#id get all excited and do special things for thursdays

[issybettyx]

TOMMY AU IDK WHAT TO NAME IT

This is possibly the strangest, most out of pocket au i’ve ever thought of, so enjoy? Ig?

Tw’s: near-death experience, child abandonment reference

———

Tommy’s life was simple. Every day was routine, it had been since he was 14.

Wake up at 7am, shower, eat breakfast, brush teeth, change into day clothes, leave the house, go to work, go home, catch up on homework and missed school work, eat dinner, sleep.

Repeat.

Every day.

Tommy was 19 when that routine was broken.

It wasn’t a special day by any means, it was a Thursday in the heigh of Autumn; there was a soft breeze carrying over the city, but Tommy had grown used to it, letting it nip at the tips of his ears without a second thought.

The journey home was a route he knew well, it was a long one but one he could do even if his heart stopped beating.

Tommy had moved into the apartment when he was 14, he got a job using his fake ID. His independence was hardly ever challenged, but as a child he had always been underestimated from a very young age. His first job was at the cinema, he shovelled popcorn for two years before deciding he needed something new, something exciting, to change up the routine a little.

That’s how, when he was 16, he got a job as a private detective. The fake ID kept the same birthday, meaning they all believed he was 18, still drastically too young to be doing such a thing. But Tommy had a knack for discovering the undiscoverable, for noticing the smallest details most didn’t pick up on, and it made him one of the best in the business within his first year working.

Working as a private detective for three years was what made routine worth it. Sometimes what he found would be so shocking and world-rocking that he needed a constant to fall back on. Maybe it was stupid, to value something so simple and boring, but it was his, and that was enough.

So, aged 19 in the middle of autumn, when Tommy was taking the same route home as usual, he was extremely shocked to find the walk so eventful.

It started with rain. The rain turned to the thunder, and the thunder meant lightning.

It wasn’t anything unusual, it stormed several times beforehand, it wasn’t an issue.

What was an issue, however, was the tree that got struck and fell not a metre in front of him.

Crowds immediately ran over, blocking his usual path.

A detour it was.

So, Tommy took his usual detour, keep an extra ear out for the lightning in case it decided to stop him in his tracks again.

However, the next thing that confused him wasn’t lightning, but an annoyed muttering, a deep voice echoing around the streets that passerby’s didn’t even acknowledge. At first, Tommy thought he was going insane, not pausing his footsteps as he strained his ears to hear more.

‘We’ve waited years, Phil,’ they complained, and Tommy slapped a hand over his mouth to make sure he didn’t scream for help. No one else was hearing it, he was probably going insane. ‘Years and nothing, Wilbur is getting impatient, we have to look ourselves.’

I’m just insane, Tommy reminded himself, no matter how horrible it made him feel. Lightning struck again, and the voice was gone with the next roll of thunder.

The third thing was how Tommy almost tripped face first into the pavement, and not by stumbling over his own feet. Rather he stumbled over a briefcase.

When he turned around to look at it, the leather hadn’t been soaked by the rain yet, almost as if it had just been placed there. Something in the back of his head told Tommy to grab it, to hold the handle and take it home to check it’s contents.

It was a terrible idea, Tommy knew it was a horrendous idea as he stared at it longer, the rain beating down heavily on his shoulders as the leather briefcase started to soak. “Fuck it.” Tommy muttered, picking himself up and gripping the briefcase handle.

The rest of the walk home was thankfully peaceful, disregarding the noises of the storm. Tommy stumbled for his keys, eventually finding them and twisting them in the lock, pushing open the door and immediately slamming it the moment he got inside.

Not bothering to lock it behind him, Tommy made his way into his living room, shrugging off his coat and discarding it on the sofa behind him. The briefcase was placed in front of him, and he hesitated for a moment, running his fingers over the golden clasps in thought.

Whatever the fuck that walk home was, Tommy wasn’t sure.

First almost dying, then hearing someone talking, and then finding a perfectly dry briefcase in the pouring rain.

Nothing about the situation felt right. In fact, it felt almost set up, and anyone smarter would’ve thrown out the case and gone to sleep to forget all about it.

But Tommy liked knowing the facts.

He liked knowing what others couldn’t see, or were too scared to realise.

So, even though logic told him to leave it, to forget about it and return to the routine and work on his school work, his mind told him to open it.

One final time, his fingers ran over the clasps, before he finally pushed them open, lifting it open-

Everything went black.

-

“You can’t possibly think going down there is a good idea.” Tommy heard a muffled voice whisper, clearly being in a room over. Taking a moment to himself, Tommy groaned, blinking his eyes open and propping himself up.

Wherever he was, it definitely wasn’t his apartment.

The walls were a dark green, spruce logs placed vertically on the walls to keep the roof in place, the roof itself being a dark grey. He was sitting on a rug of some kind, it being soft to the touch, but when he looked at the floor most of it was wooden slabs placed perfectly to fit the room.

A sofa was to his left, the same shade as the walls, and a coffee table was over the rug on his right, also spruce.

Wherever he was, they knew interior design well.

“I don’t see the issue with it, personally.” A deeper voice responded, a familiar deeper voice. Tommy paused for a moment, trying to figure out where he recognised it from.

“Of course you don’t see an issue with it, you never see an issue with anything, that’s how we got into this situation in the first place!” The first voice responded, a low chuckle following that only seemed to annoy them more. “I am done, we’re done, this is ending now.” Footsteps rang out, and Tommy had enough sense to force himself to his feet, wiping any dust off his dry clothes.

A door swung open, a door that wasn’t there before, and a blonde man stormed out, his hair tied back into a low ponytail. One hand was pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut as he let out a long breath. His other hand rested in his pockets, his trousers being a lighter green than the walls but only carrying half way down his calfs, bandages covering the rest of his legs. His top was simple white, loose and tucked into his trousers.

A pair of midnight black wings sat on his back, and it was really the only thing off about him, well par one other small detail.

A simple necklace sat on his chest, a red heart pendant that sat perfectly over where Tommy knew a human heart was.

And then, his hand moved from his face and his eyes blinked open, a similar shade of blue to Tommy’s own. They looked lazily ahead for a moment, flickering as he clearly thought of something.

And he clearly didn’t know Tommy was just stood in his living room.

Maybe he should say something?

“Uh,” he started, his head immediately snapping towards him. “Where the fuck am I?”

He simply stared for a moment, mouth agape as he stared directly at him.

“Techno.” The man called, not taking his eyes from Tommy as if he worried he’d disappear (it didn’t seem entirely impossible, considering the days events).

Another man walked through the door, pink hair braided with two strands over his face. Instead of sky blue irises, this man’s were a bright red, and it would he intimidating if not for the fact he was wearing a black hoodie and jeans. It seemed he was pulled away from reading too, a pair of glasses resting over his chest, being attached by a chain that kept them from falling on the floor.

“Oh.” Was all he said, his deep voice echoing in Tommy’s head almost tauntingly. He knew it, where did he know it from?

Oh wait.

“So you’re the guy I heard talking earlier.” Tommy said triumphantly, letting a smirk onto his face.

“I- uh.” Techno started, but the blonde man shot him a harsh glare that clearly made him shut up.

Another door opened on the opposite side of the room (where were all these doors coming from?) that made all three avert their gaze.

“Techno I got to chapter 8 on that story you recommended me, why the fuck would-“ the man cut himself off as he stared at Tommy, an equally as shocked look on his face as the other three. This man seemed a little different than the other two.

There was nothing remotely intimidating about him. From the way he stood, to his messy brown hair or warm brown eyes, his yellow jumper and black trousers, Tommy didn’t find any reason to find him remotely scary. With Techno’s red eyes and the blonde’s heart pendant, Tommy felt hesitant.

With this new person? Tommy’s heart didn’t skip a single beat.

A silence overtook the room, and Tommy felt uncomfortable about the fact they were all looking at him.

“What? Have I got something on my face?” He scoffed, placing his hands in his pockets as he looked to the brunette for help, only seeing furrowed brows and squinted eyes.

“Mate how the fuck did you get in here?” The blonde asked, his words without malice and simply with pure confusion, possibly even an ounce of wonder. Either way, Tommy continued to smile.

“Well, long story short I almost died, had to take a detour, tripped over a briefcase, and then-“

“A briefcase?” The brunette asked slowly, something like hope in his raised shoulders.

“Yeah, this leather briefcase with gold on,” Tommy commented offhandedly, noticing how the blonde looked at Techno with a smile, “Anyway I took it home because it was proper weird, and then I just passed out and woke up here.” Silence met him again, and so Tommy continued. “So which one is Phil and which one is Wilbur?”

“How do you know our names?” Phil asked skeptically, and Tommy scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Techno said them whilst his voice was echoing in my ear, that was very freaky by the way.” Tommy explained, and the brunette huffed, rolling his eyes.

“I’m Wilbur.” He spoke up, not daring to move as he smiled.

“Don’t you wanna know where you are?” Phil (apparently) asked, looking between Tommy and Techno, the latter seemingly stuck in a strange state of shocked silence.

“Well the fact I don’t know is good enough for me, but sure, it would be great to know.” He replied, giving the man a toothy grin. But his hesitance didn’t go away, and Phil stuttered several times before speaking again.

“You’re in headquarters.”

“Headquarters of what?”

“No. Headquarters. The headquarters.” Phil tried, and that only confused Tommy more, looking to Wilbur for help.

“It’s basically the place where everyone who controls the milky-way galaxy lives.” Techno explained oh so helpfully, and this time Tommy felt himself fall silent. “No one from outside has been here for… well millennials.”

“So,” Tommy paused, pressing a hand over his mouth before falling onto the sofa, “So you’re kind of like god?”

“Well, us three look over Earth, make sure it operates-“

“You’re God then.”

“We make sure no species dies out if we can help it, we keep the lava boiling and the glaciers frozen-“

“You’re God, you’ve told me this.”

“This is getting no where.” Phil sighed eventually, tired of being interrupted as he looked to the other two for help, both of which were terribly masking their need to laugh.

“God is a societal construct,” Techno started, folding his hands in front of him. “God is said to have created Earth and created humanity, God punishes those who do wrong and brings luck to those who deserve it. All we do is create the planet and make sure it’s all in check, not just humans.”

“… right.” Tommy replied, only understanding partially but not wanting to destroy any remaining braincells he had left. “So why am I here?”

Phil and Techno exchanged a glance, but it was Wilbur who made the first move, walking across the room and sitting down next to him, folding his arms in his lap as he looked at Tommy, a faraway hope present in his eyes. It was almost painful, but Tommy couldn’t find himself able to look away.

“There’s an issue, with Earth.” Wilbur started, not taking his eyes away from Tommy’s as the boy nodded. “So a few decades ago we sent down a signal to find someone to help find the problem so we can repair it.” He paused, looking up at Phil who Tommy saw nod in the corner of his eye, and the brunette looked back at him, a small tugging at his lips. “It seems the universe finally chose the perfect candidate.”

Now, Tommy had seen and heard a lot of things in his life.

He’d seen kids be cast aside for their intelligence, as was as be paraded on national television to earn a few quid.

He’d seen murder scenes, blood littering the walls as all the detectives kept an extremely close eye on all the evidence.

He’d heard his parents talking about him behind his back, talking about how they could abandon him and not have to pay extra money to keep him alive. He’d left before they had the chance to.

But to hear a God (what else was he meant to call them?) tell him he was chosen to discover the ‘issue’ with Earth? Yeah that wasn’t entirely what he expected to hear on a random Thursday afternoon.

“How do you know there’s an issue?” Tommy decided to ask first. It was how he usually did his jobs; find the reason for being called before finding the evidence for or against it. A starting point was always handy.

“Earth is drifting away from the galaxy,” Techno explained, and Tommy wanted to kick himself for opening that stupid briefcase. “The workers from Mars reported how it had moved so far off course they couldn’t see it from the surface anymore.”

“But we would know if that happened, NASA would alert the government if Earth was moving out of orbit.” Tommy affirmed, but Techno simply shook his head.

“Humans are very strange beings, why do you have people controlling your every move and the information they deem you can obtain?” Techno groaned, falling onto the sofa beside Wilbur with a frown. “Why not just all work together, you know? War is stupid, you just kill each other before someone gives up. And don’t even get me started on orphans.”

“Hey don’t talk bad about us, we practically raised ourselves.” Tommy spat back, Wilbur laughing at the comment as Techno’s eyes went wide, stuttering for a response. Tommy only realised Phil was moving to sit next to him because of his impeccable observation skills, turning his head to the man (god?), his pitch black wings pulled close to his back to avoid them growing uncomfortable.

“You don’t need to help us.” Phil told him, resting his hands on the back of Tommy’s own. It was weirdly comforting, and he let himself smile at the gesture. “You’re just a kid after-all, you have a life to get back to, don’t let this hold you back.”

Honestly, Tommy was many things.

He was handsome, he was intelligent, he was independent.

A kid was something he’d never even gotten the chance to be.

In reality, he knew he had no choice in this, that he kind of had to fix whatever issue this was. But he also wasn’t entirely upset about that.

If he had to choose between staying in headquarters with these three strange people, or going back to the routine he had back at home, Tommy knew he would choose the former no matter what.

Something about hearing Wilbur’s laughter and listening to Techno’s complaints and feeling Phil’s hands rest on top of his own just felt right.

To turn this down would be as insane as opening the briefcase that brought him there.

“If I stay there’s no going back right?” Tommy asked slowly, and a sad smile from Phil confirmed his suspicions. “Then let’s get going shall we?”

———

Me me me when me when Tommy meet strange god people? :0 :D

Tommy: just going about his day having a good ol time

Also Tommy: get’s teleported to the Milk-Way Galaxy headquarters

Idek how my brain even invented this au, it took me like an hour and a half to write but I genuinely kinda love it

Anyways Tommy saves the Earth in exactly 5 hours and 34 minutes, SBI are like ‘bruh we waited decades just for this CHILD to figure it out so quickly?’ And fix it, and Tommy turns immortal and gains a family

Tubbo and Ranboo look over Mars, so this au would have benchtrio, because obviously why wouldn’t it?

Anyways, au Tommy <3

(Go check out the first chapter of my pirate fic if you enjoyed this :D https://archiveofourown.org/works/46295245/chapters/116553715)

#dream smp #mcytblr #tommyinnit #technoblade #wilbur soot #philza #sbi #sleepy bois inc #dream smp au #sbi au #god au #idek what this is

[brywrites]

Lock and Key I

Summary: In which Spencer Reid stumbles upon a GED class at Millburn and feels something like hope for the first time in weeks.

[Series Masterlist]

....

The prison library is a haven, for the few minutes he’s allowed to visit twice a week. It’s quiet, secluded, and full of his favorite things – books. The selection is nowhere near as nice as his personal collection at home, or the public library, but it’s better than nothing. Without words, he’d go mad. He needs stories to keep him sane, to give him a route he can escape by.

Today though, he’s startled to walk into the small space and find twelve other prisoners inside – accompanied by a face he’s never seen before. A woman. What’s even more surprising is that she doesn’t wear the uniform of a guard or an employee. Instead she’s in Converse sneakers and a lavender polka-dotted dress. It’s been so long since he saw that color – any bright color, really. But it’s his favorite and it isn’t until that moment that the realizes how much he’s missed the simplest of things. The sight of his favorite color. Bright images in dull spaces. Things that look hopeful.

Reid isn’t sure what’s going on, but the other prisoners seem to be too absorbed in the books to notice him. Just as he’s thinking he can back away quietly and return tomorrow, she turns around, smiling at the sight of him.

“Well hello there!” she says. “Are you Luis?”

Reid tilts his head, confused. How does this stranger know his friend? “Uh, no, no I’m not. I’m sorry, who are you?”

Her smile drops, though she doesn’t seem annoyed. Merely disappointed. “Oh. They told me Luis would be joining us today, but he never showed up. I’m Y/N. I’m one of the teachers here.”

This is the first he’s heard of such a thing. “You teach?”

She nods. “That’s right! I teach a couple of different groups – a few college classes here and there, a resume workshop. This is my GED class. We’re starting a unit on British Literature so they’ve all come to pick out a novel. You must be new here,” she notes, looking him over. He can feel himself flush under her gaze. It’s been a while since someone looked at him just to see him and not to evaluate his potential as a threat or a tool. “If you’d like, you can join the class. I’ve got plenty of open seats.”

“Oh no, I don’t need a GED.”

“It’s never too late to graduate,” she says. Then, considering him, “But that’s not what you meant is it?”

The way she’s studying him makes him nervous, though he’s certain it’s the same way he’s studied suspects and victims, trying to see beyond the obvious and understand what lies beneath. How strange, to be on the other side of that stare. “I’ve graduated high school already,” he informs her, hoping he doesn’t sound aloof. “And college. Actually, I hold three PhDs.”

“In what?”

“Mathematics, chemistry, and engineering.”

Y/N holds his gaze, taking this in. It’s as though she’s trying to decide whether or not to believe him. He figures in this environment, perhaps it’s not unusual to be told blatant lies by some prisoners. Delusion and paranoia aren’t uncommon. To teach in a place like this, she would have to be insightful and observant. For whatever reason, she must decide to trust him, because she smiles again.

“Well that’s rather impressive. You’re more qualified than I am. Just a Master’s for me.”

Reid decides against commenting in the irony of the situation, that despite his qualifications he’s nothing but a prisoner here. The same category as every drug-dealer, murderer, petty thief, and gangbanger. No better. But the way she looks at him, it at least makes him feel normal again. She looks at him like he’s a human being, with no disdain or disgust in her gaze, and no air of superiority in her voice.

“What did you study?” he asks her.

“English literature in college, education in grad school. I specialized in literature and languages, though I’m not too shabby when it comes to history. If it’s the STEM field you’ll be wanting though, you’ll have to check in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, my colleague teaches those classes.”

Glancing down at her watch, her eyes widen. “Goodness, we’re almost out of time.” She turns to the other inmates and instructs them to make their choices before she has to dismiss class for the day. To him, she adds, “It was nice to meet you – um…”

“Doct-” he begins, before stopping himself. This isn’t a normal introduction. Here, he holds no title, no position of importance. “Er, Spencer. My name is Spencer.”

“Well, Doc –” He tries not to smile at her casual acknowledgment – “if you ever change your mind, we meet Mondays and Wednesdays in room W15 during the afternoon rec slot.”

Despite having no need to attend a GED class, and for reasons he cannot quite explain, he finds himself slipping into that very room on Wednesday afternoon. Y/N glances up from the whiteboard she writes on, faltering for only a brief moment when she catches sight of him slipping into an empty seat in the back row, but she carries on. They’re talking about common themes in Brit Lit, and she’s explaining the Canterbury Tales, which they’ll be reading parts of. From what Reid gathers, there aren’t enough copies of books for them to all read the same novel, but she’s printed out large sections of the Tales for them to read together. It’s familiar, and for someone whose life has largely revolved in academia, it’s soothing to be in an environment where learning is taking place and discussion is happening. Even though he sits silently in the back row, observing.

The other inmates have all picked out books to read on their own and report on, from King Lear to Brave New World. A few have even selected Bronte and Austen novels, which Y/N applauds them for. When she divides them into groups to read and discuss “The Knight’s Tale,” she slips over to join Reid in the back of the room.

“I didn’t think you’d make it, Doc,” she tells him.

He shrugs. “I – I’ve kind of missed the classroom. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to sit in. If you don’t mind, of course!”

“Not at all.” She smiles, dismissing his worry with a wave of her hand. “The more the merrier. Besides, it’s rare that I have students with such an extensive education beforehand.  You’ll need to file an enrollment slip though, just for official records.”

She hands him a piece of paper and a commissary pen. While he doesn’t need the credit, he could use the normalcy. Discussions about books with other people in a space that feels a little safer – even if it doesn’t look like the classrooms he’s used to. The walls are stark white and bare save for three posters of famous writers and scientists. The two windows have thick bars on them. The desks are bolted to the floor. Every man in the room wears prison issued blues. But there is a whiteboard and a bookshelf and a clock. And Y/N, in a bright blue turtleneck. It makes him think of the sky, which he only gets a glimpse of for a few hours each week. Suddenly, she’s become the most vivid connection to the outside world.

“How long have you been teaching here?” he asks as he writes down answers to the form’s printed questions.

“Almost three years now. It started with just GED classes, but some volunteer programs have helped us bring new opportunities to the guys. It took me a while to convince the warden, but they’ve been a huge success. So are you coming from another facility? I know we had some transfers last week.”

He shakes his head. “I uh, I haven’t been sentenced yet. But there was overcrowding at the jail so they sent me here.” Reid pauses. “I assumed you would’ve known that.” The inmate records are publicly available. All she’d have to do is search his name or the number on his clothing and everything she needed to know would be right there – his charges, his admission date, his identifying information and that ID photo from his first day.

But she just shrugs. “I make a point not to look up what my students have been convicted of. I let them volunteer that information if they choose to, but I respect their privacy. Besides, I’d like to believe all of us are more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”

He’s struck by her words. After all, for the last decade his job has been to see people precisely as the worst thing they’ve ever done. To delve deep into those actions and develop a profile of a person on that alone. He has an impulse to dismiss her statement as naïve, but it reminds him of Garcia, of her boundless optimism and her ability to see the best in the world even after looking at the worst of it. That memory and the smile Y/N looks at him with softens the heart he’s been carefully hardening since he arrived here. And so rather than dampen her spirit he asks, “Does it matter if I’ve read all of the books you’re discussing already?”

Her eyes widen ever so slightly with surprise. “All of them?”

“My mother was a literature professor,” he says. “And I just really like books.”

“Well, typically I’d encourage you to take the courses we offer for college credit but they’re full. Since you already have your GED, I suppose we could treat it like you’re auditing. It might help some of the guys to have someone with a little more academic experience…” She trails off and then gasps. “Oh wait! How would you feel about being the TA for the class? It’s been so long since I had one for the GED classes.”

“Like… grade papers and things?”

“No, not like that,” she says. “There are strict rules about who sees what here. Being a TA for me would be less typical TA duties and more of mentoring the other students, helping me clean up after class, re-shelving books, things like that. It’s not an official job so there’s no pay, but you would get good time credit.”

Though he doesn’t know what his sentence here will be, if he’s sentenced at all, he knows that any good time credit he can obtain to reduce the length of it is worth it. And so he says, “Okay.”

Y/N’s eyes light up. Her smile is the prettiest thing he’s seen since he got here. “Perfect! Oh, this is so exciting. I’m glad you joined us.” When he finishes the paperwork, she leads him to an empty seat at a group of tables.

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong, Porkchop. It’s a love story,” one of the men is saying to another.

“Come on now, Xavier, you know the rules,” Y/N interrupts. “Nicknames stay outside the classroom. We use first names here.”

“Sorry, Teach,” Xavier says. He tries again. “It’s a love story, Carl.”

“That’s more like it. Carl, I can’t wait to hear your response. But first, I’m going to have Spencer join your group, alright? He’s our newest student and our TA for the class. He’s read a lot of these books so if you’re having a hard time or want to talk to someone about the material outside of class time, he’s a great person to ask.”

The group welcomes him – Xavier, Carl, Richie, and Luis. Reid is grateful to be with Luis, the one person he knows he can consider a friend inside. They talk about Chaucer and “The Franklin’s Tale,” and he’s surprised by the critiques and connections his peers make. Their debate is certainly different than the conversation he’d expect to find at a university class, but their ideas are still insightful and interesting. They make connections to their own lives, to the sacrifices they have made and the power of love they have witnessed firsthand. Mothers who never stop fighting for their appeal cases. Friends who send money so they can afford commissary. The difficulty of skipping commissary so they can send money home to their own families outside.

When their discussion finally winds down, Reid asks, “What’s the rule with nicknames about?”

“It’s Miss Y/N’s way of humanizing people,” Xavier says. “She says when we use first names like that, we’re all equals. But it’s different outside of class. We stick to nicknames because that’s what you do, y’know?” Reid shakes his head. Xavier chuckles. “You’re fresh meat, huh. First time you been down? In here, COs turn you into just a number or a last name. So nicknames inside are a way to hold on to some of your identity. Beyond that, there’s some guys in here you don’t want knowing your name, you feel me?”

“Nicknames gotta be given to you by someone else. Can’t make your own. Course, that means they’re usually a little insulting. They call me Porkchop,” Carl says. “Xavier’s Hammerhead. Richie is Spiders. And Luis, he been christened Slim Jim yesterday at chow. But don’t worry, we’ll find one for you soon.” Reid isn’t sure how to feel about the assurance. He doesn’t want to belong here, doesn’t want to fit in or get comfortable. On the other hand, he may be here for a while. Maybe laying low and finding allies wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

He knows one thing for sure – as he walks out of class, Y/N flashes that bright smile at him again. And for some reason, it makes him feel hopeful. More hopeful than any session with lawyers or judges has made him feel. Monday can’t come soon enough.

[Next]

..

