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#//Well they did get the spider off Brady's hair
spider-babe · 3 years
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Babysitter
Peter Parker x Reader
Warnings: some swearing maybe? I don’t even know really. This was not proofread, so probably some grammar and spelling stuff
Summary: The Avengers hire a babysitter as a prank for Peter.
Word Count: 2.3k
Masterlist
A/N: Heylo! I honestly don’t know what’s come over me lately. This is my like third fic in the past two weeks, and other than that, I haven’t posted since August! Anyways, thank you all for reading!! I hope you enjoy!❤️💕🥰
“Mr. Stark, please explain why I can’t go on this mission!” Peter pleaded, confused as to why this was the one mission he’d be left out of.
“Listen Peter, this mission is dangerous, okay? We just don’t want you getting hurt, and plus, we need someone to watch after tower while we’re gone,” Tony gave Peter a small pat on his shoulder.
“How long are you gonna be gone?” Peter asked, tapping his foot repeatedly on the tower floor.
“Just a day, we’ll be back in the morning, most likely. But don’t worry kiddo, you’ll have company,” Tomg smirked and Peter quirked his brows in confusion.
“What?”
As you packed your babysitting bag, you felt yourself freaking out. The fucking Avengers wanted to hire you as a babysitter. Whose kid was it? Why did they hire a random babysitter off the internet? Would the kid even like what you were bringing?
You huffed and zipped up your bag, shaking your head. You just had to impress them, besides, you’d be fine… probably.
“Mom! I’m ready!” You called to her, waiting by the door. She was the one who had to drive you.
That’s the whole reason you were doing this babysitter thing. You needed money to buy a car. Until then, however, your mom had to drive you everywhere.
She walked into the kitchen, her hair and makeup done up. She smiled at you as she grabbed her purse.
“Well you look fancy,” you commented, and she smiled.
“Yes, I have a date tonight, I’m dropping you off on the way,” she explained and your breath caught in your throat.
Your dad had left you both six months ago, and you knew it was good for her to date people, but it still didn’t settle correctly.
She fixed her hair one last time before turning to you again, “You ready?” She asked, and you nodded.
On the drive there, you both remained silent, just a gentle hum of the radio in the car. She pulled up in front of the Avengers Tower. And you inhaled deeply.
“Here you are hun, good luck!” She smiled, rubbing your shoulder slightly.
You exhaled and opened the door, stepping out onto the street. You turned to smile at your mom, “Thanks, mom, good luck on your date!” You grinned, and she gave you an appreciative smile.
“Thanks hun! Love you!” She called after you as you shut the door.
You shot back an ‘I love you’, and made your way to the door. You rang the doorbell of the massive tower. Why did they have a doorbell? Why not a buzzer like a normal building of this height?
Your thoughts were cut off when the door and the one and only Black Widow stood there, dressed in her signature black suit.
“Hey! You must be Y/N! Come in!” She gave you a small smirk, and opened the door wider. You gulped and stepped inside, gripping the straps of your backpack to death.
“Hey,” you said, nervously looking into her eyes.
“Don’t worry, I don’t bite,” she smirked and lightly hit your arm. “Cmon, the kid’s upstairs, don’t be nervous, you’ll love him,” she gave you a mischievous smile, and you chuckled lightly.
She led you to the elevator and you ascended to the eleventh floor, a relatively low level based on the size of the building.
The doors opened, and she led you down a hallway into a room where you saw the one and only Iron Man, and a boy was talking to him, although you only saw the back side of his head.
“Ah! Look! There she is!” Mr. Stark clapped and the boy turned to look at you. He was devilishly handsome. You averted your eyes from him to look at Mr. Stark again. Your cheeks heated up, and you saw the boy’s cheeks turn pink out of the corner of your eye.
“Hello, I’m Y/N, it’s great to meet you,” you smiled, and stuck your hand out, very stiffly. Tony passed by the boy and shook your hand.
“Mr. Stark, you’ve got to be kidding,” the boy grumbled, placing his head in his hands.
“Y/N, I’d like you to meet Peter! Peter, I’d like you to meet your babysitter for tonight!” Tony grinned and you looked up at him, and then looked at the boy who flushed red.
“Mr. Stark, I’m seventeen years old, I don’t need a babysitter,” he mumbled, and you eyed him up and down. He was your age, and really fucking cute.
Then it really hit you. You were hired to babysit him. You were going to have to spend the night here with him. The thought immediately caused your body to heat up, and you shook it off, focusing on what Mr. Stark was saying.
“Y/N, you don’t mind, do you?” You were tempted to say no. You’d definitely embarrass yourself. But you needed the money. Shit.
“Uhm, no, I don’t mind,” you looked down at the ground.
“Great! Then it’s settled! Peter, we’ll see you tomorrow! Y/N, make sure he doesn’t blow up the tower while we’re gone. Have fun!” Tony waved, walking out with Natasha.
You looked after the heroes in disbelief, looking back after a few seconds. Peter had his head in his hands, you could see that the tips of his ears were red.
He looked out of his hands, finally, and gave you a small smile. You smiled back, and sat down on the couch, hesitantly of course.
“I-I uh, listen, I don’t know why Mr. Stark did this, I can just stay in my room if you want, or hell, you could probably go home if you wanted to,” Peter sighed, stammering lightly through his words.
“It’s okay, I don’t mind,” you gave him a shrug, “I don’t have anything else to do.”
“Oh, uhm okay then,” Peter gave a breathy laugh and you smirked at him.
You both sat in silence, looking anywhere but each other’s eyes.
Your eyes landed on the remote, and an idea popped into your head. “Hey, do you by any chance like Brooklyn 99 or Friends?”
After three episodes of Friends, and four of Brooklyn 99, you decided to have some fun. You were technically in charge of Peter for the next few hours, so, you did what any good babysitter would do.
You started making him do chores.
He complained at first, but after promising more TV time, he complied, later stating he felt as though he was being treated like a child. He was. No doubt. But Tony left you in charge, and you wanted to impress him.
So, Peter was set to work, with your occasional input. He washed and put away the dishes, swept the floors, cleaned his room, and even dusted a few things.
Honestly, you were impressed with his work. For being a teenage boy, he was really good at cleaning. Not to stereotype, you hated stereotypes, but most of the boys you had met sucked at cleaning and didn’t know how to load a dishwasher properly.
As Peter completed his chores, you guys had some chats. However, you decided to stay away from his room, only confirming it was done when he finished.
You found out that he went to Midtown Tech, a private school you had wanted to attend, but your mother refused, claiming she wanted you to experience the fun of public school.
Yes public school was… fun. The people were interesting, you had walked into the girl’s bathroom on at least a dozen accounts to see a shrine of some sort. Last time, it was a One Direction shrine. In honor of the band, you left a scrunchie on the floor next to the other sacrifices, if you will.
You already had a whole note category on your phone for weird shit you heard you classmates say, all of which you shared with Peter, and he found them amazing, and he was especially interested in all of the shrines in the bathroom.
You explained each one, from Tom Brady to Spider-Man and to One Direction, Peter getting immediately flustered at the Spider-Man one, but you brushed it off.
“So… what happens to them?” Peter asked, sitting criss-cross across from you on the couch, someone really liked story time. Your kidding. That was a joke. Please understand.
“There’s a lot of rumors, some claim that the spirit of the subjects come and receive them, a theory that’s kind of out there, but who knows. Another one is a girl keeps staging them so she can collect stuff, very plausible, but the most boring one is that the janitors come in and throw them away. Normally, they’re up for a day, two days tops,” you explained, watching Peter’s reactions closely.
He was extremely invested in your story, or that’s what you thought. He was really just interested in you, although the bathroom sacrifices were cool too. You mesmerized him. From the way you spoke with your hands, from the way your eyes lit up when you were telling a story or laughing.
You quickly checked the time, it was already 10:30, you wished that time would just pause, even for a moment, but somethings are set in stone.
As you stifled a yawn, Peter grabbed a pillow and a blanket.
“Movie marathon until we eventually pass out while on the couch?” He suggested, and you smiled, grabbing the blanket, patting the seat next to you.
Peter clutched the pillow to his chest, and sat down. You covered him up with the extremely large blanket, you’d have to ask Tony where he bought it later.
You scrolled through Netflix for a bit, coming across a movie you hadn’t seen in ages, All Dogs Go to Heaven. Sure, it wasn’t the holiday season, but it’s never too early for Christmas movies.
Peter pressed play and you unconsciously snuggled into his side.
You loved this movie, you really did, but a few minutes later, you were out cold.
The next morning you woke to a small shuffle of movement next to you. You opened your eyes, slowly adjusting to the light, and saw Peter’s face only centimeters away from yours.
You inhaled sharply, carefully studying his face, from every freckle to each crinkle, only by his eyes, and the curve of his lips.
You couldn’t help but feel creepy, but this boy was gorgeous.
His eyes started fluttering open, so you shut yours immediately, trying to act as though you weren’t awake.
It was quiet for a few minutes, just the sound of his and your breathing, the gentle hum of the air conditioning.
He slowly detangled himself from you, and you allowed him to easily.
As you heard him walk away, you opened your eyes, pretending to be waking up for the first time that morning.
“Mornin’,” Peter called from the kitchenette attached to the living room.
“Good morning,” you groggily called, wiping your eyes gently, attempting to wipe the sleep from them.
