#I’m just a big old Terry

[mazyb0i]

Autistic lovesick boyfriend surprises adhd touchy boyfriend with a waist hug 💚💙

#solar opposites korvo #solar opposites terry #solar opposites tervo #tervo #tervo fanart #solar opposites fanart #solar opposites #adhd #autism #gay #ooooh they’re so gay #they’re gay like me #I love them to death #I’m so Terry #I’m just a big old Terry #cuddles #couple #gay dad moment #gay men #alien #shlorp

[attapullman]

Pretend | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: You aren't sure what's worse: having to share a bed with the boy who was your first boyfriend who you haven't seen in years, or having to pretend he's your boyfriend when you wish he actually was.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: f!reader, light smut, 18+ only as always, unprotected pinv, fake dating trope, one bed trope, lots of switching between present and past tense whoops

A Note From Mo: It's Choose-a-Fic! Thank you to everyone who voted and has been part of my 500 Follower milestone! Hopefully you like the fic I wrote just for you (with a little extra one bed trope as a special thank you)! 😘

Coupe glasses tinkle and laughter rings out as the rehearsal dinner draws toward an end. Everyone’s had a little too much of the hotel’s signature white sangria. On your left, Isabel and Reuben are frozen in blissed smiles, the outdoor lights casting an ethereal glow. An idyllic night before the wedding.

You should be relaxed. You’ve had a little wine, the most delicious dinner, and tomorrow your college roommate is getting married at this stunning resort. But every time that big hand grazes your shoulder or his breath heats the skin of your cheek, you’re reminded none of this is real and you desperately wish it was.

The only difference between six-year-old Robert Floyd and the man standing in front of you is the broad shoulders. Those pink cheeks are just as prominent and his eyes are wide behind updated corrective frames. Sandy hair politely brushed off his face. Even his thin lips warp in that same warm smile that instantly relieves tension. The only significant difference is those shoulders that fill out the entire doorway as he checks his rooming assignment with Isabel.

From where you stand behind her, suitcase in tow, you feel your cheeks warm and your gaze drop. You haven’t seen him since the engagement party where you muttered, “it’s a small world after all” more than once. It seemed all too coincidental that your college roommate would be marrying a guy who just happens to be in the same Navy squadron as your first grade boyfriend. 

To be fair, you had “dated” Bobby Floyd for a total of a week before your parent’s divorce landed you on the opposite side of the country. There hadn’t even been a formal breakup. He’d simply been the guy you jokingly referred to as your “first love” at wine nights. Occasionally you remembered his collection of vintage Coke bottle caps. 

He was practically a figment of your imagination until Isabel introduced you to the man in the nicely ironed pale blue button down and you sputtered out that you already knew each other.

You’re so lost in how bizarre the coincidence of it all is that you zone out through Bob’s check-in and the next few guests that arrive. It’s not until her line of relatives has dwindled that she remembers you’re sat behind her, sorting out the favors for after the reception. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I should have given you your card earlier!” she apologizes as she flips back over her clipboard to find your room number. It’s all forgiven, you were waiting to finish up your bridesmaid duties before checking in. Get the work out so you can slip on your bathing suit and enjoy the amenities - pool, sun, and cabana boys - before dinner tonight.

She hands you a room card and walks you through the map of the hotel. You miss the second half while gathering up all your items, mentally trying to remember exactly how many rights before a left. Dinner is at seven and anything else surely she will remind you. With a kiss to her cheek, you head off to your room to begin the fun part of this destination wedding.

The property is stunning, all sun-washed sandstone and lush tropical plants. Deep blue terry cloth draped over the sun loungers you would live on all weekend. Some sun to compliment what should be a flawless wedding weekend. Maybe you’d get lucky and one of Reuben’s hot Navy friends would join you for some eye candy. You deserved a little one-weekend-in-paradise romance.

Suite 4. It’s a little deflating to remember that you’re in this big suite alone because all the other bridesmaids have dates. A least you have some privacy. The intricately carved door accepts your room key and you push the heavy wood open, ready to change and relax.

W-why was Bob in your villa?

Standing amongst the floor-to-ceiling windows draped with ochre that overlook the ocean, white oak furnishing topped with plush linen bedding, and a trailing pothos overtaking the wall, was Bob Floyd - right in the middle of changing his shirt. Equally wide eyes taking you in as he held the bunched heathered grey cotton right in front of his head, thumbs through the head hole, mouth open in shock.

“What are you doing in here?”

What was he doing in here? This was your room. “Why are you in my room?”

Despite knowing he’s not in the wrong, his cheeks tinge a deep pink. Takes a moment to pop his head in the hole of his shirt and brush out the wrinkles. You cling to to the annoyance of him interrupting your afternoon instead of focusing on how toned he’s gotten as an adult.

“This is my room. Suite 4. See?” He holds up a card identical to yours, the glossy ‘4’ reflecting the sunlight. The same ‘4’ that looks back at you. 

Clearly there’s been some sort of mistake, someone at reception accidentally typing in the wrong number while going about their busy day or Isabel reading her meticulous list wrong. An easy fix. 

You bite your lip. “Oh. Maybe I grabbed the wrong card. I’ll go find Isabel and sort it out.”

“I’ll come with you, she might have handed me the wrong card. Probably supposed to be sharing a bed with Fanboy.” He’s impossibly sweet as always. 

You have no idea who or what a Fanboy is, but you accept his company back to reception, leaving your bag in the room purely because the bridesmaid dress alone weighs a half ton. The walk back there - with a few long turns - is a tad awkward as you both walk in silence, occasionally jerking your heads in the direction to turn.

Isabel has wandered away from reception, and is now soaking in one of the poolside bars with Reuben, their lovesick smiles contagious. She gives you the warmest smile when you approach, face splitting in two as she takes in your companion. “Hey, you two! You get settled in okay?”

God, this is awkward. Thankfully before you can muster the courage, Bob steps in. “I think there’s been a mix up with one of our rooms.”

Her eyebrows furrow as takes in what he said. Eyes flit to her lounger where her clipboard of rooming assignment lies within her tote. Reuben sips his frozen margarita in casual interest, not involved in the logistics.

“Which room are you in?” Even without her clipboard, Isabel is pretty sure she knows who is in what room. She spent months perfecting these details.

You hold up the glossy ‘4’, now slightly sticky with your sweat.

“Four? Hmm, I’m pretty sure that’s right. Was there a problem with the key? Both your keys?”

You give her a bewildered look. “One of us has the wrong key. We’re not sharing a room.”

“Why not? Your prude parents aren’t here to care if you share a room with your boyfriend.”

Every muscle in your body freezes. What is she talking about?

And while you’re paralyzed on the spot, Reuben looks like he’s about to throw up the margarita. Because he knows exactly what just happened. And not only is it his fault, but he does not have a solution.

Before you can question Isabel, the pilot is throwing his arm around your shoulders and grabbing Bob’s elbow, whisking you two away, calling out to his confused fiancée not to worry, he’s got it handled. The controlled hands of a fighter pilot steering you back in the way of Suite 4 while his face reads like he’s watching a plane crash.

Reuben won’t answer any of your questions, holding up a palm while you sputter out the who, what, where’s? of what is going on. Bob silently allows himself to be directed, confusion upon his brow, but patient enough to wait for an explanation. 

Once you’re privately within the confines of Suite 4, the soft scent of bergamot and sandalwood wrapped around your bodies, Reuben finally confesses his mistake.

“Isabel thinks you two are dating.”

You expect to see eyeballs on the floor from how violently they pop out of your head. What? Bob doesn’t look much better. You two have barely spoken in decades, let alone are in a relationship! Why in the hell would Isabel think that?

Reuben drags a hand down his face, wishing he was back in the pool drinking. “When Bob over here told me that you two dated way back, I casually mentioned it to Is. When she asked the other week if he’d be good sharing a room, I thought she meant Fanboy or Harvard.”

You skip over the fact that Bob has talked about you to other people to focus on the details. “She meant me.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” By this point he’s rubbing the skin on the back of his neck raw, eyes wildly desperate. “Can you two share? It’s only two nights.”

Your eyes meet ocean blue as you both look at the single bed, then at each other. Bob intervenes calmly. “Why can’t you just tell her we need another room?”

Reuben crosses his arms across his chest, suddenly defensive. “We don’t have any other rooms. We booked the place out entirely. Short of Aunt Muriel keeling over, one of you would have to be at another hotel.”

“That’s fine,” you quip, grabbing your suitcase and ready to get the hell out of this situation.

“There’s nothing within a half hour drive. And you’re both in the wedding, that is not going to fly with Isabel.”

You’re tough, you can do hard things. Two nights at a gorgeous resort where you have to share a king-sized bed with the sweetest man on the planet? Could be so much worse. From a look at Bob’s face, he’s having the same realization.

And right as you’re about to tell Reuben that it’s not a big deal, he sends in the clincher. 

“You’re also gonna have to pretend you’re dating.”

“You’re joking.” Your tinny voice rings out in the room. You can do a lot of things - go to a wedding alone, sleep in the same bed as Bob - but you draw the line at pretending you’re dating someone you hadn’t seen until an engagement party six months ago. Nope, no way.

You look at Bob, standing with his hand resting low on his hip, watching this entire scene unfold. Giving him an expectant look, he smooths out his face and gives you a little nod. He’s on whatever team you’re on.

And just as you were about to tell Reuben to get lost, Isabel’s sweet face floods your mind’s eye. That happy smile she always greets you with, and her dismay that something had gone wrong with your room. Her perfectly planned out wedding weekend ruined by her misunderstanding a minor detail. She would insist that you have separate rooms, even if it interfered with plans, and she’d be upset - the smallest tinge of disappointment clouding her bridal smile.

Isn’t the job of a bridesmaid to make the bride not have disappointment?

And now, sitting here at the rehearsal dinner, warm conversation all around you, you can still hear yourself let out a large huff of breath and agree. “Alright, we can pretend for the weekend.”

It’s a decision you stand by, but doesn’t make the subtle way Bob has been playing your boyfriend the last 24 hours any easier. He plays devoted partner a little too well. Carrying your beach bag down to the water that afternoon when everyone wanted to sit by the pool, sweetly rubbing sunscreen into that spot on your back that you can never reach. Grabbing a drink for you when he went up to the bar. 

Your lonely wedding weekend is suddenly filled with this broad-shouldered Navy man who gives you a shy smile every time you make eye contact.

There wasn’t time to put in ground rules before Reuben threw you you to the wolves to socialize with the rest of the wedding party. When Isabel saw you, standing a healthy foot away from Bob and her sculpted eyebrow raised, it was the first test of this “relationship”. Your heart slamming in your chest as you slipped a hand around that thick bicep and rested your hot cheek against his shoulder. His own face fighting anxiety as he allowed you to set the pace. Isabel’s smile brightening as she beckoned you closer, instantly fawning over the two of you and the way Bob’s hand fits a little too nicely around your waist.

Thankfully the copious amount of relatives and friends constantly interrupting Isabel and Reuben prevented your friend investigating too close into this development in your love life. Happy to believe over some intentionally placed hands and the casual way he throws sweetheart in when asking if you want a drink.

“Now that I have you alone, why didn’t you tell me you were together? First loves reunited?!” Isabel drags you away to the other bridesmaids, Bob giving you a small wave as he joins the men. 

You shrug, making a show of looking at the hibiscus to avoid her eyes. Desperate for a believable lie. “I didn’t want to…uh, distract from your big day?”

She wraps you in a warm hug you don’t deserve. “Not distracting in the slightest. He’s the best, you’re so lucky!”

You throw a glance his way, watching his good-natured grin as Reuben’s groomsmen, mostly aviators he’s worked with over the years, joke and jostle on the other side of the lawn. It’s side glances like these that carry through the night; when he pulls your chair out for dinner, asks the waiter to refill your water, and offers you half of his dessert. When your eyes do meet, you drown in the twin oceans that twinkle back at you.

By the time you’re heading back to Suite 4 to share that big bed, you’re pretty sure you’re not pretending to like him anymore.

You’re regretting not putting up the pillow barrier Bob so kindly offered to set up. It seemed childish at the time - you didn’t need a divider to stay on your side of the bed - but now you’re lying here in your little cotton pajamas you did not expect anyone to see and you can hear him breathing and the room is a little too warm. Every sense is on high alert and a pillow barrier would give you an inkling of privacy.

In the silhouette of the moonlight peaking through the curtains, you watch the planes of Bob’s face as he peacefully sleeps beside you. If he’s good looking in the daytime, he’s breathtaking at night. Pale eyelashes against his cheeks, lips slightly pouted, hair mussed from changing sides. You wish you could smooth your fingers over the planes of his face, appreciate the sharpness of his jaw, the roundness of his cheeks.

Tomorrow you have to pretend all over again to be in love with him. A feeling that’s already starting to creep inside you. A whole day of his gentle touches and laughs against your cheek. He was the perfect boyfriend that week in grade school, and even more perfect as an adult. Holding his hand made you want to never let go…which promptly made you want to jump out of your skin. 

This was a tiny white lie to get through Sunday morning. That was it.

You keep replaying the last moment before you retired back to your hotel room for the night. The drunken group sitting around the fire pit, a bottle of tequila making its way around the circle. Not enough chairs so you ended up in Bob’s lap, body cradled in the firm comfort of his chest. 

He made it so natural, the way his hand ran up and down your arm when you shivered in the night chill. You knew he could feel the shock up your spine when you noticed how intently he watched you during your story of how Isabel found a rat in your dorm room. He made you feel like the only person out there by the fire pit. The only person on this island.

When even the tequila couldn’t keep you warm any longer, the group disbanded in favor of cozy beds and hot showers. And even when no one else was in sight he still kept his arm around your shoulder to share his warmth, the pinching heels you’d shed in his hand as he asked whether you wanted to shower first.

Lips accidentally brushing your ear when he said he liked your dress; it matched the bougainvillea.

While you hadn’t spent much time together since your parents moved you away too long ago to remember, you were continually floored by how thoughtful he was still. He remembered how Isabel didn’t like ice, and that a few members of his squadron had allergies. Giving up his water because the woman next to him was without. Not to mention how he seemed to go the extra mile with you. All the years of boyfriends before this and not a single one had ever noticed you picked the pine nuts out of your salad; your new fake boyfriend requesting a fresh one sans nuts.

And it was borderline torture watching him get ready for bed post shower. Face and chest red from the scalding water and slick hair pushed back, towel slung a little too low as he dug through his suitcase. You were still speechless as he offered to put up a pillow barrier or something if it would make you more comfortable, making sure you knew he respected your boundaries.

His eyes were so blue without his glasses…

Caution to the wind, you run a finger over his cheek, brushing away a rogue eyelash and promptly turn away from him. Only one more day and you would be free of wanting a man that wasn’t yours.

The Fitch wedding day was perfect. Wide smiles, bridal lace, stunning hydrangeas, and not a dry eye in the house when Isabel and Reuben officially became husband and wife. It was the storybook start to a happy ever after. 

