#we had a hollywood tour up until like a year or two ago which was a boat ride through several scenes from different movies

[ethwastaken]

hello i foudn videos about our theme park's history and i'm so. overwhelmed with emotions help me

[inkandpen22]

Permanent Chaos (1/?)

Pairing: MGK x Female!Reader

Warnings: Swearing 

Word Count: 2.8k

Part Summary: Y/N is a newly famous actress from a popular TV show and she’s willing to do everything in her power to maintain her perfect image as “America’s Sweetheart.” 

Masterlist

The limelight is a hard place to be under. It’s draining to constantly be on display. Day in and day out I feel as though I’m always looking into a mirror. However, a mirror is replaced by people’s eyes. I see myself through other’s eyes. Being sat on a slippery plastic stool while being watched by millions of Americans before they head off to work is an excellent way to start my day. Perhaps if I keep telling myself that I’ll eventually believe it. Savannah glances down at her cards then continues with the interview.

“Let’s go back to a year ago, if someone approached you and said “you’ll be the most sought after girl in America,” would you had believed them?”

I shake my head “not all.”

If only she knew how absent I am in the current moment. I’ve answered similar questions a million times these past few months. All the exact same questions within the same routine.

“Now, being as famous as you are, how do you cope with your newfound fame?”

There it is, famous. A better-sounding word than popular. After all, adult life is nothing like high school… right?

“I don’t particularly like the word “famous.” When people say “you’re famous!” What they really mean is “a lot of people know you!” At least people think they do.”

She studies me, intrigued by my honest answer, perhaps too honest. “You’re saying America doesn’t know the “real” you? Including your fans?”

I shrug, I can only imagine Nicole’s face right now. My usual bubbly and charmingly excited personality didn’t wake up with me at three this morning.

“I believe they know whatever version of me they’ve created. For some, I’m that girl from the cover of that one magazine they saw in line at the grocery store. For others, I may just a name without a face. That’s the thing about being so-called “famous.” I’ll never have the chance to meet every single person who has ever read an article about me or has seen paparazzi videos. They’ll only see those tainted versions of me. They’ll never have the opportunity to know me personally and make a valid judgment for themselves.”

Savannah hums, her eyebrows scrunched up. “How do you feel about that?”

I sigh, the words settling within me. “It’s disappointing.”

If only they all knew the truth, the reality of it all.

______________________________________________________

After the interview for the show, I fly straight back to Los Angeles from New York. My schedule has been worse, but I never miss the chance to complain to my manager. Thankfully, Nicole is a mother of tween girls and a ten-year-old boy so she knows how to take my childish whining. Once we’re landed in LAX I countdown the minutes until I can return to my bed.

“I don’t understand why you insist on wearing heels on the plane,” Nicole nags me.

“Because you never know who you’re gonna meet! Best to dress nicely just in case!”

It’s been a rule of mine since I first discovered my style and began to wear makeup, never go out in public without looking and feeling confident. I’ve learned that people can sense when others don’t feel confident and take advantage of that.

“I doubt your Mom would like it,” she nags.

“Well she’s not in California is she?” I fire back but snicker slightly.

My momma’s absence was bitter-sweet, in the beginning, now it’s all sweet. When we have our luggage, Nicole leads me through the airport to where the car is picking us up.

“You may want to put on your sunglasses now. We’re about to cross the line,” she warns.

I grab my glasses out of my purse like she instructed and slide them on. She was right, as soon as we cross over that taped line it’s a free-for-all for the paparazzi.

“Y/N!” “Y/N!”

“HEY! SHOW US A SMILE!”

The yelling doesn’t bother me as it used to in the past. Now, it’s the clicking. The clicking from their cameras. A constant *click* *click* *click*, from each of the thirty cameras. Nicole attempts to create a path for me by walking ahead.

“HOW WAS YOUR TRIP TO NEW YORK?”

“Good, thank you” I reply politely with a smile toward the tile floor.

I try to manage a balance when it comes to paparazzi. They have their job and so do I. Following me, taking pictures or videotaping me is their job. As long as they respect me, I will respect them. Nicole says it’s good for my image. My image wasn’t the first reason I was nice toward them, I was being myself. Nowadays, I’m hardly myself. I have my name, Y/N Voss, but it no longer feels like my name. The paparazzi are not used to getting easy responses out of people because there’s a long pause before the next question.

“WHEN DOES FILMING START BACK UP FOR THE SHOW?”

The question comes from a different voice but that doesn’t keep me from answering.

“In two days!” I gleam, looking forward to returning to set.

“CAN YOU GIVE ANY INFO ABOUT THE NEW SEASON?”

I chuckle a little but think it over. I agreed in my contract not to give out spoilers but there is a little info I was told I can let out. Plus, I’ve only seen the script for the first episode so I don’t know too much.

“I can say that Hollyn will have a bump start this season but no worries,” I answer vaguely but with interest.

Nicole and I manage to reach outside and she guides me down the sidewalk to where the car is supposed to pick us up.

“RUMOR HAS IT YOU’RE DATING SOMEONE! CARE TO COMMENT?”

“I’m very much single,” I laugh, finding the topic humorous. “Not enough hours in the day to share them!”

There are always rumors that I’m dating someone though none of it’s true.

“YOU LOOK GREAT TODAY Y/N!”

“YOU ALWAYS DO!”

“Thanks, boys!” I give my appreciation. 

The driver gets out of the front and pops the trunk. Nicole informs me to get in the car and let her worry about our things along with the driver.

“WHAT ARE YOUR PLANS FOR THE SUMMER?”

I open my door but pause to answer the last question. “Work, of course, but I also want to have some fun.”

“HAVE A GREAT SUMMER!”

“SEE YA LATER Y/N!”

They all hurry to get some last shots and I grant them a couple of seconds.

“You too! See you guys later!” I wave goodbye then climb into the car.

Nicole gets in a minute later and gives the driver the address. “You did great back there,” she compliments.

“Eh, it was nothing. I was only answering their questions.” I remove my glasses and get settled in as best as I can for the hour drive home.

She pulls out her binder full of scheduling material for me.

“Yes, but you were willing and kind. The public and media appreciate that! You’re becoming America’s Sweetheart!”

I would never admit it to Nicole but that title she keeps pushing makes me anxious every time I hear it. None of this was planned, it was thrown at me. Please don’t misunderstand me, I’m grateful for what I have but geez! When everyone is telling you a whole country adores you, how are you supposed to handle that? Especially at eighteen. It was no more than a year ago I was back in South Carolina and just another girl in high school. Now, I’m supposed to be “America’s Sweetheart.” I’ll play the part but it doesn’t make the job any less intimidating.

__________________________________________________________

My best friends/co-stars, Sam and Penelope, meet up with me for dinner to celebrate my first night back in town after the press tour. The three of us have been dividing our time around the country working on various projects between filming the show. Any time we can all get together is a gift.

Ever since I’ve known Sam Merka, girls flung themselves at him. Even I’ll say it, he’s a good-looking guy. If Grant Gustin had a younger brother, it would be Sam. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea, we’re just friends. A sibling sort of bond. Since he’s eight years older than me, he likes a big brother.

Though Penelope is older too, one can’t tell since I tend to act more mature. I’m jealous of her sun-kissed long blonde hair and dark brown eyebrows. We all kinda got thrown into our friendship. Having to play life-long friends an hour after meeting for the first time was, to say the least interesting. Five years later, and we are like three peas in a pond. A mini family to have each other’s back in the big city.

For dinner, we agreed on The Nice Guy, an Italian place in West Hollywood. The most important aspect of the place is the amount of privacy it grants. The interior is a lounge, super lowkey, with booths, couches, and coffee tables but there are no photos allowed. Since no photos can be taken that means the three of us and others can enjoy ourselves in peace. Sam called dibs on being designated driver as per usual as the “bodyguard” for us girls. The paparazzi tend to hang out around the restaurant because it’s a well-known spot for celebrities.

“Maybe we can slip past them,” Sam says optimistically as we exit the car.

He meets me around the front and Penelope joins us after getting out of the backseat.

“HEY! HEY! HEY!”

From in front of the restaurant, a ripple of cameras begin to take notice of us.

“IT’S THE KIDS FROM THE SEASONS OF LIFE!”

“Yep, we really snuck past them!” I tease Sam playfully.

He huffs, annoyed with the situation. Sam loves his job but hates the lack of privacy aspect. He isn’t a fan of crowds either which I can understand. However, he’s great at masking it behind his charming smile. It’s what we were trained to do. Yet, Sam is better at managing a crowd mentally overall than I am. He understands how they affect me sometimes. The swarm of photographers rushes up to us. Sam leads the way toward the restaurant door. Penelope remains close, keeping a hand on my forearm to stay together. The cluster follows us down the sidewalk to the building.

“SAM! SAM! HEARD ABOUT THE GQ PHOTOSHOOT! CONGRATS ON GETTING THE COVER MAN!”

Sam chuckles next to me, “thanks, dude!”

“PENELOPE! RUMOR HAS IT YOU’LL BE SWITCHING OVER TO THE BIG SCREEN!”

“Exactly, it’s a rumor!” She replies a matter-of-factly.

The *click* *click* *click* and the flashing lights in the dead of night never fail to overwhelm me. Though, Nicole has told me I never appear overwhelmed when I interact with them. I force on the brave and confident face. I’m not me when I’m in front of cameras or important people, I’m Y/N Voss. I’m two very different people.

While I’m lost in thought, I get stuck when one photographer gets too close to my face with his camera and blinds me for a second. Sam and Penelope don’t notice my absence amongst the chaos until another photographer barks at the other to back off. Then, I feel Sam’s hand slip into mine and he protectively escorts me toward the door with determination.

“ANYTHING YOU TWO WANT TO SHARE ABOUT HOLLYN AND ELLIOT FOR NEXT SEASON?”

Hollyn and Elliot are Sam and my’s characters from The Seasons of Life, the show we star in together. Our characters have been on again off again for the past two seasons. According to the last season’s finale, the two are currently together, but of course, the season ended on a cliffhanger so their relationship isn’t very stable.

“Sorry guys, can’t share anything!” Sam answers, sounding a tad irritable.

“ANYTHING IN REAL LIFE? YOU TWO WERE BOTH IN NEW YORK THIS WEEKEND!”

“That’s true, but we never have the chance to meet up!” I reply nicely.

Press events for last season have come to an end and work officially begins in no time! Downtime for me is filming and it couldn’t come at a better time. I’ve missed being home in Los Angeles. Living out of a suitcase and sleeping each night on a plane isn’t the best way to live, at least for me. We finally reach the doors and I thank the heavens.

“Oh my gosh! There’s no way!” I hear what sounds like girls squealing and I slow down to see where it’s coming from. My hand slips from Sam’s as he goes on. When he’s determined to get away from the paparazzi, he can ignore the voices. Yet, when he notices that I do not follow he finally stops.

“Excuse me!” A girl calls amongst the clicking and shouting.

The paparazzi move aside a tad and create a path for me to see two young teens jumping up and down. They must be around fourteen I’m guessing, younger than me at least. I approach them to see what’s the matter. I can hardly see anything with all the bright lights.

“Hi! How are you?” I greet but once I get closer and cover my eyes with the flashing lights, I recognize them. “Sarah! Emma! How are you two?”

These two have been some of my biggest supports. They run a Youtube channel and create content about their reactions to episodes of the series. Somehow they manage to make appearances at any events relating to the show. I’ve met them numerous times at events, so have other members of the cast. Besides being two of the sweets girls in the world, they’ve created a fan page for me on Instagram and Twitter.

“Good, good!” Emma replies eagerly.

“It’s been so long since we last saw you!” Sarah adds.

“It really has! When was the last time we saw each other? During the press tour?”

They nod in unison as though they’ve rehearsed it.

“Well, group hug!” I hold out my arms and they gladly accept.

“Can we get a picture?” Emma practically begs, bouncing on her heels.

“Of course!” I take Emma’s phone and hold it out to the crowd of paparazzi. “Could one of you take our picture by chance?”

Many of the guys offer and I select a random one in front of me.

“Squeeze in tight!” I tell the girls as I stand between them and we wrap our arms around each other.

“One, two, three!” The man takes a couple of shots and hands, Emma, back her phone.

“Thank you!” The three of us say together.

We all hover over her phone to check out the pictures.

“So cute!” I awe at the photos.

“Y/N...” Sam places his hand on my back to usher me along.

“Oh, my-” Emma covers her mouth.

“Sam!” Sarah’s jaw is to the sidewalk.

“Hey girls!” he charmingly smiles.

He’s had the chance to meet them a few times while on the press tour and at other various events. I was there to introduce them which was one of the most entertaining moments of my life. I thought the girls were going to faint!

“Can we ask a quick question? It’s for our channel!” Sarah nervously bites her lower lip.

“Yeah, yeah, anything for you guys!” I answer without hesitation.

Sam wraps his arm around my waist while we’re talking to the girls and I don’t think much of it but the cameras begin to go nuts. The men behind them don’t say a word since we’re occupied but there they go *click* *click* click*.

“Is there any hope of you two getting together IRL?” Emma questions intently without hesitation.

I press my lips together with amusement and turn my head to Sam. He has the same look of pondering the question. He squints his eyes at me and then the two of us turn to the girls.

“Just friends,” we answer in unison.

“Best friends!” Sam adds playfully.

“Best friends forever ever!” I one-up him.

The two girls laugh with us, but it’s clear they’re a little disappointed.

“Well, I still bet on you two,” Sarah confidently points out.

Sam and I get a kick out of it. Our viewers want us together too.

“We better get going, our moms are waiting,” Emma informs us.

“Okay, quick hug!” I order and the four of us group hug.

We say our goodbyes and when the girls disappear the men behind the cameras start yelling.

“YOU’RE GREAT Y/N!”

“HOW DID YOU KNOW THEM?”

“Their names are Emma and Sarah. They run a popular Youtube channel, Twitter, and Instagram accounts for the show. Super sweet girls those two!”

“DO YOU KNOW ALL YOUR FANS?”

“I try to! I know a good amount!” I grin proudly.

Sam guides me into the restaurant and his hand never leaves my back. All of it is platonic of course, nothing more. As I told the paparazzi before, there isn’t enough time in my life for me to share any with someone.

 ________________________________________

Masterlist

Tags:  @canyoubuymetoast

[andromedasstarship]

in the stars - chapter 1

photo credit: @ssahotchnerr

pairing - aaron hotchner x reader

warnings - canon-typical criminal minds violence, show rating 16+ for reference. depictions of violence, stalking, murder, angst, age gap couple, drinking, brief mention of drugs.

summary - You finally meet the BAU, little progress is made in terms of the case. 

a/n - early update yay! i take a lot of liberties with movies that reader has starred in, pls dont take irl movie release dates into consideration here lol. more notes at the end 

blog rules 

masterlist // read it on ao3 here 

prologue // next chapter 

-----

Chapter 1 

Flights to California always took an extra toll on the team. Reid had explained it once, in a too long ramble, how the wind worked against the plane lengthening the flight at least an hour longer than the trip back home. 

Hotch was finding it difficult to focus on the files in front of him. The first photo he opened was of victim #3, with her eyes closed and face turned to the side, even Hotch could’ve been fooled that it was you lying there dead. While the rest of the team was mulling over the facts of the case, he was debating whether or not to tell the team about your history. The Unit Chief in him knew this was important information that had the potential to hinder the case; his relationship to you was too personal and his withholding of information could even turn him into a suspect. If the roles had been reversed with another member of the team, he’d have concerns over their ability to even be on the case. For now, Hotch forced himself to tune into the conversation the rest of the team was having; promising himself he’d figure out what to do later. 

“Garcia, what do we know about L/N,” Emily asked, turning ever so slightly towards the screen Garcia had just popped up on. 

“I’m glad you asked my dear Emily. Y/N L/N is totally Hollywood’s It Girl right now, it’s rumored you can’t even get a meeting with her without forking over at least twenty big ones. She’s never had a bad role in her career. Personally, my favorite movie she starred in was Mamma Mia, but like I said never a bad role,” Garcia paused for a moment, the sound of her typing filling the silence, “is it inappropriate for me to ask one of you to get her signature for-”

“Garcia,” Rossi interjected, “anything else we need to know about her right now?” 

“Sorry sir, I promise to be on my best professional behavior. But come on, remember when she swept the Oscars three years-”

Hotch felt himself detach from the conversation yet again, staring out the window as memories of the two of you flooded his brain. 

Three Years Ago 

The team had just finished a grueling case in Georgia. It was long, taking nearly two weeks to catch the unsub, in which he had managed to murder three additional couples right under their noses. Inclement weather forced them to stay another night until the storm passed, leaving them all stranded by the airport. In a turnaround way, being stuck gave them the rare opportunity to relax and bond as a team. Rather than all disappear to their own rooms for the night, they all packed into one small hotel room. Boxes of Chinese takeout were littered around the room, along with various bottles of alcohol. The Oscars were on that night and Hotch knew you’d be on the screen at some point, not wanting to miss it he proposed watching it to the team and they all happily agreed. While it was difficult with their schedules to be avid movie goers, they all were relatively familiar with the contenders for big awards such as Best Picture and Best Actor. 

You were nominated for two separate awards that night, along with starring in a film nominated for Best Picture. It had been a monumental year for you, with three separate feature films hitting theaters and all becoming major successes both financially and socially. You had spent so much time jet setting for press conferences and movie tours that you rivaled Aaron in terms of suitcase living. 

“Everyone shut up! They’re about to do Best Supporting Actress, oh I just know it’s going to be Y/N. Emily agree with me! We saw her in Little Women together, I cried. Oh don’t give me that look Emily, you cried too and you know it!” Penelope said enthusiastically, waving her chopsticks around. It was rare that Garcia ever came with on a case, but the location had been in a remote part of the state and they wanted to avoid being unable to reach her and her technical wizardry; a fact she was particularly grateful for, had this watch party been happening without her, she would’ve been so jealous.  

To anyone else, the grin on Hotch’s face would have been easily equated to the bickering going on between his friends and the effects of the few drinks he had thrown back. It was all for you though, he had caught glimpses of you on screen throughout the night and had snuck more than one glance at his phone to see the pictures of your outfit you’d sent him yourself. When the presenters walked on stage, Hotch sat up a bit straighter, his body naturally inching closer to the edge of his seat. The screen set up so the faces of all nominees and their reactions could be seen, Hotch’s eyes glued to the box you were in. 

“And the winner of Best Supporting Actress goes to…,” the first presenter started, slowly opening the envelope they held, “Y/N L/N!” The crowd roared and the camera focused in on you sitting stunned in your seat, surrounded by coworkers and friends. The team was cheering too, the liquor in their system loosening everyone up. Hotch clapping uncharacteristically loud and long even went unnoticed by the others. 

“I was right, I knew it!! I should start betting on this, you know what I bet I could hack into the system-” Garcia’s voice barely even registered in Hotch’s brain as he watched you. With one hand clasped over your mouth and the other holding your dress you made your way up the stairs and to the center of the stage. 

“Wow,” you started, eyes wide as you stared down at the award in your hands, slowly you looked back up into the crowd and continued, “I really mean it when I say I wasn’t expecting this. I didn’t even prepare a speech, I’m so sorry,” you paused again, the biggest smile plastered on your face as you quickly wiped a few tears threatening to fall, “thank you all so much, for supporting me and letting me do what I love. Thank you to my fellow coworkers who pushed me in this project and thank you so much to the fans who give me the strength to do this every day. Thank you! Thank you so much!” You ended, making your way back towards your seat. Hotch grinned as you flashed a wide smile to the camera following you, throwing a flirty winky that he knew was just for him.

The rest of the night went by in a blur. When you won again for Best Actress, you were barely able to contain yourself on stage, tears flowing freely down your face as you gave your thanks. The joy you felt in that moment was unlike anything you’d ever experienced in your life. At just 24, you had become the first person ever to win both awards in the same night. Hotch had actually jumped out of his seat at your second win, a motion that confused the rest of the team, but the liquor in everyone’s system forced them to ignore it; more glad than anything to see Hotch loosening up for once. 

After the team finally retreated into their own rooms for the night, Hotch wasted no time in texting you, asking if you were free to talk on the phone. His excitement palpable when not even a minute later your contact came up on the screen. 

“Aaron,” your excited voice came through the phone, just being able to hear you eased tension he wasn’t even aware he had been carrying, “can you believe it!” 

“Congratulations, Miss Double Oscar winner.” Even after a year of being together, his voice made you giddy. “Where are you?” He asked, unable to ignore the pounding sound of music and people in the background. 

“After party, top secret location Mr. Agent. I’m in the bathroom! Am I allowed to tell you I definitely see some residue of a line on the counter,” your voice was slurred and rushed, the energy of the moment combined with the liquor in your system causing your mouth to move faster than your brain, “probably not, ignore that. Where are you?” 

Aaron relayed various info about closing the case and what the team had gotten up to that night. When you began telling him about your night, he couldn’t help but feel insecure. Where he told you about $8 takeout meals and rural Georgia, you were talking about some of the biggest names in Hollywood and the luxury treatment you’d been subject to all night. He forced himself to focus on your voice anyway; not wanting to take this time ‘with’ you for granted. The two of you could’ve talked for hours, had it not been for Hotch pushing you to go enjoy the celebrations. 

“I’m so proud of you angel,” he said softly, voice swelling with adoration, “I’ll see you soon, I promise.” 

“I love you Aaron.” 

“I love you too Y/N.” 

When he finally hung up, he leaned against the wall with a sigh, running his hands through his hair. Relationship wise, it had been a tough year for the two of you. With your schedule busier than you’d ever expected, it meant seeing each other in person was nearly impossible. In good conscience you refused to take him away from Jack on the rare weekends he had off. Instead you’d fly in whenever possible, the two of you spending low profile nights together in fancy hotels or his house if Jack was away with friends. It was excruciating maintaining a relationship like this, but something about the success of the night made the sacrifices feel worth it. 

Present Day

“Look into her dating history, any exes that would want to hurt her?” JJ asked, her question pulling Hotch back into the present. Adjusting to the constant publicity you were subject to had been a learning curve for Hotch, the first time the tabloids ran a story of you photographed with some Hollywood Hunk his bad mood had the entire team walking on eggshells for a week. 

“According to my search she hasn’t dated anyone in years, or at least not publicly. I have a theory she’s secretly dating Henry Ca-.” Hotch zoned back out before Garcia could finish, having no interest in hearing or seeing whoever the media was speculating to be involved with you this time. Willing the plane to land faster, he ignored the faint voice in the back of his head that was telling him you were free to be with whoever you wanted. 

----

“If you’d follow me Miss L/N, the BAU has set up in the back conference room, they’ve been waiting for you.” Officer Reynolds said, her back to you as you followed her down the hallway. It was nearly 9am and you had spent the better half of the morning hyping yourself up to see Aaron for the first time in nearly two years. You made last second adjustments to your outfit; an outfit you definitely hadn’t spent all of last night picking out because you definitely did not want to look good for Aaron Hotchner. As Officer Reynolds moved to open the door you held your breath, thanking the years of experience in manipulating your outward expressions. When four heads turned in unison to look at you, you let out a sigh of relief. Aaron wasn’t in the room. 