“I’m making some quality breakfast if you want some,” Peter smiled, and you grinned.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Cereal and…” he trailed off, “just cereal.”
“Perfect,” you stood, folding the blanket and placing it back where it was. Then you set the pillows up properly, making the living room look the same way as you had arrived.
Peter poured milk into a bowl as you walked into the kitchenette. He had a separate bowl set aside, empty so far.
“What do you want to eat?” He asked, opening the cereal cabinet.
“Uhm, I’ll just have what you're having,” it was too early to make decisions, so you decided to trust Peter’s food choices.
He slid the bowl in front of you when it was finished. You thanked him and bangs to eat, he chose corn flakes, not the worst choice, but it could be better.
“Do you have any sugar?” You asked, and his face lit up.
“You put sugar on corn flakes too?” His eyes bright as he retrieved the sugar jar.
“Of course! Otherwise it’s too bland, my grandpa taught me that trick,” you explained, smiling slightly at the mention of your grandfather.
Peter poured in his sugar, and pushed the jar over to you.
After breakfast, you both decided to do some tidying up, both wanting to impress Mr. Stark, and each other.
“Peter, I had a lot of fun,” you started and he shot you a grin back.
“Me too! It was so amazing!” He agreed, and you felt your face turn hot.
“Do you maybe wanna… do it again sometime? Like hang out again… sometime?” You asked, and Peter’s jaw dropped.
“Like a date, or just a hang out?”
“Well, if it’s alright with you, a date,” you bit your lip and looked down at the ground.
“A-alright, a date it is!” Peter exclaimed, and you looked up at him, grinning ear to ear.
Right in question, the elevator doors opened, and about six or seven people stepped out, Tony in front of them all.
“Welcome back Mr. Stark!” You welcomed him, making your way towards the group.
“Hey Y/N! This place looks about ten times better than when we left!” He praised, and you shrugged. “How much do I have to pay you again?”
“Just doing my job, sir, and it’s ten dollars an hour, and I’ve been here for around fifteen hours so $150.00,” you quickly did the math out loud, and Tony nodded, pulling a wad of twenties out of his pocket.
“Here kid, you deserve it.”
“Nonono, Mr. Stark, I couldn’t possibly,” you calmly explained.
“I insist, you made Parker do his chores, something we’ve been trying to get him to do forever, take it kid,” Tony placed the money in your palm and you nodded.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Alright then, why don’t you head home so we can debrief the mission? It was a pleasure having you here,” Tony led you to the elevator, and you sneaked a quick wave to Peter, sending him a small wink.
As soon as you were gone, Sam turned to Peter, arms crossed, a smirk adorning his face.
“So, how was the babysitter, Parker?” He joked and Peter smiled.
“Actually, I got a date.”
A/N: Heylo! Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you enjoy, and this was written in like, and hour by a sleep-deprived person, so... yeah. Anyways, thank you, and have a nice day!❤️💕🥰
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starrybethany · 4 years
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Maybe Someday - Matthew Tkachuk Imagine
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Part 2
Word count: 4.5K
He’s kissing on my neck but it’s like I can’t feel it. I fake a moan, I close my eyes. He doesn’t realize that I close my eyes to imagine that he’s someone else. Like I always do.
His lips were always on mine. And when they weren’t, he was talking- talking about how his team is playing Brady’s next week or how Taryn is preparing for college or how his dad chirped him on the phone last night.
“Y/N, you’re hurting me,” he murmurs. My eyes snap open. This isn’t Matthew, it’s Curtis. Curtis from the bar- good Curtis, who scared off the douchebag who was hitting on me and carried a respectful conversation with me. That’s when I decided to go home and sleep with him. I release my grip on his hair and my knuckles turn from white to red.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“No, it’s okay,” he reassures, placing a soft kiss on my cheek. “Do you want to keep going?”
“Not really.”
~
Curtis looks surprised to see me, and I’m just as surprised as him, but I hide my shock better.
“Do you two know each other?” My manager asks, eyes sliding between me and the boy across from me.
“No,” I quickly say, eyes connecting to Curtis’ bowtie. Matthew would never wear a bowtie- he always said that ties were more professional, people took you more seriously. A fun suit, though. He liked to switch it up once and a while.
My boss doesn’t believe me but brushes it off, leaving me with Curtis to train him.
“Do you, uh, do you want to talk about the other night?” He coughs awkwardly.
“No.”
He stands dumbly beside me, watching as I organize the money drawer, quickly counting the bills and coins and making sure everything is there.
“Oh, um. Do you just want to put everything behind us then? Start new?” He questions.
“I don’t believe in starting new,” I admit strongly, tensing then relaxing when the next words leave my lips. “Even if I was the one to give off a shitty impression. I do, though, believe in growth and moving on. And if you’re willing to move on, I’m willing to move on.”
He nods quickly, eyes glimmering. Clearly, there’s still some interest there despite the fact that I made him feel like an awful partner in the bedroom. “I’m willing to move on.”
~
I wonder what Matthew would think if he knew I was doing this right now. Curtis leaves gentle kisses on my jaw and I try my best to focus on that, but I can’t help to think of Matthew’s face when he realized what I was doing.
Those pained green eyes haunt me in my sleep. I wake up every night in a sweat, wishing I would’ve focused all of my love and attention on him like he did for me.
I see the whitened fists from him clenching his hands so tight when I brush my teeth, and I remember his curly hair swaying as he shook his head while I pleaded for him to stay as I wash my dinner plate.
I’m sorry. Please stay, Matthew, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.
But how do you explain that you’re afraid to commit to the one person who would give up the entire world for you?
“Hey, uh, I think I’m bleeding.” My eyes snap to Curtis’ but he’s looking down at his arm, where my fingernails are digging deep into his skin.
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” I mumble, nudging his body off of me and standing up.
I clean the marks for him.
~
“I’m outside,” I tell Curtis, staring up at his brick apartment.
It’s been two months since we started dating. I guess you could call it dating. I mean, we kiss and make out and talk and cuddle, but it doesn’t go much beyond that. Every time it starts to I think about Matthew.
Matthew’s breath on my lips, his fingers gliding over my soft skin, the words of worship leaving his mouth. Really, just anything about Matthew. I always feel like I’m thinking about him, and I know that I should get over it by now, since it’s been three months since he ended things with me, but I can’t.
Something’s holding me back. The feeling of losing the best thing that ever happened to me and forgetting that it ever happened is holding me back.
“I can’t stay long,” I remind him for the millionth time. Curtis pleaded with me to hang out tonight and I reluctantly gave in, wanting to get home in time to watch the entirety of the Flames vs. Blue Jackets game by myself.
My feet carry me up the brick stairs to my partner’s apartment and he’s waiting at the door for me, a bright smile on his face. He’s always smiling when he sees me.
Matthew would always give me a mischievous look that let me know he was up to no good. Then I would find a toy spider in my underwear drawer or my shoelaces would be pulled out of my running shoes.
“Oh, hello,” I greet the group of five people as Curtis welcomes me into his apartment. I was unaware that this would be a group event- Matthew would always ask me before inviting people over, even though we mainly hung over at his apartment.
My eyes move between the three guys and two ladies, my heart dropping as I recognize one of the girls. My heart beats faster and I pray to God that she doesn’t say anything.
“Hey, I know you, you were dating my neighbor, right?” She asks.
I nod wordlessly, afraid of what would happen if I were to open my mouth. I’m not sure if I would vomit or if I would vomit words.
“What happened? You two were so cute together.”
How do I tell this woman that I ruined it all? That I completely fucked up and Matthew will never forgive me, and you know what, no one can blame him.
“Just didn’t work out.”
They drop it but my brain doesn’t. My brain never forgets Matthew. I want to leave as soon as my plate was empty, but one of the guys turns on the Flames game and my mouth gets dry when I see that mouthguard hanging out of the side of his mouth.
I always used to tease him about that and he would just smile, telling me it’s a habit that he doesn’t want to fix.
Ruining my relationship with him is something I wish I could fix.
“I have to go.” My voice cracks and I hate it. Curtis looks concerned and his friends share glances, but I ignore it, hurrying to put my shoes and coat on and get out before I’m sobbing into the fabric of Curtis’ couch.
“Is something wrong?” He questions, resting a hand on my lower back.
I almost shudder at the contact.
“See you Monday.” His front door slams shut behind me and I hurry down the stairs to my car, tears streaming down my berry-colored cheeks as soon as I close the door.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Matthew deserves better than anything I could ever give him. That thought alone makes my chest heave and my vision starts to blacken as my breathing gets shallower. The realization of the situation hits me.
But I did this to myself. So I have to pay the consequences.
~
Once a cheater always a cheater.
I guess I never learn my lesson, right? I guess waking up tomorrow in this stranger’s bed with guilt filling me from head to toe isn’t enough torture, right? I need to live with that guilt and agony every time I see Curtis or hear Matthew’s name.
The liquor running through my veins thinks it’s a good idea.
It welcomes me to accept the fear that I’m holding. The fear of being connected to one person for the rest of my life, the fear that the person I decide to stay with may not actually be the one for me.
And is it bad that I feel worse for cheating on Matthew than I do for cheating on Curtis? I see a future with Matthew, not with Curtis.
My arms tangle around this stranger’s neck, allowing him to kiss softly down my throat. Matthew was always good at this. It somehow turned me on yet made me feel loved at the same time.