The sunlight blessed ceremony was followed by a lantern-lit reception, dancing and drinking overtaking the sprawling beach-front lawn of the hotel. You stayed out until the evening ended, the wedding party laughing and overfilling glasses of champagne until the last lantern was blown out. 

You barely remembered your rooming/relationship situation until a warm hand was on your forearm, asking if you were ready to go back to the room. It’s entirely unfair how good he looks in his suit. All day you’ve admired it, from the moment he emerged from the bathroom asking for help with his bow tie to an hour ago, when the wedding party did one last rendezvous on the dance floor. 

Bob has an ease on the dance floor, clearly practiced, the hand on the small of your back gently guiding. A hand big and warm and more distracting than trying to remember your own footwork. The dark-haired woman he seems close with whooping out, “Look at those moves, Floyd!” every time you get close, her own date cheering along. 

You shake the memory from your brain as Bob walks you back to the room. Keep the pining to a minimum until you can get to the airport and not have to see him ever again. You’re doing this for Isabel, your own emotions have no place. Even as you watch him open the door to the room and welcome you inside, looking so perfectly boyfriend-shaped.

Your skin feels too hot, your head clouded by bubbles and loud poppers exploding into the sky. Shedding this satin dress and getting into a warm shower sounds like heaven, washing away the buzzing ill-content flooding your body since you joined the wedding group that morning hand-in-hand with Bob. But a broken zipper interrupts those plans.

“Bob?” He stills on his way to the bathroom, bow tie loose around his neck. You indicate to the stuck zipper you’re fiddling with, warmth flaring at the top of your cheeks at your predicament.

The tips of his ears flush as he walks to you, chest a breath away from your back, admiring the way the satin flows over your curves and dips. Takes a moment to gather your hair over your shoulder before reaching for the zipper. The skin of his pinky accidentally brushes your neck, twin breaths catching at the shock. 

Firm fingers guide the zipper onto the track. As they guide the cool metal down your back, the boiling point that has been simmering below the surface since yesterday afternoon comes to a head. The lace of your bra is visible. Now the silken band of your underwear. The air of the room is still, eagerly awaiting what happens next.

While his voice is shaky, his words are firm. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Your head turns to the side, eyes catching his profile, too scared to look at him directly. 

“What are you pretending to do?”

His face falls into the crook of your neck, fingers tightening along the satin of your hips. “Pretending I’m doing our friends a favor. Pretending I’m not falling for you. Pretending every time I touch you it’s not the best part of my day.”

Your hand wraps around his, rough skin and satin beneath your fingers. Needing to tether yourself to reality to make sure this isn’t a champagne-fueled dream that he’s professing against your neck. 

“In that case, I don’t want to pretend anymore either.”

While you can’t see him, you can feel his realization against your skin. Brow furrowing, lips parting. The soft brush of his nose as he straightens up, uses his hands to turn you to him. Finally forced to look at each other amidst the information divulged.

You aren’t sure who leans in first, who braved the waters of uncharted territory. Time stills and speeds up as his face grows closer. The scent of sandalwood and bergamot that’s followed you all weekend replaced by the woodsy mint of his cologne you’ve treated yourself to when tucked into his side. Anyone outside can hear two hearts beating erratically, anxious and excited. 

His lips are warm and comforting, just like everything else about him. Pressing delicately against yours, taking his time and letting you set the pace. You’re torn between the shock of how divine he feels and the greedy need for more. Senses overwhelmed by him; you want to taste more, feel more, see more.

When he pulls away, a gentleman not wanting to overstep, you’re breathless.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss you.” His confession is paired with pink cheeks and large hands playing with your fingers. 

You can’t help but to tease him, the banter from your childhood coming back. “Did it live up to expectations?”

“Way, way better.” Your smile is swallowed in his kiss, chins knocking as you trade off enthusiasm. A groan leaving Bob as you grab his hands and walk back to the bathroom. That hot shower still sounds amazing, but you need more of him.

The travertine tiles glow in the soft light as you watch your childhood love remove his suit, taking time to fold the pieces on the counter, letting you indulge in unbuttoning his crisp shirt as you share another sweet kiss. His own hands twisted in the dress barely clinging to your skin. The sounds that escape him as your hands explore his chest are purely sinful, meant only for your ears.

He barely lets you bask in his body, honed from years of Naval training, before he’s stripping the satin from your frame. You beg for another kiss, but he denies you. He can’t be distracted from watching every inch of skin being revealed. From letting his fingers follow the fabric as it pools at your feet. From kissing his way back up your body until your head falls back against the wall, fingers beckoning him to the shower.

“You’re so beautiful.” It’s more breath than words, but ignite the goose flesh along your skin as he adjusts the hot water and shower head to your liking.

Minutes or hours passed as you reacquainted under the steam. Your fingers tangled in wet strands of sandy hair, fingers slipping along any skin you can reach. His own hands tightly hugging your body, holding you close as he appreciates your nude form. Swallowing each other’s moans as his fingers dip between your folds and you run your palm along his shaft.

The universe has ceased to exist by the time Bob kisses you against the shower wall, fingers wrapping under your thighs to hoist you to his level. Loving the way you giggle as your arms wrap around his neck, trusting him wholeheartedly. Eyes trained at where he lines up with you, relishing the way your breath catches in anticipation. He kisses your forehead as a promise to take care of you, a promise you know he’ll keep.

Once he’s seated deep in you, the moment about connecting rather than getting off, he tilts your head up to check in with you. A kiss as his eyes search you for discomfort. The flames of his eyes burning the brightest blue. One final clench around him and he knows he needs to move; if not for his sake, for yours.

It’s the most glorious dream as he fills you completely, hips rocking into yours as sweaty foreheads meet.

When he brings you to orgasm, a steamy moment punctuated by your muffled screams against his shoulder, there’s nothing fake about the affection as he peppers you with praise. Or when he fills you with his own release a moment later, exhaling thank you, thank you, thank you.

A pillow barrier isn’t even discussed as you lay in his arms that night, cheek against bare chest. His arm trails down your arm like it had the night before, a mindless action you now recognize as meaningful to him as to you. Sated and content, as it should be.

You sit up a little to run your nose along his neck, producing a low groan from him. “You need something, sweetheart?”

“I was wondering, after that,” you gesture to the shower, cheeks heating, “does this mean we’re, uh, dating again?”

He smiles at your flush, cupping your face with one of his large hands. Presses the sweetest kiss to your lips.

“You know, we never had a break up. Technically we’ve been dating this whole time.”

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[wonderwyrm]

Terry Pratchett knows how to fill a moment with emotion.

Earnest, fervent, sincere emotion. Joy, humor, horror, sadness, all of them at once. Terrible, terrible things happen to the characters in his books, and yet they’re funny to the point that I think they’re mostly branded as comedy.

At the same time, I can easily see most of his books being recreated as horror stories. God, I would love to look more at the ways he creates terrifying situations.

And even during those horrifying moments, he still manages to work in a joke, and you want to laugh as you frantically turn the next page to see if the protagonist makes it out alive. I have no doubt that he might kill off a main character moments after poking fun at their name, and both moments would come across as entirely sincere.

Specifically I want to bring up an example I just came across. I’ve been going through his books in chronological order and I just got to Going Postal (spoilers ahead) and I can see why so many people have this book as their favorite.

Our main character, Moist, has been unwillingly appointed Postmaster, and the old Post Office is filled with decades of undelivered mail. It’s revealed to him, over the course of a few chapters, that the undelivered mail speaks to people, and the collective spirits of those hundreds of thousands of undelivered letters are restless and angry and trapped.

I’d like to make a note that I think this is the first time Pratchett has used magic in this particular way. Discworld has the Magic-Themed books, and the Not Magic books, and while there are occasional overlaps, for the most part Magic is used as a foil and satire for classic magical stories, or as a way for Wizards and Witches to tell their stories. Theclosest I can remember Magic happening to this is in Moving Pictures, where the Holly Wood spirit escapes into Discworld and infects the people there to start making movies, and this mostly subtle and seems a way for Pratchett to make a note of how insane it is for us to treat movies and actors and the whole business of making them in the way we do.

I’m actually rather pleased that he chose The Mail to be something that is just… magic. Unexplained, powerful, something that makes sense and yet doesn’t. Maybe that will change as I get further in the book.

To the moment I’m thinking of. Moist has just been declared Postmaster, and now he’s confronted, in the dark, by the spirits of the mail. They ask him if he will do his job, if he will move the mail again. He says that he isn’t worthy, and the mail says that they just need someone, anyone who will help them.

So Moist says he will. He will do it.

Then the mail, all the hundreds of thousands of unsent letters, say

Deliver Us

And this is what I’m talking about. This is a climatic moment, a moment where Moist is making big changes in his life, in what he is deciding to do. You can feel the desperation of the mail to be sent to their destinations, to be freed from this stagnant hell.

Deliver Us

It’s a pun, you see. Because you deliver mail. It gets delivered. A joke, in the middle of this important moment. It’s a pun and an order, to do his job, to let them fulfill their purpose.

And at the same time, it’s a plea. A desperate, angry plea to be set free and given life again, a plea that someone, even someone like Moist, will be their savior and deliver them from their endless purgatory.

Deliver Us

This is what I love about Terry Pratchett.

#Terry Pratchett #Discworld #Moist Von Lipwig #Going Postal

[starry-hughes]

christmas dinner (trevor zegras)

day 24 of star’s ficmas

trevor zegras x reader

Of course, he would agree to host the team Christmas dinner. Troy had offered to do so, and Gibby did as well, but Trevor was insistent. He didn’t even ask you before volunteering himself. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to host a party, you’d be happy to do anything, hell, when Leo was called up, you had prepped the guest room in an hour, buying little toiletries and attempting a home cooked meal for him,

You’d been living with your boyfriend since the beginning of the season. You loved Trevor very much, but you were not looking forward to the Christmas dinner you were having to host. Trevor wasn’t exactly someone to trust in the kitchen. You weren’t sure why he had been so adamant on hosting this party.

He had picked out the table decor and even took responsibility for ordering the ham. “Trevor babe, can you help please?” you said, arms full of groceries. He immediately jumped up, running to help you. Mason and Jamie sat on the couch. “Hey idiots, grab the groceries from her!”

He quietly helped you with anything. He wasn’t usually quiet like this so it was a bit weird. You couldn’t exactly ask, you didn’t want to make it seem like you were worried about him.

Trevor didn’t exactly stick to his promises, he kept important ones but he was one to wait to the last second for things, procrastinating until it was too late. But this was different. It was like you were getting a new boyfriend.

The Terry Family arrived early, concerned about the four young members and you handling everything by yourselves. Leo had come over already and was helping. “Z, babe, can you get the ham out of the oven?”

Trevor was dressed nicely, in his sweater that you loved. Despite it being hot in Anaheim, everyone was dressed in typical Christmas wear. Jamie and Mason wore flannels and the Terry Family happily matched sweaters. “Yeah, I got it.” Everyone was pretty shocked at how good he was being. When the Gibson family arrived, a new baby in tow, Trevor excitedly greeted them and grabbed onto the new baby.

Jamie and Leo set the table, placing the perfectly folded napkins around, Dani pulled you aside. Trevor was laughing with Mason as the two of them attempted cutting the ham up into slices. “He’s doing good.”

You smiled at Dani. “He wanted this party and our agreement was that he had to help. I think he’s just happy.”

Most of the other guests joined and arrived, everyone slowly getting over the shock of Trevor being a proper host. You heard horror stories of your boyfriend when he was a rookie, only having beer and ketchup in his fridge. So this was a big shock. Trevor joined you in the kitchen, laughing about something Rico said in the living room. “You good?” he questioned, kissing you. No one was around the two of you.

You nodded and smiled at him, pecking his cheek with a gentle kiss. “Trevor, you good? You’ve been making sure everything is perfect.” He nodded. “I just wanted to make sure I could prove that I could host adult parties and I’m not some dumb twenty something year old.” Part of you was sad for him. “Awe baby, look at this party.”

He looked out toward the dining table and living room, where all his teammates and close friends were enjoying themselves. “Did I do good?” he asked sheepishly. “You did amazing honey. Merry Christmas Trev.”

“Merry Christmas,” he smiled proudly

#trevor zegras #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras imagine #trevor zegras blurb #anaheim ducks imagine #hockey imagine #nhl fanfic #nhl imagine #star’s ficmas

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+

TERRY McGINNIS likes those ripped tights. Fishnets or old leggings, he likes them ruined. Barely comprehensible as stockings, a mess of tangled strings striping your perfect legs. While he drives his boss’s car he’s got a hand on your thigh, stroking the scratchy material and smoothing over the fat that protrudes out. When he’s feeling playful, he’ll trace the circle of exposed skin on purpose until you smack his hand for tickling. He likes them especially when he gets to tear them even more. Your body underneath him, waiting for him to get your clothes out of the way but he impatiently hooks his fingers into the netting and rips it apart in a swift motion. Your hole now easily accessible as he clambers onto you.

You have half a mind to scold him, but the notion dissolves at the sound of his belt. A bundle of nerves in the pit of your stomach jerks in anticipation at the sound of him shimmying out his dick, guiding it with a big hand on the base. To keep you spread, he leans onto the inside of your thigh, further folding your leg over yourself, and you hear the slow rip of the fabric from his weight. “Bet you’re still gonna wear these.” he tells you, voice low and husky from effort as he nudges your slit with his tip, searching for the give.

“Of course, I will.” you reply, concealing your unsteady breath as you focus on relaxing yourself. You gasp when his head pushes in.

“Yeah?” he questions amusedly, that stupid grin of his meeting your gaze when he picks up his head to look at you. “You gonna think of me every time?” With the inquiry, he bounces his hips, balancing on his knees and hand on your thigh, sinking into you only a couple inches each time. Your brows upturn, the sting of being stretched hopelessly controlling your features, delicately skewing them as you nod to him. “Every time a breeze hits this pussy under those little skirts you wear, you’re gonna think of me. Not that there was much to begin with—“

You clutch onto his bunched up jeans at his hips, pulling him forward to get that extra inch in. “Shut up and just fuck me, McGinnis.”

“Can’t believe you’re gonna walk around pussy-out for me.” he keeps goading you on, that sick grin of his defining his dimples and his sharp canines that glint in the low light. Each piston in, he gets deeper and deeper. The sensation of it causes your eyes to grow heavy, clinging onto his clothes to keep yourself grounded.

“You think… I’m- I’m not covering this up with some… some panties?”

Pushing all the way in, you can’t help but whine. He waits til you’re done complaining. “Not if you’re runnin’ with me, you’re not.”