“This is Y/N L/N. Miss L/N, meet the BAU,” Officer Reynolds said, extending her arm outwards towards the rest of the room, “I’ll leave you guys to do introductions, if you need anything, find me,” and with that she exited the room. A blonde woman stepped forward first, extending her hand out to you. You knew who she was before she even said her name. 

“My name is Jennifer Jareau, I’m the media liaison with the BAU.” She said, she gave you the same smile all the other officers had been giving you, but unlike theirs that reeked of pity, something in Jennifer’s felt authentic to you. After shaking hands with her, the rest of the room took a moment to introduce themselves. You never thought you’d meet Aaron’s team like this. Over the years, he had shown you countless photos of the team, along with hundreds of stories and tidbits concerning their lives. Even though you knew they had probably spent the entire flight to LA looking at your life, it still felt as if you had some creepy advantage over the situation. 

“The rest of our team, Agents Hotchner and Morgan, are currently doing some research in the field, but until they return we’d love to brief you and ask you a few questions, is that alright?” JJ asked, stepping backwards and motioning for you to take a seat at the round table. 

“Of course,” you quickly replied, moving to take a seat; internally you were laughing at the irony of her asking if it was alright, what would you do, say no? Looking up at the other three members still standing you motioned for them to sit as well, “I don’t know if you’re doing it on purpose, but I’d prefer if you all sat down too,” you paused, before adding, “kinda makes me feel like I’m back at school.” They seemed to smile at that, everyone else moving to find a seat at the table. Before the silence could turn uncomfortable, JJ spoke up again. 

“Does anyone else in your life know about the murders?” 

You shook your head no before replying, “my agent knows just in case I have to go underground and my security guard is aware, but besides them and the police, I haven’t told anyone.” 

“Go underground?” 

“Uh yea, a few years ago I had a stalker. I went ‘underground’ for about three months and the guy seemed to give up. The police have already cleared him, he hasn’t been to LA in over a year,” you explained. 

“That’s good to know. We want to keep your involvement in the case completely out of the media. I can only imagine you want that too,” JJ started, angling her body towards you, “I know you’re probably more than well versed in dealing with the press, but if anyone comes up to you asking about the murders we want you to completely disengage. And of course, don’t tell anyone else about what’s going on.” 

“Alright, now that that’s settled, we just have a couple questions for you,” Emily asked as she stood up, opening up a file from the table, “so what can you tell us about-” 

----

The dump site wasn’t showing any promise. Situated near a highway, the field was hidden from the road, yet still accessible by car. The constant stir caused by the speeding cars meant any leftover DNA or footprints were effectively blown away. 

“Our guy’s gotta be fit. The drop into the field is just steep enough he would’ve had to carry the body at least fifty feet to get it here from the road. He could’ve rolled it, but the bodies were too pristine to have been dropped on the ground like that.” Derek said, looking over at Hotch. The two of them were standing at the edge of the road, looking down at the now empty field. “Not only that, but this is a nice spot. Normally places like this so close to a highway are filled with trash, do you think he might’ve cleaned up?” 

Hotch was silent as he considered this, before slowly nodding, “it’d make sense if he did. Everything we have concerning his treatment to the victims post mortem has been nothing but affectionate.” 

“Do you think there could be two unsubs?” Derek asked, when Hotch looked at him with mild confusion he continued, “All the victims were strangled to death, ME report assumes it was by hand. It takes a lot of strength and persistence to kill someone by hand like that, not only that but it’s intimate, he’s staring them in the face as he kills them. The level of care displayed here seems way more than just remorse.” 

Hotch took another moment to consider Derek’s proposition before shaking his head, “we’ll keep it in mind, but it’s clear whatever connection he has to L/N is personal, at least to him. These women could be failing to replicate some part of her personality and in his rage he kills them. But when they’re silent and unmoving, their likeness to L/N lets him fall back into the fantasy, hence the care.” 

“We should start heading back, Reid just texted me they’re almost done with the initial briefing with L/N, and we should meet her before she takes off for the day.” Derek said, putting his phone back in his pocket before turning on his heel to head back to the car. Hotch’s shoulders tensed at the idea of seeing you, looking back at the field once more. Giving the field one last look, he felt a shiver run up his spine at the idea of finding you in a field like this. Shaking the idea out of his, he turned to join Derek in the car. 

Hotch took the driver's seat, glad to be able to use the road as a needed distraction from the impending face to face. The drive was only twenty minutes, but Hotch didn’t think any time would truly be long enough to prepare himself to see you again. He found himself wondering if anything would be different from the last time he saw you. Did you still smell the same? You had always been quite adamant about your preference for scented lotion, rather than perfumes. What if you completely changed your hair? Were you worrying about seeing him as much as he was? 

“You think she’s gonna be easy to work with?” Derek asked, breaking Hotch out of his mental spiral. 

“What do you mean?”

“Y/N, you know, “Hollywood’s It Girl”,” Derek explained, “if she’s as in demand as Garcia said she was-”

“While we work this case Morgan, I expect you to conduct yourself appropriately,” Hotch interjected, his voice tight, “we treat Y/N the way we would anyone else, do I make myself clear?” His eyes not leaving the road at all, knuckles tight around the steering wheel. 

“Crystal,” Derek responded, raising his hands up in mock surrender. 

As they turned into the parking lot, Hotch scanned the parking lot before finally noticing your car parked in the back of the lot. You used to always park as far as you could, constantly complaining about how people in parking lots stressed you out and you wanted to be able to drive in and out as easy as possible. The corners of his lips turned up, ever so slightly, thinking maybe nothing had really changed for you, at least in that regard. 

“You go ahead, I’m just going to send a message to Jack real quick,” Hotch lied, pulling his phone from his pocket. Derek nodded and got out of the car, quickly entering the building. Hotch put his phone down in his lap and gripped the steering wheel once more. You were one of the few people to ever wind him up this way; it had been like that from the first day he met you, as if you managed to make him melt under your gaze. Five minutes, he would give himself five minutes to pull himself together before letting the Unit Chief in him take over. 

----

“I’m sorry, I just, can I take a break,” you asked, looking up at the agents who were still grilling you about facets of your life you never would’ve considered relevant, “I just need to get some air.” Without really waiting for permission, you were pushing back on your chair to stand up. Slinging on your thin jacket you exited the room, heading for the entrance of the building. The agents had been kind, but you were starting to feel a bit useless. Each time they had a new theory, you came up short in terms of material for them to actually use. They kept reassuring you that what you were able to come up with was helpful, but you weren't convinced. 

You had been in and out of this office so many times, your body went into autopilot as you made your way to the entrance, not even pausing to look up as you started to push open the door. What you missed was the distinct outline of a body pulling the door open at the same time. The added force made you stumble, nearly crashing straight into the man on the other side. Brown eyes met yours and you both froze, uncertain of what to say before speaking at the same time. 

“Y/N.”

“Agent.”

-----

a/n - wow wow! things are gonna start moving in the next chapter, i promise. the response to ‘in the stars’ so far has been so heartwarming. ive said it before, but this is my first fic and i cant even fathom that people are actually interested in what im writing. your support means the world! im trying to get stuff written before university starts up again, but i dont want to nix quality for faster updates so if updates slow down im sorry! comments always appreciated. leave a reply or ask if youd like to be added to the taglist! if you requested before but arent added, just ask again i mustve missed it on accident 

Taglist: @mac99martin​ @iwaizumiee​ @kylorendrip​ @hqtchner​ @lieswithoutfairytales​ @ssahoodrathotchner​ @midsummernightdream​ @weasleylovers​ @evans-dejong​

no permission is given to republish or upload my fics anywhere else. if you see this story not on my tumblr or ao3 it is stolen work. i do not own criminal minds or any of the characters involved

[jimmys-zeppelin]

ghostin'

chapter fifteen

(table of contents)

(chapter fourteen)

june 26, 1976

"We're here today with Miss Ellie Saunders, singer and writer of the newest song going up in the pop charts, Songbird! Would you like to say hello to our audience, Ellie?"

"Hi, everyone! Thank you so much, Bill for having me on."

"Pleasure's all mine. Last time we had you in the studio was...two years ago with your single, Dreamer, isn't that right?"

"Very much so! Since then lots of things have changed." Ellie chuckled, reflecting on the past for a split second.

"Yeah, you were just a wide-eyed kid who had no idea what the business was like or where you were going. Nice to see you settled down. Now, you're with Led Zeppelin's guitarist, Jimmy Page, right? How's that working out with their constant touring?"

Ellie visibly tensed. If they were there to talk about Jimmy, they should have just called him on instead, but alas she was polite and answered the question. "Yes, Jimmy and I are together," she chuckled nervously, "Well, we manage our time pretty well. He's currently away doing his stuff and I'm working on my new album, but we find time to get a phone call in before bed...middle of the night," she laughed, "we find a way."

"Adorable, you two are. So this album of yours? Got a title yet? And what kind of songs are we going to see on it?"

"Not yet," Ellie answered, but quickly saved herself, "we have a working one, but even that's under wraps for now. As for songs, they're mostly just your regular old love songs I guess. The experimental piece was actually one I plan to release soon. I really hope my fans enjoy it. It took a lot to write it."

"And the title?"

Ellie looked over to Carolyn, who sat across the room puffing on a cigarette. The brunette nodded at the blonde, allowing her to speak on the song, "Well the song is called Sign of the Times. It's about seeing a change in someone you love and having to accept it. It could be with a wife, husband, lover, friend; anyone you hold dear who you just...can't help but worry about." She explained, getting lost in her own words as she thought about Jimmy. "As you can see I'm still a bit raw about it," Ellie lightly rubbed at her watering eyes.

"Do you miss your person?" Bill asked, suddenly becoming quite sincere.

Ellie met his gaze, nodding, "I do." she said, thinking of what lie to tell people to convince them she wasn't talking about her lanky, dark-haired boyfriend.

"Well, now onto what you're here for. Tell me about Songbird, then."

"Um, well...there was a slight bit of a rough patch lately that affected me a bit. I decided to get my trusty notebook out and spew out all the words that would come. And Songbird came out of that."

"Some beautiful acoustic on there, who did it?"

"I did! Jimmy's not the only one who's well-spoken in the ways of a guitar in this relationship. Although I did want him to come play on it for me, our schedules just didn't line up." She shrugged.

"Incredible. Well, here it is, folks. The new song by Ellie Saunders: Songbird." Bill said, fiddling with some buttons and getting his turntable ready before removing his headphones, "you can take those off now." he said.

Ellie removed the bulky headphones from her hair and held them idly in her lap as her song played out to the broader Los Angeles area. She knew it wasn't the first time a station had played the song in the week or so that it'd been out, but it was different knowing that she was right there while it was playing out to thousands of people. It was daunting if anything.

"Ellie that was great. Thank you so much for coming on!" Bill said, standing to shake Ellie's hand. The singer mirrored his actions and went in for a handshake, returning the favor.

"Thank you for asking me to come on. It was a pleasure. Maybe I'll come back when Sign of the Times comes out." She said with a wink.

"Of course," Bill replied, "tell me. In confidence; off the record. Is there a title for the new record?"

Ellie contemplated her honest answer, then exhaled through her nose in a laugh before answering, "No, actually. I have no idea what it's called. I've been so focused on writing songs that...I just haven't had time to think of a title, honestly." Ellie laughed as she spewed the honest truth.

Bill laughed out loud at the comment, giving Ellie a pat on the back, "Seriously, Ellie, come back any time. New song, new album, or if you just wanna chat with me for the morning segment. It would be great."

"Thank you so much, Bill." She repeated as she started picking up her bags. Carolyn put out her cigarette in an ashtray near the microphones and gave Bill a firm handshake. The women left the building shortly after.

After they'd been settled in the car to take them back to the studio, they finally got a chance to take a breather and relax. Things had been moving at a touch and go pace since finishing the two bigger singles. The rest of the songs still needed more, Ellie thought. It often occupied her mind just what she wanted to add to each song. That and Jimmy.

Not only was she concerned about him, she found herself getting increasingly more discouraged when she spoke with him. Like she was walking on eggshells when it came to a conversation with him. If either of them said the wrong thing, the other would get set off. Ellie found herself as more of the latter. She hated arguing while they were away from each other, but she couldn't help comment about his activities. He knew her disdain of it and it seemed there wasn't much else to talk they had to talk about since their days were full of nothingness lately.

☆

Andrew came over late that night. One more song on the album had been finalized and he deemed it enough to celebrate. Five of twelve songs completed, in case anyone was counting.

"Cheers to another amazing song by my best friend." Andrew said, raising a glass of some old whiskey Ellie had had hidden in her house since she'd moved in. The blonde could hardly remember who had given it to her. It seemed it just was a part of the house at that point.

They clinked glasses and each took a sip, both inevitably coughing and gagging at the taste and giggling at their reactions. Their conversation carried on until Ellie's eyes wandered to her stack of mail. Since getting home she hadn't had much time to give it a look so she gave each letter a once-over before focusing on Andrew again. That was the plan, at least.

However, a postcard caught her eye and she couldn't help but pick it up.

'Sunset Strip, Hollywood, California' Read the front as it was decorated with a photo of the infamous Sunset Strip at night. Ellie flipped over the postcard, her eyes quickly darting past the words that had been scrawled onto the paper.

'I recall you saying something about the Sunset Strip calling your name when we went out for dinner. How about we go out again sometime soon? You can be a Dreamer about life again. Call me when you get this. 213-xxx-xxxx

Hugs, Roger

P.S. Did you get the reference of your song that I used?

P.P.S. Ask for Simon Ferocious'

The blonde furrowed her eyebrows, but was delighted at the prospect that Roger would send her a postcard. She reached for the phone, starting to dial the numbers.

"What's up?" Andrew asked, taking another sip of the blasted whiskey, to which he exhaled sharply only seconds later. He set the cup down in disgust.

"It's Roger. He's in California. Told me to call him." Ellie replied, handing the man the postcard as his hands reached out for it. The line rang while Andrew exhaled through his nose, laughing at the corny jokes made in the letter.

"Ritz Los Angeles, my name is Angela. How can I be of service to you this evening?" The woman on the other line said. Ellie was taken aback slightly at the discovery of the Ritz's hotel having been the main point of contact for Roger.

"Uh, hi. I'm calling for a Simon Ferocious staying at your hotel." Ellie said, trying to hold back her laughter.

"And who's asking?" She asked.

"Say it's Mrs. Page. He'll know who it is."

"I'll put you through."

"Thank you."

Silence came through the phone before the Hold music shortly began. An ear-raping jazz number made Ellie put the phone down as soon as the music started.

"Simon Ferocious?" Andrew asked, having come back into the living room with a near-empty bottle of blush wine Ellie had been keeping in the fridge along with two flutes. She shrugged as he poured the rest out for the both of them as the infernal jazz finally came to an end.

"Mr. Ferocious for you, ma'am." The woman said.

"Thank you," Ellie paused waiting for the clicks before Roger's familiar rasp came through.

"Mrs. Page, hm?" Roger asked.

"I heard we weren't giving out our real names." Ellie laughed, twirling the phone cord around her finger. Her eyes followed Andrew as he walked over to her record collection beside the turntable.

"Well, I had good reason. I'm staying on the down low."

"Is that it? Who's Simon Ferocious, then?" she asked as the sounds of a song she couldn't quite place by Led Zeppelin came flooding through the speakers. The song was from a  special release pressing Jimmy had gifted her when Physical Graffiti was released the previous year. Close friends and family received them. Ellie had been honored to say the least.

Roger chuckled, "A guy looking to take you out to a show. Someone there with you?"

"Just Andrew. He's my best friend—"

"And I'm gay!" Andrew shouted across the room.

"Nothing to worry about." Ellie smiled, and though Roger couldn't see it, he could sense it.

"Right. Simon Ferocious is something Fred called Sid Vicious because he was bothering him one day in the studio," Roger laughed, "Ask him about it one day, he'll get so cross about it."

"I think I might. Feel like you're not doing the story justice." Ellie chuckled. "So is Mr. Ferocious going to take me out to a show?"  She asked as Andrew returned to his seat on the floor across from the singer, munching on a cracker that was sitting on a plate.

"I was hoping to today, actually. Then I heard you on the radio this morning and thought you might be busy."

Ellie apologized for the delay, "I got your postcard yesterday, I just didn't bother to look at my mail because it was all mixed with bills and other junk that it got lost. I'd ditch Andrew for you any night."

"Bitch!" The aforementioned man exclaimed, slapping Ellie on the shoulder with a push. A bubbly, hearty laugh left her throat as she fell back onto the floor.

Catching her breath, she confessed, "We're getting a little tipsy." she giggled. "How much longer are you in LA? I'll make it up to you."

"I leave on the 5th of July. I have to be back in London so we can start the new album."

"Well let's go to a Fourth of July celebration! I think my record label's throwing one. They're usually on top of some pretty rooftops. It'll make for a great view."

"It's a date then. Keep me posted on this...roof party."

"Didn't I give you my phone number, Rog?"

"..."

"Hm?"

"I dropped the slip of paper in a puddle on the day I got here. God's honest truth, El. Which is why I sent you a postcard."

"I'll entertain that story for a while...." she joked, "I can give it to you again, if you'd like."

"Yes please." Roger said sheepishly; a shuffling audible in the background.

"626...."

---

masterlist | playlist

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[youvebeenlivingfictional]

The Question

The Pool | The Difference | The Notes | The Fear | The Thought | Masterlist Pairing: Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x Reader Rating: Explicit - 18+ only Warnings: None? Besides cursing. Notes: Fluffy! Fluffy! Most of these going forward are going to be fluffy. Most. Summary: How the hell does this man still give you butterflies? You’re flustered in the middle of your own damn kitchen and he isn’t even there.

You wake up alone. You don’t like that, but it happens sometimes. You and Borracho don’t exactly have regular hours, it’s not like criminals keep their shenanigans to a 9-5 schedule. You used to be a light sleeper when it came to sleeping with someone else, but with Borracho… Hell, you don’t know if it’s how quietly he’s able to move or how safe you feel with him, but you almost never wake up when he gets out of bed. You pick up your phone and shut off the alarm; no texts, no calls from him or the guys, so things are probably status quo. You don’t have to be in the office for another hour. You slide out of bed and head into the kitchen. You’re alone, but you still smile when you see that he’s made you coffee and left you a post-it. ‘Got called into work early. See you later. Love you, sweetness. -B’

You shake your head a little bit, running your thumb over the ink. How the hell does this man still give you butterflies? You’re flustered in the middle of your own damn kitchen and he isn’t even there. Oh, but you can practically hear him saying it, too. And the fact that he even stopped to write a note-- You shake your head and stick it to the fridge under a magnet, alongside a few other notes he’s left you in the apartment. You’re smiling all through your first cup of coffee, as you get ready to go in, as you get in your car that morning. You usually try not to text Borracho when you know he’s out on the job - you don’t wanna distract him, and there’s a chance the guys’ll see it and get on both your cases, but you decide to risk it that morning. You pull your phone out and text him, I love you

It’s a few minutes before you get back, Wanna go out tonight?   You raise a brow. Is this man up to something? 

Big plans? taking us on a tour of a hot sauce factory

I’m pretty sure you’re making fun of me and I don’t appreciate it. 

love you

Love you too --

It’s the usual crew at the office - though Borracho is noticeably absent. You don’t ask, is the thing, but Nick makes it a point to tell you that Borracho is out getting a statement from a witness. You nod a little bit and say, “...Okay,” Before turning back to your work. You swear up and down that you hear Henderson asking Conners if you bought that, but you try not to read into it. You’re sure you heard them wrong; if something was wrong with Borracho, they’d tell you. Besides, you’ve already talked to him today, you know he’s alright. But while you’re in the office, you notice the guys muttering to each other way more than usual. You can’t help but wonder if this is what they would’ve been like if you’d left your headphones out those first couple of weeks on the job. Headphones-- Your headphones, of course. The second you’ve got those suckers in, the guys’ll speak up at full volume. You open the desk drawer that you usually keep them in. Your jaw drops at the sight of another post-it. 

Looking for something? ;) -B You’d told Borracho that you found out about most of the pools because of your little headphone trick. But why the hell has he taken them today? You close your drawer, narrowing your eyes. Oh, something is definitely up. -- “Really, you haven’t seen him all day?” Isobel asks. You glance up from where you’re bouncing her son on your knee. You’ve stopped by after work; you’ve got a little time before you need to be home to get ready. “Nope,” You shrug, “He got called into work early, and-- I don’t know, Nick said he was out speaking to a witness. We texted a little, but he’s been pretty busy today. We’re going out later, though.” “Ooo,” Nadia coos from behind you, where she’s feeding Lissie, “Do you know where?” “No idea, he hasn’t told me… I mean, he joked about a hot sauce factory, but the ones around here don’t have late tours.” You may or may not have checked while you were at work. His sisters are snickering at you already; they’ve seen you at barbecues, they know about the hot sauce packets you keep in your purse. You smile, laughing a little yourself. “It’ll be nice to go out, though. We haven’t had, like, a date-date in a while,” You realize it as you say so. Honestly, you haven’t really thought much of it; it’s not like you mind spending the night in with Borracho, you’re never bored. “...You know, you’re the first girl Borracho brought home in a really long time?” Nadia says, lowering herself into the seat beside Isobel. You raise a brow. You haven’t heard this before. “Really? How long?” “Oof,” Isobel mutters, “Jeez, the last would’ve been-- What, Angela?” “Which one was Angela? Highlights or lip piercing?” Nadia asks. “Lip piercing.” “Like, almost four years-ish?” Nadia offers. “‘Lip piercing’?” You repeat, amused, “I think I’ve got more questions about who ‘highlights’ was-- And what my attribute would be if you were describing me to someone else.” -- “No wig tonight?” You glance back at Borracho, arching a brow as he leans in the doorway of the bathroom. The pink wig you’d worn to the club a long time ago has made a reappearance a few times since you’d started dating. “Not tonight, babe,” You chuckle before you lean forward to do your eyeliner. You lean away from the mirror once you're finished, putting the cap back on the liner. Borracho steps into the bathroom, smoothing his hands over your hips. He presses a kiss to your neck before he cuddles up against you. You giggle, tipping your head to the side. “Maybe next time,” You add.

“I ain’t picky,” Borracho mumbles. You turn in his arms. “Gimme a kiss before I put my lipstick on,” You order. Borracho smiles.

“You sayin’ you’re not gonna kiss me once it’s on?”

“Oh, I’m absolutely gonna. Kiss me anyway,” You retort. You lean up, pecking Borracho’s lips a few times. His smile widens with each until he catches your lips with his. He lifts a hand from your hip, sliding it over your back. You sigh, leaning into his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist. You aren’t sure what it is, but something feels different about tonight. It isn’t how Borracho watched you get ready; he does that often. But this just feels sweet - so deliciously soft and slow. You can’t put your finger on it - but you aren’t rushing to, either. You just revel in Borracho’s warmth and closeness. He hums softly, squeezing your hip gently before he lifts his head, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“Finish getting ready, we’ll be late.”

“Or you could keep kissing me,” you mumble the argument against his chin. Borracho chuckles, cupping your chin and pecking your lips again.

