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starrybethany · 3 years

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I’m Sure - Adam Boqvist Imagine Part 6

Adam Boqvist: I’m Sure Masterlist

Word Count: 3.7K

Taglist: @flowery-mess @musiclove-12

I sit in the lobby of the gynecologist’s office, flipping mindlessly through a parenting magazine. These magazines are so stupid- they’re meant to make parenting look easy and flawless, like nothing could go wrong- spoiler note, they’re wrong.

Your partner could leave you at any moment.

Your child could lie to you.

You could end up unexpectedly pregnant multiple times.

Children aren’t as easy as people like to think that they are. I sigh, throwing the magazine onto the coffee table in front of me and peak at my watch. It’s a minute until the time that my appointment is actually scheduled for. I was hoping to get in earlier to get out earlier. I want to pick Holden up from school and take him to an arcade to relax, since everything has been so hectic lately.

The slow, casual opening of the sliding doors are a sharp contrast to the frazzled, out-of-breath man that runs through them. He pants, looking around frantically at all of the couples staring back at him before locating me.

“Oh good, you haven’t gone in yet,” he gasps, practically throwing himself into the chair next to me and turning his hat around on his head so it’s backwards.

“I thought you were a professional athlete, how are you so out of breath?” I point out, ignoring his comment.

“I’ve been missing my workouts to hang out with you and the boys,” he gives me a flirty smile.

I roll my eyes. “Sorry to be such an inconvenience.”

His smile fades as he looks at me. “Hey, that’s not what I-“”Y/N Y/L/N?” The nurse calls my name at the perfect time.

I jump out of the chair, different from the past couple of weeks where I’ve had to ease myself up due to my growing belly.

“How are you doing today?” The nurse asks as she leads the way down the hallway.

“I’m good, how about you?”

“I’m good, thank you.”

Adam trails behind us as we enter a small exam room. He hovers awkwardly in the doorway as the nurse brings me over to the scale, weighing me and taking down my height. I motion to one of the empty chairs beside the computer and he quickly sits down, an apologetic look on his face.

I can’t help but feel annoyed.

I know he’s new to this and uncomfortable and I should just appreciate him being here in the first place, but holy hell I can’t hold his hand through everything. If he can’t even sit down in a fucking chair by himself, how can I trust him to change a diaper? Or God forbid, if he had to be with the baby by himself?

I’m doubting the man next to me as I take the chair beside him, updating the nurse on my personal information.

“Any concerns?” The nurse asks, typing furiously on the keyboard.

“My back is hurting really bad. With my last pregnancy, I don’t remember it hurting this bad,” I confess, rubbing my lower back as the shooting pain makes its way through my back.

“I will write a note for the doctor. Alright, she’ll be in shortly,” she smiles before leaving.

I feel like I’m practically begging her with my eyes to stay. I don’t want to be left alone with Adam, I know I should get used to it because he sounds like he wants to be involved in the boys lives now, but there’s something preventing me from feeling fully comfortable around him.

“What was it like with Holden?”

His question snaps me out of my thoughts, and I turn my head towards him, making eye contact with him. I feel taken aback every time we make eye contact- it’s like I’m seeing his blue eyes for the first time all over again.

“What was what like with Holden?” You’ve missed out on a lot of moments, you’re going to have to be specific here, buddy.

“Your pregnancy,” he shifts awkwardly. “You said you have more backaches this, uh, time, than you did when you were, um-“”You can say the word pregnant, Adam.”

He clenches his jaw. “Fine. You said you have more backaches this pregnancy than when you were pregnant with Holden, so what else is different? There, are you happy I said it? Pregnant.”

“Whatever,” I cross my arms over my chest, excitement for this appointment ruined by Adam’s shitty attitude. He’s shown me time and time again that he’s still selfish, so tell me again, why am I allowing him to be here?

“Well?”

“Well what?” I question, looking at him in disbelief.

“What’s different?” He asks like I’m the stupid one.

“Oh my God, Adam, I still get nauseous at the smell of scrambled eggs, my feet hurt more when I was pregnant with Holden than with this baby, but this baby makes my back hurt more, and this baby loves to kick way, way, way fucking more than Holden did. There, are you happy I said it?” I repeat his question. “Do you feel like asking about my pregnancy with Holden makes up for you not being there?”

He’s quiet. We sit in this sharp tension for a good five minutes before the doctor arrives, neither of wanting to say anything. Or maybe it’s that we just don’t know what to say.

“Hi, how are we feeling today?” Dr. Rocht questions as she enters the room.

“Hungry,” I respond, dreaming about the local sub shop down the street from the women’s clinic.

Adam gives me a look of disbelief, like he can’t believe that I would even be thinking about food after the fight we just had. But hey, the baby’s hungry.

“Why don’t we have you climb on the exam table so we can get you an ultrasound of this growing baby, huh?” She requests.

I nod, standing up and climbing onto the table, lifting my shirt so that my small bump is in view.

I see Adam’s eyes widen at the sight of it, like he didn’t actually realize that I was pregnant, but I ignore him.

“So did you open the envelope to see what you’re having?” She makes small talk as she preps the equipment.

“It’s a boy,” I smile with the news.

“A boy,” Dr. Rocht repeats with a smile of her own, “Is your son excited to have a younger brother?”

“He is! I think he would’ve been excited either way, but I think he’s really looking forward to having a baby brother.”

She rubs the gel on my lower stomach and I’m silent as I stare anxiously at the ultrasound screen, waiting for the picture of my baby boy to show up.

There he is. With his little button nose, tiny lips, and the outline of his body, I cherish it every time I get to see him. He’s really there- he’s really inside of me. Using my body and the nutrients that I give him, he’s growing.

A wide, cheesy grin spreads across my face as I see him.

“Are you okay there, dad?” Dr. Rocht’s voice snaps me out of the moment I’m having with myself.

I turn to look at Adam, seeing him ball his hands into fists and rub at his eyes, sniffling along with the motion. “Yeah, it’s just, uh, the first time that. I’ve seen this.”

A pane of guilt hits my chest with the way I’ve been treating Adam. He’s been out of his kids’ lives for the past thirteen years, yes, but he’s trying now. And shouldn’t he get some credit for that?

The gynecologist asks me a question, turning my attention back to her. She gives me some advice about how to deal with the backaches and prints out three pictures of the ultrasound. One for me, one for Adam, and one for Holden. I tuck two of them into my purse and give the other to Adam, heading to the front desk to make my next appointment right away.

The blonde man walks past me as I talk to the receptionist, out through the front doors and into the parking lot. My emotions have been all over the place all day- I’m aware of that- but walking away from me after asking me to be involved in your sons lives and crying at the ultrasound just seems downright disrespectful and inconsiderate.

His actions clearly aren’t matching up with his words.

I walk into the parking lot, unlocking my car.

“Y/N.” I look over to see Adam waiting on a bench outside of the building, looking back at me.

“What, Adam?” I question, just wanting to get my sub, eat it, and take a nap. I feel so drained from the last couple of days. Although this may be benefiting my children, this whole process with Adam is entirely exhausting to me.

“I’m looking for an apartment. Here, in Philadelphia. For the next three months,” he informs me.

I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, speaking slowly. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Why not?” I can tell by his tone that he’s instantly defensive.

That’s why, I want to respond. Because you aren’t willing to listen or understand anything other than your opinion.

“Adam, I just,” I sigh, shifting my purse strap. “Holden still hasn’t decided whether he wants a relationship with you, and I don’t know when he will make a decision. And- and there’s nothing you can do for me or this baby right now.”

“I just came to an ultrasound with you,” he points out.

“And you started an argument with me while in there.” I wave my hands around for emphasis, probably looking like a crazy person but needing to get my point across. “You stress me out. And it’s not good for my health or the baby’s health. I’m sorry, but I think you should return to Chicago. I’ll send you weekly updates.”

I get into my car, knowing that his eyes are following me, but his mouth doesn’t move. He’s finally starting to understand what I’m saying.

One of the good things about having a baby bump, beside it meaning that the baby is growing healthily, is that you can balance things on it. Like right now, when I have three stacks of plastic cups resting on my stomach as I carry them from the back to the front.

I set the cups on the counter, bending over to put them away.

“Okay, Y/N, Rachel, Marcella, and I have been talking, and we really like Sebastian,” Lia informs me, sliding her phone into her back pocket.

Marcella asked for the day off and Rachel had to leave early to go to a doctor’s appointment, so it’s just me and Lia this afternoon. It’s fine, it’s a slow Wednesday anyways.

“Who’s Sebastian? Is that the boy you’re kind of dating?” I question. The three girls are texting each other all of the time so they’re always caught up on each other’s lives, but I’m a little slower when it comes to that.

“No, for the second baby,” she beams, “Sebastian is the name of our favorite character from Vampires Defending the Nation. Have you seen it?”

“Nope,” I respond, knowing it’s probably some rip off of The Vampire Diaries.

“It’s so good! You have to see it,” she gushes, “So, have you thought about other names for the baby yet?”

“Not really,” I confess. “I mean, I still have another four months to think about it.”

“Hey, Y/N,” a familiar voice interrupts my conversation with Lia.

I turn around to face the customer, sighing when I see Adam standing expectantly on the other side of the counter.

“What can I get for you, Adam?” I step up to the cash register.

“I found an apartment and paid the down payment today. Just thought you should know,” he tells me.

“So, one large caramel Frappuccino,” I try to keep the annoyance out of my voice as I tap the order onto the cash register.

“And I wanted to invite you and Holden over for dinner tonight.”

“Extra whip, that’ll be an additional dollar.” My fingers jap the register harder now.

“Come on, Y/N, please. Just talk to him for me,” he pleads, pulling cash out of his wallet despite never ordering the Frappuccino.

“It is not my job to fix this for you,” I snap at him, lowering my voice once I notice other customers begin to look at us. “You got yourself into this, you can get yourself out of it. I’m sick of you fucking up and it all falling onto me, Boqvist.”

“Just tell him to respond to my texts, please.”

“It’s like you never hear a word I say,” I shake my head, exhausted from his attitude. “Your total is $5.47.”

He hands a fifty-dollar bill to me and I make sure to avoid contact with his hand, not wanting to end up in the same situation we ended up in last time we were in this café together.

“Keep the change.”

I hand him back two twenty-dollar bills, four singles, two quarters, and three pennies.

Keep the change my ass. Do you think throwing money at me will get me to change my mind?

“Coming right up,” I give him a fake smile, turning around to make his drink.

As I hand him the large cup, he leans in closer to me. I feel like I’m holding my breath, like if I release the oxygen from my lungs it’ll tangle with the oxygen from his lungs and we’ll be connected again.

“Just think about dinner, okay?” He gives me a soft smile before the front door chimes after him.

“Is that baby daddy?” Lia’s voice startles me out of my frozen state.

I nod, not trusting my voice to speak.

“Wow, he is hot,” she exclaims. When I give her a look of disapproval, she adds, “And an asshole. Total asshole.”

“Mom,” Holden hollers, stumbling down the steps. I pause Vampires Defending the Nation at the perfect time since Holden stops right in front of the TV.

“What’s up, bud?”

“Adam told me that he wants to buy me the new Halo game,” he states excitedly.

I keep myself from rolling my eyes. First he tries to pay me to talk to Holden for him at the café and now he’s buying Holden’s love by getting him a new video game.

Does this man think that money just fixes everything?

“That’s nice, honey,” I try to give him a smile, but it probably looks more like a grimace.

“And, uh,” he suddenly looks shy, making me wonder what Adam told him this time. I never know with Adam- I can never predict him. “And he told me that he, um, invited us over for dinner. And, uh, I would like to go, if, if you want to.”

I study him. He’s not fiddling with his fingers, he’s avoiding eye contact with me not because he’s lying, but because he’s unsure of my reaction, he’s not biting his lip. He’s not feeling pressured into doing this by Adam, it’s something that he really wants to do.

“Are you sure?” I question, giving him the chance to change his mind.

“I’m sure, mom.”

“Alright,” I pull out my phone slowly to text Adam that we’d be there in an hour, giving Holden the final chance to change his mind.

He doesn’t. And now I have to see Adam in less than an hour, something that I’m dreading, yet somehow deep inside, looking forward to.

Adam’s apartment is only twenty minutes away from our small townhouse, but it’s a stark difference to how we live. Whereas the brick outside of our townhouse is from the early 1900s and the paint is peeling (the landlord refuses to pay me back if I paint it myself- and I’m stubborn too, so I refuse to do it for free) while I remember Adam’s apartment building being built last year and there’s a security guard at the entrance who greets us.

I reach out to grab Holden’s hand. I’m not sure if it’s more for me or him, but I think we both need the comfort of each other.

The receptionist gets clearance from Adam to allow us up to his apartment and I hesitantly knock on the fake wood door, stepping back and waiting for it to open up.

It swings open, a beaming Adam Boqvist on the other side. “Glad you guys could make it, come on in.”

We walk into the apartment hesitantly, taking off our shoes.

“So, it has three bedrooms and two bathrooms, I figured a room for me, a room for Holden, and a room for the new baby, and uh, I made spaghetti for dinner,” the hockey player rambles, hurrying over to the stove to stir the steaming pot.

“No room for you,” Holden murmurs, teasingly, nudging my arm with his.

I roll my eyes at that, but his father clearly hears his comment, because he responds, “Oh, I was thinking she would share a room with me.”

Just as I’m about to bite back with a sassy response, he takes the pot off of the stove to dump the boiling water out. I take the time to slyly check out the apartment.

The walls are a stark white- something that he’ll regret once this baby gets into his trouble-making-toddler phase, the appliances are all brand new, and the furniture looks very modern.

Truthfully, it doesn’t look comfortable to live in. It looks like something out of a magazine.

“Dinner’s ready,” Adam announces.

We pile our plates with food, and I take a seat at the table, Holden sitting across from me and Adam sitting next to me.

“A water for you and the baby, a water for Holden,” Adam states, setting a glass down beside each of our plates before taking a seat next to me. “So, Holden, how was school today?”

I zone out as my son answers.

In the seat next to Holden, a girl a couple of years younger than him would be smiling at me. Holden would reach over to pick up the piece of garlic bread that fell in her lap, setting it on her napkin on the table. A high chair would be at the end of the table next to Adam, and in between bites of his spaghetti, he would feed the waiting, hungry baby.

That baby would be an accident. But we would laugh and joke about half of our babies being accidents, not in the way we do now, but in a joking, loving way.

A way that would show, yes, this wasn’t planned, but we’re in this together. We’re always in this together.

It’s what could have been. We could have had a nice house that we designed together, three kids that were by both of us, hell, even a dog. We could have been together. We could have done this together.

“Mom?”

I look at Holden with questioning eyes. He gives me a look of concern, nodding towards Adam. “Adam asked you a question.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, meeting Adam’s eyes. He’s always been good at telling my emotions, and that’s why he can press my buttons so easily. But now he just looks like he wants to comfort me, wrap me in his arms and never let me go.

“Sorry, what did you ask?”

“Are you alright?” He mumbles like we’re the only people in the room, ignoring my question.

“I’m fine, um, the baby’s just kicking me really hard,” I lie, hoping that even if he doesn’t believe it, he’ll accept it.

He nods slowly, a tell-tale sign that he doesn’t believe my lie, but he’ll let it slide. “I asked you who you were working with today.”

“Oh, that’s Lia,” I answer. We make small talk for the rest of dinner, but I feel concern oozing both from the man beside me and the boy across from me.

I just need to get through this dinner, then I can go home and sleep. And sleep. And sleep.

I pull the shoe onto my foot, losing my balance and beginning to tumble forward. A hand shoots out to catch me, steadying me.

“Thank you,” I murmur as I rise to my full height, planting my feet firmly on the ground.

“Gotta be careful, there,” Adam mumbles back, arm still holding onto mine. We stand there in a comfortable silence for the first time in thirteen years. I don’t want it to end, but then I remember that Holden still has homework to do, and I have to do some things before work tomorrow.

“We should get going now,” I state, moving towards the door.