Tags: @calm-and-doctor​ @averyhotchner​

#criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #prison reid #prison!reid

[jaehyunhour]

teenage dream | mark lee

genre + idol → fluff, smut, tiniest bit of angst if you squint, high school au, virgin!mark (x virgin fem!reader) [they’re both 18]

word count → 4.7k

warnings → alcohol consumption, unprotected sex (always wear a condom pls guys), tiniest bit of cursing

summary → mark lee moves to your hometown halfway through your sophomore year of high school, and once he arrives you quickly fall in love with both him and the town you grew to hate. after you graduate, mark has a surprise for you that may or may not include going across state lines, losing your virginity, and asking for your hand in marriage.

“Mark, you can’t leave me. You’re my soulmate.”

“If I could marry you tonight, I would.”

“You know... it’s only about a 5 hour drive to Vegas from here.”

a/n → i’ve been writing this fic for well over a month and it’s finally done!! this fic is purely self-indulgent because 1) i’m in love with mark lee and 2) i think of him every time i listen to teenage dream by katy perry... as always please let me know what you guys think of this one! i think this is one of my favorite fics i’ve written

Before you met Mark, life was bleak. That was the only way to describe it. Your life was monotone, shades of light blue and gray; your daily routine was the same, you walked through life as a zombie and hated everything about your hometown. But when Mark showed up halfway through your sophomore year of high school, when his family moved from Canada, everything changed. You got to show him the ins and outs of the city, turn him into a real native, and fall in love — both with your hometown, and with him.

You can still recall the first time you got to show Mark what it’s like to be a local. You went downtown, taking the light rail and getting off at each stop, enjoying what the city has to offer, before getting back on and staring out the window at the scenery. Mark’s hand rested in-between both of your thighs in an attempt to warm himself, while the other pressed onto the glass window of the light rail and tapped lightly. You pointed out the window at different buildings, telling Mark the story of your life in this little town, and he sat quietly and listened. His gaze lingered on the moving buildings as you spoke, and he immediately felt his entire body warm. This is when Mark knew you were special.

Your high school graduation was bittersweet. You were choosing to go to a college only thirty minutes away from your home because of your family, and Mark was on the waitlist for his dream college in Korea. After all the names were called, and all the caps thrown in the air, Mark wove his way through all of the graduates and straight to you. He picked you up in his arms, spun you around quickly, and set you down.

“We did it,” he said, eyes wide and smile bright. He placed his hands on your face and squished your cheeks before pulling you into another hug. “I have something to tell you.”

“I can’t believe we graduated. Tell me,” you responded.

“I got off the waitlist.”

You let out a scream, pulling back from Mark and hitting him on the chest. “Oh my god, Mark! Holy shit, that’s incredible. So you’re going to Korea? W-when do you leave?” Your stomach drops at the realization that Mark will be going to an entirely different country soon, meanwhile you have to stay in a town that you love only because he’s in it. It’s not the same without him.

“I don’t leave until the beginning of September.”

“So you’ll get to move me into my dorm before you leave?”

“You think I would leave without seeing where you’re going to be living? I need to make sure that you’re being well taken care of in my absence. You know I’m kidnapping you and taking you with me to Korea if I don’t like the dorm, right?”

“I expect absolutely nothing less,” you said, both you and Mark’s families rushing up to you on the football field to congratulate you. Your families forced you to pose for photos, talked amongst themselves about your college plans, and made plans to throw you two a joint graduation party.

Two weeks after graduation, you’re laying down on the trampoline in your backyard as the sun is setting. It’s a Thursday night, your parents are out of town for the weekend and have left you home alone. You could throw a huge party, celebrate the end of senior year, but instead you choose to enjoy the alone time in your childhood home before you move out. You stare at the moving clouds, your chest sitting on your phone as you talk to Mark who’s currently driving.

“You know, I’m kinda mad that your parents still won’t let you come spend the night at my house. We’re 18! We’re adults,” you say.

Mark lets out a laugh. “My parents are scared that if they let me spend the night at your house that I’ll do drugs, join a gang, and get you pregnant all in one night.”

“Do I really give that vibe off? I thought your parents liked me! We’ve been inseparable for well over 2 years now.”

“They love you, you know that. You’re home, right?”

“Yuuuup,” you say, standing up quickly and jumping a few times on the trampoline. He can hear the creaking of the trampoline and whines.

“No fairrrrr, you’re jumping without me!” Mark says. You hear Mark close the door to his car and lock it. Before you can ask him where he’s headed, he walks through the front door of your house, through the living room, and out into the backyard. Mark hangs up the call, before jumping onto the trampoline with you. 

You get back down onto your back on the trampoline, grabbing at Mark’s leg and trying to pull him down with you. He lays next to you, rolling over so half of his body is on top of yours. He nuzzles his head into your chest and lets out a content sigh.

“You should really keep the doors locked when you’re home alone. What are your plans for tonight?” He asks.

“Mmm, probably watch a movie and eat something. I might raid my mom’s wine cabinet and finish a whole bottle by myself.”

“Woooow, look at you breaking the rules. Who are you and what have you done to my best friend?”

“I’m just trying to enjoy myself before college!”

“Look at what I got today,” Mark says, flopping onto his back and pulling an ID out of his pocket. He hands it to you and you inspect it carefully.

“This is a Korean ID,” you start. “Aaaand, it doesn’t even have your name.”

“Yeah! It’s a fake ID. Says I’m 21.”

“Why’d you pick Kim Soohyun for your name? And why do you need a fake ID? You’re legal in Korea, you can drink.”

“My mom says Kim Soohyun is my long lost brother, I thought it would be funny. I got it for tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Yep,” Mark says, plucking the ID out of your hands and shoving it back into his pocket. “Go pack a bag, we’re going on a road trip.”

“Where to?”

“It’s a secret, but it’s somewhere you’ve always wanted to go.” Mark lays on his side, and you can feel him staring at you. You turn onto your side to look at him. “Can you close your eyes for a second?”

You nod and close your eyes. Your heart begins beating faster and your breathing is labored. Before you can ask Mark what game he’s playing at, you feel Mark’s lips on yours. You gasp, returning his kiss, and he slips his tongue into your mouth. It’s not your first time kissing someone like this, but it’s definitely his and you can tell. His tongue peruses the inside of your mouth, and his lips are pressed firmly against yours. You try to push your tongue into his mouth in an attempt to control the kiss, but to no avail. Mark pulls back to catch his breath, and his eyes meet yours.

“You’re bad at that,” you whisper, letting out a giggle.

“Yeah, I thought I might be,” Mark says with a sigh.

“You’ll get better at it. W-we can practice,” you say, pecking his lips. “I’ll go pack a bag.”

Thirty minutes later, you’re sitting in the passenger’s seat of Mark’s car, watching him as he drives. His hands rest perfectly at 10 and 2, his lips pouting, and he watches the road ahead intensely. 

“You should probably sleep, it’s going to be a while before we get there.”

“How long?” you ask. You recline the seat and lay back, extending your hand out to rest on Mark’s thigh. “Hold my hand.”

One of his hands leaves the steering wheel and he intertwines your fingers with his. “About 16 hours? Just sleep, I’ll wake you up in like 8 hours so you can switch with me.” You nod, closing your eyes and willing yourself to go to sleep. 

You’re not sure how long you sleep, but when you wake up, Mark’s hand is still holding yours. The sun is shining through the windshield and you look over at Mark, who is also sleeping. You’re parked next to a gas station in what feels like the middle of nowhere. You check your phone: 8:35 a.m.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan, causing Mark to stir. You tear your hand away from his, shifting the seat up and pushing Mark to wake up. “Mark, get up.”

He groans too before sitting back up. “I just fell asleep.”

“Why did you let me sleep for so long? You drove for 12 straight hours! I’m going to go inside the gas station and buy some coffee, then I’ll drive the rest of the way. You can sleep until we get to wherever the hell you’re taking me.”

Mark tries to sleep for the remaining four hours of your drive, but he’s too excited to be able to sleep. Instead, he watches you drive and smiles proudly. Mark has always thought you are so beautiful, even in your current state — no makeup, hair messy from sleeping in the car, and bags underneath your eyes. He leans over and presses a rough kiss to your cheek before laying back down. 

“What’s gotten into you?”

“What do you mean?”

“This isn’t like you. Yesterday before we left you practically shoved your tongue down my throat, and now you’re forcing me on a road trip. You’re not normally like this.”

“I just… I realized that I wasted so much time not doing the things I want to do with you, and I would’ve hated myself forever if I didn’t do it before I left to Korea.”

“You would’ve hated yourself forever if you didn’t make out with your best friend and force her to drive around before leaving to Korea?” You pause. “Where are we going?”

“Something like that. Uh… well, we’re in California,” Mark says, causing you to swerve.

“You brought me across state lines?! Maaaark, your parents are going to kill you!”

“They think I’m with Johnny-hyung for the weekend. Don’t worry, he’ll cover for me. I think we’re only like half an hour away from LA.”

“You’re insane, Mark. So so insane.”

“So this is Santa Monica, huh?” Mark says, looking out at the crashing waves in front of him and inhaling deeply, letting his lungs fill with the cool ocean air, sand getting stuck between his toes.

“This is so beautiful,” you whisper. “Thank you for bringing me, Mark.”

“I would do anything for you, I hope you know that,” Mark responds. He takes out a brown paper bag from his backpack, twisting off the cap of the bottle inside and taking a swig of it and gagging. You laugh, taking the bottle out of his hand and sniffing it before taking a drink yourself. 

“Why would you buy vodka? You know you can’t drink alcohol very well.”

“I wanted to see if my ID would work! It was pretty easy, I just handed it to the guy and spoke in Korean and he didn’t question it.” He takes the bottle out of your hand and takes another drink, this time more prepared and able to suppress the gag that bubbles in his throat. You turn to look at Mark, and he quickly shifts his head to stare back at you. Some people say they feel their heart skip a beat when the person they love looks at them, but when Mark looks at you, your heart stops completely. Your heart stops, your breath gets caught in your chest, and you stop blinking. You have to make a conscious effort to breathe in and out, and open and close your eyelids as Mark looks at you and overtakes your thoughts.

As you’re staring at Mark, memorizing every inch of his face as the Santa Monica sun sets, you feel your cheeks begin to heat up and your face begin to numb as the vodka hits you. He reaches out to pinch your cheek, smiling wide at your flushed face, and when you feel his fingers on your skin, you just know — this is real, this is love.

“You’re so cute,” Mark says.

“Says you.” You grab the bottle from Mark’s other hand, taking another deep chug before pressing the bottle to his lips. You tilt it and he drinks from it until he can’t handle the taste anymore, pushing it away slightly and letting you drop it between your bodies.

“Y/N, I—”

“Kiss me.”

Mark doesn’t need to be told twice; instantly pressing you down into the sand, body hovering above yours and attaching his lips to yours. He lets you lead the kiss this time, opening his mouth when he feels your tongue poking at his lips and allowing you to slip your tongue into his mouth. Your tongue traces over his teeth, before meeting his tongue and playing with it. Your hands come up to hold onto his face, and he softens into your touch. Mark feels dizzy — both from the feeling of your tongue in his mouth and the vodka hitting him all at once. He pulls away, panting as he tries to catch his breath.

“I feel like I’m living a dream,” Mark says, staring at your face with something you can only describe as love in his eyes.

“I want to go swimming,” you respond, quickly sitting up without thinking and hitting your head against his. “Owie, I’m sorry, honey. Don’t know why I got up so quickly.”

Mark giggles and sits up, peeling his shirt off and dropping it on the sand. “Let’s go swimming.” He stands up, trying to kick his skinny jeans off as you stand up and start walking to the water. “Y/N! Take your jeans off at least.”

“Nuh-uh, I wanna go swimming,” you say, stumbling as you walk through the hot sand as quickly as you can and into the water. You don’t even register how cold the water is, quickly walking deep into the ocean and letting the waves go over your head. Mark rushes to catch up with you, walking into the ocean in only his underwear. He pulls you into his arms and you wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck, and rest your forehead up against his.

“I miss you already, Mark.”

“I don’t even leave for another 3 months.”

“I know, but I don’t want you to go,” you say quietly. Unwillingly, tears fall down your cheeks and mix with the salt water on your face.

“I’m so glad I finally found you,” Mark responds. “My missing puzzle piece. I’m complete.” He wipes the tears and water from your face and presses a kiss to your lips. 

“I can’t believe we’ve known each other for over 2 years and you waited for us to graduate before making a move on me,” you say, angrily pressing another kiss to his lips. “I’ve been in love with you since the day I took you downtown for the first time, Mark.”

“And I’ve been in love with you since the day you asked me to go downtown with you.”

“You’re so lame,” you say to Mark, just as a huge wave goes over your heads and crashes. You both burst into laughter and you untangle yourself from him, pushing the hair out of your face and trying to regain your breathe. You place your hands on Mark’s shoulders, letting them travel down his chest to the waistband of his underwear. You slip your fingers underneath, pulling the band back before letting it snap back on his skin. “Mark, have you ever… you know…”

He shakes his head no. “M-my mom told me I should s-save myself for someone special,” he says, nervously. “Have you, ever… you know…”

You shake your head no. “Let’s go all the way tonight. No regrets, just love. Just you and me.”

“Okay.”

You and Mark stumble into the Santa Monica Motel, only a 20 minute walk from the Santa Monica Pier, coming up to the front desk with your clothes still dripping and asking for whatever vacant room they have. The desk attendant rolls his eyes, handing you two a pair of room keys and sending you on your way. You walk into the room, one hand holding Mark’s hand, as the other held onto the mostly gone bottle of vodka.

As you walk into the room, Mark throws your things onto the floor and locks the door behind him. You drink half of what’s left in the bottle, giving the rest to Mark which he finishes quickly before stepping into the bathroom. As Mark is in the bathroom freshening up, you pull the sheets off the bed and throw them onto the floor. You then pull the cushions off the couch in the corner, attempting to make a fort in the tiny motel room. You set the cushions up, then use the pillows to try and complete the walls of your fort, before throwing a thin white sheet over everything and crawling underneath. Mark comes out of the bathroom and raises an eyebrow when he sees the mess you’ve created on the floor.

“Y/N?”

“Come meet me in the fort, honey.”

Mark crawls underneath the sheet carefully, trying not to destroy the fort he’s sure you worked hard on. Once he’s underneath and he sees your shirt sticking to your chest, and your skin-tight jeans seemingly sticking tighter to your skin, his heart begins to race.

“I don’t mean to sound like a broken record, but I feel like I’m living a dream,” Mark says, letting his hand rest on your stomach. You reach for his arm, pinching him slightly and he lets out a soft moan. “What was that for?”

“Just to remind you that this isn’t a dream. This is real, and I love you.”

“I love you,” Mark responds. You pull your wet shirt up and off your head, letting it fall to the floor before you unbutton your wet jeans and try to push them off.

“Mark, I need help,” you whine. He laughs before helping you pull your jeans down and setting them on the floor with your shirt. He looks at your entire body up and down, taking in the sight of your matching bra and underwear.

He groans. “Fuck, I really love you.” Mark lets his body hover over yours, quickly enveloping your lips in a quick, passionate kiss. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you and bucking your hips up to meet his. Mark feels himself harden in his underwear and he whines into your mouth at the feeling of you grinding up into him. Your hands grip onto his cheeks softly just as they did when you kissed on the beach, and one of his hands reaches up to pull your bra down and let your breasts free. His hands grab at your chest as if he’s done this before, fingers tugging and tweaking your nipples and you can’t help the moan that escapes your mouth and is caught by his. 

You rip his hand away from your chest, bringing it down into your underwear and pressing his fingers onto your clit. His fingers reach down to your entrance, teasing it softly before collecting your slick and returning to your clit. He pushes down roughly, rubbing in circles and your hips buck up again. This is the first time anyone else has ever touched you, and you quickly feel the knot forming in your stomach. 

“Mark, I’m gonna—” you say, pulling back from his lips for a second and grinding harder into his fingers in an attempt to reach your high quicker.

“Really?” Mark asks in disbelief, eyes wide as he presses his fingers harder into you and takes in the sight of your body. Your chest is going up and down quickly, hips moving and grinding into his fingers, one hand gripping onto his wrist as the other grips on his hair. 

“Fuck, just a few more seconds, I swear, Mark,” you whine, and he speeds his fingers up. And surely enough, within a few seconds, you’re gripping onto his wrist tightly to stop his movements as you cum, clenching around nothing as you chant his name repeatedly. Mark lets you come down from your high on your own time, afraid of overstimulating you before he can even get inside of you. As soon as you’ve come down from your orgasm, you’re pulling Mark into another kiss and pushing his underwear down. 

“Y/N, I-I should p-probably get a c-c-condom,” Mark stutters as your hand grips onto his hard dick and pumps lightly. 

“Nuh-uh,” you say, letting go of him and bucking your hips, feeling the tip of his dick rub against your clit and letting out a content sigh. “I want to feel all of you.”

Mark nods, gripping onto the base of his dick and pushing himself into you slowly, letting you adjust to him. Once he’s all the way in, he lets out a shaky breath as you clench around him a few times, getting used to the feeling of being full of something more than your fingers. “You can move now, honey.” He nods again and slowly begins moving his hips, pulling all the way out before slamming back in.

Mark lowers himself more, making sure you’re chest to chest as he moves slowly inside of you. Your legs wrap around his waist again, arms around his neck, pulling him close to you as you close your eyes and focus on the feeling of Mark’s length moving in and out of you swiftly. Mark lowers his head, resting it on your shoulder and pressing a kiss as you let your mouth fall open in a moan.

“I love you,” Mark’s hips pick up speed at your confession and you let out another loud moan. “I love you, I love you, fuck, baby, I really love you.”

He balances his weight on his hands, pushing himself up to look into your eyes as he fucks into you like his life depends on it. You want to close your eyes so bad, want to focus on the feeling of Mark fucking you, but you’re mesmerized as his eyes look into yours. You’re afraid to even blink, not wanting to miss a moment of this, not wanting to miss a second of the way Mark’s eyebrows furrow as he looks into your eyes, then down at your chest, then down at where your hips meet, then back up into your eyes. He shifts his weight onto one hand, moving the other to your clit and your eyes instantly roll into the back of your head.

“Look at me, baby,” Mark says quietly, angling his hips to meet that spot inside of you, and you struggle to keep your eyes open and looking at him, but you try. 

“A-are you sure you’ve n-never done this before?” You ask, clenching tightly around Mark as he fucks you and rubs your clit. 

“N-never ever. Been saving myself for you.”

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you whine.

“Cum for me, baby, please.” Mark says, and you nod as he presses his fingers just a little harder, pushing you over the edge quickly. The feeling of you clenching around his length sporadically, and your fingernails digging into his back, is enough to push him over the edge, and he’s cumming in you in thick white ropes. He lets out a deep groan as he cuts inside of you, giving you everything he’s got. He falls on top of you, not even bothering to pull out, and you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close. You wipe the sweat off from his forehead and let out a laugh that he returns.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you say.

“Are you on birth control?” Mark asks.

You flick his forehead and giggle. “Yes, I’m on birth control. I have been for like a year.”

“Oh thank God,” he lets out a sigh of relief.

You bask in the silence of the motel room for a second, realizing you’re still on the carpeted floor in the fort you’ve built. “Lets get into bed.”

Mark fixes the sheets and pillows onto the bed as you use the bathroom, and when you emerge from the bathroom naked and crawl into bed next to him, he feels his chest swell with love for you. As soon as you’re in bed with him, you snuggle into his body, resting your head on his chest and closing your eyes, listening to the sound of his heartbeat.

“Your heart is beating really fast,” you whisper.

“Because of you,” he responds. He pushes you off him slightly, pushing you onto your back and resting his head on your chest. “I wanna be held.”

“You’re such a baby.” You play with Mark’s hair, enjoying the silence before it hits you that Mark is going to leave you. You’ve finally gotten the boy you love, given everything to him, and within a few months he’s going to leave you and start a new life while you’re stuck in your tiny town. Your chest begins to warm in anxiety at the thought of having to be away from him, and tears well in your eyes. “Mark, you can’t leave me. You’re my soulmate.”

“Come with me, then.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.” The tears drip down your face slowly and Mark can tell you’re crying by the way your chest contracts underneath him.

He sits up quickly and looks down at you, eyes flickering to your bare chest for a split second before looking back up into your eyes. He wipes the tears from your face. “Y/N, I’m serious. Just take a year off and come with me to Korea, and then you can start school there. I’ll take care of you, I promise.” He leans down and presses a kiss between your breasts before coming back up. “I can’t live my life without you.  Please come with me.”

“Mark, my parents would kill me. Moving to a new country for a boy I’m not even married to? You’re insane.”

“If I could marry you tonight, I would.” Mark thinks for a second and grabs his phone from the table next to the bed, unlocking it and shielding it from your view as he looks something up.

“What time is it?”

“It’s midnight,” he responds.

“You know… it’s only about a 5 hour drive to Vegas from here.”

“And?”

“If we start driving now, we can make it by the time the sun rises.”

“Aaaaand?”

“Aaaand, wecouldbeimpulsiveandgogetmarriedmaybeifyoureallymeantit,” you say quietly.

Mark lets out a hearty laugh before rolling over onto you and pressing a flurry of kisses all over your face, before pulling you into a long kiss.

“What was all that for?” you ask.

He unlocks his phone and hands it over to you, showing that he was looking up 24 hour pawn shops nearby.

“I had the same thought. I thought maybe we go out and get some food, hit one of these pawn shops and get some rings, then drive over to Vegas.”

You let out a laugh and peck his lips. “Let’s go then, baby.”

“I can’t wait to see the look on your parents’ face when you tell them I convinced you to drive across state lines, get married to me, and drop out of state university to move to another country with me.”

“They’ll just have to deal,” you say, getting up out of bed and cringing as you put your wet clothes back on. “I have dry clothes in the car. It’s still parked by the beach, isn’t it?” Mark nods in response, slipping his wet clothes back on and leaving the room keys with the front desk attendant. Your hand slips into his as you walk in the dark streets of the city, walking towards the beach where Mark’s car is parked. “Can we stop in San Francisco on our way back home? I want to see the Golden Gate Bridge.”

“We can do whatever you want, baby.”

“I love you. You know that, right?”

“I know. I love you, too. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you sigh contently. “I can’t wait to spend my life with you.”

#nct smut #mark lee #mark fic #lee minhyung #mark smut #mark fluff #kpop smut #nct fluff #nct angst #nct dream #kpop #kpop scenarios #nct #nct mark #nct drabbles #nct reactions #nct u #nct 127 #nct blurbs #kpop drabbles #nct 127 smut #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 angst

[collecting-stories]

Book Club - 90s!Luke Patterson

Summary: Reggie books a gig at a suburban mom’s book club and Luke takes full advantage of the situation to flirt with you. 

A/N: I’m literally writing two other Luke fics right now 😭😭

Julie and the Phantoms Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

The third Thursday of every month belonged to your mother. It was her day, when she demanded not to be bothered, when she spent hours out of the house socializing with the women’s group that she belonged to. And, out of all those Thursdays, there were always the very special few when it wasn’t her leaving the house but everyone else. The group rotated their meeting time, everyone for a blue moon meeting at your house, meaning, of course that you were expected to stay out. Staying out was not a difficult thing to do, in fact you relished the opportunity to spend a few more hours with your friends. 

It was one of those Thursdays, when all the ladies that your mother loved to lunch with were spending the afternoon at your house and you were making yourself scarce, that arguably the weirdest but maybe best thing happened. Your mom had told you before you left for school that morning that she expected you to stay out, and you would have, if you had remembered your wallet. But you’d left it in your room, on the edge of the vanity, and you didn’t want to be the one owing money when your friends went to lunch. A quick stop home should’ve been easy, the stairs were right off the kitchen and the side door was right there, giving you the opportunity to shoot upstairs and grab your wallet without her being the wiser to it. 

The whole thing would’ve gone off without a hitch except that when you walked through the side door and into the kitchen you came face to face with four boys from your school. You recognized them more for the fact that you didn’t hang out in the same circle; most of your friends held a certain level of contempt for the four guys that made up Sunset Curve. You didn’t necessarily dislike any of them, you didn’t necessarily even know them, though you would be lying if you said that the lead singer, who occasionally sat in front of you in math, was seriously making you rethink a deep dive into all this rock music. Luke, Reggie, Alex, and Bobby were standing in your kitchen. They were the Green Day/Nirvana worshipping, head banging rockers that ditched school regularly and got into worlds of trouble and they were standing in your kitchen.  

Bobby was the only one who looked up from snacking on leftover hors d’oeurves, saying your name in surprise as the other three all stopped to look at you too. Alex gave an awkward little wave as he set down the small sandwich he was eating.  

“Uh...what are you guys doing in my house,” you asked, looking between the four of them.  

“Your mom tapped us to perform for her ladies club.” Luke explained, dropping his food on the plate and wiping his hands against his black pants.  