#indy: drabbles #ch: terry #terry mcginnis drabble #terry mcginnis smut #terry mcginnis x reader #terry mcginnis x fem reader #x f!reader #terry mcginnis x you #terry mcginnis x y/n #terry mcginnis x reader smut #terry mcginnis imagine #terry mcginnis fic #terry mcginnis fanfiction #batman beyond smut #batman beyond x reader #batman beyond fanfiction #reader insert

[fuckyeahsufjanstevens]

I don’t know if this is the right thing to say because English is not my first language, but some people fly too close to the sun. When I think about Sufjan Stevens or Ryuichi, Terry Riley, Frank Ocean, I feel like their music is great, but you love them because you can really hear their suffering, their agony, their pain. They have been given a role to filter not just their own feelings through music, but other people’s suffering and pain, too. I always feel so sad for them. Like, why them? Why do they have to bear that role of witnessing so much hardship and the difficulty of just being alive in this world and then translate it through music? I have endless respect and support for this type of artist. I went back to Japan for the first time since the pandemic and there were changes in my parents’ lives. I had to help my father change his living situation. It’s never easy to prepare them for the next chapter, the next chapter, the next chapter, and then you die. Yet I’m so grateful for that and to return to Japan and still feel like it’s my home. Sufjan and I share the same birthday, maybe one day apart [Stevens’ is July 1, Makino’s is July 2], so we’ve spent two birthdays together by his place in upstate New York. He made it so special. I was quite shy, and maybe being the same sign is why he’s just as shy as me, but I really appreciate his way of carrying himself. He wears super colorful clothes, he’s super different, and I love the way he’s not shy of being shy, like he just kind of stares at you and then doesn’t say anything. Everything about him hits close to my heart. He was obsessed with the fireworks then, almost like a child, and even though we didn’t talk much, I felt so much tenderness, intimacy, and warmth from him and his partner. Now I think about Sufjan and his surroundings quite often. His music has been helping me quite a bit: Carrie & Lowell, Call Me By Your Name, his recent piano work that sounds massive. I listen to him in the middle of nowhere in Japan, trying to clean up my parents’ shit. I’m amazed by his responsibility when dealing with very difficult stuff. He’s the type of person who flies quite close to the sun. I hope he’s doing alright, I hope he’s happy, and I hope he’s gonna manage. Because some people just have a very difficult role to feel things so intensely, and that’s not easy. It’s a big ask—even of someone phenomenal like him. - Kazu Makino (Blonde Redhead) on Sufjan

#sufjan stevens #quote #sufjan

[lostloveletters]

Still Crazy After All These Years (Bucky Egan x OC)

Summary: It's a perfect Saturday evening in spring, which means only one thing for the Egans: baseball (specifically their son's Little League game).

Note: Fluffy post-war fic of Holly and Bucky being unhinged Little League parents (but we love them for it🥲) Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: None.

“C’mon ump, that was out!” Bucky shouted from the bleachers. “Foul ball my as—butt,” he muttered to Holly, who had three-year-old Cynthia in her lap, her chestnut hair pulled up in twin ponytails that blew along with the late spring breeze.

The mid-May air was heavy with DC’s summer creeping up on them. The swampy, humid season dragged along until he finally reached fall’s reprieve. Spring was perfect, though, with its early season baseball games and cherry blossom festival. 

“It’s ridiculous.” Holly shook her head, her hand in the bag of pretzels she brought along, having carefully broken some into smaller pieces for Cindy.

“Who’s pitching? Is that the Baker kid?”

She nodded. “Yeah, Terry and Lynn’s youngest boy, Danny. He’s pretty good when he’s focused.”

“I can’t see,” Cindy pouted.

“Come on up, princess,” Bucky said, lifting his daughter and holding her on his hip. “Better?”

She nodded, wrapping her small arms around him as best as she could. 

“You know, when you’re a little older, they have leagues just like this for girls.”

“Honey.”

“I’m just letting Cindy know she has options!”

“Where’s Henry?” Cindy asked.

“You see him, right over there?” Bucky pointed at the boy playing shortstop whose dark, curly hair was barely contained beneath his blue baseball cap, a big orange ‘B’ for Bears embroidered on it. All of the local Little League teams were named after some type of animal, and Henry’s game schedule made him feel like he was in the Wizard of Oz with how many lions and tigers and bears were on the sheet of paper he brought home from his first day of practice.

“Henry! It’s Cindy!” she shouted, waving frantically at her brother.

The boy looked up, waving in the general direction of his family. Bucky and Holly had been in the middle of packing up the Christmas decorations when Henry asked them if he could sign up for the neighborhood Little League team that upcoming spring. Holly nearly dropped a box of glass ornaments in excitement.

Watching a major league game, Yankees or not, paled in comparison to cheering on for his own son. Even strikeouts and missed catches made Bucky overwhelmed with pride, because Henry was out there trying, making mistakes he could improve on in their backyard with Bucky’s encouragement to buoy Henry’s spirits if he felt a little discouraged—or got distracted. He had to give the coach credit. Keeping the attention of a dozen six- and seven-year-old boys long enough to teach them how to play a decent game of baseball couldn’t have been an easy feat.

“Out!” the umpire shouted.

Holly clapped as Henry’s team left the field to line up near home plate. “Now we’re talking.”

The kid batting before Henry hit a pop fly and was out before he could even make it a few feet from home plate. Bucky heard Holly take a deep breath when Henry walked up to bat. First pitch was a strike, but the second was almost perfect, the crack of the bat breaking through the crowd’s murmuring. The ball flew into the outfield, landing just in front of the chain link fence that separated the baseball field from the playground.

“Nice hit, Henry!” Bucky shouted.

Holly jumped up, bag of pretzels spilling across the bleachers. “Way to go, sweetheart!”

Bucky grabbed Holly’s hand as they watched their son pass first and make it to second before the centerfielder could throw the ball back to the infield.

“Kid’s a natural,” Bucky whispered excitedly, as all good parents do, adoration filling his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of Cindy’s head. Holly liked to joke that the day Henry was born, Bucky cried more than their newborn baby did, but their son, and later their daughter, too, were the culmination of every hope and dream he desperately clung to for the better part of two years of just surviving. Because of that, he’d do anything for them.

He watched as the inning continued, his eyes on Henry the whole time. The next batter managed to get to first, but Henry flew past third and made a break for home just as the second baseman caught the ball.

“Go Henry!” Holly shouted. “Go go go!”

“You got this Henry! Come on buddy!”

Bucky was sure his heart was going to explode by the time Henry slid to home plate, barely a second before the ball flew into the catcher’s hand.

“Safe!” the umpire announced, nearly drowned out by Holly’s screaming.

“Attaboy Henry!” Bucky cheered.

“He did it! He fuc—flipping did it!” Holly gave Bucky a celebratory kiss, the two of them hardly able to contain their smiles long enough for their lips to meet for all that long. 

The rest of the game flew by. Nothing could compare to the rush of watching Henry steal home. The Bears won by a run, and Holly and Bucky were equally convinced it was thanks to their son. As soon as they found him after the game was over, Holly engulfed him in a hug, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“You did fantastic, sweetie! What a game!” she exclaimed, almost looking a bit teary-eyed when she took Cindy’s hand in hers.

“Look at you! Stole home like a champ,” Bucky said with a smile, pulling off Henry’s cap to ruffle his hair.

Henry smiled, front tooth missing, the first of his baby teeth to fall out. The tooth fairy had left him a quarter to mark the occasion. “Thanks, dad.”

“I think this calls for ice cream,” Holly said, as if they didn’t go for ice cream after every game Bucky was able to go to.

Bucky nodded. “Definitely. Whatever you kids want.”

——

Scoopland was one of the first places Holly had taken him to when they were stateside and he made the move to DC with her. A neighborhood staple she frequented before the war, she’d been excited to bring him there. The place boasted over 20 different flavors of ice cream, and after trying them all over the course of their first summer together after the war, found he liked their Rocky Road the best. Holly was partial to mint chocolate chip, a newer flavor which he thought tasted like toothpaste. 

Bucky walked up to the counter, tasked with ordering the ice cream while Holly wrangled Henry and Cindy into a nearby booth. She had the most difficulty getting Henry to sit down, since he spotted some friends from his baseball team on the other side of the ice cream shop.

“How’s it going Mr. Egan?” the teenage boy behind the counter asked.

“Can’t complain.”

“The usual for you guys?”

Bucky smiled. The usual. He wasn’t sure he ever figured himself to be the type of guy to have a usual at an ice cream place, but parenthood changed a lot of things. Sometimes, Cindy dealt out tea parties and temper tantrums in the same day. Henry got himself a trip to the emergency room just a few months prior while he was sledding on a snow day with his friends and went straight through a neighbor’s fence. He wasn’t sure how Holly managed on her own when he’d go away for work. At least her parents were nearby and took every opportunity to spoil their grandchildren that was presented to them.

He brought the four cups of ice cream over to the table, two in each hand, and placed the hot fudge sundae in front of Henry and tutti frutti with extra rainbow sprinkles in front of Cindy. He gave Holly a kiss as he handed her the cup of mint chocolate chip and snickered to himself when he sat down next to Cindy and saw Henry’s nose scrunched on the other side of the table.

“Listen champ, if there’s ever a day I don’t kiss your mom, that’s when you should be making that face.”

“‘S gross,” Henry said through a mouthful of ice cream.

“So is talking with your mouth full.”

Cindy stuck out her tongue, a distorted rainbow of ice cream and toppings that made Henry laugh.

“Next time, we’re taking you both to the zoo and leaving you there so the monkeys can raise you,” Holly said.

“We’re going to the zoo?” Henry asked. “When?”

“I wanna see a zebra and a giraffe!” Cindy exclaimed.

“How about next weekend?” Bucky looked to Holly for her approval, which was given in the smile that’d begrudgingly spread across her face.

Everything said and done, they made a damn good team as parents. Maybe he indulged the kids a little more than he should have, but Holly did her fair share of it too, letting Henry skip school to bring him and Cindy to weekday Nationals games for the hell of it. 

“Can I go say ‘hi’ to Danny and Paul?” Henry asked, looking over his shoulder at his friends who were waving at him.

“Fifteen minutes, but we’re heading home soon. It’s past your sister’s bedtime,” Holly said. “Don’t climb over the seat, Henry, that’s—” She sighed as he climbed over the back of the booth anyway, leaving a streak of dirt from his sneakers behind him. “He definitely gets it from you.”

“Me? The first time I met your parents, they made a point to tell me how much of a wild child you were,” Bucky reminded her with a grin.

Her parents were gracious enough to let him stay with them until he and Holly found a place of their own, although he was sure her returning with a ring on her finger made it easier for them to welcome him into their home. Holly must have done a hell of a job talking him up in her letters to them, because none of the awkward tension he’d been expecting was there when he first walked through the door to meet them.

Holly laughed to herself as she wiped off the seat with a napkin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Drawing on your bedroom walls?” he pressed.

“Can I draw on my walls?” Cindy asked.

“No. It wasn’t good when mommy did it.”

“Why not?”

“Because you have nice paper we bought for you to draw on, baby,” Holly said.

“It’s not as fun.”

“Sure it is,” Bucky said. “Remember the other day when we drew that castle with the unicorn and the dragon?”

She yawned. “You made the unicorn look funny.”

“Are you sleepy, Cin?” Holly asked.

Despite shaking her head, Cindy rubbed her eyes. She always did whatever she could to push out her bedtime, as if she were afraid she might miss something big if she went to sleep.

“I guess I should’ve asked mom and dad to watch her, huh?” Holly said. “I didn’t think we’d be out this late.”

Cindy mumbled something incomprehensible before dozing off.

Holly laughed softly, “And she’s out.”

“I got her,” Bucky said, picking up Cindy from her seat and placing her in his lap. She immediately curled up against him, and he tried not to think too much about how he wouldn’t know when the last time she’d ever do that would be. Hell, Henry was six and already ditching them to hang out with his friends. He glanced over at his son, face scrunched up in laughter at a joke one of them told him. His smile was like looking in a little mirror. 

Bucky ate a spoonful of ice cream, trying to tamper down the ache in his chest.

“You ever thought this would be how you’d spend your Saturday nights?” Holly asked teasingly.

“No.” Bucky smiled. “This is a lot better.”

#bucky egan x oc #john egan x oc #masters of the air x oc #masters of the air #bucky egan #john egan #mota #mota oc #mota fanfic #hbo war #hbo war fanfic

[1970sgothfreak]

Hello, love your stories and was hoping you could write a female batsis story about her visiting Bruce for his birthday, and the 2 of them are impromptu sparring when Terry comes back from patrol and jumps into protect bruce not realizing who batsis is and gets his butt thoroughly handed to him! And Bruce is just sitting there smirking smugly before explaining what was going on.

There was a knock at the door which was a little strange considering all the boys along with Alfred were already inside the house but Alfred went to answer the door anyway.

He opened the door up and smiled seeing a familiar woman standing in the entrance to Wayne Manor. Y/n smiled up at the butler, in her hands was a gift for her father. Due to her going to collage elsewhere it was rare she was home now but she always made sure to spend time with her brothers as well as with Alfred and her father.

“Madam Wayne, how wonderful it is to see you, please do come in master Bruce would be so happy to see you”

“Thank you Alfred, it’s wonderful to see you too, apologies for being late but the trains were delayed due to some accident at another station” she explained while giving the butler a quick hug and familial kiss on the cheek.

“No need to apologise, although I do hope you know master Bruce would be happy to see you, he was quiet upset not seeing you earlier” he explained placing a familial kiss onto her forehead as like how a grandfather would to his grandchild.

She would thank the butler and head towards the living room where she could hear the familiar shouting of her two Eldest brothers Dick and Jason. She laughed as she walked in and saw the chaotic game of twister that the Boys were playing.

“DICKY STOP CHEATING”

“I’M NOT, IT NOT MY FAULT YOU’RE SO BUFF JASON”

Both continued to argue until they heard her speak up.

“I come home for fathers party and this is what I see, now I’m slightly more sad that the trains were late” she’d laugh seeing them all look towards her and run at her squeezing her into a tight hug as they did when she was younger.

Bruce smiled slightly waiting for the boys to step back so he could hug her as well, once they did she placed the gift down before hugging her father placing a kiss on the man’s cheek.

“Happy birthday old man, I’m sorry I’m late”

“Thank you and I’m glad you came I-“ he stopped when he heard Damian interrupt him

“I’ve never seen father so worried before sister, next time perhaps call Todd to pick you up so you do not give him a heart attack”

Ah Damian, as honest as always

She’d laugh and the boys would head up to their own rooms after bidding their father one final happy birthday, He’d look down at her and she’d smile.

“It’s been a while since we have had a good fight father, how about we do some fighting as a second birthday gift” she suggested, looking up at the big brooding man

“You really are my daughter” hed say laughing as they both headed down towards the cave and once they arrived they got into a fighting position.

Y/n double checked making sure her hair was out of her eyes and then turned to her father with a smirk on her face.

~a few hours later~

Terry walked down into the Batcave just having finished his patrol when he heard the familiar sounds of Bruce grunting as if someone was beating him up, he would run in and see a woman he has never seen before fighting and somehow wining against Bruce.