“Y/N, wait,” his voice stops me. I turn around to face him. “Um, I just wanted to let you know that I’m trying. And I know I’ve been saying that for a while and I haven’t really been acting like it, but I rented this apartment, and I cooked this dinner and I’m trying to be there for Holden because I haven’t been there for him.

“And I’m trying to be there for you, too. Not just because you’re carrying my child, but because you’ve been supermom for the past thirteen years. You stepped up when I couldn’t, for the both of us, and it’s just, you just,” he takes a deep breath. “You deserve the world.” I feel something tug at my heart.

“I’m really sorry. I’m sorry for not being there then, I’m sorry for not being here now when I have been here, I’m sorry for everything. And I’m going to do everything in my power to show you how sorry I am.”

I nod, soaking in his words. He’s apologizing. He’s realizing his actions- or lack thereof. And now we just need to see if his actions will match up with this grand speech he just gave me.

“You better,” I say quietly, walking out of his new apartment.

“What took you so long?” Holden asks from his spot in front of the elevator.

“I had to talk to your dad.”

“Was it- was it a good talk?” He questions, eyes asking an unasked question.

I nod. “It was a good talk, Holden.”

#nhl imagines #Adam boqvist #Adam Boqvist imagine #Adam Boqvist x reader #hockey imagines

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skrltwtch · 3 years

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Muse

Prompt 1: Just like some people sleep-walk, you tend to paint or draw while in your transformed state because it calms you down. And apparently, people really like your art.

Prompt 2: A is a popular artist, and B messages them without thinking one day. They didn’t expect to become friends, and they definitely didn’t expect to become more. Person B just felt that connection between the two of them.

Prompt 3: A/Werewolf has a tendency to curl like a dog in front of the fireplace a lot (usually in their werewolf form, but it’s not uncommon for them to do it as a human). (Sources in master list)

Word count: 3,721 words

Genre: Fluff, romance, supernatural

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

I put up with the long commute to and fro between home and work for two reasons, and two reasons alone: the decent rent for a place with a picturesque view and that catered to my monthly needs, and the glut of time to catch up on my reading. And by ‘reading’, I meant ‘scrolling through the handful of social media feeds that survived my latest cull of shit that was taking up my time and storage space unnecessarily, and occasionally attempting (and failing) to pay attention to my Kindle’. Hey, at least I was aware I had a problem …?

Instagram was my first hit of the day. I flicked past images of makeup, friends in situations I wouldn’t be finding myself in anytime soon, and cute animals. The occasional meme and comic draw out an exhalation of air from my nostrils. I marvelled at artwork and photography, half wishing I were half as good as the people I followed and admired, half chiding myself for not practising either enough and losing interest quicker than I’d dropped money on new equipment in the name of my new endeavours. You could say one of my hobbies, the ones I’d been consistent about, was amassing gadgets obtained to indulge my whims and fancies.

My heart skipped a beat — or was it the pothole the bus went over? — when I came across a new post by George. I didn’t know him personally to refer to him by his first name like that, but hadn’t social media broken down boundaries between people, making them seem closer to each other than they really were? He was an illustrator whose work I chanced upon on Reddit a while back. His portfolio was a patchwork of subjects, often portraits, rendered mostly in traditional media like watercolour and oil paint. He sometimes shook things up with abstract, contemplative pieces. He had something for almost everyone. For me, it was his attractive, angular yet distinctive faces and statuesque figures, use of watercolour, and versatility: one piece could be superhero fanart, followed by a collection of moody, atmospheric paintings of the English landscape with some fantastical additions.

It also helped that he seemed to be a nice, chill person, and a handsome one at that, too, based on the smattering of pictures he had of himself on his feed. Please, let me imagine a world in which someone as ideal as him — or what I knew about him — wasn’t beholden to anyone for a moment.

His latest post was a drippy bust of a snarling wolf with full moons for eyes. The caption simply read: ‘Mood.’ I smirked as I hit the like button. Did I mention that he drew wolves a lot as well? Sometimes his wolves were feral; sometimes they were humanoid, but still wild. The latter featured heavily in his conceptual works, albeit as hazy, indistinct forms, like blurry photographs. In any case, I liked that he had a fondness for wolves and werewolves, as the constant presence of the full moon in art of the latter would suggest. Anyone who liked wolves was a-okay in my book. Anyone who liked werewolves was even more so. Because.

An interrupted connection between my brain and my reflexes led me to visit his profile. Instead of returning to my feed, my thumb gravitated toward the message button at the top of the screen. Not a single cell in my body resisted this turn of events despite the restored connection. Oh, what the hell. Why not? Like, what were the chances he’d read my message? He had tens of thousands of followers, a likely considerable chunk of them being bots aside. He must receive DMs every other minute. I’d be another sycophant in his sea of fans. Or he’d see my homely mug and locked profile, and he’d think I was driven to add to his never-ending count of unread messages simply out of misguided thirst.

The beauty of the Internet was that it made ‘out of sight, out of mind’ fairly easy to put into practice.

I got the following out of my system and into his inbox: ’Hi! Hope you’re doing well. I’ve been following your Instagram for a while, and your latest post just made me want to say your art is amazing. (I can totally identify with the sentiment behind it.) I especially love your more abstract pieces. There’s something so … raw about them. And I like that you seem to like wolves a lot, too. They’re beautiful animals, and your art really captures that about them. Anyway, keep up the great work! Take care.’

I exited Instagram, not caring about the rest of my feed anymore and not wanting to feel like I was stalking my notifications for something that’d never come. My phone buzzed with several notifications as I went down my Reddit homepage. I swiped away the banners with green icons that pelted the top of my screen. Those could wait. What couldn’t were the banners stating that I had a new message and a new follower request from —

‘Oh, my God!’ I said, loudly enough for me to hear my own voice above my music (the chorus of Walk the Moon’s ‘Shut Up and Dance’ at half of maximum volume, so … loud). Not one soul on this lightly populated bus acknowledged my exclamation — not even the woman sitting next to me. (Come on, lady, the front was mostly empty.) Thank God for technology making hermits of us all. Or my sudden outburst paled in comparison to the shit that could happen and had happened on public transport. When you took long journeys as I did every day, you’d see some real shit in due time, too.

I launched Instagram for the second time this morning (stop judging, Screen Time) and the first time ever with trembling hands. The notifications were real. I approved his request first. My mind raced to recollect anything on my profile that might make him regret his decision to let my piddling photos of food, myself, my cat, and random junk take up precious space on his feed. Nope, couldn’t think about that now, because I was now staring at an actual, honest-to-God message from George:

’Hey! Thanks for reaching out, and thank you for your kind comments. They mean a lot to me, especially what you said about my experimental stuff and wolves. They are stunning creatures, aren’t they? And yeah, I drew that last picture after a particularly rough night. You could call it a self-portrait of sorts, I suppose.’

I snorted. Change the fur colour and make the eyes normal, and it was a portrait of myself every full moon. Okay, not something I could tell someone I just met, let alone a popular artist on the Internet …

Before I could recover from the shock that my inbox held an actual, honest-to-God message from George Holden (that was his last name — the oxygen made it to my brain for me to remember that he had his last name on his profile), he sent another one: ’Anyway, how are you? I took a look at your profile, and it looks like we have quite a number of things in common.’

What, really? No way. Was it the lashings of sweet treats I subjected my stomach to every weekend? The horror and science fiction titles, celebrity memoirs, and comics, sometimes paired with an iced coffee at either a café I put down roots for the afternoon or the one-bedroom house in Waltham Forest I called home, I showcased to put forth some form of air of intellectualism? The cross-stitch projects featuring memes and popular culture icons? His profile was quite barren of anything that could provide insight into what else he enjoyed doing besides his art. Which, hey, was perfectly fine: no one was obligated to share their personal life online.

I replied, ’I’m fine, thank you. I’m on my way to work. Favourite part of my day, really. And really? Like what?’

Most of my notifications that day were from him.

✦✧✦✧

I was a bustling hub of activity in my seat: A sip of my drink. A shake of my knee. A lift of my phone. A turn of my neck. A shift of my weight from one butt cheek to the other. I was certain I was generating enough electricity to power a lightbulb in five-second intervals. I couldn’t help it. I was so, so excited — and so, so nervous. This was my and George’s first time meeting each other in person. There’d be no screen between us. Actually, what difference would that make? We’d been talking to each other for months, either through text or video calls, the latter more common in the weeks leading up to today. We’d seen each other even on our ‘I’ll put on a clean shirt, brush my hair, and hope for the best’ days. What could either one of us do in person that would irrevocably alter our friendship for the worse? Well …

The sound of someone entering the café stopped me from starting on a list of things that I could do to fuck things up. I looked up, probably the seventh time I did so in the last ten minutes. This was on me. I grossly overestimated the amount of time it’d take me to get somewhere as usual; a natural by-product of living far from the city. Seventh — probably — time was the charm: it was George — and right on the dot, too. His punctuality added to his attractiveness, which had already gone through the roof and was heading straight into the stratosphere. I bit my lip to suppress any unfortunate exclamations. He was a friend, Evelyn … just a friend, and I had no illusions otherwise.

I called out to him. He waved at me and joined me at the table I picked out for us. And the second our eyes met, devoid of any barrier between us, everything about him — and everything about us — clicked.

He was just like me.

And I was just like him.

And he was as astonished about it as I was, going by the long silence that passed between us, a first since we got to know each other.

‘Hi! Oh, my God, it’s so good to finally meet you!’ I said with a grin to break the tension. He broke out into a smile, his posture relaxing. Success. Should I go in for a handshake? No, that’d be too stuffy for a months-old friendship. A hug? No, that’d be too intimate for a months-old friendship, and an online one, too, no less. Was it obvious this was my first time meeting someone I met online?

‘It’s good to meet you, too,’ he said, his expression of cheer unabating. ‘I’m going to get myself a drink first, and then we can shoot the shit.’ His smile turned into a grin. ‘Do you want anything? My treat,’ he added as he spotted me reaching for my wallet.

‘I was thinking a red velvet muffin, please.’ I didn’t know why I didn’t get one earlier. ‘Thank you.’

‘No problem. I’ll be right back.’

As he left, my nerves turned into happiness that I met another werewolf. It was rare to meet other werewolves just about anywhere. What were the odds that two werewolves, one of whom was Internet-famous, would become friends because the other one had a brain fart one morning to send a message to the Internet-famous one? You couldn’t make this shit up. In all the years I’d been a werewolf, George was the first one I knew. I didn’t even know the one that turned me. I got bitten one night, and that was my life changed forever. I figured everything out on my own — I had to. And my puny social network of werewolves made sense: this wasn’t exactly the kind of thing anyone would advertise about themselves.

Once George settled down and courtesies were out of the way, the first thing out of his mouth was ‘I never thought I’d meet another one like me’.

I moved my chair closer to him so that we could speak at length about what we were without the fear of being overheard. ‘Me neither.’ Then it hit me, and I quickly said, ‘It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it, though.’ Personally, I was okay with what I was. No existential dread here, contrary to what one might expect of a werewolf. It happened. I learnt to manage it in a way that made it not have any kind of significant impact on my life. I refused to let it define me. And honestly, I lived for particularly bad days that coincided with full moons.

‘Are you kidding me?’ His face lit up with boyish glee. ‘I’ve been waiting for this day for so long! As in, us meeting up in person for the first time and me getting to know another werewolf. Two birds, one stone: the only kind of killing I endorse. And I’m so fucking chuffed it’s you. I always felt like I could talk to you about anything, and now that really, really means anything.’ It was his turn to be able to power a light bulb, but in twenty-second intervals this time.

‘Same. How were you turned?’

‘I was bitten during a camping trip with friends a couple of years back. You?’

‘Secondary school. I was walking home from the library.’

‘Shit, that was some time ago, huh?’

‘Almost half my life a werewolf.’

‘Do you know the werewolf that did it?’

‘Nope. How about you?’

He shook his head. ‘Nah. Kind of sucks, doesn’t it, that you’ll never get to know the person who’s changed your life so … deeply? They won’t remember either that they turned someone. If only having kids was like that, yeah? Absolutely no sense of responsibility whatsoever.’ He gave his teaspoon a lazy twirl, causing a faint plume of milk to rise and sink into the dark, bittersweet depths from whence it came. ‘I struggled with what I’d become the first couple of months. The transformations were one thing.’ Oh, yeah. ‘I felt … grotesque. God, the amount of self-pity, like, why was I the only one who had to go through this every month when there were four other guys ripe for the picking? So, I decided to start incorporating wolves in my art to get to know and reclaim that part of me. I didn’t want to see it as something ugly. I mean, you get to experience a kind of rebirth every month. That’s extraordinary if you think about it. And I told myself that like myself, the wolf didn’t ask to be born. Ha, ha. Millennial humour. Anyway. Then the most miraculous thing happened one full moon: I woke up next to a coherent painting that wasn’t there the night before.’

‘Oh, my God.’

‘Right? My more artsy stuff? The ones I hate coming up with captions for? Almost all done while I was transformed. I’d started some of my art — bet you can’t guess which one — on full moons, too, and I finished them after I changed back. It’s as if the wolf knew we were now cool with each other.’ He took a big chunk out of his apple crumble and jammed it into his mouth. ‘Sorry if that sounded like spiritual woo-woo. I’ve been wanting to tell someone about this forever.’ Crumbs fell out of his mouth as he spoke. ‘Shit, I’m such an’ — he shot me an impish look as he swallowed — ‘animal, aren’t I? Fuck, I can make stupid references like that now, and someone would get it!’

I laughed. He was such a dork. ‘It’s not “spiritual woo-woo”. It’s amazing. How is that even possible?’

‘I have no idea.’ He held out his hands in front of him. ‘So thankful we get to keep our hands and not have them turn into paws.’ He waggled his thumbs. ‘Fuck, yeah, opposable thumbs. And I want to say it’s like when artists get high and make stuff. I do know artists who do that, and hey, no judgment. To them, I do the same thing, too.’

‘And here I am, feeling accomplished whenever I make it through another full moon without waking up in a trashed place. Seriously, that’s amazing.’

‘I think that’s what’s keeping me from losing it while transformed. I was surprised people liked those pieces when I started posting them, considering they’re such far departures from what I usually post.’

‘That explains why they’re so … visceral.’

‘Yeah? I figure you’d appreciate them even more now.’ He smirked. ‘And you know, no one really talks about my wolf art, and especially my werewolf pieces. Maybe if I didn’t make them blurry and made them more explicit …’ Oh, he’d get a different breed of followers altogether. ‘But that’s fine. I don’t want my lycanthropy to define me and my work. It’s just a part of who I am.’

‘My turn to say something possibly corny: I like your wolf art because … they make me feel seen, because they’re drawn by you.’

He put a hand on his chest. ‘That’s not corny. I’m happy my art makes you feel that way. You know I don’t care about the likes or comments. It just so happens I like drawing things that make me get likes and comments.’ He pushed his plate toward me and motioned at me with his fork to try some of his apple crumble. I obliged him. ‘Did you ever suspect anything? Not that, you know, I purposely drew wolves and werewolves as a kind of signal for other werewolves to pick up on. That’d be giving me way too much credit.’

‘No, I just thought you like wolves a lot.’

‘Same here. What you said about wolves being beautiful creatures when you messaged me the first time … that made me feel something, too.’

‘Then I’m very glad we got to be friends,’ I said. Born from the same blip in brain activity that set us on this path, my hand found itself on top of his. His touch had a pleasant, almost familiar heat to it.

‘Me too.’ He turned his hand over and clasped mine.

‘I have an idea,’ I said, mostly to distract myself from how right this felt. ‘Do you want to meet on the next full moon?’

‘Sure. I can’t wait to see what kind of inspiration will strike with another werewolf around.’

‘Your place, then?’

He nodded. ‘Unless you’re cool with me possibly trashing your place with paint and stuff. That hasn’t happened before, but who knows? What if wolf-me doesn’t like change?’

I stared at him in disbelief.

‘I can’t help it. You have no idea what kind of beast this has unleashed. Oops.’

