so i got a new doctor and he seemed very engaged and interested in what i had to say and asked me thoughtful questions about my life and my daily process and how i function (or not function) and suggested helpful practices -- MOST OF WHICH I ALREADY DO SO YEA! -- and in the end he decided that if i wanted to be on medication he would prescribe it and asked what medication i wanted to be on

i told him i was on concerta before but i would like something stronger because while it helped i really needed to double and triple up on it some days for me to really get any benefit from it and he was like “yeah, concerta is basically for children, and your dose wasn’t even a full dose for them, you were taking the smallest at 18mg and a full dose is 54″

well shit no wonder, but i felt validated as all hell and that was nice

i asked about adderall since that seems to be the one that most people i know have good results with but he steered me away from it because it’s kind of old technology as far as medication goes, but mostly because it’s a very “spiky” drug that you have to take around every 4 hours (even on slow release) and has high peaks and valleys as it kicks in then drops off fast.

he suggested vyvanse since it’s the longest lasting/acting of all the available medications, and started me on a 20mg dose that i’d raise to 40mg after a week and we would meet again in a month to see how things were going, where we can adjust the dose, or adjust the medication, or if we’re good with vyvanse he’ll script me out for 3 months at a time (the maximum). he sent my prescription to the pharmacy down the street and it would be ready soon so all i have to do is go there and pick it up

well i was like oh wow this is a very nice experience thank you so much for helping me and he seemed happy to help and sent me on my way (this is abbreviated but we talked for about an hour) and i got to the pharmacy just before they opened, i was #2 in line, it took me about 10 minutes to get the medication and i was off to work and would even get there early, insane, i’m never early to work

on the way to work his secretary called and scheduled my next appointment with him, may 13th, a little bit earlier than the month but it’s at a good time in the morning so it’s fine

i took the pill just before work, it took about 30 mins for anything to really happen, and i didn’t feel super different or anything, but i was definitely way more chatty than normal. i just wanted to have conversations and engage with people and that was the weird part cause i never am like that at work really.

like, for instance, i went and refilled my water bottle at the coffee shop and the guys working there were like “why don’t you get water from over there?” and i was “because it tastes different the water here tastes better so i like it more” and then we had a literal 5 minute conversation about the different tastes of the water from the different spots around the area and which are good and which are bad and which bottled water brands are good and bad. meanwhile, internally, i’m like “what the fuck is this what is going on who is this guy talking about water?”

I told my coworkers about this and they thought it was funny then they watched me with some customers and they were like “wow you really are chatty”

after one interaction with a customer they walked away and i looked at my coworker and mouthed “WHAT THE FUCK,” cause i really was like... who is this guy, is this how normal people interact all the time? what the hell!

anyway it wasn’t like i was laser focused or anything but i def felt like i didn’t feel super compelled to check my phone every 5 minutes (tho i did pick it up a lot to send updates on how my first medicated day was going), and i felt like it went pretty well overall. next week should be interesting when i double the dose tho

today i took the meds, drank strong coffee, and had my preworkout before running and i don’t think i recommend that many diff stimulants in your body at once bc i was fuckin BUZZIN y’all, and ran all 3 miles at under 8 minutes with the third mile fastest... i didn’t even feel tired

my overall goal with the medication is to enable me to be more productive, both at work by staying on task easier, and at home by being able to actually write again since my lack of any meaningful writing has been extremely frustrating lately

so, here’s hoping, thanks for sticking around to the end

#drugblog2019

4 notes · View notes

detginski · 6 years ago

Text

Space Noodle

Gavin Reed x Reader

Summary : Undercover mission, got injured and noodles with ya boy, Gavin.

a/n : its super crappy writing. just want to post this out bcs i have zero content in my brain and on this blog

How long as it been since you lay down on your own bed instead of crashing on the musty damp smelling couch that was at your now undercover temporary house. God the case Fowler assigned to you took longer to solve than you thought it would. It was the human and android trafficking case. You’ve been undercover too long for your taste. Trying to get mushy with the ringleader, gaining their trust and making them think that you were one of them was tough. You had to pretend to be interested on the ringleader’s son to gain their full trust. You can say the entire 5 months you were undercover and being with the family, was the worse you had.