“Later, sweetness.” -- “You don’t think we’re actually going to a hot sauce factory, right?” “No, of course not,” You scoff. “...You checked whether or not there were any open, didn’t you.” “...Might’ve taken a look.” Boraccho laughs, raising your joined hands to his lips and pressing a kiss to the back of yours. “Why?” You add, glancing over at him. “Couldn’t bear to break your heart like that.” --

The thing is, you guys had discussed it a few more times - the whole marriage thing. You’d never set a hard date, a deadline. You weren’t going to disappear if a ring wasn’t stuck on your finger within the next year or anything. But the last time you’d spoken about it seriously had been after Borracho had been shot. “I hated not being able to get back there and see you were alright for myself,” You’d admitted, “And-- Look, I love your family, but-- If anything like that ever happens again and they make me wait three fucking days to see you, Benny, I swear to god--” “I know,” He’d mumbled into your hair, “I know, and-- this is gonna sound shitty, but they were testing you, a little. I’ve had a couple of other girlfriends that saw me that way and couldn’t handle it. They wanted to see if you’d stick around.” You’d humphed, and snuggled deeper into his side. And he’d hesitated before saying, “If we were married, you would’ve been able to see me right away.” You’d glanced up at him and murmured, “I know.” “...Still think my sisters would kill us if we eloped?” “You know they would.” -- Beyond that, well, you hadn’t spoken about it much. At least, not with Borracho. You had with his sisters, looking back on it - about what kind of rings you liked (Megan and Isobel had each asked you if you liked theirs - Megan’s was a little too flashy for you; Isobel’s was close to what you liked in stone and size). You’d even tried Regina’s on (“For fun, honey, I’m curious,” She’d pressed you. It had been half a size too small). You didn’t think anything about it, though. You’d grown incredibly close with his family. “Aw, so sweet!” Nadia had cooed, seeing someone on tv propose to their girlfriend on the big screen at a football game, “Would you ever like something like that?” “Nah,” You’d wrinkled your nose, shaking your head, “So impersonal -- all those people staring at you. Plus-- Football?” The face you’d made had Nadia in stitches. 

-- 

The two of you have dinner at one of your favorite restaurants. Borracho’s hand is in yours nearly all night, holding it in the car, on the table, on the way in and out of the restaurant. After dinner, the two of you drive up to the Hollywood Bowl Overlook. He shuts off the car, and the two of you talk and make out lazily like a couple of teenagers. His hand smooths over your thighs and your stomach and your shoulder and your side; you tug at his hair and slide your hand under his collar and smooth your fingers over his tattoo. It’s like you were when you were getting ready - sweet, unhurried, soft. But you want to be home, and you want to take him apart at your leisure, without worrying about getting caught or being crammed uncomfortably in the front seat of the car, and you tell him as much. Borracho chuckles softly and slides his lips along yours in a half-kiss before murmuring, “Whatever you want, sweetness.” 

--

You cuddle up against him as you wait for him to unlock the front door, slipping your hands under his t-shirt and running your nails over his sides. He huffs and fumbles with the keys a little, and you hide your grin in his shoulder.

“Having some trouble there?” You tease, smoothing your palms over the same spots.

“You’re a menace, sweetness,” He mutters before opening the door. You slide your hands out from his shirt so that the two of you can make it inside without any further incident. The door gets shut and locked, the hall light flicked on, and you’re already reaching for him again. He cups your cheeks, sweeping his thumbs over your cheekbones.

“Hey,” He murmurs.

“Mm?”

“I’ve-- Been thinking,” He manages between kisses, even as you’re trying to nudge him back toward the bedroom.

“Uh-oh,” You tease before nipping at his lip. Borracho laughs, leaning away to look at you.

“Listen to me,” He murmurs after a moment. Your brow furrows a little, and his finger reaches up to smooth away the little wrinkle before he chases the touch with a kiss.

“How long have we been together, huh?”

“Almost two years,” You say, letting your hands settle on his shoulders.

“The guys...They started betting whether or not you’d be able to stick through the week,” He shakes his head, and you bite your lips, because you know that they did, those ridiculous idiots, “But you stuck through -- all week, all month, all year and you’re still here… The second I knew you’d stick around here, though, with me,” he squeezes your hips, “Was that night, after I’d been coordinating with the FBI. You came over, you stayed, and... And I knew I didn’t want you to go…”

Usually by now you’d cut in, make a joke, but there’s something different about the way Borracho is looking down at you. So you just listen, smooth your fingers over the fabric of his shirt because even now, you can’t keep still.

“And I know that sometimes my family can be a lot-- And so can work--” He’s talking about when he was shot and you both know it. Your stomach turns at the reminder and you lower your eyes. He cups your chin and lifts your eyes to his again, “But I can’t imagine waking up without you, or-- Or coming home without you here… And I know you were worried when I was hurt. I hate that you couldn’t see me right away, and I don’t ever want you to have to go through that again... I love you, sweetness, and I know you love me.”

“‘Course I love you, Benny,” You manage after a moment, eyes searching his. He smiles, nudging his nose against yours. You’re distracted, leaning up into the motion, and you don’t notice him reaching into his pocket.

You frown as he leans away, but that frown melts into shock as he sinks to one knee, small velvet box in hand.

He opens it.

“Will you marry me, sweetness?”

You don’t know if you’re supposed to look at him or the ring-- and then you realized you haven’t said anything, but you’re nodding and your eyes are tearing up. You manage to get out, “Of course I’ll marry you.”

And Borracho’s face splits into the widest grin. He pulls the ring out of the box and slips it onto your proffered left ring finger -- and then laughs as you tug him up from the floor. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and press your face into his neck. He’s holding onto you, too, tight and steady, and pressing kisses to your cheek, your ear, your head, your shoulder - anywhere you can reach.

You turn your head to meet his lips, curling close to him, and he finally lets you steer him back toward your room.

-- "Why did you take my headphones?” You ask later. Borracho has his head on your stomach. He’s been nuzzling contentedly for the last few minutes, dropping the odd kiss to your stomach or hip, touchy in your afterglow. “Didn’t want you listening in on the guys,” He murmurs, “Didn’t want them spoiling it.” “Why’d you have Nick tell me where you were?” “Did you ask him?” “No, he just came over and told me.” Borracho scoffs, shaking his head, “Told him to only tell you if he asked.” “The rest’a the guys weren’t all that subtle, either. Kept whispering.” “And that’s why I took your headphones.” You chuckle, sweeping his hair away from his forehead. “You know me too well, baby.” You lift your hand and eye the ring, unable to help the smile that grows on your face. Borracho turns his head, kissing your wrist. “You like it?” He asks. “I love it,” You swear, lowering your hand to stroke his cheek, “And I love you.” You’ve lost track of how many times the two of you have said it in the last couple of hours. You know that tomorrow morning, you’re going to have to start thinking about planning. You’re going to call your parents to give them the news. You’re going to be going over to Isobel’s for breakfast with the family, too, and you know you’re going to hear all about how long they’ve known about Borracho’s plan. And then the wedding planning, the ideas for the wedding that they’ve probably had for months, the fact that you’re gonna have four flower girls and three little ring bearers from Borracho’s nieces and nephews alone. You don’t have to worry about that for a few hours yet. All you care about is the man leaning up for another kiss, another two kisses, another three kisses. You curl your arms around his shoulders and squeeze his hips with your knees as he murmurs, “I love you, too, Mrs. Magalon,” Against your lips.

[aliasimagines]

luke patterson x fem!reader

a/n: saw this post by @deadpoolgirl23​ and felt like i had to write this.this is set a few years after they played the orpheum and ‘ened up being huge’ so it’s set in the late 90s. disclaimer; this pretty much shows the boys(alex, reggie, bobby) in a negative light to match the song’s theme.

warnings: negativity from loved ones/not getting support from them. angsty fuff?

word count:1k

Everyone. All their friends, all their family said it was wrong. 

You shouldn't date a rock star. They aren't loyal. I mean, do you really know what he is doing every night when he is on tour? Don't you wanna have a normal relationship? you could hear your parents' voice as if they were right beside you. 

Are you sure you need a girlfriend, right now? Why not focus on touring and making more albums? I don't think the female fans would like that you have someone. Luke could hear his manager's voice as if he was right beside him. 

Luke grabbed his notebook and scribbled the lyrics that came to him a few seconds ago. 

People say we shouldn't be together, too young to know about forever 

But I say they don't know what they're talk, talk, talkin' about

You move next to your boyfriend's side and put a cup of coffee next to his notebook but didn't look at what he was writing. You don't like looking at his lyrics without his permission. 

"You were up early." you stated, sitting next to him at the kitchen table. "You couldn't sleep?" 

As he only noticed you right now he smiles at you. 

"I had this idea for a song in my head. It’s about us." he grabs the mug and lifts it to his lips. "Thank you, baby." 

Your lips curl into a smile and you nod instead of saying ‘you are welcome’.

Luke has been sleeping at your place for about two weeks now. He had some sort of argument with the boys and he decided to temporarily move away from their shared home. You know he is hurt. His friends don't disapprove of you. You know how the boys mean everything to him, you can only imagine how it hurts for him to know that his family is not supporting him. After Reggie’s fiasco with an obsessed fangirl-girlfriend they didn’t think it was a great idea for Luke to date you. You don’t see how you liking their music is a bad thing, and Luke doesn’t see it either. He knows you wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. But his friends don’t know it. No matter how close they are, how they think of each other as brothers, as family, they just think Luke is being stubborn and stupid. 

But Luke knows that you are his end game. His soulmate if you will. He never met such a genuine person in his entire life. As soon as he landed his eyes on you he felt this indescribable connection. Why would he let go of you just because you were a fan? Is it such a huge problem that you love and support his passion for music? 

Cause this love is only getting stronger

So I don't wanna wait any longer

I just wanna tell the world that you're mine girl

Luke didn’t even notice his hand picking up the pen and writing again. His other hand put down his coffee and started drumming a melody. 

You got up before he could say or do anything. You didn’t need words. You never felt like you needed them. Both of you could understand each other from day one without them. It kept surprising both of you but by now, as 3 months has passed since the beginning of your relationship, you were kind of used to it. So when you got up to get Luke his acoustic he wasn’t surprised at all to find it next to him when he tried to get up and grab it.

They don't know about the things we do

They don't know about the "I love yous"

But I bet you if they only knew

They would just be jealous of us,

Your family keeps going on that you should date someone with a normal life, a normal job. No matter how many times you explained how much you love Luke they just wouldn't believe you. Thinking you are too young and naive to know what real love is. Your friends think Luke is only using you to pass time and when he gets bored with you he will just simply throw you away. You never doubted Luke. You know, you feel, he loves you. Just like him, you felt that way since the very beginning. And that feeling only got stronger since then. You were both hurt by the people that were supposed to believe in you, to love you unconditionally but that only made your connection to each other stronger.

In these three months you felt like you lived more than you did in your whole life. You did crazy, spontaneous and adventurous things that you normally would never have but you have no regrets. Every second you spend together is better than the last one, even if you feel like nothing can top Luke’s crazy date ideas. 

The first time you said I Love You to each other was when he took you up to the Hollywood sign in the middle of the night just so you could watch the sunrise later together. He climbed up on the letter H and shouted “Y/N Y/L/N I am so in love with you,I didn’t think it was possible to feel this much love” into the night. He didn’t need to say it. You felt the same way. But you copied his action and climbed up next to him before reassuring him that you very much feel the exact same way.

You thought this kind of love only exists in romantic novels and movies. Yet here you were in this dream-like relationship.

They don't know about the up all nights

They don't know I've waited all my life

Just to find a love that feels this right

Luke started to play a soft tune on his guitar and you hummed along. He met your gaze and grinned at you. He doesn’t know how he got this lucky. What are the chances that he met you that day? You two could have easily avoided each other in the crowd. But you didn’t, proving the invisible connection you two had. 

Just one touch and I was a believer

Every kiss it gets a little sweeter

It's getting better

Keeps getting better all the time girl

After your first date he walked you home. The two of you were in a heated conversation when you arrived to your home. Neither one of you wanted the night to end so you kept talking outside your front door. But you can only stand there talking about Nirvana for so long. You stood there in silence until you  went and grabbed his hand. You ran a finger up his bare arm. He looked at you, speechless, suddenly forgetting how to breath too. You look at him, questioningly pulling up an eyebrow. He leaned and kissed you.It was like a lightning, the electricity striking both of you as your lips connected for the first time. 

Thinking back to that day Luke puts down the guitar now to pull you in for a kiss. Every kiss is better than the last one. Every damn one and he does not get how it’s possible.He reaches to cup your face to pull you closer, to deepen the kiss. Your hands find their way to his hair, which he decided to grow out and you start to play with a few stray locks. He lets out a quiet moan which is muted by the kiss. You only stop when you need to catch your breath. With foreheads pressed together you look into his deep green eyes. And you say I love you, wordlessly, without opening your mouth and in his eyes you can see as he says the words right back. 

They don't know how special you are

They don't know what you've done to my heart

They can say anything they want 'cause they don't know about us

[wehatejulietsimms]

I said there would be a part three on the WTHTD video and I decided to keep it quiet a couple days ago until my gut told me to post.

Please stick with this read as it will get deep into lore and connections

My conspiracy on the scorpion tattoo part two:

In the WDHTDANCE video

there’s two girls; one blonde and brunette.

At first, a regular person might pass it off as

“Oh, two girls in the background! MV standards.”

Sadly, no.

It’s Juliet and Angie before and after Andy found out about Scientology and their wickedness.

Let me explain and backtrack the beginning theory of the music video.

It starts with Andy walking into a hotel building with a monster holding the door for him. He walks into a dark movie theatre room that relives his past memories, AKA the AUDITING ROOM or what other people refer to as the *fake* Akashic records room. (A spiritual place that stores memories that many fake spiritual gurus love to talk about in *awakening*)

What’s with this room, you ask? Scientology is known to bring people into rooms to “clean their memories and get their stories straight.”

While Andy is watching on the screen, there’s two innocent girls, as previously mentioned before, living their best life and looking flirty at a party. Sources say Andy and Juliet met at parties/festivals back in the day with Juliets family near always, which includes her sister who was trying to become an influencer as well.

Throughout the video shot, Andy’s being watched by this monster man in the background, making sure Andy is watching attentively and he’s looking at the scenes worried in regret. Furthermore, these two girls turn into hideous morphed demonic beings at the foot of this monster.

Then shows the shot of an innocent woman drowning in water.

“Oh how don’t you drown in a rain storm”

He’s asking Juliet why she isn’t exposed from the spotlight from all the shit she’s put herself in. Hint, nobody knows who the fuck she is and Andy’s asking why karma doesn’t punish her yet. (It’s coming! It’s already been hitting her!) Why hasn’t she drowned in all the fucked up situations she’s created through the years.

During the auditing process, Andy is being purged of Juliet and the Simms family secret of darkness so he can view Juliet as an angel,

like how the women think they are the monster’s little wh*re princess (excuse my language) because they think THAT monster is in control of Andy’s wording and thoughts during the auditing process. Aka Scientology, and Juliet’s father.

I believe Andy is watching carefully around their father because they come from money as well as

Jeff is an A class narcissist himself and says “peace is everything when you can fuck everyone over!” and tries to make Andy something he’s not, which is an asshole.

We don’t have to dance, is a song toward Juliet saying I’m not going to make this relationship something it’s not up to be. I know who you truly are and it’s not something that I’m going to keep loving you toward, so we can still be in a relationship because I’m stuck with you but I’m not ever going to love you (.) like I did when I was young and naive ever again.

Record scratch (auditing) ; Steve Miller Band (the joker is one of their classics)

Tattooed necks and tattooed hands

(Facade to hide in and be the person that they want him to be, so he tries to be comfortable as much as he can. ALSO, the song THE JOKER BY STEVE MILLER BAND GOES INTO DETAIL ABOUT ALWAYS BEING IN MASKED PERSONALITIES and being seen differently by everyone, which Andy feels like)

Oh, how don't you drown in a rain storm?

(Previous statement above ⬆️)

Fresh regrets, vodka sweats

(He regrets meeting her and getting married so soon and he drowns her out with vodka getting too drunk and having night terrors)

The sun is down and we're bound to get

Exhausted and so far from the shore

(I think that line perfectly states how far they’ve tried to drive him out of his “let’s create a better world” mentality & bright eyed personality into feeling exhausted and enslaved, overall not like the inner child he once had. Fucking Juliet being an older cougar and taking advantage of Andy’s youth while his parents sold him out and Ashley was a weirdo who gained half the rights to the band, not only that but his record label’s pressure, band mates, crew, friends (which are mostly Scientologists) to always go along the dotted lines like a script, literally.) He was only 18-20! A baby! who was groomed up by old Hollywood cults for selling him a dream that left him almost dead.)

You're never gonna get it

I'm a hazard to myself

I'll break it to you easy

This is hell, this is hell

You're looking and whispering

You think I'm someone else

This is hell, yes.

Literal hell.

(The fan base used to think Andy was this confident almighty saviour because he cared about us, his young sweet heart cared about helping people and he was drowning in regret and shame from the fake industry and kinfolk behind him making him feel left out, delusional, and not belonging. He was feeling a moment of weakness in these lyrics and had to put on a facade that he was some big seductive rocker dude for financial and status sake, which in multiple interviews he feels bad about because HE HAD TO DO THAT out of survival mode and not because he wanted to! Now, today he’s seasoned and getting in control)

We don't have to talk

We don't have to dance

We don't have to smile

We don't have to make friends

It's so nice to meet you,

Let's never meet again

We don't have to talk

We don't have to dance

We don't have to dance

(This is basically an ode to meeting Juliet for the first time. Or getting into a relationship with her in the beginning. He’s writing what he now would have done instead of marrying her in 2012. Didn’t they say they both hated each other when they first met? He wanted to listen to his gut instincts and he felt deep regret in those lyrics)

Bottles smash, I raise my hand

How can you all even stand it

Why is there joy in this poison, oh

Faking smiles and confidence

Driving miles to capture this excitement

I can't take anymore, oh

(He’s asking why isn’t anyone caring about fake people including literally everyone he’s surrounded by, including us.

Why we used to not care about diving into the abuse and delusional shows everyone put out there, fake smiles and fake personas to keep fans alive and happy, which is coincidentally the most popular BVB was.

I wish Andy knew that for us, it wasn’t fake and that even though he was depressed and angry inside and still showed up for BVB army is a very selfless act, because he wasn’t forced to be nice to anyone but only put on a stage act by management.

Now he’s really shining and we get to see the person he has always been for us, a neighborly seasoned person who sings his truth and we, as BVB army fans, relate to the sad darkness and happiness overcoming it too.

He’s real and always has been, even if he’s had to hide and mask for his protection.

He gained popularity and support because he was authentically himself and showing up for him when he felt the shittiest (even when he thinks he didn’t handle it correctly with fighting and alcoholism,) still he showed up and gave everything in authenticity and pure emotion, Andy style. I think he’s come to conclusion that his stage presence is something special outside of his personality and that it’s okay to express your soul on stage even if it’s changing, he’s coming back to who he’s always been inside. I think he’s channeling it in such a badass empowered way on the IN BETWEEN tour.

Congrats Andy! That man IS a true soul warrior.

Dude was fighting predators, groomers, and multiple cults by himself and still showed up (AND bettered, healed, unlearned things about his surroundings and himself) even when he felt isolated and alone! Props to Andy!

I personally interpret the scorpion tattoo as death and not forgetting to go back to the place that he was left FOR DEAD even if he feels scared or lonely.

You’re not alone, Andy! We are here and we see you!

I’m so proud of him. He’s such a diamond in the rough. I’m proud to be a supporter and recognize what he’s done for himself and how it translates into his art.

.

[laynemorgan]

I'm sure you've already provided it, but I'd be curious to hear your road to becoming a staffed writer. What first got you interested in it? Does it go back to school days?

Man it goes back far. I mean, I guess in some ways it doesn't. Since you asked more about what got me interested in where it goes back to, I'll give you the lest technical and more biographicl explanatin. My first goal was just to become a writer. I've been writing since I was a really little kid. I actually recently found journals from like the elementary and middle school days just filled with them. And it was never small scale, I'd always be planning out the whole fucking setting, how all the characters were connected, full universes. I made a fake fantasy. land in my backyard because my parents live on a lot of land. I called it Teleterania. I remember very little about it besides that that was the name hahah but I did do it!!! Everything I read only made me want to write. Everything I watched made me want to write.

Sometime around late middle school and early high school, I started watching more TV. I found soap operas and was OBSESSSED with their flare for drama. I found BTVS, Charmed, Smallville, Veronica Mars, OTH, etc. And all of those shows really got me actually looking at TV in a way I had never before. I got obsessed with their worlds and into their fandoms. I became the liek TV guy in my high school. There was even a group of girls I never got to really hang out with that would always call me over to their table to ask about what I knew about OTH stuff hahaha and 17 year old me thought that was awesome. Before my sister passed away, she and I took a road trip down to North Carolina to tour the One Tree Hill set. OTH was like the one thing that she and I agreed on. And it was so awesome. For me it was a first look at what the industry actually looked like, to see the sets and what went into it and all of that.

But I don't think my eyes really opened to actually WORKING in tv until college. I went to school for English Lit and Creative Writing in New Hampshire. My school had a great writing program and I was right at home there. i still credit my first writing professor who was only a grad student for really teaching me what I know about writing and editing and reading my own work for error and she passed me on to her favorite professor which was a hugely flattering moment for me. AND THEN -- I fell in love with PLL. And for me, that was really where shit started. I didn't realize it at the time and it wasn't even the show that did it it was what the show showed me. Through my tumblr at the time which had very little to do with fandom, I actually wound up running into Patrick Adams and Troian Bellisario. We all were always sharing each other's posts and at the time I was working for a journalist covering random TV out of a shitty free magazine in Boston doing work for peanuts. But I was going out to LA to meet up with a friend and we all decided to meet for lunch and they let me interview them for my magazine and stayed really rad people. They also helped boost my PLL photo recaps which I was doing at the time and those got the attention of the Director, Normal Buckley who asked me out to coffee and talked to me about my goals and what I was doing. He was the person who first really helped me understand that there's an approachability to the TV world that to me had always been this like magical hollywood bubble I didn't understand.

I went home THRILLED about LA, dropped out of college and set out to go to film school. From there, I hated film school because it was too technical adjacent, dropped out again, spent all the money I had on that move twice, and went home to boston broke and lost. I spent two years after that maybe more saving money, working in fandom, and waitressing while I went back to college online. That era wasn't super writing focused but it's where I found myself. I realized I was queer, I came out, I got into tumblr rpg, I met my fandom friends, I found tumblr fandom in a way I hadn't before. And then a couple years later I found tl100.

From there, the rest is kind of wonky. I had a big fan blog for the show and talked a lot about it on my twitter which lead me to many interactions with the writers who then invited me to dinner at comic con one year. I had a long talk with Shumway abut my goals and what I wanted to do with my life. I knew I wanted to be in TV somehow. I knew I wanted to be in writing somehow but I couldn't figure out how those two things aligned. I was doing a lot of journalism and critic stuff because that felt like the clsoest way to be both a fan and workin in the world I loved but it was really Kim and Shawna that opened my eyes to the ability to just .... be a TV writer. Film school had made me terrified of the wrtiing side but I think it was because film school was so much more about writing for film which I learned isn't my thing. But TV is a writers' medium, unlike film which is more fo a directors medium and suddenly I was like -- MIND BLOWN. It was everything I wanted in a career and married all of the things I loved. It was something that had previously felt like unattainable but they made it seem human and approachable.