“My place or yours?” He breathes into my skin.
“Yours,” my eyes remain closed. I don’t want my home to be tinted from the memories of Matt.
~
He told me that his parents were coming to Calgary.  They were coming to watch a game and spend the weekend with him and he wanted me to join them. He joked that I couldn’t say no because he already told them about me, but the look in his eye told me that he would respect it if I did say no.
I said yes. And I had the best weekend with Matt, Keith, and Chantal going to the Calgary Tower and the zoo and acting like a tourist in the city I’ve grown up in. We watched Matt’s game together and cheered at the win and during breaks in the play, Keith would give us updates on the Senators game against the Islanders.
Chantal told me about how much Brady likes playing for the Senators and how Taryn really wanted to come with, how she really wanted to meet me after how much Matt has talked about me, but she couldn’t leave school.
And I was on a high the whole week after their visit. I was so pleased that our relationship was going so well.
I could spend all of the time in the world with Matt without getting sick of him and I met his parents and hell, it seemed like everything was going in the right direction.
Then I went out to the bar with my friends. I gushed about my perfect hockey-player-boyfriend and our incredible relationship and they approached the situation with hesitance.
“Have you checked his phone lately? What do you mean he has a passcode, what is he trying to hide?”
“How do you know he doesn’t have girls in other cities when he leaves? He could easily hide it and you know his teammates would defend him.”
“He’d probably hold his salary over your head at the end of the day, Y/N. He’d use it as a way to control you.”
“Aren’t you afraid of getting too serious with him right now? You’re so young.”
With shot after shot, glass of wine after a margarita, their words sunk under my skin. It cemented the doubts I already had, yet had forgotten about for the past week. Matt was in Anaheim at the time, they had a game the next morning, and I convinced myself that he was screwing another girl all throughout the night.
So I decided to do the same.
~
My fingernails dig into the side of the Styrofoam cup, causing a dent. I know what I need to do but that doesn’t make this any easier.
“Curtis, we need to end this. End this, thing, whatever we have,” I stutter through, running a hand through my hair. I hadn’t planned what I wanted to say in my head at all. I just know I needed to say it, needed to do something to become better.
To heal, to process.
He looks up from his phone, a shocked expression on his face. “What? Why?”
“It’s just, we need to, Curtis,” I insist. The chair scrapes against the dirty café tiles as I rise, rushing out the front door.
“Wait, talk to me, Y/N,” he pleads, catching up to me on the way to my car. He shuts the door as I begin to open it. “Just tell me, please. I can handle it.”
I turn around, tears already welling in my eyes. I shouldn’t be crying, I’m the one who did this to him. I’m the one who hurt him. “I cheated on you.”
I watch his Adam’s apple as he swallows. “Why?”
“I have so much pain inside-“”No,” he stops me sternly, “Why wasn’t I enough?”
“Because you’re not him!” I yell, exasperated. No one will ever be Matthew. And Matthew won’t even be the Matthew I had when he was mine. I broke his trust; I broke his belief in love and that’s the worst thing that you can do to someone.
“You’re not him,” I repeat in a raspy voice, letting the tears flow down my cheeks at the realization. I fuck everyone over. And I’m trying to do better, hell I’m telling Curtis instead of letting him find out like Matt did, but Curtis had to chase me to get me to do that.
For some reason, Curtis pulls me into his chest, taking the cup from my shaky hands and resting it on the hood of my car. My chest rises and falls with the loud thumping of my heart as I wind my arms around him, gripping him as tight as I can. I know it probably hurts.
But I have a feeling it can’t hurt more than the aching feeling in my chest, the longing for the love that I once had.
And I have no one to blame but myself.
~
I knew that he was suspicious. He was suspecting something. I could feel his eyes on me longer than he usually stared, his eyes would gaze at my phone whenever it would light up, he would ask me more and more questions every time I went out with my friends.
I told myself even before taking the first guy to bed that I would have two rules during my affairs. The first rule would be that we could never go back to my place.
Matt and I never moved in together. We planned on revisiting the topic after a year together. We would probably have moved in together in my apartment since he always said that it was more comfortable and he felt more at home than his apartment, but we never got to the one year. We were two months away.
The second rule would be that my new partner for the night had to use protection. I didn’t want to risk any STIs and even though I’m on birth control, any babies. I’m a horrible enough person, me raising a baby wouldn’t be fair for anyone.
Matt had gone to one of his teammate’s friends for a movie night. I don’t know, I wasn’t really listening. All I could think was ‘how pretty is this girl that he’s cheating on me with?’ I had called my friends and we got ready together in my apartment. I listened as they talked about their plans to get all of us laid tonight, and that includes you, Y/N. If your boyfriend is having fun, you can too.
Matt had found me in a gender-neutral bathroom that night, panties down to my ankles and dress pulled up to my belly button. The guy was buried inside of me. All of the desire and lust I had vanished when I saw his face.
Oh gosh. His face.
I dream about his face every night, the smiles, the funny faces, the laughs. But this face is in all of my nightmares.
Pain came first. Pain came in the form of tight lips and closed eyes. Hurt followed. His eyes widened and his lips went down. The bathroom door closed behind him.
I remember hurrying to push the guy away from me, bile and the alcohol I had drank rising in my throat as I pulled up my panties and yanked down my dress.
I caught him in the parking lot.
~
“He said so much to me, yet it’s etched into every corner of my brain. Y/N, I gave you everything I had. I gave you my heart, body, and soul. I was willing to put everything on the line for you. I saw a future with you and somehow, even though my heart is breaking into two, I still do. You met my friends- fuck- you met my family and none of that means anything to you, does it? I tried to disagree, but he wouldn’t hear me. I don’t blame him.” I pause the story to wipe a tear from my eye, ignoring the concerned looks from people wondering why I’m crying in this café. “He told me that I broke his heart and that he’ll never be able to love again. And that, clearly, we were over.”
Curtis watches as I stare at the table in shame. I don’t know what else to say. I haven’t tried to contact him at all. It seems disrespectful to him and his healing process.
“It’s been four months,” I grab a napkin to blow my nose, enjoying the burn of the harsh fabric on my skin. “And my friends tell me I shouldn’t still be heartbroken, he was probably cheating on me too, but I don’t know. I’m still in love with that man.”
“You remember his neighbor? The one that I’m friends with?” He speaks, pushing my story to the side. I nod, briefly remembering the girl from when I went to his apartment. “She says he’s much different now that you’ve ended things. He doesn’t leave his apartment except for work, he avoids eye contact with everyone in the hallways, and apparently he looks like he’s in rough shape.”
I bite my lip, processing his words. That’s not the Matt that I remember. Matt loved talking sports with the elderly man next door, he paid attention to his physique to remain in shape for the season, and if he wasn’t watching a movie at home, he was spending time with one of his friends.
Guilt bubbles in my chest. I fucked him up. And it did heavy damage. I bury my head in my hands, wanting to reverse the past seven months to take back what I did to him.
“How do I fix this?”
“You can’t,” Curtis responds quietly, watching as I take the information in. “But you can make it better.”
“How?”
“Talk to him. That’s what he needs.”
~
Hi Matthew,
I don’t even know how to start this. I’m sorry for writing this, I’m sorry for having to write this in the first place. And I’m sorry that I’m too much of a little bitch to tell you this myself. And I’m sorry if this brings up old shit that you’re trying to heal from or you’re already over everything and your new girlfriend is reading this over your shoulder going, “Oh, is this the slut you were telling me about?”
And I’m sorry for what I did to you. I’m really, really sorry. No words can express how apologetic I am and how much I regret putting you through the pain that I put you through. You treated me like I walked on water. You bought me souvenirs from the cities that you played in and spent days off buried in bed with me, laughing over stupid TikToks.
I destroyed that for us. For you. And I am so sorry.
Love,
Y/N
I realize that I put love while folding the laundry two days after putting the letter in the mailbox. I freeze with the movement, blood running cold.
I mean, it’s true. I still do love him. But he doesn’t care, he hates me. That ‘love’ probably felt like a punch in the gut. I bet he feels like I never loved him because of what I did to him. How can you say you love someone and then turn around and completely betray them?
That night I dream of two kids, a mini him and a mini me, running around a kitchen. He’s standing beside me, an arm wrapped around my waist and a smile just as big as the one he had the day we first met.
~
Matthew texts me a couple days later. The few days that I waited I switched between nervously anticipating his response and never expecting it to come. He texts me at night, asking me to meet him for coffee the next morning.
I can’t sleep that night. A million and one thoughts run through my head. When did he unblock my number? It’s not like I tried to contact him after the breakup, but I almost did on multiple nights after one too many drinks.
How will he react when seeing me? Will it be like when he saw me for the first time, or will he immediately visualize some other dude inside of me? I can’t help but think of how he’ll look. I always liked his hair more grown out, so that’s how he left it a lot.
I wonder if he cut it, the length reminding him too much of me.
~
I get there twenty minutes early. I want him to know that this is important to me. That he’s important to me, as shitty as I may show it. I twirl the coffee cup in my hands, taking off the protective holder to let the hotness burn the palm of my hands.
I know it as soon as he enters. My eyes lift from the lid of my cup to meet his. He hasn’t changed a bit; he looks just the way that I remember. His scruff is longer than I ever remember it getting, but it looks nice.
It suits him.