We sat and talked in the café the entire afternoon; we took turns treating each other to food and drinks to justify our occupancy. Our conversation moved on to other topics besides the one special, biggest thing we had in common. Just like we didn’t want it to define who we were as people, we made a promise to each other, and we did so over a strawberry custard tart, that we wouldn’t let it become the foundation of our friendship from this point on. It’d be unfair to the moments we shared before this. We were friends because we cared about each other, we brought out the best in each other, we could truly be ourselves around each other, and, honestly, I didn’t think anyone else would have the patience for his goofy in-jokes.

✦✧✦✧

I lay in front of the fireplace, rejoicing in the warmth it offered on this cool night, while George was working on his newest painting. Since getting to know each other in these forms, we’d been able to exercise better control. For me, that meant greater peace of mind; for him, that meant a more refined grasp of his artistic sensibilities. As with much about our condition, we didn’t question this. What could possibly be a drawback of us spending more time in each other’s company? I now understood why animals curled up by a fire was a common sight in media and real life, too. Wait, what if this, and not George’s presence, was what I’d been missing all my life?

My tail wagging like a fiend when I felt his breath on my skin begged to differ. I licked his face. He gently parted my lips and slid his tongue onto mine. Our tongues engaged each other in a playful scuffle; the fire crackling in the background could only dream of coming close to causing the rise in temperature in the pit of my stomach. The tussle between our tongues didn’t get to turn into something more: he’d had a long night. I nuzzled him to convey reassurance. He lay down beside me and wrapped his arms around me, his hold firm yet tender. We fell asleep like this, keeping each other warm long even after the fire had died out.

We wished each other a good morning with a kiss — no, two kisses, and we got ourselves ready for the day. As we were having breakfast, George piped up, ‘Do you want to see what I painted last night, love? I’m really proud of it, and I think you’d love it, too.’

I nodded excitedly, my mouth too full of scrambled egg to speak.

He returned as quickly as he’d left the table. His hands held on to a painting … of me curled up by the fire last night. The figure was the clearest, most detailed he’d ever done; the lighting was phenomenal. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I said, tearing up a little, frankly. ‘I love it. It’s going to look so good in our new place’, along with the recent paintings he’d made of a similar nature. He’d come so far from the gauzy forms that once populated his attempts at capturing his — our — condition on canvas.

‘Of course, when I have the most stunning model.’ He gave me a peck on the cheek. ‘I love you, my muse, my mate.’

#exophilia #terato #werewolf #monster love #monster romance #mine #fun fact #I wrote this story in early october last year #and it's kind of truth in television for me now

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capsironunderoos · 4 years

Text

Sweetheart

Agent Holden Ford X Reader

Summary: New to Atlanta, Agent Ford meets his hotel room neighbor. She’s a college professor in town to host a seminar.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.3k

Author’s Note: I wrote this awhile back when I finished Mindhunter. There's not enough out there for these characters so I decided I’d add a little something to the mix. Hope you enjoy! The italics represent past events :)

capsironunderoos masterlist

Holden groans softly as he rolls over in the stiff hotel bed.

Even with the air conditioning on full blast and the covers tossed to the side, the stagnant Georgia heat still manages to seep into the room. Holden knows he won’t be going back to sleep, so he reaches over and clicks the alarm off on the bedside clock.

Another groan slips past his lips as he falls back onto the mattress.

His eyes connect with a spot on the ceiling as sweat begins to build on his forehead.

But, the Georgia heat isn’t the only thing keeping him awake.

Soft snores escaping into the air beside him cue him to roll over and face you.

The soft curls your hair held last night are mushed in-between the pillow and your face, your mouth open just wide enough to fan stray pieces of your hair each time you breathe in and out.

Holden smiles and brushes a strand of hair from your face. The soft touch causes you to stir, and he freezes as you move closer to him, hands flush against his chest and head completely on his pillow now.

Once he’s sure you’ve gone back to sleep, he chuckles quietly.

This was the quietest he’d seen you since you’d met a few days ago.

You’d checked into the hotel at the same time he did, and he couldn’t help but notice you.

Your burnt orange trench coat wrapped loosely around your frame, hanging open to reveal tight bell-bottom jeans and a white button up shirt. Round glasses perched themselves on your nose and your hair sat against your shoulders in soft waves. It was long enough to brush the receptionists desk as you leaned up to talk to one of the men that worked there.

Holden thought he heard you discussing a class you had taught some years ago, in another state.

When your room arrangements were settled, you quietly brushed past him, the scent of outside and something sweet following in your wake.

He hurried to grab his things and follow you onto the elevator, sliding past the doors right before they clicked shut. He noticed you let out a sweet giggle under your breath, and he turned to smile at you, cheeks flushed.

Your hand came to rest against your mouth, trying to block the evident smile of amusement on your lips.

“You somebody important?” You asked him, that sweet Georgia tang he was growing to love seeping out of your lips.

You shuffled against the wall of the elevator, crossing your arms against your chest and raising an eyebrow at him as you waited for him to answer your question.

“Not really. I’m Special Agent Ford of the FBI.”

You hummed in amusement.

“Sounds important to me sweetheart.”

At the nickname, Holden could feel his heart squeeze.

“So, if you tell me why you’re all the way down here you’ll have to kill me, right?”

It was his turn to laugh now, a smile easily finding its way onto his face.

“That’s the CIA.” You nodded and fell silent for a beat.

“Oh. How rude of me. I’m (Y/N), of the art history professors.”

Your hand extended itself in his direction and Holden didn’t hesitate to grab it, your soft hands enveloped by his. He smiled at your mocking of his introduction of himself.

The ding of the elevator cued your hands to drop in order to grab your bags.

“Same floor?” You asked and he nodded, gesturing for you to exit before him.

Your suitcase rolled behind you and he grabbed his things off the floor as he followed you off.

“Maybe we’ll have connecting rooms. I always did love slumber parties.” You joked and he scoffed in amusement, shaking his head.

Ironically, you both stopped at doors right next to each other.

“Well, Agent Ford,” you started, leaning up against your door to look at him, “I think we’ll be seeing quite a lot of each other.”

And you’d been right.

In Holden’s favor, your schedules were quite similar. When you left to lecture, he was leaving for work, and when you arrived back at your room he was drowsily shoving his hotel key into the lock.

Many nights had been spent at the diner beside the hotel, you always ordering a cheeseburger, fries, and a strawberry milkshake, while Holden always ordered a coffee and French toast.

You were almost regulars now.

But something about last night had been different.

He’d had a good day working the missing children case, finally feeling like he was getting somewhere. Your seminar session had gone surprisingly well, the faint giddiness of discussing something you loved so much still evident in your smile.

He noted how dressed up you were, faint makeup behind your glasses and your hair in perfect waves, resting against a loose yellow shirt.

You’d had to repeat yourself so many times that it was almost comical at this point. Holden couldn’t focus on anything besides how close he was to you, and how he wanted to be even closer.

The walk back to the hotel was accompanied by the sound of Atlanta traffic and your hand wrapped around the crook of his arm, his opposite hand resting on top of yours.

He wanted to suggest that you both continue walking, not to anywhere in particular, just to stretch the limited time he had with you.

You were talking animatedly with your free hand, discussing the poor sap who had tried to argue with you over the meaning of a painting.

He hummed and agreed and took your side when it was necessary, but his heart was deafening, pounding against his ribcage at an alarming rate.

What had gotten into him tonight?

The elevator ride up to the rooms was silent, your hand no longer in contact with him.

As you exited and found your doors, Holden noticed both of you pausing. You turned to look at him, noticing that he was already looking at you.

“Do you-“ he started, glancing at his door.

You blushed and let out that sweet giggle he adored.

“Didn’t know the FBI hired mind readers.”

He found himself smiling at the memory as your breath fanned against the base of his neck, your hands pressed against his chest and your legs tangled between his.

He scooted himself even closer to you, wrapping his left arm under your pillow and using his right hand to card his fingers through your hair. You slowly stirred awake, a yawn escaping your lips as you looked up at him.

He chuckled at the immediate pout your lips formed.

“I could get used to this.” He whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, laughing again as the pout remained in its spot.

“I think I’ll skip my lecture today,” you finally responded.

“Oh ho okay we’ve got a rebel on our hands,” he chided, and you hummed in agreement.

“I think my students would enjoy a break from the Italian Renaissance. Besides, I’d much rather spend my day with you sweetheart.”

There it was again, that nickname and the achingly familiar pang it erupted into his heart.

He pulled you closer, pressing his lips to your forehead and allowing them to rest there for a moment.

“Tomorrow is my last day, after all,” you whispered, not wanting to speak it out because of the truth it held.

Tomorrow, this dream Holden had concocted for itself would be over. You’d return to your home state to continue teaching there.

He had known this seminar was on a limited time schedule, but he hadn’t realized how limited until now.

“Then let’s do it. Let me spend the day with you.” He whispered and you let out a quick giggle.

“Before we do that, I think we should stay here a moment longer,” you said through a smile and Holden returned the gesture.

“There’s nothing I’d want more.”

#holden ford x reader #agent ford x reader #mindhunter #mindhunter x reader #agent holden ford #holden ford #agent holden ford x reader

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sweetescape01748 · 3 years

Text

The recipe that started it all...

Kate O’Connor | Photo Essay | March 13 2021

At 5:00 a.m. when most people are slamming the “snooze” button on their alarm clocks to get some extra rest, Melissa Roiter is packing her kids lunches, walking the dog, and getting ready to prepare some delicious desserts. Shortly after that, she then wakes her 13 year-old triplets up to start her day as a single mom, and being a self-employed bakery owner. After a short drive to Yummy Mummy Bakery, Roiter scurries inside to begin gathering brownie ingredients and whip up the first batch of the day-as the aroma of Semi-Sweet cocoa fills the air.

Roiter is a successful businesswoman carrying on her grandmother’s baking legacy at Yummy Mummy Bakery in Westborough Massachusetts. Her introduction to baking is “all about nostalgia and fudge-style brownies”.

Yummy Mummy specializes in homemade, delicious, American sweets. Roiter proudly exclaims that “our best seller is our brownies and our most popular varieties are salted caramel, peanut butter, espresso and cheesecake”.

Roiter of Southboro grew up in Holden Massachusetts, attended Worcester Academy and graduated from Bowdoin College in Brunswick, Maine. With her family background, Roiter seemed destined for the food business. Her mother, Nancy Benjamin was a caterer, and owned “Smart Cookies Catering” in Worcester; her aunt, Jody Garber, owned the Cambridge -based company, “A Mere Truffle”, and her grandmother was a baker at heart. Roiter excidelty adds, “my grandmother’s homemade fudge brownie recipe was the start to my whole business”. Roiter describes her mother as a perfectionist who would test a recipe up to four times before putting it on a menu. “She’s a great cook, really the best ever’. While sighing, Roiter said she personally isn’t into cooking. “I think it’s because my mom spoiled me,” she said. “I really have an appreciation of how hard she worked and what she accomplished. To this day, my mom cooks for family and friends and still loves it”.

Roiter’s journey began in the corporate world at a bank, and she felt that the financial world was not suited for her. However, when her friend, Stephen Kramer got married, Roiter offered to give the couple a brownie bar as their wedding gift. And from that point on, people were begging for more brownies.

Roiter reminisced by explaining, “My business started over 15 years ago out of my home. It was called Yummy Mummy Brownies. Based on my grandmother’s recipe, I baked and sold over 20 different varieties of brownies.” When Roiter started her business, her triplets were 2 years old, “I was a momtrepreneur!” she said giggling.

Roiter sold her first few batches of brownies at farmer’s markets and online. “My business grew and grew until after 8 years, I could no longer do it out of my home. I had taken up too much of my house with ovens and extra refrigerators in the basement, freezers in the garage and the only things to eat were eggs, butter, sugar and chocolate” Roiter said while laughing. With limited kitchen space, Roiter decided to open a retail bakery. At first, she had a small space for 3 ½ years which enabled her to “get started”. Now, the bakery has fifteen employees, and has relocated to a bigger space, at 50 East Main Street, right down the road from their former site.

Being the owner of this small business, Roiter quickly moves around taking calls, making coffee, boxing up goods, and directing her staff in the kitchen. “I put in about 70 hours per week at my business but I don’t consider this work. Yummy Mummy’s talented staff of thirteen employees consisting of bakers and cake decorators, help to produce not only decadent brownies (of course!), but other American sweets like cookies, cupcakes, coconut bundt cake, bars, cake pops, etc.” According to the momtrepreneur, “brownies are the most popular as that’s what I’m already known for. However, I highly recommend the doughnut muffin, double chocolate pecan cookie, coconut cake and pb&j bar”.

According to Roiter, “after sweets all day (shhh, don’t tell anyone), I like to make a big salad with fresh veggies, feta cheese, slivered almonds and topped with homemade lemon dressing”.

Owning a small business is difficult. Roiter explains that she has learned a lot of life lessons throughout her time of being an entrepreneur. Some of the most challenging lessons she has had to face are learning “to incorporate a business, getting my food permits, negotiating my leases”. However, she explains that she is learning as she goes. Some of the struggles she faces on a daily basis include “being a single mom and finding work/life balance, learning how to stand up for myself in business matters like my bakery build out, negotiating best prices on ingredients, managing an ever growing staff, being organized and (finally) being a fair yet effective boss” said Roiter.

What makes Yummy Mummy Bakery different from others? According to Roiter, “Everything, and I mean everything, is made fresh and from scratch every morning”. There’s no cutting corners, “only real butter, eggs and chocolate are used”. Every recipe is tested multiple times until it is yummy. The baked goods are also traditional American treats: chocolate chip cookies, brownies, and popovers. There’s nothing too fancy - just real and just real good. “Just the smell of brownies baking in the oven is enough to make you swoon” said Roiter.

Roiter said she is fortunate to have been surrounded by strong women who have supported her on her journey. As Yummy Mummy continues to expand, Roiter said she is busy scouting other channels of sales. The business currently caters events, ships corporate and personal mail orders nationwide, participates in farmers markets and wholesales many of its products.

“We recently started offering cake and cookie decorating classes,” added Roiter. “We try to have fun each and every day while making people’s lives sweeter.”

As expected, business at Yummy Mummy Bakery has been disrupted by the Coronavirus pandemic back in March. Bakery hours were condensed, and Yummy Mummy asked customers to pre-order at www.yummymummybakery.com to keep the baked goods comin’. Roiter even set up Saturday pop-ups for the safety and convenience of customers.

The bakery used social media to its advantage as another way to publicize at-home events, such a cooking challenge they coined as “Chopped.” Roiter challenged customers to tackle a bag of mystery ingredients she put together and sold at the shop. “We threw our own Food Network ‘Chopped’-inspired party,” she said. Participants were asked to use the mystery ingredients to make something special at home and then post a photo on Facebook.

Roiter judged the challenge. “It was fun and well received,” she said about the more than 300 submitted photos.

When asked about her success, she responded with “Strong support, especially from the community, family and friends, has helped as we innovate during difficult times. Definitely being at the right place at the right time helps as well. It’s not all just about luck” chuckled Roiter.

Roiter has been appreciative of all the love she received during these past few, difficult months. “I’ve been blown away by online orders. I feel very fortunate, and I am very thankful.”

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oh-theatre · 5 years

Text

Sycamore High: Ted Fest (Chapter 5)

A/N: also known as the favorite chapter I have written. I hope you enjoyed cause I worked hard on this oof. Please leave comments, I would really appreciate it!

summary: Like a Ted Talk but its just Ted... talking :)

words: 2418 (oops)

warnings: Swearing, Bad Dad, Ted, food fight

Ao3 link

“Satan is a real man” Ted announces over the loudspeaker, the hallways erupt into cheers, Brian Holden sheds a single tear from his hellscape.

~~~~

Softly, Ted reminds himself. He tiptoes up the stairs listening to the growing anger coming from the kitchen. It's late on Sunday, his parents have just returned home. He makes his way across the hall and opens his door, locking it quietly once he is safely inside. He sighs annoyed, nothing can drown out the yelling, all Ted can do is listen. He reaches for his headphones but pauses when he hears his name enter the conversation. Should I open it? He thinks, he takes a moment but his curiosity controls him. He slightly cracks the door and put his ear in the hallway.

“You have never shown any love or respect for me or Ted!” He hears his mother shout, pain oozes out of her voice.

“Well maybe if either of you did something to deserve it! And maybe if Ted wasn’t such a fucking disappointment!” Ted bites his lip, don't say anything, stay quiet. The arguing continues, Ted shuts his door in the angriest but soft way possible and decides that was enough for tonight. Ted moves over towards his bed and lets the music drift into his dreams as he sleeps.