They helped me get my first WPA job, I saved up 3 grand working and with the help of some friends and moved to LA to start that. And suddenly I was in a whirlwind of catching up on everything I felt like I had missed. I was reading scripts, learning what the process looked like, doing everything I coudl to figure out what being a TV writer looked like. After that job, I got another WPA job at Millar Gough on Into the Badlands and later Shannara.

THEN I got hired on Daybreak which I can fully credit with being a huge stepping stone for me and changing my life in a lot of ways. Aron was the best showrunner. He was educational and he taught us shit, he let us in the room, he let us write stuff, he let us pitch and try and fall on our faces and never judged us for it. My second season there he moved me up to writers assitant and patiently walked me through all the stuff I didn't know yet because he had faith in me and my voice and my ideas. He let me writ e afreelance episode that year and pitch it in the room and do all the things that real w riters get to do.

So after Daybreak season 2 got cancelled I was pretty ready to spend my next year or two just writing, finding an agent and moving forawrd. And then I got an email to go and work for Moira Walley Beckett. She was looking for an assistant with serious room experience to help develop something in a small room and stay on with her later. I took the job becuase she's MOIRA and I was stoked to learn from her and work for a woman for once. I ernded up very fortunate becuase a month later we were all surprised by the covid mess and I was fully employed that whole year while many people weren't which was a huge help. Moira was a STELLAR boss. I had thought I was ready and what she taught me was that ther's always so much more to learn. She walked me through the process of applying notes and taking notes and changing draft after draft of your story. SHe walked me through breaking a whole season of television. We had a great partnership for the year and I'm so grateful. And then that project didn't end up seeing hte light of day and we our separate ways as well.

Cut to a few months ago, I was still at home in Boston, post-covid, having been sick for most of january. My friend Rachel dared me to write a spec in a weekend for the Warner Bros fellowship deadline. So I did. It was a Legacies Spec. Given that we didn't have access to the WGA library because of the pandemic, Legacies was an easy and obvious choice. I had already seen it inside and out and didn't need as much access to learning a show from scratch. So I wrote what I loved, wrote a season 2 legacies spec that embraced my favorite things about legacies: the high school soap of one tree hill, Lizzie doing wild dialogue, buffy-esque monsters, and themes of grief and humanity.

AND THE REST you know.

Here we are. I'm still lost as fuck. I'm still running full speed through a world I don't always feel like I"m ready for. I'm still a perfectionist and an obsessive overworker. I still take notes I don't need to take and do work at 10pm and come in early and stare at the story boards. There's a whole journey in all of this about representation and coming to find myself and queer media and wanting to make more of it but that's one I don't feel like I can fully get into until I'm decades out of it and the world is truly made better. But I'm here. And it feels like the end of a journey and liek I'm standing at the edge of a brand new clif because I've only just started.

[elves-n-angels]

How Sebastian Stan Went From Winter Soldier to 'Winter Swoldier'

To keep up with the Chrises, Stan upgraded his diet, training, and worldview. And 2020 is shaping up to be his best year ever.

BY LAUREN LARSON 

DEC 19, 2019

THE COFFEE-SHOP staff is having a silent meltdown. The peppermint tea I ordered was forgotten as soon as Sebastian Stan walked in. He orders a coffee, receives it instantly, and goes to put it down on a table. The lid isn’t fully on, and the coffee spills. It’s almost a “stars are just like us” moment, but then a barista suddenly materializes with a paper towel in his outstretched palm. “It’s wet,” he says eagerly.

Stan, 37, is wearing black shorts, a black T-shirt, midcalf black socks, and a gray hoodie missing its drawstring. He looks very off-duty SoHo, which he is: He’s back home in New York City on furlough from preparations for The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, an extravagant collaboration between Marvel and newborn streaming service Disney+.

He’s also wearing a blue baseball cap, which sits slightly higher on his head than it might on the head of someone with less va-va-voom hair. That hair sent the Internet into a tizzy recently, when a poster for Falcon showed Stan with a short cut. In the past when Stan has played the Winter Soldier (né Bucky Barnes), he’s had shoulder-length hair. Next to his forehead, which is giant—the White Cliffs of Dover of foreheads—the longer style made him look very sinister.

Stan is somewhat less recognizable in street clothes, but women still side-eye him on their way to the bathroom. Maybe they recognize him; maybe he’s just a little too strapping not to be famous.

As Stan talks, he maintains an unsettling deadpan, verging on a glower. “People always ask me if I’m okay,” he says, still glowering. “They’ve said I have ‘serial-killer resting face.’ No matter what I do, I’ve always had dark circles under my eyes that never really go away. Lately there might be a little moisturizer happening here and there, just in case. Preserving a couple years, or whatever.”

The more reserved the actor, the more likely he is to become part of Hollywood mythology. Between Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014) and Captain America: Civil War (2016), a rumor circulated that he had gotten too ripped for the arm he’d worn in the earlier film, a wraparound contraption meant to look like a machine prosthetic. Redditors called him “the Winter Swoldier” and “Bulky Barnes.”

Stan laughs when I bring it up and clarifies that he used a new-and-improved arm in each successive film. With the first iteration, he had to apply lube to slide his real arm into what was essentially two rigid metal tubes. “It was like having a massive hammer attached to me,” he says, “but it looked unbelievable in the movie, and it actually informed a lot of my body language.”

Subsequent arms were more mobile, and Stan doesn’t have to lube up to get in there anymore: There’s a sleeve inside the arm for his next appearance as the Winter Soldier. But, he concedes, he did get too big for the arm used in Civil War. “I was so insecure being around these massive fucking guys, so I started lifting really heavy and ate a lot. I remember I showed up, and I was a little bit bigger than I had been in The Winter Soldier. The arm was a bit tight,” he says. “I was losing circulation.”

Stan is not a new arrival in the Marvel universe: He made his superhero debut in 2011, with Captain America: The First Avenger. But recently he’s enjoyed a burgeoning late-term fandom as his roles (and arms) have ballooned. Beyond Marvel, he starred alongside Margot Robbie in 2017’s I, Tonya, as Tonya Harding’s jackass boyfriend. When we meet in October, he’s just returned from shooting the spy film 355 in London, with Jessica Chastain, Penélope Cruz, Lupita Nyong’o, and Diane Kruger. Another insecurity-inspiring roster.

With Stan’s constellation of anxieties—he says he’s “terribly self-aware, to the point of detriment”—he is uniquely suited to stardom in 2020. A decade ago, audiences wanted actors to be pillars of Hollywood hubris, strutting around in latex Marvel suits, muscly and impenetrable. We still want the muscles, but we also want stars to be genuine.

Marvel films can seem at odds with that national craving for authenticity. Steve Rogers, for example, becomes Captain America instantly, in the first ten minutes of The First Avenger: He goes into a machine and emerges fit, huge, and self-actualized. I ask Stan whether that narrative—man gets muscles and immediately earns the admiration and attraction of everyone in his midst—isn’t a dated, unrelatable picture of masculinity.

“When I was watching Steve Rogers,” Stan starts in, “I saw him question his identity, his alliances, the government. ‘Who am I? What is this? What made me come into this is very different than the role I am in now.’ I think it was very timely, in the sense that you could see that character evolve. Then he gives up his shield and is like, ‘I’m out. I’m going to do my own thing.’ He chooses his own life. It’s actually more relatable.”

There’s an obvious metaphor there: Stan is Captain America, and stardom—and the press tours, the scrutiny, and the training that come with it—is his government, always invading his carefully fortified sense of self. As a result, he can appear very reticent in public, offering only occasional glimpses of the unguarded Sebastian Stan. Audiences live for those moments.

Stan is the anti-celebrity in the year of the anti-celebrity.

And his ambient hostility toward questioning is offset by the behavior of his Falcon costar Anthony Mackie. When alone in interviews, Stan can seem deflective and bored, but he gets an enormous kick out of Mackie, who has jumped in to rescue many an interviewer left to writhe on the hook by Stan. He is the Sebastian Stan whisperer, midwife to a charm that can be difficult to coax out.

“When I’m trying hard to find the honest moment, he sort of unlocks me a little bit. We both laugh and we find a way to have a good time,” Stan says. When I tell him that I’m planning to mine Mackie for gossip, he laughs. “Here’s what he’s going to say: ‘He’s way too serious. It’s boring. He slows everything down. It’s always these questions and, like, the stare. Give this kid a Yoo-hoo! Somebody get him a chocolate milk. Good God, put a smile on his face!’ ”

Mackie is the enthusiastic extrovert to Stan’s pensive recluse. Even though I reach him on the phone at 9:00 p.m. after a long day of shooting in Savannah—“I’m already going to bed,” Mackie says in a N’awlins drawl that sounds sleepier than usual—he’s forthcoming about Stan. He describes his costar as a hermit, a chronic Irish-goodbye-er who doesn’t offer much of himself at first. “If the FBI ever needed to get anything out of him, they’d be in very big trouble,” Mackie says. “I don’t know what the male equivalent would be of ‘resting bitch face,’ but Sebastian has nailed that 100 percent.”

His first impression, which lingered for a long time, was that Stan was a very quiet, very reserved actor. They shook hands when they met, but it wasn’t a buddy-com bromance at first sight. It wasn’t until much later, when the two were on a press tour for The Winter Soldier, that they hit it off. Mackie hung out with Stan and a few of his closest friends, and they “unlocked” Stan for Mackie the same way Mackie now unlocks Stan on press tours.

Their chemistry also plays well on set. They share a dedication to their work, and they both come from classical acting backgrounds. (“He went to Juilliard,” Stan says of Mackie. “He can do anything.”) Beyond that, they’re opposites, reining in each other’s moods to a perfect, workable middle. “He calms me down when I’m ready to rage against the machine,” Mackie says. In turn, Mackie bullies Stan into having fun.

Case in point: When they were on a press tour in Beijing, they had one of those endless nights that make press tours seem glamorous. “It just went on and on and on,” Mackie recalls. “We had to do press the next morning, and he’s like, ‘I’m going to bed.’ I’m like, ‘Nope.’ I took his wallet and his cell phone so he couldn’t get into his hotel room. Then, by the time we got to the press, I was fine. He just looked like he’d gotten hit by a car.”

Hollywood has always relished actor partnerships—from Robert Redford and Paul Newman to Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson—but now more than ever, buddying up feels like an imperative. Pairs perform, especially on social media. In November, when Stan and Mackie took over Marvel Studios’ Instagram to announce that they’d begun filming Falcon, fans were as thirsty for their friendship as they were for the show. Their dynamic is the stuff of memes: “[I] want someone to look at me the way Sebastian Stan and Anthony Mackie look at each other,” one fan tweeted.

I know what that fan meant. When Stan does look at you without suspicion—when, perchance, he laughs at something you say—it’s like winning a battle.

WHEN IT COMES to fitness, Stan has also benefited from the influence of a charismatic spirit guide. He played soccer and basketball at his Rockland County, New York, high school, but he didn’t start running and going to the gym until he was in college at Rutgers University. And he didn’t get really into fitness until 2005, when he was cast in a film titled The Covenant, which Stan calls “really classic.”

Really classic, indeed: The Covenant also stars Chace Crawford, whom Stan would later join on Gossip Girl (another classic), and Taylor Kitsch. Stan plays one of five prep-school boys endowed with supernatural gifts and sick abs.

“I got a call,” Stan says. “And one of the producers said to me, ‘Look, you’re going to have to look like John Travolta in Staying Alive.’ He’s just glistening with muscles. It’s ridiculous. I was like, ‘Oh my God.’ I started to work out with a trainer, but it was my buddy

Taylor Kitsch who got me into it.” With the trainer and Kitsch as his gym shepherds, Stan began exercising in earnest.

Then, in 2013, ahead of The Winter Soldier, Stan teamed up with trainer Don Saladino, who’d also sculpted Ryan Reynolds, John Krasinski, and Liev Schreiber. That same year, Stan starred in a Broadway revival of William Inge’s Picnic, playing a character whose defining trait is his hotness.

“Inge was writing something very important about vanity and how people were perceived in terms of being quote-unquote good-looking, beautiful, or pretty,” Stan said in a Playbill interview in 2013. “In the play, there’s something shameful and dirty about it. Our obsession with beauty has not changed. When we see something that turns us on, we either appreciate it or judge it. It’s so primal. We still dismiss people if they’re pretty; we don’t care how they feel, because they should just be happy looking the way they do. That’s something we were trying to say with this production.” Stan is less philosophical about his Picnic bod these days. “I had to be basically shirtless every night, like eight shows a week,” he says. “I really zoned in on diet, and everything transformed.”

He prefers exercising on an empty stomach, so he generally starts his day with coffee—and a rice cake with some almond butter and honey if he’s feeling depleted. Today he was feeling very depleted, he says, so he had some scrambled eggs with Brussels sprouts and aioli. “I’m not going to tell you the place where I got that,” he adds, unprompted and wary, as though I might start dining there daily in a stalker vigil.

Stan is a proponent of “quality over quantity,” but that doesn’t mean he skimps on his workouts; he just knows that a 20-minute session that catapults his heart rate into the red zone is as effective as an hour of low-intensity bullshit. He runs (“I’m not going to tell you where”) when he’s feeling meditative.

In advance of the Falcon shoot, Stan started lifting weights every morning and knocking out stunt training for the fight scenes. He points out that filming an action movie is a workout in itself: You spend whole days running around and sweating in a heavy suit. “I mean, next to Evans and Hemsworth and all those guys, I feel like I’m 50 miles behind. I don’t think I can get to that size, to be honest,” he says. That aside, Stan feels, in his late 30s, better than ever. “My body right now is probably the best it’s ever been.”

THERE'S A PHOTO of Stan, age 15, on his Instagram. It’s a headshot from Stagedoor Manor, an acting camp that he attended while in high school. He’s recognizable from the brow up—he has the same broad forehead, the same voluminous hair. His arms look pale and soft, like overcooked linguine, and he’s staring down the camera with theater-kid intensity.

Stan lived in Romania until he was eight years old. Shortly after the Romanian revolution, he and his mother moved to Vienna and stayed there for four years before heading to New York in 1995. No, he says, he didn’t have a foreign exchange student’s social cachet in middle school. “Maybe if I was from France or something. But I am Eastern European. We left communism,” he says. “When I came here, I just wanted to be like everybody else.”

I ask Stan which of his mannerisms are typically Romanian. “You’re kind of putting me on the spot to define a whole nation—a guy who hasn’t been there for years,” he says. But he thinks for a second. “For me, based on my mother, the ‘Romanian temperament’ is perseverance—being able to handle more than you think you can. At 27, my mother was working two jobs in a foreign country where she barely spoke the language. There’s a sense of family and perseverance that’s deeply ingrained in the blood.”

Even for someone who has experienced a certain degree of stardom, Marvel fans can be a shock to one’s sense of family. Certain Marvel stars acquiesce to the attention on some level, greeting fans with a Chris Hemsworthian openness to scrutiny. Stan’s boundaries are reflexive and firm, as though his sense of self is always under attack. (Which, to be fair, it may well be: “He’s so reserved,” Mackie says, “but in this day and age that’s a very good quality.”)

Stan is more protective of his personal life than most actors. Celebrities often use social media to dispense calculated chunks of themselves in exchange for privacy. Stan occasionally opens up on Instagram: “Been working with this guy through years of self judgement and mental wars when it comes to fitness and LIFE,” he wrote of Saladino in a caption accompanying a gym selfie. But questions about the people in his orbit ping ineffectually against his poker face.

He attributes this to only-vaguely-alluded-to incidents in which his family and friends were subject to public attention. As a public figure, he has opted into that attention, he explains, but they haven’t. It upset him when they were the targets of scrutiny, particularly when that scrutiny came from his fans. Stan seems to be looking for earnestness in an industry that, on the whole, disdains earnestness. He “tries hard to find the honest moment,” as he himself puts it (much like how he saw a profound statement about “our obsession with beauty” in William Inge’s horny play).

In this, the Marvel universe is an improbably good fit for him. We speak the week after Martin Scorsese said Marvel films “are not cinema,” and Stan is as defensive of the films as he can be without disrespecting Scorsese, one of his heroes. “All I know is that all movies affect people,” he says. “I’ve certainly experienced firsthand many people who have been affected and helped by Marvel movies.”

Captain America fans lean earnest. People have told Stan that Bucky Barnes helped them cope with their PTSD. During Q&A sessions, he’s asked questions like “What would Bucky Barnes’s major be?” and “What happened to Bucky Barnes when he fell from the train?” Stan fields those questions without sarcasm or diversion.

“They think we are these people,” Stan says, again without condescension. He’s content to take questions about Bucky Barnes, especially if it distracts fans from asking questions about Sebastian Stan. “Now we’re much more obsessed with the personality rather than the actor. We take people and swallow them and digest them and chew them up, and then we spit them out the other side. Then we’re done,” he says. “We’ve done that with numerous celebrities—people. I’ve seen people have massive ups and downs and stuff. All I can do is just try to be as honest as I can. And do my job.”

Men's Health Magazine, December 19, 2019.

[bottomcasbigbang]

Here you can read all the stories of our second round and check out the artwork our participants have created! Thank you to everyone who was a part of this, be it as a writer, author, beta, reader, cheerleader or helping hand! Thank you so much everyone and we hope we’ll see you back for the next round! ♥

Without further ado, the BCBB 2019/2020 creations:

Wayward Sons by Substiel (Explicit, 29k)

Illustrated by bees0are0awesome

It's the year 1919 and the Wayward Sons are the most powerful criminal organization in the country. It's ruled by Dean Winchester who bares the Mark of Cain. A curse given to him when Mary Winchester made a deal with the Devil to save her dying son. Dean was always a cold blood killer who did everything for business, and he never let anyone into his heart. He didn't dare let himself get too close to someone. That was until the Roadhouse hired a new bartender.

Castiel always admired Dean from afar for helping the lower class have a voice. For some reason, the bartender knows how to get under Dean's skin. There was something different about him which led to the beginning of their newfound relationship. Two broken souls finding each other in the middle.

Archive Warning: Graphic Depiction of Violence

Art Masterpost / Fic Masterpost

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My Bloody Luck by TaymeeLove (Mature, 16k)

Illustrated by Kamicom

Castiel was a struggling actor who never had luck on his side in life or his relationships. He met with an accident and his life was never the same after. Will his luck in relationships turn around this time?

Art Masterpost / Fic Masterpost

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Metanoia by adestielable (Explicit, 24k)

Illustrated by Noavice

Castiel’s existence has been nothing but pain, humiliation, and degradation. He’s an omega in a world where omegas are objects for an alpha’s enjoyment.

After a brutal assault on his nineteenth birthday, Castiel began entering into beastie fights—matches where instead of people going head to head, bio and mechanically engineered beasts fight to the death. And in Castiel’s months of fights, he’s not lost once.

It’s after one of these fights where Castiel meets Dean, his supposed true mate. Castiel hates alphas, and has vowed never to let one into his life because all alphas do is inflict pain. Yet…Dean is different. And Castiel finds he can’t help being drawn to him.

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage

Art Masterpost / Fic Masterpost

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Profound Kisses by BENKA79 (Explicit, 20k)

Illustrated by Gio (sketching-fox)

Dean knows he's screwed. He discovers he is in love with Castiel in Purgatory, and now he can't even have the angel in front of him, because he knows it's a one sided love. It’s Valentine's day and Dean tries very hard to hook up as always, but he can't get Cas out of his mind. So he drives back to the motel, drunk, and he finds Castiel trying to help him. Then, when Dean asks Castiel for some experimental kisses and the angel accepts, Dean starts a very dangerous game… finding in Castiel's kisses the most delicious experiences, but also, his own perdition. Will Castiel fall in love with him? Or will he stay emotionless as always?

Art Masterpost / Fic Masterpost

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Sparks by DragonSgotenks (Explicit, 20k)

Illustrated by VampyRosa

Omega Cas meets Alpha Dean during one of the worst weeks of his life. Sparks fly when they realize they're truemates. But after a wild and intense night that ends with both of them sporting new mating bites, could a simple misunderstanding tear the new couple apart before they even have a chance to begin?

Art Masterpost / Fic Masterpost

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Lesson Number 1: Monsters are Real by blueye22 (Explicit, 20k)

Illustrated by kuwlshadow

When Anael "Jo" Novak goes missing during a hike in the mountains with her boyfriend, worried brother, Castiel, goes in search of her. Castiel is surprised to receive the help of FBI agents, Dean and Sam. But what are they hiding?

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Art Masterpost / Fic Masterpost

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You At the End of the Rail by spnsmile (Explicit, 30k)

Illustrated by verobatto-angelxhunter

Dean receives a text message from a new human Cas telling him of his suspicion that angels have found him in Gas n Sip. Still filled with guilt for kicking the ex-angel out of the Bunker, Dean steps up to make it up to his friend. Worried, Dean concludes the ex-angel has to disappear for many days so he asks Cas where he wants to go.

Cas’ answer?

Trains.

Fucking trains.

Archive Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence

Art Masterpost / Fic Masterpost

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On Your Knees by raths_kitten (Explicit, 14k)

Illustrated by angeltortured

When Dean gets the assignment to follow the Fallen Angels on tour and write a feature article on them, he isn‘t their biggest fan. But that quickly changes when he hears them play live - and meets their charismatic lead singer Castiel in person.

Art Masterpost / Fic Masterpost

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Just Like in the Movies by noxsoulmate (Explicit, 46k)

Illustrated by lotrspnfangirl

In a world where a new mark appears whenever you fall in love, Hollywood sweetheart, Castiel James, is known for his unblemished skin. Oh, he has the faint shadows of old crushes and childish infatuations, but no mark is that of something deep and true. No mark has ever stuck, no mark has ever become more than a hazy outline. Because Cas, well... Cas has never been in love.

The skin of bookshop owner Dean Winchester, however, tells another tale entirely. Dean loves freely, quickly, and deeply. He loves his family, he loves his friends, he still cares for his exes. While the first two don’t show on his skin, the latter do. All brushed over his body in various shapes and forms and colors. Of varying clarity. But even Dean has yet to get that one mark. That mark that sticks. The mark that is so deep, and so sharp, and so clear, it can only be that of a profound bond.

These two men share a common hope; a common desire. That one day, they might have a mark that means they have found a love that is as deep and true as love can be - just like in the movies.

Art Masterpost / Fic Masterpost

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Granted by Andromache_42 (Explicit, 20k)

Illustrated by agusvedder

At forty-one, Dr. Castiel Novak is the proud recipient of a generous grant to fund his project on sustainability and urban farming from the Campbell Foundation, a small investing firm based out of Chicago. The night before he meets the award committee, lonely and pushed by his friend Balthazar, Castiel has the best sex of his life during a casual Grindr hook-up with “just-visiting” forty-seven-year-old Dean. Castiel’s life appears to be coming together, until he discovers that Dean is the head of the grant award committee. For the sake of professionalism, Castiel is willing to ignore the intense attraction between the two of them, but Dean turns out to be too tempting to resist.