He slides into the seat across from me, leaning back in the wire chair and crossing his arms over his chest. He stares at me with a blank expression, daring me to say the first word. I know he won’t- he shouldn’t have to, I’m the one who messed everything up.
“Um, did you want to get something? They have really good steamers here,” I begin, weakly motioning towards the order station.
He shakes his head silently, staring me down.
“Thank you for, uh, coming, and um, hearing me out,” I stutter through, practically shaking under his intense gaze.
“Why’d you do it?”
I knew the question would come. And he deserves to know the answer, too. It’s just- the reasons are stupid, beyond pathetic reasons. And if I tell him, he can never unhear it. And knowing Matt, I don’t know if he’ll feel comfortable living with this thought for the rest of his life. I take a deep breath. “Well, um, I guess it was to get back at you, really. My friends convinced me that you were cheating on me.”
He raises his eyebrows. “And you believed them? And cheated on me instead of talking to me about it?”
“It’s stupid, I know.” I bite my lip, brushing a stray hair out of my face. His eyes follow the action.
��How many times?”
I wince at the question. If he didn’t like the answer to the last question, he definitely won’t like the answer to this one. And even though I was the one who was doing it, I don’t like the answers either. “Three.”
“Three times?” I can feel the bite in his voice, and I sink down in my seat, ashamed and humiliated because of my actions. I can’t even make eye contact with him, but I can feel him practically burying me into the ground with his eyes. “With the same person or different people?”
“Different people,” my voice is barely over a whisper.
“I don’t know what would be better,” he retorts. I watch his arms drop to his sides in disbelief at the answer. “The fact that you would sleep with other men and then with me-“”I made them use condoms,” I quickly interrupt, cringing as soon as I do it.
I probably shouldn’t be interrupting him right now or trying to defend myself. I need to take this time to take responsibility for my actions and beg for forgiveness.
“How long?”
“What?”
“How long were you cheating on me?” He demands.
“A month and a half,” I answer shyly.
“You cheated on me three times over a month and a half?” He confirms.
I nod, swallowing the bile rising in my throat. When he turns his head to the side, I can see the tears glistening his eyes over.
I’ve never seen Matthew cry. He never wanted to cry in front of me- I could cry in front of him at anything but he would never cry in front of me. When I asked him about it one time, he told me that it’s because he needs to be strong and be able to protect me.
I was supposed to do that too. Not by not crying, but by faithful and giving him all of my love. Instead, I’m bringing him to the point of tears by telling him all about my infidelity.
“Matthew, I know it doesn’t mean anything, but I’m sorry,” I breathe out.
“You could say that a hundred times and I still wouldn’t care,” he shakes his head.
Hurt flashes through my body at his words, but my brain forces me to understand. He doesn’t need to care about me anymore, I hurt him as bad as you can hurt a person. I should just be grateful enough that he’s still with me right now.
“Thank you for being the best boyfriend I could ever have. You did so much for me and I, I never appreciated it as much as I should have,” I speak slowly, knowing that we have a limited amount of time left. It’s clear by the way that he can’t even look at me right now that we aren’t meant to be with one another right now.
He wipes at the tears, blinking his eyes to get them to disappear. “You shouldn’t be the one to get the final word, I should.”
“Okay,” I nod. “Go ahead.”
“You really messed me up. You fucked me up for my next relationship,” he gives a watery chuckle, “But you also taught me a lot and we had a good ten months and four days together. Fuck what you did to me. That was awful. But the worst part is that I know you, and I know that you’ll grow from this experience and you’ll be even better for the next guy. I love you. Or, um, I loved you.”
It’s my turn to wipe the tears from my cheeks, biting my cheek to hold back the sob that wants to be released.
“Maybe someday, Matthew,” I give him a weak smile.
He knows what I mean. Even though he doesn’t smile back, I can he returns the emotion by the glimmer in his eye and the “Someday, Y/N” when he thinks I’m far enough away.
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raging-violets · 5 years
Text
Two Against One
Ship: Peter Parker x Brady Nash (brotp: Shadow Spider)
Rating: E for Everyone
Words: 1871
Warning: Posted under a read more and marked because spoilers for Far From Home. There ARE spoilers in all of this ficlet as it’s heavily influenced by a scene int he movie. You’ve been warned.
Tag: @captdnvrs
“You should take your suit.”
“I’m not taking my suit.”
“You should take your suit,” Brady insisted.
“I’m not taking my suit,” Peter also insisted, his teeth practically grinding together as he flew across his room, grabbing everything he could take to put into his suitcase. He stood back, pressing a hand to his chin, covering his mouth to survey the room. To survey the room…
“You should probably answer that.”
..and to ignore the incessant ringing of his phone. It wasn’t like Fury couldn’t find someone else to harass. There had to be some other Avenger he could find that he wanted to use to stop whatever was happening. He must’ve been desperate if Fury was looking for him.
Peter suddenly flinched and whirled around, glancing over his shoulder. The hair on the back of his neck stood straight and tall. His eyes shifted back and forth, working to find what had set off his spidey-sense. Did the air conditioning kick on or was Fury finding some way to scale the wall of his building to get to him? Was there a sniper trained onto him, ready to knock him out with a tranquilizer dart? Was Maria Hill watching him through some sort of hi-tech binoculars ready to—
Bzz bzz bzz.
Peter looked to Brady, who nodded to the phone as it continued to ring, then looked away. Then looked back once more, following Brady’s movements as he hovered above the floor. It was still so weird for him to see Brady’s powers in action; being able to phase through the atoms in the air to fly. And Peter thought being able to web swing was cool.
Bzz bzz bzz.
“So, are you going to get it or--?” Brady was cut off by Peter shooting out his hand and web-slinging a giant web onto the face of his cell phone, effortlessly silencing it. Brady let out a bark of laughter, eyes lighting up with mirth. “I’d love to see you do that to Fury for real.”
“I’m just trying to go on our trip, man. I don’t have a death wish,” Peter replied. He held out his wrist mounted web shooter toward Brady at the same time he opened his mouth to speak. “You got something else to say?”
“I don’t know.” Brady held up his own hand, a shadow ball slowly forming around his fist, like an eclipse blotting out the sun. “Do you?” Peter lowered his hand, prompting Brady to do the same. Finally, he lowered his feet to the ground. Peter expected him to quickly sink into the apartment below them, shoulders tensing as he anticipated the screams of terror.
First those that experienced the undoing of “The Snap” and then suddenly having a teenage boy drop through their ceiling like some sort of a poltergeist. Luckily, Shadowhunter had a good name spreading across the city, but that would be a nasty shock to anyone’s system. Let alone anyone finding out Peter was Spider-Man.
The corner of Peter’s mouth turned up. He sighed, unfastening the web shooter from his wrist before tossing it to his bed. He turned away, stopping when he caught sight of his old suit hanging in his closet. Staring at him. Taunting him as much as his consistently ringing phone was. Though, Peter thought, he also wouldn’t be surprised if Fury was somehow hiding in his suit.
Brady moved to stand next to Peter, flicking his hair form his face with a quick jolt of his head, and studied the suit for his own. “So? What are you going to do?”
Peter only hummed in response. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he stared at his suit, willing it to move. Trying to figure out if the slight forward and backward movement was from the air conditioning or—”
“—Hungry?”
Thwack!
Peter cried out as he was struck on the side of the head, flinching horribly. “Ow! What the--?” He pressed a hand to his ear the same time he heard Brady laugh hysterically, practically falling to the side while he tried to hold himself up.  It took Peter a few seconds to realize that, not only had he been struck in the side of the head with a banana, but that Brady had managed to make it phase through him just before it could hit him.
May, on the other hand, couldn’t quite control her giggles as she brought her hand up to cover her mouth. “I’m sorry,” She quickly apologized. But continued to laugh quietly, barely using her finertips to cover her mouth. Brady, on the other hand, continued to laugh. “I thought that you could sense that with your…” she snapped her fingers, trying to come up with the phrase. “Peter Tingle.”
Brady snorted.
Peter closed his eyes.  He had no idea what was worse; Nick Fury chasing after him, or his Aunt not seeming to understand how embarrassing her faux pas was. “Please, do not start calling it my peter tingle.”
“Please, keep calling it that,” Brady said. He grinned, looking back and forth between aunt and nephew. “That just made my day, seriously.”
“Don’t you have anything better to do than make fun of me right now?”
Eyebrows rising in thought, Brady brought his wrist up to his face, looking down at the blackened face of what looked like a wrist-watch but was actually the housing for his suit. “Not for another hour or so. Until then you’re all mine.” He threw his arm around Peter’s shoulder and pulled Peter’s head down, patting him on the cheek. Peter rolled his eyes and ducked from beneath Brady’s grasp, shoving him hard on the side.
‘So, you can dodge bullets but not bananas,” May continued.
“No.” Peter briefly closed his eyes, tilting his head back. He took in a deep breath and let it out, feeling the tension wash away form his shoulders. “I just really need this vacation. I need a break.” His voice came out softer than he’d intended, startling him with just how tired he really was.
“You deserve it,” May quickly agreed. She moved toward her nephew and enveloped him in a tight hug. Peter wrapped his arms around her, holding her just as tightly, suddenly feeling very…empty. He was excited to be going on trip but…May pulled back and Peter leveled his eyes at her.