~~~~

“Good Morning parental figure,” Ted says approaching his mother in a t-pose stance.

“Good morning problem child,” Ted's mother says sighing not looking up from her coffee. Ted laughs approaching the table to where his mother sat. He examines the kitchen and grabs some coffee.

“No, dad?” Ted asks sipping the bitter drink. His mother shakes her head, fuck yeah, Ted thinks. He throws together some lunch before he kisses his mother goodbye and heads towards the bus stop. He gets distracted by a light buzz in his pocket. He reaches for his phone and reads:

FU: I'm picking you up, need help

SB: A’ight, what's new pussycat? With one ‘It's not unusual’ slipped in, Ted thinks. He smiles smugly and waits on the steps of his door for Paul.

“I need food” Ted whines stepping into the passenger seat of Paul's car, Paul rolls his eyes and gives him a look. “Look, its either I get food, or I jump out of this car and say you pushed me” Ted claims.

“Ted, please don't jump out of the car” A soft voice comments from the backseat, Ted quickly turns to be met with a very worried Bill. Ted gives him a reassuring look before turning back to Paul.

“Food or I jump” Ted says in a whisper, he doesn't want to worry Bill but he was hungry.

“Do it, you coward” Paul mumbles starting the car. Ted pouts before turning his attention to the road, they drive at a steady pace passing houses and shops. It was all fine until Ted spots the beautiful shining wonder of the McDonalds. Its a newly renovated, functional ice cream machine, piece of art. Ted feels his mouth water and he turns to Paul with pleading eyes. Paul ignores him, he is left with no choice.

“McDonald's! McDonald's! McDonald's!” Ted chants, he prays this will work. He turns to Bill whose face turns from confusion to understanding of his friends need.

“They have food at school,” Bill says, he gives a soft smile full of pride. Ted nods before turning to Paul, last piece of the puzzle, buddy, come on. Paul glares at both of them before he gives in. The urge to complete the trifecta is just too much, he pulls into the McDonalds drive-in and orders a single black coffee. Ted cries with happiness, this was it, he could die happy. Paul pays and drives into the parking lot to situate himself.

“You're so fucking stupid Ted” Paul says, exhaustion and annoyance fills his voice

“The only stupid I’m fucking, is you” Ted replies without thinking. The car goes silent for a moment.

“I hope you know that I hate you” Paul says after a while, Ted gains a smile

“I know, I love you too” He plasters on the fakest smile he can

“I love you guys too” Bill whispers from the backseat, Paul and Ted can't help but smile at him, Paul finishes his coffee and they continue towards school.

~~~~

“So what did you need help with?” Ted asks as the boys walk towards their lockers. Bill was reading through the halls, so Ted was on walking duty. He makes sure Bill doesn’t knock into anyone and hurt himself. They approach a crowded area, Ted grabs Bills shoulders and swerves him to avoid a collision as he continues his conversation with Paul.

“Well I really screw up with-” Paul cuts himself off as they reach their lockers. Two girls wait by the locker, normally this would excite Ted, however they look mad. “Emma” Paul says surprised. Bill looks up adjusting his glasses, he tucks his book into his bag. The 5 of them stand in awkward silence surrounding the locker. Paul shifts his feet, averting gaze towards the ground.

“Y’all going to area 51?” Ted asks finally, he gives them all an expectant look. Bill suppresses a laugh, Paul groans in annoyance, and the girls give him a very confused look. He sighs, he was just too funny for this cruel world. He rolls his eyes before nudging Paul, dude say something.

“Emma I'm really sorry, I got caught up and-” Paul starts he looks at his friends for help, Bill was already back to reading his book, Ted simply shrugs. “I slept in late, I feel awful please let me make it up to you” The shorter one looks at Paul. The other girl glares at the boys, clearly, that was not a natural expression for her. She’s cute Ted thinks, he averts his eyes towards a commotion in the hall. So is he, Ted thought looking at the boy causing the commotion. He was wearing glasses and suspenders, he raced through the halls timidly holding some kind of hot liquid. Ted's eyes grow wide and he shakes his head returning to the conversation.

“It was really embarrassing Paul, a bunch of kids from school were there, I waited for hours,” Emma says, her face flushes bright pink. “It really sucked, ok?” Paul nods sympathetically, he struggles for words.

“I- just” He sighs “How do I make it up to you” He repeats. Emma takes a moment to think, she shrugs.

“I don't know” She admits

“I do” Ted chimes in. Everyone including Ted is taken aback by this participation. He collects himself and continues on “You were embarrassed right?” He says towards Emma, she gives a slow, confused nod “Well then all we need to do is embarrass Paul” Paul's face grows in horror, Emma's face, however, gains a sly smile.

“What's the plan, tall man?” She says immediately regretting her life choices. (same Emma)

~~~~

Bill gives the all-clear with a very disapproving look. Paul and Ted clean up their lunches and make their way out of the cafeteria. Ted clutches to the walls, sneaking through the empty corridors 007 style. Paul walks. Like a normal human. Fucking useless, Ted thinks. Finally, they reach the main office, greeted by Emma and Emma’s friend, Charlotte. Ted nods and the girls go into the office, shortly followed by Ted and Paul. The girls go up to the receptionist and begin their distraction, having a full out meltdown. Ted and Paul make their way past the receptionist and peek into the principal's office, all clear must be having lunch. They open the door slightly and shut it once safe inside. Ted looks at Paul expectantly and points to the intercom.

“You know what you have to do” He says, Paul gives him a very concerned look, or he’s constipated. Paul clears his throat and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper and looks it over, his face goes through one too many emotions. He gives Ted a very shocked and disgusted look but Ted just laughs. Paul sighs and makes his way over to the desk, he sits completely defeated and pushes the button to talk. He puts on his most monotone voice, emotion has no place here.

“If I could do anything I think I would… shrink myself to the size of a mouse. I’d leave the world of men behind me forever, and live amongst the mice.” He starts, every ounce of dignity is drained from him. The words ooze into the halls and echo through the school. Ted squeals (yes squeals) with glee “And I would bring technology and art to those uncultured swine. And I would build tiny tools for their mouse hands made from toothpicks and marshmallows. And I would be their king, NAY, their prince. PAUL MATTHEWS THE MOUSE PRINCE! Ruling from my grand castle inches high, carved from the finest cheeses. And there I would dwell with my three mouse wives, and my twelve mouse concubines. (Laughs).” You don't say ‘laughs’ you asshole, Ted thinks “Oh, but the wars we’d have with the frogs, terrible, just terrible. Those metal mice warriors, the atrocities they’ve seen. Yes, that is my dream… My secret dream.” He finishes, shame is written all over his face. He turns to Ted who is beaming with pride. He stops pressing the button and his words, nay monologue, nay work of art bless the school. The students can be heard, confusion races through them, laughter sets in. Paul quickly rushes out of the office followed by a very giddy Charlotte and a more than happy Emma. Ted, however… he stays. He stands for a moment beaming with pride, he eyes the intercom. The principal with be here soon I should go, He thinks. He makes his way to the door but the intercom… it calls to him. He hesitates, but quickly locks the door and sits down. Excitement takes over, he pushes the button.

“Satan is a real man” Ted announces over the loudspeaker, the hallways erupt into cheers, Brian Holden sheds a single tear from his hellscape. Bill nods approvingly from his seat in the cafeteria, chaos sets in. A food fight breaks out, lockers and doors are banged upon, Robert Manion can be felt cowering. Ted looks to the ground, he smiles. This is just what He would have wanted. He takes one last prideful look before exiting the room and joining his friends.

“I can't believe you actually did it!” Emma exclaims actually quite surprised. “How..how did you do it?” She asks

“With the help of my friends,” Pauls says in reply “And Ted”. The group continue their conversation, the voices drown out, all that can be heard is Ted. The camera zooms in, fading to black and white.

They ask you how you are, and you just have to say that you're fine when you're not really fine, but you just can't get into it because they would never understand, Ted thinks. He plans to continue but is quickly brought back by a little nudge.

“You alright Ted?” Bill asks, his eyes wide. Ted sighs dramatically, Bill stares into the camera like he's on The Office. “I liked your monologue you wrote for Paul” Bill reassures him. This brings a sparkle to Ted.

“Um yeah, what the fuck was that” Emma chimes in. Paul shoots her a warning glare but its too late.

“That, as you called it, was my masterpiece” Ted begins, launching into a very dramatic interpretation, which led to an argument between Paul and Ted. The group lets it go on but eventually, Emma cuts them off.

“Ok ok, got it” She sighs rubbing her temples “God it's like the three of you share one brain cell but Bill has it most of the time” She mumbles