Art Masterpost / Fic Masterpost

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Finding Bigfoot by Desirae (Explicit, 22k)

Illustrated by Tamapochi

“Don’t be such a worrywart. It’s vacation time. Campfires, fishing, beer. What’s better than that?”

“Apparently a sasquatch sighting?” Castiel snarked, with an arched brow.

“Well, yeah. I mean, Sam’s a good substitute, but it’d be nice to see the real thing,” Dean grinned.

Finding Bigfoot wasn't exactly on the itinerary when Dean, Cas, and Sam planned their annual boys-only camping trip, but with his brother in a noticeable funk, Dean was prepared to do what he had to do. Even if it meant keeping quiet about a long-waited love confession from his best friend.

Determined to stay focused on distracting Sam from his troubles, and not make him feel like a third wheel, Dean and Castiel decide to keep their new relationship status to themselves, until after vacation is over.

After years of mutual pining, that shouldn’t be too hard, right?

Art Masterpost / Fic Masterpost

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Meet me at Sunset by Suus_Arido (Mature, 55k)

Illustrated by celstese

Ever since the Barrier of Melaina fell and plunged the worlds of men, monsters and magic together, the Republic Elohim has kept its citizens save with help from the hunter organization the Red Circle.

Dean Winchester has never known how the world looked before the fall of the barrier. He and his family have been part of the Red Circle for generations and he knew it was his faith to die in battle. All he is supposed to want is to protect the innocents from darkness. But how can he when his soul is dark and corrupt?

As the monsters start to adapt and become more intelligent, the rise of chaos is not far behind. It’s midst this chaos that Dean meets a human with the name of an angel. Not only does this man believe in the salvation of the world but he also seems to believe that Dean is redeemable as well.

A love story may perhaps develop but Dean knows better, for it is known that the faith of a hunter is tragedy. Will Dean be able to make the right call? Even when blue eyes turn unrecognizable?

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con

Art Masterpost / Fic Masterpost

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Beyond Borders by xHaruka17x (Explicit, 53k)

Illustrated by Diminuel

Sometimes doing what is right, what feels right, doesn't mean you’ll escape the consequences of those actions. Dean Winchester is the Head Alpha of one of the largest packs of the Western Hemisphere. He is days away from being a married and mated Alpha, ready for the next chapter in his life to commence, only for a horrific accident to change everything. Adam, Dean and Sam's little brother, is killed in a car accident across the globe in Russia. Dean finds out his little brother's now widowed Omega is all alone and pregnant, left to the mercy of his horrible home pack. Dean makes a decision and he knows things will explode when he gets back home, but he knows in his heart it’s the right thing to do.

Art Masterpost / Fic Masterpost

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The Cleric's Birthright by Scribo_Vivere (Explicit, 34k)

Illustrated by yoyo-deano

Castiel Novak lost his husband and the love of his life, Balthazar, three years ago in a slaying no one has been able to solve. Burying himself in his work at the university as a leading anthropology professor there, he attempts to put the past behind him. When vicious murders begin to plague him in an eerie replication of Balthazar’s death, Castiel decides to find out on his own what sort of evil has descended upon them all. But the answers he’s looking for may not be so easily found, and the revelation forced upon him could destroy everything he knows - about himself, his world, and the faith he once held so dear. Complicating things is his new relationship with Dean Winchester, who may or may not be what he appears. Why is Castiel inexplicably drawn to him like a moth to the flame?

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Art Masterpost / Fic Masterpost

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To Soar Without Grace by QuillsAndInk (Explicit)

Castiel is an alpha and a cleric serving the gods of his kingdom and wielding their power in preparation to join a holy war. When he gets taken by the heretical high prince of a rival kingdom, Castiel knows his fate is sealed. That is, until prince Dean tries to persuade him to take on a mad quest to kill his father and end the holy war. With heretical magic Castiel can’t understand forcing him away from the gods he’s always served, Castiel joins Dean. But in the mountain wilderness in the dead of winter with only his sworn enemy for company, can Dean and Castiel get past their differences or will the war swallow them up.

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Art Masterpost / Fic Masterpost

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Cow Bells and Snow Globes by Pimento (Explicit)

It really doesn't matter what the gossip columns say. Dean knows the International Ski Champion Castiel Novak, aka, Casanova of the Slopes is actually just Cas. Loyal, kind, caring Cas. The same Cas he's absolutely not had a crush on since they were teenagers on the competitive circuit.

He's had two plus decade's practice at hiding his feelings, how difficult can it be to suppress them a little longer.

They just so happen to be in the same ski resort, at the same time for an entire season, so Dean is damn well gonna enjoy having his friend back in his life for a while and not screw it up. The fact that he seems to have the magic touch with the grumpy teenage daughter that Cas is trying so desperately to reconnect with is just an opportunity to ease his friends' troubles while he finds his feet again.

Art Masterpost / Fic Masterpost

[tcm]

Van Johnson: The Leading Man with a Boyish Charm By Susan King

If Frank Sinatra was the favorite singer of bobbysoxers in the 1940s, Van Johnson was every teenage girl’s dreamboat. And for good reason. He was adorable: tall, athletic, freckle-faced with reddish blond hair, a warm smile and a charming screen presence. He was the perfect boy-next-door any mother would want her daughter to marry. In fact, when he went to the New York premiere of A THRILL OF A ROMANCE (‘45), a Technicolor romantic comedy also starring MGM’s aqua star Esther Williams, he was waylaid by the bobbysoxers who even ripped the buttons off his shirt.

Johnson was also a lyric in the Prehistoric Man number in ON THE TOWN (‘49): “What has Gable got for me and Mrs. Johnson’s blond boy Van, I want a handsome Joe from ages ago, a prehistoric man!” But he was more than just a pretty face. He more than held his own opposite Spencer Tracy and Irene Dunne in his first major starring role in the romantic fantasy A GUY NAMED JOE (‘43), and he was moving as a real-life flier who loses his leg in the stirring THIRTY SECONDS OVER TOKYO (‘44).

In my L.A. Times interview with him in 1991, Johnson, then 75, told me, “I never expected or thought about the movies. It was a never-never land out there. It was soooooo glamorous.” During his years under contract with MGM, he noted that he would pinch himself to realize he was in fact a movie star. “Every day I drove on the lot, I looked up at Leo the Lion and I couldn’t believe it was me, this little kid from Newport, R.I., up there with all of those famous people. I never got over it.”

Born in 1916, Johnson’s childhood was less than idyllic. His alcoholic mother abandoned the family when he was young. His Swedish-immigrant father was cold. But young Johnson found solace in the touring companies that appeared in Newport. After he graduated from high school, he went to New York. He was 19 when he got a part in the Broadway revue New Faces of 1936, followed by roles in the musicals Too Many Girls and Pal Joey. He came to Hollywood to do the 1940 film version of TOO MANY GIRLS.

It was Lucille Ball, star of TOO MANY GIRLS, who introduced him to the MGM casting director Billy Grady. Johnson recalled in a 1963 interview that Ball told him, “I’m going to introduce you, and at least you’re going to act like you’re the star I think you are.” Johnson began to work his way up the MGM ladder when he got a role in A GUY NAMED JOE. But he nearly died in early 1943 when his DeSoto convertible was struck by another car. He suffered a fractured skull, major facial injuries, a severed neck artery and bone fragments that pierced his brain. After several surgeries and several months, his forehead was left with major scars. He also had a metal plate put into the left side of his head.

He later remembered he was told he had been nearly decapitated. “But I never lost consciousness. I spent four months in the hospital after they sewed the top of my head back on,” Johnson noted. MGM wanted to replace him, but Tracy and director Victor Fleming insisted production be halted until he was well enough to return to work. And a star was born. Ironically, bobbysoxers would abandon him in 1947 when he married pal Keenan Wynn’s ex-wife. His popularity waned but he continued to work usually doing three or four films a year.

I think he did some of his best work once he lost the matinee idol moniker in such films as the World War II drama COMMAND DECISION (‘48); William A. Wellman’s gritty acclaimed World War II action-drama BATTLEGROUND (‘49); THE LAST TIME I SAW PARIS (‘54), a romantic drama based on F. Scott Fitzgerald’s short story “Babylon Revisited” and most notably in the classic THE CAINE MUTINY (‘54), which also starred Humphrey Bogart as the maniacal Capt. Queeg. He also drips with charm in IN THE GOOD OLD SUMMERTIME (‘49) and the perfect partner for Judy Garland in the delightful musical remake of Ernst Lubitsch’s romantic comedy THE SHOP AROUND THE CORNER (‘40). MGM didn’t renew his contract in 1954, so he went to Columbia to do such movies as the romantic drama THE END OF THE AFFAIR (‘55) with Deborah Kerr. Johnson also starred in a dual role in the truly bizarre NBC musical The Pied Piper of Hamelin, which aired Thanksgiving weekend in 1957.

In the 1960s, Johnson not only had two bouts with cancer, he saw his film roles dry up. So, he began touring in such musicals as Damn Yankees and The Music Man. He said in an interview why he turned to theater: “Because the phone didn’t ring. Because the film scripts were getting crummier and crummier. Because I sat beside my pool in Palm Springs one day and told myself, ‘Van, you’ll be 45 this year. If you don’t start doing something now, you never will.”

Besides doing an occasional movie, Johnson appeared on countless TV series, movies and miniseries, earning an Emmy nomination for the ABC miniseries Rich Man, Poor Man. He returned to Broadway in 1985 in Jerry Herman’s Tony Award-winning musical La Cage Aux Folles and that same year he appeared in a small role as an actor in Woody Allen’s enchanting THE PURPLE ROSE OF CAIRO (‘85). “These are supposed to be my September years” he once told an interviewer. “I’m supposed to be at home enjoying them, but I still love to tour.”

When I interviewed Johnson, he was in town to appear in a production of Show Boat in Pasadena. He was set to play Cap’n Andy, a role he had done several times. Even at 75, he still was boyish and charming. But I felt bad for him. He had damaged his ear drums after flying with a cold and was extremely hard of hearing. And he was fighting a bad case of bronchitis. Johnson never went on stage because he developed pneumonia before opening night. He retired in 1992 and died at 92 in 2008.

Though many actors bristled being under contract, Johnson confessed in a 1985 interview he loved his years at MGM. “It was one big happy family and a little kingdom,” he noted. “Everything was provided for us, from singing lessons to barbells. All we had to do was inhale, exhale and be charming. I used to dread leaving the studio to go out into the real world, because to me the studio was the real world.”

[princesssarcastia]

in any other world (aka four ways veronica mars’ life could have ended up)

because i CANNOT get these ideas out of my head, goddammit.  whatever god gave me the plot bunny gene needs to take it back now.  anyway welcome to my veronica mars kick, 2020 edition. it’s another long one, boys, and readmores are for suckers.

1. just remember me when we used to be friends

them telling other people stories about each other (gia and whats-his-face wait another four weeks to kill carrie; logan is a thousand miles away with the best alibi in the world.  a movie!canon au

Cobb’s paranoia holds out an extra five weeks, and Logan is already on deployment when he and Gia sneak into Carrie Bishop’s home and electrocute her in her bathtub.  A troubled, drugged up starlet’s death is ruled a particularly gruesome suicide, and word doesn’t reach Logan until well after it happens.

Something about it doesn’t sit right with him, no matter that he predicted she’d end up here; something about it itches in the back of his mind, makes him want to reach for a phone he didn’t take with him when he shipped out and pull up a number he hasn’t dialed in nearly ten years.

But that’s ridiculous.  He writes it off as nostalgic product of a reunion he didn’t even go to, that he’s sure she didn’t, either, and gets back to work.  He’ll go brood and break down about Carrie when he’s off duty later, and let one of his squad-mates put a hand on his shoulder, and then move on.

He lets go of, Veronica, I need your help, and ignores the bone-deep certainty that she’d drop everything for that, after years and continents spanned and blood shed.

—

Meeting The Piznarskis is a surreal glimpse into a normal upbringing; the kind no one Veronica knew growing up ever got.   They’re kind, maternal and paternal people who unreservedly love their son and live simple lives.

And they seem to really like Veronica, which is good.  Piz keeps giving her beaming looks whenever his parents turn away, and her heart crawls deeper inside her in shame because all this clearly means so much more to him than it does to her.

She is keeping polite-society smiles on her face and using her tame, Normal Veronica anecdotes to entertain them instead of really opening up.  Is this how everyone is with their in-laws?  

These people will never know me, she thinks distantly as Mrs. Piznarski lays a hand on her arm and smiles as she inquires after her years at Stanford, and it is a comfort because she doesn’t want them to.  Doesn’t want to see their normal bubble pierced by the mud smeared all over her real history.

She starts keeping her polite-society smile on face in the apartment with Piz, too.

He doesn’t seem to notice.

—

She catches the tail end of Bonnie DeVille’s funeral on Hollywood Access at her favorite deli.  The volume is cranked up, probably so the guy at the counter can hear it over the crush of customers during lunch hour.  Which means that Veronica catches every unfortunate second of their coverage, vaguely familiar faces in the crowd drawing her attention back again and again.

Mentally giving up as a way to pass the time, Veronica compares faces to ten year old memories.  

Dick, Gia Goodman, Luke Holderman...some vaguely familiar schmuck...

She doesn’t even realize who she’s looking for until the correspondent mentions that DeVille’s last boyfriend, Logan Echolls, son of the late Aaron Echolls, is not in attendance because his current tour of duty with the Navy started just days before her death.

God, Logan.  Veronica bites back any kind of expression at the thought of Logan learning that his girlfriend committed suicide while high off her mind.  Even the media circus at the funeral is a bitterly familiar echo of what happened when Lynn died.

The thought of him lingers all the way to the front of the line and her brisk walk back to the office, until she finds her hands hovering over keys, debating whether she should look him up. Then one of the partners walks briskly past and she jerks back to reality, where she’s working through the rest of her lunch to keep the edge on the other new hires.

But the impulse lingers, long enough that she resigns herself to ignoring it until  a new obsession seizes that confined part of herself she shut away that first year at Stanford.

—

Veronica refuses to go back to Neptune for the reunion, but after Truman-Mann jumps at the chance to hire her, she splurges on two round-trip tickets to New York for Wallace and Mac, figuring meeting up was the whole reason they were so gung-ho about it in the first place.

She really doesn’t make it out to California very often, let alone Neptune.  After her disastrous freshman year at Hearst, Veronica jumped at every chance to step further away from the crash-and-burn-site.  The only reason she didn’t lose them is because Mac understood that impulse, and Wallace is a better man than everyone she’s ever met.

But god, skype and Facebook and phone calls don’t measure up to the real thing.  Veronica throws her arms around them right there in the airport and fights the inexplicable urge to tear up. 

Something between nostalgia and longing wells in her chest as they sit shoulder to shoulder with her in the back of a cab, chatting about their lives in Neptune.  She crushes it ruthlessly and fires back with tame, hollowed out stories from work and Piz, and smiles all the way through.

Her father was so proud when she told him.  My daughter, the big shot New York lawyer.  Veronica smiled all the way through that, too, and had an extra glass of wine that night where she derided her own inability to put two and two together.

Fortune 500 companies.  Frivolous lawsuits.  Disappear before they ever make it to a courtroom.

She knew exactly what she was doing, going into corporate law.  The smart thing, right thing, the thing that paid her student loans and kept her out of the oh-so-tempting mud surrounding criminal law.  She knew it would be contracts and smug rich people and ruthless competition.

But that didn’t stop her growing guilt—no, not guilt, shame—as she helped further grind the little guy into the dirt.  As she poked holes in probably-legitimate sexual harassment suits and helped companies with more money than they needed break contracts with smaller service industries and...

All that keeps her going in the disgustingly large paycheck she gets every two weeks and the fact that she does corporate law for filthy rich companies, not defense law for filthy rich people. 

(Though that doesn’t stop her from waking up gasping, one night, after dreaming she’s back in that courtroom, with Aaron Echolls’ goddamn face smiling smugly at her as she tears Logan’s and her father’s and her own testimony to pieces, as she gets him out of Lily’s murder and his attempt on her life.  Piz rolls over in his sleep, breathing quietly, and she slips out of bed. )

She and Piz treat them to dinner that night, and she enjoys it once she gets over the childish jealousy that she has to share these two people she adores with Piz, who she also adores, dammit.  

Their apartment has an office/guest bedroom and a separate living room, so when they get back near midnight (we’re way too old to be out this late, Wallace joke-groans, and Piz laughs back) Wallace heads to bed, and Piz does, too, after she waves him off from helping her set up the couch for Mac.

They share a look, and Veronica lets a smile pull her face wide as they have the same thought.  The sheets and pillow get piled up in a chair as Veronica quietly retrieves two beers from the fridge and plops down on the sofa next to Mac. 

“Cheers,” Mac says, clinking her bottle against Veronica’s, and they both take long pulls.

Veronica sighs more heavily than she means to and lets some unknown tension flow out with the air.  After a long, comfortable silence, Mac nudges her with her knee.

“How are you, really?”  Mac asks pointedly.  Veronica lets her head fall against the back of the couch and grumbles.  No, she didn’t miss the glances Mac and Wallace kept sharing all night when they thought she wasn’t looking, but when Wallace went to bed she thought they’d somehow agreed not to pry.

Now she realizes they just decided to be nice and not tag-team her, which is somehow worse.

“I met Piz’s parents a few weeks ago,” Veronica says, still looking at the ceiling, but even as she says it she knows it’s not the right place to start.  A symptom, not the disease.

Mac hums at her, listening but not interrupting, so Veronica takes the chance to start again.  Her head lolls to the side to examine Mac, really pin her with her stare.

“Did you ever imagine you’d end up working at Kane Software?” Veronica asks.

Mac catches her stare and raises her eyebrows, clearly recognizing it for what it is, and pauses to really thing about it.  “You mean, when I was scamming 09ers that deserved it for their money and helping you crack cases like a budding hacktivist?” She says with a wry look.  “No.  But I knew I was going to do something with computers, and terrible reputation of their founding family aside, Kane Software is a pretty good place to do that.”

Now it’s Veronica’s turn to hum noncommittally.

“I never had your sense of justice, though,” Mac continues.  “I just enjoyed getting swept up playing Q to your Bond.”

Silence falls again as Veronica mulls over what to say next.  She’s avoided putting her finger on this feeling for months and months, because new, normal, successful Veronica Mars is not supposed to...to...

To miss sticking her hands in the mud.

“Sometimes I look in the mirror and I don’t recognize myself,” she says finally, forcing herself to keep meeting Mac’s eyes.  To get a second opinion.

“Yeah,” Mac agrees.  “I looked up the kinds of cases Truman-Mann takes when you told me you got the job.” ‘Looked up’ for Mac doesn’t mean ‘googling;’ Veronica grimaces lightly at the implication.  “It was, uh, surprising.”

Veronica turns away when her eyes start to burn with that now-familiar shame, taking another long drink.  “Well, it pays the bills.  Keeps me out of trouble.”  Another drink.  “They tell me if I keep up the good work, I can make junior partner in four years.  Three, even, if I snuff the competition.”

Mac nudges her again and Veronica starts to fiddle with the label on her beer.  “My dad hasn’t worried about me in four years,” she admits softly.  “He’s proud of me, Mac.  Proud that I got out, proud that I don’t ruin people’s lives anymore.”

“Hey,” she says gently, “You didn’t ruin peoples lives.”  Veronica lets her incredulous face speak for her.  “Well, no one who didn’t deserve it,” she amends.

“I ruined his life,” she says sharply.  “I got you and Wallace in trouble, I lost—” she bites that off.  “I wasn’t happy.  I saw dark corners everywhere.  That’s not a healthy way to live, Mac.”

“No,” she agrees.  “But was that because of your cases, or was it leftover from the long string of traumatizing bullshit in high school?”

Veronica takes another drink.  Getting a psychology degree at Stanford was a fun exploration of all the ways the previous four years of her life were fucked to hell, and fucked her to hell.  And she did seriously work on her trust issues, though she stopped short of going to therapy, because that was never gonna happen.

Mac goes in for the kill.  “Are you happy now?”

Veronica, hyper-aware of Piz in their shared bedroom scant feet away, doesn’t reply, and Mac lets her.  But they both know what the answer is.

—

She passes the bar exam with flying colors; a 320 that makes her father beam with pride once she takes the time to explain the scoring rubric to him.  Piz kisses her cheek and brings her flowers when he gets off work.

It takes more effort than she’s willing to admit to ignore the fact that she scored so much higher in criminal law than contract law and civil procedure.

—

It takes her three more months to gather the courage to break things off with Piz.  He’s smart enough to notice that she waited until their shared lease was up, and that leads to a fight more vicious than any they’ve ever had; a final nail the coffin of their relationship.

Apparently she’s cold-hearted, mercenary; unwilling to open up and share her inner life with him.  Unable to commit to anyone.

But if I did that, you never would have loved me, Veronica almost says, biting it back at the very last second because the last thing she needs to release that knowledge for circulation.

She methodically packs up her clothes, the scant few knick-nacks and numerous pictures spread around in a facsimile of personal touches.  Her new apartment was lined up before she even spoke to Piz, who later scathingly rejects her careful offer to pay for half of next month’s rent while he looks for a place.

In the end, it take three days to dismantle their year-and-a-half-long relationship completely.  He’ll certainly get all their mutual acquaintances in the aftermath, who were always more his friends than hers, leaving her with no one but the service people at her regular take out places and a handful of Columbia friends in the city to talk to. 

But as she unloads her things into her new space, all the emotion she can dredge up is a faint relief, and fainter satisfaction at having her own space for the first time in her life.  That’s it.

Cold-hearted.

She pours herself a shot of tequila and knocks it back, in the interest of dislodging any hint of feeling she might be repressing unconsciously.   Fiddles with her phone and considers texting Mac, or Wallace, or her Dad, to let them know—because she’d done this, new address and all, without mentioning a word to them.  She’d even changed her paper subscriptions, but didn’t say a word to the three most important people in her life.

God, at this rate Piz will probably mention it to Wallace before she does.

All another shot gets her is her hands hovering over a keyboard again, still resisting the urge to look Logan up, to investigate he new life in some morbidly curious impulse. 

Kids these days call it Facebook stalking, but back in her day it was just plain old stalking.

And she doesn’t do that anymore.  Right?

—

Veronica channels her excess energy and time in a post-Piz existence into her work, and it earns her a “keep up the good work” from Gayle Buckley.  A nice word from one of the two female senior partners at their firm makes her all warm and fuzzy for the rest of the day.

But that dissipates as she remembers exactly what got her that compliment; playing asshole intimidating lawyer muscle for another “frivolous” sexual harassment suit at a fortune 500 company.

This time, she’s sure the company man did it, but that doesn’t matter in the face of all his money and scary lawyers.  The woman quietly folds for literal hundreds of thousands of dollars less than she should be entitled to.

That earns her another night in, drinking more wine than she really should be on a work night. 

Are you happy now? Mac asks in her head, and Veronica takes another drink.

—

She exchanges nods with the man at the corner store as she lines bottles on the counter; they’re familiar to each other at this point.  It’s late, even for a hard-working New York Lawyer in her late twenties, but she polished off everything two nights ago and somehow can’t face going to sleep sober. 