He’d jump down still in his hero costume and would grab her fist before she could attack Bruce again, the woman would look at him confused before noticing the symbol on the costume and laughing. He was confused as to why this stranger was first hurting Bruce and was now laughing at him.

He was about to attack when he suddenly felt himself get swooped off the ground and flung onto his back, he would look back seeing the same woman smirking at him and getting into a fighting position, he’d run at her ready to attack but she was much quicker than him, grabbing his arms and sweeping his legs out from underneath him again before spinning him around and pushing both hands onto his back and sitting on his back for a good extra measure that he wouldn’t get up.

“Heh don’t tell me you never told the new guy about me, I’m hurt!” Y/n would say laughing her head off, keeping Terry in place.

“Bruce…what the hell is going on? Who is this woman and how does she know you” he said confused but clearly understood that these two knew each other, he soon felt his arms being released and a pressure being released off his back. He would look over and see Bruce Smirking and chuckling to himself before wrapping a protective fatherly arm around the woman.

“Terry meet Y/n my daughter aka Batgirl and darling meet Terry”

“Nice to meet you sorry about before but you kinda started it” she’d say holding her hand out for him to shake, Terry would simply stare at her in shock, amazement and a slight hint of confusion but she expected that

“Hi I’m Terry and I guess your also my sister now..? Since you’re his daughter” he’d say shaking her hand, she’d smile and nod before look up at Bruce.

“But seriously dad…his costume…really..?”

“Hey! What’s wrong with my costume!”

Bruce would smile to himself seeing the two act like siblings already made his heart warm slightly although he doesn’t regret not telling either of them about each other as he also found it amusing to see Y/n Kick the shit out of Terry.

( I hope you like it, my knowledge on Terry is still sort of new so I tried my best!)

#platonic #batfam x batsis #batsis reader #bruce wayne x daughter!reader #damian wayne x batsis #dick grayson x sister reader #terry mcginnis #terry mcginnis x reader

[kelcemenow]

Touchdown - Chapter 2.

Pairing Travis Kelce x Reader

Words 825

Warnings Slightly less of a slow burn for this chapter, but we're still only getting started.

CHAPTER 1.

CHAPTER 2. 

Taking a long and deep breath, you held the phone in your left hand whilst your pen was poised over the blank page of the notepad in front of you. The relaxing hold music had been playing for what seemed like forever. Terry had said he would contact Travis personally and then transfer the call over so you could speak to him. You had run through a few simple questions to ask him, hoping that the call wouldn’t last too long.  

“Y/N?” Terry’s voice rang out.  

You suddenly sat bolt upright in your seat, “Y-yes, I’m still here.”  

“I’m putting Travis through now for you.” Terry had a hint of an American accent, but you could tell that he had travelled a lot. He sounded older, friendly but straight to the point when it came to the job.  

“Thank you, Terry.”  

There was a quiet click before a short period of silence. You glanced over at the phone to make sure you was still connected when a deep, slightly gruff voice rang into your ear. 

“Hey, Y/N? Travis Kelce here.”  

“Hi Travis, um, thank you for taking my call.” You said brightly, trying to sound as professional as you could.  

“Don’t sweat it.”  

You awkwardly cleared your throat, your eyes scanning the computer screen in front of you, “So, I just wanted to hear from you regarding your recent success. The fastest Tight End to reach 10,000 yards is pretty impressive. Tell me how you’re feeling after last night’s game.”  

“I feel awesome, obviously. But I couldn’t have done it without everyone. Pat, Andy and rest of the guys have led me to that win. I just want to play football and everything else is just a bonus.”  

“Sure, of course. Um…can you tell me…um…”  

“Y/N?”  

A nervous feeling washed over you. “Yes?”  

“Relax. We’re just talking.”  

You laughed under your breath as you furiously scribbled what he had said onto the paper, “Sorry, I’m new to this. I erm…”  

“Hey. I’ll make this easy. Football is more than my career, it’s my life.” You could hear a smile in his voice, “Achievements like this make it all worthwhile to make my family proud for all of those years taking me to football practice and buying my sneakers and jerseys year after year. How was that?”  

“Um, great, actually. Thank you so much Mr Kelce.”  

He laughed loudly, “Ah man, come on. It’s Travis! You don’t have to be so serious with me ma’am.”  

You laughed back, “You can’t call me ma’am then! It makes me sound so old.”  

“I’m sorry, my Momma brought me up right, especially when I’m talking to a lady.”  

You giggled and glanced up, a few colleagues were looking over at you. You cleared your throat and settled into your seat, resting your chin on the heel of your hand, “So, what is next for Travis Kelce?”

“More football, more victories and more good times. Anyway, we’re talking an awful lot about me here, tell me about you.”

You were taken aback, “Um…well…wait-what?”

“I mean, I’m sure interviewing football stars has been your life’s dream and all, but what’s your deal?”

You supressed a small smirk, “Why don’t you just let me ask the questions, Mr Kelce?”

“Ah ah ah, Travis.”

“We should probably keep this professional, Mr Kelce.”

There was a pause before he breathed a laugh, “Of course, do go on.”

“So, we’re about halfway through the season now and-“

“Are you single?”

You sighed, “Are you always this difficult?”

There was another laugh, “Only when I’m being interviewed by someone with an irresistible British accent.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

You paused again whilst you tried to think of another question. He had you nervous, fumbling your words and distracted heavily from your work. You shook your head at yourself, failing at the first big job that had been assigned to you.

He broke the silence first, “Do you have any more questions?”

“Um, I think I’m done. Thank you for your statement and good luck for the rest of the season.”  

“That’s quite alright. I hope to speak to you again in the future.”

You paused, unsure of what to say. “You too. I…um, I mean…I-“  

He laughed again, “You’re cute. Peace.”  

“Yeah…bye. Goodbye.” You put the phone down before lowering your head to the desk. The cool wood against your forehead just highlighted how much heat was coming from your skin. You could feel your face turning red from embarrassment.   

“Not good?” Your head snapped up to see Hannah standing in front of you with her arms crossed.  

“I was an absolute idiot.” You smiled, “Please don’t say I have to do that anymore?” 

Hannah smirked, “I don’t know, maybe? Although if it was as bad as you think, you might not be asked to do it again.”  

Your head returned to the desk, letting out a small groan on its way. 

______________________________________________________________

I have so much planned for this! I am on holiday next week but the next chapter will be out soon! If you would like to be added to my taglist so that you never miss a chapter, just give me a shout!

Taglist @rd14 @dandelionwrites8 @keiva1000

#travis kelce x reader #travis kelce fic #travis kelce imagine #travis kelce #kelce x reader #kelce #nfl imagine #chapter 2 #touchdown series

[rainesrants]

California & Me

Pairing: Cove Holden/Reader, Baxter Ward/Reader

Word Count: 2.4K

Tags: Angst, Unrequited Love

Summary: Cove, your best friend, sees you as more than just a friend. When a certain someone returns to Sunset Bird, how will he react? Inspired by California & Me by Laufey

A/N: I hope you enjoy! Sorry if it was too short, I wrote this in about an hour. I might edit this in the future, though.

When Cove first heard you'd be going out of state for college, he didn't know what to say. After all, this was the first time he'd heard you change your plan. It was rather spontaneous, especially considering your original idea was that you'd be remaining in California, continuing your studies and volunteering there.

When he saw the worry on your face waiting for his reaction, he felt a piece of his heart crack. Forcing on a smile and a "Congratulations!" he watched you let out a sigh of relief. He knew he couldn't make you stay; who was he to deny you of your dreams? Little did you know, the moment he went back to his home, he began crying. He didn't even bother to go to his bed, collapsing on the ground as soon as the front door closed.

You tried your best to hide it, but he knew deep down why you had decided to leave. Baxter Ward, your "suitor for the season," had left, his absence leaving a hole in your heart. You insisted that you were fine, but it was noticeable to everyone the way the light in your eyes disappeared, your smile following it. The memories were too much, the feeling of heartbreak raw in your chest.

He tried his best to be there for you, entering through your window even more frequently to check on your condition. He didn't even bother to try "sneaking in" anymore, your moms seeing his parked car in the driveway even though he was supposed to be at his new apartment.

He could only watch as the bags under your eyes got darker and darker, neglecting the need for sleep as you scrolled through all your old messages and photos. It was as if everywhere you’d look, you would still see the memories of Baxter there.

On the day of your big move, everyone who still lived there had gathered outside of your house: your parents, Mr. Holden, and Cove. This time, you would be the one leaving. First it was Derek, then Liz, then Terry and Miranda, and finally, you.

Cove had agreed to drive you to the airport, and your parents hadn’t protested driving in a separate car. They knew you both needed your space to say your farewells to each other.

As you both got inside, your luggages in the trunk, he felt the thickness of tension in the car. The only sound that could be heard was the familiar lapping of the tides fading and the sound of the road underneath as he drove farther away from Sunset Bird.

The two of you remained in silence for what felt like hours, neither speaking a word as he parked in the airport’s garage. He was thankful your parents had ushered you to leave early, allowing you more time to speak with each other before you had to check-in.

The sound of your sniffles is what caught him off guard, and as he turned to face you, he watched the tears pour from your eyes. Without a second to spare, you unbuckled your seatbelt and practically leapt across the car to pull him into a hug. The feeling of your face in his neck was something he was used to, but the way your tears dampened his shirt wasn't.

“I’m going to miss you so much. I wish I could take you with me.” Your words were muffled as you spoke into his shoulder, squeezing him tighter as if he was going to be the one leaving. At your words, he felt his own tears begin to follow, and he wrapped his arms around your torso.

Choking back a sob, he slowly rubbed his hand soothingly in circles around your back. “Hey, it’s never too late to open a pretzel stand.”

You let out a small laugh at his joke, and as you finally pulled away, you rubbed the tears from your eyes into your sleeves. Then, gently pulling him closer, you grabbed ahold of his face, wiping the tears from his cheeks. It was to no avail, the waterworks continuing to spill from both of you. This time, you both laughed.

The taste of salty tears reminded him of the ocean, and as he looked at you, all he could imagine was the sun. He didn't know how he would function without your warmth, your comforting hugs, and your caring heart. He didn't know how to function without you.

“I’m going to miss you, too,” he whispered. He didn’t know what else to say, but as you began to sob even harder, he felt his heart break.

“Cove, please tell me this isn’t a bad idea. I want to leave, but at the same time, I’m going to miss everyone so much.” You said, reaching out to hold his hand as you spoke.

He felt his throat tighten as he realized what you were asking: “Should I leave?”

He was right, it was never too late to stay. You could just unpack all of your things again and stay there with him. Maybe you could take college, get a job, and do whatever you wanted to do in Sunset Bird. He wouldn’t have to hold onto the memories he had with you. Instead, he could be making new ones with you at every single moment.

But as he looked for your reaction, he paused. You needed his support at that moment, so despite his selfish thoughts, he mustered enough energy to say, “You know what you want to do, so follow your dreams. After all, we’ll always be here. I will always be here.”

At his words, he watched the way you seemed to relax, letting out a small sigh of relief. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

He wondered what would’ve happened if he had told you to stay, to remain with him. Instead, all he could do was wipe his tears as you finally left the car, grabbed your luggages, and headed to check-in. Both your parents and Cove’s dad were already waiting for you, and for once, they didn’t seem to tease how red and puffy both your eyes were. With a final hug, he watched as you entered security, turning back one last time to wave goodbye.

You had promised to keep in contact as much as possible, and you did. You called each other at every possible moment: when you landed at the airport, when you started your first day at school, when you were offered your first job, and everything in between. He was always there for you; it was the least he could do since you were always there for him.

Of course, he'd try his best to see you in person too, but it was more difficult than he thought to travel all the way across the country. Who knew one of the tallest people you knew would be afraid of flying? He didn't either, until he looked down from the window 10,000 feet in the air. He'd chant the words "this will be worth it" to himself over and over again, gripping the sides of his chair tightly. In the end, it really was worth it.

The knots in his stomach would disappear at the sight of you waiting for him, looking down at your phone to check if he had landed yet. He stood still, waiting until your eyes met. He could never forget the way your frown shifted into a smile at just the sight of him, the way you practically leaped to greet him, and the familiar feeling of you in his arms as you pulled him into a tight hug.

So when he heard you'd be coming back to California for Jude and Scott's wedding, his heart leapt out of his chest. This would be your first time visiting your hometown in a while, your new job restricting you from coming over too much. He was more than upset when he realized he was busy and wouldn't be able to see you until the actual ceremony, but he was even more upset when he heard a familiar name fall from your lips.

“Baxter Ward.”

“Huh?” Cove said, confused. You had been silent for a few minutes, despite you being the one to call him.

“It’s… Baxter. Can you believe it?” You let out a breathy sigh, as if in disbelief.

“Baxter who?” He forced out a laugh, acting clueless, but deep down, he knew exactly who you were talking about.

How could he forget your first kiss, your first date, and your first partner? Cove was supposed to be your first, but no, Baxter took that opportunity from him. He was only supposed to be a fling, so how come after five years, he had come back?

“Liz used to describe him as an “emo Victorian man.” He’s Jude and Scott’s wedding planner. What a coincidence, don’t you think?” The sound of your laughter rang through his ears, and he struggled to understand.

He felt his mouth dry, not knowing how to respond. Oh, how he regretted taking all his vacation days to visit you. Otherwise, he would be there in a heartbeat to see whether or not you were telling the truth. He knew you had no reason to lie, but the thought of his reappearance made him begin to worry.

“Hello? Cove, is everything alright?”

The sound of your voice is what snapped him out of it. Desperately trying to come up with an excuse, he began to panic. “Yeah, I’m fine! Sorry, I just dropped Cove Junior’s food.”

“Oh, sorry for distracting you.” You mumbled, and he couldn’t help but feel guilty.

Forcing out an awkward laugh, he said, “It’s okay, really, but what about Baxter? Tell me more.” He knew it would hurt to hear it, but what else could he do?

As you spoke, he recognized your tone of voice. Retelling the events of your day, he noticed how you dreamily sighed, and although it wasn’t a video call, he could imagine the way your cheeks turned red with just the sound of his name. His final straw was the day of the wedding. When he saw your face, he was so happy to see you that he almost didn’t remember Baxter. Almost.

During the entire ceremony, he would only catch a couple of glimpses of him, as if he were entirely avoiding the two of you. He could see how hurt you were, but you continued to smile so as to not ruin Jude and Scott’s happy day. That was when his resolve snapped, and he excused himself from the table. You looked at him in curiosity but went back to talking with Terry and Miranda after he lied saying he needed to go to the restroom.

Looking around, he searched the room for a person wearing a purple suit. That’s when he finally saw him in all his glory, standing in the corner of the room watching the others party with a sad look on his face. Although Cove couldn’t say he liked him, he felt pity on the man. When Baxter finally turned his head and saw him, he put on a polite smile.