Finally you were invited to the family’s event and that’s when the swat team close onto them and close the case for good.

You really miss your boyfriend and your bed. You miss your boyfriend in your bed. Really, the only thing that kept you going was your boyfriend. And his sweater is losing his scent. Finally after 5 months of pretentious rich assholes, you can see your asshole boyfriend again.

For the entire raid, you pretended to be shocked and all, but the son you had mushied with, dragged you with him. You reluctantly let him drag you until one of the officers cornered both of you. It was a moment of blur when you were pulled to the front by the son, using you as a shield. The officer shot you on the shoulder and stomach. Pussy, you thought before collapsing to the ground. The officer arrested the man and, is that Captain Allen’s voice? You look up to Captain Allen with a medic, “That’s our undercover officer you just shot!” You weakly grin and nod slightly, “Sup’” before passing out.

Gavin Reed had the worse 5 months of his life. Since you were asked to do an undercover case for 5 fuckin months, he revert to his basic instinct, being an asshole to anything that moves. Gavin snapped at whatever Connor is doing even when he was just passing by his desk. He even snapped at Nines but stopped after the first month as Nines could only tolerate so much of his bullshit. He tried to gain information on what and how you are doing but all he ever get to hear about you is when Fowler briefed about your case for a few minutes before moving on. That is only about the case, not about your well being.

It frustrates him how much he misses you. 5 months is too long for a man like him. He hasn’t slept well in a while and threw himself into cases after cases. Gavin was working on a paperwork with Nines constantly rolling his eyes at Gavin’s constant sighing. As Gavin got up for another cup of coffee, Fowler called everyone into the briefing room for a short meeting.

“The mission Detective (L/N) on was a success. But they were injured on the mission. Shot by one of the team members.” Gavin was already halfway up from his seat but was stopped by Nines and Fowler’s voice. “But they are stable and will be back to work today. Detective Reed, I suggest you not to do anything rash. Dismissed.” All the detectives cheered for you but Hank, Connor, Gavin and Nines waited behind in the briefing room. Hank frowns slightly at the last briefing, “Fuckin (Y/N) got shot. What the hell. They’re the best among all of us for fuck’s sake.” “The officer who shot them must’ve mistook them as one of the traffickers.” Connor tries diffuse the tense atmosphere that suddenly graced the room. Gavin who had been silent the entire time, slammed his fist against the table, “Stupid swat team! I fuckin swear i will find that motherfucker who shot (Y/N)!” Nines kept Gavin from getting up, “Detectives, I suggest both of you to calm down. (Y/N) is alive and well as per Captain Fowler had said. Please stop this childish act.” Gavin is far too tired and too sleep deprived to start a banter with Nines. Hank walked out of the briefing room with Connor in tow and Gavin took awhile to get up from his seat and resume his paperwork with a heavy heart. Nines let out an inaudible sigh and prayed to anything that you’re back soon.

Finally, out of sanitized smelling hospital to earthy smokey street smell of Detroit. You had your left arm in a sling due to your shoulder injury and your abdomen covered in bandages. You’ll live. Except for the earful you’ll get from you boyfriend once he sees you. Smiling and suddenly feeling extra happy that you’re finally seeing him again after so long.

You walked into the always loud and busy precinct, “Sup Detective Chen. Miss me?” you smiled at the woman who’s currently talking to a cop and looked up at you. “Dear god if it isn’t the asshole tamer. Missed you, stupid!” She say and punched you lightly on your good shoulder. “I thought you’re supposed to be discharged tomorrow?” “Nah, doctor said I’m good to go” “Doctor said or you said?” You both chuckled at that. “You should go to the bullpen asap. Your idiots are worried about you.” “Thanks for the info, Chen. See ya around.” She smiled and nodded at you, continuing the conversation she had with the cop.

Smiling and nodding at everyone who greeted you, you finally reached your office floor and slowly step out of the elevator. God you missed the smell of the bullpen. Roasted coffee with a tinge of some air freshener that you couldn’t name. Jason was the first to notice you. “Look who’s back. Sup (Y/N). Missed me?” “No” you blatantly answered him before laughing. “Of course I do, stupid. Where’s my idiot?” “Being babysit by Nines as per usual” He shrugs and puts on his coat, “Duty calls. Catch up with you later kay?” You gave him a wink and finger guns.