It’s not until she settles back into her couch with her second drink of the night that ice rushes down her spine in spiraling shivers.  Veronica freezes with the glass halfway to her mouth.

The blood rushes out of her face in a way that makes her feel cold.  An exhausted cold, a mix of expressions she remembers on her Dad and her Mom’s faces growing up.

Her hands shake as she sets it down with a decisive clink on the coffee table.

I will not turn into my mother, Veronica thinks, still reeling with realization.  Not even for Normal.

It’s close to 1:30 here, so everyone in Neptune will be sound asleep; she can’t stomach waking them up for this.  And there’s no one in the city Veronica is comfortable calling up at this hour.

Faintly, she recalls hands hovering over a keyboard, and her chest aches even more. 

If this were a movie, she’d probably go pour out her glass, and the bottles she bought tonight; make some kind of vow.  Sign up for meetings.

Instead, she gets up and collapses into bed as-is, barely remembering to set the alarm on her phone before she does.

—

After that she tentatively reaches out to people from Stanford and Colombia, desperate for connections to ground her and soothe the gaps she only now realizes she’s been filling with alcohol.

Just a few Facebook messages at first, but nearly all of them reach back.  Veronica has a weak moment of tearing up and rereading some of the replies in her inbox after a particularly hard day at Truman-Mann.

In another few weeks, she and a few people from Colombia have mutually coaxed one another into a standing lunch date, risking that relentless workplace competition for a chance at real human connection with people who won’t throw a fit if they have to run out of the restaurant unexpectedly.

She orders water with the meal and laughs for real at least twice.

—

Her last straw is a predictable one.  That final push, the leg stuck out to trip her so she faceplants back into the mud, like she wasn’t two seconds from deep diving into it on purpose.

I need your help, Veronica, one of her friends from Stanford says.  And that, as they say, was that.

—

Lilly laughs in Veronica’s ear as she picks her way through the crowd, for the first time in a long time.

Fleet week.  In New York, not San Francisco, but she laughs back all the same.

His posture is different.  Clearly, there’s something to be said for military training.  But it’s not that he’s standing taller, or with more confidence; despite the presence to him, he seems...lighter, like all that weight on his shoulder finally got shucked off.

It takes him a few minutes to sense her gaze, and she savors them, watching Logan Echolls in the wild.  Satisfying her inner stalker.

Their eyes meet across the crowd, and his face melts into that boyish grin she remembers, softened with age and warm, just for her.  She smiles back, delighted, and waves.

Yeah, she looked up him.  Eventually.

2. bloody knuckles, longing for home

logan, veronica, and weevil gather like fate after aaron echolls gets off for lilly’s murder; and decide to do something about it.  and then flee neptune, because the perfect murder doesn’t exist.

Veronica lets herself into Logan’s room at the Grand with the key she swiped from Duncan before he fled the country.  Steam pools out from the cracked bathroom door, so she drops her back on the couch and heads for it, making no effort to conceal her presence.

His head is bowed between his shoulders, arms tense as he leans against the vanity.  He breathes out sharply, almost a laugh, and doesn’t move.

“Chlamydia, huh,” he says roughly.

“Immunity, huh,” she fires back, but her heart isn’t in it.

“You know he’s staying here?” He asks, still not looking at her, but tension pools in his bare back.  Condensation starts to run in rivulets down the mirror. “He cornered me outside the elevators, earlier.  Threatened to cut me off.  No more mister nice father.”

Her fingers delicately trace one of the myriad scars that cuts across his spine, and then another, and another, and Logan lets her.  She maps out sins of the father visited on the son, and makes a decision.

Aaron Echolls will get his justice in his own way.

“Room 619,” she says, and his head rises.

Their eyes meet in the mirror.

—

Mac does extensive research on the Cayman Islands, just for fun, since Cassidy mentioned his father holds some of his assets there.

Veronica and Weevil go out for a drink.

Logan flirts with the woman on the night shift at the Neptune Grand’s front desk.

Veronica and Weevil and Logan go out for a drink.

Keith and his daughter spend the days between the end of finals and graduation decidedly not talking about it, but he thinks she’s taking it as well as she can.  Almost surprisingly well.  Veronica finds the tickets to New York he has stashed away.

Veronica and Weevil and Logan and Wallace go out for a drink.  It becomes a regular thing, grabbing beers or tequila or whatever they can get their hands on and sitting on a darkening beach every other night or so.  Sometimes the hush of their voices run underneath the waves.  Sometimes silence rings out.

Deputy Leo intercepts a mother and two boys who come into the station to make a witness report, but they can’t seem to find what they’re looking for in a book of the usual suspects.

Wallace forgets a pen in the coffee cup on the desk outside Clarence Wiedman’s office, when he goes to visit his mother at work.

Dick and Logan plan a blowout bash to celebrate graduation at the Grand.

Cliff McCormick brushes up on inheritance law in addition to juggling six other cases.

Logan books a plane to the east coast for after graduation.

—

After the graduation ceremony is over, half their graduating class descends on the Grand, filling the lobby and conference space rented out.  Some of them even make their way to the penthouse, Logan throwing open his door with a flourish.

But something about it just doesn’t feel right.  So Logan, Veronica, Wallace, and Weevil grab drinks and head out the front door, letting everyone see them leave for the beach.  Dick loudly complains to anyone who will listen about how Logan has been doing this every night for two weeks, like he’s got a standing appointment to hang out with narks and gangbangers.

Veronica calls her father and leaves a voicemail, letting him know she’s staying out on the beach with her friends for a while longer, in case he makes it back before she does.

Mac stays in the lobby with Cassidy the whole time.  Kendall Casablancas exits the hotel a little after midnight.

Weevil and Wallace stay out on the beach all night; the Xterra, which they all took together, sharing space for the last time, does not once move.

When housekeeping make their way through the hotel the next morning, there is a do not disturb sign on room 619.  It stays there all day, and night, and day, and night, and day again, and night again, until they start to pass it by automatically.

Veronica and her father leave for New York.  Logan boards a plane.

—

When the news breaks about Aaron Echolls’ death, neither of them are in Neptune.  Logan arranges for a private service in absentia, and sends Cliff McCormick as his representative to the will reading, which the executor of Aaron’s estate takes with more grace than Trina.

His assets are divided evenly between his two children, in addition to the existing trusts tied to age.

Cliff makes a brief stop at a coffee shop on his way back to his office, and says a few words to that computer geek friend of Veronica’s he catches sight of.  He forgets some of his notes on her table when he leaves.

—

Keith Mars comes back to Neptune alone.  The investigation into Aaron Echolls’ death stutters, stalls, stops.  Eventually, a harassed medical examiner admits it’s possible he could have maybe committed suicide.

—

Halfway across the world, a sweet and mischievous little girl named Lilly grows up with a kind, doting father, and an Aunt and Uncle whom she adores, whenever they’re in the country to see her.

Twice every year, her father and Aunt Veronica and Uncle Logan share a toast, even if only by skype.  Once on her Aunt Lilly’s birthday, and once on some day in late may.

3. all things grow

veronica mars, special agent with the fbi and logan lester, english professor, love each other well with the strength of decades, and still impress the hell out of everyone who meets them.  the one where veronica went straight to stanford after the whole cassidy debacle, and never quite lost the knack of investigating but with some distance from the neptune cesspool, learned to do it without ruining lives, her life.

Everyone knows Professor Lester is a jackass—with tenure, so he can’t be reprimanded for it.  But everyone also knows Professor Lester has the best analytical mind in the English department, and all the brightest stars in the Lit program come out of his courses.  He’s not bad to look at, either; the planes of his face are so sharp you just might cut yourself on them, and his eyes are always glittering like he knows something you don’t.  And he really doesn’t dress like a forty-year-old college professor, which doesn’t hurt.

Only the simultaneously lucky and unfortunate bastards who load their schedules up with him, or worse yet, get him as their advisor, ever see those planes soften.

His office is tastefully decorated, for those few English majors who know enough about interior decoration to say so. It’s also surprisingly devoid of books to belong to a man who seemingly memorized every text he’s ever taught. Pulling quotes and passages out of thin air is a particular talent of his.

There’s only one personal touch in the whole room, beyond the probably-expensive furniture: a picture of himself and a blonde woman holding a pit bull, on a beach so clean it can’t be in New York.  In it, her eyes glitter the exact way Professor Lester’s usually do, but his have melted into something infinitely more tender.

Very rarely, at the end of the afternoon or occasional evening class, the particularly observant students notice a blonde woman in a black pantsuit slip into the back, legs extended, ankles and arms crossed. She never says anything.  Just follows Professor Lester’s sharp movements at the front of the room.

None of them are trained to notice the outline of her holster, or the way her gaze actually darts around the room, tracking movement and exits, though it always comes back to rest on Logan.

—

Special Agent Mars is always fun at the Agency’s mixers and dinner parties and fundraisers.  Seeing her out of the sleek suit some of her coworkers suspect she was born in is all the more jarring for her ease in formalwear.  A real chameleon, they murmur, as she flips a switch and becomes more of a tittering socialite than a federal agent.

But the real fun is when she drags her partner with her.  Neither of them wears rings, but then, many agents don’t, so whether they’re married or not is up for debate.  He’s her standing date for every function, though, so in the end it doesn’t matter.

Veronica Mars has a rapier wit. Paired with her degrees in psychology and law and penchant for cataloguing every detail about a person at a glance, it’s safe to say she’s been verbally skinning people up one side and down the other since Quantico.

When her husband opens his mouth, it’s clear he shares her talent for sparring with words.

And watching them talk to each other is like following a tennis match—or perhaps boxing; trading barbs like endearments.

The best times is when some stuffy higher up with more ego than sense tries to glad-hand one of the most promising agents of the decade, and leaves the conversation head three sizes smaller and feeling vaguely emasculated.

—

Veronica learned the hard way in high school not to put too much of herself into her cases; learned to save some for her father, and for Logan, and for her.  But every so often one just stick in her craw and she can’t help sinking her teeth into it.

Her partner is too good to blink when her edges are sharper than usual, but Veronica can tell he notices.

And the man they’re tracking sure as hell does, too.  There’s something magnetic about Special Agent Veronica Mars on your trail, and this asshole is responding to it.  Leaving her...gifts.  Messages at crime scenes.

Verr-onicaaaaaaa, an old demon slithers in one ear and out the other.

When she starts to respond in kind, her supervisor removes her from the case and puts her on unpaid leave.  It’s in New York, though, and Veronica knows herself.  Knows who she is when she looks in the mirror.

Logan kisses the tip of her nose and thanks her for scheduling her crazy after his semester is finished.  They pack together, trading soft looks and touches as they maneuver seamlessly around each other.  Veronica calls Keith.

She silences the voice that sounds like teenage Veronica hissing that she’s running away from the fight.  That’s not her anymore.  And she’s not alone in this; if she didn’t trust her partner she wouldn’t have made it six months in the agency.  If she didn’t trust Logan, she would have died at seventeen.

Their visits to Neptune are rarer than her father would like, but just enough to soothe that part of them both that comes from here, that lives in every McMansion and dark alley and seedy bar and raging club and deserted beach.

Neptune is in their blood.  Veronica wouldn’t wish this place on her worst enemy; but they are akin, she and it. 

While Logan pulls his board and wetsuit out of storage and practically moves onto the beach, she does the usual tour.  Eli’s shop is doing well, and Valentina is adorable in her little oil stained overalls as she helps her father.  Wallace still eats lunch at their table, after all these years, and she smiles reflexively back at him like she did the first day they met.  Mac is still selling her soul to the devil for more money than god, running their software development with an iron fist.

Cliff quirks an eyebrow at her, and drops hints about cases he needs help with like other men his age drop little candies into children’s hands.  She rolls her eyes, but glances over the files anyway, and spends a couple nights taking pictures and video and surprising him with it in court.

It feels...nice.  Nostalgic, but not addictive.  Just some legal favors for an old friend who never failed to scratch her back when she scratched his.

Her forced leave isn’t up yet, and her partner says they’ve hit a frustrating but not definitive dead end back home, so she considers driving to San Diego to drop in on Leo with a pizza, for old time’s sake.

Then the man she was tracking in New York finally shows his face in Neptune.  He followed Veronica back here, to her home.

Oh, if that isn’t the worst, and last, mistake he ever makes.

Her friends, her family, closes ranks.  The town closes like a lobster trap for people stupid enough to come after Veronica Mars on her home turf.  By the time her partner and replacement make it out to the west coast, he’s beaten and bloody and wrapped up in evidence like a Christmas tree in Sheriff Lamb’s lockup.

The Sheriff takes the credit for the arrest; there is no mention of old biker buddies of Eli’s, or information passed along from Cliff and Wallace, or systems infiltrated by Mac. Of tasers and favors.

Veronica is cool as a cucumber when they call to tell her about it, while she’s out to lunch with an old friend.  Her partner is suspicious, but there’s no evidence.  And frankly, he’s not sure even Veronica Mars could have collared this guy without the resources of the Bureau behind her.

Deputy Sacks shakes his head in disbelief that people are still falling for that after all this time.

They go back to New York.  Life goes on.

—

Neither of them went to the ten year reunion, still too fresh off the horrors of high school. 

But they do go to the twenty year reunion, and win the shit out of it.  Not that they care, beyond vague petty satisfaction at the faces of those few people who do.  They leave early, have dinner with Keith, drinks with Wallace and Mac, and fly back to New York the next morning.

Some infinitesimal weight neither of them realized still existed was off their shoulders by the time they touch down in their home of fifteen years.

4. ten stoplights bleeding out

the one where keith mars dies in that plane crash, and veronica mars takes over mars investigations; veronica mars never escapes the insidious pull of neptune; and after ten plus years of money shots and favors, has perfected handing down her own particular brand of justice—and revenge. logan still joins the navy, but always finds his way back to her. 

it’s a story Eli’s heard a thousand times before, living in this town.  a story he’s lived himself, once or twice, though ever since he met Jade he’s done his upmost to keep his nose clean—to be that better version of himself she somehow managed to see in him.

the cops have it all wrong, lazy, corrupt, blaming it on the first brown kid they lay eyes on, planted evidence, ruined lives, etc.

there’s nothing he can do for them.

there’s nothing he can do for them.  But V always did love referrals.

“You need to go see the Sheriff,” Eli tells the kid, still hoping that one day the nickname will catch on just so he can see her expression.  His face crumples in heated confusion, because he just spent twenty minutes laying out how “Sheriff” Lamb was an asshole, but Eli smirks and jerks his head toward his car.  (Car, not bike)

They climb in, and drive to one of the last places in town holding out hope against gentrification—the 09ers he went to high school with would’ve called it seedy.

He still has a key to her offices after that stint working as her secretary for a few months when she was in college—though it’s not the same key.  Veronica Mars is too paranoid to keep the same locks for too long.  Never does catch her changing them out, just reaches in his pocket some days to fiddle with his key ring and fights a smile when his fingers find unfamiliar teeth.

But today, her doors are open.  They chime as Eli guides the kid inside, and gestures toward the old couch still sitting against the wall.

The receptionist’s desk is empty again.  He wonders vaguely what the last one did to earn the brush off.  She never manages to find what she’s looking for in an employee (either herself or her father, Eli’s never figured out which, but either option makes him want to clasp her shoulder).

He raps his knuckles on her office gently and pushes it open without waiting for an answer. 

She looks up sharply, her resting face before she registers his presence that special kind of pinched that means Logan had damn well better be at the end of his current tour of duty.

“Weevil,” she lets out a little breath and some of her tension.  “Long time no see, huh?”

“Yeah, we missed you at dinner last week.”

She shrugs.  “Life of a PI; there’s always another stake-out to ruin your night life.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” he drawls, raising his eyebrows at her.  After a decade and a half of knowing Veronica Mars, he’s more than familiar with her self-destructive tendencies. 

He’s vaguely grateful she’s pulling back from him before she unsheaths her paranoid claws and scratches everyone in reach, even friends like him; but mostly, it puts an ache in his chest that makes him want to hug Jade close and kiss Valentina on the forehead.

“Whatever, vato.  Just because you’re a successful businessman now doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t fight to keep the lights on.”  Her lips twist wryly.

And now he feels sort of bad, because she never charges his referrals full price for her services.   But favors are part of her gig, the way she tells it—keeps her in information and the occasional backup.

“Speaking of,” he starts, and she leans back in her chair and throws her feet up on the desk in a self-satisfied manner, one after the other, “I’ve got a Sheriff Lamb special in the waiting room for you.”

“Let me guess,” she drawls, “rich ‘victim’,” she pairs it with air-quotes, “planted evidence, and a timeline that makes no goddamn sense?”

“Got it in one,” he says tiredly, suddenly exhausted with the never-ending Neptune narrative.

“Send him in,” she says immediately, pulling her legs back and flipping through the one of the endless files that populate her life.

He hesitates at the door; once he hands off the kid, it becomes a case, and Veronica will tune out everything else that matters.  And Eli owes it to her to ask, to give a shit.

“When’s he back?” He asks softly.

Veronica’s hands slow, tension pouring back into her frame.  “Four more weeks,” she answers, clearly unwilling to further the conversation anymore.

“Yeah, well, make sure you remember to drag his ass to dinner with us then.  Valentina misses his stupid impressions.”

She rolls her eyes, and he shakes his head and leans out of the doorway to gesture to the kid, and that’s that.  Veronica Mars is on the case, and somewhere across Neptune, a familiar shiver just went down Don Lamb’s spine.

[thesparkinthefire]

Ghost - Pedro Pascal x Reader

A/N: I have a one and a half hour breakfast break because my company does not know how to plan, so I thought I might as well upload this now. I am uploading it through my phone and don't know how to proper edit on tumblr so this might look like a mess. English is also not my first language and I never wrote in it before - please point out any mistakes I might have made. I think this is part one of two.

Word count: 1,997

Paaring: Pedro Pascal crushing on musical!Reader ft. Oscar Isaac

Trigger Warning: age gap mentioned, a lot of jealousy

"Though my heart is broken, it keeps breaking every day." - With You, the Ghost cast album

Pedro didn't hate Oscar. It was quiet the opposite – that guy was his best friend. His amigo in the US of A and the wild life of Hollywood. Working with him on Triple Frontier was a dream come true and felt more like a guys-trip than work most of the time. Both of them were part of the Star Wars universe and if it somehow would have been possible they would love for their characters to meet just to work together a little more.

No, Pedro didn't hate Oscar. Except for two things.

First being that one time when he gave him a Wet Willy during that interview when they were answering questions people seem to type into Google – he still cringed whenever he thought back.

The second thing were you. Not exactly you-you because you did absolutely nothing wrong, but for Oscar's relationship with you. 

What an irony, that Pedro had introduced the both of you. You were a young actress from Europe and after you blew up because of your role in a teen-romance movie you were his partner on the second season of The Mandalorian. Your character had been a fan favourite, came into the show half way through the season and was set to stay at least for a few more episodes in the third season.

You were younger than him. A lot. But that had never bothered you. In every interview you had you were asked how working with “an experienced actor like Pedro Pascal” was like – which he found a little offensive, he might have a little lower back-pain but he wasn't that old – you smiled and answered that age was only a number and you two got along very well. And he was more than glad that you saw it that way.

To claim that he had never crushed on one of the actresses he had acted romance with would simply be a lie, but he was a professional. He never told anyone if he did and he did his best at keeping it a secret and not letting his feelings dominate his brain. But it was different with you. The moment he first saw you he thanked god that you had gotten the role. You were stunning in your very own way. Always kind to everybody – it didn't matter whether you were talking to him, the director or the clumsy intern. You always brought yourself to smile in the morning even though getting up early was like torture to you. You stayed focused on set, even when your nerves were killing you. Having a bad day was tough but you always acted kind and polite. You were perfect. In every possible way. Acting romance was the main job for the two of you and that wasn't only hard because he was wearing Din's helmet all the time. No, the problem was that he wasn't acting. He fell madly in love with you. It wasn't even your character. You were just so damn perfect.

You met a bunch of times outside of work, after the second season had aired and press tour had been wrapped. You got along so perfectly well that he sometimes had to ask himself, if he wasn't being too obvious. Maybe he was. But you never told him to step back or just didn't notice it. You should have noticed it by the time he asked you, what you were doing for Christmas. “Probably watching Netflix,” you had answered. “I am not going home until the new year and, yeah, everyone else is with their families.”

“You could join me,” Pedro had said before his mind had really processed the words you had said. “I mean- I am having dinner with a bunch of friends and, yes, we don't have a no-girls rule and you could join me. Us.” He had never seen something as beautiful as you when your eyes lit up in that moment. You happily accepted. That's how you met Oscar Isaac. Pedro's best friend, who he had never hated as much as in the moment when you were kissing him.

Oscar and you had a lot in common. You both loved Star Wars and were more than happy to discus every single theory about Finnpoe, Din Djaren and your character, the Skywalkers and Baby Yoda – just like you and him had so many times before. You both started by playing theatre – just like he did. You learned Spanish when you were still in school and tried your best to hold simple conversations with Oscar while he tried to teach you more – just like Pedro had. The thing that really connected the both of you and that made Pedro feel invisible were musicals. Sure, he had seen a few but singing was just not his thing. Oscar and you, on the other hand spent hours talking about the motifs in Hamilton, the fate of Gleb in Anastasia, the musical adaption of Heathers, the movie adaption of Cats and the harmonies in Dear Evan Hansen. Pedro loved listening to you. You were the most beautiful when you were talking about something you were as passionate about as musicals. You whole face lit up and you started talking with your hands. As much as he loved it, he hated it. Because it wasn't him you were talking with but mainly Oscar. You both loved singing and sooner or later ended up with his guitar, when the three of you were meeting at Oscar's house, or at your piano, when you were in your apartment. Pedro didn't dare to imagine how many hours you had spent in togetherness singing and acting out scenes. Fuck's sake he shouldn't – Oscar was married after all.

The year after you met some genius decided to bring the musical Ghost to California for a four week run and thought that no couple would be a better fit than Oscar and you. That was solely a PR-gig because the same director was about to host a bigger play the month after the run, but Oscar still accepted. So did you. And that hurt Pedro so much.

You had been doing a few musicals before you blew up as an actress and were just perfect for the role for Molly but Oscar, god, out of all people. He didn't know if he could handle seeing the you being in love. Even if it was just on stage.

The day Oscar and you accepted the part the three of you met up and watched the movie the musical was based on. You were crying half of the time and Oscar was visibly touched too but Pedro hated it. Maybe only because of the thought of you kissing his best friend for at least four weeks – rehearsals additional. He watched you from the corner of his eye and when he saw Oscar lean in you direction, he quickly wrapped his arm around you and pulled you in. “You are truly a crybaby,” he mumbled and handed you another tissue. For an hour the world was perfect – you, cuddled into his side while watching a romance.

But it soon got back to the cruel reality when Oscar decided, after the movie ended, the best way to cheer you up was singing Unchained Melody to you.

And now he was standing in the doorway to your rehearsal room in the theatre that you had stared working in a week ago, looking at you somewhat between sitting and laying on the orange couch and Oscar above you. Kissing you. Hands roaming over your body, under your shirt, moving it up. It was like looking at an accident – he didn't want to watch because it horrified him, but at the same time he couldn't look away. His heart was crushing, breaking. And the worst thing was, that the first thing that crossed his mind wasn't, that Oscar is a married man.