His breath caught in his throat, practically making him choke for her dark eyes swam with a cloudy storm of concern and fear. He’d seen it every day since he’d moved in with her, but the storm seemed to grow into a hurricane the longer he looked at her. As much as she wanted him to leave…
“I’ll be fine, May,” he murmured, grasping her shoulders, tried to sound as confident as he could. “Everything will be fine.”
“You’re right.” May nodded. “I know you’re right.” She backed away, pressing a finger to the corner of her eye, turning away quickly. “Everything will be fine.” She ran a hand through her hair. “You know what? You should pack your suit, just in case.”
“I’m not bringing my suit,” Peter groaned, really starting to hate how often he had to repeat himself.
This time, instead of insisting, May turned to Brady and asked. “You’re bringing your suit, aren’t, you?”
At that, Brady held up his right arm, showing off the suit-watch attached to his wrist. “Never leave home without it,” he said. He tilted his head, flashing a cocky smile that Peter was suspicious looked more charming than cocky.
“Bring your suit,” May insisted.
Peter’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why are you taking his side?”
“Because she’s right,” Brady said.
“I can’t believe you’re taking his side right now.”
Brady gave a thumbs up. “Thanks for the backup, May.”
May pointed at Peter, giving him one of her almost seldom ‘no nonsense’ looks, leaving the boys alone. “I have a tingle about it,” she declared.
Peter groaned. “Please stop saying ‘tingle’, May.” His words fell on deaf ears as she left the room. There was a brief moment of silence before Peter abruptly turned to Brady, who opened his mouth, and said, “I’m not bringing my suit.” Brady folded his arms. “Dude, I have a plan, remember? For MJ? In Paris? How’ll I explain it to her if I have my suit around?”
“I know you’ve got that spider-leg thing going on, but I don’t think a giant fly-swatter is going to come out of nowhere and smack you against the Eiffel Tower.” He bobbed his head then spread his hands in the air as if reading off a tabloid cover. “Though that’d be headline news for the Daily Bugle: Menace Mashed Like Bug!”
“I don’t have to worry about that, be-because that’s not going to happen.” Peter started to shake his head. First a quick shake, then he couldn’t help himself but continued to shake like a bobble head. An image of a giant fly-swatter smacking him out of the sky came to mind. It was the less ridiculous of the thigs he’d had to deal with…like sprinting through the backyards of the suburbs because there were no trees to swing from.
“But what if something does? And you have to save her from certain death?”
“Then I’ll just…swing down and save her.” Peter shrugged. He started to pace, continuing to shrug and shake his head. “No problem.”
“How are you going to do that without people seeing you?”
“It’ll be dark! The Eiffel Tower isn’t that bright is it? And, besides, people will get that I’m trying to save her.”
“Yeah.” Brady paused. “Or that you’re kidnapping her.”
“What?!” Peter’s voice cracked in his protest. “I’m not...I’m not kidnapping her.”
“Well, you’re not.” Peter sighed in relief. It only lasted a second. “Spider-Man is.”
“Spider-Man isn’t kidnapping anyone!”
Brady lifted an eyebrow. “Well, what do you call it when you randomly grab someone and fling them around the city?” He thought for a minute. “Besides, how do you plan on getting her there if you can’t even talk to her. You’re so introverted you don’t even like to talk to yourself.”
Peter bit back a surprised laugh before he started to stammer out a response. “That’s, that’s what the plan’s for. Nothing goes wrong with a plan, right? It’s why they’re plans. And why you always have a backup.” He motioned to Bray. “You’re my backup. And…and everything’s going to go well.” He waved a hand beside his mouth. “Besides the whole…talking thing. It’s just…you know, putting a string of words together so that I can tell her how I feel. When I figure out what I want to say, the words will come. “I mean, I can change right?” He rubbed his arms. “Change is inevitable.”
“Except from vending machines.”
“Brade.”
“Sorry, man. You know I’ve got your back, no matter what. I just don’t want you to get hurt, you know. After what happened—”
“—I don’t want to talk about it,” Peter interrupted.
“—I’m just saying…it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
Peter wasn’t quite sure he believed that. Because Tony always worked to keep him safe, but Peter was sorry he was gone.
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iliketowrite1996 · 6 years
Text
Rivals, Ratings, and Roses part 4
WARNING- SEXUAL THEMES IMPLIED, NOTHING GRAPHIC. EMOTIONS AND FEELINGS.
‘’I have not been sending you roses. I have no idea what you are talking about,’’ M’Baku tells you.
   You’ve waited two weeks before confronting M’Baku. And, here you are, at breakfast right before your shift at work, and he’s saying that he hasn’t been leaving those adorable notes and beautiful roses for you.
   Because your life just can’t make sense for a moment, can it?
   First T’Challa wears those jeans and makes you have yet  another daydream about making out with  him- his lips are amazing to look at okay?- and now this with M’Baku.
   What is up with the attractive men in your life giving you headaches?!
‘’How could it not be you? The day of the date, or either the day before, it literally said ‘I can’t wait to see you’. How could that not be you?’’
‘’Because I didn’t write it,’’ he deadpans, ‘’I am sorry to tell you this, but I am not your secret admirer.’’
You sit back then, frowning and placing your fork on the plate, ‘’Then who is it?’’
‘’I do not know. Neither do you. That is why it is a secret.’’
‘’That was a rhetorical question, M’Baku.’’
‘’I know that. You are just easy to mess with,’’ he shrugs, taking a sip of his orange juice, ‘’Anyway. It sounds like this guy really likes you. And, since you obviously don’t see this, whatever we have happening,  going anywhere, I think that you should pursue it.’’
‘’Why do you think, that I think, that this isn’t going anywhere?’’
‘’You are very easy to read,’’ M’Baku shrugs, wiping his mouth, ‘’And it is fine. I just think that, without our friends, we do not have much to talk about. Not that you are not a great woman. The Jabari tribe would have loved you.’’
‘’I appreciate that,’’ you say truthfully, considering it a compliment that he thinks that the people closest to his heart would have liked you, too.
‘’Now, let’s pay. Then, I will walk you to your work. I will go to work and break the heartbreaking news to Wanda,’’ he jokes.
‘’Please do. And tell her that it was mutual. The last time she was mad at me, she tied all of my shoes together.’’
He laughs then, a big, deep laugh. The kind of laugh that shakes you even though you are not the one laughing.
M’Baku is right tough. You two are better off as friends. You’ve got a lot going on at work, as does he. He is in charge of the new exhibit, you still have to work on your articles.
So you part ways with a friendly hug, and you meet Peter in the lobby, and you continue the rest of your day as if nothing happened.
Like clockwork, there is another rose waiting for you at your desk when you arrive, the sunlight hitting the bright red petals perfectly, making the flower cast a shadow on the wooden top of your desk.
That is the twenty-fourth rose, the twenty-fourth time you’ve blushed, the twenty-fourth time you’ve had to hear Peter  and Brady go, ‘’Oooh, another rose!’’...and zero sign of the secret admirer.
‘’Have a great day, entle.’’
You sigh, placing it to the side and deciding that not concerning yourself with the identity of your secret admirer is for the best right now.
Right now, you have bigger things to worry about.
‘’I don’t understand  it. Am I doing something wrong,’’ you ask, looking to Peter, who is being of no help as he munches on his banana.
   ‘’You are not doing anything wrong. I think advertising your blog will get you more hits. Here, like this.’’
   He shares his ideas with you, and you write them down, planning on executing them this weekend.
   ‘’You know what would help my rating dramatically? If I could finally catch that Spider dude guy and get my interview!’’
   His facial expression changes, and Peter sits back in his chair, staring at the floor.
   ‘’Of course,’’ you drawl, leaning back in your chair and focusing your gaze on Peter Parker, ‘’That would depend on you finally giving me the interview, wouldn’t it, Spider-dude?’
   ‘’W-what,’’ he looks up at you with wide, hazel eyes training on your face, ‘’I’m not Spider-Man. I-’’
   You toss your pen holder at him, and, faster than you would ever be able to react, he is shooting out a web, firmly attaching the cup to the wall.
   ‘’Okay,’’ he grumbles, ‘’You got me. How did you even figure it out? It’s my secret identity.’’
   ‘’It was easy to figure out, Peter. You always happen to be gone when Spider-Man is saving the day. You literally almost jumped out of your skin when I told you that I wanted to interview him. Dude, you were obvious if I had taken time to put the pieces together. I only have one question for you now: Why didn’t you tell me,’’ you question.
   ‘’Would you have believed me otherwise,’’ Peter questions.
   ‘’Probably not,’’ you admit, ‘’But am I safe in assuming that the reason I can’t get an interview with spider dude-’’
   ‘’Spider-Man. I, uh… I call myself Spider-Man.’’
   ‘’...I respect that. Okay, is the reason that I can not land an interview with the ever elusive Spider-Man is because you are him?’’
   ‘’Yes,’’ he flops down in the seat across from you.
   ‘’So why don’t you want anyone to know? It’s not like I’d, like, spill your secret identity or anything. You can trust me, Peter. You know that.’’
   ‘’I know. That’s why I’m trusting you not to tell anyone about this. Not anyone.. Especially not Aunt May. If Aunt May finds out that Spider-Man is me, that I am Spider-Man,’’ he runs a hand through his hair, ‘’She’ll… I don't even know. Oh my gosh, I don’t even wanna know-’’
   ‘’Hey, hey! Relax, Peter! I won’t tell Aunt May.’’