Your mom had invited these four to sing for her conservative ladies’ group? You tried not to but you couldn’t help the smile that crossed your face when you thought about it. Whatever your friends said about the guys, you weren’t ashamed to say you had taken one of the free demos that Reggie handed out and had been listening to it on repeat for a while now. “My mom wanted you guys to play a gig for her and her friends?” You clarified.

“Until we started playing,” Reggie replied, and you couldn’t help laughing.

“I bet...you guys aren’t exactly...suburban mom rock.” You joked, “though I totally would’ve loved to see their faces when you guys started singing.”  

The grin on Luke’s face was unmistakable though you missed it as you nabbed one of the sandwiches on the plate near Alex. It was probably some really stupid cliche, him liking one of the popular girls. Cute, cheerleader, future prom queen. You hung out with people who listened to Britney Spears and Spice Girls, any knowledge of the rock scene they might’ve actually had was only for the sake of making dumb jabs at him or his friends. Still, Luke had a massive crush on you and he wasn’t so embarrassed to admit it. Bobby joked that he wanted to “bring you over to the dark side” and maybe that sounded cynical but he thought he wouldn’t mind seeing you look a little less perfectly put together if it had something to do with him. Hearing you mention his music almost had him doing a back flip from excitement.  

“So you’ve listened to our music?” Luke asked, moving closer to you, leaning on the counter beside you. Behind him, Alex rolled his eyes.

“Reggie gave out demos like...last month.” You shrugged, trying to play it off. You’d been excited to listen to their music, see if it was any good and had discovered that you actually loved it. They were talented guys and you felt surprisingly connected to the songs. “I might’ve listened.”

“I did!” Reggie piped up, “I gave demos to all the-” he stopped, mouthing instead, as if you wouldn’t understand him when he said ‘all the cute girls’.  

“I hate to ask but...don’t you think like, actual clubs would be better places to promote your music? I don’t think the middle-aged moms are really a target audience, unless you’re into that kind of thing?” You said, peering down the hallway when you heard the familiar squeak of a floorboard. If the boys were still here than there was no doubt in your mind that your mom had told them to stay for some reason or another.  

“You gotta start somewhere.” Luke replied, unfazed by the hint of judgement in your voice.  

“My living room?” You asked, jokingly.  

He smiled, “actually, we’re playing a club on the strip tomorrow night, we could, maybe, get you on the guest list?”  

“We’re opening for someone else,” Bobby cut in, bringing Luke back down to reality, “I’m pretty sure no one’s ever even heard of the band we’re opening for.”  

Luke glared at Bobby, sticking his finger in his mouth and then jabbing it into Bobby’s ear, a smile of success immediately lighting up his features when Bobby recoiled in disgust. “So what’d ya say?” Luke asked.  

“I mean, I guess technically every band deserves girls screaming for them, so sure…I’ll go.” You agreed, eyes on Luke the entire time.  

The last concert you had been to wasn’t even for you, your mom had dragged you to a Beach Boys concert up in San Francisco for her birthday weekend when your father refused to indulge her so-called ‘terrible taste in music’. “There are just some things we will never agree on and music is one of them.” He had insisted back then. It was the same thing you felt like telling your friends when you declined a party invitation in favor of heading down to the strip to see the guys play. You could’ve maybe played it off casually, as if you were heading down there anyway and Sunset Curve just happened to be opening but Bobby was right, you’d never heard of the band that was performing after them.  

Not to mention Luke decided to show up for a least a quarter of the day just to mess with your head. You had spotted him in the hallway between classes and smiled when he looked your way, a split second before the sea of students scrambled to get to their lockers. Your own best friends appeared by yours, looking more and more like carbon copies of the Heathers every day. You kind of hated them, truth be told, but you didn’t have too many other options.  

They were badgering you about the party as you tried to wrack your brain for an excuse that sounded convincing when Luke stopped, right in front of the three of you.  

“Hey, I’ll see ya tonight?” He asked, whole body turned to face you and completely ignoring the looks of disdain and shock cloaking your friends faces.  

You felt like a deer in headlights. Say yes and your friends would probably ostracise you, say no and you could just imagine the look on Luke’s face. Anything but this absolutely sincere and hopeful smile was something you didn’t want to be responsible for. You really liked him looking at you like that.  

“Yeah, can’t wait.” You nodded.  

When he stepped back out into the traffic of the hallway he touched your waist, as if he was anchoring himself for a second and you bit your lip, letting yourself watch him disappear before turning to face the firing squad.  

“Luke Patterson?” Both of your friends spoke in unison, one breaking off to elaborate, “you’re ditching a party at Max Turner’s house for Luke Patterson?”  

“His band is playing at some club on the strip.” You replied, shutting your locker and heading toward your next class. “They invited me to come watch the show.”

“And you’re going?”  

You hadn’t been to anything smaller than a stadium concert before and the implication of a concert at a local club venue, right on the strip with all the ‘riffraff’ that were hanging around trying to make it big like their 80’s punk rock idols wasn’t exactly your scene but, Luke had looked so cute asking you to go and you had the tiniest, maybe delusional, feeling that he’d come to school just to remind you that tonight was the concert. How could could even consider some suburban house party to that?  

“Yeah, why not,” you shrugged, trying to play it off like it was nothing, you could see your social status flashing before your eyes and your mom’s voice desperately begging you to reconsider. “Besides, Luke’s hot.”

“Did you have some kind of Freaky Friday switch when you woke up this morning? Luke is not hot.”  

“Okay,” you drew the word as if disbelieving. He wasn’t some 90210 reincarnate but he was definitely one of the hottest guys in school, not to mention the sleeveless shirts were an added bonus. “Well, I said I was going, so I’m going.”

And, despite the continued protests of your friends throughout the day, you did go. You promised your parents you were spending Friday night studying at Terri’s house and took the bus down to the strip to wait in line for Sunset Curve and whoever was headlining. You stood there twirling your fake ID in your hands, listening to the two girls in front of you (who didn’t need fakes) talk about some drummer that wasn’t anyone you’d ever heard of and tried to look as mature as possible. If Luke, Alex, Reggie, and Bobby could play this venue, surely you could get into it.  

Whether the ID worked or the bouncer at the front door just didn’t care, he let you through, admitting you into a pulsing crowd of people making their way through the small vestibule and into the venue. You slipped your way through the crowd until you made it to the front, pressed against the railing and inches away from another bouncer who seemed just as disinterested in you. The drumkit that was already on the stage had the Sunset Curve logo on it. You ran a hand through your hair and fixed your shirt, maybe it was silly but you were sort of hoping that even in the silhouetted lighting of the venue you Luke might see you. Maybe a little pathetic groupie on your end but he had invited you.  

And he did see you. Halfway through Now or Never when he looked down over the crowd, he caught you, dancing along to their music, the smile on your face as you mouthed the words was infectious. It was the combination of seeing someone singing all the songs back to them and that person being you, mixed with the adrenaline of the performance, that had him pushing to give his absolute all. You’d actually come and he was determined to make this a great concert for you.  

Alex was the one to announce that they would be in the vestibule during the lull between bands, they got the occasional straggler who dared to leave their post long enough to say hello or great job but usually it garnered nothing more than the four of them splitting some pizza and relaxing by their merch table. Tonight, as they headed off stage to an enthusiastic crowd, Luke chanced a glance back but he couldn’t find you in the sea of people. Reggie grabbed his arm, pulling him the rest of the way off the stage and throwing an arm around his shoulder, going on about how awesome the show was, Luke quickly returning the jovial compliment.

“We were fire, man, that sounded so rad tonight!” He cheered, following Alex and Bobby as they made their way through the small hall that wove back into the vestibule.  

“It was insane!” Reggie agreed.  

You had made your way back through the venue after Luke mentioned being at the merch table, slipping back passed the bouncer at the inside door, flashing your stamped hand. Their table was set up in the corner, a little way away from the headlining band’s. You stepped into the vestibule at the same time as the boys, waving at Alex when he looked your way. He nodded, reaching over to tap Luke’s chest with the back of his hand.  

“That was incredible.” You admitted, walking over to their table. Luke’s smile instantly widened as he walked around to your side, not even thinking as he hugged you, your shoulders hunching at the feeling of sweat that encompassed you. “Ew.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Luke apologized, pulling away and putting his hands on your upper arms for a second before dropping them to his sides. “Still going off the adrenaline.”

“That’s okay,” you promised, “you’re cute enough to get away with it.”

“Yeah?” He leaned against the table, trying to look cool. He felt like he was grasping for words and he didn’t want to start stuttering or sounding dumb, Bobby would never let him live it down if he made a fuck up of himself. The other three tried not to laugh and ruin his moment.  

You seemed to recover from the moment first, glancing at the other three before landing on Luke again. “You guys are totally a live band though...like that was so good.”  

Reggie came in with a save, letting Luke off the hook for a moment, “Are you heading back in to see the headliner?”  

You grimaced, “don’t really know them...not really interested.” You replied, keeping your eyes on Luke, hoping that was hint enough that you’d come just to see him.  

It clearly was because, as a few girls stepped into the vestibule and looked like they were coming your way, Luke grabbed your arm, nodding toward the doorway for you to follow him. You did, walking with him into the hallway so that it was quieter, the sounds of the house music and the chatter of people outside being drowned out in the small corridor.  

“So, uh, sorry I’m still wigging out that you came.” He admitted.  

“I said I was going to, twice. Did you seriously think I was lying?” You asked.  

“I mean, I heard your friends giving you a hard time when I walked away, figured you might back out.”  

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t, seriously Luke, you guys are amazing. You’re so talented.” You replied.  

“Guess I was right when I told Reggie to take that book club gig huh?” He said, fiddling with the rabbit’s foot on his keychain.  

“Why’s that?”  

“I thought maybe if I was lucky, I’d catch a glimpse of you...having you come here and watch us though? Better than I could’ve imagined.” He replied, grinning at you.  

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah, don’t act so surprised.” He said, “you gotta know how insanely cool you are. And you look beautiful tonight, by the way.”  

“Thanks,” you bit your bottom lip to try and keep your composure, “I uh...damn, you’re making me super nervous.”  

“Yeah?” He stepped a little closer to you, his hands brushing against yours as if he was going to hold them. You couldn’t help wishing he would.  

“I should probably let you get back to your fans,” you pointed out, glancing back out the door to where a few more people had gathered. If you stayed in this hallway with him any longer there was no way you were letting him back out.  

“Hang out? We could grab some pizza or something after?” He asked.  

“Yeah, absolutely.”  

When he walked back through the door you followed behind him, hanging back so you weren’t hovering around them as they chatted with and signed stuff for the group of people that had ventured out between sets. It didn’t matter though, as he talked, he kept looking back at you smiling as if you were both in on some sort of secret.  

#luke patterson x reader #luke patterson x y/n #luke patterson x you #luke patterson imagine #luke patterson fanfic #luke patterson fanfiction #luke patterson fic #julie and the phantoms fic #julie and the phantoms fanfic #julie and the phantoms fanfictions #julie and the phantoms imagine #jatp fanfic #jatp fanfiction #jatp fic #jatp imagine #collecting stories imagine

[wienerbarnes]

Are You Growing?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Cheek to Cheek) Word Count: 1,886 Warnings: mentions to alzheimers A/N: idk about yall but im loving posting about the earlier times w bucky n reader

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

You sit on Bucky’s couch, Alpine curled up in your lap, purring softly with closed eyes as you lightly scratch behind her ears.

Bucky’s sitting on the floor in front of you, in the place of where his coffee table used to be, which is now pushed into the corner for the time being. He rereads the instructions to put together his new bookshelf for the eleventh time now, still not understanding where exactly to put each screw.

You were no help to him, your first suggestion was to toss out the instructions and build to his heart’s desires; whatever felt right.

The last thing he needs, though, is for his bookshelf to collapse in the middle night and scare the shit out of him, so he tries his luck with the instructions.

He’s grateful for the ring of his cellphone, perhaps a break for a phone call will somehow make the instructions easier to read.

His stomach drops when he sees the caller ID as Rebecca’s retirement place. He pushes down his nausea and answers the phone.

“Hello? Is Rebecca okay?” He answers, quickly standing and moving to another room, not missing when your eyes look up at the sound of his sister’s name.

Is Rebecca okay? Did she hurt herself? Did she hurt one of the nurses? Is she dead?

“Hi, Bucky. Yes, Rebecca’s okay,” The receptionist Bucky’s gotten to know well responds, causing him to let out a sigh of relief, “She’s asking for you, is all. She’s… not eating. She didn’t touch her breakfast or lunch, she just keeps asking when you’re coming. I know you don’t normally come until tomorrow, but I promised her I’d call you.” She finishes explaining.

“Uhm… okay, okay. Tell her I got hung up at work and that I’ll be over as soon as I can.” He tells her, sparing a glance into the other room to see you peeking at the instructions on the ground.

“You’re amazing Bucky, thank you.” She responds, and all he does is hum through his anxiety before hanging up, returning to the living room where you sit.

You look up at him as if to ask if he is okay and he only stares back for a few seconds, thinking, before deciding, “Put your shoes on, we gotta go somewhere.” He tells you, voice still a little shaky from the scare of that phone call.

You don’t question it, recognizing that it’s probably not the time, and move to go grab your shoes by the door. Bucky silently pushes out air through his mouth, an attempt to calm himself down and get the nausea to go away. Rebecca’s okay, he reminds himself, she’s having a bad day, but she’s okay.

You’re worried at how quiet Bucky is and with how fast he speeds on his bike down a route you don’t really recognize. Finally, though, you see the sign in the distance, St. Francis Alzheimer’s Hospital, and you understand.

He parks the bike out front and turns it off, not yet moving, and you take off his helmet you’re wearing to get a better look at him. You say his name when you notice tears have gathered in his eyes; you’ve never seen him cry before.

“Sorry,” He wipes his eyes, “This shit is just so… exhausting. Everytime the phone rings, everytime I come here, I don’t know what I’m going to get, if she is okay.” He vents before letting out a long sigh.

You don’t know how to respond, choosing to rub his back as he composes himself. Bucky’s always been a tough rock; always knowing what to say, what to do, always knowing how to take care of everyone and how to solve everyone’s problems. You’ve never seen him so tired, so nervous before, and you see the toll doing this has taken on him.

Before you can say anything, he stands, “Let’s go.” He holds out a hand to help you off the bike and rests the helmet on the seat, knowing no one’s going to take it.

You follow quietly behind him as he enters and greets the receptionist, walking past the desk and down the hall. You feel out of place, not only here, in the retirement place Bucky’s sister lives at, but in public. You’ve barely left the apartment while you’ve been in hiding; you think this is the most amount of people you’ve been around in months.

Bucky approaches a door and knocks quietly before entering, “Hey, troublemaker,” He calls out, voice no longer strained or shaky as it’s been for the half hour, as though he flipped a switch to make himself normal again.

“Bucky!” You hear an excitement-filled elderly voice call out.

You enter to see her sitting on the bed, arms reaching out for Bucky to embrace him in a hug.

“Sorry, I’m late, I got caught up at the gym.” He tells her, hugging her back.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were at work, I just wanted to talk to you about the carnival, it’s coming this weekend.” You notice Bucky’s jaw clench for a second before loosening.

“It is, isn’t it. I’ll get Steve and we’ll all go together, I know how much you love the rides there.”

You linger by the door still, observing the interaction. How Bucky plays along so perfectly and so composed. You tense when you notice that Rebecca’s eyes have found you.

Bucky follows her gaze and snaps his head to you, “Becca, this is a friend of mine.”

You walk over and hold your hand out, giving your name, and she reaches out and accepts it, giving you a gentle smile, “A friend, huh?”

“Bec -”

“I’ve heard a lot about you, it’s really great to finally meet you.” You tell her.

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you, too, I haven’t met one of Bucky’s friends in a while,”

“Rebecca -”

“Who was that floozy you brought home once, the one that Mama hated?” She teases Bucky, who now stands with arms crossed looking at you take a seat in the chair next to Rebecca’s bed.

“That was Madeline.”

“Madeline! My goodness, she didn’t last very long at all -”

“How about we talk about something other than my love life? Are you hungry, Bec?”

“A little bit.” She responds, and Bucky feels relief flood through his body. He nods and leaves the room to go fetch her lunch from one of the nurses.

“I love these flowers on your shirt.” Rebecca compliments, snapping your eyes away from the door Bucky exited out of and back to hers. They’re the same blue as Bucky’s.

You glance down at your shirt, one you thrifted with lilac’s all over them.

“Thank you, they’re, uh, lilacs. They symbolize growth. Like, change from ignorance to knowledge, innocence to wisdom, and all that.” You tell her.

She hums, “And are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Growing?”

You pause to think about it. Have you grown? Changed?

“Yes. I think so.” You respond.

“Well, then I’m happy for you.” She says sincerely.

You feel a knot swell in your throat at the validation, being greatly reminded of Bucky in that moment, and it’s then that he returns with a tray of food, a bowl of fruit, and a glass of juice.

Bucky places the tray on the small table that can swing over her bed, cutting the food on the plate for her small pieces, before moving to the fruit and juice, taking both lids off for her.

You watch as he takes gentle care in moving the tray closer to her, piling small pieces of food onto a spoon before feeding it to her.

She clears about half the plate before saying she’s full, which is more than enough for Bucky to be satisfied; it’s better than this morning.

Whatever problem there seemed to be this morning that caused Bucky to come over here in a rush is gone. To you, it was like his presence was the only thing she needed to feel better; it’s like there wasn’t anything wrong in the first place.

Soon enough, the two of you leave, with a promise from Bucky that he’ll see her tomorrow on Thursday and they’ll go to the carnival this weekend.

You don’t mention anything else about the visit to Bucky the entire way home, and choose to help him on the floor of his living room for the rest of the evening instead.

Thursday and Friday pass, and Bucky goes to Steve’s on Saturday.

“Remember that girl I told you about? The one I’ve sort of become friends with? That I’ve been looking out for?” Bucky stirs sugar into his coffee, his sweet tooth showing up more frequently since he’s been hanging out with you.

“I remember.” Steve says, sitting down next to him at his table with his own cup of coffee. Steve’s is decaf, though.

“I, uh… I took her to meet Rebecca.” Bucky doesn’t meet his eyes, waiting to see what his reaction will be.

“Oh?” Steve responds, setting his mug down and resting his aged hands on the table, paying all attention to Bucky now.

“There was a situation on Wednesday, Becca wasn’t eating and she was at my apartment -”

“At your apartment?”

“So, I just took her with me -”

“You haven’t even taken Sam to meet Rebecca.” Steve tells him, making Bucky stop.

He pauses for a moment before continuing, “When I saw Bec on Thursday, she remembered her.”

Steve’s head tilts, processing his words.

Bucky continues, “I went to go see Bec on Thursday, and she asked me about her, apparently they talked about some flowers and she wanted me to bring her some so she can see them in person. Asked when I was going to bring her to see her again.” He finishes explaining.

“Wow.” Is all Steve says.

“Rebecca… doesn’t remember anything. I mean she remembers me and you, but she barely remembers anything she and I talk about when I visit, barely remembers her kids. But she remembered talking about lilacs with this girl she’d never met before!” Bucky says, still in disbelief.

“...Must be something special about her.”

“Oh, don’t you start now, too.”

“Just saying. Maybe you should bring her here sometime.”

“Nah, I didn’t even plan to take her to see Becca. That was a risk all by itself, taking her out in public like that.” Bucky glances up to see Steve smirking at him with that stupid wrinkled mouth of his.

“Stop looking at me like that, would you, punk?!”

Steve chuckles, “She sounds like a sweet girl.”

“She’s my friend, Steve.”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t.”

“But you’re implying -”

“Implying what? What are you thinking?”

Bucky huffs and rolls his eyes, Steve twisting his words around, and he realizes he won’t escape this conversation without teasing.

“Whatever. She’s just a friend. If that. We just hang out sometimes, I help her do things that I had trouble with when I got out of HYDRA. I’m just around to help her.”

“Sure, pal. That’s nice of you.”

Bucky sighs, standing to go refill his coffee, and Steve smiles to himself, glad that Bucky’s met someone like you, and glad to see where it’ll inevitably lead, even if the two of you don’t see it yet.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes onshot #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel #lol dummy

[css1992]

Guilty Pleasure

[Porn AU]

Summary: Peter and Beck used to be a power couple in the porn industry, but after Beck dumps him, Peter is forced to start over. With no money, no family and nowhere to go, he doesn’t have much choice other than to keep doing porn, so he joins Just4Fans to get back on his feet and then one day he gets a very generous tip from someone under the username of YKWIM.

All the warnings listed on Part I apply.

Read on AO3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V / Part VI / Part VII / Part VIII / Part IX / Part X /  Part XI / Epilogue

-x-

The last couple of weeks of May flew by, soon June arrived and with it even more sunny days and warmer temperatures. Peter couldn’t help but think that his life fell apart in the winter, and as summer approached, it was slowly getting back on track. He was able to save a decent amount of money every month, his apartment was coming together – he even had a dinner table and chairs by the second week of June –, he was taking on more responsibility at BFF way quicker than expected and he was happier, in general.

He felt comfortable enough to make plans again – with the steady money he was making, he might be able to give up porn in a couple of years and he would still be eligible to apply for some of BFF’s grants and scholarships, meaning he may be able to go to college at 23, after all. Money would be tight for a while, but it was doable. He could always work part-time to supplement his income as well.

Summer also brought some unexpected good news. On a random Thursday morning, he was bombarded with messages on Twitter and Instagram from people asking where they could find his videos now that Beck’s channel was down. He was confused at first, but when he went to check, the channel wasn’t there, it had disappeared from the site.

He gasped. For a total of five seconds, his mind went wild, his heart raced, and his eyes watered. For those five seconds, he felt a mixture of happiness, relief and confusion, knowing those videos weren’t out there anymore, couldn’t be found, couldn’t be seen, couldn’t be remembered. But it was only for five blissful seconds. When his brain turned back on and the first rush of excitement died down, he realized that probably wouldn’t last.

That had happened before, when they first started posting. People mass reported the videos and the channel until they got taken down, because Peter looked very young at eighteen. They had to send a picture of his ID to the website for check several times, it was months before it stopped happening once and for all. Peter assumed Beck was posting videos of his new boyfriend, who he knew looked very young, so it was probably just a misunderstanding and only a matter of time until he got the channel – and the videos – back up.

Still, he allowed himself to count that as a win and couldn’t help but feeling giddy all day, to the point where everybody noticed his good mood – Ned, MJ, people at BFF and Tony.

Tony, who didn’t disappear. As days and nights and weeks went by, Peter stopped waiting for it to happen.

“Someone is awfully cheery today.” The older man grinned at him from the driver’s side that night, as Peter sang along to Ed Sheeran, because it was his turn to choose the playlist. Tony had picked him up from BFF and they were heading to his place for a quiet night in.

“It’s a good day, Tony.” He shot back after the chorus of Put it All on Me and the older man beamed, the corners of his eyes crinkling up.

“It sure is, kitten.” He turned up the volume and Peter sang even louder, causing Tony to burst out laughing.

At some point, he realized life was a little less complicated than he gave it credit for. He realized that if he actually gave things the precise amount of thought they deserved, not everything felt like the end of the world. The minute he decided to just let things happen the way they were supposed to happen, without overthinking every detail, life got so much easier.

He decided not to make the thing with Tony a big deal. Sure, when he thought about it for more than two minutes, it seemed like a huge fucking deal, he was basically dating Tony Stark, one of the richest men in the world, Iron Man himself, the man who had literately saved half the universe from extinction not even two years earlier. So, yes, that seemed like a big fucking deal, but–

But.

To him, he was just Tony. This charming guy who texted him daily to ask about his day and crack acid jokes about his business associates. This kind guy who sent him chocolates when he was feeling down and cooked him dinner every weekend and made sure to e-mail him easy and healthy recipes so he wouldn’t starve to death. This gentle guy who called him beautiful and touched him with such care that he forgot how many hands had left bruises on his skin before.

When he forgot everything Tony was supposed to be and just focused on everything that he was to him, what they had seemed so simple and pure.

He stopped worrying about labels, too. In the beginning, he kept stressing about what they had, what was expected of him, what he expected of Tony, but eventually, he decided none of that mattered. They made each other feel good, they made each other happy, they made each other better, all in all, whatever label he could put on their relationship wouldn’t make any difference, so he let it go.

Weeks later, Peter heard Beck had managed to get the channel back up, only for it to get taken down again in a few hours, then his Instagram and Twitter also disappeared. He wasn’t too surprised, and if he was honest with himself, it was fun imagining Beck losing his mind as he tried to fix it. After all, every day the channel was down, he was losing money. And his social media, specially his Twitter account, was where he promoted his content to thousands of followers, so losing that meant losing money as well, and if there was one thing Peter knew Beck loved, it was money.