“Cove. It’s a pleasure to see you again,” he said, almost as if he had rehearsed it.

“Yeah, you too.” Awkwardly putting his hands in his pockets, he slightly rocked back and forth.

“Have you enjoyed the ceremony so far?”

Cove simply nodded, and as he finally got the courage to confront him, he took a deep breath. “We don’t have to do this, Baxter. I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

He looked taken aback by his bluntness but quickly attempted to regain his composure. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. Perhaps you’ve misunderstood.”

“You know they’re in love with you.”

He didn’t even act surprised, just looking away with a guilty look on his face.

Cove continued with his statement, fighting back tears as his hands formed into fists. “They’ve always loved you, even after your disappearance. I don’t know if anybody has told you, but after you left, they were heartbroken. I had never seen them so hurt before.”

“I apologize, but there’s nothing I could’ve done for them.”

Cove could feel his temper start to boil, his eyebrows scrunching in frustration. “You could’ve been there for them, responding to their texts or calls.”

“We were both doing our own things. I was finishing my education and became a wedding planner, they were off in college becoming successful. It was… for the better.”

“For the better? After you left, they were a mess. I’m sure they haven’t told you, but the reason they went to school in New York was because they missed you so much they couldn’t bear to handle walking through Sunset Bird and the memories of you.” Cove was out of breath, and he realized he had raised his voice. Thankfully, no one was paying attention, continuing to party. Trying to calm down, he fidgeted with his hands. “Anyone could tell they like you. The way they look at you is the same way I look at them.”

Baxter's smile disappeared for a moment but he quickly put it back on, as if it were a mask. “To be quite honest, I’m a little surprised you’re the one telling me this. Even when I first arrived in Sunset Bird, I noticed your affinity for them. Why help me?”

Cove was trying his hardest to hold back on the waterworks, looking out the window to avoid his gaze. “They only see me as their best friend, nothing more. I’m not sure if they’ve ever noticed, but I do know one thing-they deserve to be happy. You make them happy, happier than I’ve ever seen them. So please, if they approach you at the party, at least listen to them.”

Baxter didn’t respond, and Cove quickly turned around, leaving him to his thoughts. He had a lot of regrets, but losing you was his biggest one. What if he had insisted you didn’t date him in the first place? What if he had insisted you stay in Sunset Bird? What if he had been the one to ask you out first?

When he finally watched you approach Baxter, kiss him, and return with a cheery smile on your face, he knew his answer. No matter how much Cove loved you, he would always lose to Baxter Ward.

#olba #our life beginnings & always #cove holden #cove holden x reader #baxter ward #baxter ward x reader #angst #unrequited love

[csuitebitches]

On your becoming more well read: what are some reliable somewhat accurate news apps you’d recommend? Also can you make a post on books to read?

The reality is that no media is fully reliable. There’s no such thing as fully accurate reporting. The best we can do is read everything with a pinch of salt.

The next bit could be a little controversial but it is something everyone needs to hear.

In order to form opinions, you must be able to read and consume all sides and spectrums.

That means reading left wing AND right wing news, no matter how aggravating either are.

You can’t tell good journalism from bad journalism unless and until you’ve experienced both. The same way, you cannot form opinions about a certain topic until you’ve seen all major sides to the topic.

Having said that:

News:

* Annual Review (website) : academic articles, short academic articles, popular articles

* CNA Luxury (website) : all things lifestyle, luxury, fashion, food, living

* BBC

* CNN

* Fox News

* Medium (for personal opinions and weird reads)

* Bloomberg

* Wall Street journal

* Yahoo finance

* New York Times

* Google news app (great if you want to quickly consume news without spending too much time)

* The rest are specific to my native country and my native language

Newsletters:

* Bloomberg open and close (markets and finance)

* Emerging tech brew (technology)

* Morningbrew

* CFO brew (because I’m interested in finance)

* Seedtable (this is the best newsletter you could subscribe to if you wanted to subscribe to just one. It’s business and entrepreneurship related but it’s very diverse- biotech, healthcare, money… it’s fabulous. A man called Gonz Sanchez sends the newsletter).

* A couple of others which are personal and selective because I belong to a certain HNI business organisation because of my family

Being well read doesn’t just meaning the act of reading in today’s world. You have to know things, people and communities.

Other methods:

I’m constantly on the look out for events, conferences and networking opportunities. Regardless of whether it’s virtual or in person (I appreciate both). The said organisation I’m a part of arranges some of the best, most influential personalities in the world to come and talk (I attended a business conference where Mona Kattan spoke; another one where Terry Crews spoke about failures; so you get my point about how big these things are).

If you don’t know where to start, I’d say start with asking your bank. Banks in my country tend to host events, lectures and conferences and as your account grows, your access to selective conferences gets stronger.

Another avenue is work; college; university, you know the usual. Ask your boss if they know of any work related conferences happening.

Look up online to see what’s happening as well in your city. Museums often host events too.

Try attending a wide range of events - art, classical music, finance, motivational speaking, history, religion - it will shape you up a lot.

Charity/ volunteer work is another solid way. You need to interact with a lot of people. Choose what you truly like - is it nature, animals, children, old people, education? Do what you gravitate to naturally. And do it because you genuinely want to help, not just for networking and brownie points.

And I’ll definitely make a reading list sometime :)

Edit: I’ve created a free newsletter with the intention of making you well-read with minimal effort on your side. Sign up here! Launch: 8th January 2023.

#c suite #powerful woman #strong women #ceo aesthetic #c suite aesthetic #personal growth #beauty #working woman #empire #that girl #q/a

[greatandholypangolin]

Wee Free Men - An Unprofessional Diagnosis Of The Characters

alright, this is likely going to be a long post and likely going to be an unfinished post, but I’m a firm believer that Terry Pratchett was neurodivergent and has projected his neurodivergency onto every character in discworld, so I’m going to be making headcanon diagnosises for every character, starting with Wee Free Men because I’ve been reading Tiffany Aching and fuck chronological order.

Note- I’m only doing the neurodivergent traits from THIS BOOK because I’m not combing through the whole mini series, I’m may be stupid but I’m not an idiot.

Tiffany Aching

starting off strong with our main character. I believe she’s definitely autistic and I’m going to just list autistic traits she shows with quotes to support them.

Not knowing what was socially acceptable, the unspoken rules. ‘she’d read the dictionary all the way through. No one told her you weren’t supposed to’ ‘I buried her cat […] someone had to’

word association that based on sensations ‘sussurus […] Tiffany liked the taste of the word. It made her think of mysterious people in long cloaks whispering important secrets behind a door’

not having the “correct” emotional reactions to things ‘I ought to be scared, but I’m just angry’

Being ignored or left out of things ‘People tended to leave Tiffany alone’

taking things literally (~measuring a soup plate after being told Jenny had eyes as big as soup plates~), ‘a girl was as beautiful as the day is long. Well, which day? In midwinter it hardly ever got light’

Lacking a proper understanding of danger ‘she used her brother as bait’

being very blunt in her speech ‘are you a witch?’

noticing things that others don’t, being observant (~do I really need examples? It happens so often~)

questioning things generally accepted because they didn’t make sense to her ‘The wicked old witch. And Tiffany had thought: where’s the evidence?’

I’ve come to the horrible realisation that I’ve gotten 9 autistic traits from only 2 chapters of this 14 chapter book, and only one character too. This may be a much larger task than I initially thought.

#Terry pratchett gnu #discworld #autism #neurodivergent #autistic #asd #disability representation #diagnosis #tiffany aching #wee free men #in depth #character analysis #media analysis #unfinished

[fanonical]

One thing I've been thinking about with, you know, everything that's happening in England right now, is the turning point when I realised that England was, in fact, not as great as I'd been led to believe. And now I realise I can answer the question of 'what radicalised you' with Horrible Histories.

If you don't know, Horrible Histories is a popular series of books written by Terry Deary whose mission statement is to teach kids history with the nasty bits left in, history your teachers won't tell you. It's been adapted into a million things, but its most well-known iteration is the TV show, which took a sketch comedy format, ran from 2009 to 2014, and won several awards. But that didn't exist when I was a kid, so I'm talking about the books here.

Many of the HH books are based around gross and gory bits of history, the kind that appeals to kids. There's poop jokes, there's fart jokes, there's stories about historical people dying in weird ways. That sort of material. And in books like Rotten Romans or Cutthroat Celts, that's all you really need. But the two books that stick out in my memory here are Barmy British Empire and Woeful Second World War, and that's what I want to discuss.

Barmy British Empire didn't really hold back when describing some of the horrific things England has done in the name of colonialism. It included contemporary accounts of slavery from people who had gone through it - never in a way that was inappropriate for the children reading, but not lying to them either.

I was in the Brownies at the time (do other countries have that? Precursor to the Guides, which is itself the girl equivalent to the Scouts) and it was this book that taught me that Lord Baden-Powell, who founded the Scouts, did so with imperialist ideals and was himself just a big piece of shit.

Woeful Second World War is the one that really stuck with me, though. It had a lot more lighthearted material, evacuees dealing with life in the country, people falling over in the Blitz, that kind of thing, but the overall mood was a lot more sombre.

One part I remember vividly was a cartoon, on one side of which was two Jewish children saying what they were told about concentration camps, and on the other side was two German guards discussing the reality of their situation. It was counched in simple terms ("They are shaving our heads to get rid of the lice."/"We are shaving their heads to use their hair to stuff mattresses.") but talked quite frankly about the Holocaust and exactly what happened during this time.

And I need you to understand - when I first read this, I was maybe six to eight years old. We'd talked about World War Two in school, but it was all the nice stuff, all the spin that England puts on these years to further its nationalistic ideas. Blitz spirit, dig for victory, life-was-tough-but-we-pulled-through. Nothing really about what we were fighting against and the reasons the war occurred.

But the other thing I remember was this quiz. As edutainment, the HH books had quizzes sprinkled throughout, and in this particular one it gave you a list of numbered statements and you had to guess which was untrue. It starts with the location - London - and then describes in detail a bombing raid that occurred in an urban area, in which thousands of civilians, including children, were burned to death. How there was no military target in the area. How they didn't have enough shelters for everyone. The fear and panic that spread through the people.

The fact that wasn't true? The location. This was not a German bombing raid on London. This was an Allied raid on Dresden. Everything else was true. This wasn't something done to us, this is something we did.

And again. The idea that we bombed people in World War Two is not exactly news when you're an adult with critical thinking skills. But I was six, and the idea that we were responsible for the same atrocities that we were told happened to us, that we were also responsible for the pain and suffering of innocent people...that was news. And that little spark made me wonder what else we weren't being taught in school about what things have been done in the name of England.

So, thanks for that, Horrible Histories. I know it doesn't seem much. But it really shaped my young life in a way I am grateful for, even a couple of decades later.

#Horrible Histories #Holocaust / #Child death /

[sweaterweather-247]

Dating Jake Peralta Headcanons

Before you two started dating, Jake would constantly flirt with you.

“Damn, if being sexy was a crime, you'd be guilty as charged.”

He always made bets between you two just to ask you out on a date.

“If I win you come on a date with me.”

“If I win, you pay for dinner Jake.”

After you two started dating, the flirting didn’t stop, it increased.

“Stop! Don't you know it is illegal to look that fine?”

You flirt back with him and he loves it so much.

Constantly binge watching die hard.

You two telling each other die hard quotes.

Charles constantly shipping you two together.

He helps Jake plan your dates just so he can watch you two.

It’s not creepy he just loves seeing you and Jake happy.

Constantly making out, in private and public.

You visit him at work to take him for lunch or just to hang out.

The entire squad loves you!

Rosa teases you, Amy tells you that if you ever want to vent about Jake to her you can, Charles and Terry ship you, Scully and Hitchcock will love you if you bring them food, Gina loves you both, holt gets used to you always coming around but you do warm up to him eventually.

You two have been banned from the evidence locked since you both knocked over a ton of boxes while making out.

Holt was not pleased but he was happy to see Jake happy.

His nick names for you are: honey, love, loser.

Your nick names for him are: loser, Mcclane, love, honey.

You tried to call him Jakey but Charles said that was HIS name for Jake.

Making out before bed is a must.

Cuddling always!

Jake is the big spoon most of the time, he wraps his big arms around you and kisses your forehead.

Sometimes when Jake is having a bad day or is upset about his dad, he wants to be the little spoon.

You cuddle him and whisper how special he is to you and how much you love him

Jake tries to take interest in what you like.

If you like TV show, he will watch it with you, if you like knitting/crocheting, he will ask you to teach him.

Jake will protect you with his life.

He’s made a lot of enemies and he knows they might hurt you to get to him.

If a criminal is on the loose, he will be overprotective even if you’re a cop too.

He will have someone outside of your apartment and will check in every half hour to make sure you’re ok.

Jake is a jealous boy.

If someone buys you a drink at Shaws he will put his arm around you.

“Oh can you buy two, since I’m her boyfriend.”

If it’s an old friend, Jake won’t say anything but Charles knows he’s jealous.

You have to reassure him that you love him and only him.

You can get jealous when other women flirt with him.

Jake sees the look you get, he’s a detective after all.

Jake reassures you that he loves you.

Sometimes you get into arguments.

It’s mostly that he works too hard and he doesn’t take care of himself or that you don’t protect yourself enough.

You both argue and try to cool off.

It may take a day or so for both of you two apologize to each other.

Jake hates it when you two fight.

You help him plan heists and join him in them.

Sometimes you betray him and sometimes he betrays you.

All In all, Jake is the best boyfriend, he’s your best friend and will do anything for you.

You would do anything for him.

(NSFW sorry if it sucks)

Jake is a Dom most of the time but is sometimes a bottom.

He whispers jokes in your ears and tries to make you laugh the entire time.

The pick up lines Don’t. Ever. Stop

“Are you a haunted house? Because I’m going to scream when I’m in you.”

He says “noice” a lot during sex.

He has handcuffs if you know what I mean.

Love bites when he’s jealous.

He will go rough when you betray him at the Halloween heist.

Role playing is a must.

Cop and a criminal.

If you say the safe word, he will stop immediately and ask if you’re ok.

Sometimes he will come home and immediately start making out with you and drag you into bed.

Charles has walked in on you two because Jake forgot to lock the door.

Jake fucks you like there’s no tomorrow.

After it’s all done, he cuddles you close and tells you that you did great.

Jake Peralta is the king of sex.

#brooklyn 99 x reader #jake peralta x reader #jake peralta #brooklyn nine nine

[writingcold]

Welcome to Chapter Five and Six of Best Laid Plans

A/N: Last two parts were hard.  These two parts are also difficult as we progress in the story, through tough relationships and hardships.  There is some good, too.  Little glimmers at least.  Well, one big glimmer of good to go with the little ones.  I do have a mature label on this because of the content, although it's very limited, and not... it's not smut and I'll leave it at that.    