“Okay, wait,” you said, pushing him away from you. “Is it weird when I do that?”

“What?”

“That.” You tapped against his side, which was turned away from Pedro.

“Normally not but the audience can't see that because that side of us is turned to the back of the stage.”

Fuck.

That was a stage kiss. You were practising. That was all part of the rehearsal. Oscar wasn't cheating on his wife and you weren't... well, you weren't doing anything at all because Pedro had never made the god damn move of asking you out. It had been almost a year since he first met you at the table reading for the second Mandalorian season and he never said anything. Why did he never say anything? He was such an idiot. He could have slapped himself, hit his head against the next wall. What the fuck was holding him back?

“Hey Pedro! Didn't hear you coming.” Your voice brought him back to reality. Oscar moved off of you and you sat back up again. God, he had been starring. He had definitely been starring.

“Todo esta bien, amigo?”, Oscar asked.

“Yeah... Yeah, sure. I am just not feeling well.” That was an understatement. He was feeling sick. Fucking sick. He couldn't wait for the premiere. You would be so happy and excited while the knot in his throat was growing minute by minute until he was forced to sit through two hours of you and his best friend being in love. Usually he was good at separating the human from the role they were playing but somehow it was not possible for him this time. His brain couldn't and it made him mad and sad at the same time because he wanted to be happy for you. Ghost was a musical you were talking about before. It was possibly a dream come true and a huge opportunity to be selected for the leading role and he should be happy for you. He wanted to support you and his best friend on their project and give them the acting advice, they asked him for – that's why he even came here – but his heart wanted him to turn around and walk right out the door and never come back. Maybe even drink to get the images out of his head. They were nightmare material to him.

“Well, don't get us sick. We only have two more weeks until the premiere.”

“I will let you know once I know how to control sickness,” he snapped back a bit harsher than the wanted to. That's what it was. Sickness. A virus. Jealousy was poisoning his heart.

All he wanted was to be there for you. Because he knew how anxious premiers made you. Everyone kept asking you about how you were doing and you always smiled and said that you were just as nervous as everybody working on the production but that wasn't the full truth. Pedro saw it in the way your smile faded for a split second, once the question was asked. He noticed it when you took longer and longer to reply to his messages. He noticed, that you were a little more quiet than usual when you were out for dinner. Stress-crying was a thing you did and he would bet that you had already have a few breakdowns.

He wanted nothing more than to comfort you. To pull you in a tight hug, kiss your head and tell you that everything will turn out just fine, because you were gorgeous in every way possible. You were intelligent and strong and beautiful – simply amazing. Why did he never ask you out? It was way too late to do it now, wasn't it? You had grown to be something like best friends and best friends don't date each other.

He had shoot his shot.

And you would never be his.

Part two

[s3r-en-d1p-ity]

just friends (pt. 2) - t. chalamet x reader

really no one asked for a part 2 but I had it in my drafts then one person asked so here, one person that I love dearly :) @eternaleviee​

pairing: reader x timotheé chalamet

warnings: swearing, mentions of the hanky panky

part 1 , part 3

lil recap: just a background, how they met, the beginning of their friendship, when y/n had a lil crush on timo

It was tearing you apart. Eating at your insides, making you feel all guilty inside. You’ve been telling yourself all these years that your crush on Timotheé had vanished, but in reality, it had grown stronger and you didn’t even realize it.

How didn’t you realize it? You aren’t sure. You told yourself the butterflies in your stomach was the happiness of seeing your best friend. 

You were in love with Timotheé, and you couldn't ignore or deny it anymore. And it was all because of a little comment. A stupid comment on an Instagram post of you two.

the way they look at each other... y/n looks at him like he puts the stars in her sky.

“Like he puts the stars in her sky.” That made it all the more complex, but much more sense. Timotheé did put the stars in her sky. He put the happiness in her life. The hope.

You were brought out of your thoughts when Timotheé tugged on your wrist, pulling you down Hollywood Boulevard. The simple touch sent jolts up her arm and shivers down her spine.

“I don’t understand why I had to get so dressed up.” You grumbled, looking down at your black dress and heels. “Aren’t we just meeting our friends?”

“Yeah, but we’re going to Chateau Marmont and there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” He grinned over his shoulder. Your heart dropped in your stomach, and you felt sick.

The last time he said that, you met Reilyn. His controlling, invasive ex-girlfriend that stole all of his time. There was someone else, now.

You sighed and put on a fake smile, nodding. You wished you never read that comment. Maybe you wouldn’t feel so sick to your stomach right now.

You arrived at the restaurant and Timotheé spoke to a waiter before following him to a booth in the very back, in a different room then everyone else. You saw your whole friend group, and an unfamiliar girl sitting next to (y/b/f). Everyone looked up when you two arrived, and the unfamiliar girl got up and smiled at Timotheé, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

I should’ve stayed in bed. You thought, scanning her. She had shoulder length blonde hair, beautiful facial structure, and perfect height.

She turned to you, and held out a hand. “Hi, I’ve heard about you a lot. Timo talks about you all the time.” She smiled politely.

Funny, I haven’t heard a word about you. You looked over at Timotheé, seeing him stare at the both of you nervously. You were the only person who ever called him Timo.

“It’s nice to meet you...” You went on, gesturing for her name.

Something flashed in her eyes, and her gaze flickered to Timotheé for a short second. He hung his head and she looked back over at you. “Lily.”

“Nice to meet you, Lily.” You smiled, shaking her hand. She smiled back and returned back to her seat. You sat at the open seat next to one of your friends and got lost in conversation, but couldn’t shake the thought of Lily and Timotheé out of your mind.

“I think you should tell him.” Harry shrugged, taking a sip of his tea.

You and Harry Styles had been friends for a while. You collaborated on a song and continued to be very good friends after that, and you often went to each other for advice.

“He’s dating Lily.” You reminded him, furrowing your eyebrows.

“I know. But if he never told you about her and he always talks about you, there’s something going on. Tell him, y/n/n. YOLO.” Harry smiled, nudging your hand that was resting on the table at the small cafe you were at.

You looked up from your cup, narrowing your eyes. “Never say that again.” You tried not to laugh. He laughed, which only made you laugh.

“Just promise me you’ll try.” He realized you weren't going to tell him. You sighed, and nodded.

“I’ll try.”

Nope. Nope. You weren't going to tell him. You went over to his place in hopes that he was alone, but as soon as you got to the door you heard the moans and headboard slapping.

That was almost a week ago, and you couldn't get the noises out of your mind. You missed being on tour and being occupied every second so you had no time to overthink anything. Now, you were doubting everything.

A few days after the... incident, you went out for coffee with Lily and Timotheé, determined to force yourself to like her. There was nothing not to like, except for the fact she was dating him.

You proved yourself wrong. The whole time, she was glaring at you while Timotheé tried to engage in conversation. When he got up to go get another coffee, she was off on a rant about how you were obsessed with Timotheé and that you needed to stay away. As soon as Timmy came back, you said your goodbyes quickly and rushed out of the cafe, your blood boiling.

It took a week for Timotheé to realize you were acting strange. He walked in unannounced to your apartment just in time to see your regular fuck buddy, Jack come out.

He was pulling his t-shirt over his head, and once it was over his torso, Timotheé could see that he was panting. His eyes snapped up him, and he nodded. “Sup, dude.” Jack breathed out, smiling at him before leaving the apartment.

Timotheé felt his heart clench and he rolled his eyes. He wanted to like Jack, he really did, but he couldn’t bring himself too. He sighed and walked to your bedroom, where you were getting back into bed.

“What did you forget, Jack?” You sighed, your back facing him. You climbed under the covers and then you noticed Timotheé standing by the door, wearing a jean jacket, a graphic tee, and grey sweatpants. “Oh. It’s you.”

Timotheé scoffed. “Yeah, it’s me. Sorry to disappoint.” He said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Not happy to see me?”

You shrugged, but your insides were going crazy. Push back all the feelings. Don’t let him know. “Nice girlfriend.” Was all you said, pulling the covers up to your chin.

“This is about Lily.” He acknowledged. “I don't understand. Every time I get a girlfriend, you hate her. What’s wrong with you? Why won't you let me be happy?” You scoffed, turning over to look at him. “Let you be happy? That’s exactly what I’m trying to do! Every time you bring a girl near me, she automatically sees me as a threat. That’s why I stay away, so I don’t fuck up whatever is happening. I know you like Lily, and that’s why I haven’t been talking to you! She hates me, so I hate her. Just don’t bring her near me and we’ll be good.” You went off, throwing your hands up in the air at the end.

Timmy didn’t say anything, just raised his eyebrows. You stared at him, waiting for a response.

“...Sounds like you have a crush on me.” He shrugged, smirking at you.

Your heart sped up, afraid that he had caught you. Now everything was ruined. But you were going to do your best to deny it. “Grow the fuck up, Timotheé. This isn’t 2nd grade. I’m trying to be a good person.” You growl, laying back down and turning your back to him.

It was quiet, again. Then, you felt Timmy’s hands on your back, pushing you over. Then he was climbing in next to you, and he wrapped an arm around you. “Don’t be mad at me, please.” He mumbled, his forehead resting on your back.

God, curse you for falling for this scrawny, adorable, stubborn boy that is Timotheé Chalamet.

“I told you, I’m not mad at you.” You grumbled, trying to ignore the goosebumps on your skin from the arm that rested just below your breasts.

“You are. You’re just not admitting it,” He mumbled, his lips brushing against your skin with every word. The small action sent chills down your entire body. You couldn’t take this anymore. You thought you were going to explode if you didn't tell him.

“God damnit, Timotheé.” You whined, sitting up. You looked behind you to see Timotheé still laying down, staring at you. “How fucking oblivious can you be? How could you not see? Or maybe you did, and you’re doing this on purpose.” You shook your head, getting up.

“Slow down, y/n/n. What the fuck is going on?” Timmy furrowed his eyebrows. You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms.

“I’m fucking in love with you, Timotheé. I have been for years. You were too blind to see and I was too scared to tell. Are you happy now? You can get rid of me and go see your precious girlfriend. I’m staying away because I’m jealous, god.” You spilt out, not caring anymore. You kept your eyes anywhere but Timothee’s face.

“Y/n.” Timotheé said.

You sighed. “How hard is it for you to understand? I’m waiting. Just break my heart and leave.” 

Your eyes finally landed on Timotheé only to see him centimeters away from your face. Then, he was leaning in and kissing you.

The feeling felt nothing like you thought it would. You thought it would bring butterflies to your stomach and make you feel all giddy, but it just ignited the flame inside you even more and your whole body felt like an oven. You didn’t realize you were kissing back until your fingers were tugging at his hair.

Your lips moved sloppily, but with so much passion. The way Timotheé’s hands fisted your shirt said it all. You were sure after this, there was no way you were going to be able to let him leave.

He was pulling you closer and closer to him, until there was no room in between you two. But then, his phone started ringing.

He told you to ignore it, but you shook your head and pulled away from him, using all your self restraint to do so. You were breathing heavily and so was he as he grabbed his phone, to see the contact name on the screen.

Lily.

so... part 3? idk. only if y'all wanna see it. this really did suck and I wanted to make it longer but I am a very shittayyyy writer.

check out my other stories here !! this is my first timo imagine, so there are no others for him unfortunately! I have written one piece for sweet pea from Riverdale and 2 for Kian Lawley :)

hope u all enjoy ur day!!! luv u <3

[kinnaman-smorgasbord]

Esquire Singapore Dec 2019 - Joel Kinnaman Interview

OBSERVERVABLE ACTS

Editor-in-Chief: Norman Tan Photography: Michael Schwartz Stylist: Chloe Hartstein Groomer: Kristan Serafino Story: Wayne Cheong

Instead of a rooftop shoot that we had planned, we’re indoors at Dune Studios on Water Street. Outside, the weather is every writer’s dream: “It is an ash-streaked sky that portents a downpour.” “Like a warning, steel wool hangs overhead.” “A dishevelled blanket of grey that drifts languidly like detritus in a muddied pond.” A wet weather doth not a good shoot make.

When Joel Kinnaman arrives, the first thing you notice is how large he is. Bigger than life, broad-chested, he sometimes stands astride, like he’s about to break the spirit of a wild stallion. Then, there’s that presence; a sort of aura that’s quiet but still strong-arms you for your attention.

Just as the fashion shoot is about to start, Kinnaman asks if he could put on his own playlist for the shoot. He brings up his Spotify playlist, titled ‘For some of mankind’. ‘What Becomes of the Brokenhearted’ by Jimmy Ruffin plays.

“The playlists are just for fun,” Kinnaman tells me. “I’ve made a playlist for every project that I’ve been in.”

The project that this particular playlist was made for is For All Mankind, now playing on Apple TV+. It’s a show that puts forth the idea: what if America lost the space race to Russia?

Created and written by Ronald D Moore, the visionary behind the reimagined Battlestar Galactica and Outlander, For All Mankind stars Kinnaman as Edward Baldwin, a NASA astronaut who works alongside Buzz Aldrin (Chris Agos) and Neil Armstrong (Jeff Branson). Kinnaman’s character isn’t based on a particular historical figure, instead he is a composite or a representative of the ‘all-American’ astronauts of that era.

“I’m half-American and half-Swedish,” Kinnaman says. “I’ve lived in Sweden and America so, in a way, I’ve a split identity. My favourite part of the American spirit is not giving up. If they get knocked down, it is a national honour in getting back up and continuing the fight. In reality, when the US got to the moon, it concluded the space race. We didn’t get the continuation in space exploration that everyone was promised.”

Kinnaman is drawn to the science-fiction genre, fantasising of what could have been (though it can be said that the broad field of fiction can also put forward, ‘ what if’). Growing up, he watched the Star Wars movies, he loved the cyberpunk feel when he shot Altered Carbon. He is a fan of Blade Runner due to its dystopian future.

Do you think that sci-fi’s dystopian trope is becoming a reality? Kinnaman muses on that. “We’ve a president who is a national and international embarrassment. He’s immoral, a compulsive liar, a narcissist who doesn’t respect or appreciate democracy. I pray and hope that this nightmare would soon come to an end.

“But I believe we have the potential to overcome this. If we change paths and realign our focus in coming together as a human family, we can solve whatever problems that come our way together.”

This sentiment is echoed in For All Mankind, although the loss wasn’t the be-all and end-all for America. According to Moore, in losing the space race, America ends up the winner in the long run because of the continual effort into space exploration.

“Art can be a little lazy in pointing out the negatives. In many instances, the role that art and the artist play is showing us what’s wrong: that’s important but showcasing the positives is equally important. For All Mankind shows us how we should be operating if we are guided by our better angels.”

Physicist and theoretical biologist, Erwin Schrödinger, came up with a thought experiment. Imagine, if you will, a cat that’s sealed in a box. And inside that box is a device that might or might not kill the cat. Quantum theory states that quantum particles can exist in a superposition of states at the same time. Some even theorise that the quantum particles will collapse to a single state when it’s observed. When applied to Schrödinger’s cat, the feline is both dead and alive until you open the box.

Schrödinger came up with this thought experiment to explain that “misinterpreted simplification of quantum theory can lead to absurd results which don’t match real world quantum physics”. In the real world, it’s absurd that the cat is both dead and alive at the same time.

But one can also see this as an example of how the scientific theory works. Nobody really knows if a theory is right or wrong until it can be tested and proved. It’s like asking someone out on a date, you don’t know if that cute girl or guy will go out with you until you ask; the possibilities of rejection and acceptance remain in co-existence.

That is before you open the box.

Observe: Joel Kinnaman wouldn’t have existed if his father, Steve, had not defected from the US Army. An Indianapolis native, the elder Kinnaman was drafted and stationed in Bangkok, Thailand during the Vietnam War. While he was there, he started spending time with European backpackers, who have a different perspective of the war. A seed was planted. It finally blossomed when he attended a friend’s wedding in Laos. “It turned out that the woman’s family was half Laotian and half Vietnamese,” Kinnaman says. “It was an emotional moment for my dad. He asked himself if these were the people that he was going to kill.”

Still reeling from the love he had witnessed, the elder Kinnaman returned to his base. It was then that he was given the news that he was being reassigned to the battlefront in Vietnam.

In the history of war, the common punishment for desertion is death. According to the US Uniform Code of Military Justice, Article 85, it is meted out “by death of other such punishment as a court-martial may direct”. (Since the Civil War, only one American serviceman was executed for desertion: Private Eddie Slovik in 1945.)

Knowing the penalties for desertion, the elder Kinnaman made the decision that night to leave camp. He hitchhiked his way up into northern Thailand and into Laos. He burned his passport, changed his name and passed off as Canadian. For the next four years, he lived life among the Laotians doing odd jobs. Then, he found out that Sweden grants asylum to Vietnam deserters. Since moving to Sweden, President Jimmy Carter eventually issued an amnesty in 1977. The elder Kinnaman continues to reside in Sweden. After his first marriage ended, he was involved with Bitte, a therapist. This relationship yielded Joel.

“I’ve been working on the script about his life,” Kinnaman says. “The idea would be that I’d play my dad but I’m getting a little old.” It’s a story to be told, one about the dangers of blind patriotism; a tool that’s often exploited by governments. “We need to be critical individuals who should make up our own minds.”

Observe: Kinnaman had his first taste of acting when he was 10. He played Felix Lundström on Storstad, a soap opera that looks at the lives of the residents living in the fictional town of Malmtorget. Back then, Sweden had only two TV channels so even if it’s a secondary or even tertiary role on an ensemble piece, people will recognise you. “I didn’t understand it,” Kinnaman says. “There was something thrilling about being famous but there was something I didn’t like about it either.” His whole experience as a child actor was underwhelming.

In fact, taking a page from ‘history repeating itself ’, observe as Kinnaman could have been a soldier in the Swedish army.

“It was mandatory for the men to be conscripted for a year in the army and it was during my time when the rules for enlistment started to relax,” Kinnaman says. “If you didn’t want to enlist, all you have to do is purposely fail the proficiency tests.”

Alas, Kinnaman was so caught up in the competition that he aced it. His results showed potential to be a company leader. He was enlisted and assigned to an 18-month tour in the Arctic Circle but Kinnaman plum forgot about it. When he moved to Oslo, Norway, to be a bartender, he received a call from his mother, informing him that there was a government notice stating that he was supposed to enlist in three days.

He called the army to tell them that he was no longer in the country. “They said, this is a serious offence and I could get prison time for this. But if I were to write a letter to explain the situation, I could get out of this.” And then he forgot to write the letter. Kinnaman continued working odd jobs but he was always haunted by the thought that if he were ever to be arrested by the police for anything, they might discover his draft dodge from his records and he would be sent to prison.

“I ended up at this fight outside a night club and got taken in by the police.” Kinnaman says. Observe: Kinnaman could have ended up serving his sentence for draft dodging but nothing came of it.

Acting was calling out to him once more. His friend, Gustaf Skarsgård (famously known for his role as Floki in History Channel’s Vikings), was on track to becoming an actor and advised Kinnaman to apply for theatre school. After several applications, Kinnaman finally got into what he describes as “Sweden’s second-best acting school” and would go on to film two movies during his enrolment.

After graduation, he continued acting in Sweden before moving to America. He kept himself busy. He made an appearance in The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo; starred as Governor Will Conway in House of Cards; made people notice with his portrayal as the homicide detective, Stephen Holder; scored the lead role in the Robocop remake; was cast as Rick Flag in Suicide Squad.

The one genre that Kinnaman can’t seem to appear in is comedy. Yes, he has a stern demeanour but the man is also funny. “Sometimes, Hollywood sees you in a certain way and it’s much easier to get cast for it. And the next is similar to that and so on. I haven’t made an effort to dissuade people’s opinion. The lighter side is probably more me.”

The closest he has gotten to doing comedy is the shooting of the Suicide Squad sequel. Helmed by James Gunn, Kinnaman said in another interview that it feels like he’s “shooting his first comedy”.

“I’ve been around tough people with issues before,” Kinnaman continues. “I’ve had some bad times so those kind of environments were natural to be in. It’s a survival mechanism too. A way for me to cope as I grew up. At the time, you’re figuring out about your identity. I felt insecure, powerless and didn’t know what to do in life.

“It was a period of my life that was pretty negative. But one of the beauties of acting is that those dark periods become a mother lode that you can mine from. Maybe I’ve drawn a little bit too much from it by playing too many tough guys.”

In May 2016, Kinnaman was one of the delegates and personalities from Denmark, Norway, Iceland, Finland and Sweden who was invited to one of President Obama’s final state dinners. Kinnaman, dressed in a sharp tuxedo, attended the dinner with his then-wife, Cleo Wattenström.

He overheard that the Obamas were fans of House of Cards and was looking forward to being introduced to them. At the reception, he and the other representatives stood in a row as President Obama made his way down the line, shaking hands and posing for a photo op. By Kinnaman’s admission, his mind wandered as he imagined what he’d say when President Obama came up to him. “Maybe I’d say, ‘Mr President’, and then he’ll say ‘Governor Conway’, and then we’ll laugh. And we’ll end it with a cool handshake.”

And all of a sudden, the president stood before him and Kinnaman muttered, “Mr President…” There was an awkward pause. Kinnaman would recount that it’s very possible that either the Obamas hadn’t watched the episode that he was in or if they did, his presence made zero impact. Before the silence could prolong, Kinnaman ended with, “thanks… for everything”. President Obama said something along the lines of, “Surely but surely, we cannot lose hope” and Kinnaman was ushered off.

He would retell this story when he introduced President Obama at Brilliant Minds, a conference of creative individuals who embody the forward-thinking spirit of Sweden, in June 2019. After the introduction, he returned backstage, where President Obama was waiting for his cue to go up. “He had this huge smile on his face and he said to me, ‘bring it in for a cool handshake.’ We hugged, we talked for about five minutes. He was super friendly. I’ll always remember that moment.”

Kinnaman isn’t shy about his politics. He voiced support for the #metoo movement; he had championed the environmental cause by one of his fellow Swedes, Greta Thunberg; he does not hide his disdain for the Trump administration.

“I think the last UN report stated that we have about eight years to turn back our carbon expenditure into the atmosphere,” Kinnaman says about where we’re heading as a species. “You don’t have to be a prophet to see that the world is heading towards the wrong direction. The oceans are heating up, the glaciers are melting. These natural disasters will be more frequent and that’s gonna lead to more tensions among countries.

“Politically, we’re moving towards a more nativist direction; people are pulling away from international cooperation. There’s the rise in disinformation campaigns, which will threaten democracy.”

But Kinnaman, ever the optimist, still believes in the human spirit, that we can innovate our way out of this quagmire.

Observe: Kinnaman, who was born with pectus excavatum, chose to correct the disorder instead of living with it.

Pectus excavatum is a chest-wall deformity that affects roughly one in 400. Instead of the breastbone being flush against the chest, it sinks in. Measured on a scale called the Haller index, anything above an index of 3.2 is considered severe. Kinnaman’s index was a seven or an eight.