He wondered what the fuck the man had done to piss people off like that, it was clearly a coordinated attack, but he wasn’t curious enough to try and find out what happened. He would rather watch from a distance, rejoicing in the satisfaction it gave him to imagine that maybe, just maybe, one of those days Beck wouldn’t be able to get the channel back up and would have to start from scratch, like Peter did. And maybe then he wouldn’t re-upload his videos – that part was a little harder to believe, but who knew, stranger things had happened.

When June came to an end, Peter was surprised with a notification from Tony on Just4Fans. He had almost forgot the man was still subscribed to his account there, they obviously never chatted on the app anymore, and when he opened the notification, his blood ran cold in his veins.

It was a tip.

A hundred thousand dollars tip.

He couldn’t fucking believe it. A tip? For what, a job well done? It wasn’t like Peter was – what did that even mean? Was Tony trying to say something with that, send some kind of message?

He decided not to call him right away, he was too – upset. The older man was picking him up later that evening for dinner, so he decided to wait. Whatever he had to say to him, he wanted to hear it in person. He wanted him to look in his eyes and tell him he thought he was his fucking wh–

“What is the meaning of this?” He asked as soon he got in his car, avoiding the kiss that came his way. Tony blinked in surprise, trying to understand why he got a phone shoved in his face instead of a kiss, and then he finally saw what that was all about.

“Oh, that–“ But before he could answer anything, Peter interrupted.

“I told you I’m not – Tony, why would you – this is so insulting!” He was honestly at a loss for words. They had been seeing each other for almost two months by then, things were going great, they met every week, they made apple pie together, for God’s sake, had he misunderstood all the signs?

“My God, Peter, that’s not that, I just thought – I mean, I’m a billionaire, you know this is pocket change for me, right?” Peter gasped, shocked, and Tony’s eyes widened when he fumbled with the door handle. “Wait! I didn’t mean – Jesus, okay, hold on a second, please!” Tony reached over him to shut the door before Peter could get out of the car. The young man turned to look at him with tears in his eyes and Tony looked incredulous when he leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t just assume the worst, have I given you any reason for that?” He sounded hurt, which made Peter gulp. He took a few calming breaths and shook his head slowly.

“No,” he whispered, dropping his gaze.

“Ok, good.” He actually sounded relieved at that. “I am a billionaire, Peter, and this is pocket change for me, which means –“ he raised his voice a little, predicting a reaction from him that didn’t come, “I didn’t realize this would be such a big deal. For me, it’s like giving you, I don’t know, flowers. I didn’t mean this as a payment for whatever you think this is, I just thought this would be a good help. You’re starting your life now, you have that list of yours that you don’t let me see, you’re saving up money, you have your plans for college, I just meant to help. I mean, if we weren’t together, I would have tipped you every month, so I thought –“

“But we are together, Tony, I –“ he was a little calmer then, because that was, in fact, a reasonable explanation and he shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. “Look, I appreciate the gesture, but next time you mean to give me flowers, just give me flowers! I believe you have the best intentions at heart, but it’s just weird for me. I don’t want this to be about money. I just – don’t want that, okay?”

He gazed at the older man as he gaped at him, mouth opening and closing, but no sound came out for a while.

“I just thought – I mean, people usually –“ It was unusual to see Tony speechless like that, but the man shook his head and looked back at him, almost embarrassed. “I just want to help you.”

“Are you kidding me?” Peter poked him in the arm, trying to lighten up the mood in the car. “You’re teaching me how to cook. Yesterday I made an omelet and I only burned one side, I’m getting good at this. That’s a big help.”

Tony didn’t laugh at his joke, like he usually did, he just gazed at him with an unreadable expression, before leaning in to kiss him, which Peter gladly reciprocated.

“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable,” he whispered, then, resting his forehead against his.

“And I’m sorry I was rude. It won’t happen again,” he promised, and he meant it.

After that night, he removed Tony from his Just4Fans, which came as a blow to the older man, who pouted and whined for about a week, only stopping when Peter showed up at his place one Saturday wearing Iron Man lingerie under his clothes – it was supposed to be a joke, but it worked surprisingly well for Tony.  

By July, it became impossible to keep sneaking around Ned and MJ, as the dates became more frequent. Peter decided to tell them that he had met someone online and that they were getting to know each other. He told them it was nothing serious yet and if it became serious, they would meet him.

He did have to throw in a few lies to get them off his back – he definitely had to lie about Tony’s age to avoid certain comparisons, but he would cross that bridge when he got to it, if he ever got to it. He wasn’t sure if or when he was going to tell them the whole truth, but for the time being, he  felt more comfortable keeping that relationship to himself.

He and Tony didn’t go out much, but when they did, it was always to fancy and discreet restaurants with private rooms; Tony was, after all, a celebrity for all intents and purposes, and at if the press got a whiff of them there would be no secret left to keep.

But staying in with Tony was far from boring. They cooked together and the older man taught him all of his grandmother’s secret recipes – Peter could never replicate them by himself at home, but it was still fun trying. They spent almost all of their time down in the workshop, though, where Tony  had him do menial tasks, like screwing bolts or reaching for a part inside an Iron Man suit. He said his tiny hands were useful for his projects.

He knew he wasn’t really that useful, but he loved when Tony included him and asked for his help, even though he didn’t really need it. He was fascinated by everything the older man taught him in those moments and in turn Tony always looked proud and pleased when Peter put his lessons to use.

He didn’t mind keeping him company when Tony was focused on projects he couldn’t help with, he stayed there anyway, reading a book or watching TV on the tiny couch – Tony kept saying he was going to get a bigger one, but he didn’t believe it, he knew the older man enjoyed the fact that the only way they could fit comfortably on it was if Peter was lying half on top of him.

So after several weeks, they established a little routine of their own. Since Tony had a busy schedule and Peter was still trying to keep Ned and MJ somewhat in the dark, they didn’t meet that often on week days, but they always talked on the phone before bed. On Thursdays, Tony picked him up after his shift at BFF and he spent the night at his place. They had breakfast together on Fridays and then they met again every Saturday after lunch, and finally Tony dropped him back off home every Sunday evening, so he could have dinner with his friends.

In August, for the first time in his life, Peter had two birthday celebrations. One with his friends, when the three of them went bar-hopping and he got home so hammered he had absolutely no idea how they managed to climb the stairs, and another with Tony, when he decorated the workshop with  balloons and put party hats on Dum-E and U.

“Surprise!” He yelled lamely, throwing confetti at Peter when they stepped into the workshop. The younger man laughed, delighted, as Tony hurried to the kitchenette and came back with something in his hands. “I know it doesn’t look good, but I promise it tastes good. Probably.” When Peter looked down, he noticed it was a large chocolate cake with ‘Happy Birthday, kitten’ written on it in bright pink icing. It looked so ugly, but it was so beautiful at the same time. “What did I do now?” Tony frowned, face falling.

He blinked a few times and when he touched his cheeks, he realized he was crying.

“I’m sorry, I’m just – really happy.” He grinned, pulling the older man’s face to give him a kiss. “Thank you.”

It was late October when Tony told him he had to go on a trip to China for two weeks, and even though it wasn’t his first work trip since they started dating, five months earlier, it would be by far the longest one since then, so it was kind of a big deal. Still, he didn’t expect to feel so affected, but on the days leading up to it he was so upset he couldn’t hide it.

They spent their last Sunday together wrapped up in each other doing absolutely nothing. They slept in, Tony brought Peter breakfast in bed, which was rewarded with a lazy and sloppy blow job, and they spent all day in bed, only getting up for essentials, like food and water. They didn’t even turn on the TV, they didn’t even talk much. They just held each other and exchanged slow, tender kisses until their bodies were too warm to stay under the sheets.

Tony ran a bath for them and got in the tub – it was big enough for eight people, but Peter made a point to sit in his lap, clinging to him like a koala. He felt Tony’s arms encircle him gently, as he rested his chin on top of his head.

“I’ll be home before you even have time to miss me, kitten.” He whispered, and those were the first words either of them had said in at least a few hours.

Peter didn’t tell him that was impossible since he already missed him, instead he just held him even tighter.

After the bath water went cold, they climbed out of the tub and Tony insisted on drying him, before dressing him in one of his own T-shirts, even though Peter had a multitude of spare clothes in his closet. He sat in bed, watching Tony pack a huge suitcase that reminded him just how long he would be gone for. He sulked a little – just a little – and that earned him a little kiss on his forehead, which was enough to undo the frown between his brows.

Finally, in the evening, Tony parked his car in front of Peter’s building, turning to look at him with an almost pained smile, before leaning in for a kiss.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Peter whispered against his mouth and felt when Tony’s lips stretched into a small smile. He pulled away a little, just enough to look into his eyes, and cupped his chin in his hand.

“I’ll miss you too, but I won’t be long, ok? It’s just a few days.” He pecked Peter’s lips one more time for good measure and the younger man nodded.

“Call me if you have time.”

“Of course, kitten, every day.” He leaned in for another kiss, this one longer than the previous, and Peter’s heart fluttered. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out, containing the urge to say those three words that had been trapped in the back of his throat for weeks.

“Have a safe trip. Let me know when you land.”

“I will, baby.”

Peter got out of the car and waved, watching as it disappeared down the street. He sighed and his heart ached, he already missed Tony and it had only been a few seconds, how was he going to survive fifteen whole days? It seemed impossible. It was crazy to think how far they had come since March, when they talked for the first time. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

He turned to go inside, but froze in place when he heard a familiar voice.

“So that’s why you’ve been ignoring me, huh? How rude.” He turned slowly to the left, only to be met with Beck’s cocky, arrogant smile, just a few feet away from him. “I tried calling, I tried texting, you’ve blocked me everywhere, I can’t even e-mail you anymore, it appears.” Beck walked slowly and leaned against the rails of the stairs to Peter’s building and the younger man curled his hands in fists, trying to control the urge to just run. “Long time no see, Petey-pie.”

He was paralyzed, muscles rigid, but to his own surprise, it wasn’t fear that he felt, or sadness. It was pure anger.  

“I wonder why,” he answered quietly, but firmly. Beck’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, before the smile was back in place. “How did you find me?” He demanded, because Beck had never cared to ask where Peter was going to stay after he kicked him out, so how in the hell would he know where to find him?

“Wasn’t easy, I have been following you on Instagram, some of your morning run routes seemed familiar, so I–”

“You stalked me?” He frowned, taking a step closer to the other man, who looked at Peter with indignation and hurt. He shook his head, softened those baby blue eyes and placed one hand over his chest, right above where his heart would have been if he had one.

“I just wanted to see you, is all.” He shrugged, dropping his gaze to stare at his own feet, and Peter wanted to roll his eyes. It was so weird watching his whole act now that the spell had been lifted.

“What do you want?” He asked, making the older man’s head snap back up, a little surprised by his cold tone.

“I just told you, I wanted to see you. I missed you.” He took a few steps towards Peter, who in turn walked backwards to keep his distance

“You missed me?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Where’s your new boy-toy, you put him away so you could come play with me?” He cocked his head to the side and, for a moment, he could see the shock crossing his features.

“Pete… Why are you acting like this, it’s like I don’t even know you anymore...” His voice broke and he looked away, pretending to wipe away a tear. He wondered how the hell he used to fall for that.

“You don’t, Quentin. I’m not a lost little boy anymore, you should go back to your boyfriend. Or is he smarter than me and dumped you already? Is that what this is all about?” He narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, and Beck’s mouth hung open like he couldn’t believe his words.

“I made a mistake, Pete. After so many years, I took you for granted, I couldn’t see what I saw the first time I met you. I couldn’t see how beautiful you were, how caring and loving you were, how loyal and reliable and – I don’t know, I was blind. I was so stupid, I shouldn’t have left you.” His eyes were wide, earnest, shining with unshed tears. His face was open, even his body language screamed honesty. Suddenly, he didn’t feel so bad about falling for his act – Beck was good. “Don’t  you miss me, baby? Don’t you miss us?”

Peter snorted, shaking his head, he couldn’t believe the nerve of that man.

“You made a mistake, huh? So you dumped your new boy, right? If I were to go home with you right now, he wouldn’t be there, waiting for you, like a fucking plan B, in case this doesn’t go your way. Right?” It was his turn to take a few steps towards the older man. “Like I was your plan B while you waited for him to turn 18?”

“Peter, c’mon–“

“Is he there, Beck? Just answer me that. Come on, if he’s not, I’ll take you back right now, we can go home together.” He insisted, looking into the older man’s eyes, but he didn’t say anything, he just sighed. “Of course he is. If I said yes, what would you do? Tell him to pack his things in the middle of the night and leave? Would you keep all the money he’s made you and tell him to fuck off? Would you leave him broke and lonely and fucking lost in this world? Would you tell him that he wasn’t good enough and dispose of him like he’s fucking garbage?” His voice grew louder and louder, and when he came to himself, he noticed he was in Beck’s face, their chests almost touching, so he took a step back. “So to answer your question, Quentin, no, I don’t fucking miss you. You fucking ruined me!”

“I saved you!” And just like that, the good guy act was gone. His whole demeanor changed, the soft baby blues widened, his mouth was set in a sneer, he puffed out his chest to intimidate him, but Peter stood his ground. “Don’t pretend you don’t remember who you were before me. You were a fucking loser! An orphan, no family, no friends, no future! I took you in, I took care of you, I gave you a profession – don’t fucking roll your eyes, what the fuck are you doing now, huh? Rocket science? ‘Cause it seems to me like you’re still doing porn, and now you’re clearly branching out into prostitution, would you look at that!”

“You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about!” He placed his hands on the man’s chest and pushed him away when he got too fucking close for comfort. He held his breath when he realized what he had done, afraid of the man’s reaction, but he just kept his distance.  

“You know what? Fuck you, Peter. I was wrong about you, I thought I knew who you were, I thought I missed you, but you’re just a disgusting fucking whore, after all. You’re a dirty little bitch in heat who likes to get this loose hole of yours fucked by old perverts, I don’t know why I’m surprised, I mean, that’s why I dumped you, you were enjoying those videos a little bit too much for my taste. You weren’t even satisfied with two cocks up your ass, one in your mouth and a line of men waiting to fuck you. You disgust me.” He started walking away, and Peter wanted to say something, he wanted to yell at him and defend himself, he wanted to tell him he didn’t fucking enjoy it, he wanted to tell him that it was all his fault, he threw him to the lions, he let those men fucking–

Fuck!

He rushed inside the building and ran upstairs, eyes clouded with tears. He tripped and fell knees first on the steps, but he didn’t even feel pain, he just got up and kept going, kept running, trying to put as much distance between him and Beck as he could, even though it was irrational. Beck was gone, he walked away, he left him, he left him again, he wasn’t coming back–

“Ned?!” He knocked urgently on his friends’ door. He didn’t have his spare key, it was upstairs in his own apartment, but he couldn’t trust himself to go all the way up there and down again without having a full on panic attack. “MJ?! Are you guys home?!” He was really trying not to sound too desperate, he didn’t want to scare them, but it was hard controlling his emotions when his heart was hammering against his chest and he couldn’t fucking breathe.

“Peter?” It was MJ who yanked the door open. She had a towel wrapped around her torso, her hair was wet, and Peter felt guilty, but she took one look at him and quickly pulled him into a hug. “My God, Peter...” She whispered into his hair when he started sobbing uncontrollably on her naked shoulder. “Come on in, c’mon.” He heard the door closing behind him, but he didn’t let go of her, he felt like if he did, he wouldn’t be able to hold himself together.  

He wanted to tell her not to worry, that she should go finish her shower and change, but he really, really needed her right then. She sat down on the couch, pulling him with her and he promptly laid down, burying his face in her legs. He couldn’t stop crying and sobbing and no matter how many times she asked him what was wrong, sounding increasingly more worried, he couldn’t get his feelings under control enough to give her any answer.

He was there for what felt like hours, when at some point someone lifted him from MJ’s lap and enveloped him in such a tight hug he couldn’t breath for a second, but he sighed in relief, it was right what he needed. Ned’s arms felt like home, it calmed him down almost instantly – his voice whispering that it was fine, everything was going to be okay helped a lot, too.

“I hate him, I hate him so fucking much,” he mumbled into his shoulder, God knew how much time later, and his friend just hummed, patting his back. “I hate that he made a mess of me and I let him.” He couldn’t hold back more tears when he said that, because it was true, it was so fucking true. He let Beck do whatever he wanted to him, he let him ruin his dreams, his future, his fucking personality, until he was nothing but a shell of what he used to be.

“I know, Peter, I know,” Ned soothed him, rubbing his back, even though he probably had no idea what he was talking about. “It’s okay now. You’re okay. It’s over”

“I made tea.” MJ’s quiet voice sounded somewhere from his right and when he turned to look at her, she was already dressed, wet hair up in a bun, with a mug in her hands, which she extended to him. He accepted it but didn’t dare to take a sip, he was positive that if he did, he would throw up, his stomach was all kinds of fucked up at that moment. “Peter, what happened? Did Star – uh, did your boyfriend do something? Did he hurt? ‘Cause I swear to God–” Just the mention of Tony being the cause of his distress made him sick, so he cut her off.

“Beck was here.” He sniffed, looking at the mug to avoid their eyes when he heard both of them gasping.

“Beck? Beck was here? Fucking Beck?” MJ screeched and he nodded.

“He was waiting for me outside.” He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to gather enough energy to have that conversation.  

“What did he want?” Ned asked calmly, while MJ paced the floor, furious.

“I don’t know...” He shrugged, wrecking his brain to try and figure out what his motive was. “His channel got taken down a few weeks ago and he couldn’t get it back up. I heard he had to start over.” He hadn’t been watching that closely, but he knew something was wrong, even his Twitter and Instagram accounts kept getting taken down almost monthly, it was impossible he was making any money over the past few months. “He said he wanted to get back together, probably because he thinks us making up would be a big hit or whatever. I said no, of course. He didn’t like the answer.”

“Did he hurt you?!” MJ strode back to him until she was standing right in front of him, looking into his eyes. He was almost intimidated by her.

“No, he just… Said some pretty shitty things, is all,” he answered sheepishly, because he hated that that man could still make a mess of him with just a few hurtful words.

“Oh, dude. He’s just mad he’s lost control over you. Whatever he said, he just wanted to hurt you, it doesn’t mean anything.” Ned placed an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer, and Peter rested his head against his, sighing.

“I know. He was always like that, you know,” he whispered, as flashes of memories crossed his mind. “When I didn’t bend to his wishes, when I didn’t do things his way, he fucking–“ He squeezed his eyes shut, furious, because he had fallen for that again. “He tries to charm me and when it doesn’t work, he attacks me. But the thing is, he really knows what to say to destroy me. It just sucks. But it’s fine. I just need a moment, I’ll be fine.” He sat up straight and looked both of his friends in the eyes.

“Yes, you will. You most certainly will.” Ned patted his shoulder one last time, getting up from the couch. “Why don’t you lie down for a second, huh? I’m making dinner, I’ll even try one of those recipes your mystery boyfriend taught you.” Just the mention of Tony made him breathe a little easier, even though he wouldn’t be able to see him for a while.

“Okay.” He nodded, smiling softly. MJ took Ned’s place on the couch and he lay down, placing his head on her legs, as she ran her fingers through his hair. He sighed contently and closed his eyes, feeling exhausted. He was close to drifting off when he heard Ned gasp.

“Oh my God,” He breathed quietly from the kitchen and both Peter and MJ looked at him curiously from over the back of the couch.

“What?” She didn’t look too worried, but Peter was concerned about how pale he was.

“Ned, what’s wrong?” He frowned, watching Ned’s horrified expression looking at his phone like it was a murder scene. He raised his eyes and gulped.

“Peter is trending on Twitter,” he whispered, after a while.

“What?!” They both hurried over to the kitchen counter, and the first thing Peter saw when he looked at his phone was a picture of him and Tony in his car, kissing. As Ned scrolled down, more pictures showed up, but not only that, clips of his old videos were all over Twitter, people knew his full name, his real name, and they were making all sorts of comments. Iron Man, Tony Stark, Peter Parker, sex worker, prostitute and porn were trending.

The room was completely silent for a whole minute, before MJ turned on the TV.

“… appear that Tony Stark, former CEO of Stark Industries and retired Avenger, was seen kissing a young man in his car earlier this evening. The person in the pictures seems to be one Peter Parker, a twenty-one year old porn actor, who is also said to work as a prostitute…”

Peter’s heart sank to the bottom of his stomach, his vision blurred and he felt bile rising in his throat. He took a deep breath and got up from the couch, ears ringing, as he rushed to the front door.  He heard his friends yelling something, but he couldn’t make out their words, and he just couldn’t deal with all that right then and there.

“I, uhm, I gotta go,” he called from over his shoulder, slamming the door shut on his way out.

As he ran upstairs, vision blurred by tears and chest hurting, begging for oxygen, he couldn’t help but remember his life fell apart in the winter. And fall would be over soon.

-x-

So... It appears that someone has lost the ability to write short chapters... 

Anyways, only three more chapters to go!  🥳

Tag list (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the list):  @sadachmesarthim @iamnotparticularlyproud @staticwhispersinthedark @bluestarker @ whyisthisathingcb

#starker #peter parker x tony stark

[genevievemd]

Love You Home (1/5)

Chapter One: The Setback

Summary: After months of planning, Ethan is finally ready to propose but catastrophe strikes and it could destroy everything. 

A/N: Hi friends! Here we are with chapter one. I’m really excited to finally be sharing this story with you all and I really hope you love it as much as I do. 

This is set towards the end of book 3, aka MC’s third year. There is also one flashback per chapter. 

Also I put a picture of the ring I decided on at the end of the post incase you want to see it. 

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Genevieve McClure)

They’ve been arguing since lunch. Well not arguing, bickering would be a more accurate term. Ethan has half a mind to just give in and let Genevieve win. Especially if it’ll stop Baz from gushing about how they “argue like an old married couple.” It’s a ridiculous thing to even be fighting over in the first place, the goddamn car keys. 

He’s taking her to the opera tonight, an extravagant evening he’d planned a week in advance. One that will hopefully end with a small velvet box no longer burning a hole in his pocket. His plan was to leave from the hospital, take Gen to see her favorite show, ask her to marry him as the curtain closes, then drive to her favorite bakery where he has a special cake, bottle of champagne and string quartet waiting for them, and then finally back home to have a more private celebration - which included rose petals that have been scattered with the assistance of Dr. Trinh while she took her lunch break . 

It’s a possibly too detailed and overly romantic plan proposal plan, that could easily go horribly wrong if they miss even a beat. Which is why her forgetting her dress by the front door this morning is causing him to stress more than he already is. 

He can’t exactly tell why she can’t have the keys, why letting her go back to the apartment could ruin the entire evening. But he’s also tired of having the same argument for the last two hours.

Ethan’s positive he’ll give in if she keeps pestering him, the only time she isn’t is when they’re with a patient. But she’s right back to it as they leave the room and walking to the nurse’s station. 

“You still haven’t given me a good enough reason.” Gen crosses her arm as she leans against the circular desk, raising her eyebrows in defiance. 

Fuck, he’s screwed. “We can just swing home so you can change.”

“And be late? No way. Come on, Please?” She’s giving him the face, the one where she bits her lip and looks entirely too adorable. It’s his weakness, she knows it too. 

Ethan sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose, he’s lost the fight. “Fine. They’re in -” 

“The top left drawer of the desk in your office.”

Gen smirks triumphantly and he’s really going to have to try and find a way to say no to her. As impossible as it sounds. 

“Be quick, Rookie. We have a patient coming in.” 

“I know. I’ll be back in fifteen. Twenty with traffic.”

She gives him a quick kiss and tries to pull away. But Ethan is faster, grabbing her wrist to pull her back before cupping her face in his hands. Their lips meet in a kiss that is absolutely too passionate for their current surroundings. But he doesn’t care, because by the end of the night she could be his fiancee and then soon enough his wife. And the fact that she’s about to unknowingly ruin the entire thing no longer seems to matter.

“What was that for?” She’s practically breathless, eyes starry and cheeks flushed. It thrills him, that after all this time he can still manage to get her to look at him like that. 

“I need a reason to kiss you?”

“No, but you don’t usually kiss me like that in the hospital.” 

“True.”  He gives her one more quick kiss, before letting her go. Delighting in the way she subconsciously leans towards him. “Go grab your dress, love.”

She gives him that wondrous smile, her fingers brushing against her lips as she tries her best to suppress a giggle. God, how he loves her. 

Ethan watches her walk away before turning back to chart in his hands. 

“Is tonight the night?” Marlene looks up at him, clearly amused by his public display of affection.

“Pardon?” 

“You’re proposing tonight, right?”

“How did you - Naveen?”

“Yes.”

Ethan shakes his head, as they share a laugh. “Page me when Dr. McClure gets back. I’m headed down to the ER.” 

“Sure thing. Good Luck tonight, Dr. Ramsey.”

“Thank you.”

———

One Week Ago...

It’s been a quiet day, most of the team’s patients have been stable and the interns are seemingly being competent for once. It’s one of those days where Ethan can actually enjoy the aspects of having a second, more private, office. There’s no glass walls for the prying eyes and gossip train of Edenbrook to take advantage of.