This is a complete fiction - totally made up.  I do not, nor will I ever know Jake or any member of GVF.  That said, this story is mine.  Please respect that.

I’m sure I tortured her tons with this part.  Thank you for hanging in there with me and the overly dramatic brain that leaked out onto the page, @takenbythemadness.  💚you so much, my friend.

Content warnings: Angst.  Alcohol. Alcoholism.  Misogynistic character.  Power dynamic issues in marriage.  Talk of rehab.  Talk of relapse. M/F Sex, but not fun.  Sex used as a diversion to arguing. Unhealthy relationship.  Poor coping.     

Word count: approx. 9500

Chapter 5: December, 1984: Amanda POV

     I retreated my ass home for the holidays.  My senior year was beyond brutal.  I was licking my wounds with over-saturated spiced eggnog spiked brandy when Jenni waltzed in with her new boyfriend - Mark.  It was ridiculous how tall, dark, and handsome he was and she had him so looped around every one of her fingers.  I was happy for her.  I don’t think I ever considered my sister old enough to have such a relationship until I was forced to tiptoe past them making out on the bench swing when I was on a mission to toss the trash.  I was half tempted to inform Dad of the occurrences that were happening under his nose just to see if he would be giving Mark the same one way discussion that he had given Jake.  Why should I be the only one to experience that embarrassment?  Such fun.

      I was running on fumes and everyone could see it.  I had applied to numerous jobs and had heard back from none of them.  My advisor assured me that it was typical until after the fall term that businesses started looking at pending graduates and to just be patient.  I felt like I was running around with my hair on fire - how could I be expected to be patient.  One paid internship in particular, I had all my fingers and toes crossed for luck.  Franklin was one of the premiere firms in publications.  I knew I nailed the interviews.  I had been called back three times already.  To say that I was distracted by this was an understatement.

      Two days after the holidays, my mom had taken a call, to which she very unprofessionally called me to the phone using the alias of ‘Pookie Beans’ just to see me squirm.  I was mortified when I discovered Franklin's hiring manager was waiting patiently for me to finish bantering around with her.  Listening to the woman explain the situation and the offer, I was locked to the floor in absolute shock.  Mom knew the air had shifted and had rounded up those close to listen in.

       “Yes, thank you,”  I said into the receiver like a totally normal person.  “I appreciate your call.  I look forward to meeting you in March.”

       March.  Spring Break to be exact was going to find me in Des Moines.  My family waited with held breaths as I told them the nature of the job and screamed and hollered and cheered with joy that indeed all my ass busting in school was coming to fruition.  I don’t know if it was relief that poured through me, or apprehension.  Jenni and Mel demanded that we needed to celebrate and proceeded to round up friends to meet at Miller’s downtown.  Mark was kind enough to offer to be our driver for the night allowing us three to be complete idiots.  Marni, of course, along with Terry and Robbie showed up when we were already three drinks in.  We lit the pool table on fire with play and stories and celebrations.  And it was not just me that needed to be celebrated.  Marni and Robbie (yeah, that Robbie who gave me my first kiss) were engaged with a fall wedding in the plans.

      I would be lying if my eyes did not search to see if Jake would wander in.  At midnight, I was being dragged out the door and tossed into Mom’s car for a ride down to the river and a long assed night of ‘this is how it used to be’.  I realized that my friends, who were dearer to me than anyone, were different.  That was not completely true.  It was me.  I was different.  I had shifted from the small town to something that I realized may not fit well if I were to return.  

      It made me wonder if I still wanted to move forward with plans that I had made what seemed to be a lifetime ago.  A lifetime that was meant to be with Jake.  It would be easy to close that idea off and just not acknowledge that my dream of owning a bookstore in my hometown was very distant to me at that point.  I found myself being reflective as my friends and sisters danced around like idiots.  I should have felt that free - after all it was my big break that was about to slingshot me into a place where I was going to be …  I was going to be…  

      I stood at a crossroads.  Did I want to follow what had been etched in my spirit since I was little, or should I grow up and become someone that I thought I would never be?  Could never be?  My plans seemed tainted suddenly.  Just like how I realized how small my world had been at home, I was beginning to realize that what I had hoped for was perhaps too small.  There was a stab in my belly at the notion.  Had what I wanted with Jake small, too?  A curse flew out of my mouth as I withdrew into the moment.  It couldn’t have been possible.  At the time - when these plans were being laid down - it was the world to me.  Was Frankenmuth no longer good enough for what I needed?  

       I returned to school and finished the term strong.  The epiphany that I had had during the holidays rolled around my guts for months.  How I could still be clinging to any ideas that belonged in a book that had been closed years before, baffled me.  I had not seen Jake in over a year.  Our last interaction was soothing, despite all the pain that he was in.  That I was still in.  Instead of focusing on what could be, what should have been, I needed to move on.  I was nearly twenty-two holding onto a relationship that I had only held for six months when I was eighteen.  Perhaps I needed to grow up.  It was time.  I had four months of school then out the door.  My home was shifting and changing.  It was about time I did, too.

Jake POV

      Things were good some of the time.  Things were mostly not good too much of the time.  It wasn’t Martin’s.  The shop was great.  Henry was on board with a huge renovation of the main space which was going to start during January of 1985 after the rush of holiday concerts.  We were pulling in production dollars as well as nearly doubled our scheduled lessons.  Business was good.  I just wish my personal life was so good.

       Georgia and I were on rocky terms.  When she lost the job at the doctor’s office, she tried to work in a city job.  When the city job didn’t work out, she tried working in the bank.  When the bank didn’t work…  The woman’s demons were dragging her to a place I lacked the skills to assist her.  But I was there in the house, every night.  I held her hand.  I listened to her frustrations.  At least I did in the beginning.  

      When I discovered her drinking started before noon after she lost the job in the city register office, I voiced my concern.  I had come to love her.  It was not bright.  It sure as shit was not fireworks.  But the love I did develop for her was steady and present.  I believed it was returned.  We had found our footing in how to grow together.  I cannot recall when she started to slip.  Her struggles were deep seeded in her time long before I was ever a part of her life.  The remorse was more bitter than the actual arguments that she flung at me.  I was by no means a passive presence in these fights.  I was by no means innocent.  It was like my spirit would rear up in primal frustration whenever she would wipe out.

      Gig and studio work was steady, so at least we weren’t struggling from hand to mouth most weeks.  Money was tight.  Another something that Georgia focused on.  Any time there was a bump, she would retreat to something about her mother and not having basic needs met.  Those rages sent me running.  They could last for days.  The venom that would drip from her being would tear away my flesh and send my mind reeling into places that made me question everything.  There were times I had to escape to my parents’ home, only to be sent back in after a good old fashioned pep talk about responsibilities.  I was about to punch my father in the face at those times.  I was ill equipped to deal with the likes of what was in my wife’s troubles.  She drank, so I drank.  In the end it was no different. She was running from some unseen monster from the depths of her life, and I was running from the monster that she was in my own home.

      I had gone to Miller’s a few days after Christmas after one such torrent.  It was my ritual.  Take my hard slap of whiskey, followed by a few beers to take the edge off so I wouldn’t become that ugly person that Georgia was inclined to become in such times.  I stopped that night as I looked through the glass of the bar as a round of loudness reverberated through my ears.  There she was.  Amanda Fischer was leaning over the pool table to take a shot that she totally missed, but she cheered with her friends anyway.

       She had chopped her hair and her face looked thin under her hard girl style makeup of the evening.  And she was beautiful.  All the sunshine that resided in her radiated out like the ocean.  I willed her to look outside and see me.  It was a vain attempt to see if the gravity of her still longed to touch mine.  I watched for maybe a few moments.  The way she sang loudly, the way she danced with her friends.  The way she had changed but not changed at all at the same time.  And then it clicked.

       I turned around and went home.  Georgia was passed out on the couch.  Fine.  I took the six pack of beer from the fridge and sat out in my backyard looking to the heavens with a prayer.  I wanted my life to be what it needed to be and if this was how I was, with my wife, with my tiny little house, so be it.  The beauty that was Amanda Fischer was mine for moments only.  I could still treasure those moments.

       “The fuck are you doing here,”  Georgia remarked from behind me, through the window.  

       It was a statement.  It was outside my routine.  I took the last chug of beer before opening another.  “Didn’t much feel like Miller’s tonight,”  I said, turning my eyes up to the sky.

     The soured sound that struck my ears made me tuck my chin to my chest.  Anger colored my thoughts.  I had no desire to interact with her.  I took another deep swallow of beer with a hope that she would just go and sleep it off.  Instead, I jolted from my rickey assed lawn chair at the sound of glass shattering.  I tripped over my feet in my effort to get to her, hitting my head against the doorframe.  I could hear my own curses slipping across my tongue as I found her sprawled across the kitchen floor, glass all around her as she was trying to crawl away.  Her hands were bleeding as she whimpered out in her grief.  Our son’s name lingered on her lips as she bawled.  Somehow, I paused for a moment and collected what wits I had as the sudden sober mind slammed into my body.  I straddled her middle and pushed the larger pieces of glass away.

       “He would still be here if his daddy was a better man,”  she whispered, her lips thick with liquor.  “My baby would still be alive if his daddy would have stayed…”

       It was not the first time she had uttered the words.  I pushed my fingers beneath her and started to lift.  She swatted at my hands.  It hurt, but not enough to make me drop her.  She whined and struggled against me.  

       “If his daddy would have just stayed…”

       I replayed the words as I dragged her up to her feet and pressed against the kitchen sink.  I turned the water on to hold her wounds beneath the stream.  “I stayed, Georgia.  I stayed and he’s still gone,”  I said, my voice shredded.

       “His heart was so broke,”  she cried, her fingers flinching with pain.  “If his daddy - his real daddy…”

       I stopped.  “What do you mean?”

       “I don’t know,”  she let out through her teeth.  “I don’t fucking know.  Why is he gone?  He was so perfect.  He was my beautiful…”

       I went back to cleaning her wounds as she cried.  She needed help beyond my means.  I wrapped towels around her palms before wrapping around her frame and moving her into the bedroom.  Her sobs were heaving her entire body as I lay her down.  Her words replayed in my brain as I pushed her hair from her face and tried to soothe.  All the while, my gut was raging.  Real daddy.  I admit the words festered in my center while I pulled her in and held her close.  

      I was leery of leaving her home, alone, for fear of what Georgia would do to herself.  However, I had little option.  I had to work.  One of us did.  My tattered self had trudged out of the house, knowing that I was going to find a mess when I returned.  I just hoped that I would find her breathing.  

      I am unsure how I landed in my parent’s living room three days later, sobbing.  Georgia literally was black out drunk for two of those days.  Mom, ever the school teacher, decided to look into help and came back with a place that perhaps could help the woman through her out of control struggles.  I had no idea how I was going to pay for it.  This time it was Dad that stepped in, offering to help with a loan to get my wife back onto her feet once more.  It was not, after all, her fault that she was unable to get through this loss.

      “I’ve got to ask you to do this,”  I had said, calmly ladling soup into a bowl for her.  “Georgia, you got so low this time.  You are scaring me.  Honestly scaring me.”

      She was bent over the dining table, her forehead pressed to the laminated surface like a pillow.  “And if I say I don’t want to go?”

      “I don’t think it’s an option here,”  I said without looking back at her.  “You’re in a place where I can’t reach you anymore.  Perhaps these people can.”

      “This whole fucking thing was a mistake,”  she breathed out as I moved towards her.  “I should have just ended…”

       I swallowed my words.  I was not going to buy into the start of yet another argument.  Setting the soup down with a spoon, I retreated to my own bowl to stand at the counter.  “Georgia.  Please.  It’s time for help with this.  You are not surviving like this.  I cannot survive like this.”

      “The other night, when you came home,”  she started, her voice hushed,  “she was at Miller’s, wasn’t she?  That’s why you came home.”

      The stab in my chest was not as sharp as it once was, but it was there nonetheless.  I treaded forward with care, unsure if she was going to spin it into a fight.  “Amanda was there, yes.”

      “If I go, will you be here when I get back?”  

      She sounded young, afraid in the moment.  I was nodding.  “I’ll be here.”

     “Eight weeks,”  she sighed as she pushed herself up enough to tug the bowl closer to her.  “I don’t know if I can stand eight weeks of people telling me I’m wrong.”

      “You’re not wrong, Georgia,”  I found myself saying, and meaning it.  “It’s just you’ve gotten into a place where you need someone other than me to help you through this.  I’ll be here.  I’ll visit if you want me to.”

      She let out a sound of hurt.  “Better question would be, would you even want to visit me, Jake.  I’ve been such a bitch to you.”

      “I will visit.”

      There must have been something in my tone that soothed her.  We did not fight.  We did not drink.  We lay together in our bed and I tried to hold onto her the best I could.  Our love was not soft.  It was not born out of kindness and grace.  I kept reminding myself that it was there - no matter what.

Chapter 6: June, 1985: Jake POV

      Georgia had been home from treatment for months.  She had gotten a job at the grocery in the office and was once again making strides in social circles.  She seemed to have found a better footing.  We were doing better.  The shop was amazing.  My days were full, even during the long, touristy days of summer since I had convinced Henry to expand the display space to include albums, memorabilia, and trinkets of all kinds.  No longer were we just an instrument rental and repair shop.  Our old summer lull was a thing of the past.  

      It was not lost on me when Jenni and Mel Fischer bounded into the shop that their eldest sister was not with them.  I was busy with a customer, but could hear Henry just beaming at the pair about the renovation and questions about their family.  I honed in when they said that Mandy had graduated and was already in Des Moines working for Franklin.  I noticed that Jen had waved at me and I smiled back when Henry asked if the recent graduate was going to make it home anytime soon.  The answer was lost to distance when I refocused on the task at hand.  It was enough to know that she was doing very well as was evidenced by her sisters.  She was on her way.  I was filled with a happiness that I wish I could have shared with her.

      The summer was filled with work, friends, family and a new gig - I had taken up the summer league for kids soccer.  It gave me an excuse to run around on my Saturday mornings with a game Saturday and Tuesday nights.  Me being out with the kids let Georgia have time to be with friends and have the time she needed without me.  I encouraged her to take distance learning classes from the community college when she expressed an interest.  It was like seeing her have a reset of sorts.

      Autumn brought a busyness of school schedules, and the fall color show.  Georgia and I took a drive to the UP and spent a long weekend lost on hot chocolate and pumpkins.  The holidays were ratcheting it up with concerts and kids and lessons.  To have money in our savings account was a rarity, but we were becoming comfortable.  

      The holidays were crazy.  I had brought in stereo equipment for sale, mostly cabinet style setups that were popular for Christmas, as well as a new medium called compact discs.  Of course, CD players were pricey, but our orders could not come in fast enough.  The first day back after the holidays, Henry and I were already busy with the next wave of plans - one where I would be assuming full control of Martin’s Music.  It was towards the end of the busy shopping day, and I was getting ready to close the doors when the chime buzzed in the air.  Henry had already left for the day - demanded by Mrs. Ada who needed her man home to run interference between family members.  I came out from the office to find Amanda standing with her eyes all lit with emotions that I could not identify.  When those sparkly green glass eyes met mine, I could see the connection she was making with our past.  Our moments.