   ‘’Thank you. As far as the newspaper article goes, well… I’m worried that if someone knows, they may try to stop me from being Spider-Man. Or hurt you and Aunt May. That’s why I didn’t tell you.’’
   Peter is kind of mature for his age. He’s literally saving lives. But he is still a kid, and he is still human. He has to feel a bit of pressure.
   ‘’I understand. Forget the Spider-Man article. Losing your trust, support, and you as an intern is not worth having that interview,’’ you tell him, standing and unclipping the pictures if Spider-Man swinging through the skies that you’d clipped form other sources.
   ‘’But what about your promotion?’’
   ‘’Please, kid. You know I will think of something. When I do, we’ll celebrate with a glass of champagne for me and a nice ginger ale for you.  ‘Resilience’ is my middle name. ‘’
   ‘’I thought your middle name was ‘Determination’?’’
   ‘’That was last week. This is my new middle name. Now, will you please go get me an iced coffee before we start the day? I need the caffeine.’’
   ‘’Of course,’’ Peter announces, offering to pay as he bounds towards the elevator, disappearing when the doors close.
   ‘’Why does your office look messier than it usually does,’’ T’Challa ask, leaning against the door to your small office.
   ‘’Because I’ve given up on the Spider-Man scoop,’’ you shrug, placing all of the pictures into a box.
   ‘’You’ve what?’’
   ‘’I just… it’s not possible, T’Challa. I can’t catch this guy. I have been trying for weeks, T’Challa, weeks! So maybe it’s time to accept that it is not going to happen.’’
   ‘’But… but our articles are due at the end of next week.’’
   With October coming to a close, it is now time for you to turn in your articles to Ramonda. T’Challa has typed his, edited it, added pictures, and posted hints to it on his blogs. His ratings are off the charts.
   Yours? Not So much.
   ‘’I think my time at the company is over,’’ you shrug, ‘’Maybe I’m not the writer that I think I am. Or… thought I was, I guess.’’
   Like any writer, you’ve had writer’s block. There have been times when you doubted your abilities. But it’s never been to a point where you actually questioned your home here at Wakanda Quarterly, where you doubted that you should continue working on the ‘’Black Panther’’ section of the magazine.
   There’d never been a time where you thought you’d just hand something over to T’Challa Udaku.
   ‘’The Black Panther has been the protector of Wakanda for generations,’’ he states after a moment.
   ‘’T’Challa, I know this.’’
   ‘’There have always been rumors about the Black Panther- rumors that question his ability to lead Wakanda, to strive for what is best.’’
   ‘’T’Challa,’’ you blink back tears, because what is he even talking about?
   ‘’Let me tell you this. I think that you are much like the Black Panther. You are smart, you are determined, you are talented. In your own way, you are a warrior. Even warriors have bad days. But they get back up and keep trying. That’s what you are going to do.’’
   ‘’Yeah,’’ you sniffle, wiping the tears that are now falling, ‘’I’ve got no interview and no ideas.’’
   ‘’What if… what if I could help you?’’ What if I could get you an interview with Captain America himself?’’
   What?
   Are the words coming out of those insanely delicious-looking lips for real?
   ‘’I know him,’’ he continues as you grab a tissue, dabbing at tear stained cheeks, ‘’I’ll help you.’’
   ‘’How will that look to Ramonda?’’
y   ‘’You and I both know that Ramonda does not care about how you get the interview. She cares about how you do it. And you are a gifted writer and you ask good questions. Please, let me help you. If you aren’t my competition, I’m just going to get that spot. And that’s no fun.’’
   For once in his life, he is being completely genuine with you. He wants to see you succeed, he believes in you. It makes him look real.
   It makes him look even more attractive.
   First the jeans, and now this. For goodness sake, he’s got no right to be that attractive.
   ‘’Thank you, T’Challa. You have no idea how much this means to me.’’’
   ‘’Eh, don’t worry about it. You can pay me back by writing the best article you can, entle.’’
   He leaves then, walking back towards his own desk to call Captain America, THE Captain America.
   ‘’Alright, I got your coffee,’’ Peter turns them, iced coffee in tow.
   And you’re on your third sip when it hits you...
   ‘’Eh, don’t worry about it. You can pay me back by writing the best article you can, entle.’’
   ‘’Have a great day, entle.’’
   ‘’No way. No, no, no no way, ‘’ you power up your laptop up, going to the interview, ‘’I must be on a sugar rush or something?’’    
   ‘’What? What is going on?’’
   ‘’Well, T’Challa just stopped over here, looking all adorable in his sweater vest-’’
   ‘’Too much information,’’ Peter winces.
   ‘’Sorry. Amway, we talk about the article and how I don’t have anyone now that I will not be interviewing Spider-Man, and he’s all like, ‘Well, i know Captain America personally, blah, blah, blah.’’
   ‘’He knows Captain America? That is so cool.. I met him last year.’’
   You turn t look at Peter with wide eyes, ‘’And you weren’t gonna tell me?!’’
   ‘’Oops?’’
   ‘’...Anyway, he called me ‘entle’ at the end. And the rose called me ‘entle’, too. At least the note did. And, according to this… ‘Entle’ means I’m beautiful. It’s Xhosa. Peter, T’Challa speaks Xhosa! Do you know what this means? It means that T’Challa Udaku is secret admirer.’’
   The words sound so strange coming from your mouth, and feel even stranger. It’s like when your foot falls asleep and you step out on it- you are familiar with the action, you know what you are doing, but it is pins and needles- it is numb and tingling at the same time as your foot seemingly ties to make sense of what is going on around it.
   That is your brain right now.
   In fact, that is your brain for the rest of the day, long after even Ramonda as gone home, when Peter has told you that he’ll be going home after he catches this robber but that he’ll text you when he does.
   When you and T’Challa are the last two people in your small offices, tethered together only by a desire to keep working on what you are doing until it gets done.
   It is about eight when he strides over to your small, cubicle-like office, a grin on his face as you text Wanda and Deena that you’ll be there with pizza soon.
   ‘’I did it,’’ he smirks, ‘’I got the interview. It took all day, and I have to buy him a drink next time  we hang out. But Captain America is going to be your interviewee.’’
   ‘’T’Challa, that is amazing!,’’ you bring him into a hug before you can think about it.
   Here is T’Challa Udaku.
   Pressed against you in a friendly embrace.
   Woah, how often does this dude workout?
   ‘’Um, thank you, T’Challa,’’ you pull back, clearing your throat.
   ‘’No problem. It’s the least I could do,’’ he turns on his heels.
   ‘’Why have you been leaving me those roses?’’
   Okay.
   You’d meant to step into that conversation with a little bit more grace, not stumble and flop into it like a baby deer struggling to take his first steps.
   Here you are, though.
   And much like when you start an argument with Deena or Wanda…
   There is no going back.
   ‘’I was wondering when you’d figure that out. Of course, I was going to tell you if you did not. I wanted to wait until after Ramonda choose one of us to takeover the magazine for her once she’s retired.’
   ‘’Where you doing all of this to get in my head? To make me not focus on my article,’’you question, crossing your arms over your chest.
   ‘’No, otherwise I wouldn’t have waited. I wanted you to focus on that and not on this. I may have handled it wrong, judging by the way that you are snarling at me.’’
   ‘’Please. I am not snarling,’’ you adjust your face.
   ‘’It was cute. Anyway... ‘’
   You’re not satisfied with his answer. If it wasn't’ to mess with you, to throw you off, why did T’Challa Udaku, who has made it his mission to annoy you at least once a day, who has seen your rival for years now, decide to suddenly send you flowers like he’s courting you?
   ‘’What’s the big idea, T’Challa? What’s this all about? No smooth talk- the truth.’’
   ‘’Fine,’’ T’Challa steps closer, keeping a careful distance from you, ‘’You want the honest truth?’’
   ‘’Yes,’’you swallow the lump in your throat.
   ‘’This may be a lot to take in,’’ he steps closer, ‘’Are you sure that you want to know everything?’’
‘’Just tell me, T’Challa! Or I’ll assume you're lying to me right now.’’
   ‘’Fine. Here it is. You drive me up the wall. In every way possible. You are stubborn, you are exasperating. You get under my skin. You are the only other person in this place, other than Ramonda, that I worry about beating me for writing positions. You are smart, and kind, and loving. You march to the beat of your own drum, you don’t take ‘no’ for an answer if you shouldn't. You’ve been chasing dreams since you took your first steps. You are literally… you are everything that Ramonda is. The only difference? I really, really like you. I might actually… even… be in love with you.’’
   Well that hit you like a ton of bricks.
   All this time, he’s been reciprocating feelings you’ve tried to push to the side. He cares about you… he may even be in love with you. It’s a day you’ve daydreamed about for a walk, and you're not entirely sure what to do with it. Because here he is, and it could be a turning point in your relationship. T’Challa is here, with you, and it’s better than you could have ever dreamed. This is real. You feel hopeful…
   But you also feel apprehensive.
   ‘’Entle?’’
   ‘’I don’t believe you,’’ you shut your eyes, gasping when he takes your face in his hands.
   ‘’I do care about you. Maybe it isn’t love, but I care about you. I have for a long time. It’s part of the reason that Nakia and I broke up- I couldn't very well keep seeing her knowing that my heart belonged to someone else.’’
   You open up your eyes, and you see nothing but sincerity in his.