They’re making good use of the rare moment of piece, cuddling on the small couch in his office. Genevieve has her head in his lap, trying her hardest not to fall asleep while he twines his fingers through her hair. Ethan’s supposed to be reading the paper, as he had planned to, but his mind is to preoccupied with all the ways he can possibly propose. 

He’s had the ring for a month now, hidden away in a safety deposit box. It’s the only place he knew where Genevieve wouldn’t find it. He wants the moment to be perfect, extrodiandry, which is proving to be a harder task than initially thought. 

He takes a deep breath, focusing back to the paper in his hand and then he sees it. The small article at the bottom of the page promoting the upcoming production at the opera house. It’s one of her favorites, the same one he took her to almost three years ago. It’s the perfect place, the greatest opportunity to ask for her hand. 

Ethan looks down at Genevieve, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I have a proposition.” 

She keeps her eyes closed, but grants him the sight of a playful smirk. “Oh no.” 

“We haven’t been to the opera in quite some time. We should go next week, Thursday night. Make an evening out of it.”

“I’d love that,” She sits up, hair a mess from his ministrations, “We haven’t had a real date night in forever.”

“I know. Sienna told me the other day that I’ve been neglecting my ‘boyfriend duties’ since you moved it.” 

“She’s not wrong.” 

“Well them let me make it up to you,” Ethan takes her cheek in his hand, pulling her closer until their foreheads touch. “Thursday night.”

“Sounds perfect.” 

———-

The E.R. is absolute chaos, one of the many days where there are too many patients and not enough beds. Ethan makes his way through the maze of doctors and patients and over to Sienna. She’s about to hand him a patient’s chart when the ambulance bay doors fly open and paramedics rush in. 

“What do we got?” Harper’s voice echoes from across the room as she runs through the crowd with Bryce closely behind her. 

“It’s one of ours, Doc. Found her in the parking lot. ID badge said ‘Genevieve McClure’.”

“Oh my god.” 

Ethan’s eyes meet Harper’s and it’s like the world stops. He feels his blood run cold, feels his heart stop and the air rush out of his longs. Everything around him blurs out of focus as he watches the paramedics wheel Gen into a trauma bay, as Harper and Bryce cut open her shirt and the blood pools around a dozen wounds. 

“Dr. Trinh, get Dr. Ramsey out of here.”

“Let me help!” He tries to move, tries to get to Genevieve as fast as he can but Sienna stops him with a gentle hand on his chest. 

“You can’t help her right now, Ethan. I need you to back away and let us work.” Harper doesn’t look up, simply yells at him from across the room as she hovers over Genevieve’s unconscious body. “Someone page trauma, now! And the chief!”

“For Christ’s sake, Emery, she’s my -”

“Which is exactly why I need you to back away and let us do our job. Sienna, get him the hell out of the ER now!” 

Ethan feels Dr. Trinh’s petite hand on his arm, feels her pulling him backwards towards the door. He wants to scream, wants to run, do something other than watch Genevieve lay motionless on a gurney. 

The last thing he sees before the doors close is Dr. Lahela doing compressions as blood starts to pool around Emery’s feet.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: am i the worst? I’m probably the worst. sorry not sorry for the pain. You know you love me! - Sara

(p.s) here’s the ring, it’s so pretty I could stare at it for hours. 

Tag List: 

@queencarb, @overwhelminglyaquarius, @me-and-my-choices, @schnitzelbutterfingers, @crazy-loca-blog​, @a-crepusculo, @drakewalkerfantasy, @ohchoices, @adrex04, @udishaman, @drariellevalentine​, @custaroonie​, @archxxronrookie​, @terrm9​, @maurine07​, @openheartthot​, @gryffindordaughterofathena​, @aworldoffandoms​, @caseyvalentineramsey​, @dulceghernandez​

LMK if you want to be added or taken off the list

#ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #open heart fanfiction #love you home #ethan x gen

[abrakophile]

I was looking through a bunch of junk and found some letters from my dad when he was in the army. I’m afraid I'll accidently toss them, so maybe I’ll put them here?

OPs Name JUNE 02 03

I LOVE YOU

THIS IS MY NAME IN KURDISH

*my dad wrote his first and last name, and under it, in Kurdish*

ILL TRY AND FIND OUT HOW TO WRITE YOUR NAME AND MOMS TOO.

ITS STILL HOT. I WORK AND READ BOOKS TO PASS THE TIME AWAY.

HOW ARE YOU DOING? GOOD I HOPE. WHAT DO YOU DO FOR FUN? DO YOU EVER HANG OUT WITH YOUR FRIENDS? TELL THEM I SAID “WASSUP?” NAH, DONT TELL THEM. TELL ME WHAT YOUR THINKING. I’M TRYING TO SEND YOU SOME MORE OF MY DRAWINGS. WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DRAW YOU? DID YOU LIKE THE DRAWING I SENT YOU OF YOU NAME? ITS ALRIGHT IF YOU DIDNY. JUST TELL ME WHAT YOU DO WANT ME TO DRAW YOU.

(Flip Page)

THIS IS WEIRD! (The page does not have lines on the left side of it) i WONDER WHAT HAPPENED TO THIS PIECE OF PAPER. HaHa

I MISS YOU ALOT. PLEASE SOND ME SOME MORE OF YOUR DRAWINGS, YOU CAN DRAW ME ANYTHING YOU WANT TO.

ARE YOU BEING GOOD FOR YOUR MOM? ITS NICE IF YOU HELP HER OUT WHILE I’M AWAY.

HAVE YOU BEEN ANYPLACE NEW? HOW IS SCHOOL GOING FOR YOU? IS MOMMY GOING TO SCHOOL? I KNOW I WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL WHEN I GET BACK. HOPEFULLY I GET THE CHANCE TO LEARN EVERYTHING THAT THERE IS TO KNOW. THAT WOULD BE GREAT.

ALSO, ID LIKE TO DO SOME FISHING? HOW ABOUT YOU? I GUESS ILL END HERE. BE GOOD AND STAY IN SCHOOL. AND JUST SAY NO TO DRUGS.

THEYRE BAD.

I LIVE YOU OP

*hearts and x’s* DADDY

---

(I don’t know if all these pages are in order or if it’s missing any, but this was the letter in the same stack as the last but this one was for my mom. In some places his indents indicate passage of time.)

I HAVENT HAD ANY TIME TO WRITE SINCE WEVE BEEN ON THE ROAD, NOT TO MENTION THAT WE CAN’T SEND MAIL WHEN WE’RE MOVING ALL THE TIME.

WEVE BEEN ON THE ROAD FOR ABOUT FIVE OR SIX DAYS, I HAVENT REALLY BEEN COUNTING. I KNOW I TOLD YOU THAT WE’D BE IN KUWAIT FOR A WHILE, BUT THAT WAS SO YOU WOULDNT BE WORRIED. I’M GOING TO KEEP THIS LETTER THOUGH, TILL I GET HOME.

ABOUT TWO NIGHTS AGO, WE DROVE THROUGH BAGDHAD, SOMEBODY SAID THAT THERE WERE PILED BODIES, I DONT KNOW IF IT WAS TRUE.

AND I GUESS YESTERDAY, A COUPLE OF PEOPLE SAID THEY SAW A MISSILE OR SOEMTHING SHOT AT US. I WAS TRYING TO FIX A TRUCK SO I DIDNT SEE IT.

ITS NOT AS DUSTY HERE IN IRAQ. IT REMINDS ME OF THE CONVOYS IN KOREA.

MOST OF THE PEOPLE WILL WAVE “HI”. SOME OTHERS DONT.

I SAW A KID OPEN HIS HAND ONCE WHILE MOVING, AND IT SAID “BUSH” THAT WAS KIND OF COOL.

OH YEAH. HERES A STORY. WHILE OUT DOING A MISSION, ONE OF OUR “BRADLEY” TANKS FIRED ON AN ENEMY AMMO TRUCK AND CLIPPED A KID. THE ROUNDS BLEW ONE OF HIS LEGS OFF AND SOME OF THE OTHER, FROM THE KNEE DOWN. SO THE MEDICS PICKED HIM UP AND BROUGHT HIM TO OUR RECONCOLIDATING POINT FOR MEDICAL TREATMENT. I GUESS HE EVENTUALLY DIED FROM LOSS OF BLOOD THE NEXT NIGHT AND YESTERDAY THEY TOOK HIM OUT AND BURIED HIM.

ALSO WE PICKED UP ABOUT 25-30 P.O.W.s AND SENT THEM SOUTH.

IT GETS PRETTY COLD AT NIGHT. AND THE DAY’S ARE VERY HOT.

SINCE WE LEFT KUWAIT ITS BEEN ME AND MENDOZA IN THE FIVE TON WRECKER AND I HAVE TO ADMIT THAT ITS BEEN EXCITING. WE KEPT GETTING SEPERATED FROM THE CONVOY AND BREAKING DOWN. BUT I THINK THAT WERE BETTER NOW. HOPEFULLY.

IM STILL WAITING TO BE AMBUSHED TO MAKE ALL THIS SEEM REAL TO ME. A PART OF ME WANTS IT AND ANOTHER DOESNT.

AND IT SEEMS LIKE ONLY OUR UNIT HAS TO STAY IN UNIFORM, EVERYONE ELSE WEARS T-SHIRTS AND BANDENA’S AND RAGS ON THEIR HEAD

WERE STILL GOING NORTH. NOBODY KNOWS HOW LONG WE’LL STAY. ITS NOT THAT BAD HERE. MEANING, IT COULD BE WORSE. 

I USED A “SHIT-CHAIR”. ITS JUST A METAL CHAIR WITH A HOLE CUT IN THE MIDDLE AND THE SEAT FROM A TOILET BOLTED TO IT, GROSS.

HELICOPTERS CAN BE HEARD ALL DAY AND NIGHT. I GOT TO SEE THEM DROP BOMBS ALL DAY ABOUT 3 DAYS AGO, FROM A DISTANCE OF COURSE.

ILL BE DRIVING AGAIN, IN A MINUTE. PROBABLY RE-FUEL AND BACK ON THE ROAD AGAIN. IM ENJOYING IT.

I HAVE 8 MAGAZINES FULL OF ROUNDS. NO GRENADES, BUT I LIKE IT LIKE THAT.

SOMETIMES IT SMELLS LIKE SHIT.

I GUESS ILL END IT HERE FOR NOW

I LOVE YOU AND MISS YOU TWO TWICE IF NOT THRICE AS MUCH AS YOU MIGHT MISS ME TOO.

HELLO AGAIN. WERE SOMEWHERE NEAR TIKRI + MOSUL. YESTERDAY, ME + MENDOZA WENT LOOKING FOR MOMENTO’S. WE BROKE A LOCK TO A NEAR BY BUNKER AND FOUND 6 A.K.47s! BUT ON OUR WAY BACK TO TURN THEM IN, MAJOR TATU GOT THEM FROM US. I WAS SO PISSED. BUT I GOT A GAS MASK w/ FILTER, A FULL MAGAZINE CLIP FROM ONE OF THE A.K.s AND A BERET WITH IRAQ 1 RANK ON IT.

I MADE A STENCIL FOR THE TRUCK WERE RIDING IN. ITS CALLED THE “GAMBLER.” YESTERDAY MENDOZA DROVE, SO TODAY ILL BE DRIVING.

IM NOT POSITIVE, BUT, I THINK WERE GOING TO TURKEY. NIETO SAYS THAT HE OVERHEARD SOMEBODY FROM S1 (or SI, I’m not sure) SAYING WE MIGHT GET PAID EXTRA FOR GOING THROUGH BAGHDAD.

I THINK NIETO’S MAD AT ME. CANT EXPLAIN WHY. MAYBE ITS BECAUSE IM RIDING WITH MENDOZA AND HE DOESNT LIKE MENDOZA TOO MUCH. OH WELL, WHATEVER REASON, HOPE THINGS GET NORMAL AGAIN. HAVE TO GO,

*hearts and xs*

TODAY IS THE 25th OF APRIL, I RECEIVED FIVE OR SIX (OR SEVEN) LETTERS YESTERDAY. THE LATEST WAS DATED 07 OF APRIL. THAT TELLS ME THAT ITS GOING TO TAKE A WHILE TO COMMUNICATE.

WE HAVENT RECEIVED MAIL BECAUSE WEVE BEEN MOVING NEVER STAYING IN ONE PLACE MORE THAN A DAY, OR TWO, UNTIL NOW. WE’VE BEEN IN THIS SPOT GOING ON FOUR DAYS TOMORROW?!

GIVE ME A MINUTE...

FOR THE LAST COUPLE OF DAYS IVE BEEN HELPING MENDOZA PULL THE ENGINE OUT OF A 5 TON TRUCK AND SWITCH IT w/ ANOTHER ONE. IT WOULD HAVE BEEN EASY BUT THE FLY WHEEL SEIZED UP INSIDE THE BELL HOUSING. ITS FINISHED NOW AND THE RUMOR IS WE’RE LEAVING  (OR MOVING) AGAIN TOMORROW.

ITS 10:33 THURSDAY MORNING. YOUR TIME IS 12:32 JUST TURNING THURSDAY.

I ALMOST CRYED WHEN I SAW ELIS PICTURE. I REALLY MISS BOTH OF YOU. LET ME BACK TO BEFORE I GOT DISTRACTED. I HAVENT BEEN ABLE TO SEND MAIL BECAUSE WE’VE BEEN MOVING. BUT I GUESS THAT WHATEVER THREAT THERE WAS (IF ANY), ISNT SO THREATFUL ANYMORE, WE CAN START RECEIVING AND SENDING MAIL. NO PHONE TO CALL FROM, AND NO INTERNET TO E-MAIL FROM.

THE WHOLE UNIT IS SCATTERED, SO EVEN IF I GET WHAT YOU NEED IT’LL TAKE FOREVER TO GET IT TO YOU. LET ME PULL THOSE LETTERS BACK OUT. OH WAIT. I DID LAUNDRY AND SOME UNDERWEAR THATS DRY, FELT HARD, OH WELL, WAIT A SECOND, K

I HAD TO FOLD SOME T-SHIRTS. ALL MY SOCKS ARE STILL DAMP. 

YOU CAN USE MY CONTRACT TO SHOW THAT I ENLISTED IN TEXAS AND HOWS THIS

*On a separate sheet my dad wrote a detailed note for my mom to give to someone to confirm that he did want to buy a house. He writes “I AM ALIVE AND WELL.” and “PLEASE ACCEPT THIS PAPER”, then he signed it with his scribble signature, and underneath it wrote his name in print and added “1st SQUADRON 10th CAVALRY HEADQUARTERS TROOP (I have no clue what this means)*

HOW’S THAT? HOPE I SPELLED EVERYTHING CORRECTLY. IM ALMOST READY WITH A DESIGN TO COVER THE OTHER TATTOOS ON MY LEFT FOREARM.

I JUST FINISHED LOOKING OVER ALL THOSE LETTERS YOU SENT FOR ME

IM BACK! I GOT SLEEPY SO I TRYED TO LAY DOWN FOR A LITTLE BIT. NO SLEEP. I DONT THINK. I DIDNT HAVE ENOUGH WATER TO WASH MY DCV’S AND A PAIR OF BDV’S. BESIDES FOR DRINKING WATER, BUT WE HAVE TO CONSERVE IT.

LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THE RUMORS. TOMORROW WE’LL BE LEAVING FOR THE IRAN/IRAQ BORDER TO DO “PEACE KEEPING” FOR 3 TO 6 mths. OTHERS SAY THAT THE 4ID (i think is what this says) GENERAL WANTS TO KEEP US HERE TILL NOV., THATS WHEN 1 CAV WILL COME TO REPLACE US. WHILE OTHERS SAY WE MIGHT LEAVE BY JUNE. NOTHINGS FOR SURE.

SMALLER RUMORS FLOATING AROUND THE SITE ARE; RAMSEY AND SFC BACON ARE SLEEPING TOGETHER. SGT SIREK HAS PLANS TO TAKE NIETO AS HIS APPRENTICE AND PADIWAN LEARNER OF THE DARK SIDE. LITTLE BLACK ARNOLD IS MILITARY INTELLIGENCE FOR SPECIAL FORCES OPERATING UNDER COVER A SURVEILLENCE AS PART OF

*the rest of the page is blank*

IM BACK. TODAY IS THE 27th. I GOT BACK TO THE LITTLE CAMP AREA ABOUT AN HOUR AND A HALF AGO. I LEFT YESTERDAY MORNING TO, WELL, AS PART OF DE-CON (DE-CONTAMINATION) MISSION. HERES THE INFORMATION THAT I GATHERED.

A SITE HAD BEEN FOUND THAT WAS THOUGHT TO HAVE CHEMICAL WEAPONS AND 1-10 WAS APPOINTED TO GO TO THE SITE AND DE-CON THE CIVILIANS THAT WERE GOING TO OPEN THEM. AS IT TURNS OUT THE CIVILIANS HAVE BEEN DE-LAYED AND WOULD BE SET BACK 1 DAY.

THE NBC TEAM THAT I WAS WITH WERENT PREPARED TO STAY OVER NIGHT AND AS FORCASTED BY SSG MINOR WE MIGHT HAVE HAD TO STAY 3 TO 4 DAYS. EVERYBODY WAS PISSED.

LATELY ITS BEEN GETTING REALLY COLD AT NIGHT AND WE JUST HAPPENED TO BE NEAR A RUNNING RIVER. SO THE, ITS ABOUT 9 O’CLOCK AND IM BEAT, NO SLEEPING BAG OR ANYTHING TO COVER UP WITH AND I DECIDE TO TRY AND SLEEP. I GET AS COMFORTABLE AS POSSIBLE AND I GET ATTACKED BY MOSQUITOS. NOW IM PISSED SO I DECIDED TO JUST TO STAY UP ALL NIGHT. ABOUT 10PM ONE OF THE HEMTT (this might just say “hemi”, I don’t know) FUELERS SHOWS UP AND SGT TORRES SAYS HE HAS EVERYBODYS SLEEPING BAG! THE SITES ABOUT 45 MINS AWAY AND THEY LEFT SOMETIME MID AFTERNOON TO GET OUR SHIT, I HATE THESE PEOPLE.

RIGHT NOW ITS 9:01 PM AND ITS 11:02 AM YOUR TIME. I MISS YOU.

RIGHT NOW IM GOING TO ADDRESS AN ENVELOPE AND HAVE IT READY TO SEND TOMMOROW THE 28th. IM SORRY IF IT SEEMS THAT IM NOT WRITING VERY OFTEN. FOR A WHILE WE COULDN’T. AND NOW THAT IT SEEMS WE MIGHT BE HERE A LITTLE WHILE, THEYVE KEPT ME REALLY BUSY. LET ME ADDRESS THE ENVELOPES (he drew a star here)

ALL DONE. I THOUGHT ABOUT THE HOUSE A LOT TODAY AND YESTERDAY. IM SURE BY THE TIME THIS LETTER REACHES YOU, YOU’LL HAVE EITHER GOTTEN IT OR GAVE IT UP. IM O.K. WITH EITHER DECISION YOUVE MADE.

YOUVE KEPT THIS FAMILY TOGETHER, AND THAT MAKES ME PROUD. YOUR SMART, ATTRACTIVE AND FUNNY. AND YOU DONT TAKE ANY SHIT FROM ANYBODY. I LOVE YOU.

I HOPE THAT OUR DAUGHTER TURNS OUT TO BE LIKE YOU.

I GUESS ILL MAIL THIS TOMORROW, FIRST THING, SO

EVER YOURS

EVER MINE

*my dad signed it with his scribble, and wrote his name under it. under that are hearts and x’s with my mom’s name and then my name under hers.*

#very personal but where the fuck am i gonna put them? you know where i kinda cant lose them? #letters from the guy that was my dad #pt 1 #long post

[aestheticvoyage2021]

Day 161: Thursday June 10, 2021 - “Labor Day”

It was a difficult day, maybe one of the more difficult ones I ever sat and hunched and pulled through. I had a front row seat for this, the greatest and most ancient show on earth, and through the pain and exhaustion, wonder and worry, this difficult day was tempered with excitement and positive mantra making, and loving support as I worked with Jenna, Ashley the Doula, and mama Audrie to try to bring our baby into the world.  We’d use every one of the 86,400 in this turn, but wouldn’t ever get to the pushing stage, just wave after wave after wave of contractions, of which Audrie, birthing naturally, weathered like a warrior for a full 23 hours in our special private room filled with framed photos of her doing powerful things, a giant soaker tub, and a special four posted wood bed frame for her to pull on and all the other accoutrements that a laboring mama might need.  It was a special experience.  it was a difficult day.  And this is it’s story:

The doula came to our house just as this day was getting started - a few minutes after midnight, and helped us pack up and make the official call. The long awaited drive was low-key and low-stress as mama rode knees down and backwards in the passenger seat.  We were officially underway - this baby was coming. When and who it was?  That future was unwritten. - but we were now doing our part.  We arrived at the midwife’s birthing center at 215am.  We got settled in quickly, moving in the various visual mantras and settling in for a long night.  It started slow, having some hours to kill, letting the labor do the work to dilate.  Before we knew it, the Tucson sun was coming out, and through the cracks of the shuttered windows we could see the dark had given up to light.  We heard the traffic start on the busy street outside as the locals made their way to work.  Inside we were doing the work too on my first day of paternity leave. Id learned to count through the breathing of the contractions and what started as 1-10, soon was 1-20 or more.  We’d move from the tub to the bed, to the ball, to the toilet.  My favorite moments from the day, were those early in the day with just Audrie and I alone in the bathroom where Id try, in my own way, to coach and affirm, and inspire with humor and light enthusiasm, thinking any minute now a breakthrough might come and baby would be born as we imagined.... but soon it was the afternoon and after walking laps around the center,  a special smoothie, a long nap had on the floor of the conference room, repeated mindfulness meditations,  and some curb walking outside, the afternoon sun had started to set, and no real progress had been made.  We spent several hours in the soaker tub, getting fanned gracefully but our steady doula Ashley, but we had been stuck at 7 for far too long.  I started to seriously doubt if we would meet baby on this day as expected when we packed the bags to the car and drove off from The Finca telling the dogs that we’d “be right back...” but that didn’t matter to me at all - all that mattered was holding my partner’s hand, telling her she was doing great, and make sure she felt supported, in the best way that I could, for the war that she was going through - physically and emotionally. To say it was amazing to watch wouldn’t fit here - I wasn’t amazed with what I witnessed here - Audrie is an incredibly strong woman and I knew she’d do anything in her power to “land the plane” - rather than amazement and wonder, I had enormous pride that this extraordinary woman, had chosen me to invest her life and build a family with me, of all people. Her steady grace was no amazement at all. I held her firmly as she leaned on me as if an oak, pulling my chest hair, and thought that thought and then went to get on my birth shirt.

At 8:45 they decided to break the water, and give her a good run at it.   The game was on from there - it was time to either push out a baby, or change plans.  The birth shirt was one that she had chosen for me-  the same that I had worn on our wedding day up on Mt Lemmon and my hope was that this linen representation of a big day would help inspire that next page in this unfolding birth story.   Audrie had already assumed every position that we could imagine looking for the right and magical one...but from here she just went for standing up and gripping the post with deep sounds and moans stirred on by our doula who expertly coached her through staying on top of her emotions and staying focused. For 3 more hours she battled hard and we knew that this was either it or it wasn’t - and we were prepared for that.  At midnight, the call was made, the day was over  and so was our time with the midwife - basically in the same place where we had started, with countless waves in between  - precious gifts of how remarkable Audrie is, and how difficult birthing can be; the miracle would be earned.  We had gotten what we came for - to experience natural birthing, and the chance to feel strong.  But now we needed help to get over the hump and make sure baby would come out safe and healthy.  Our midwife transferred us to a local hospital where she knew the doctor who would catch us and get us into good shape.  Our birth center and doula had given us their literal all, and given us every opportunity to fulfill our simple birth plan. We left gracious, and in a hurry.  They had forfeited our birth to the hospital operation,  with as much class and compassion as we could have ever imagined - with soft spoken and affirming declaration of success, to this point, it was clear that in this case we would need tools and resources not available to us here and that nothing was lost if we could stay positive and keep doing the work. 