“Most of the time?” Ted says “Most oF THE TIME?” He repeats dramatically. “Bold of you to assume he doesn't have it all the time,” Ted says. Bill beams confused. Ted notes they still have time before class begins so they each head their separate ways for food.

~~~~

“So like my whole life, I thought, girls, ya know? No question about it, I like girls. But then, a while back I met this guy, right? He's shy and sweet and so smart. Oh, and you can't tell him I said this because I don't feel that way but it was like he opened a door. I mean I was excited to see him, I would blush every time he talked to me or accidentally touched me. I started thinking things like, he's cute. Which he was but I wasn't one to think about this kind of thing. I don't even think about girls like that. But then I did. I mean I started thinking and noticing things like that left and right, it was becoming a problem. Then the incident happened, the cute guy I mentioned earlier? Just a friend now, best friend but not important. Anyway one day I was having like a hardcore blushing/pining session. My friend is pretty oblivious so I thought he wouldn't notice, and then he didn't… so I was right. But someone else did, this guy approached me during P.E and he was all like ‘I noticed you looking at your friend’ and I was like ‘and what about it’ and then he was like ‘Are you gay?’. So I said ‘no’ you know, like a liar. And that was that, but then I was all like… am I? So this inner turmoil went on for a while but then I fell hard for this girl and I liked it. Wasn't faking it, so now I'm thinking… was it just a phase? Well yes but actually no, This girl and I, didn't work out, but then the other day I'm at the locker with my friends and these two girls. They are arguing over who gives a shit, and I'm just looking at this girl and I'm thinking she's cute. Then I look over at some guy in the hall and now I'm thinking he's cute. So…“ Ted pauses and shrugs “Girls? Boys? Eh, why not both?” He states

“Sir this is a Wendys,” The employee through the drive-thru speaker says. Ted furrows his brow.

“Yeah I know, I said I'll have a barbecue cheeseburger, with a side of baconator fries and a Dr.Pepper” Ted orders his lunch before making his way back to school.

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catgirlthecrazy · 5 years

Text

Muse and Knight

Warning: this fanfic contains major spoilers through Tiamat’s Wrath.

AO3

Summary: The transition from uneasy allies to family doesn’t happen in a single moment. Not even a dramatic one. It’s a slow change, like a sunset. You can’t see it happening, just see the results when it’s already happened.

Holden and Clarissa’s relationship, through the years.

The coffee machine was broken. Again. Holden pressed his forehead into the cool brushed steel surface of the machine. “I don’t ask for much. Really, I don’t. Is this so unreasonable?” The red text of the error message shown even through his closed eyelids. It seemed almost irritated at him for expecting it to perform the function that was the entire purpose of its existence.

The galley door slid open. “Oh,” a soft voice said. Clarissa hovered at the galley door.

“Hey,” he said. “You’re up.”

Clarissa seemed to teeter on the edge of leaving. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were awake."

Holden shrugged. "Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d start shift early. Or, I was going to." He gestured helplessly at the red error message. Holden’s head already ached in anticipation of caffeine withdrawal.

Clarissa frowned and crossed the galley, inspecting the error message. "It’s not working?” She power-cycled the coffee maker and hit the brew button again.

“Already tried that,” Holden said. As if agreeing, the machine buzzed angrily and spat out the same error message as before.

“Hmm. Let me take a look.” Clarissa left, and returned with a bag of tools and parts. A minute later she had the machine on the floor, back panel removed and parts exposed to the open air. Not for the first time, Holden was struck by a sudden sense of surreality. Just a handful of years ago, this woman had tried to destroy him and everyone he loved. He could still remember the murderous rage she’d inspired in him. Now she was fixing his coffeemaker, and he was weirdly ok with that.

He’d like to say that the assault on the slow zone had been the tipping point. The moment when she’d moved in his mind from “person who’d tried to kill him” to “part of his crew.” But these sorts of things never worked like that. It was like a sunrise: you couldn’t see the sky turning from black to blue while it was ongoing. You could only notice the results after they’d already happened.

“Ha!” Clarissa pulled out something metallic and charred, with little dangling wires like tentacles. “Power leads burnt out.”

“Is that hard to fix?"

"No, this part swaps out pretty easy.” She opened a utility organizer labeled Replacement Parts: Galley in neat handwriting that definitely wasn’t Amos’. She pulled out the pristine twin of the burnt out part and wired it into the machine. She put the machine back together, and ran diagnostics. This time the message was a happy green. She made a little animal noise of satisfaction. “There, all fixed.”

Holden clapped her on the shoulder. “You are my favorite person in the solar system.” He turned to the machine and started a new brew. “You want me to make some for you?” When she didn’t answer, he turned to look at her.

There was an odd expression on Clarissa’s face, one his caffeine-deprived mind couldn’t quite decipher. “I… yes, I would love that,” she said.

Weeks later, Holden would learn that Clarissa actually hated coffee. That morning, though, she drank the whole cup.

***

Pátria was a big colony. To Holden, a child of cramped and crowded Earth, that still felt a little strange. Pátria only had a few settlements, and only one that could rate the label ‘city’- barely. But by the fledgling standards of extra-solar colonies, it was a metropolis. It had paved roads and a sewage system and real buildings not made from scrap and mud. And it had recreational swimmers.

The day was uncomfortably hot, the kind of hot that made his shirt damp. A few families with young children were splashing in the local lake on the outskirts of the town. A floating platform had been set up in a deeper part of the lake. One adolescent took a running leap off and cannonballed into the lake, splashing his friends and prompting screams and shouts. A few nearby waterbirds croaked their annoyance and flew off. Holden found himself grinning.

“People do this for fun ?” Bobbie’s voice was acrid with disgust and amusement.

“What, swim? It’s not that uncommon on Earth,” he said.

“Those birds have been pooping in there. And the fish. And whatever the hell kind of microbes they’ve got.”

Holden shrugged. “That’s true on Earth too. People still swim in ponds and lakes there. Remind me to tell you about some of my family’s trips to Flathead Lake.”

She shot him a look. “Yeah, and that's also disgusting. But at least Earth lakes have our flavor of shit and microbes in it. This will have alien shit and microbes in it. Who knows what that does?”

Holden opened his mouth to answer, but Clarissa beat him to it. “They test the water regularly here. It’s not safe to drink without treatment, but you can swim in it just fine. So long as you don’t swallow too much, anyway.” She was taking off her shoes and rolling up her jumpsuit pantlegs as she talked. “I looked it up before we landed.” She set her shoes aside, socks neatly tucked in, and walked purposefully towards the water. It took Holden a second to understand why. Then he grinned and shucked off his own shoes.

Bobbie groaned. “If your feet melt into green slime, don’t come complaining to me,” she called.

They both ignored her. Clarissa was already up to her ankles by the time Holden reached the water. Her face was turned up to the sun like a flower, her expression pure bliss.

“I don’t think I’ve been anywhere near a real lake since I was a kid,” Holden said. The water was delightfully cold. The soft wet sand slid comfortably between his toes.

“Last time I was near a lake was when me and Amos were trying to get off Earth. Not much time for swimming then.”

“And before that?”

“Probably the same lake, the last time I summered there with my parents. We used to go there every other year. It was… nice.” She had the same distant tone she got, discussing her old life. He’d never pressed her much about it. So Holden changed the subject.

“I forgot how good cold water feels on a hot day,” he said. He crouched down and started splashing water on his face, careful to keep his mouth closed as he did so.

Clarissa was digging out handfuls of sand out of the lake bottom and watching them flow through her fingers underwater. “I know. I almost want to just dunk myself in and float for a while."

"But?”

“But I don’t fancy walking around in a soaking wet jumpsuit the rest of the day.”

“Those colonists got their swimsuits from somewhere. We’ve got a few hours. We could go get some. Have some shore leave on the beach.

"You think anyone else will be interested?” Her tone was amused. Holden glanced behind him. Bobbie was still shaking her head at the whole affair in amused disgust. Amos was staring at them with the blank non-comprehension of someone watching a foreign religious ritual. Alex and Naomi were back on the Roci, but he suspected their reaction would be much the same as Bobbie’s. Lake swimming wasn’t something people did outside of Earth- or it hadn’t been until now. And Baltimore didn’t have any bodies of water a sane person would want to swim in. It occurred to Holden that, though Clarissa wasn’t the only other Earther on the crew, she was probably the only one who shared any of his fondness for the place.

“Maybe not,” he said. “Do we need anyone else?”

She smiled. “I guess we don’t.”

By the time they were done at the lake, the day was nearly gone. The two of them walked back to the Roci’s landing pad, chatting animatedly, beneath a sky transitioning from blue to azure to black.

***

When you lived day in and day out with the same people on a small ship, a certain level telepathy emerged. From the tone of Naomi’s humming, or the way Bobbie took a ladder, or the rhythm of Alex’s fingers on the controls, Holden could take a barometer reading of each of his crew. So when Holden saw Clarissa sitting in the galley, gripping her mug of tea in a very particular way, he knew something was very wrong. Unfortunately, the telepathy didn’t tell him why.

To buy himself time, he started making coffee. Holden knew so much detail about his crew personal and work lives that, whatever their mood was, he usually had plenty of context to guess what the cause was. He didn’t know of anything in Clarissa’s life that could be behind her anxious mood. She hadn’t had any fights with the other crew that he knew of. There weren’t any looming mechanical problems or existential threats. He wondered how to go about asking what was bothering her.

Holden sat down at the table across from her. “What’s bothering you?”

Her eyes focused on him, like she’d only just noticed he was there. Then she laughed. “Always the direct approach.”

He grinned and shrugged. “I’m not very good at this.”

She grinned back for a moment. Then it faded. “I got a message from my sister.”

Two thoughts collided in Holden’s head: I thought your sister was dead slammed into I hope she’s doing well and jumbled together in his mind. Just barely, he stopped himself from blurting I hope she’s dead out loud. He knew Clarissa had siblings besides Julie. She never talked about her birth family except in the past tense, so it was easy to forget that most of them were still alive.

“Not good news, I take it?”

“My father is dead.”

The news was like a dropped tool in an empty cargo hold. Her father. Jules-Pierre Mao. The man who had probably held the record for bloodiest hands in the solar system until Marco Inaros came along to steal the title. It was hard for Holden to think of the arrogant man he’d encountered on Luna so many years ago as related to the tired looking mechanic in front of him. The Venn Diagram between the two had so little overlap these days that they were nearly separate circles in his mind. “Um. Wow.” He took a long pull from his coffee. He couldn’t make this about his own feelings right now. “How are you feeling right now?”

She didn’t answer for a long moment, but Holden chose to wait and sip his coffee. He didn’t have to wait long. “When I was young, he defined my life. Father was like a gravity well. So much revolved around him, and you couldn’t pass near him without accounting for how he’d alter your trajectory. Now he’s gone, and it’s hardly worth a story on the news feeds.” She smiled wryly. “He would have hated that.”

Holden frowned into his coffee. “You know, now that you mention it, that’s kind of weird. I mean, yeah, it’s been a while since he was in the news, but he was kind of a big deal back in the day. I’m surprised I haven’t heard more about this.”

“I’m not. He was held in Mossoró when the rocks fell. They were hit bad by tsunamis. They couldn’t find most of the bodies. It’s only now that the courts have made it official.” Clarissa’s voice was so flat, like she was reading off a list.

“So you’ve known this was coming.” Holden wondered if that was the reason for her mood. He could remember one of his grandmothers, who’d been gravely ill for so long before she died that he’d felt more relief at her passing than loss. And with that relief, guilt.

“I suppose I did.” Clarissa cocked her head in bemusement. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that. You’re the one who put him in prison.” There was no hint of reproach in her voice. Almost, they could have been talking about a famous football player whose career Holden hadn’t kept up with.

Holden shrugged. “Honestly, I kind of stopped giving a fuck about him once he was in prison. So long as he couldn’t start wars, I didn’t really care.” Holden winced. “I uh, may not be the most comforting person to talk to about this.”

Clarissa just smiled at him. “I think he’d hate that even more than the lack of news coverage.”

Holden wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that. “So… You sound pretty calm about this. But I can tell something’s bugging you. Anything you want to talk about?”

Clarissa frowned into her mug. “When I got the message that he was dead, my first thought was 'good.’ I don’t like that.”

Holden took a long sip from his coffee to buy himself time. “No love lost between you two, then?”

“I don’t feel anything about him. No love, no hate. I’m just very, very glad that he’s gone forever now. And I don’t like that I feel that way. I didn’t think I was that kind of person anymore.”

“I mean, to be fair, it makes me a little happy to know he’s gone for good.” Clarissa looked up at him sharply, and he shrugged. “It probably doesn’t speak well of me as a person. But I think it’s just part of being human.”

“Maybe.” She stared at her drink. “I still feel like I’ve failed somehow.”

Holden strongly disagreed. But he knew by now that she didn’t really want him to prove her wrong. Just listen while she worked through it on her own.

And the truth was, Holden could sympathize with her sorrow, but he couldn’t entirely empathize with it. Mao was her father. He understood intellectually why parent-child relationships could fall apart so completely and irreparably that she could react this way. He could agree entirely with the reasons why. He knew that the only right you had with anyone in life was the right to walk away. But he couldn’t really feel it. He had always gotten on well with his own parents. It was hard to imagine anything different.

He took her hand. “Well, for what it’s worth, I like the person you are now,” he said.

“And who do you think that person is?”

“The person who fixes things. The person who won’t let so much as a squeaking hinge stick around for long. The person who builds things.”

She didn’t answer him. She just smiled a small smile. They sat together in companiable silence for a long time.

***

When his interrogators told him about the body on Medina, Holden thought they were lying. Surely, it was a tactic to make him admit something. Surely, the photos and autopsy reports were fake. Surely, they couldn’t have found Clarissa Mao, shot twice amidst a half dozen dead Laconian soldiers. When Holden finally let himself believe them, he waited for them to tell him who else in his family had died. Months, then years passed, and the news never came.

He couldn’t grieve. He couldn’t afford to. If the Laconians knew just how deep a weakness it was, if they understood that she was more to him that a mere crewmate, they’d never stop hammering away at it. So he threw all his efforts into diverting them. He opened up as much as he could on the alien threat. The Tempest anomaly. The Ilus artifact. Elvi Okoye.

When he finally got free, he was too preoccupied to think much about older pain. The flight to the gate, Bobbie’s death, Amos’ strange resurrection: all of these overwhelmed his attention like a well lit room overwhelms a single candle. When the grief reminded him of its presence, it wasn’t how he expected it.

The cabin door squeaked. It was such a soft little sound, it took Holden weeks to notice it. He was so wrapped up in the joy of being back on the Roci, of not being on Laconia, that most other things were background noise. But as time went by, as they passed through the Laconia gate, through the slow zone and into the Gossner system, Holden noticed the small rattling whine of a mechanism not quite in alignment.

“It’s just a squeak.” Naomi shrugged with her hands when he mentioned it to her. “I can have Amos put it on the to-do list, but I guarantee you he’s got a couple dozen other items on it already. This might never make it to the top.”

“I know it’s pretty minor in the grand scheme of things,” Holden said. Experimentally he cycled the door a couple more times to see if the noise was consistent. “I just can’t remember the last time a squeak stuck around this long."

He meant to sound casual. Evidently he failed, because Naomi’s expression softened. "I miss her too.”

Holden sagged a little, like a spring losing tension. “I wanted to believe it was a bad dream. Or a lie to make me admit something. The Laconians sprang it on me suddenly. I think they were trying to surprise me into letting something slip.” He could still remember the feeling like a dunk in ice. Like a confirmation of his worst nightmares.

“Did they tell you how it happened?”

“Some. 'Likely involved in terrorist activities’ was I think how they put it.”

“She saved my life. She saved the whole underground.” And Naomi told him the story of the jailbreak, the traitor, and Clarissa’s last stand.

Holden couldn’t speak. In broad strokes, what Naomi told him wasn’t far off from what he’d already guessed. But he hadn’t fully appreciated just how much he owed to Clarissa’s sacrifice. Naomi’s life was one item at the top of a very long list.

Naomi pulled him into a hug, and Holden broke. His body shook with the quiet sobs that he’d never allowed himself on Laconia. She murmured soothing words whose content mattered less than their tone. He could feel some of her tears wet on his forehead. He wasn’t sure how long they stood there like that. He had the raw sense of having burned a deep infection out of a wound.

“I’ve got a few spare hours,” Naomi said. “I could grab some tools. We could fix it together."

"That,” Holden said, voice still ragged, “would be great.”

#the expanse #Jim Holden #Clarissa Mao #fanfic #spoilers #Tiamat's Wrath Spoilers #my fanfic #my post

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silvrtcngue · 5 years

Text

𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝟎𝟎𝟏 / 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒:

full name : draco lucius malfoy

label : the boy with no choice

nicknames : people mostly refer to him by his last name , only very few people refer to him by his actual first name.

birthday : june 5th , 1980

birth place : great britain

gender : cismale

sexual orientation : unsure

occupation : hogwarts student

alignment: the neutrals

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑:

blood status : pureblood ( sacred 28 )

house : slytherin

wand : 10″ , hawthorn , unicorn hair

boggart : disappointment from his family. later it would shift to the image of their death , somehow draco’s fault.

patronus: draco hasn’t learned the patronus charm , but even if he did he would not be able to conjure a corporeal patronus since he lacks the happy memories to do so.

pets : an owl by the name of tyto

moral alignment : neutral / in the past he would be considered more lawful neutral , but now he’s still trying to figure out his place & is aligned as simply neutral.

tarot card : ( test here ) : the moon

goals / desires : freedom from his family’s expectations , to be someone who can think & feel freely.

𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋:

height : 5′11″

weight : 181 lbs