“It’s something that’s survivable,” Kinnaman explains. “But it’s a condition that grows worse over time: your posture becomes worse; your stamina worsens as your heart is not given room to pump. By correcting it you can add years to your life.���

For a condition this severe, doctors had to insert two curved metal bars across his chest. Then the bars are turned to force the chest out and then the bars are wired to his ribs. The operation changed his life for the better. He doesn’t feel self-conscious whenever he removes his top. Six weeks after his surgery, he had to do reshoots for Suicide Squad. It was a fight sequence but Kinnaman sucked it up. “Would you like to feel it?” He asked.

He raised his arm like an invitation. I reached out and felt the spot, where the metal bars are, beneath the fabric and skin.

That’s an interesting party trick, I say. Kinnaman could only chuckle in response.

“It’s funny, if you ask me to say a line from a movie that I’ve been in before, I can’t. Not one line from any movie that I’ve done but I once did a monologue that was one hour and 30 minutes and I knew it by heart after 10 days.”

Kinnaman used to opine that as a Swedish American, growing up with dual cultures gives him a better perspective of the world but that also left him feeling like he doesn’t belong. He jumps from place to place, leading a nomadic existence.

“But I think,” he says as though he had stumbled upon some great truth a long time back, “I don’t wanna travel so much any more. Home. That’s where I’d like to be. I have two bases: one in Venice, LA and the other, an hour outside Stockholm.

“Growing up, my family didn’t have any money. We lived in this tiny little cottage that was in the middle of the woods. Now, I have this piece of land, where my family lives. This past midsummer was the first midsummer that we all spent together.

“That’s my new happy place.”

Joel Kinnaman looks like a man who has placed the final piece in that mystery of his life. He has stopped worrying about how he’s perceived by the public. He has exorcised people who have “struggled with jealousy, who don’t have a natural inclination towards generosity”. He has zero tolerance against bullshit. He likes how his career is shaping up—aside from Suicide Squad 2, For All Mankind is now filming a second season, and Kinnaman has three films coming out: The Informer; The Sound of Philadelphia and The Secrets We Keep; the last two, he avers, are his best work. “People who have watched me for a long time, it will remind them of my early career and for people who recently followed me, they will see a new side of me.

“I have goals that I’d like to achieve. Actor awards are such bullshit… until you get one. But yeah, that would be great. In future, I’d definitely want to be in a producing role and at some point, I’d like to also direct.

“I’ve said that I’d direct in five years time for about 10 years now.” That might change. His life is still a long and open road ahead.

Schrodinger’s cat posits two states that the creature can be in—dead or alive. But what if there’s a third option. That within the confines of the box, the cat is not there. It’s escaped. Unburdened from the stipulations of a thought experiment, free to do what it wants.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Rumor Has It {8}

Chris Evans x Famous Reader Uriah “Riah” Tyler

Warning: Plot, Cursing, Angst, Grief, Talk of miscarriage, Potential miscarriage trauma trigger

Word Count: 4.5K

Summary: You and Chris have been married for four years after a whirlwind romance. You are both happy and trying to navigate marriage in the public eye while balancing your successful careers. In the entertainment industry, not everything is as it seems, the flash of a camera lens impairs vision. As scandal and flashing lights put a strain on your once fairytale marriage is it possible your Hollywood marriage can stand the test of the rumor mill?

**Inspired by a video seen of Chris and his co-star Ana De Armas on their press tour for Knives Out at TIFF where she kept touching his chest and face standing about five inches apart.

**Loosley Edited/Proofread**

**Interactive**

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊 ❤️  ❤️

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

-Four and a Half Weeks Later-

  “Okay, Chris, Uriah, welcome back. How are things going?” The therapist Dr. Danquah sat across from both of you in her blue high-backed armchair with a pleasant smile on her face looking over to the two of you on the yellow couch.

  She pushed her hair to the side with one hand and readjusted the clipboard in her hands. “Good, things are—,” Chris began then looked to you for confirmation. You gave a smile and a nod as reassurance. “Good,” you finished.

  It wasn’t a lie. It had been a good four weeks. After Chris suggested therapy, he wasted no time finding a few within the area. They were all outside Boston, so both of you could keep your anonymity and keep the gossip from the magazines. He decided to take some time off traveling as much as he could. You felt bad because he was right in the middle of promo for Knives Out, and you knew he had obligations and contractual responsibilities. Chris persisted though, stating your marriage was more important than some contract or even his career. It was sweet, but you hated feeling like a burden, and that was what you felt like even though it wasn’t his intention.

  You stayed in the townhouse together, you both spent time with his family and developed a routine together. It was nice, and something you’d almost forgotten how well you operated as a unit. You’d missed it—missed him. While the anger between you about the things in your relationship had faded, it was now replaced with something else, an eerie heaviness. When you spoke, it wasn’t about anything significant; you kept it lite and never went beyond the surface. It wasn’t that neither of you had nothing to say to the other; it was you didn’t quite know how to say it.

  “Just good?” Dr. Danquah looked between the two of you and assessed your movements and posture. Chris sat with his back straight with his hands folded over his lap with his legs spread and pointed straight. You, on the other hand, had your arms wrapped around your midsection with your right leg crossed over your left one pointing to Chris’ open ones. You nodded your response.

  “Okay, we’ve made some great progress over the last few weeks, progress that I am hoping the two of you can see.” Chris nodded his agreement. “We’ve addressed each of your maladaptive behaviors and how those behaviors trigger others and then fire off until everything has spiraled out of control. Chris, you learned your way of inadvertently dismissing Uriah’s fears and concerns as her being crazy or irrational triggers her anger and further hurt, which brings out what you call her callousness. Uriah, you learned your way of miscommunication mainly through your callousness triggers Chris’ frustration of not being heard or respected and further fuels his fears of your unhappiness with him and your marriage. You both have learned how your disappearing acts harm your relationship more than help it. All of these little choices and actions build up and turn into major points of contention between the two of you. You both courageously expressed yourselves these last few weeks and let each other in so the other could not only see the effects of their words and behavior but really take in that effect to make a plan to rectify it. You two had homework in the week to write an action plan that would be used to combat the current behaviors you each take part in. I’ve taken the time to go over each of your plans, and I am pleased with them. It shows you both put great thought and time into them. You both should be very proud of yourselves and your progress.” She took a pause and flipped a page on her clipboard then cleared her throat.

  “Let’s talk about the pregnancy.” You took a deep, shuddered breath and looked down at your shoes.

“We’ve touched on it here or there, and every time we did, I’ve noted that when we bring it up you both have very different outward reactions. Chris your jaws clench, brows burrow, but you keep your eyes on me. Uriah, your eyes fall away, and your breathing noticeably changes, it seems as if it has become that much harder to get a breath. Those reactions tell me more than enough. Uriah let’s begin with you. Why look down? Why avoid my eyes?”

  You wrinkled your nose and looked to the beautiful blue paint on the wall and the ornate floral mural that wrapped around the room. You didn’t know if you were quite ready to go there. “It’s easier, I guess.”

  “Okay, I can understand that. Looking at someone applies some form of pressure of scrutiny, looking away usually signified feelings of inferiority or shame. Are you hoping to avoid feeling scrutinized? When we bring it up does it make you feel inferior? Shame?”

  Your throat was tightening, and your heart was pounding. The palms of your hands felt slick with sweat, and you didn’t know how much longer you’d be able to hold before you cried. You didn’t want to cry.

  “Uriah,” Dr. Danquah gently breached.

  Shaking your head, you looked to her. She looked at you with gentleness with the compassion shining through her eyes. You could feel Chris looking at you, and your strength faded as a tear rolled down your cheek. Quickly you wiped it away and looked back down to your shoes. “I’m sorry.”

  “No need to be. Tears are never something to be ashamed of. If neither of you cry, we’re not successful. They are the raw emotion that we need to get to--the emotion without any of the fears and anger.” You nodded and took the piece of tissue she offered. Using the soft sheet you dabbed at the tears on your cheeks and took a few breaths in hopes of gaining some composure.

  “Why wouldn’t I feel shame?”

  “Why would you? This is something that happened to you,” Dr. Danquah interjected.

  “Because it’s my fault. Yes, it happened to me—us, but it’s my fault it did,” you rushed out before using the tissue to catch the fresh tears that dropped from your eyes. No one spoke; they allowed your words to hang in the air for several moments.

  “By referring to the event as “it,” we’re just going around it, avoiding it. Let’s refer to it by what it was. A miscarriage.” Chris sucked in a breath and sunk deeper into the couch. “Why do you think the miscarriage was your fault?”

  The word felt like a slap in the face, followed by a punch to the gut. It hurt. It happened months ago, and you should have been over it by now, but it hurt. You sniffled then took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

  “I just—what if—maybe it is my fault. Maybe if I would have wanted it more, like him then maybe things would be different. Maybe it happened because of me.” Saying the words were like looking it right in the eye and now that you’d said it, it was scarier than ever.

  “It?” You made up your face knowing you’d fall apart if you said them.

  “I can’t imagine how incredibly painful and difficult this is for the both of you, but when we began I gave you my word to help you on this path that you chose to rebuild your marriage. I gave you my vow to be your advocate and your biggest supporters, but that comes with a double-edged sword, I also have to be the one to walk you through the pain, walk you through the dark and it will not be easy, but I can assure you that you are not walking through this alone, I am walking with you. if you do the work, the work will work for you.”

  Chris sniffled, wiped at his nose then crossed his arms over his chest. You took a breath and flared your nose. “The miscarriage.” A defeated, painful sound came from Chris, and it chipped another piece of your heart.

  “Did you want the baby?” Your eyes snapped to her, a little surprised she’d ask you something like that. You wanted to lash out, but you knew that was your fear and anxiety. The feel of Chris’ hand sliding into yours startled you. When you looked down you stared at his fingered laced with yours, and the damn broke. You’d missed his touch. He’d touched you over the last few weeks, but it was always in passing a shoulder touch here, a looped arm there, but this was neither of those. This screamed solidarity, screamed empathy, screamed intimacy. Once you got the courage you looked to him to find his eyes on you.

“It’s okay, Dragonfly.” Your lips trembled as your tears freely streamed down your face. Turning your head from him, you wiped your face and tried to refocus the barrage of emotions that swept through you. After almost a minute, you cleared your throat.

  “I’ve always been a little apprehensive, I guess.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a big deal. If you do it and make even the smallest wrong decision, you’ll screw up an entire person. It’s a huge responsibility, a huge—thing.”

  “Did you fear you weren’t ready when you agreed with Chris to start a family?”

  You thought back to the weeks of discussion between you and Chris, then your visit to Australia to visit Summer and Chris, and the night the two of you finally committed to the decision. You remembered the conviction you felt with your choice, the excitement bubbling in your belly, and the love swelling your heart to capacity. You were scared yes, but you were ready.

  “No. When we agreed and really agreed I meant it.” You looked to Chris squeezing his hand firmly. “I was ready Chris I promise. It hit me in Australia what was important. Seeing and talking to Chris and Summer and our god babies showed me that nothing will ever fit into a neat box, and no plan ever goes one hundred percent accordingly. You know me, I am such a control freak that I want everything to be perfect, I want all of it including a guarantee, certainties and I was never going to get that. I was so apprehensive before because I didn’t want to screw them up. Because we fell in love and got married so quickly, you see all this good and beauty, you see this perfect model, and I’m not that all the time.” Chris turned his body to you and took hold of your other hand.

  “Uriah, I know you’re not perfect. Any idea of perfection I had about you flew right out the window the night we sat on those steps talking until the sun came up. You’re far from perfect, and that is what I love, I’m not perfect, I don’t want you to be either. I see you, Uriah, I’ve always seen you. The fact that we got married quickly means nothing. It just means I knew what I wanted then and there and didn’t need to waste time. When you can see forever with someone you want forever to start right then and there. I want forever Uriah.” The two of you peered into each other’s eyes for long minutes, and neither of you seemed to remember you weren’t alone.

  “Did you want the baby?”

  “Yes,” you whispered. “Very much.” Chris gave you a small smile and dropped a kiss to your knuckles.

  “So how could it have changed the outcome if the conditions within your heart and wants were optimal? How could you have held such control over something that was out of your control?”

  You dropped your eyes again and sighed. It was irrational; you knew it. You knew it was your love of control that had you thinking these thoughts. Though you knew it, they were hard to shake.

  “It’s the one thing he wanted more than anything, and I couldn’t give it to him. What if I can’t give it? What if he married me for nothing? Your voice was low.

  “What? Wait, is that what you think? You think I married you for the prospect of having kids?”

  “Did you, Chris?”

  “Absolutely not. I married her because I fell hopelessly in love with her.”

  “Talk to her,” Dr. Danquah advised. Again Chris’ body trend to you, you didn’t meet his eyes.

  “Riah, I married you because I couldn’t not do anything else. I couldn’t leave Paris until I knew your name. I couldn’t leave that night until you agreed to dinner, I couldn’t stop at just one dinner it needed another and another. I couldn’t go back to the States and just keep working after meeting you. All I ever wanted was you. in the past I’ve been anything but quiet about my want for a family yes, but sweetheart you gave me a family, you gave me a wife, a partner, someone to go through life with.” His words were beautiful, sweet, and so touching. “I didn’t marry you so you could pop out kids. I married you so I could kiss you whenever the hell I want.” You smiled and looked at him to see a smile that mirrored yours. It was an inside joke between the two of you.

  “A little girl with your eyes and smile is the icing on the cake.” You searched his eyes and felt the truth of his words.

  “Chris, do you blame Uriah for the miscarriage?”

  “That’s insane, no.”

  “What do you feel about the miscarriage?” You held your breath and waited for him to gather his thoughts. You’d been so scared up to this point to hear what he had to say. If it was anything like what he’d already said, then you were in for even more pain. Chris released a breath.

  “I guess I’m in shock still. I—I didn’t even know she was pregnant. I—can’t help but feel robbed, and I know that’s a little insensitive because of what she went through.”

  “You are entitled to your feelings, Chris. Nothing you feel is right or wrong, they are your feelings, and you have a right to them. When you say robbed, what do you mean?” A few moments passed without a sound; you could feel his reluctance to speak whatever he felt.

  “Chris, if we have any hope, you have to stop biting your tongue around me. I want to hear what you have to say just as much as you need to say that you have to. We’re not doing each other any favors by keeping quiet. I’ve learned that much.” Giving his hand one last squeeze for reassurance Chris nodded and dropped his head then looked to Dr. Danquah, who nodded her head to you. Your eyes met once again.

  “I feel robbed of finding out you were pregnant, robbed of experiencing that with you, feeling that with you no matter how short a time it was. I feel robbed of being a husband to you, your best friend. I know this happened to you, your body, you experienced the pain and everything associated with it, but you robbed me of my grieving period, of being there for you. now I’m here in this weird place, a place of playing catch up, and I honestly don’t know how to act, or what to say or even how to be there for you.”

  Nodding your head, you saw the pain in his eyes. You didn’t think it through entirely when you decided just to push pause and bury everything. You didn’t think of after effect. Somehow you thought he’d never have to know, he’d never have to feel the pain, and it wasn’t your choice to make.

  “Do you think that the reason why you’ve been—standoffish emotionally with her is because you feel resentment towards her?”

  Well fuck, that’s a loaded and fucked up question, you thought. You couldn’t look at him though. You feared he did resent you and would for the rest of his life. “I resent her need to always be in control. If I’m honest, I understand why she did it. Coming here, I’ve learned some things, and I’ve been able to put myself in her shoes. Though I don’t think I can ever put myself in her mind frame, I can empathize because I feel what she feels. I feel the loss, the sadness, the pain, the uncertainty, the regret, and fear. I feel it, Riah. You took it upon yourself to go through it alone, that breaks my heart somewhere in you that you didn’t trust me with your pain, didn’t trust me with your fears. It speaks volumes about me as a man, volumes about the kind of husband I’ve been.”

 “What do you mean, Chris?”

   “I’ve been a horrible husband. We’ve been married for almost five years, and I’ve been away for most of the time we’ve been married. Somehow I got okay with not living a life with you, somehow I was okay with having a wife but not being a husband, and that clouded my judgment. The time apart—it didn’t help us. I had a part to play in it and your fears about the women, I listened to them, but I didn’t hear them. I didn’t hear your fears, and I should have. No wonder you didn’t trust me.”

  “Chris, stop. Of course I trust you. You are the only person I trust explicitly. I never told you of the fears for you to hear them. I just expected you to know them. That was wrong of me; it was unfair.”

  “Uriah, do you think Chris has been a bad husband to you?”

  “God no. He’s been the best. He is there for me when I need him, shares my dreams, calms my fears, works with me for the future we both want, he doesn’t stifle me, or force his way, he is kind, giving—he is not a bad husband. You aren’t a bad husband.” His tears slipped down his cheek, and you cupped his jaw and wiped them away.

  “I didn’t trust myself with the pain. I didn’t want to face it. I was so convinced it was my punishment for something, and I shut it out.”

  “Why did you get back on birth control?”

  Sighing, you began idly playing with Chris’ hand. “I was scared to have it happen again. I knew if it happened again I couldn’t hide it, and you’d find out about the first one and--.”

  “This is a safe space, Uriah, finish it.”

  “And it would destroy me and our marriage. I would lose you.”

  The silence that fell between you again was an uneasy one. You could tell Chris was struggling with absorbing this new wave of information. You felt guilty pushing all of this onto him so suddenly. None of what you felt was sudden, but it was for him to hear it. You’d kept a tight lid on all these fears, and you saw now, you’d made a mistaking in doing so.

  “Chris, can we talk about the birth control? How did that make you feel to find out that not only had Uriah experienced a miscarriage but that she’d been further preventing any future pregnancies?”

  His hand fell still, before he was tracing the lines of your palms but now nothing. You knew the surface of how he felt. He’d explicitly expressed it before.

  “I felt betrayed. That is the best way I can describe it.”

  “Can you elaborate?” Chris released another puff of breath and kept his eyes low.

  “We’d made a plan together, came up with a plan, and decided that we were ready to move to the next step together. We made all of these decisions and plans together for a future, a life. Then she went through this and changed the plan, and I’m not angry about that at all, I get why now. I get it now, but when I first found those birth control pills my heart broke. I went through so many thoughts and insecurities.”

   “Like?”

   “Like if she’d changed her mind about wanting her children to be with me, if she’d decided she didn’t want me anymore and just didn’t know how to say it, if she found someone else, if she’d gone back to him--.”

  “Him?” You sighed, then rolled your eyes.

  “He means nothing, Chris, you know that.”

  “Do I? You loved him a long time Uriah, you told me your history; you were with him before I saw you in Paris, hell you were with him in Miami.” He spoke through clenched jaws.

  “Who is him?” Dr. Danquah slid to the edge of her seat, hoping to regain control of the session.

  “My ex.”

  “An ex she is still friendly with, an ex she partied with mere weeks ago,” Chris blurted out.

  “It’s not like how he’s making it sound. We aren’t friendly. I hadn’t seen him in person in months. We hadn’t interacted in a long time. Yes, I saw him in Miami last month, but it was nothing.”

  “Okay. Chris, by you bringing him up—what’s his name?”

  “Chris.” You narrowed your eyes at Chris before you rolled them.

  “Christiano,” you corrected.

  “She thinks I married her for kids; maybe she married me because I was the Chris she could get.”

  “Excuse me? Do you think I can’t get him back with the snap of my fingers? Do you think that it would be so hard for him to be with me? I can easily get him.”

  “Is that right, Uriah.” The look he gave you was a defiant one, one that said go on.

  “Okay, eyes on me, please.” You both looked to her.

“Chris, why is Christiano an insecurity for you?” He didn’t budge to answer the question.

  “He’s like this black cloud. They run in the same circles; they have the same friends, his business is to be seen. They have plenty of chances to interact. He’s always tried put himself in our relationship. He annoys me,” Chris explained.

  “Why?” Chris clenched his jaw again and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He used his fingers to toy with his beard.

  “They have years between them. She could have easily married him.”

  “Chris, are you afraid Uriah will cheat on you with him?” You stared at him, very interested in his answer. Chris rubbed his forehead and groaned.

  “It is a fear.” Your jaw dropped.

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “It’s an unfair one; she’s never given any indication that she’d ever be or has been unfaithful--.”

  “Because I would never be unfaithful. I have never been unfaithful to you, Chris. I have no reason to be I love you. There is no man in the world that has what I want. I didn’t marry Christiano because there was always something missing, something I didn’t know was missing until I sat and talked with you that night. Do you know what was missing?”

  He didn’t answer; he didn’t even look at you. You’d had it with the distance. You slide to the edge of the couch, sank your fingers into his hair, and turned his head to you holding firmly to those strands as you stared into his piercing eyes. Within seconds you felt the familiar connection and warmth all over you. “Do you feel that Evans?” Stubbornly he tried to look away, but you weren’t having it; you held tighter to his hair. “Do—you—feel—that?” He nodded.

  “This is why I didn’t marry him. In the years of breaking up and getting back together, this was never between us. You’ve never given up on me once, and you’ve had plenty of opportunities. I’ve never wanted to give up on you when all I’ve ever done was end relationship after relationship. I don’t want him. There was no temptation in Miami, none. There has never been temptation. I married you, Christopher, you.” You could see how emotional he was and tried to keep your emotions in check, I so he’d fully understand the depth and breadth of your absolute love and devotion for him. Your thumb wiped a tear that fell, and he nodded.

“Chris, do you see the similarities between you and Uriah. You both are so afraid of losing each other to others that you’re not focusing or communicating enough to be able to see that in each other’s eyes, there is no one else.” Chris reached his hand out and wiped your tear-soaked cheek, but he didn’t remove his hand.

  “Sitting here across from you I can see and feel the love you have for one another, I can see how much you mean to each other, and because I can see it and feel it I can tell this path back to one another to rebuild your marriage is not as lost as you think. There is a bright light ahead of you, you both just have to want it enough to do the work.”

  Dr. Danquah looked between you and Chris, you could see her in your peripheral, but you only had eyes for Chris.

  “Do you want it enough?” Chris’ hand slipped to the nape of your neck and gently but firmly held you steady. For some reason, you loved it when he did this. You always felt safe and under the intensity of his eyes, your belly always filled with butterflies.

  “I want it more than enough, dragonfly.” You nodded and held his hand at your neck.

  “I want it too.”

   “Wonderful. Just one last question for this session. Do you still want children with Chris, Uriah?”

   The shock of the question was evident, it took your breath away. Closing your eyes, you tried to push everything to the side, tried to ignore every disparaging thought and voice. It took longer than you expected, but after a few minutes silence filled your head, and you were finally able to think. You took a deep breath and slowly released it.

  “I’m scared, but yes.”

  You heard Chris sigh out as if he were relieved. Your eyes met his red ones, and without words, Chris wrapped his arms around you pulling you into his comforting embrace. You wept together for long minutes. The heaviness you carried within your chest broke apart and brought back the lightness and love you’d always felt for him. You still felt the sadness of what you’d lost, but you didn’t feel alone anymore.

  When you came up for air, you pressed your forehead to his and embraced the intimacy of the moment. You’d both gotten so lost and had come so close to losing it all. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry, too,” Chris echoed. Both of you sighed in unison, and for the first time in months, you felt as if you were both converged once again.

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