Connor was the second one to realize you’re back. “Hello (Y/N)! Let me assess your injuries.” He held you still while his LED is turning yellow and blue. “Thank god no fatal injuries. How are you doing?” He asks with an attempt at a smile, “Great job at the smile. The undercover job is a bore. God. Once I was in a room full of dudes name Stu. Yes, all of them are called Stu. I had to keep up on which Stu is which.” You both laughed at that. “Well, Hank is at the toilet at the moment but I’m pretty sure there’s someone you should see first. Just so you know, he really misses you. Like really misses you. The first few months was a pain. He keeps on snapping at whatever I’m doing. He even went as far as snapping at Nines but stopped because, you know how Nines is.” You chuckled slightly and Gavin on his desk, whose back was towards you.

“I guess I gotta go and say hi now before he destroys his computer.” You say while keeping an eye on the silhouette that you missed so much. Connor nodded and went about his business.

Slowly and softly, you approached Gavin. You smiled at Nines, whose expression says ‘Finally you’re here. Calm the fucker down will you’ Nines frowned a little at the arm sling. His calculative gaze is enough to promise you a full long hour of being a competent detective and not injure yourself on the job. You rolled your eyes slightly at the android and smiled. God how you missed them. Softly and carefully, you wrapped your good arm around Gavin’s shoulder and kissed his cheek, “Guess who’s back grumpy!”

Gavin, who was super focused on finishing his paperwork on his latest arrest, felt an arm coiling around his shoulder and peck on his cheek. His sleep deprived brain automatically grip on the arm and before he threw you off, he had to load for a second before realizing who it was. He turn his head slightly to kiss you fully on the lips. “Missed you, little shit.” Then frowned when he releases you from his grip. “Aren’t you supposed to be at th-” You kissed him again before he says anything. You whisper against his lips, "Can we do this later? I missed you"

Gavin sighed and smiled weakly, “Thank god you’re alright. I swear I will find the motherfucker who did this to you and-” You smacked him in his chest and gave him your best glare, “No Gavin. He’s under suspension for shooting an officer. God calm down, babe!” you laughed at him worrying about you, “God I missed this. I missed you. How are you holding up? You look like shit.” You said releasing him from the choke hold and gingerly sat on his desk. Gavin placed his head on your thigh, “I haven’t slept all night, I’m vibrating slightly but constantly, and I’m pretty sure I just tasted god. How are you doing?” You smiled and ran your fingers through his hair and massages his scalp, earning a groan from the man. “God I fucking miss you so much.”

Both of you talked about your time undercover to his cases to you complaining about him not taking care of himself. But you were interrupted by Fowler, who frowned first at your appearance at the precinct and cleared his throat, signalling for the both of you to get back to work. “Dinner-” “Dinner at Space Ape.” Gavin interrupted you and both of you shared a smile. Space Ape was the diner you both had your first date at. It became your favorite because they make the best noodle you’ve eaten in Detroit.

You let out a yawn and stretched a bit before getting up to pack your things. Halfway through packing, a pair of arms snaking through your waist circled around you. You smiled and lean back into your boyfriend’s wellbuilt chest. Gavin smothered his face with your hair, “I missed this, I missed you. God you have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this.” “I know, 5 months.” “Shut up, dipshit.” You both laugh and went to grab your dinner together.

The thing you really missed about being in the car with Gavin was when Gavin drive, he subconsciously puts his hand on your thigh while he drove. You put your hand on his, “Babe.” he hums back at you, “I love you.” The hand on your thigh squeezes slightly and his hand turns to hold yours in his. Pulling your hand to his lips and places a soft kiss on it. “I love you.” Gavin smiled against your hand and rubbed your hands against his unshaven beard. “Good fuck Gavin! Stop that!” Both of you laughed as you struggled to get your hand back.