       “Hey,”  I said, my breath catching in my throat.

       She was stunning, standing there as she took in how we had changed and grown the shop.  Her hair was short against her neck, and her body was wrapped in an expensive lined trench.  

       “This is amazing,”  she gasped as she was just taking it all in.  “You’ve made it everything that you thought you could, Jake.”

       For a moment, it was like the years of distance had fallen away.  I was not married and she was still mine.  I felt the tendrils of her gravity mingle with mine as I moved closer.  I could smell her change in perfume, but it was perfect against her skin.  When she touched my shoulder, it was like an electric current between us. 

      “Hey, babe,”  a masculine voice called as the buzz of the door cut through us.

      Our moment was ruptured, dropping me instantly back to reality.  I watched as a man moved in where I used to reside, his hand wrapping around her waist to mark her as his own.  Mandy smiled at the dark haired man, patting his chest with a wide grin.

      “Uh, Roger, this is an old friend,”  she started introductions quickly.  

      I shook his hand before moving back to what would be safer.  I listened while she explained that they had met through friends down south.  She had a whole life in Des Moines.  A life with a man.  She had found love.  I smiled and laughed where I was supposed to.  I listened as I discovered that Roger was a sales manager.  And then that’s when I saw it, a huge assed engagement ring on her finger.  I had no right feeling like I was being flayed alive right before them, but I cannot deny that I was quietly bleeding out at her feet.   

      “Hey, we were going to go grab a drink at Miller’s,”  Roger said as he was shifting her tighter against him.  “You should come with us.  It’d be nice to get some dirt on this one.”

      Mandy’s eyes flicked up to her fiance’s face.  I pushed my hands into my back pockets as I shuffled a bit.  I had not heard the back door open.  Instead, I felt Georgia’s hand on my back as she approached.  I looked into her face, into her smile as she was taking in the couple before me.

      “Oh, hey,”  I said quietly as she leaned in for a quick kiss.  After I made introductions, I slipped my hand into my wife’s, holding tight.  “Uh, we were actually going to be going to Capri’s for dinner.  You’re more than welcomed to join us.  It’d be fun.”

      Everything in my gut was screaming at me like I was insane.  The sensible thing would be to just decline and move on.  Roger’s expression was what it did not need to be as he accepted.

      “Just to have less feminine company would be great,”  he joked as Mandy nodded slowly with a cringe smile.

      It was a mistake.  I know.  I know it was probably the biggest mistake I had made in years.  Mandy picked up quick that Georgia and I ordered ice teas, following suit with one for herself.  Roger, on the other hand, ordered a beer and voiced why I should have a beer with him.  Georgia patted my thigh to just relent after I tried repeatedly to sidestep the man’s demands.  We then sat there and listened to how Roger traveled all over the country and Canada for his company and how successful he was.  The fucker was a bragger the likes I had never come across.  And Mandy ate it up.  He laughed too loudly and drank too much and criticized rudely after eating most of his meal too quickly.  And then we arrived to it…

      “So, how do you two know each other - I mean I get it, these tiny little towns.  Everyone is related or whatever,”  he rambled as he was taking down his fourth beer.

      Georgia had had enough of the back and forth between Mandy and myself and Roger’s arrogant ignorance.  I could feel it brewing beside me as the waitress was taking away our plates.

      “Oh, Amanda didn’t tell you they used to fuck,”  Georgia remarked as she reached for her tea with a curled lip.  “And not just fuck.  They had their whole lives planned out, didn’t you sweetie?”       My stomach soured instantly.  Mandy’s eyes flashed as Roger straightened up his back, eyes hard with shock.  I ran my tongue across my teeth with a nod.  It was effective in the way it shut everything the fuck down.  I cleared my throat as I turned my attention back to Amanda.

      “It’s been nice catching up,”  I said as I tapped Georgia’s leg to slide out of the booth.  I dug out my wallet and tossed a twenty dollar bill out to leave on the table.  I was sure my cheeks were reddened, but I didn’t care.  I followed my wife out of the restaurant in complete silence.  I was sure that whatever I faced at home, Mandy was facing instantly.

      We didn’t talk at all.  Not in the car.  Not at home.  Georgia merely got ready for bed and left me to watch TV in peace.  I had crawled into bed and slept hard despite the torrent of thoughts in my brain.  

      “He’s everything opposite of you,”  Georgia said, her words slightly slurred.

      I woke to her voice.  A quick glance at the clock made me realize that it was still before 5am.  I rubbed at my eyes and asked what she had said, the smell of liquor was heavy on her breath.

      “Roger - he’s everything opposite of you.  That’s why your perfect Amanda is with him,”  she stated with a nod.  “She can’t have you, so she doesn’t want someone that will only remind her of you.”

       “Georgia,”  I said, trying to hide the disappointment from my eyes, my voice.  “I highly doubt I have any place in Amanda’s thoughts.  At least not in that capacity.”

      “Oh but she lingers in yours, doesn’t she Jake?”  she asked, stumbling backwards.  “It’s been almost five goddamn years and you still carry a fucking torch for that bitch.”

       My brain was rummaging through the house as to the possible whereabouts of her hidden stash of booze.  The gross laugh that she hissed bruised my skin as I slid from the bed and moved around her.

      “You’re drunk,”  I seethed, reaching for my sweatpants.  

      “Yup.  As a skunk,”  she laughed at her own joke.  “It’s the only way that I can have you see me, Jake, and take me seriously.  My counselor told me that.  Told me that you needed me to depend on you to make you feel special.”

      “Goddamn, that is not what was said,”  I ground out as I marched out of the bedroom.  “I’m not doing this again, Georgia.  I can’t see you, be with you when you’re like this.”

      “Where the hell do you think you can go?”

      “I’ll be back when you’re sober,”  was all I could say as I reached for my keys.

      I was out the door just as she started in with a louder voice.  I was to the shop in sweatpants and a t-shirt, decidedly not work clothes.  Hell, hair and teeth were unbrushed.  I didn’t care.  I sat at the desk, coffee in hand with thoughts absolutely wild over Georgia’s slip.  I knew to expect those moments of weakness.  I just wasn’t ready for how hard it was going to come at me.  I called Henry and he said he’s cover the shop for the day and to just go to Mom and Dad’s.  Why I decided that was a good idea, I have no clue.  At least there was an extra toothbrush with my name on it.

      Sam and his girlfriend were lounging in the kitchen while Josh and Ronnie were full of spit and vinegar.  I sat quietly, ignoring their revelry while I licked my wounds.  Georgia was not right, but she sure as shit was not totally incorrect.  The look in Amanda’s eyes over the crassness of my wife was jarring.   If my family realized that I was hiding, none of them let on.  I buried myself for the day, then passed out during a movie and they let me sleep.  When I woke before six to find myself on the cruddy basement couch like I was sixteen again, my body groaned like it had been ten years down the road.  Stumbling up the stairs to find Josh in the kitchen with coffee brewing felt familiar and just the medicine that I needed.   

      “Not going well,”  he started as I wiped my bleary eyes.

  ��   I shook my head as the only explanation that I could give.

     He pursed his lips.  “She relapsed?”

     “Yeah. I put her into a situation she was not ready for.”  I shivered as I brought my mug to my lips.  “Mandy was in the store with her fiance and he invited us to drinks.”

     “Yeah, no,”  Josh sighed.

     “So, Georgia comes in so we can go have supper - Wednesday night date night and all,”  I explained, seeing how stupid it was.  I mean it was just a courtesy and I didn’t think that Mandy would ever want to join.  “I kinda did the ‘hey instead of drinks how about dinner?”

      “Fuck no, Jake...”

      “I know.  It was out of my mouth before I could stop myself.”  I took another long swig of coffee feeling the heat infiltrate my stomach.  “And it was horrible.  I mean, not at first.  Conversation was fine for the most part.  Roger is a real piece of work though.  What a dick.”

      “Did you even give him a chance, Jacob?  You’re a little biased.”  I watched as Josh started pulling stuff out of the fridge for breakfast.  

      “Biased?  I mean this guy literally talked over her the whole night.  Any time she would start, he would just walk over her and correct her.  It was awful.”

      Josh flashed me a look as he started cracking eggs.  He didn’t say anything other than give me a raised eyebrow.

      “I guess Georgia had had enough.  But it was odd, like we were at the end of dinner, getting ready to pay the check and he asked how we knew each other.  Georgia just blurted out that we fucked.”

      “Oh my,”  he sighed as if knowing what I was going to say.  “And you left Georgia drunk?”

      “I had to.  It was part of our agreement before she left rehab.  We had to put into place boundaries.  I made mine if she was drunk and insulting me, then I had to leave to keep things from going into an argument.”  I stood to get a refill.  Josh waved me off and reached for the pot.  “She was throwing Mandy back at me.  I thought we could move on and be the friends that we’ve always been.”

      “But did you talk to Georgia about that at all?”  Josh asked before turning his back on me to work on the stove.

      He had me there.  No.  We had never talked about Amanda because it was a closed subject.  She felt threatened whenever there was a term break, typically drunkenly asking or fighting about it.  She feared that I would divorce her so that I could resume my life - the life I wanted before our baby.  

      “I would almost think that she would feel better now that Mandy is going to be married,”  I said quietly.  It was stupid to say but it felt good coming out.  I ignored Josh’s glare.  “I am hoping that my absence forced her to call her sponsor.  At least that was what was agreed on when she came home.”

      “Do you love her?”  Josh asked, his words hushed.

      I stayed quiet, unable to really discern who he was talking about.  When he turned to look at me, I knew I had just told him everything he needed to know.  The question was dual purpose and I failed.  I believe I would’ve failed no matter what answer I gave.

      “I love Georgia in a fashion.”

      “Jesus, Jake.”

      I shrugged.  “What do you want me to say?”

     “It’s been five years with her and you can’t honestly say you even love her.  What kind of a life is that?”  He turned and scraped eggs onto two plates just as toast popped up from the toaster.  

     “I know.  Believe me.  It seems like any time I think it might be time to walk away, she bottoms out and it would just be shitty to abandon her like that,”  I say quietly.  

      “But you’re thinking about it?”

      I nod.  Divorce was not something I ever entertained.  Ever.  It was not a thing to do in my family.  And yet, here I was knowing that I was in a marriage that there was no way in hell that I could remain in if I wanted to have any kind of happiness.  Josh shoved a forkfull into his mouth just as Dad walked into the kitchen in search of black juice.  We watched as he poured a cup before scooping up a plate of eggs.

      “Nice timing, Pops,”  Josh said, slapping him on the back.

      “I gotta get home and get ready for work,”  I said, quickly pushing the rest of my eggs down my throat.  

      I pretended not to see Dad’s questioning look.  Instead, I left with a wave and a knot in my gut for what I was to find at home.  The house was quiet when I walked in.  I saw an empty bottle of Jameson on the counter with a note.  I debated while I showered and got dressed if I wanted to see what was on that paper.  Puffing out my cheeks, I looked to find: 

Jake, I dumped it out and called Yvonne.  I’m sorry.  I went to work.  Please come home tonight.

     There was no real way to tell if she had actually dumped it and not had actually just drank it down.  I didn’t touch anything.  Instead, I walked back out, heading for the shop.  Talking with Josh was the first time that I had uttered the notion of leaving Georgia.  Of divorce.  It did not destroy me like I had thought it would.  Somehow, I was going to have to realize that in this case, it was not giving up or a failure, but preservation.

Amanda POV

     December of 1985 was the last time I was home to Frankenmuth for nearly four years.  I married Roger.  Yeah.  He came in and swept me up off my feet after meeting him at a dinner party and three months later, he proposed.  It was crazy.  It was so out of my realm to be so spontaneous, but such as it was, I was in love once more.  His home office was in Des Moines and so, living there was fine.  The job with Franklin was amazing and they held onto me like I was a ball of glue.  I was being swept along to management levels and I soaked up every bit of knowledge that I could along the way.  

     Having dinner during the holidays with Jake and Georgia was …  interesting.  I knew that Roger was a lot to take in at first.  But once you got to know him, he wasn’t so in your face and loud.  I had not realized that Georgia was so blunt.  I mean, I knew nothing about her until that night.  I’m not sure if it was the absolute possession that she held over Jake, or the fact that she edged into the conversation when she had no clue what she was talking about in the slightest.  It was fine until she just put our history out there.  I half expected her to continue on and explain that she was the reason why Jake and I were not together.  I watched as Jake left, and his little backwards glance to see if I was all right.  I would be a liar if I didn’t pity him.  His embarrassment was etched all across his lips.

      So, four years is a long time.  I saved every cent I could in the meantime.  Roger was gone.  A lot.  Work had him on the road six days a week.  In most instances, it made no sense to come home since it took longer to get to Iowa than it did to move on to his next destination.  He wanted to slow down.  He was sure that his company was looking to make him a regional sales manager, so his area would be concentrated to one area, versus all over the country and Canada.  While working for my company was great, the longer I worked for them, the more I wanted to work for myself.  The idea of my bookshop tickled my dreams.  Roger was not against the idea.  He just didn’t understand the notion of settling such deep roots in one place.  

      Close to our first year wedding anniversary, he surprised me with a trip to Greece.  He was like that - he would surprise me with these huge gestures that just blew me away.  It was a few weeks after that trip that I fell ill.  I spent a whole day in bed when he was actually home for a stint.  He tried to get me to go out with him - supper, drinks, friends, the whole bit.  But I actually had a fever.  Needless to say he went out and left me to convalesce.  By morning, my fever was high and I was throwing up something fierce.  He got me to the hospital only to find that my appendix was on the verge of rupture.  I was whisked into surgery, to which I was half expecting Roger to not be there as he was having to catch a flight to Texas.  To my surprise, he was there.  To my further surprise, he made a decision for me I wasn’t prepared for when the doctor broached the subject.

      “Mrs. Hastings, it’ll be important that you take it easy the next few weeks.  The nurse will go over any wound care and when to get in to have the stitches removed.  Also, you will have a little extra pain with the tubal ligation.  But that’s to be expected.”

      I had to have the doctor repeat what had been done.  Roger, all smiles and soothing touches, had explained that with our singular conversation where he said he did not want children, meant that I did not want children.  I was so out of it from the meds I had been given that I was sure that I had not heard the two men correctly.  Roger decided to stay the day, make sure that I was resting before he left for San Antonio.  He left me in this confusion.  He had requested for my tubes to be tied since they were already in there.  It was so flippant.  It was so… violating.  I had no say in the matter.  I was so shocked that I could not respond or process it for a long time.  