eye color : gray

hair color : silver - blond

clothing style : dark attire , mostly dresses elegantly in button downs & slacks. he always has an enchanted wristwatch on his left wrist , similar to the weasley family clock , but instead it’s used to keep track of his class schedule.

left handed or right handed : right

distinguishing features : his pale hair that marks him as a malfoy , along with a striking jawline & piercing gray eyes.

tattoos or scars : no tattoos , a minor scar on his forearm from buckbeak ( which by the way , he’s still salty about ) , & a few other minor ones along his arms & legs from playing quidditch.

𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘:

parents : lucius & narcissa malfoy

siblings : n / a.

children : n / a.

𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄:

book : draco is partial to potions & will spend his spare time studying many various potions outside the class level he’s currently at. however , he’ll occassionally pick up a fictional book when in the library. his favorites are mysteries , such as sherlock holmes ( even though it revolves around muggles , & to him are completely ridiculous )

movie : although he does know what a movie is , he’s never actually seen one himself. muggle items have always been forbidden to him. if he had , it’d probably be some some cheesy comedy or something.

food : pumpkin pasties

flower : belladonna

season : winter.

animal : fox

memory : his first time entering the hogwarts castle.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓:

cats or dogs : cats

mornings or nights : nights

war or love : in front of his family & certain friends , he’d claim war. However , he hates the thought of it & would take love any day.

smoke or drink : drink

coffee or tea ? coffee

writing or reading ? reading

𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒:

death eater coming back : he’s not particularly fond , especially with him living with one. draco is uneasy about it all , & is afraid for the day when he’ll most likely be expected to become one himself.

enemies coming back : he’s a fan of the idea , especially voldemort. he wants a simple life , one where he doesn’t have to hide underneath a mask , & voldemort ( or any enemies , really ) would be a threat to that.

loved ones coming back : he’s indifferent , mostly because he hasn’t lost anyone that was close to him.

love at first sight : he thinks it’s a ridiculous notion , something the muggles came up with surely. he can’t imagine just looking at someone & being in love , he has to get to know a person first.

one true love / someone you will always love : again , he’s not sure if the idea of only having ‘one true love’ , but it’s a nice idea. draco believes there’s not just one person designed specifically to be with one person.

𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒:

what is their family history like ? how does it affect them ? how do they feel about their family ? how does their family feel about them ?

the malfoy family tree is quite long , & full of history. the malfoys are part of the sacred 28 , & take pride of the fact. draco adores his mother , however him & his father have a more strained relationship. he wants to believe that his family has the best in mind for him , but worries that they’ll force him to take the dark mark.

who were their first love and do they feel the same now as they did then ?

his first love was a ravenclaw girl a few years ahead of him. obviously he did nothing to win her affection , & after she graduated he was glad he didn’t. he obviously has moved on since then.

do they believe that a person can redeem themselves from mistakes of the past ?

he wants to believe , mostly for himself , however his insecurity causes him to doubt it’s possible.

what scares them ?

war , death , loss of freedom & control.

how do they feel about death ? have they been significantly affected by it ?

he hasn’t known anyone personally who died , except for some distant relatives. however , cedric’s death did affect him , flipping a switch & making him realize that his life doesn’t feel quite like his anymore.

what is one thing in their past they’re ashamed of ? one thing they’re proud of ?

he’s ashamed of being so harsh with certain peers of his. however , he’s proud of his grades , & becoming a prefect.

pride , envy , gluttony , lust , anger , greed and sloth. if your character was a seven deadly sin , what would they be and why ?

pride , due to his history of bullying because of his “superiority” , that’s all thanks to his family name.

what is their goal ?

security & survival mostly , it’s why he acts the way he does. he wants to make sure his status remains.

do they believe voldemort is back ?

his father hasn’t mentioned anything about the subject , & draco hasn’t asked. but yes , he believes he is back & that his father was present when it happened.

𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄:

lyrics that describes your character best :

❛ might go to hell & there ain't no stopping

might be a sinner & i might be a saint

i'd like to be proud but somehow i'm ashamed. ❜

- r.i.p. to my youth by the neighborhood

quotes that your character lives by :

❛ don't ever stop believing in your own transformation. it is still happening even on days you may not realize it or feel like it. ❜

❛ the key to happiness - or that even more desired thing , calmness - lies not in always thinking happy thoughts. no. that is impossible. no mind on earth with any kind of intelligence could spend a lifetime enjoying only happy thoughts. they key is in accepting your thoughts , all of them , even the bad ones. accept thoughts , but don't become them. ❜

❛ if life were predictable it would cease to be life , & be without flavor. ❜

fictional characters that your character can relate to : ( ngl this was rlly hard )

.fitzwilliam darcy - pride & prejudice ( rich , arrogant , & unapproachable )

theodore ❛ laurie ❜ laurence - little women ( wealthy , moody , & bored , who wants to travel a different path from his parents )

holden caulfield - catcher in the rye ( struggles with family , class expectations , & seeks escape )

people who have changed your character’s life immensely :

his parents , lord voldemort , & professor severus snape

#hqc:task #━━ ⟢ ᴀ ᴡʜᴏʟᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ ɪɴ ʜɪs ᴍɪɴᴅ ⦂ ⋰ * ✧ ISMS.#//finding similar characters & quotes were so hard idk why

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always-tilting-at-windmills · 2 years

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thetruecaptain-blog · 6 years

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Number 13- Naomi and Holden

like I KNOW this probably isn’t what you were looking for but it just kind of happened. Let me know if you want something fluffier/more romantic because I will absolutely do that for you since this is kind of silly XD

“I love you, I always have.” - Dialogue Prompts

“Come on baby, don’t do this to me.”

Holden’s voice comes from the galley just as Naomi steps off the ladder. She frowns as she approaches the kitchen, pauses in the doorway to see who the hell Jim is talking to like that.

“I know we’ve had our differences but I swear I’m a changed man.” The rumble of his voice continues, low and placating. Naomi’s dark eyes find him at the coffee machine. She should have known. He’s bent down close to it, one hand stroking the side of the machine as he uses a free finger to press at the controls. The machine whirs and growls and flashes some kind of malfunction message across its display. Jim lets his head drop and sighs. Naomi slips her hands into her pockets and leans against the frame of the entranceway, her lips tilted into an amused smirk as she watches the scene unfold.

“Okay, look. One cup.” He draws in a deep breath as if steeling himself for some all-important task and then slowly raises his head. "I know I don’t deserve it but that’s all I ask.“ Then he presses his finger to the button again, and from where she’s standing Naomi can see him bite his lower lip.

There’s a long pause. The tension in the room is so thick she could cut it. Jim waits with bated breath, his eyes never leaving the display, and then–

Whir. Hisssss. BEEP.

”No.“ Holden chokes out the word with a mixture of frustration and genuine despair.

“Am I interrupting?” Naomi asks as she pushes away from the doorframe and saunters over to the counter. She arches one brow when Jim jumps slightly and turns to face her with a guilty look on his face. She feels a rush of warm affection at the sight of him. He has the shadow of a beard along his jaw and his jumpsuit is slightly rumpled. It’s obvious he’s just woken up and come directly to the galley for his caffeine fix.

“You’re never interrupting,” he says, reaches out to pull her to his chest and plant a kiss against her temple. Naomi slides her arms around his waist and leans back to look at him, her lips pressed into an amused smile.

“Are you sure? Things don’t seem to be going well.” She glances quickly at the error message on the machine’s display before returning her attention to Jim.

“I think she’s still mad at me,” he replies with a grimace.

“She has every right to be,” Naomi replies, utterly solemn. “Maybe she feels your apology isn’t sincere.” Her look turns slightly reproachful, as if she knows he could do better. Jim’s lips twitch but he manages to keep a straight face.

“You’re right. I should try again.” He takes a breath through his nose. Naomi steps back to give him space as he turns back to the coffee machine and presses his hands to either side of it as if taking a loved one’s face between his palms.

“I was an asshole. I’m sorry.” He pauses, glances at Naomi who gives him a disapproving look and a slight shake of her head. Holden turns back, draws a deep breath through his nose and leans close to the display as if he’s looking into the eyes of a cherished lover.

“It will never happen again, I promise.” His eyes shift again to Naomi, who continues to look unimpressed. Jim’s gaze returns to the machine. “I love you, I always have. Please forgive me.”

He stands and throws his hands up. “That’s it, that’s all I’ve got.”

Naomi bites back her laughter as she steps forward and nudges Holden aside. “Very sincere,” she acknowledges. “I had tears in my eyes, really.” She pulls the machine forward and rises up on her tiptoes, leaning over to get a look behind it. She reaches around to grasp a tube that’s come loose and reattaches it, then steps back and clears the error message with a swipe of one finger. “Try it now.”

Jim shoots her a suspicious look and then presses the button again. This time the machine beeps with approval, and after a brief moment dark, steaming liquid begins to pour into his bulb. “Huh.” He watches in silence as his bulb fills with fresh coffee, reaches out to take it once it’s full. He looks at Naomi, raises his eyebrows.

“You really enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

Naomi replies cheerfully as she reaches up for a bulb.

“Immensely.”

#butterflykisses86 #this was so ridiculous lol #jim holden #naomi nagata #nolden #fic prompts #nic fic #the expanse

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jamesholden · 7 years

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fading bruises

So... hey. I've been working on this beast for... over a year now. Since before S2 even aired. Originally I was going to write this fluffy piece for @whenimaunicorn between Holden and Amos, where Amos helps him with a mundane task. But when the OT3 ideas entered the mix, it evolved into the beast it is today. Obviously, the ship descriptions in the earlier half of the fic, as well as some noted events, may not line up exactly, since I didn't know where S2 was going. But I think the majority of it still holds up. For the preceding fics in our OT3 series, check out Rachel’s “Join Us”, and the first three parts of “in a lovely constellation”. They’re not necessary, but it might be confusing otherwise.

Please review on ao3 if you can, and thanks for checking this out! Enjoy!

Being free of the medbay is the best gift Holden has been given in years. Sure, his legs are shaky as he makes his way down the ladder, mag boots engaged (just to prove he’s on the mend). Naomi wants him to keep resting before they hit Tycho. He appreciates the thought. The thought of the thought makes him feel warm and almost tingly. Reassures him that things are getting better. But he needs to move. He needs to be alone for just five minutes.

He needs to feel like his world hasn’t changed on levels he’d never expected. Again.

Part of him—most of him—wants to swing into the galley. Make a cup of coffee. Naomi wouldn’t let him, and wouldn’t bring him any. A cruel, vicious woman. The rational part of him, which somehow survived Eros intact, tells him to shower, clean up, wash the grime of sweat, blood, death, and worse off his skin. To make himself feel human again.

Shit.

He pauses. Squeezes his eyes shut. Steadies his legs and his stomach and the tremors threatening to run through him as they have since he’d started healing. He wants to banish any thought of Eros from his mind for the rest of his—likely shortened by radiation exposure—life. They’d never be human again. Whatever they are. Holden takes a few shaky breaths before pushing himself on. He’s almost at the head anyway.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the glaring lights once they sense his presence in the room. A deep ache grows in his skull. He just holds still by the door until the pain mostly passes and the light is less harsh. The head is meant to accommodate quite a few more crew members then the Roci’s four plus one. Six shower stalls and a bench take up the length of one wall. Two toilet stalls and three urinals take another. Four sinks and a long mirror take up the final wall not broken by the door. It's the nicest facility he's been in in his short careers as a UN naval lieutenant and third-officer on an ice hauler. Thank God for Mars and their fancy high-tech tendencies.

He crosses the room, stripping off the disposable jumpsuit he'd donned for his escape and weakly tossing it onto the bench. He couldn't wait to have real clothes back. Naomi thought it better for him to sweat in something that wasn't his, and he had the good sense to agree with her. He could burn this later. He could wear some Martian’s clothes until they hit Tycho. Or something. He wonders if his shirt and jumpsuit had been salvageable. He steps into the center stall and turns the water on as hot as he can stand.

Holden groans as the scalding water seeps heat into his muscles. It's the best thing he's felt in days. Helps him forget Eros for a second. Helps him forget Eros and the Anubis and… And the ache of the separation between him and two particular members of the crew. Naomi. Amos. He rests his head against the bulkhead and lets water stream over his shoulders and down his back.

His clash with Amos had ruined everything. It went back further than that, and he knows it. But he can't help but bear the brunt of the blame. He'd logged the call. Naomi kept his secret. He’d revealed his role in the Cant’s destruction and Naomi revealed she’d not told Alex and Amos to protect him. Holden nearly killed Amos for threatening to kill the Martians. Amos pulled away from both of them. “You were scared of me”, he'd said to Naomi. Holden certainly was. The thought stung.

Holden had been fairly certain whatever thing they had going was over. That stung worse.

Naomi told him she couldn't in good conscience keep on with him. Not if she wasn't also with Amos. She couldn't take sides like that. She couldn't let Amos think she'd taken their newest addition’s side over his. Holden understood, of course. Once the initial stabbing pain in his heart passed. But in the days since, he'd felt a heavy weight on his chest when he looked at her or thought about her. A similar yet still unique weight settled on him with Amos. Sometimes he saw her trying to reconnect with him. Sometimes it looked like it was working. That made the weight heavier. If they reconciled, would there still be a place for him? She'd laughed with him, teased him and joked with him. Still, it felt like less effort was being put into maintaining their connection. Something was missing from their conversations. When he could get her to have one with him.

He didn't blame her, really. It had been her and Amos before her, Amos, and him. That didn’t reassure him or stop his breath from coming out short at the thought. That and… seeing them kiss again when they thought he wasn’t there didn’t help. The weight creeps in and he rubs hard at his weary eyes to distract himself.

The soap and shampoo are standard-issue MCRN. The crisp, fresh scent is nearly the same as what the UN Navy used. It takes him back years. Back when he was a fresh faced kid from Montana, guilty for leaving his family and the farm but so happy to be free of the weight they both came with. He loses himself in the memory. A younger, happier James Holden showers in an older ship with different crew. He doesn't know what it will be like to throw his career away. What it will be like to bear the weight of the destruction of two ships. What it will be like to feel himself falling into something good and destroying it all in such a short period of time. Holden envies the kid.

Though he must admit, as he massages shampoo into his greasy hair, that maybe hope isn't lost. He'd told Naomi to leave him behind. To give him three hours to follow Miller to the truth on Eros and to leave if he didn't show. She hadn’t. According to Alex, she’d insisted on waiting for him. She hadn’t wanted to leave him behind. “All those bullets flying” and she’d waited. It’s a better feeling than he’d had when he’d thought she’d listened to him and saved Amos and Alex. But that could have been anything. A promise kept, a kindness returned. A debt repaid. It was what she did after that really comforts him now.

Naomi had taken care of him. Not just in the sense that she'd guided him to the medbay, hooked him up to the top of the line machines, took his vitals and adjusted in kind. No, she'd taken care of him. Sat by his side as he'd drifted in and out of sleep, attended to every need without a word between them, talked to him about whatever came to his drug-addled mind. He thinks he dreamed her fingers twining with his on more than one occasion. Warm lips against his forehead as a hand smoothed over his hair. There's still something there. There's still a chance. Maybe she still wants him.

But Amos…

Amos hadn’t been in to see him at all. Holden had barely seen the man since he returned to the Roci. He'd gone right to work on Miller as Holden waited for Naomi to return. They spoke in low voices he couldn't pick up, and as far as he knew, Amos hadn't even spared him another glance. He only breezed through the medbay to check in with Naomi. Holden punches the button on the soap dispenser several times until the stuff fills the palm of his hand. He scrubs vigorously at his skin. He shouldn't take it so personally. Amos had been open about his emotional capacity. Or virtual lack thereof. Still. The opposite reactions from both of his former lovers throws him through a loop he can't get out of.

The emotional highs and lows are too much for him to handle when he's so tired.

Holden rubs absently at his chest, but the ache doesn’t fade. Not all the way. He stands under the water a few moments longer. Enjoys it in place of the warmth he’s missed and craved. He shuts it off before it can shut off on him. The chill on his wet skin wakes him up enough for now. Maybe he can forego the coffee. He turns, ready to step out and grab a towel.

Amos stands just outside the stall, expression torn between amused, aroused, and no emotion at all. Holden yelps, slips back against the bulkhead. The amusement vanishes from the other man’s face.

“Relax, Holden,” Amos mutters, stepping closer and reaching out. “It’s just me.”

Holden sputters, trying to catch his breath and calm his heart. “Jesus, Amos. Make a sound next time.” He breathes for a moment. Ignores his moderate embarrassment at being naked in front of Amos. Even if they hadn’t been lovers, they’d shared shower space before. This time, Holden is at a complete disadvantage. He squints at Amos, studying him. “What are you doing here?”

“Naomi was worried about you being on your own, told me you needed fresh clothes.” Amos shrugs. A grin appears on his lips, and Holden has to suppress less innocent thoughts than being glad Amos isn't just scowling or staring at him. “Besides, thought I should check on you. Shouldn't fight like hell to get back here just to die slipping in the shower.”

Can’t argue with that logic, Holden muses as he blinks at Amos. Still, it would have been nice to share a moment that didn’t involve him being naked, cowering in the shower. He knows any hope of a truly emotional, meaningful moment may be fruitless, but actual words between them would have been… preferable to this. Amos drops the clothes on a nearby bench and reaches for a towel to toss him. Holden manages to catch the soft terry in one hand, scrambling to cover himself and regain some of his composure.