Both of you arrived and immediately got to the seat that you had on your first date. Ordering both of your favorite classic noodle, Gavin put elbow on the table and places his chin on his hand. Tilting his head slightly as he watches you talk to the waitress. He smiled when you noticed his blatant stare. “Hi babe.” He said in a low voice. He puts his hand out and you put your hand on his. Smiling back at him, “Hi love.”

You talked about anything and everything. Gavin finally had a good laugh after 5months of your absence. Your boyfriend’s cologne, the smell of the dingy diner, the dimly lit diner light and the street lights that shines in from the diner window that makes your boyfriend looks extremely beautiful, the empty bowls of noodles, the tasteless green tea you both adore so much, the soft music coming from the jukebox and your boyfriend, who looks at you like you own the world. You’re finally back home.

#dbh imagine #detroit become human #dbh gavin reed #dbh gavin #gavin reed #dbh gavin x reader #lmao kudos to nyall who reads #wow i wrote #another attempt at shitty writing #shit writing #good fckin luck

87 notes · View notes

new-to-this123 · 6 years ago

Text

Boy Or Girl?

As per requested

hi could i request a scenario with montgomery where he and reader are older and they’re arguing about the gender of their baby bc he thinks it’s a girl but she thinks it’s a boy(which the baby does end up being)? sorry if this was too long

Monty X Reader

Warning: none

Word Count: 1383

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

You had been dating Montgomery De La Cruz since senior year. Now ten years later, you were married. Monty was a professional baseball player, you were a lawyer. You had a six year old son named Jeffrey and a four year old daughter named Mia. Your guys life was busy. You never thought of having more kids. You had both agreed on two, and with Monty being gone every now and then from February-October, and you always being in the office, it was hard to plan having more kids. Why would you need more anyways? You had one of each. Everything was perfect.

One morning you woke feeling terrible. You layed in bed looking up at the ceiling, not wanting to move in fear of puking.

“baby you OK?” monty asked turning on his side putting his arm around you.

“no don't move the bed. I feel sick” you snapped

Monty got out the bed and grabbed the little garbage can you had in your bathroom. At soon as he had it near you, you started puking. Monty held your hair back and rubbed your back.

“did you eat something that's not agreeing with you?”

“I don't know.” you answered lifting your head up from the garbage can.

You thought for a minute.

“oh my god.” you said looking at Monty with a blank face. Montys face dropped and turned white.

“what?”

“I haven't had my period this month or last. It just clicked in. I've been so busy with the kids and work that it never dawned on me.”

Monty just stared at you not sure what to say.

You both sat in silence for a few minutes.

“did you want me to go get a test?” monty asked you

“sure”.you said standing up. “I'll get breakfast ready for the kids and us while you're out.

“I'll take Mia with me and Jeff can help you with breakfast.” Monty replied smiling.

You giggled and went downstairs to see you children laying on either side of the couch watching tv.

“Mia wanna come with daddy to the store?” Monty asked as mia ran into his arms.

“Can i get a surprise?” she asked

“Of course babygirl” monty replied kissing her head, spinning with her in his arms.

“She's got you wrapped around her finger” Jeffrey exclaimed sitting up from the couch

You and monty both started laughing.

“And you kind sir have your mother wrapped around your finger” monty said laughing pointing at jeff.

Jeffery stood up and walked over to you and hugged you tightly and smiled. “I sure do”

“If you’re buying Mia something get something for Jeff too” you told your husband as he walked out the house daughter in hand.

“That was the plan babe”

You ans Jeff walked into the kitchen

“What we making mom?” Jeff asked with a big smile

“What do you want?”

“Pancakes”

You and jeffery made pancakes for everyone. Just as you were plating everything, Monty and Mia walked in.

“Look at the dress daddy bought me” She ran to you and jeff and showed you guys her new princess dress.

“And a monster truck for jeffrey. Mia said you wanted it.” Monty said giving jeff his monster truck

“THANK YOU DADDY!!!!!!” He screamed and jumped up and down.

You ate together as a family. Once the dishes were in the dishwasher, and the kids were playing, you and monty walked up to your room.

“Oh man i'm so nervous” you told monty as you went to the washroom.