And so with AC dilated to 7, we drove the ten minutes to St Joesph’s hospital just after 1am - under the new moon, and now a new day - unsure of what the future would bring next; still unsure if we had a baby boy or girl but now sure that its birthday would not be June 10.   The drive itself a miraculous example of how much of a warrior AC was today. We were now off script, and as we drove I coached Audrie in her own ideas that the world works, that life rewards all of the time, and though the locale has changed, the game plan has not - to peacefully and calmly bring our baby into the world and that they - the two of them alone, were still in this together and working it together; that we hadn’t given anything up, that we were still in it, we were just changing the game plan, adn that mama was going to get them through it.  As we prepped for the epidural, she stood quietly through wave after wave of contraction, whispering the same mantras to the baby... the juice was worth the squeeze, we’re still here, we’re still in this.   I almost cried - listening to her replay it back, to baby this time, frayed my emotions for the first time in the long day. I sat back overwhelmed watching her get pricked and wired up now in a hospital setting that we had wanted to avoid - my nervous system was shot, I was shaking in shock, wondering why I was so weak and Audrie was so strong - but then watching and hearing her talk to the baby like that, in my own words played back, shook my head back into the game too... as if her calm affirmations to baby were all I needed to hear too.  Next thing I knew the doula and I were holding her hands as she calmly gave feedback to the doctor providing the epidural in a way that even he was impressed with, completely unaware of the 24 hours of hard labor she had just endured. How was Audrie the calmest coolest person in the room? - a fact I want to get on the record for posterity.  And as the epidural set in, and the Pitocin took effect, this day finally would come to an end.  The doctor that caught us had ordered us to sleep and rest and get ready for a new day.  My watch tells me that I complied, on that hospital bed, at 3:56am. A small break, a necessary blessing.

It was a difficult day; one where not much that was expected came to fruition. I  expected Audrie to fight hard and calmly and she had done that, best of her abilities - no surprises there.  And so there was no shame in calling the audible when we did.  All things considered, this difficult day was beautiful.  A beautiful expression of our partnership, of her womanhood, of the support of the powerful women around us, of our desire to have a family.  I wouldn’t trade this difficult day in a heartbeat.  Nothing was lost in the hardship. It was exactly what we needed and wanted, just shy of the result we had hoped for.  But as I laid down frayed and exhausted in that hospital room, scared for my wife and partner, I knew the sun would come up again tomorrow (quite soon actually) and that the new day would bring new opportunity, and I found there that last seed of excitement and positivity to hang onto.  I knew that by the time I laid my head down again, no matter how, I would be a Dad, and a mother next to me would also be born.  Breathe in - Breathe out.  And that was worth all the difficulty in the world; the juice was going to be worth this squeeze.

Song: Elephant Revival - Grace Of A Woman

Quote: “The heart is capable of sacrifice. So is the vagina. The heart is able to forgive and repair. It can change it's shape to let us in. It can expand to let us out. So can the vagina. It can ache for us and stretch for us, die for us and bleed and bleed us into this difficult, wondrous world. So can the vagina. I was there in the room. I remember.” ― Eve Ensler, The Vagina Monologues

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars XLI (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: Last chapter, time flies when you’re having fun :’) Part one of book three coming this thursday uwu

Words: 4,548

Warnings: None!

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Book III

Chapter Twenty-Three: New Discoveries.

She was definitely not expecting to see so many people inside the office. 

Mrs and Mr Weasley got up and trapped Ginny in a tight hug, both of them crying happily at the sight of the daughter they thought was lost forever.

Dumbledore's eyes were fixed on her and Harry, and he was smiling brightly at them. Fawkes flew away from her shoulder only to sit on Dumbledore's.

She was suddenly in the middle of a bear hug with Ron and Harry, Mrs Weasley leaving the tiniest space for them to breathe.

"You saved her! You saved her! How did you do it?"

"I think we'd all like to know that," said Professor McGonagall with a shaky voice.

Mrs. Weasley let go of Harry, who hesitated for a moment, then walked over to the desk and laid upon it the Sorting Hat, the rub-encrusted sword, and what remained of Riddle's diary.

Then he started telling them everything. For nearly a quarter of an hour he spoke into the rapt silence: He told them about hearing the disembodied voice, how Hermione had finally realized that he was hearing a basilisk in the pipes; how he, Mel, and Ron had followed the spiders into the forest, that Aragog had told them where the last victim of the basilisk had died; how he had guessed that Moaning Myrtle had been the victim, and that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets might be in her bathroom...

All sounded way more impressive than how it really was, most of what they knew was by pure luck and guessings, but altogether, they sounded better than any of Lockhart's books.

"Very well," Professor McGonagall breathed heavily, "so you found out where the entrance was- breaking a hundred school rules into pieces along the way, I might add- but how on earth did you all get out of there alive, Potter?"

Harry continued though his voice was growing tired, by the time he reached the part where the diary had somehow something to do with the whole thing, he stopped, giving a nervous glance to Ginny and then going back to Dumbledore, who only smiled as a reply.

Harry was hiding something, the thing that connected Ginny and the diary with the rest of the story, she just couldn't tell exactly what it was.

"What interests me most," Dumbledore said, "is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of Albania."

"What?" Mel turned to look at her uncle in disbelief, "Voldemort?"

"W- what's that?" said Mr. Weasley. "YouKnow-Who? En-enchant Ginny? But Ginny's not... Ginny hasn't been... has she?"

"It was this diary," said Harry, giving the book to Dumbledore. "Riddle wrote it when he was sixteen..."

The man took the book and examined it, Mel saw the same strange glint in his eyes she'd seen a year back when she mentioned her bursts of magic to him.

"Brilliant," he said. "Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen. Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving the school, traveled far and wide... sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here."

"But Ginny," said Mrs. Weasley. "What's our Ginny got to do with -with... him?"

"His diary," Ginny cried. "I've b-been writing in it, and he's been w-writing back all year..."

"Ginny!" said Mr. Weasley. "Haven't I taught you anything. What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain? Why didn't you show the diary to me or your mother? A suspicious object like that, it was clearly full of Dark Magic"

"I d-didn't know," sobbed Ginny. "I found it inside one of the books Mum got me. I t-thought someone had just left it in there and forgotten about it..."

"Miss Weasley should go up to the hospital wing right away," Dumbledore interrupted. "This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There will be no punishment. Older and wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort. Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me up... You will find that Madam Pomfrey is still awake. She's just giving out Mandrake juice- I daresay the basilisk's victims will be waking up any moment."

"Hermione!" Mel blurted out in excitement.

Dumbledore walked up to the door and opened it so the Weasleys could go.

"She's okay!" said Ron brightly, his mind on their friend.

"There has been no lasting harm done, Ginny," nodded Dumbledore.

The girl and her parents disappeared through the door, then the man looked back at McGonagall.

"You know, Minerva, I think all this merits a good feast. Might I ask you to go and alert the kitchens?"

"Right," said McGonagall, already going out. "I'll leave you to deal with Potter, Dumbledore, and Weasley, shall I?"

"Certainly," said Dumbledore.

They glanced at each other nervously, not knowing what that meant.

"I seem to remember telling you both that I would have to expel you if you broke any more school rules," said Dumbledore. "Which goes to show that the best of us must sometimes eat our words. You will receive Special Awards for Services to the School and- let me see- yes, I think two hundred points apiece for Gryffindor."

She sat heavily on the nearest chair, shaking from weariness and relief.

"But one of us seems to be keeping mightily quiet about his part in this dangerous adventure," Dumbledore added, she looked up to see he was talking about Lockhart. "Why so modest, Gilderoy?"

"Professor Dumbledore," Ron piped up, "there was an accident down in the Chamber of Secrets. Professor Lockhart-"

"Am I a professor?" said Lockhart. "Goodness. I expect I was hopeless, was I?"

Mel laughed, catching the man's attention.

"You were," She smiled, "but you know, we worked with what we had, I like to think that we were smart enough"

"You certainly look clever," The man agreed innocently.

Ron snorted, trying to hide his amusement with a cough.

"He tried to do a Memory Charm and the wand backfired," The boy explained quietly to Dumbledore.

"Dear me," said Dumbledore, shaking his head. "Impaled upon your own sword, Gilderoy!"

"Sword?" Lockhart tilted his head. "Haven't got a sword. That boy has, though. He'll lend you one."

"Would you mind taking Professor Lockhart up to the infirmary, too?" Dumbledore said to Ron. "Id like a few more words with Harry and Mel..."

Ron obeyed, but not before throwing a curious glance over his shoulder as he walked out of the room.

"Sit down, Harry," He pointed to the chair next to Mel. The boy obliged. "First of all, Harry, I want to thank you. You must have shown me real loyalty down in the Chamber. Nothing but that could have called Fawkes to you."

Mel glance at Fawkes, the bird was sitting on Dumbledore's knee, comfortably leaning his tiny head against her uncle's hand.

"And so you met Tom Riddle," said Dumbledore. "I imagine he was most interested in you..."

She felt her heart race, she remembered what'd happened during her time in the chamber, the... vision she'd had, should she mention it?

"Professor Dumbledore... Riddle said I'm like him. Strange likenesses, he said..."

"Did he, now?" said Dumbledore. "And what do you think, Harry?"

"I don't think I'm like him!" Harry said, so abruptly that manage to bring her back from her thoughts. "I mean, I'm- I'm in Gryffindor, I'm..."

He glanced at Mel, and she understood he was anxious about telling his worries in front of her. She offered a hand for him to hold, Harry took it with uncertainty.

"Professor," He looked back at the old wizard. "The Sorting Hat told me I'd- I'd have done well in Slytherin. Everyone thought I was Slytherin's heir for a while... because I can speak Parseltongue..."

"You can speak Parseltongue, Harry," explained Dumbledore, "because Lord Voldemort- who is the last remaining ancestor of Salazar Slytherin- can speak Parseltongue. Unless I'm much mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you the night he gave you that scar. Not something he intended to do, I'm sure..."

"Voldemort put a bit of himself in me?" Harry said, his hand closed tighter around hers, but she didn't mind.

"It certainly seems so."

"So I should be in Slytherin," He lamented. "The Sorting Hat could see Slytherin's power in me, and it --"

"Put you in Gryffindor," said Dumbledore. "Listen to me, Harry. You happen to have many qualities Salazar Slytherin prized in his hand-picked students. His own very rare gift, Parseltongue -resourcefulness - determination- a certain disregard for rules... Yet the Sorting Hat placed you in Gryffindor. You know why that was. Think."

"It only put me in Gryffindor," said Harry in a defeated voice, "because I asked not to go in Slytherin..."

"Exactly. Which makes you very different from Tom Riddle. It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities. If you want proof, Harry, that you belong in Gryffindor, I suggest you look more closely at this."

He handed the shiny sword back to Harry, he let go of her hand in order to take the sword and examine it carefully, she peered over his shouder to see it better. There was a name engraved below the hilt.

'Godric Gryffindor'

"Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat, Harry," said Dumbledore simply.

Mel looked up from the sword and into Dumbledore's eyes. She had her brows knit together and wanted so badly to express her thoughts, yet she couldn't. It was about things that neither harry or he knew, and she didn't know how to express them. Still, Dumbledore was a great wizard for a reason, he knew Mel wanted to speak privately.

"What you need, Harry, is some food and sleep. I suggest you go down to the feast, while I write to Azkaban- we need our gamekeeper back. And I must draft an advertisement for the Daily Prophet, too," He said, deep in thought. "We'll be needing a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher... Dear me, we do seem to run through them, don't we?"

Harry stood up and waited for Mel.

"Oh, I'm staying- I need... I need to talk about- some things" She stammered.

"Okay," Harry eyed her carefully, but he started to leave without asking more questions.

Lucius Malfoy burst into the room looking furious.

Mel stood up immediately.

"Good evening, Lucius," said Dumbledore.

Mel noticed the man wasn't alone, a small figured walked in behind him, something that looked exactly like Harry had said Dobby looked like. The elf bent down and kept polishing the man's shoes, Mel'd never seen such a sorrowful creature.

"So!" Malfoy said "You've come back. The governors suspended you, but you still saw fit to return to Hogwarts."

"Well, you see, Lucius," said Dumbledore, smiling serenely, "the other eleven governors contacted me today. It was something like being caught in a hailstorm of owls, to tell the truth. They'd heard that Arthur Weasley's daughter had been killed and wanted me back here at once. They seemed to think I was the best man for the job after all. Very strange tales they told me, too... Several of them seemed to think that you had threatened to curse their families if they didn't agree to suspend me in the first place."

Mr. Malfoy went even paler than usual, but his eyes were still slits of fury.

"So -- have you stopped the attacks yet?" he sneered. "Have you caught the culprit?"

"We have," said Dumbledore, with a smile.

"Well?" said Mr. Malfoy sharply. "Who is it?"

"The same person as last time, Lucius," said Dumbledore. "But this time, Lord Voldemort was acting through somebody else. By means of this diary."

Mel moved over to Harry's side, watching the scene attentively.

Dumbledore held up the small black book with the large hole through the center, watching Mr. Malfoy closely. Harry, however, was watching Dobby, so she did as well.

The elf was doing something very odd. His great eyes fixed meaningfully on Harry, he kept pointing at the diary, then at Mr. Malfoy, and then hitting himself hard on the head with his fist.

Dobby was confessing. She remembered what Ginny had said, that she'd found the book with the rest of her books- the same day she'd gotten her school books Lucius Malfoy and Mr Weasley had fought inside the library, Malfoy had even examined Ginny's book.

This was Malfoy's fault.

"I see..." said Mr. Malfoy slowly to Dumbledore.

"A clever plan," said Dumbledore in a level voice, still staring Mr. Malfoy straight in the eye. "Because if Harry here," Mr. Malfoy shot Harry a swift, sharp look, "and my niece, along with Ron- hadn't discovered this book- Ginny Weasley might have taken all the blame. No one would ever have been able to prove she hadn't acted of her own free will..."

Mr. Malfoy said nothing. His face was suddenly masklike.

"And imagine," Dumbledore went on, "what might have happened then... The Weasleys are one of our most prominent pureblood families. Imagine the effect on Arthur Weasley and his Muggle Protection Act, if his own daughter was discovered attacking and- killing Muggleborns... Very fortunate the diary was discovered, and Riddle's memories wiped from it. Who knows what the consequences might have been otherwise..."

Mr. Malfoy forced himself to speak. "Very fortunate," he said stiffly.

"Don't you want to know how Ginny got hold of that diary, Mr. Malfoy?" said Harry suddenly.

"How should I know how the stupid little girl got hold of it?" he said.

"Because you gave it to her," Harry said sternly. "In Flourish and Blotts. You picked up her old Transfiguration book and slipped the diary inside it, didn't you?"

Mel looked at her friend with wide eyes, not believing that Harry was daring enough to say it aloud.

"Prove it," Malfoy hissed.

"Oh, no one will be able to do that," said Dumbledore, smiling at Harry. "Not now that Riddle has vanished from the book. On the other hand, I would advise you, Lucius, not to go giving out any more of Lord Voldemort's old school things. If any more of them find their way into innocent hands, I think Arthur Weasley, for one, will make sure they are traced back to you..."

Lucius only turned to his house-elf, utterly offended.

"We're going, Dobby!"

The way he treated poor Dobby, it broke her heart.

"Wish we could save him from Malfoy," Mel commented under her breath.

Harry perked up at her words.

"Professor Dumbledore," he said. "Can I give that diary back to Mr. Malfoy, please?"

"Certainly, Harry," said Dumbledore. "But hurry. The feast, remember... And Mel, please stay so we can have a few words"

"Yes," She nodded, going back to her chair.

Harry grabbed the book and rushed out of the office, not looking back at all. There was a moment of silence while Dumbledore finished his letter, then he looked up, expectantly.

"I suppose you have a lot in mind," He stated.

"A lot, Sir," She agreed, not knowing where to start.

"Most of them are doubts, I imagine," He continued, "you must be confused about how the houses really work..."

"Everyone says Slytherin is meant to be all bad, or at least, that is meant for people that don't care about what's fair and good," She explained, "but I... I've started to think that maybe we're seeing it wrong"

Dumbledore's smile grew.

"Erick Flint is a person of interest, isn't he?"

She didn't even bother to ask how he knew, of course he knew about her friendship with Erick.

"He's helped me before- and he doesn't care about blood- he's nice and wants to learn about muggles," She shook her head, "I don't understand... I'm sure he didn't choose to be in Slytherin, he always says that's where his whole family's been, that he belongs there, but I-I'm not saying he shouldn't be in Slytherin, cause I don't know... if he is a Slytherin, and he's a good person, then what does that mean?"

"It means that he's a remarkable boy," Dumbledore said, "I know his family, they're not the loving kind, and this boy took me by surprise during his first year, he's well-mannered and intelligent, with an interest in the muggle world... I guess there's always a black sheep in every family, I remember during your father's year, there was a boy that was a lot like Erick," He said with a sad smile, "he could've done so much good to our world, yet the war changed him, it poisoned his soul... if this boy is reaching out to you, asking for your help, by all means help him. You never know when you could be saving someone's life by showing kindness"

She nodded, Erick was a good boy, she wasn't planning on breaking their friendship just because others thought differently, which reminded her of another thing she wanted to talk about.

"Professor?" She asked. Dumbledore remained silent, "People... my friends- my teachers- they're always saying they're expecting great things from me, but I don't think I have it in me. They think I'll be like you, Sir- which isn't bad if it turns out to be true, but it certainly does put a ton of pressure on me... it's hard to make a decision when they've already planned my future without knowing who I really am."

"And who are you, Mel?"

"I'm a little girl," She replied worriedly, "I don't know what I want to be as an adult, not yet. I don't even know the extent of my own abilities... something happened again, while we were waiting for Harry and Ginny to return"

Mel was aware that it sounded crazier now that she was saying it out loud but she kept going, determined to clarify her doubts. Maybe she was imagining things, but she thought she'd seen a triumphant expression on her uncle's face.

"And it stopped after a moment?"

"Like it never happened"

"I see," He examined her features carefully.

Mel felt too self-conscious, she lowered her look and stared at Fawkes, her mind somewhere else, uneasy.

"Fawkes is a marvelous creature," She said after a while, "he brought us back"

"He's a Phoenix," Dumbledore stroke the bird's head, "a magical creature, loyal and with infinite qualities... your father loved them very much as well"

"My father?" She looked up in amazement.

"He seemed to understand Fawkes, there was a bond between your father and him, I never dared to ask what it was... Dear girl, I think I've postponed this talk long enough, it's clear that you've inherited abilities that only the women in our family can get, and I shouldn't keep asking you to try and push them back without help. Would you agree, if I offered you help with that?"

Mel frowned, not fully understanding.

"Like... extra lessons?" She wondered, "To help me handle my temper?"

"It would help you with more than just your temper, dear. The lessons could help you in case of emergencies, you'd be able to control your magic, to gain control"

No more powerless moments. No more sitting and waiting for things to just happen.

"Yes," She said without a second thought, "I want to learn, I... I want to help"

"Perfect," The man said, "I'll give you some books that you can take home so you can start studying during summer, get acquainted with the subjects we'll see. We can start next year when you're a bit older and well rested"

"Okay," She said, trying to hold back her excitement, "can I talk about this with my mother and uncle? I think they'd love to hear the news- oh! Can I tell Harry?"

"I don't see why not," Dumbledore smiled, then he added, "your uncle... I haven't heard of him for a long time."

"Well, he lives a bit far from us as well, I don't see him often," Mel said, thoughtfully, "he got ill during my first year, he often gets sick... but I believe he's alright now"

"I should send a letter his way soon," Dumbledore mentioned casually as they walked out of the room, "I would like to hear what he's been doing for the past eleven years..."

"I can't believe you freed Malfoy's elf!" Mel laughed wholeheartedly, "I wish I had seen his face! That was brilliant, Harry!"

"Dobby deserves a better life, that's all," Harry shrugged, blushing lightly.

"You solved it! You solved it!" Their heads snapped to the sound of the voice.

Hermione was running towards them, the biggest smile on her face.

"MIONE!" Mel yelled, standing up in a hurry and meeting her friend half-way, hugging her and crying, "You're back! I'm so happy- I've missed you terribly!"

"Hermione!" The boys also hugged her, though their hugs were shorter than hers.

The feast continued its course, and several people approached Harry to apologize and thank him for all he'd done and did the same with Mel and Ron- Hagrid appeared as well and hugged them tightly, almost breaking several bones in the process.

The exams got canceled and Gryffindor won the house cup again- things were going just fine.

Erick managed to pass beside her table and deliver a tiny note saying he was happy they'd found the heir and saved everyone, and he couldn't wait for the next year so she could join him in Hogsmeade at least once. Mel read the note quickly and looked up to see Erick already sitting back on his table, the tiniest smile threatening to light up his face.

"He's a Slytherin," Someone said beside her.

Mel jumped, hurriedly hiding the note in her pocket.

"What?"

"Erick Andrews is not a Ravenclaw," Hermione said seriously, "you thought I wouldn't notice? I knew about a week after he introduced himself... when I saw him enter the great hall and sit next to Daphne Greengrass"

"In my defense, he wasn't supposed to talk to me in public, I don't know what got into him that day when he talked to you..."

Hermione just stared at her.

"Are you mad?" Mel asked shyly, "I know how all of you feel about Slytherin, but I promise- I swear he's not like that at all"

Hermione wasn't happy, but she didn't give her a lecture either.

"I just hope you know what you're doing, I don't want you to get hurt"

"I won't," Mel assured her, "our friendship it's odd, but it's based on trust- I know things about him... He won't hurt me."

The girl just nodded, it was obvious she didn't feel comfortable with the subject.

When Dumbledore announced Lockhart wasn't going to be back for next year though, she forgot about all her problems.

"Ah, perhaps we'll get a better teacher this time," She sighed in bliss.

"Shame," said Ron. "He was starting to grow on me."

Fred and George found their way to sit next to Mel, one on each side so she couldn't ignore them.

"I think we owe you an apology," George started.

"To me?" She frowned.

"What we did on Valentine's was wrong, I guess," Fred sighed, "it was a masterpiece, but you didn't do anything to deserve it, you were only watching after of our sister-"

"We came to the realization that we might not be doing a good job as older brothers at all-"

"On the other hand, you did it perfectly- you saved our sister, brought her back-"

"Harry did that, I just-"

"Yeah, but we don't like Harry as much as we like you," Fred shrugged, "I mean, is it true that you threatened Lockhart by telling him you were going to feed him to the monster?"

"I... yes." The twins laughed.

"You're something else," George stood up and ruffled her hair.

Mel huffed, trying -and failing- to brush her hair back to how it was before George's attack. Fred stood up as well, pulling her in and kissing her temple in a very exaggerated manner, handing her the piece of paper where they'd originally written her poem.

"Bugger off!" She giggled, putting the poem inside her pocket.

"You know," Ron said, watching as his brothers went back to sit with Lee Jordan, "you may not have a crush on them, but now I'm starting to believe they fancy you"

Mel almost choked on her drink.

"Ron!" Harry and Mel yelled at the same time.

She stared at her friend in surprise.

"I know you hate it when he says that, I don't think it's funny anymore," Harry explained casually.

"'Course you don't," Ron said with a grin.

Harry made sure to kick him in the shin while Mel wasn't paying attention.

"Ginny - what did you see Percy doing, that he didn't want you to tell anyone?" Harry asked as they approached King's Cross, they were almost back home, and Mel couldn't wait to see her mother again.

"Oh, that," said Ginny, giggling. "Well - Percy's got a girlfriend."

"What?" Fred and George asked at the same time.

"It's that Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater," said Ginny. "That's who he was writing to all last summer. He's been meeting her all over the school in secret. I walked in on them kissing in an empty classroom one day. He was so upset when she was- you know- attacked. You won't tease him, will you?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," said Fred, and it didn't sound convincing at all.

"Definitely not," George smirked.

When the train stopped, Harry hurriedly pulled out ink and parchment, along with a quill.

"This is called a telephone number," he said, giving the paper to Ron and Hermione. "I told your dad how to use a telephone last summer- he'll know. Call me at the Dursleys', okay? I can't stand another two months with only Dudley to talk to..."

"What about me?" She teased.

"What if you go with your uncle for the rest of the summer?"

"Fair enough," Mel sighed.

"Your aunt and uncle will be proud, though, won't they, Harry?" asked Hermione once outside of the train. "When they hear what you did this year?"

"Proud?" Harry snorted. "Are you crazy? All those times I could've died, and I didn't manage it? They'll be furious..."

"I'm proud!" Mel put an arm around his shoulders, "I'm sure my mum's too, bet she'll give us tons of cake and cookies once we get home, as a reward for our bravery, you know?"

Harry tilted his head.

"Don't you think she'll be furious you almost got yourself killed again?"

"Oh, absolutely- she'll kill me. I'm just trying to imagine a happier story so I can survive her scolding."

"Good luck with that..."

Next Part —>

Taglist.

@tiphareth2018 @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @celestialhayi​  @mikariell95​ @omiwashere​ @thesuitelifeofafangirl​ @tomshollandz​ @steve-thotgers​ @kylosleftbuttcheek​ @reverse-hxlland​

#twoidiots writing #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x reader #hp fanfic #ron weasley #hermione granger #albus dumbledore #minerva mcgonagall #ginny weasley #fred weasley #george weasley #WITT fic

[mikaa-mina]

At Garden’s Edge- Ch 6. Sweet Discoveries

It's still Thursday somewhere. Right?? Right. Beta'd by the fantastic Tarek_giverofcookies

Content Warning: This scene takes place in a hospital, but it's more about the visit than anything hospital related or injury related. There's no described injuries, illnesses, or medical equipment. If you're still unsure, shoot me a message or ask a friend to take a read through. :)

-

At Garden’s Edge

Chapter 6- Sweet Discoveries

After swearing him to secrecy, grabbing two bakery-laden bags, and driving two towns over, the very last place Aziraphale expected Crowley to take him was the Brugmansia hospital.