   He is telling her truth. You’re not sure when your life turned into a Saturday-girls-night-in movie, but here you are. T’Challa Udaku actually ahs real, life, totally amazing feelings for you.
   ‘’So it’s up to you now. It’s whatever you want to do’’ he looks into your eyes asking permission that you silently give before he presses a kiss to your forehead, ‘’I would never dream of making you uncomfortable. If that is what I am doing, let me know. We can just be friends. Or whatever we were before. So… what do you think.’’
   Here you are, alone at a crossroads. T’Challa has made hi decision, and he is counting on you to make yours.
   On one hand, you two have been at each other's necks for years now, always striving to be better than the other. He is the reason you strive to be your best. Well, part of the reason anyway. And you know that the same can be said for him about you.
   Here you are, alone at a crossroads, with a man who is kind of/maybe in love with you, ready for you to make a decision, any decision.
   And you must decide which road to take.
   Because whatever road you decide on, you’re not so sure that it’’ll be easy to go back if you change your mind.
   More importantly, you’re not sure that you’d even want to,
   You are at the crossroads, and…
   You’ve made a decision.
AUTHOR’S NOTE- I am taken a foreign language now, and one in the fall! I think being able to speak more than one language is useful and cool. I have trouble with it sometimes, so any tips are great!
DISCLAIMER-  I own no Marvel Characters, their fictional worlds, their fictional materials,or anything like that. I simply own the plot, and Deena and Brady. All rights belong to the rightful and respectful owners.
@soulmates8 @chaneajoyyy @strarsshines-blog @greenswishbish @queentearra @darthmelanin  @starsshines-blog @beautycomesindifferentformsworld  @chaneajoyyy @90sinspiredgirl@theunsweetenedtruth @wakandankings @crazypup10 @stressedgyal @sunflowerpsalms
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sayitaintdoe · 5 years
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“hold on.  he made you breakfast?”
i’m doing that thing where i’m trying not to look like the most smug person in the room, and i’m failing miserably.  my nose scrunches up, and i shrug my shoulders as if to say who, me? before i’m nodding back at teddy, hands folded in front of me.  “breakfast.  my mans brought it to bed and everything.”
teddy seems bewildered, but it’s cait who speaks up, tucking a strand of her newly bleached and bobbed hair behind her ear.  “i didn’t even know he knew how to operate anything beyond a toaster.”
i flash her a look.  “who’s to say it wasn’t a short stack of eggos?”
her face falters.  “tell me it wasn’t flash-frozen waffles.  that’s not breakfast in bed.”
“if it’s breakfast and it’s in bed, i’m pretty sure it counts.”
cait seems less than convinced, but i’m convinced she was born with a stick up her perfect little ass, so it’s kind of a toss-up.  the two of us have been friends since my ill-fated attempt at living in the college dorms (i gave that up, like, real fast).  at the time, she was an exchange student from ireland.  now she writes articles for, like, literally every wedding publication out there, so she’s convinced that she knows everything there is to know about romance 101.
“point is, they’re still doing this,” is the only contribution kat gives to the conversation, adjusting her headset over her ears and scrolling through fortnite screens.  i can hear her muttering to someone on the other side of her mic, and i can tell that it’s brady who she’s in the middle of bickering with by the frustrated sigh she throws out before she’s dropping herself back onto the couch.  “i can’t stand him.  or him.”
“specific,” teddy laughs, sipping the earl grey she insisted on brewing, and before i can clarify, cait is speaking up for me.
“brady and preston.”
“what she said,” i tip my half-empty glass of wine in cait’s direction before bringing it back to my lips.  “but she’s just saying that.”  i tap the button of kat’s nose, and she glowers back at me before begrudgingly starting her next match and grumbling for brady not to “fuck it up this time.”
teddy is in the middle of texting her husband — god, what a bizarre word to use in correlation with one of my own friends — so she’s hardly paying attention to us.  in fact, i’m hardly paying attention to us.  i’m too distracted by the ring that keeps hitting a rainbow onto the corner of my living room wall every time the light from the window hits it just right.
i can’t imagine it, i realize.  getting married, i mean.  i know my mom’s happy, and that’s great for her or whatever, and anyone within the tri-state area can hear teddy singing from the rooftops whenever she gets home at night, but i can’t imagine sharing that much of my life with someone.  sharing my bed every night.  using the word “we” to describe something that was once just mine or theirs.
being codependent?  using those corny fucking couple expressions?  miss me with that.  relationships — even the very few ones that i’ve had my own experience with — are nothing but disappointment.  marriage is just, like, a sequel to that.
and the sequels are always worse than their predecessors.  that’s just a known fact.
anyway.  where was i going with this?  oh yeah.  fuck the sanctity of marriage.
teddy can be as happy with will as she wants, and she is, and that’s great for her and whatever, but that’s something that feels like a whole world away from me.
i notice that both my and cait’s gazes are on teddy, then, before cait’s blue eyes are settling on me instead.  “how did it happen, anyway?”
i’m playing stupid like it’s my job.  who, me?  “how did what happen?”
“you and preston, dumbo.  after all this time?”
i finish off the rest of my wine, give a nonchalant shrug like i’ve told this story a million times before even if this is really the first time anyone’s actually asked me.  wow.  is this actually the first time anyone’s asked?
everyone has just kind of given us a brush off up until now.  they’ve looked at us with this “oh, we were just waiting for this to happen” look.  even my mom and my brother.  they didn’t ask.  it’s like they just knew it was coming, an inevitability.
“well…” i nod my head over in teddy’s direction.  she’s still not looking over at us, but i have a feeling she will be in a second.  “it started at bill and ted’s wedding.”  yep.  there she is.
“wait, what did?” she asks.  “you and preston?”
“welcome to the conversation,” kat contributes dryly, before she’s swinging her mallet and hacking some poor unsuspecting zombie to shreds.
i tuck my legs under myself, and i can feel cait’s eyes piercing into me.  teddy’s already at the edge of her seat, her phone long forgotten and face down beside her.  i love being the center of attention, especially when i haven’t even gotten ten words out.  i’m just that powerful.
“well, after the disastrous date you set him up on — melania, or whatever?  horrible.  anyways, after that, we went up to my room and…”
my train of thought sort of comes to a halt right then and there, remembering laughing into the crook of his neck and kissing the smile off his lips and the way we didn’t even make it to the bed before he was fucking me up against the door, my dress hiked up around my waist and my fingers pulling at his hair.
“…and?”
it’s cait that brings me back to reality, pulls me away from thoughts of preston’s curls tickling my nose when i woke up that next morning.  my stomach settles and i sit up a little.  “and anyway, we ordered room service — belgian waffles for him, pancakes for me — and i asked him why he even bothers going on dates with all these boring girls when the girl he should be going after is right in front of him.  and he said i was right and… i don’t know.  i guess it just clicked.”  that sounds kind of believable, right?  “it made sense.  it makes sense.  we go together.”
teddy starts humming the song from grease, but it’s cait that’s concerning me.  i mean, cait’s always intense, always the serious one out of all of us — i don’t know if it’s because she thinks she has to be or because she just is — but right now, it’s like she has a million words bursting at the tip of her tongue and she doesn’t know which ones to go with.
“you good?”
“it makes sense, yeah,” cait winds up nodding, tucking her hair behind her ear again from where it must have slipped back out.  “you two, i mean.  i suppose i always thought he was taken to begin with, you know?  by you, i mean.  ever since uni.”
i’d normally make some comment about how cute the word “uni” sounded coming from her, but something about her just seems… sad.  longing.  off.  and then it clicks.  my face drops, sitting my empty wine glass on the coffee table in front of me.  “tell me you’re not thinking about spider-man again.”
“can we stop calling him that?”
“uh, no.  we can definitely keep calling him that.”
some insight on spider-man, who’s not actually peter parker.  he’s this, like, stupid flexible guy that the tinder gods decided to bless cait with two summers ago when some genius (me) decided that kat, cait, and i should do tinder groups since joy and teddy were already so annoyingly paired off as it was.
it didn’t work out for kat or me (frankly, i don’t think kat even tried), but it did lead cait to logan, who did parkour on youtube (because yes, apparently those people still exist).  and she was smitten.  and he was cute!  and then he got back together with his ex-boyfriend last christmas and she wrote the most depressingly empowering article on how love tends to be destined to fail and how the greatest love story is the one you have with yourself.
she went viral on buzzfeed over the guy and everything.  he’s definitely not worth that many second and third thoughts.
“anyways,” she says briskly, clearing her throat and sitting up a little, “i’m not thinking about him.  i’m just saying that you and preston make sense, is all.  i suppose.”
teddy’s giving her a look like she knows something i don’t know, like everyone knows something i don’t know, but my thoughts are derailed before they can come to fruition by the door opening and preston coming in with arms loaded with takeout.
“oh popeye, my hero,” i wail, all other thoughts forgotten as i get up from the couch, take the bags from his arms to sit them on the counter, and knock him back against the door to kiss him right there in front of everyone.
“i’m gonna have to bring you food more often,” he laughs against my mouth, and i’m smiling big when we part ways.
i look back over my shoulder, noting teddy’s eyes back on her phone and cait’s eyes on the two of us before she’s standing up and walking toward us.
i try to stop preston’s irish accent he always throws at her before i’m too late and it’s already happening.  “top of the mornin’ to ye,” he’s drawling out, and she’s laughing because of pity, i can only assume.  “you staying for dinner?”