Holden expects more quips from Amos. He expects flirtation and innuendo. He's naked for Christ’s sake. But when he turns back to face Amos, towel wrapped securely around his waist, Amos says nothing. He watches Holden with that steady, emotionless gaze. Like he's studying Holden's recovering body. It makes Holden shy. He'd been less than confident the first time he'd been naked with Amos, caught between him and Naomi. Still, he's even less confident now. What does Amos see?

“So,” Holden starts, passing Amos to shuffle to the mirror. “Naomi sent you?”

“Not exactly. I was already coming down when she said something about you.”

“Okay.” Holden grimaces at his reflection. The man staring back at him is too pale. His dark hair, eyebrows, and beard stand out against his too-white skin. Purple shadows beneath his eyes betray a bone-deep exhaustion. His mouth is set in a firm line. And his eyes…

They’re cloudy with emotions he doesn't want to admit to.

He pulls the electric razor out of it’s holster on the wall. “I only ask since I haven’t really seen you since we hauled ass off Eros.”

“Had things to do. We’ve been a man down since then. Two, if you count Naomi. With all the time she spent looking after you and… Miller.”

Holden glances at Amos through the mirror. Amos meets his gaze, but they both know he couldn’t quite hide that slip. Something’s wrong there. But Amos’ stance, his chin tilted up in a challenge, keeps Holden from asking. He looks away again, fiddling with the razor. When will any of these people trust him? Getting any details at all out of them reminds him of shepherding with his fathers. Just when you think you’re getting somewhere, you turn around and see you still have most of the sheep in the fields. He feels that more and more with Amos and Naomi every day.

Focusing hard on his own face, Holden studies the ragged beard along his jaw. Amos’ presence presses against his shoulder blades, threatens to push him over the sink. His face heats at the thought. With luck, the harsh light will keep Amos from noticing his change in color. He tilts his head down, rinses his hand off under the automated sink. That’s when the shaking starts again.

Holden’s caught himself shaking a few times, riding out tremors that range from a minor annoyance to a complete impairment of his fine motor functions. Naomi had explained it may happen, and had been kind and patient enough to help him through the worst of them. Even if they’d both been shy about her helping him eat. The spells have become less frequent as he's healed. But of course one starts when he finally gets a chance to shave.

Clenching his fists against the solid steel counter, Holden lowers his head and closes his eyes. Breathes. He prays for the shaking to subside. The edges of the razor dig into his palm. He hears it creak, a distressing sound he can feel in his own bones. Stop. Please stop. Not now. Not in front of Amos. Holden’s spent all this time, since the Knight—no, no, since the second he’d joined the Cant—feigning strength. Like an actor playing a better version of himself. For the small crew. For himself. There’s nothing to hide behind now. How can he act strong if he can’t even be strong? In front of the one person he has to? “Hey, Holden.” He starts, twisting to see Amos right over his shoulder. His face is blank, betraying none of his thoughts. It doesn’t quite match Amos’ almost… gentle tone. He gazes into Amos’ steely blue eyes, heat rising in his cheeks again. The intensity of this simple action, of staring back at a man whose touch he’s craved, whose attention he’s sought for weeks, hits him like a punch in the gut. So fixated on having what he’s wanted is Holden, that he doesn’t notice Amos holding his hand out. “What?” Holden could wince at how dreamy the word comes out. Amos doesn’t even blink. “Give me the razor.” “Why?” “Just do it.” If he had been anyone else, Amos might have sighed. But he doesn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve like Holden does. He doesn’t let any of his thoughts show. Holden does what he asks, struggling to loosen his shaking fingers from around the device. Amos doesn’t show any sign of annoyance or frustration. Holden considers it a blessing. Scratching his jaw with his free hand, Amos gestures to the bench with the razor. Though still skeptical of Amos’ plans, Holden crosses back to the bulkhead. It takes all his concentration to do so without losing his balance. He drops down onto the bench, ignoring the groan it emits to watch Amos at the sinks. He follows Holden moments later, razor and damp towel in hand. Holden drops his head back against the wall as he gets closer. It’s always interesting to be looking up at Amos. Whether from his knees or from a seat. It changes the dynamic in the basest of ways. Holden is taller, the de facto leader, a man of staunch beliefs. Amos is shorter but broader, follows Naomi more than him, and keeps everything to himself. Being physically beneath Amos feels like submission. And exposing his throat to a man who’s said he could kill him without a second glance takes it to the next level. It’s an arousing thought. He’ll save it for later.

Amos drops the towel on Holden’s shoulder. It’s damp and warm and Holden lets himself relax back into the bulkhead. Thick, rough fingers slide under his chin and tip his head up. Holden watches Amos take in the line of his jaw. Like he’s never seen it before. Like his lips and teeth have never traversed it. The knot in his chest tightens. He hadn’t considered how much he had missed this Amos. The one that bounced between him and Naomi like a kid with too many toys and no way to choose one. Being chosen, even for this, warms his chest. The knot stays.

The razor hums to life in Amos’ other hand. At the first touch of the blades to his skin, Holden’s eyelids flutter. He fights the urge to close them. He won’t give up this chance to be present with Amos. Not after all this time and his near death between them. So he watches Amos. Gazes up at his barely-furrowed brow. Takes in his focused eyes and set mouth. Amos doesn’t look at him. Just works, shifting Holden’s head this way and that to get every angle.

Holden shivers as Amos tips his head back, exposes his throat and drags the razor up to his chin. Amos pauses. Their eyes finally meet. The razor buzzes along between them, white noise for the moment. Holden wonders what Amos sees in his eyes. Holden can only see some brand of thoughtfulness. Maybe. But then Amos looks away and the moment is gone. He switches hands and gets back to work.

It doesn’t take long for Amos to finish. He tilts Holden’s face this way and that, looking for any missed spots. They wouldn’t be hard to find on Holden’s sickly-white skin. He nods to himself, and the razor clicks off. The silence between them weighs on his chest more than Amos’ absence had. He’s here. He’s right in front of Holden. Yet he still feels a hundred klicks away. There has to be something he can do to close the distance. To bring Amos back to him. To try and fix what he’d broken. With a quick hum, Amos turns away, drops the towel into a bin.

And Holden takes a leap.

“I missed you.”

Amos pauses. He doesn’t freeze, or whirl around. None of the usual—likely considered dramatic—reactions Holden might have, in the same position. But he knew that already. Amos isn’t like most men. He sighs, scratches his jaw. When he turns to face Holden again he looks thoughtful.

“Since Eros,” he starts, face still a blank slate. “Or since the Mickeys almost boarded us?”

Holden takes a breath. “The Martians.”

Amos doesn’t show any sign of shock. He nods. Rubs his hands together. Holden clenches his jaw. What he wouldn’t give to know what thoughts are running through Amos’s mind. What he thinks of Holden’s confession. The radiation had failed to give him superpowers. Holden stands on shaking legs. He can’t do this sitting down.

Amos’s eyes follow his movement, trained on his face. “Really?”

Holden’s face heats up. He forces himself to keep eye contact with Amos. “Yeah. Since it all went to shit.”

“Hm. Interesting.”

Holden swallows. “What is?”

“Well,” Amos starts, stepping in close again and keeping his voice level. “Figured after that disagreement we had that you’d want to end it with us.”

“What?”

“You’ve got strong beliefs. Makes it feel like you’ll push away people who disagree.” Amos breathes another sigh. Holden isn’t sure what emotion is behind it. If there is emotion behind it. “We disagreed. You had a gun to my head. Fun’s over.”

Holden blinks, thinks over Amos’ words. What he’s saying. What he’s implying. Holden always thought it was more of a… mutual decision. That Amos would have easily backed away from him after… Holden shudders. “Naomi was right to be afraid of you.” It hits him like a sucker punch. Amos is right. It was all him.

“Anyway,” Amos continues, either ignoring or not noticing Holden’s epiphany. “You still had Naomi. You two got along better than we did. Thought you’d be good without me.”

Holden clears his throat. His chest is too tight. “I wasn’t.”

“What?” Finally, Amos shows something. His brows draw together and his head tilts to the side.

“Naomi and I.” Holden bites the inside of his cheek. “She ended things with me. On Tycho.”

A fresh wave of pain tightens the knot in his chest. He blinks and looks away. He’s tried to forget that night. His confession to her and her breaking things off with him. Leaving him alone at the table. Because she’d lied for him and she couldn’t choose between him and Amos. She couldn't choose him. It had all been his fault.

Holden looks up again to find Amos watching him. Some version of confused and surprised plays out on his face. “She didn’t say anything. I thought you two were good.”

“No.” Holden shakes his head. “It’s all a big mess.”

Amos nods, the emotions fading from his face once again. “So… when you say you missed me. You mean me and Naomi, then?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I just—” Holden sighs, rubs his eyes. What is the easiest way to say this? Holden’s never been in a situation like this. Even having polyamorous parents doesn’t prepare a man for communication with one of two partners. When all he’s known is how much he’s missed Naomi, and he knows he can talk to Naomi. He’s always had to show Amos how he—

He sucks in a breath. Inspiration. Don’t tell. Show. Before Holden can talk himself out of it, he grabs Amos by the jumpsuit and pulls him close. He can feel his strength wavering, but he manages to hold onto him as he kisses him hard enough to feel their teeth hit. Amos makes some sound in the back of his throat—Holden can’t decipher it—and after a few beats grips at Holden’s towel. He deepens the kiss, heart rate jumping at the idea of Amos just pulling the towel loose. A tiny part of him yearns to be reacquainted with Amos right here.

And then Amos pulls out of the kiss, uses his hands on Holden’s hips to push him away. It’s not a forceful push—no, almost gentle—but Holden feels it as if he’d been shoved in the chest. Heat rises in his cheeks again. He isn’t sure if it’s more from lust or embarrassment. He takes a shuddering breath.

“I missed you.”

He opens his eyes, hoping to see something, anything in Amos’ face that shows that he wants this as badly as Holden does.

Only to find the man giving him a tight grin. “Jesus, Cap. Save it for when you’re back to a hundred. Shouldn’t start something you can’t finish.” Amos taps the palm of his hand to Holden’s cheek twice.

Holden sputters. “But… that’s not what I—”

“I have to get back to work. Alex is probably looking for me.” With one last slap to the shoulder, Amos pivots and strides out of the head, leaving Holden cold and alone.

Holden stares at the door long after Amos leaves. He stays in the same spot, shivering, until his legs can’t hold him any longer. He sits back on the bench with a groan, letting his head hit the bulkhead with a little more force than before. “Stupid.”

He closes his eyes. Breathes slow to calm his mind—and body. His eyes itch and he clenches them tighter. It’s all a mess. And it’s all his mess. He goes over the past months, every choice and every word, looking for where he could have stopped himself. Kept his mouth shut or said something different or did something different. But he couldn’t have. He can’t be anyone different. He shudders.

The door slides open again, boots scuffing against the decking as someone else enters the head. Holden sighs. “Amos isn’t here, Alex.” His voice comes out rougher and more exhausted than he thought it might. Can he hide behind his injuries or is it obvious it’s something else?

“It’s me, Ji—... Holden.”

Holden’s eyes open and his tilts his head up to see not his pilot, but the other lover that had been on his mind. Former lover. Naomi. She looks as beautiful as the day he first noticed how beautiful she was. There’s a gnawing in his gut. She grins at him, a small, tight grin like Amos’. She wrings her hands together, shifts her gaze to look at anything but him. The knot in his chest stays firmly in place. He tries not to show it and gives her a tiny grin of his own.

“Hey.”

Naomi takes a deep breath. Like she’s preparing to say something. She shakes her head instead. “Amos said you needed some help.”

Holden blinks, his eyebrows drawing together. He’s not sure if he can take this emotional whiplash from the both of them. He feels vulnerable. Exposed. Not just because he’s naked save for his towel. But he doesn’t have the energy to do anything about it. He hums.

“Did he?”

Naomi hesitates again. “Yeah. Just… thought you weren’t… doing as well as you said.”

“That’s…” Holden finds himself at a loss. Amos grabbed Naomi? For what? If Holden needed help getting dressed, he’d have called for someone himself. It’s not like he has anything to hide from Naomi anymore. And his dignity has never meant much to him. Naomi had spent so much time avoiding alone time with him before Eros. Avoiding any opportunity for him to try and talk to her about more personal matters.

So… why now?

“That’s very... thoughtful of him,” Holden concludes lamely. There had been a time he could just talk to Naomi, about anything and everything. Curled up in his cabin or hers, wrapped up in a tiny world that only reached as far as the door. Now he dances around the conversation, trying not to say anything that could make her uncomfortable. Worlds apart. He sighs. “I’ll be fine. Just need my legs to stop shaking.”

Naomi takes a breath. “I don’t think he meant your… physical recovery. Jim.”

Holden’s gaze snaps back to her face. Her lip is caught between her teeth. She hasn’t called him by his name since… before Opal. Before she’d ended things with him. Before he fucked it all up. He swallows. “Then what?” He’s almost afraid of her answer. He doesn’t know why. If it’s because it’s her, or if it’s the topic. “What did he mean?”

“Us, Jim,” she says, finally stepping towards him. “The three of us. The… break up.”

“Ah.” His heart hammers all over again as Naomi approaches. Slow, cautious. Why must they put him through this? Get his hopes up, only to dash them? Again. Will she run away like Amos, when she comes back to her senses? Will this tightness in his chest or gnawing in his stomach ever fade? He so loses himself in doubt and questions that he doesn’t realize how close Naomi is until her long, cool fingers slide under his jaw and tilt his head up. It takes more effort than he’d like to meet her brown eyes with his. They look almost pained.

“Naomi, what are you—”

“I’m sorry.” Her thumbs stroke over his cheekbones. Her eyes lock on his. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do it.”

Holden blinks up at her, brows drawing together. “You’re sorry? For what?” Naomi’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Holden makes a sound in the back of his throat that even he can’t quite interpret. Something in her small gesture makes him feel bold. And small. “Naomi… I did this. I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

It’s Naomi’s turn to look confused. She purses her lips. “What are you talking about, Jim?”

Holden almost tells her. The words that explain him and Amos and their fallout nearly spill from his lips like a holy confession just to seek his penance. Her forgiveness. The shame of his works creep up the back of his neck and sends a another shiver through him. Something clicks, for Naomi's gaze softens further.

“Is this about you and Amos? Whatever happened when that patrol found us?”

Holden swallows, his throat suddenly dry. He nods. “I… said something I shouldn't have.”

He nearly starts when Naomi snorts. “Why does that not surprise me?” Her tone is gentle, her expression… affectionate.

“Naomi…” He pushes down the rising joy, the hope that unfurls in his chest. This is how she looked at him before. The way he’s wanted her to look at him since she stormed out of the bar with his heart in her hands. But as much as he wants to let himself just revel in it, she deserves to know. She needs to know. “When… the Martians… I told Amos you were right to be afraid of him.”

Naomi blinks. Holden’s heart stops. He wants to look away, dreading the disgust he’ll be sure to see when she processes what he’d said. That he’d said something so purely meant to hurt someone she cared about. Used her to hurt someone she cared about. He knows deep down it was to lash out over his own pain. And it makes it feel worse. Cruel. He deserves any judgement she may pass on him. So he can’t look away. He has to take it. He has to crush the hope he so badly wants to feel to keep himself from hurting more.

Naomi takes a breath. Nods. “You’re… blaming yourself? For everything?”

“Well…” Holden pauses. “Yeah?”

The disgust never comes. The corner of Naomi’s mouth twitches. Her thumb strokes over his cheek again. “Have you ever considered that I am partially to blame? It did start when Amos found out I was lying for you.”

“I—” No. He hadn’t. In all honesty—further proof of his asshole status—he’d forgotten how Naomi and Amos had fallen out in the first place. Naomi had protected him from Amos, at the expense of their relationship. Still a notch on his belt of fault, but… not by his own doing. She’d chosen to keep his secret, knowing what might happen. He sighs, looks away from her warm brown eyes by closing his own. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t.”

“I don’t know what I expected. But we do share the blame, Jim.” Her voice is soft, fingers still petting his skin. It’s so soothing. Holden hadn’t realized just how badly he’d missed her touch until her hands were on him again. “You regret what you said, right?”

“To Amos? Absolutely. I don’t… relish being cruel, in retrospect.”

Naomi laughs. “I’m certain you don’t. I’m certain you’ve had yourself in a personal hell since you said it.” She taps his jawline, and Holden opens his eyes to look at her again, Her gentle smile has returned. “You’re not the type to be cruel.”

“And neither are you,” Holden whispers. Naomi’s eyes widen. He moves his hands to rest on her hips, giving her a comforting touch of his own. She tenses. But only for a second. “You aren’t, Naomi. You don’t have to apologize to me. I understand why you did what you did. I get it now.”

And he does. It was unfair of him to ever think she should bounce between the two of them, or keep things up with him while she hurt over Amos. Unfair and cruel. And he’d almost died with those rifts between them. That thought hurts him most. Leaving all of this unsaid. Leaving them with all this pain.

Before Naomi can answer him, he pulls her close, presses his forehead to her stomach. She makes a sort of choked sound above him, an emotion he’s not sure he can place. She smells like sweat and grease. It’s not entirely unpleasant, not from her. It makes him think of home. His new home. Fingers thread through his hair, trail down the back of his neck. A soft groan escapes him, and he further melts into her.

God… he’s missed this. How could I be so stupid? He doesn’t realize he’d said it out loud until Naomi laughs above him. It’s a bitter bark of a sound.

“Not just you, Jim. I—I walked out on you at the bar.” Her voice wavers, her grip on his hair and shoulder tightening. “You could have died and the last real conversation we had was weeks ago. I’d ended things and just left you there.”

“But you waited for me on Eros,” he whispers, still loud enough for her to hear. “You waited. I didn’t die. You didn’t leave me and I’m here.”

The ease with which the words fall from his lips surprises him. The certainty. It surprises Naomi too, for she stutters—Naomi, stuttering!—before taking a breath.

“It’s that easy for you?”

“Yes,” he assures her, certain as anything. “That’s it.”

And it is. Of course, he may have blamed her for his pain once. As he sat alone at the table back at Opal, waving a waitress down to close their tab to distract himself from the deep ache in his chest. But he quickly turned it into anger at himself. She doesn’t need his forgiveness because there’s nothing to forgive. She’d done nothing wrong in choosing Amos. In choosing herself.