      I was alone for most of my recovery.  I was so embarrassed about what had happened that I could not talk to anyone about it.  Jenni came for a visit and I acted like nothing had happened, despite her asking me if all was well - multiple times.  It would not be the only time that I realized that my choice in husband may not have been the best choice.

      Four years.  I had not been home.  Roger liked to point out that my family visited Des Moines just fine.  But when I broached the subject of maybe giving up my position at Franklin and the sixty hour work weeks for opening my own shop, he thought I was cute, but was against the notion.  He wanted nothing to do with middle Michigan.  He wanted nothing to do with my family.  It became a sore point that I would bring up only to drop over and over again over the course of a few of those years.  I was lonely.  I wanted my family and friends and what was familiar.  

      September of 1988 Roger finally relented and we traveled back home to spend time with my family.  I thought if I pitched my idea while we were there, along with the facts of my business plan, he would not say no.  The autumn was bringing thunderstorms every evening.  I stood at the window of my Mom’s kitchen with a steaming cup of tea in hand while she was cooking her heart out.  We were relishing our time together.  It was something that I was desperate for and she seemed to know it.

      I left Roger in our hotel at one end of Main Street to make an appointment at the opposite end a few days before it was time for us to leave.  My building - or at least the one that I had hoped would be available when I was ready, was coming to market.  I stood on the sidewalk, eyes turned onto the building with its old brick and mortar and lovely red lacquered door.  I couldn’t help but smile.  I dreamed of my sign above the door - Sparrow Books.  I would carry the image of a sparrow throughout.  There was a little cafe bookstore that I fell in love with in Des Moines.  I knew that a little coffee and treat bar within the store would bring in all the more patrons.  

     “Mandy?”

      I knew that soft raspy voice anywhere.  I turned to find Jake standing at the door of Martin’s as he was just opening up the shop.  I smiled with a wave.

      “Hi there,”  I said as he walked towards me.  

      “It’s been forever,”  he said, his smile wide with warmth.  

      “Yeah.  Des Moines has kept me busier than I thought it would,”  I remarked as a woman walked up to the building’s door.  “Are you Mrs. Wruff?”

      “Yes, ma’am.  Are you Mrs. Hastings?”

      “That’s me.  Jake, I’ve got to go.”

      “Are you looking at your building?”  he asked as I started forwards.

      I smiled over my shoulder at him with a nod.  From the moment I entered, I knew it was my Sparrow.  I wanted it.  I was going to make it happen.  The space was perfect just like I always thought it would be.

      “No one has been in residence here for a few years.  The current owner will include all displays inside here and all the furniture in the apartment upstairs,”  Mrs. Wruff said as she snapped lights on for better viewing.  “The last renter left a bit of a mess, I’m afraid.  The owner says that the building will be as it is currently.”

      “Are there any others interested right now?”  I chanced the ask, sure that I would not get an answer.  

      Mrs. Wruff shrugged as I wandered deeper into the space.  Yeah.  It was mine.  It was in my blood.  I couldn’t leave her empty.  My eyes skated over the hand turned moldings from the forties and the well loved planks of the original floor from the late thirties.  My heart thrummed for the first time in years over the prospect.  This would be mine.  Not Roger’s.  Not my bosses at work.  I blew a breath from my lungs and shook Mrs. Wruff’s hand with a promise of a written offer before the end of the week.

      I stood outside staring at the building.  I must’ve looked like an idiot but I didn’t care.  I was picturing bringing the building back to what it once was - beautiful and unique and filled with life.  I would start with the apartment above so that Roger and I would have a place to live.  This was right.  This is what I was supposed to be doing.

      I was not going to, but I decided to step into Martin’s to find Jake sitting in one of the glassed practice rooms alone.  His eyes were closed and his amp loud as he played.  I smiled as he wailed along.  He had progressed so far in his own playing from the last time that I had listened that I was shocked.  

      “Oh, hi,”  a young voice caught me off guard.  “That’s Jake.  He’s the owner of the store.”

      I had so been caught staring.  I cleared my throat with a smile.  “Yeah.  Jake and I go way back.  Thought I would stop in to say hello.”

      “Uh, I don’t like interrupting him.  He doesn’t get his own practice time too often,”  the girl remarked as she was straightening merchandise.  “But…”

      He shifted into something that was dark, almost sinister sounding.  I watched as he stretched his neck up, progressing through his notes so deftly.  His lips were speaking ghostly words that were probably lyrics to a song I didn’t know.  He dug back in just as the girl started to move around me.  I reached out and stopped her.

     “It’s all right.  I can wait,”  I said quietly, looking into her face for the first time.  Her eyes sparkled as I looked back at him.  “I don’t want to interrupt.  I know this is…”

     The void of sound made me turn my attention back to him.  He was waving at me while putting his guitar onto a stand.  The girl shrugged and continued on with her work as the boss came out to join me.

      “How’d it go?”  he asked as he straightened himself out.

      I was nodding, the flutters of what I was about to do danced through my veins.  “God, I forgot how much I loved that place.”

      The huge smile he flashed me as he pushed his hand through his now shoulder length hair back.  He was truly small town golden blended with rock and roll.  I had never forgotten how handsome he was, but in that moment, he stirred me in places that had not been touched since it was by his own hand.  

      The air shifted as Joy Division started coming through the speakers.  He rolled his eyes to the ceiling as he groaned.

      “Meg, what did I tell you about what you can put on the sound system?”  he called out with a grimace.

      “You said that I can have anything on I want when you are practicing,”  she said with a sassy tone.  “You’re supposed to be practicing.”

      “I don’t mean to intrude, Jake, really,”  I said but he held up a hand.

      “But I’m not practicing, am I?”  he asked, returning the sass.

      “Don’t make me put on Roxy Music,”  she snapped, her head popping up from behind the counter.  “Get your ass back to practicing.”

      He laughed with a shake of his head.  “How about a cup of coffee, catch me up on you?”

      I swallowed, knowing that Roger was probably getting pissed off.  Something in the bottom of my stomach told me not to care.  Before I knew it, I was walking down the sidewalk with Jake towards Blaine’s.  He held the door open while I passed and led the way to what once was our table before I even realized it.  The diner was busy with the brunch crew, so we waited patiently while The Cars swooned out of the radio from behind the counter.  The chorus to “Drive” flooded my brain as I sat there.  My gaze turned to his, and it was just like way back before I started college.  The corners of his eyes creased, revealing a few more little crinkles of life that had been lived.  He seemed to be struck with the same wave of nostalgia that I was in the moment.  He let out a soft laugh as his body leaned forward to press against the table.  

      There it was.  That shy love that he filled me with all those years ago.  It filled my chest and my spirit to the point of bursting.  His gravity wrapped around me like the biggest bear hug and gave a little squeeze.  Our words were coming fast and friendly.  It was like there was no barrier between us and we could share everything.  He caught me up about the shop and Henry’s retirement.  I admitted to being exhausted over the long hours at Franklin in the buyers’ department.  

      The familiarity of Joe Cocker’s growl made us both pause as “She Came In Through The Bathroom Window” cut through the conversation.  

      “Remember how we stupid danced in Miller’s to this?”  I cracked, laughing with a hand over my heart.  “I thought for sure they were going to toss us both that night.”

      His eyes lit with the memory.  Jake ran his fingers along the edge of the table, drawing my eyes down for a brief moment.  It was long enough to see that there was no wedding band on his finger.  The indentation of the heavy ornament was still present, but the bond he had was gone.  He saw where my gaze had gone and he pulled his hand down into his lap.

      “When did that happen?”  I asked, taking a sip of coffee.

      “Six weeks ago,”  he said quietly.  “Not my brightest moments.”

      “I’m sorry,”  I said, making his tone.  He leaned back against the back of the booth, face turned towards the window.  “It must have been hard.”

       “You have no idea.  But it was broken from the start,”  he replied, his voice thick in his throat.  “You know that, though.”

       Just like that, it was done.  Our softness had roughened up with age and experience.  I glanced at my watch and panicked over the fact that we had been in the diner for more than two hours.  Jake walked me out, parting with me with a smile that I knew was my own.  It was enough to remind me of what could have been.  Should have been.  In his own shattered state, Jake could still reach me - reach me in the deepest parts that were still me.

       I found Roger angry as hell in the room.  I did not tell him of my appointment.  I did not tell him about coffee with Jake.  I let him yell at me without giving him any real reaction until he was blustered out.  I put on my biggest doe eyes and proceeded to have sex with him to make it up to him.  In the middle of him pounding me in the most unromantic way possible, a thought drifted across my memory.  It was a night not too long after the first of August during my summer with Jake.  We had driven down to the river and were just hanging out.  I remember watching my toe make ripples in the water as he played his guitar.  He was fudging the lyrics to songs on purpose to get a laugh out of me, to which he did each and every time.  I remember looking back at him and finding his eyes all full of life and shine.  It started to sprinkle and then rain, despite our need to just exist in that spot for a little while longer.  We had retreated to the bus and before long, we were tangled up in the back.  The way he would look at me as he touched me would set me ablaze each and every time.  I pictured him.  I pictured him from how he made love to me when I was young.  I imagined how he would make love to me as a man now.  Those strong fingers pressing into my flesh as his mouth sucked each and every inch of my skin.  The way his hair would tickle and make me sigh as I dug my fingers in.  The way his voice would get thick and choppy as he whispered through the air.  How he would relish every piece of me - mental, physical, emotional - and make each one feel beautiful and whole.   How he encouraged me to explore his body and love on him in all my awkward glory until I was flustered and embarrassed and laughing.  I wondered what he would do, what his reactions would be as I feasted on his body as the woman that I had become, with the knowledge I had gained. 

       I was so lost in my thoughts of Jake, that I suddenly felt my body reach orgasm.  I had not reached that level of pleasure in some time with Roger.  He stared down at me surprised at first.

      “Damn.  That’s rare,”  he grunted above me.  “Guess you needed me to really…”

      I tuned him out as he finished.  My brain went back to Jake; the way we were just able to sit and laugh with each other despite the distance that had been between us.  The way his lip would curl into a smile, the way his cheeks would blush a bit before he would allow himself to let loose and laugh was just like always.  The way he was still, watching me talk, listening – hearing my words.  It had been a long time since anyone had actually taken the time to hear me.  

      A loneliness pierced me that I had gotten used to pretty quickly after my wedding day.  Roger rolled off the bed, complaining how there was nothing to do in town.  Asking what we did for fun other than drink and eat ourselves silly.  My eyes trained to the window and the deep woods beyond.  My soul cried for me to slow down.  To take in the sweetness of the air.  To enjoy the feel of just touching the ground below and looking at the sky above.  Life did not need to have something happening every second of the day.  Did it?

       I called my lawyer the next day from my parents’ house.  Roger decided to leave early, citing a problem out east that he needed to take care of right away.  I called work and asked for a few more days to settle accounts at home.  It wasn’t like they could say no - I had not taken so much as a handful of sick days since starting with the company.  By Friday morning, my offer had been faxed over to the real estate office on the lot.  I stayed in the hotel, despite my Mom asking if I wanted to stay in the house.  It was nice to actually be close to what could be my future place.  I had supper with them every night and walked the stretch of downtown every night with plans swirling around my thoughts of what could be.

       Monday I received a call at the hotel with the news that my offer was accepted.  I could claim the keys at closing four weeks from the day.  I tried to track down Roger in the evening - he promised that he would be in his room for a call.  He broke that little promise.  I celebrated with my family that night and ignored his call when it came in sometime around midnight.  I knew I was poking the bear, but was it so hard to stay in one place for longer than an hour?

      Jake caught me standing outside the building Tuesday morning.  It was like he knew without even asking.  I had not even realized that I was crying when he captured my attention.  He wrapped me into his arms and held tight.  I was laughing and crying and a jumble of emotions that my dream of long ago - something I was convinced that I did not want any more - was happening.  This was mine - this beautiful building was solely mine.  

       “I can’t believe it,”  I sighed as the smell of his hair and cologne invaded my senses in the best of ways.  “I can’t believe I’ve done it.”

        He loosened his hold to look at me.  He gulped a breath before he stepped away, his hand still on my elbow.  “It’ll be good to have you home.”

       Home.  The way it left his mouth struck my chest and rooted me to the spot.  It was home.  My plans for a bookshop might have been a piece of a shattered, long abandoned plan, but it was real.  It was tangible. 

I’ll see you next Wednesday.  💚  

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[spacehero-23]

ok here are my thoughts on the dragon prince season 4 episode 1:

So Claudia knew/talked to aaravos for 2 years?? oh no…

i LOVE the new intro

not the step mage

high mage callum! my baby…look at my baby using magic and being a good boy

sorvus??? i know what you are

also the animation when they were walking felt a bit off, like unfinished/unpolished? no?

ok. not just when they’re walking. it gives me r.w.b.y vibes…pls no

huh, the jokes really don’t land, like not a single one…

well maybe the “eating 3 people a day joke” i liked that one

zym is coming!!!!

“when i found your body…” Claudia, my sweetheart. GET AWAY FROM HER YOU MANIPULATIVE FUCK!

wow. the viren and claudia scenes are hitting so hard. (low-key they’re the only good scenes in the episode so far..)

not amaya beating up the dancers…girl

umm anyone else saw that callum was standing like vieren used to?? when he was talking to soren?

also, protective big brother callum. we love to see it

but that scene just showed how frustrated he fust feel, rayla left and he has no idea where she is, he still has to worry about claudia, and now his baby brother is king and in constant danger.

“for now”....oh, oh no.

I don’t like how obsessive Calum is getting with magic…

Callum defenestrating himself, see now that was funny.

“happy birthday big brother” 🥺

Viren looks so done…let this man die. i think he’d prefer it at this point

terry!

“trees to meet you” does that mean callum wasn’t talking out of his ass? OR that it was so funny that the earthblood elfs decided to use it as a joke but it caught on? 

“because of rayla”... I can’t do this anymore

“I don't even know if she’s alive” see this last scene is what i love about the dragon prince! please let the season be like that!

again, the comedy is eh, but sorvus in the background are really giving “boyfriends” 

this episode feels so disjointed, like, I like the claudia and vieren stuff, A LOT. but then we have “Callum's secret birthday party” and it feels like I’m watching two different shows.

I feel like this is why they released this episode a week before, so that people could watch this reintroduction to the world and the new status quo and then on the 3rd, jump straight into the actual plot. 

I’m sure this episode was fun for the people who didn’t read the extra content and had no idea rayla left, and why she left, and ep.1 had this air of mystery to it (it was destroyed by the bad jokes, but whatever)

and again the animation, it was weird. bc some scenes looked really pretty and exactly like the old style. but some…well, early rwby would be an insult, but it was off-putting. 

#the dragon prince #tdp #the dragon prince netflix #the dragon prince season 4 #tdp netflix #tdp season 4 #tdp season 4 episode 1 #tdp callum #tdp soren #tdp ezran #tdp corvus #tdp rayla #rayllum #callum season 4 #tdp claudia #tdp viren #aaravos