“no, i actually should get going.  long night ahead of me,” she says, even though when she got here, like, two hours ago, i could have sworn she’d said she didn’t have any plans tonight.
“don’t worry, pres,” kat pipes in, suddenly gone from her spot on the couch and next to us at the kitchen counter without a sound, poking around in the bags of food for her usual order.  “i’ll be here all night.”
preston’s laughing, then, swooping in and launching into talk about some track he sent her that i remember spamming her airdrop with last week.  “lucky me!  you’re my favorite person in the room anyway,” he promises her.  “don’t tell doe.”
“i heard that,” i shoot back, leaning over and tickling my fingers into his sides.
when i look back at the door, cait’s long gone.
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gretagerwigarchive · 6 years
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Here's How 'Lady Bird' Created an Iconic Teenage Bedroom From Scratch
by Laura Schocker, Mar 4, 2018. source: https://www.apartmenttherapy.com/lady-bird-set-design-bedroom-meaning-256361
The coming of age movie is a Hollywood staple, which often depicts a young woman whose story is defined by a romantic relationship. Part of what made this past year's Lady Bird so special is that its subtle telling of a teenage female experience—from tenuous mother/daughter relationships to shifting friendship dynamics—relied on Lady Bird's personal growth as the main storytelling device. Its actors have received plenty of accolades ahead of Sunday night's Oscars. But one supporting role we think deserves mentioning is Lady Bird's wonderfully-nostalgic, turn of the millennium bedroom.
The teenage bedroom is also often integral to the coming of age story (think: Frenchy's bedroom in Grease or Dawson's movie-poster plastered room in Dawson's Creek). And Lady Bird is no different — the room is both the site of and the refuge from parental fights, as well as an expression of her personality. "We really wanted to show that she was somebody who cared about things as much as she's going through these pains, and trying to fit in," production designer Chris Jones told Apartment Therapy. We spoke to Jones about how he, along with writer and director Greta Gerwig, set decorator Traci Spadorcia, and the rest of the team built those feelings from scratch in a real home in Van Nuys, California.
I read that Greta Gerwig said she wanted Lady Bird to "look like a memory." I think a lot of us have these very real memories about our teenage bedrooms—whether it's the posters that hung on the walls, or the books on the shelves, what we stashed in the desk drawers. How did you go about creating those memories from scratch for Lady Bird? What feelings were you trying to convey with the objects?
 We wanted the bedroom, most importantly, to show the layers of history that Lady Bird already had. The movie is about what happens to her throughout the film, but also what happened to her and what could happen to her in the future, that whole transitional period. We wanted the bedroom to feel like it was also in that transition and growing from something younger to something older.
We went looking for furniture that could be little girl furniture, but that she had kept. The desk in the corner was really an old white desk from, say the 80s and the 90s. Then the bed, it's missing a spindle here and missing a piece there, because it's been around for a long time. We wanted that to be the basic structure of the room. Then we built on top of that with the items that would be more teenage and more adult.
Why did you choose pink for the walls?
Greta and I had spoken about colors, and we wanted the entire film to have a pastel color palette, based on paintings by Wayne Thiebaud, a painter in Sacramento. When it came to her room, we talked about pink or purple. But purple is kind of a royal color, and pink is a bit more playful, and we felt that the character was more playful and strong.
The paint was something that we also thought might harken back to being a little girl, but it's a hip cool color. And it blended with her hair color that we had in the film. It was also very different, shockingly different, from the rest of the house. We did a lot of camera tests with the pink to make sure it was going to work, and to make sure it wasn't going to be too different from the rest of the house so it felt separate.
And how did you build on top of that?
When you work on a film with the budget that Lady Bird had, you can't always get everything you want. And one of the things that's hard to do in a room that's covered with all kinds of imagery like that, for a film or any kind of media, is getting the clearance on items you're showing. One of the things that was relatively inexpensive was album covers. We decided to pick music from the time to show bands she'd be interested in. There was a Bikini Kill cover, a Pixies cover—albums we thought would be cool in that time period and that Greta listened too as well.
We loved making it look like she was always working on something. Besides the art we found and made ourselves, one of the things that really added to the room and that she was proud of were those "Lady Bird for President" posters, and we ended up putting those on the walls too, and it just added to the mix. What was really cool was that we were designing those posters and doing samples for Greta early on, and we used construction papers and feathers and bird heads, until we decided to get kind of weird with it, which were the ones we ended up using in the film. But some of those early prototypes ended up being on the wall, and it was really a beautiful little addition because we tried to use birds throughout the film without being too heavy handed.
The messiness of the room felt very real. It reminded me of actually walking into a teenage bedroom. How did you create those layers?
We were working with April Napier, the costume designer, so we had the actual costumes she was wearing in the film in her closet. As we were doing that, we would find ourselves bringing the clothes in that wardrobe had on their racks, and we would lay them on the bed and start hanging them on the closet or getting them ready for the shot. We realized it was great that she hadn't put her clothes away. There's that whole scene where her mom comes in and is unhappy with the fact she's not taking care of her things.
Because the room has a very busy, jewel-like quality, we wanted to keep it messy. The clothing was a big part of it and the rest of it really came from the way the way the room is dressed. We wanted to get it chock full. We started sticking stickers and little plastic spiders, and hanging Mardi Gras beads from a lamp or whatever. Once that layering started to happen, it really began to give a cluttered, yet not-difficult-to-look-at feel.
Where did you source everything from?
All of the furniture actually came from two big prop houses at the studios. They have furniture that is not in the best shape, which we wanted and the nice thing is that you can rent it. But all the ephemera, all the little pieces, the stuff that filled the room—the day before we were supposed to shoot the first scene in that room, we all agreed that we didn't really have enough stuff. So I went to a store in Downtown LA called Moskatels. Moskatels had all the stickers, all the hearts, all the spiders, all the snakes, all the bird feathers, all the green, all the dead roses. Everything you see in that whole room, a lot of those little pieces came from Moskatels in one big shopping trip I took the morning of the shoot. Then all of us worked together to get it up on the walls.
 Any computers, phones, lights, clocks—any technology needed to feel just right. It's amazing to think that even in 2003, we barely had the phone technology we have now. Only 15 years ago, we were really lacking all the cords, cables, USBs, and chargers we have now.
What about the rest of her house? How did you design her room to be different in mood?
 There's this line about the house being from the other side of the tracks, which can be a negative reference. But for us, wherever they lived, we knew that Marion and the husband loved this house, and it had been their house for a long time. We wanted the house to feel well loved, not sad or disgusting. It was always neat, it was always clean, but it was a muted tone. It showed there was a bit of sadness in the house.
So Lady Bird grows up with that, and starts her life with that as a kid. I felt with all of the items on the walls in her room, and everything that filled the space, it really felt loved. The house also had that, but it wasn't so blatant. It was more about the care and the placement of items.
It seems like bedrooms always play such an important role in classic movies and TV shows. Why do you think they're such a storytelling staple?
It's a person's private zone. It's important to show the character's personality in the bedroom, because that is where they will spend a good portion of their young life. It is almost like your psyche; your bedroom becomes a place where you lie and look at the ceiling—it's the place where you look at your world and experience your world.
It's also the place you go to escape. When you want to go someplace to get away from it all, you tend to go to your bedroom and lock the door.
Do you have a favorite pop culture teenage bedroom?
Maybe Ferris Bueller's bedroom. I was really into music so the fact that John Hughes used music so effectively in his films and that Ferris Bueller had posters for Morrissey and all the bands that I was into, struck a chord with me.
What's funny is that as old as it is, The Brady Bunch boys' bedroom is very similar to the way I grew up with a brother. We had bunk beds and you spend a lot of time connecting and communicating with your siblings on those bunk beds. Even though it's a bit generic and less naturalistic, I still feel that—I can picture The Brady Bunch bedroom in my head to this day, which is odd, but good.
We talked a bit about Greta's influence on Lady Bird's bedroom. Were there any of your own childhood bedroom influences, or anyone else involved in making the film?
Traci Spadorcia, the set decorator—she did little things that were personal touches, like tying up a ribbon that didn't make sense why it was there, putting a picture at a certain angle, or layering one picture over another because that's what she had in her bedroom.
At the end of the movie, when she's moving out, Lady Bird paints over the walls. Can you talk a bit about what that literal fresh start symbolized for you?
That wasn't in the script. But when we talked about how we had to put the room back for the homeowner, Greta and I talked about how long it was going to take to get all of these little items off of the wall. And she said, "Why don't we all help?" And I said, "Yeah," laughingly, and I included Saoirse [Ronan, who played the title character]. And then we all started thinking about it, and we thought, well what if Saoirse and the mom were taking the items off the wall?
We decided the art department would take down quite a bit of it, but we would have them take over. It happened organically. Yes it's symbolizing the end of something, but also the beginning of something else, which Greta has talked a lot about in interviews. They did it together for a while, but then Saoirse just kept going, she just kept wanting to do it. It was really nice to get a lot of footage of her really making the room fresh and clean. It's almost like she cares now. Before it didn't seem like she cared, but she's leaving something for her mom, who she hasn't spoken to much for the summer.
It's not just change, it's a clean slate. It means she's going to go on to something new. And in the next few scenes, you see she starts using her real name. She starts using Christine instead of Lady Bird after she does that change for herself.
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