Naomi gently pulls him away from her stomach, tilting his head up to meet his eyes. Holden gazes back up at her. He’s unafraid now. Her long fingers tease through his hair again. The question lingers in her eyes. Should we try again? Holden wants nothing more. He nods, hoping the rest of his expression answers for him as she studies his face in silence.

Naomi relaxes, a small grin replacing the concern that colored her features. She leans down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Holden lets his eyes close.

“Let’s try not do that again, yeah?”

Holden hums, squeezing her waist. “Agreed.”

She kisses his forehead once more, nuzzling the same spot before finally pulling away from him. “I may have found something in the medbay that will help you long term. Think you can get dressed on your own?”

Holden hadn’t noticed when the shaking had stopped. He shoots her a grin. “I think I can manage.”

She returns his smile. “I’ll get Miller. Meet you there in fifteen?” It’s far more than enough time, even with weak muscles and shaky legs. His chest warms.

“Sounds good.” And it does. For the first time since Holden walked into the bar on Tycho to meet Naomi for a drink, something finally feels good. He finally feels good. “Thank you, Naomi.”

Naomi brushes her knuckles against his cheek, smile widening. Part of Holden wishes she’ll lean down and kiss him. The deeply-romantic, misses-his-maybe-girlfriend-more-than-coffee part. But if she had been ready for that, she would have done so. It’s not the right moment. They’ll find it. He’s certain of it now.

She leaves him with the clothes Amos had lain out for him. Not before shooting him one last smile over her shoulder as she ducks out the door. Holden’s heart is racing. For the first time in weeks, he doesn’t worry about it. He’s not scared. It’s not an emergency. He’s practically soaring. Wings of eagles and all that shit.

He eases himself back to his feet and dresses with care. Much of his body still aches and he still bruises too easy. However, there’s an eagerness he can’t keep from his movements. Naomi wants him again. Amos might want him again. He may be at half-strength or less, but he feels whole. He hadn’t even realized that he’d been missing parts of himself until he knew what it was like to have them back. He has to do better. Has to be better. Has to be worthy of the care and forgiveness they’ve bestowed upon him. Or… acceptance, in Amos’ case.

And later, after he and Naomi put the “protomolecule” sample in the missile, after she asked if he was okay, and after they had gotten… reaquainted with each other in the airlock, Amos finds him in the corridor on his way back up to Ops.

The mechanic gives him a once over, and Holden is pretty certain that Amos knows exactly what had happened before Alex’s surprise dinner. That he knows exactly what had taken Holden and Naomi so long in the airlock. He so wishes the radiation had given him superpowers. To know what Amos might think of it.

But Amos seems to answer that question for him by slamming him back into the bulkhead and kissing him hard enough to similarly slam his head back into the bulkhead. He doesn’t know what it is about his partners and pushing him into a wall, but if he’s going to get a concussion, ground rules might be important. Not that he’s thinking about ground rules when Amos is finally kissing him again. He grips at Amos’ jumpsuit, just like in the head hours before. This time, he doesn’t shake. He may be held upright between the wall and the hard plane of Amos’ chest, but Holden knows he can stand tall on his own now.

They kiss until they’re both breathless, Amos pulling away but staying close enough to breathe the same air. Holden gazes at him, not bothering to fight through the post-kiss dreamy haze these two often leave him in. Amos holds him by the jaw, studying his face. Holden wants to tip his chin up, kiss him again. But something like mischief flashes in Amos’ eyes. Holden’s brows draw together.

Amos stops his question with one of his own. “You and Naomi good then?”

Holden gapes at him. “What?”

“C’mon, Cap,” Amos scoffs. Holden files all thoughts of the title away for when he’s not pinned to a bulkhead. “It’s written all over your face. Hers too. Just a damn shame I wasn’t there.”

“Well,” Holden starts, clearing his throat when it comes out like a croak. “Well… it happened so fast, we just—”

Amos pats his cheek and pulls away, taking his warmth with him. “Nah, it’s fine. All good. Besides—” He leans in once more, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “You can always make it up to me by reenacting it when we hit Tycho. I’m sure Naomi won’t mind.”

He gives Holden one last hard slap on the arm for good measure before sauntering away, whistling some tune or another. Holden leans against the bulkhead for a while after that, head flooded with images of the three of them holed up in some fancy Tycho apartment for hours. When he finally pushes away, the fresh bruises from dual wall-shovings across his back and arms protest.

He can’t say it isn’t worth it.

#the expanse #jim holden #amos burton #naomi nagata #holden/naomi/amos #in a lovely constellation #shanfics #expansefic

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truthofherdreams · 7 years

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It’s in the little things, she decides.

It is the way he drinks his coffee every morning – or at least, every whatever-the-hell-is-morning-in-outer-space. His eyes are still half-closed, lids heavy with the sleep he hasn’t fully shaken off quite yet, and he navigates his way to the kitchen with the ease that only comes after months in the same enclosed space. The way he puts the mug under the coffee machine is all but delicate, but his fingers barely brush the button before he leans against the counter with a groan. Naomi watches him from her spot at the table – always the first to wake up, way before Alex or Holden, or even Amos who takes forever to get out of bed. And then she smiles at him, fond, amused, when Holden finally gets his first sip of coffee and sighs deeply. Eye closed, head tilt back, his Adam’s apple working as he gulps down the precious liquid. And then he looks at her staring at him, and smiles – little wrinkles around his eyes, and her heart growing bigger, warmer.

It’s how he forces himself not to touch her when they’re on deck, leaning above her chair and giving his orders. It’s the way his fingers will linger above her shoulder but never graze, because Amos is sitting just next to her, because Alex is waiting for his next command, because they have shit to get done and places to be and Holden is a great many things but unprofessional he is not. Not when the weight of the lives they lost still hangs heavily on his shoulders, not when he believes he needs to save the entire galaxy and then some. He leans into her personal space, Naomi’s breath caught in her throat, but in those moments he’s her captain, not her – whatever he is to her.

It’s the weekly messages he sends his mother, talking about the crew’s latest exploits and the people they saved, the successful missions. He smiles to himself as he leans above the speaking device, and glances at her when he tells his mother that everything is fine, and he can’t wait for her to meet his crew, and he hopes she’s proud. Naomi has never been much of a family girl – you learn not to get attached to anyone in The Belt, not even your parents, not even your family. But Holden is too much of an Earther for his own good, and he loves his mother so much it makes Naomi melt a little. He tells her he will introduce them, one day, her and his mother and his father and his mother and… And she smiles, and kisses him, and laughs at this big sap that wants himself tough.

It’s how he looks up to her, when a decision needs to be made and he can no longer handle being captain, can no longer deal with the role that was thrust on him when he didn’t ask. Nothing but a glance, a nod, a touch of her hand against his – nothing but a silent conversation that lasts a second but means so much. He values her input more than anyone ever did, and trusts her to make the hard choices with him. He trusts her with his crew, his ship, his hero complex, and she opens her arms to him willingly. Figuratively or not, hugging him to her in the darkness until he stops shivering, until she chases away the nightmares that have been plaguing him since Eros.

It’s this and so much more – his smiles, the way he rolls his eyes at Alex’s magic tricks, his sarcastic banter with Amos, and how he laughs at the insults she throws at him. It’s the way he wraps his arms around her waist to hug her from behind. It’s the stupid Earther baseball cap he insists on wearing. It’s his shirt fitting so well to his body. It’s his voice, rolling like rocks carried by waves.

It’s this, and so much more, that has Naomi certain that she loves him.

#nolden #nolden ff #noldensource #naomi nagata #jim holden #otp: one in particular #the expanse #ff: the expanse #fanfic #tfw you jump straight into the trash can

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macgyvertape · 7 years

Text

The Expanse 2x05

hypetown

still salty about the lack of “Don’t you fucking touch me” from last ep

glad they are making a big deal about how it BREAKS physics with Eros moving

Alex is very freaked out by extra solar things

I’m p salty about how they obscured the line of “DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH ME” and haven’t cleaned it up so far

aww Miller and hating the protomolecule because it “ate” Julie

it’s great seeing this scene live, rather than Chrisjen recounting it in the past

“lets hope they are feeling warm and fuzzy today”

aww Alex’s action is super strong

Watching Miller carry around this shitty nukes alarm clock, hitting the sleep button every few minutes is great

IT’S GONE AND GONE AND GONE

they do such a great job of making it sppoky, and hey there’s that arcade place where Holden killed a person

that was so cool how the molecule froze, then got more frenzied

also lol Miller keeps upgrading how he carried the nuke

the science dude was hearing the Eros transmission

lol the president doesn’t know shit

I love Naomi, “think happy thoughts”

CAN’T TAKE THE RAZORBACK

i’m glad they’ve finally stopped obscuring the lines

I wonder who just show watchers think is talking here

love the “go get em a cup of coffee” line

When holden is talking about making the choice that will kill them, Naomi and Amos exchange this little look. Then for the decision Holden looks at Naomi and Amos, and they just give him little subtle nods

I love how they are making it clear Eros is surging, they can’t keep up they will kill them, and it’s a decision

glad they kept this in, Chisjen’s and her husband they are so adorable I LOVE THEM

I’m actually feeling sad feelings before the sad music, “You never have to apologize to me”

Chrisjen is so great I LOVE HER

the hand forming out of crystal, nice additional add, super creepy

aww Naomi still guiding Holden

Miller finally realizes what’s up

Holden is bad about thinking of political consequences

fuk this is even more beautiful and alien than the book made me imagine

THE BIRD FROM S1

God miller, with his love for Julie

this scene is so well done from the books, I love the actors

the music here fits well too

“if we don’t die that will be interesting. Whatever happens happens to both of us”

I don’t have tears in my eyes, it’s JUST SALT

also miller went out the way he would have wanted

aww Diogo

I love how soft the ending was, showing that Miller managed to change Julie’s mind, and showing not telling the reactions

would have loved the stinger scene from the book

#the expanse #the expanse 2x05 #leaviathan wakes #liveblog #the expanse spoilers

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popofventi · 7 years

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MENTAL YOGA SUNDAY / 5 FAVORITE LONG FORM READS THIS WEEK / ISSUE No. 17

Mental Yoga Sunday posts are meant to be like a big mute button you aim at the rest of the world. Just you, your chair, a mug, a spot next to a dust-filled sunny spot or a rainy window. Take in a long form read...sip by sip.

How Helping a Stranger With a Severed Finger Saved My Life (Narratively)

"Por favor. Call 911,” the man says. “Finger. Cut.” He authenticates his succinct claim by holding up his blood-streaked fore-arm. With his left hand, he is clenching a wad of handkerchief around his right pinky.

I feel certain this is a scam and want to tell him to piss off, but I’ve never seen this bloody forearm ploy before, and I don’t know how it plays out. “No. Have. Phone.” I say, as if English is also my second language.

“Have phone,” he says and dips his chin toward his front pants pocket.

I don’t want to stick my hand in there, but I have no proof this is a con job, and the blood does look real, so I gesture for my kid to stay on the stoop and I move toward him. Maybe there isn’t even a pocket in there, I think, maybe it’s just a hole and I’m going to touch his penis. Or maybe as soon as my hand is inside he’ll snatch my wrist and steal my money, kidnap my kid, and touch my boob.

In his pocket, I find a flip-phone. I slip it out and step back out of arms’ reach.

I stare at the phone. “I don’t know how to use it.” Which is true. Even though it’s 2004, I have never used a cellphone before.

He grits his teeth and lifts his face to scan the street for anyone else – besides this stupid lady – to help him. He’s shit out of luck, this street is deserted and I’m all he’s got. He takes a deep breath, steps toward me and points with the pinky of his good hand at the button marked “talk.” As I press the nine, the one, and the one, I think, Finally! I’ve always wondered when I would get to call 911.

The operator answers and after I give her the address I say, “I’m here with this guy, and he says he cut his finger.”

“Is it bad?” the operator asks me, being a better person than I, she doesn’t immediately doubt the veracity of his claim.

“Is it bad?” I ask him.

“Si.” - Read Full Story

The Mall of My Dreams (3 AM Magazine)

"The concourses inside the mall were empty; its hallways quiet. No shoppers anywhere, no sales clerks to be found. Storefronts were lit and stocked with merchandise, Muzak played. But otherwise, the place was deserted. As I looked around, I noticed that the entire mall was rendered in spare parts pulled from memory, a Brutalist apparition. It had a common area and glass elevator that I recognized from the movie Weird Science, where Gary and Wyatt, played by Anthony Michael Hall and Ilan Mitchell-Smith, are publicly humiliated when their preppy tormentors pour a cherry Icee on their heads from the mall’s second floor. The white hexagonal skylights were an architectural detail pulled from Fairlane Town Center in suburban Detroit—a mall I visited only once with my wife, Michelle, and our oldest son Ethan, when he was still a toddler. And the terrazzo floors were identical to those at Monroeville Mall.

As I approached the food court in the center of the mall, it was as if someone had flipped a switch, bringing an entire community of automatons to life. It was quiet one moment, then cacophonous. There were men and women engaged in conversation while eating large slices of pizza; a father and his young daughter in line at an ice cream shop, deciding which flavor to choose; a young couple kissing in the far corner near a gumball machine; and a group of old men in windbreakers sipping coffee near a decorative fountain. But something strange had also happened. The immediate landscape of the mall was crystalline and defined except where it disappeared into a stark black abyss at its edges. It reminded me of the set for The Charlie Rose Show, and how Charlie and his guests and even the table between them all seem to hover in the eternal black of the universe, as if suspended on wires. When I looked out toward the edges, there was nothing." - Read Full Story

Behind a $13 Shirt, a $6-an-Hour Worker (Los Angeles Times)

"Before dawn six days a week, Norma Ulloa left the two-bedroom apartment she shared with four family members and boarded a bus that took her to a stifling factory on the outskirts of downtown Los Angeles.

She spent 11 hours a day there, pinning Forever 21 tags on trendy little shirts and snipping away their loose threads in the one-room workshop. On a good day, the 44-year-old could get through 700 shirts.

That work earned Ulloa about $6 an hour, well below minimum wage in Los Angeles, according to a wage claim she filed with the state.

Ulloa’s claim is one of nearly 300 filed since 2007 by workers demanding back pay for producing Forever 21 clothing, according to a Los Angeles Times review of nearly 2,000 pages of state labor records.

Sewing factories and wholesale manufacturers have paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to settle those workers’ claims. Forever 21 has not had to pay a cent." - Read Full Story

This Tiny Country Feeds the World (National Geographic)

"In a potato field near the Netherlands’ border with Belgium, Dutch farmer Jacob van den Borne is seated in the cabin of an immense harvester before an instrument panel worthy of the starship Enterprise.

From his perch 10 feet above the ground, he’s monitoring two drones—a driverless tractor roaming the fields and a quadcopter in the air—that provide detailed readings on soil chemistry, water content, nutrients, and growth, measuring the progress of every plant down to the individual potato. Van den Borne’s production numbers testify to the power of this “precision farming,” as it’s known. The global average yield of potatoes per acre is about nine tons. Van den Borne’s fields reliably produce more than 20.

That copious output is made all the more remarkable by the other side of the balance sheet: inputs. Almost two decades ago, the Dutch made a national commitment to sustainable agriculture under the rallying cry “Twice as much food using half as many resources.” Since 2000, van den Borne and many of his fellow farmers have reduced dependence on water for key crops by as much as 90 percent. They’ve almost completely eliminated the use of chemical pesticides on plants in greenhouses, and since 2009 Dutch poultry and livestock producers have cut their use of antibiotics by as much as 60 percent." - Read Full Story

The Coming-of-Age Con (Aeon)

"Near the end of J D Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye (1951), the novel’s hero Holden Caulfield buys his sister Phoebe a ticket to the carousel in the park and watches her ride it. It begins to rain, and Holden – having spent most of the book in some form of anxiety, disgust or depression – now nearly cries with joy. ‘I was damn near bawling, I felt so damn happy, if you want to know the truth. I don’t know why. It was just that she looked so damn nice, the way she kept going around and around, in her blue coat and all.’

Holden watches his sister reach out for a ring from her bobbing horse, and he has a profound revelation: life is about maintaining some form of optimism and innocence – of continuing to try, even in the midst of an impossible world. Later, Holden says he gets ‘sick’, but now he is mostly sanguine: he plans to go to a new school in the autumn and is looking forward to it. Holden has had an emotional experience and, as a result, has found himself. This, in turn, will allow him to enter society, which marks his growing up.

The term Bildungsroman was coined by the philologist Karl Morgenstern in the 1820s to denote ‘the hero’s Bildung (formation) as it begins and proceeds to a certain level of perfection’. The term grew in popularity when in 1870 Wilhelm Dilthey wrote that the quintessential Bildungsroman was Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship (1796), in which the protagonist has the double task of self-integration and integration into society. According to Dilthey, self-integration implies social integration, thus the Bildungsroman is concerned predominately with leading the protagonist (and the reader) into his productive societal place. It is largely from this tradition that most contemporary coming-of-age culture, Salinger included, springs.

Take, for instance, the fact that the culminating fight scene in most superhero stories occurs only after the hero has learned his social lesson – what love is, how to work together, or who he’s ‘meant to be’. Romantic stories climax with the ultimate, run-to-the-airport revelation. The family-versus-work story has the protagonist making a final decision to be with his loved ones, but only after almost losing everything. Besides, for their dramatic benefit, the pointedness and singular rush of these scenes stems from the characters’ desire to finally gain control of their self: to ‘grow up’ with one action or ultimate understanding." - Read Full Story

#Long Form Reading #Longreads #Aeon #National Geographic #Los Angeles Times #3 AM Magazine #Narratively

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