“Crowley, what-”

“Shhh, it’s a surprise.”

Well it certainly wasn’t anything Aziraphale could have predicted so he supposed it was that.

Crowley strolled on in like he owned the place, hips swaggering all over like he forgot they were supposed to be attached to his spine. The receptionist looked up, did a double take and then sighed heavily, theatrically.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the infamous Crowley. And using the front door this time? That’s new.”

“Sugar-Cookie girl!” he greeted, grinning wider when her eyebrows pinched down in a frown, “just showing my friend around so I thought I’d use the front door for novelty’s sake.”

Her eyes flicked over to Aziraphale who, himself, was struggling to glance between her and give Crowley his best scandalized look. They couldn’t possibly be implying that Crowley snuck into the hospital in all manners of ways, could they? Her eyes caught his finally and she gave a wink, lips quirking up ever so slightly before she flattened them out again when she looked at Crowley.

“How.... very regulation abiding of you.”

“That’s me!”

“Uh huh. And you remember the regulation about no outside food or drinks being permitted?” Her eyes blatantly stared at Crowley’s arms laden down with two large bags of pastries. Two large bags of pastries with the cafe’s logo emblazoned across the front of the bags.

Unrepentantly, and to Aziraphale’s mounting horror, Crowley grinned and cheerfully said “Yup! Sure do. No outside food or drinks. Yup. Remembered that one.”

Finally her veneer cracked and Aziraphale, to his great relief, saw a small slip of a smile break through before she rolled her eyes. “Oh, alright, since you did us the honor of coming in through the front door today I guess I’ll let that slide.” She motioned for Aziraphale to come over and asked for his ID and to stand for the picture, “hope you can handle that one, Crowley’s a right handful.”

“Oi! Excuse you, I’m two handfulls!”

Sugar Cookie girl managed to turn her head away from Crowley before the smile broke out in full. She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth for a moment before being able to shake off the need to laugh. She faced Aziraphale and deadpanned, “see what I mean?”

A quietly amused smile, “I do, and I shall.”

She gave him a smile, ignoring the ranting Crowley, and keyed in the last of Aziraphale’s information. “Pronouns for the badge?”

Aziraphale blinked, “oh, he/him I suppose.”

She looked up at his uncertain tone, “don’t have to add any if you don’t want.”

“Oh, no, it’s quite alright. Just wasn’t expecting it I suppose.”

She shrugged, typed it in, printed his sticker badge and slid it over to him. She glanced at Crowley, “pronouns?”

“Ehhh, he/him today’s fine.”

Two things were obvious as Crowley skillfully led them back through the winding halls of the hospital. 1. This hospital clearly specialized in pediatrics if the way the walls were covered with bright colors, crayon drawings, and cartoony bulletin borders like what you’d find in a grade school class room. 2. Crowley obviously visited enough that he knew his way around confidently and that he had a reputation for sneaking? In? Goodness.

They rounded a corner that led to what looked like a recreational room from their view down the hall. It had large windows displaying a small tv, some various toys, puppets, and a small crowd of kids. All of whom, upon the door opening, looked up and beamed.

Choruses of “Crow Crow!”, “Miss Crow!”, and “Mister Crow!” sounded off as some of the kids picked themselves up to run at him.

Crowley gave one of those rare laughs, and dodged the grappling attempts on his legs by weaving and swaying his way into the room. “Oi! Let me in you buggers, or no sweets!”

And it should have been scolding but it wasn’t, the kids giggled, gave him barely enough room to make it over to the other kids that hadn’t wanted to move, and the smile on his face about knocked Aziraphale off his feet. It was soft, and sweet, and wide, and absolutely genuine.

There’s a whirlwind of introductions, and Aziraphale promptly forgets half of the kids names while mixing up the half that he does remember, sweets are handed out, and there are pleas for Crow Crow to join them in playacting.

They do like Aziraphale well enough, more so he believes because Crowley likes him, and he must not be keeping his surprise and amusement off his face well enough because at one point Crowley elbows him in the side and teases, “oi, what’s that look for?”

He can’t help it. Aziraphale slides right into fond without meaning to and says, “I just think it’s rather sweet.”

Crowley’s face twists a bit at that, his mouth opens to object, but then a kid tugs on his arm and tells him the evil wizard is supposed to show up now so come on. Immediately he nods, already being pulled to his feet by the strength of a determined kid, turns his head, narrows his eyes and says “not one word.”

Aziraphale, saying not one word, just beams at him instead, smile wide and eyes dancing.

Crowley tries to frown at him as he’s dragged away, but the corners of his mouth keep twitching upwards like he’s trying to swallow back a laugh.

It’s later, after the kids have been mostly worn out and the sugar high has crashed, that Aziraphale asks about the different names.

“Oh. Well, I’m genderfluid so sometimes when I visit I’m presenting more feminine and sometimes  I’m more masculine presenting. Some of the kids met me first when I was presenting one way or the other and came up with different nicknames. I don’t really mind, I think it’s kinda endearing. Don’t tell anyone I said that! But yeah.”

An oh, that made some other things make sense. Like how Crowley often wore a mismash of masculine and feminine styles of outfits. Or how some of his clothing seemed to be tailored sharper, and others less so. “Thanks for telling me.”

“Sss not like it’s a secret.” But Crowley was looking away, picking at a snagged thread on his skinny jeans.

“Yes, but still.” Could he have been nervous about how Aziraphale would react? It seemed strange to think of him caring what other people thought of him. Normally Crowley came off as uncaring of what others thought, loudly and proudly himself.

Hesitantly, just to comfort Crowley he told himself, he settled a hand gently over the one picking at his jeans. “I really do like this nail polish of yours dear.”

Crowley’s head whipped around to his, face pinking, eyebrows high above his glasses, mouth slightly agape as he stammered.

Feeling a bit mischievous, he picked up Crowley’s hand, careful to be loose enough that Crowley could pull away if he wanted, and tilted his hand from side to side, watching the nail polish shimmer. “It does such beautiful things in the light. However did you do it?”

“Ngk- guh- uh- it’s- it’s the nail polish. Comes like that.”

“Does it?” Aziraphale mused, shifting Crowley’s hand again before glancing back at his pink face and smiling. “Well, it looks wonderful on you.”

“Mngrk.”

“Pardon?”

“Nngh, thanks I mean.”

“You’re welcome dear,” Aziraphale blinked at the feeling of a small hand on his trousers and looked over at the kid who grabbed it. “Yes dear?”

“C’n you play make believe with us and be the wizard?”

“Well, I’m not very good at pretending, but I can do magic.”

At that a chorus of excited calls for ‘magic! Magic!’ sounded off with a renewed tugging at his pants and he turned to give one of those, ‘so sorry but duty calls’ smiles and found Crowley already stifling a smile and waving him off.

So off he went!

He started with small stuff, after all, he didn’t have all his supplies with him so he’d have to make do with what he had. So many coins behind ears, a borrowed scarf appearing from his sleeve, disappearing stuffed animal bunnies. The kids seemed amused, even if the older kids seemed amused in a different way than the younger ones. He found a deck of playing cards on the bookshelf in the corner and was even able to pull off three of his magic tricks without most of the kids noticing when he fumbled that one time. Or two times.

It’s during the second try of the card trick that he looks up and finds Crowley just staring. Naturally, it’s at that moment that the cards he’s shuffling nearly spray everywhere in an unintended game of 52 Pick Up and he has to scramble to right them without being too obvious. Still, when he glances up the next time, Crowley only has a hand over his mouth and his eyebrows are high up on his forehead like they’re sitting at the crossroads of surprised and amuesment.

Eventually they do have to go. Much to the disappointment of the kids, some of which had only showed up during the magic acts and hadn’t spent as much time with the two of them. (Equally disappointed were the kids who had to leave for appointments while the two of them were still there.)

Crowley promises to come back again while valiantly ignoring Aziraphale’s smile at that, and when pleaded to stay longer says he has to check on some packages that were being delivered today.

So the outing ends, as all outings do eventually, and they part ways after getting a small treat at the bakery for Aziraphale for ‘coming with me and putting up with the brats’.

And Aziraphale feels so light and happy that he only laughs and doesn’t quite manage to chide Crowley on calling them brats when he says it with such fondness anyway.

-

Aziraphale was practically humming under his breath, utterly delighted with the way the evening had gone. The familiar rush he got when preforming married incredibly well with Crowley’s laughs, and goodness if just seeing the way he smiled at those kids wasn’t the most delicious cherry on top.

He slid the key in the lock of his front door, already trying to plan another visit to Crowley. After all, he’d called them friends on several occasions, surely he would be amendable to more visits. And if that wasn’t enough a reason, there were always the sadly departing plants. Which. Speaking of...

Locking the door behind him and shedding his coat on the coat rack, he turned to try and locate his latest plant amongst his book stacks. Instead he found an envelope. On the floor at his feet. Which, made sense given the mail slot in the door, though maybe made less sense knowing he usually retrieved his mail from his box.

It was pristine white cardstock, his name embossed in gold script lettering on the front.

Aziraphale turned and went to the kitchen. He made a cup of tea. He set it on the side table by his favorite armchair. He went to collect a book and instead ended up circling back to the front door, staring down at the envelope.

As envelopes do, it didn’t speak. Audibly at least.

The cardstock of the envelope alone was expensive. It looked, and indeed when picked up, felt almost velvety soft in that way only expensive paper could achieve. The back flap of the envelope was edged in a shimmering gold metallic decorative trim. It was ridiculously ostentatious. Though knowing the sender it was only to be expected. An ego like his...

Aziraphale tossed the envelope onto his desk carelessly, it’s obnoxious pristine white paper a stark contrast to the muted and love worn tones of paper much more aged than it covering the desk.

Settling down in his favorite armchair with his newest acquisition, a second edition print of Pride and Prejudice (1st editions were not for casual reading), he took a sip of his tea, opened the front cover, and began to read.

It is a truth universally acknowledged...

#Good Omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #good omens fic #Ineffable Husbands #just ineffable #Crowley #Aziraphale #humor #comedy #fluff #sweetness #Azirapale's bad magic tricks #Crowley's genderfluid

[pretty-volatile]

Thursday, September 10, 2020 5:53 am

Wow, only 1 month and 7 days first of all til my 5 year anniversary with my partner!!!! WOWOWWWW!! so excited. Very stressed financial wise though because I hope I have more school shit and work shit and money shit figured out by then so we can at least have a special night even if that means spending money to stay indoors but make it romantic n shit. Tbqh I wish I could've proposed this anniversary but I don't have that kind of money for a ring and this pandemic really puts a damper on trying to make it a super romantic and memorable and special thing, ya know? So I guess I'll have to wait a little longer. But we're practically engaged to be engaged so like I'm not stressing XD

I still have to get school shit together. I really need my student loans to survive, bro. It's sad but like woe is me, tis my life rn.

Really need new glasses and FML my glasses prescription expired last month.

Really need to renew my ID.

Dad is still down to get me a new phone (I've had this one for 5 years, pre-college) but i have to transfer all my shit onto a separate SD card bc this phone can't open. It doesn't have a chip but for some godforsaken reason I'm have difficulty even being able to access it on my laptop so I gotta do that too so I can get a new phone.

Probably should get flu shots.

Ah, yes. Mental health. Hmm. Fuck that. Fuck my brain. It's so goddamn complicated. It's like I'm fine and then I'm not. I'm good and then I'm shit. And like it's literally never the same. Idk how to describe it. Things can be familiar, but shit never stays the same. At least not when I want it to. But then it changes again. Ugh. So my symptoms from this summer are way different from last winter and even more different than last summer but it's like on this broken, raggedy, record that plays the same thing but each time it passes there's one instrument that's off-key, and that instrument is my brain. I am off key. My symptoms are the piano keys. They play my disorders and my moods and more often then not it's just keysmashing wobfwondlabdkfndlwnalaxowjfnwpns

Thank you thank you I'm here all week

But yeah I know I should go back to my psychiatrist/therapist, but I'm really nervous and anxious. And my ADHD/executive dysfunction more specifically really fucking sucks and my anxiety and my paranoia, which are like all the more reason to fucks go but they're the reasons I can't go or that I'm scared to. Ugh. That and not knowing wtf I'm even feeling or what I'm experiencing. I can't tell if I'm in a depressive mood, I'm not manic, but I'm not suicidal but I'm not like happy but I guess I'm empty rn but also appreciative of my partner and the time with them. Idk I'm weird.

Also picked up on another fun psychosis thing I do lololol somebody here likes to think things that have absolutely nothing to do with each other, have something to do with each other. Edit: lemme elaborate, I sometimes unintentionally think I caused something to happen or something that I did caused another thing which caused another and thinking that they all have something to do with each other. Please don't feed into my delusion, I know about the butterfly affect and strongly believe in it but sometimes it feeds into thinking I caused something when I absolutely did not. Or that one thing cause another when it in fact did not.

I fucking hate my brain bc how is it that I can have BPD, bipolar w/ psychosis, ADHD, OCD, (C)PTSD, and OSFED but also still heavily HEAVILY relate with fuckn schizo-affective or ASD or PPD, like ha, am I really that fucked up ooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr? It's like either I'm fucked up cause I'm right or I'm fucked up for thinking all this shit, either way I'm fucked hahahahahahahaha hahahahah fjjeicjjwosbfoenwpndkcor

I have a friend with possibly beginning stages of schizo and I heavily relate and we also share some other disorders/symptoms so it's just making me reflect on what I'm experiencing and I just keep going through this cycle of it's not that bad....to...or is it....hmmm....or is it bad enough?

Do I suffer enough?

Am I in pain enough?

Am I drifting away?

Gah, ugh. Fuck.

Fuck my brain.

Edit: Oh yeah and fuck ADHD and bipolar. Okay thanks I'm out

#journal entry

[jeffery-lawrence-blog]

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How One Can Avoid High Heating Repair Expenses

You can maintain an furnace system a number of different ways. Chances are good the system will be running all day long in winter. In fact, it is usually on more than it must be because it is unable to maintain an efficient climate. When troubleshooting and optimizing the heating portion of your furnace system, there are several things to look at.

The Air Filter

This is the part you usually hear people speaking about most frequently, but so few individuals take the advice and check it. When there is a obstruction, you either run the risk of not circulating heat adequately or possibly starting a fire.When the air filter gets dirty air cannot flow through as well which means the furnace must work overtime and will also mean a likelihood of fire. When the system works overtime, it is more expensive to operate. The fire situation is obviously self-explanatory. Neither circumstance is good for your wallet or your well-being..

Test The Blower

Look at the blower blades and clean them up. If you find any build-up of dirt and dust, your fan will need to work harder to blow the air around, and the furnace will be overexerting itself. This means the system is over taxed and costing more money to run.

Check To See That The Fire Damper Works

Next, look at the fire damper to ensure it is running correctly. The fire damper explains itself so take note of this component.

Look For Holes In The Flex Duct

Air ducts can get damaged over the years. If a duct has collapsed or become blocked, the system will think that the proper temperature has been reached, which will be false. Inevitably your system will be working harder to maintain your house cool as you continue lowering the thermostat to get to cozy conditions.

Band Insulation

It is easy to miss the insulation, but is one of the most typical reason for a system out of order. Take take time to look at the insulation between the duct work and the outside to make sure it has not worked itself loose. If this happens, your equipment will not reach ideal temperatures and work too hard to attempt to accommodate.

Air Ducts Need To Be Sealed

Make be certain the ductwork is connected in all places to all sections. These detachments may cause cracks in the circulation and result in a loss of heated air in your house, since it will be escaping through the gaps.

Check For Leaks In The Return Air Inlets And The Zone Dampers

Be certain to make sure return air intakes are dirt free and in good condition or your system will be unbalanced. Examine the zone dampers to check if they are in the right position. Through the year we may change the positioning of the damper for many reasons (i.e. getting in a tight space or arranging for storage). For a properly working system, check to see that the dampers are in the best spot.

If these tasks are more than what you are comfortable with, it may be wise to appoint a local heating company licensed for furnace and gas furnaces. You will find a number of heating contractors close to you who can take care of this all quite skillfully. For optimum results you can arrange annual maintenance for furnace and your heating people will call every year to take care of it.

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7 Home Heating System Types

It can be hard to let go of your old heating system and commit to a new one you hardly know. If you have an aging unit that needs replacement, however, it can be exciting to see the variety of heating technologies available as replacement options. All of these systems come in different models and sizes to accommodate your home. Consult a professional HVAC company for more information on installing or replacing a new heating system.

1. Furnace (forced air distribution system)

With a furnace (usually powered with gas), air is forced through a series of ducts. This distributes heated, conditioned air throughout the home. While furnaces can heat the air with electricity, propane, or oil, most U.S. homes utilize natural gas.

Gas furnaces are the most popular type of heating system since the forced air distribution system (ductwork) can be used by your air conditioner during the summer months.

2. Boiler (Radiator distribution system)

Boilers are another common heating system. They send hot water or steam through pipes to provide heating. While this enables you to practice zoned heating and cooling, they are also significantly more expensive to install and cost more money to run.

The reason why furnaces and boilers are known as central heating systems are because the heat is generated in a central area of the home and then distributed throughout the house.

3. Heat Pump

Heat pumps can be used to both heat and cool the home. They use refrigerant and electricity to transfer heat rather than generating it directly like a gas furnace. As a result, they are often much more efficient than other types of heating systems. Unfortunately, they work best in moderate climates where temperatures rarely dip below freezing.

4. Hybrid Heating

Hybrid heating combines the energy efficiency of a heat pump with the power of a gas furnace. Most of the time, the heat pump will operate to heat and cool your home. It is only during extreme temperatures that the furnace kicks on.

And since you aren’t just relying on one system, you will reduce significant strain on both units, thus significantly reducing the need for repairs and replacements.

5. Ductless Mini-Splits

By getting rid of the need for lots of air ducts, mini-split units allow you to create separate HVAC zones, each with a separate thermostat. This is very helpful in larger homes and add-on areas that don’t have ductwork installed.

6. Radiant Heating

Radiant heating sends hot water or electric heat through special tubes located in the floor (and sometimes in the ceiling or walls). The heat can be generated by oil, gas, propane, or electricity.

While the radiant heating distribution system can last a long time, repairs can become very expensive if a problem arises. The lifespan of radiant heat is dependent on its heat source system.

Learn more about the different types of heating systems.

In addition to the type of heating system you install, learn what else should affect your decision-making.

7. Baseboard Heaters

Usually reserved as supplemental heating or heating in an add-on, baseboard heating can be an effective and affordable choice. You have two choices when it comes to baseboard heating: electric or hydronic. Speak with your HVAC contractor for more information on baseboard heaters.

https://www.servicechampions.net/blog/7-home-heating-system-types/

I'm very focused on Air Conditioner Repair Cost and I am praying you enjoyed the piece. Sharing is good. One never knows, you might be doing someone a favor. Bless you for your time. Don't hesitate to come by our blog back soon.

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[aeneidpdf]

ballpark au (3/?)

title: go home happy

chapter: 3/?

word count: 2.8k+

summary: au where the long walkers work at a ballpark. in this chapter, ray finishes up his first homestand and works his second. he wonders where he’ll fit in at the ballpark.

link to previous chapter: here

ao3 link: here

The next morning, Ray’s feet had hurt. Davidson was right about that. As he had gone to sleep the night before, his feet had been throbbing, and now he could barely put any weight on them as he tried to get out of bed.

Despite the pain he was feeling, Ray was feeling good about the job. He finished up that first three game series at Gate C. The second game, he scanned tickets, and he didn’t enjoy it. Scanning paper tickets was one thing, but scanning tickets on people’s phone screens was next to impossible for Ray. He kept on asking Davidson for help, which he happily provided.

The third game, Ray did traffic cop. Traffic cop really was more difficult than bowls, but Ray would never say that to Pearson. Controlling the crowd was hard, and Ray didn’t think he’d done a good job, but Scramm seemed pleased with him.

When he sent him home that night, Scramm had clapped him on the back. “You fit in nicely here, Ray. I hope to see you around,” he had said as he wrote Ray’s dismissal time down on his clipboard. It meant more to Ray than he thought it would.

On Thursday, they had the day off. Ray appreciated the break. His whole body hurt. His feet throbbed and his back ached from standing for so long in one place. Three games at Hadlock Park had turned him into an old man.

When he went back in to work on Friday, it was the start of a new series. The Sea Dogs would be playing on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday before heading off for two series in the midwest. Ray knew from experience that these weekend series were when the ballpark got the most busy. He had frequently come to Friday and Saturday night games with his friends in high school.

As Ray headed to the locker room, he already found that he recognized some people. People from Gate C, people he had seen as he took his break in the picnic area, people who had waved to Pearson and Harkness as they walked by the gate before the game had started. It felt good to know people. They didn’t know Ray now, but maybe soon they would. He wanted more than anything to find a place in the ballpark where he belonged.

After putting his things in his locker, he went to the office, like he had on Monday. “Ray Garraty,” he said, holding up his ID badge so the man could see his name.

It was the same man from before, with the light blond hair and funny purple sneakers. He scanned the list before him, flipping through the stapled packet before he found Ray’s name. “Upper two,” the man said, and Ray left to go to his position. Upper two was on the upper deck. Section 340 to Section 380. He was excited as he took the escalator up. Upper two meant he would be an usher.

Ray had wanted to be an usher when he first applied to work at Hadlock in January. Most of the questions in his interview had seemed to be geared towards him becoming an usher. They had asked if he was scared of heights and how he would handle disputes between fans. Ray had admittedly been a bit disappointed when he ended up at Gate C for his first series.

But now he would be an usher. Ushers seemed to have the most fun. When he had come to games in the past, he hadn’t paid much attention to the ushers, but they had always been smiling and friendly, ready to help out. As an usher, he’d really get to feel like he was a part of Hadlock.

He wanted to wipe down seats and talk with the fans and watch the game. He wanted to feel the anticipation leading up to first pitch. He wanted to watch the sun set over downtown Portland and to feel like he really was part of putting on something special. He wanted his own section.

His assignment in upper two was not what Ray had anticipated, however. They already had all the ushers they needed, and Ray was in fact the only member of the flex staff working there for that series. So the team leader assigned him to work the escalator. He greeted people as they came up the escalator to the upper deck, pointed them in the directions of their seats, and made sure no one fell. He got a radio, in case he needed to call for first aid.

It was a Friday, and Fridays were student nights. With a student ID, they could purchase $7 tickets in section 370 to 380. Some of them stumbled up the escalator steps, clearly already having had a couple of drinks. Ray kept his hand near the button that would stop the escalator, fearful that someone may fall. They talked to each other in loud voices, shouting and laughing uproariously. Despite the chill in the air, many of them wore short sleeves and the girl wore denim cutoff shorts. They hardly acknowledged Ray as they got off the escalator and went off to find their seats.

Ray panicked for a moment, wondering if he would see anyone he knew coming up the escalator. A lot of the people that went to his college hailed from either Portland or Bangor, and most of the people from his high school would be back in town after the end of the spring semester. It wasn’t that he was ashamed to be working at the ballpark- in fact, so far it was probably the coolest thing he’d ever done- but he felt a little embarrassed about working the escalator.

This thought slipped out of his mind as he refocused on greeting the fans and helping them find the direction of their seats.

After two and a half hours at the escalator, the crowd thinned out and Ray was mostly alone. The chatter on the radio kept him alert- missing kids, calls for first aid, communication between the gates. A couple times he heard Scramm’s voice.

It was hard not to feel disappointed, though. There was a TV nearby playing the game, but no matter how hard Ray strained to see the screen, he had no clue what inning it was or what the score was. The team leader had come to check on him a little bit in the beginning, but Ray hadn’t seen him for awhile.

When he looked behind him, Ray could see the skyline of downtown Portland. The sun was going down- it had disappeared behind a building. The sky above him was still a light blue, but in the distance, out over the water, it was turning a mix of pink and red and orange. The intersection of blue and pink reminded him of the cotton candy the ballpark vendors sold. Even from out here, the ballpark was beautiful.

Ray wanted to be in the seating bowl so bad, though. It felt like high school sports and being stuck on the bench when all he wanted was to be in the game with his teammates. Ray had always been the kind of person who hated to miss out. In high school, he’d beg and plead with his parents to let him go hang out with his friends, because he was afraid they’d have too much fun without him, or he wouldn’t understand any of their inside jokes the next time they were all together. In college, he’d put off studying to go hang out whenever his friends invited him. He’d gotten himself into trouble this way, but he couldn’t help that desire to be at the center of the action.