Monty handed you the stick and walked out. You peed on the stick, put the cap back on. And put it on the counter and set your two minute timer on your phone. You walked out and sat on the bed beside monty.

“babe it's fine. We are financially stable to afford another kid. And i mean come on another girl would be great.” Monty said grabbing your hands.

“Haha thanks. But it's totally a boy if i'm pregnant. With mia i never got sick in the morning.”

You both laughed.

Beep Beep Bep

You both stood up nervously walking to the washroom. You grabbed the stick and laughed.

“It's totally a boy”

“Its positive??” monty asked with excitement

You shook your head yes

Monty picked you up and spun you around.

“Oh my god babe we're gonna be parents again!! And to a beautiful baby girl”

“Haha we should call the doctor's office to make an appointment for an ultrasound.” you smiled.

You called the doctor's office and made an appointment for an ultrasound in a months time. In the month of waiting you and monty kept arguing over whether or not you were going to have a girl or boy. You went for the ultrasound and found out you were five months pregnant. When the lady went to look for the gender, the baby had its legs crossed and refused to show its gender. You both laughed.

“We should have a party to tell our friends and family” Monty suggested.

“Sure why not” You said

Even though you were five months pregnant you didn't look pregnant at all.

A week later you had everything set up in the house. When you invited your friends and family you all laughed and said it was just a casual party.

“Your parents arrived two hours early to help you guys set up.”

“Hello Miss Atkins- De La Cruz.” scott said walking into your house hugging you. Scott and Monty did everything together since high school. They even played for the same baseball team. He was part of the family. Your kids called him uncle Scotty.

“Hello scott.” you laughed.

“Y/N!!!!” Jessica and Sherri yelled as they walked into your house.

“Jess, Sherri” you yelled back group hugging the two girls.

All of your friends from high school showed up and the family you had invited. You all ate and were getting ready to eat dessert when you and monty decided it was time to tell people.

“So today isn't just a party. It's a celebration.” you exclaimed to everyone.

“Y/N PREGNANT!!!!!!” Monty yelled! “I'M GONNA BE A DAD AGAIN!!!”

All the guys jumped on monty and screamed with joy. The girls all yelled. Your parents screamed and hugged you hard.

“Monty Hardly ever home and still got moves” Zach laughed.

“How far are you?” Your mother asked

“Five month”

“WHAT???” everyone said in unison.

“Ok ok ok I got this” scott started “we are taking bets. Money will obviously go to Y/N and Monty for the new baby, but Bets On the gender!”

Justin came back with two jars he had found in your cupboards.

“Bets for boy bets for girl.” scott showed the two jars “Mom and dad go first” he said pointing to you and monty

“GIRL” monty screamed putting 10$ into the girl jar

“BOY” you screamed putting 10$ into the boy jar.

“Jeffrey Mia come here” scott called them over.

“So mommy has a baby in her belly. Is it gonna be a boy or a girl” scott asked the kids

“I want a brother” jeffery replied

“I want a sister so i can play dress up with her” Mia answered

Scott laughed and placed 10$ into each jar.

“Funny how Jeff is a mommys boy and Mia is a daddy's girl and they have the same vote as their parents” clay chipped in.

“That's because jeffrey takes after his mother and is smart!” you smiled.

The jars were pretty even.

During the remaining four months of your pregnancy Monty would tell everyone he was sure it was a girl. You told everyone it was a boy. You had the same agreement as before, if its a girl monty chooses the name if its a boy, you chose. Monty had chosen the name McKenna. You had chosen the name Jakob.

‘One last push Y/N and it'll be out” The doctor said. You pushed hard and suddenly you heard a baby cry.

“Congratulations on the baby boy” the doctors said placing baby Jakob on your chest.

“Haha i was right” you said looking at monty tears in your eyes. Both you and monty were crying happy tears. You couldn't be happier to welcome another child into your family.

#montgomery de la cruz #monty de la cruz #montgomery x reader #justin foley #scott reed #bryce walker #marcus cole #jeff atkins #ryan shaver #alex standall #tyler down #clay jensen #tony padilla #zach dempsey #13rw #13 reasons why #13rw imagine #thirteen reasons why

102 notes · View notes