So far he hadn’t seen the field during game time. He’d only seen the stripe of green through the hallway that led out to the seating bowl when he’d been up at Gate C. He thought of Pearson and Harkness. Surely they were out in the bowl by now.

He wondered why Davidson never went out into the bowl. He wondered if he liked to stay at the gate for the entire game, or if he felt the same restlessness that Ray was feeling. It felt like hitting a wall.

The rest of the series passed in a similar fashion.

He came into work, feeling that gameday energy building and blossoming in his chest. When we walked with his coworkers to the locker room to clock in and when he headed to his post, listening to the music resounding around the ballpark as the team warmed up, he felt like his energy was too big for his body. But then his team leader would assign him to the escalator, and the rest of upper two would head into the seating bowl, and Ray would feel himself deflate.

Occasionally his team leader would come out to chat with him, and one of the ushers would come and cover for him while he took his break, but working the escalator was lonely. In the first couple of hours between the time when gates opened and the second inning, he kept busy with greeting fans and pointing them in the direction of their seats, but as the game dragged on, it grew dull.

It did, however, give him time to think. He reflected on his time at Hadlock so far. By this point, it was Sunday, and he had worked six games. He was about to finish up his first homestand.

He thought about the advice Davidson had given him on his first day, about how it was best to find a permanent position early. About how it was no fun to be on the flex staff in July. So far, Ray really did like his job, but he hadn’t found a place that truly clicked for him yet. He wondered if he truly liked it, or if it was just the novelty of coming to work at Hadlock Park. Maybe he only liked it because it was new and cool and exciting, and after he spent some more time here and it got hot he’d be miserable. He hoped that wasn’t the case.

He wondered if he would ever find the job in the ballpark that he truly enjoyed. How did Harkness and Pearson realize that Gate C was the right place for them? How did they find out that traffic cop and bowls were what they really wanted to do? Ray supposed he should have asked them.

During the seventh inning stretch, the escalator switched from going up to going down. The guy working at the bottom of the escalator gave him a thumbs up, and Ray started letting fans down. He guessed that the Sea Dogs were losing- he hadn’t heard many cheers, and a lot of people were lined up at his escalator to return down to the lower concourse.

It was still early May, and even in the afternoon it could be pretty chilly. Most of the fans were wearing long pants and light jackets over their Sea Dogs gear.

“Thank you for coming. Have a good night,” Ray said, repeating this script over and over as fans passed him to leave the upper deck. On Sundays, there were a lot of kids at the ballpark- more than any other day of the week. For most, the school year hadn’t ended yet, so there weren’t too many kids on weeknights, and on Fridays and Saturdays it was mostly adults and college kids coming out to the ballpark to drink and have a good time.

Ray spent a lot of time asking parents to take their kids off their shoulders before getting on the escalator, and telling them that their child couldn’t ride down the escalator in a stroller. Some of the kids were asleep, cradled against their parents’ chests, and some were full of energy, running circles around their parents in line and begging to stay for just a few more innings. Some of the kids waved to Ray, and he smiled and waved back to them.

It continued like that for awhile. From the bottom of the seventh inning to the time the game ended, there was a steady stream of fans leaving the upper deck. Before he knew it, the team leader and the rest of upper two were convening at the escalator, and it was time for them to go home. “Alright team, good homestand, I’ll see you back in a week.” They started down the escalator. As an afterthought, the team leader added, “And thanks, Ray.” They all talked amongst themselves as they walked to the locker room, sometimes including Ray, but oftentimes not. As Ray clocked out and walked to his car, he was hoping he’d never work in upper two again.

It was another week before the Sea Dogs were back in town. This time, they’d be in town for seven games, and Ray would be working seven days in a row.

The first series was three games, and for this one Ray worked at Gate E. It was on the other side of the ballpark from Gate C. At Gate E, Ray only scanned tickets. He got a little bit better, but it was still difficult. The fans would approach him, and Ray would say, “Hey, how are you doing?” and pray they didn’t have an electronic ticket. He would scan their ticket- getting it on the first or second try if he was lucky- and he would tell them “enjoy the game!” It was a routine he fell into comfortably over the three games at Gate E.

The boy scanning tickets next to him was named Percy. He looked like he was still in high school, but his name tag said “Team member since 2017.” This was his third year, and he scanned tickets like a pro. Ray oftentimes asked him for help. They would talk a bit when the crowd lulled, but Percy was shy, and it felt a little weird to ask for advice about Hadlock from a high schooler.

After his break, he would either hang out by Gate E and scan tickets for late comers to the ballpark, or he’d be sent on smoke patrol. Smoke patrol meant he’d walk around the entirety of the lower concourse and look for people smoking. He’d then ask them to put their cigarette out and go to the smoking section. He didn’t mind smoke patrol too much. It felt good to walk around and stretch his legs after standing in one spot for so long, and he was freed from the anxiety that came with scanning tickets. As he made his loop he would walk past Gate C, and one time he could see Davidson standing by the gate, chatting with Scramm. Neither of them noticed him, but it made him feel a little lighter just to see them.

For the next four game series, he worked at the smoking section. The smoking section was technically outside of the ballpark, and blocked off from the outside world by red bike racks. Working at the smoking section, Ray just had to stand around and make sure no one without a ticket snuck into the smoking section and walk around to make sure no one was smoking weed.

The cigarette smoke tickled his nose and made him sneeze. After each game he worked at the smoking section, he’d go home, and the smell of smoke on his clothes would scare his mother. She’d become worried and frantically interrogate him about whether he’d been smoking cigarettes. His father would be sitting in his armchair drinking a beer, saying he knew Ray would fall in with the wrong sorts, working at the ballpark. Ray didn’t even know how to begin unpacking that statement, but he’d calmly assure his mother that he hadn’t been smoking, and he’d give her a kiss on the cheek, and he’d go up to bed.

The rest of the workers at the smoking section didn’t seem to mind the smell and the smoke, or maybe they were used to it. They all stood together in a clump and talked, occasionally separating to do a loop through the smoking section and check in on the fans. Ray stood with them, listening to them talking and laughing along at their jokes.

They had that same kind of camaraderie that he had admired in Pearson and Harkness. Maybe working at the ballpark wasn’t about finding a job you loved. Maybe it was about finding the right place and the people that made you feel at home. Working in the smoking section wasn’t anything particularly fun or glamorous, but all the core people seemed to enjoy it. Maybe they loved each other, and that’s what made them love the job.

#ballpark au #the long walk #my fic #ray garraty

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

Welcome to a special edition of FiveThirtyEight’s weekly politics chat. The transcript below has been lightly edited.

sarahf (Sarah Frostenson, politics editor): On Thursday evening, GOP Rep. Will Hurd of Texas’s 23rd Congressional District said that he would not seek reelection in 2020. Hurd is the sixth GOP representative to announce retirement in the past two weeks and the eighth so far in 2019.

There were, of course, also a lot of GOP retirements in the lead-up to the 2018 midterm elections — at least 23, according to our count.

So what’s happening this year? Should we expect another big wave of GOP retirements? And more importantly, what do we think is driving Republicans to retire (or even leave the party): Is it fear of a primary challenger because they aren’t “Trumpy” enough, or is it fear that the GOP will not win back the House majority in 2020?

Let’s unpack all of this — and what it could mean for the GOP caucus moving forward.

nrakich (Nathaniel Rakich, elections analyst): I think it’s a bit early to draw conclusions from the number of retirements right now. These things can come in batches. We’ve had a string of Republican retirements, but maybe there will be a string of Democratic retirements in the fall and it will even out.

That said, if the political environment looks bad for Republicans, yes, we can probably expect another big wave of GOP retirements.

Research has shown that when politicians think their party is in a tough spot, they are more likely to retire. (Note: That isn’t necessarily the same as there being a correlation between retirements and losing elections! Politicians aren’t great pundits.)

sarahf: That’s fair. But what do we know, if anything, of the eight GOP retirements so far. Is there a pattern there?

geoffrey.skelley (Geoffrey Skelley, elections analyst): Well, two of them — Rob Bishop of Utah and Mike Conaway of Texas — would lose their ranking status on their committees because of GOP caucus rules that permit someone to lead a committee for only three terms, so that probably factored into their decision.

perry (Perry Bacon Jr., senior writer): I expect we will see some Republicans retire in safe districts just because because being in the House minority is boring and powerless — and it’s very likely, looking at current data like the congressional generic ballot, that the GOP will remain in the minority in 2021.

geoffrey.skelley: Yeah, historically, Perry, you’re probably right. The last time the incumbent presidential party lost control of the House in a midterm and then gained it back in the subsequent presidential election was in 1948, when the Democrats won the House after losing it in 1946.

nrakich: One interesting pattern in the eight House GOP retirements is that three of the retirees are from Texas — the most of any state. Obviously, there’s been a lot of buzz about Democrats breaking through there electorally, so maybe this is a sign that Texas Republicans think that is a real threat.

And two of those retirees sit in vulnerable seats — Pete Olson (in Texas’s 22nd District) and Hurd (in Texas’s 23rd District).

sarahf: What do we know about the districts of the retiring members, Nathaniel? Do they all lean slightly Democratic?

nrakich: Well, the Texas 23rd has been a swing district for a while. It is 4 points more Republican-leaning than the nation as a whole, according to FiveThirtyEight’s partisan lean metric,1 but Hillary Clinton won it by 3 points in 2016, a 6-point margin swing from former President Obama’s 2012 performance there.

In fact, it’s one of just three Clinton seats still held by a Republican, which is why the Hurd retirement was such a blow to the GOP.

geoffrey.skelley: But one thing to keep in mind with the seeming glut of Texas retirements is that Texas has one of the earliest candidate filing deadlines of any state — December 2019 — because of its March 2020 primary. So if Texas members want to retire, they probably want to do it as early as possible to give their parties enough of a heads-up to find new candidates and get organized for an open-seat race.

nrakich: That’s a good point, Geoffrey, and one of the Texas districts — Conaway’s — isn’t competitive. But the Texas 22nd could be a dark horse. Mitt Romney won it by 25 points, then President Trump won it by just 8 points.

So it’s still red, but it’s moving rapidly leftward. Olson won reelection by just 5 points in 2018.

perry: But in these districts where we have retirements, I would say Democrats only have a real chance in three of them (two in Texas that Nathaniel referred to and Rob Woodall in Georgia’s 7th District).

Broadly speaking, these members are not retiring because they are about to lose.

sarahf: Is it fair to say then that there isn’t one clear-cut reason for why we’re seeing more GOP retirements this year? It sounds as if there are three plausible explanations that could explain it: 1) When a party goes from the majority to the minority, like the Republicans did in the House in 2018, you can expect to see some turnover; 2) some GOP members may be retiring because they think they face a tough general election; 3) some GOP members may be retiring because they’re increasingly not aligned with President Trump and the direction the party is moving in.

Does that seem right?

nrakich: Yeah, the Trump factor is a big part of it. For instance, Hurd, Olson and Paul Mitchell of Michigan (who is also retiring) all spoke out against Trump’s racist tweets in which he told Democratic congresswomen of color to “go back” where they came from.

perry: And Martha Roby of Alabama had been a Trump critic in 2016 over the Access Hollywood video tap in which Trump talked about groping women. But then she had to backtrack from that criticism in order to keep her seat in 2018, when she faced a tough primary challenge.

So I can imagine that, even if she didn’t say it in public, Roby can see where the GOP is headed and that loyalty to Trump — even in the midst of him talking about grabbing women “by the pussy” — is going to be required. And she may have decided she did not want to do that.

Same with Hurd. As a black member of Congress, he was going to keep getting asked about Trump’s racial views. And I assume that was not something he was particularly enthusiastic about doing — and that he disagrees with Trump more than he can let on.

sarahf: I think that’s right, Perry. I guess I just don’t understand why for some Republicans being a vocal opponent of Trump means they’re likely to get a primary challenger, whereas in other instances they don’t and can just opt not to seek reelection. Like with Hurd, he wasn’t necessarily in danger of facing a primary challenger, right?

perry: No, I just think some of these people are not excited about defending Trump all the time — electoral politics aside.

Take Texas’s Conaway, who is also retiring. He’s on the House Intel Committee and was considered a more moderating voice on that committee, but it was dominated by Devin Nunes — and it was clear a Nunes type was going to have more influence. So in a way, Conaway was also not Trumpy-enough.

geoffrey.skelley: And Brian Fitzpatrick of Pennsylvania, one of the other two Clinton-district Republicans in the House besides Hurd, has a primary challenger because he hasn’t been sufficiently pro-Trump.

sarahf: So … in other words, there’s no real pattern for what gets you a primary challenger or not, for speaking out against the president?

geoffrey.skelley: Well, it’s a small sample. Not that many Republicans speak out publicly against Trump.

sarahf: And those who do have left in some fashion?

perry: I interpret a lot of these retirements like that of former House Speaker Paul Ryan in 2018. They don’t really agree with Trump on racial issues, and they also don’t want to be asked about his comments all the time. And because they think the Republicans are going to have little power in the future, they move on.

geoffrey.skelley: Despite his criticism of Trump, Amash didn’t get a primary challenger in 2018, but now he’s left the party in part because he got several primary challengers for 2020 and renomination was looking rough. Now he hopes to win reelection as an independent.

perry: Yeah, I think in the case of Bob Corker and Jeff Flake in 2018 and Hurd and Amash in 2020, it’s not clear whether they already had one foot out the door, then criticized Trump knowing they’d get a primary challenge. Or if they made those comments and that inspired the primary challengers.

geoffrey.skelley: Bingo.

perry: The causation is a bit complicated.

nrakich: Right, Perry — Hurd may have started to express his disapproval of the president only after he had already decided to retire. His Trump Score — how often he votes in line with Trump’s stated position on bills — was 94.8 percent in 2017-18, which is very high, especially considering that he occupies a Clinton district. But this year, he’s been a lot more willing to break with Trump; his Trump Score for the current Congress is just 51.2 percent.

sarahf: So what does this mean for Republicans? Do they risk alienating voters from demographic blocs that could be important for them? As mentioned earlier, Hurd was the only black member in the GOP House caucus. And as Politico wrote this morning, “There are more men named Jim in the House than Republican women running for reelection.”

nrakich: Yep, it obviously means the GOP caucus is only going to get whiter and more male.

House Republicans are already 89 percent white men, according to Daily Kos Elections, and now they are losing Hurd plus two (Roby and Susan Brooks) of the 13 GOP women in the House.

perry: The racial and gender issues are real but also maybe overblown. The Republicans are, in terms of the House in particular, very white and male. Trump voters overall in 2016 were about 90 percent white.

So I think part of what is happening is a certain kind of woman or minority is being purged. Women and minorities who act on that part of their identity probably can’t survive in this party — for example, there isn’t room in the party for a black person who criticizes Trump on racial issues like Hurd or a woman like Roby who takes him on over the “Access Hollywood” tape.

But I think someone like Liz Cheney is fine (she will probably not attack Trump on gender) and, in fact, Republicans might want her to be speaker in the future more than House Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy.

It’s not that the party doesn’t value women or minorities, but it values more those who won’t promote more liberal values on race and gender.

geoffrey.skelley: And with the hit Hispanic Republicans took in 2018 — Carlos Curbelo and David Valadao lost, Ileana Ros-Lehtinen retired, Raúl Labrador ran unsuccessfully for governor in Idaho — the number of nonwhite House Republicans is even smaller than it was before. In fact, only 10 percent of the nonwhite members in all of Congress are Republican.

nrakich: I agree with what Perry is saying, but I think it’s a big problem for Republicans’ chances of expanding their voting coalition in a diversifying country if nonwhite and/or female voters look at Republican politicians and don’t see anyone who looks like them.

perry: But if Ben Carson wanted to run for the Senate, I think the party would roll out the red carpet for him. My thought is that Republicans are going to start looking harder to recruit women and minorities who agree with the party’s views on racial and gender issues — and by doing that, they will eventually increase their numbers.

In Kentucky, for instance, the Republican attorney general candidate, a black man named Daniel Cameron who is a former Mitch McConnell staffer, praised Trump on Tuesday in the midst of the fallout over Trump’s comments directed at Democratic Rep. Elijah Cummings and Baltimore that have been condemned as racist.

If more women and minorities are willing to embrace Trump in the midst of comments like that, I think other Republicans will welcome them with open arms.

In other words, I think that, for now, yes, the Republicans are struggling to keep women and minorities in office. But I think we are going to see more Trumpy women and minority candidates in the future as the party realigns around Trump’s values.

geoffrey.skelley: The House GOP is already busy actively recruiting women and minority candidates, even if won’t pay off for a while.

nrakich: But that’s still a purge of a different kind. The GOP will lose people who value diversity, in the mold of, say, former President George W. Bush, further cementing it as the party of Trumpism.

sarahf: You’re all hitting on something we talk about a lot here at FiveThirtyEight — is the GOP the party of Trump now?

It seems as if … the answer is yes?

And Hurd’s retirement is another data point to help confirm that?

geoffrey.skelley: I would say indubitably.

perry: I think that on the issues of race and gender, yes. (Maybe less on say, trade.) Like in 2015, Nikki Haley was involved in taking down the Confederate flag at the state capitol in South Carolina, and Marco Rubio pushed a path to citizenship for undocumented immigrants in 2013. So my thought is that Haley and Rubio can remain Republicans in good standing who are minorities — as long as they are not pushing issues like that anymore.

nrakich: The GOP certainly already appears to be Trump’s party in public (Republicans rarely speak out against him and almost always vote in line with his positions), but there are still lots of rumors that some Republican politicians privately find Trump embarrassing. If all of those people (most of whom came up in the pre-Trump GOP) eventually retire and are replaced by people who are inspired to run by Trumpism — or, at the very least, aren’t bothered by it — the party will be converted to its core.

perry: And that’s what I think is happening.

geoffrey.skelley: The uptick in retirements certainly bears that out.

sarahf: I do wonder though if, say, Trump loses in 2020, if we won’t see another shift among Republicans in the opposite direction. Or at least some kind of reversion to what the party was like pre-2016.

In other words, what I’m trying to say is trying to unpack how much of this is because of Trump is very hard for me to process in the moment.

nrakich: I think that will be very interesting to watch, Sarah. Would a Trump loss in 2020 be seen as a sign that Trumpism actually harms the party electorally? Or will Republicans still look to 2016 as a template and perhaps come up with a reason why they lost in 2020? (“Well, we only lost by a few points, and Joe Biden had an advantage in Pennsylvania because he was born in Scranton…”)

The battle over that could make the internal divisions in the Democratic primary right now look like playtime.

perry: I think that will be hard because we now have a lot of Trumpy Republicans in the Senate, House and governor mansions. Like the future stars of the Republican Party, I think, are more like Sens. Josh Hawley of Missouri and Tom Cotton of Arkansas and Gov. Ron DeSantis of Florida (more in the mold of Trump) than Jeb Bush-style Republicans.

geoffrey.skelley: Part of me thinks it’s possible, but then again, the GOP essentially ignored the “autopsy report” the RNC put together after Romney lost in 2012 that pushed a more inclusive approach for the party moving forward.

So I’m skeptical that you’d see a fast shift even if Trump loses handily in 2020. His imprints are all over the party now.

perry: I think a 2020 loss won’t change the GOP in an instant. The trends toward it being organized around a coalition of people resisting changing U.S. demographic changes were a long time coming. Trump did not invent all of that. He just said some of the quiet parts out loud — “Build the Wall,” etc.

geoffrey.skelley: Right, Trump is not a cause. He’s just an accelerator of something already happening.

perry: Like in my view, Mitt Romney is getting less vocal, not more vocal, about attacking Trump since he joined the Senate, even as Trump continues to make more racist comments. Romney sees where the wind is blowing. He gets a ton of blowback when he attacks Trump, and that weakens his influence in GOP politics.

nrakich: I agree with that, but I think some people (Like Hurd?? He has been visiting Iowa and New Hampshire and is a rumored 2024 candidate!) might try to run to say that the GOP needs a softer, gentler approach, especially if Trump gets drubbed in 2020.

geoffrey.skelley: They may say it, Nathaniel, but I’m skeptical it will take. Though I can see someone like Haley straddling the line on that if/when she runs in 2024. Speaking of Haley, she tweeted out earlier today that Trump’s tweet about Cummings’s house getting robbed was “so unnecessary,” so she’s not completely afraid of publicly calling out the president. But she also worked to build a solid relationship with Trump as his ambassador to the United Nations with an eye on a future presidential run.

perry: If Will Hurd thinks the best strategy to defeat Trumpism is a 2024 candidacy, he is misguided.

Trumpism is shaping the party right now — and in four more years, whether Trump wins or loses in 2020, that force will have been dominating conservative politics for eight years (2015-2023).

That can’t be reversed quickly.

#IFTTT #Politics – FiveThirtyEight #politics #538 #Sarah Frostenson #Perry Bacon Jr. #Geoffrey Skelle

[neotericbitch]

a sequel to DarqAnon

part the first

It’s quite abusive, there I said it, how you’re allowed to force a ritual onto a child, whether it be reciting an anthem or staring at the sun, before their brain has developed enough to comprehend the significance. In fact, doing so makes it more likely that as the child grows up, they will never truly find meaning in the action! How sad is that? I’d never force anything on my son.

Growing up, staring into the sun was something I never understood. For a long time I didn’t, I couldn’t conceive of the satisfaction or happiness my family derived from it. It meant something to them, so they tried to teach it to me, but it never meant anything to me. I understood that the sun was their god, but because I never truly believed, I couldn’t grasp how or why it would be important to them to stare up at it, burning their eyeballs out of their sockets. Their god was sending a clear message, do not look at me. Why would they do it anyway?

Oh, but - do keep in mind that that’s all in the past. I understand now. I understand perfectly.

Valkyrie Cain has the most brilliant black eyes. Truly, her every feature is marvellous, her sharp nose, her expressive mouth - but I always go back to the eyes. For Crandall, it’s her hands. They’ve shared many times over many meetings, to the point where I find it very annoying, that they want nothing more than to feel her hands on the sides of their head before she crushes it. I think it’s a nice little fantasy to have, just stop telling us about it. I have only ever shared what I wanted two, maybe three times. That’s an acceptable amount of times! Any more is overdoing it, Crandall! Crandall, I know you’re listening. I’ve been able to feel it even when a very good Sensitive is in my head, Crandall, and you are not a very good Sensitive.

Beside me they turn their head away. Why would they want to listen to my thoughts, anyway, when Valkyrie is here? I suppose I understand their hesitance. Darquesse, goodness - Darquesse wouldn’t stand for anyone hearing her thoughts, absolutely not! To attempt it on her would be a high offence. But Crandall, if you’re still listening, I’d say go ahead for the time being. Darquesse isn’t here. Not yet.

Looking at her, it all makes sense. I want to call up my mother and tell her I understand, I understand wanting - needing! - to look at something, even if it does not want you to. The sun may try to blind you. Valkyrie may glare and scream and curse. But you simply cannot look away.

I cannot call up my mother, of course. She has been dead for a hundred years, and I’m busy right now - and I don’t think there’s mobile phone reception here anyway.

For this week’s Thursday meeting, 6 to 7:30, we have made a temporary move from the community hall to the vault, generously donated for DA’s use by Nicki, who we had to murder. Dear girl, she didn’t want to let me hold the meeting here this week. I suggested it at the end of last week’s meeting and everyone was very excited. A hundred meters beneath the spot where Darquesse opened her portal to another dimension and disappeared - we’re so lucky to have this place! Of course everyone wants to come here whenever we have the opportunity! But Nicki said no. Nicki said to me, “Isserley, these meetings have been really great, you are a good organiser and I’m very happy to have met everyone, but I think what you’re planning is wrong. Please return the vault key to me.” So we had to kill her.

And here we are tonight, and I almost wish Nicki were here so I could say, to think you didn’t want this! The meeting is going very well, I think it’s our best one yet. 6:40 and we’re just about to finish setting up, we’re a neat little group of people. We won’t go over time at all! I’d like to say that I, being an incredibly organised person, have been a good influence on my fellow DA-goers.

Salma finishes painting the symbol on the ground. Her designs are ugly, but she has a steady hand and knows how best to use the petrol paste, a very special concoction. No one else could have done this job - though I must admit, I am a bit envious. Easy, Isserley! Remember, your job is the most important. Without you, this wouldn’t work. Without you, Valkyrie would not even be here.

Salma reaches for Valkyrie. She thrashes wildly - and I can’t say I blame her! I wouldn’t want Salma to touch me, either! Haha. But it really won’t do for her to behave this way, we really need her complete cooperation, so I motion to Respite at the wall and he turns the crank, tightening the chains attached to the bound cuffs at her every limb. She is pulled tight, and by the sounds of it it’s not a very comfortable experience, but now she is tense and mostly still - perfect for Salma to draw the symbol on her wrists and stomach.

She puts up a hell of a fight when Respite disconnects the chains from the wall and reconnects them to the floor, at each corner of where the symbol has been painted so she is now seated in the centre. I can’t help but smile! She reminds me of one of those beautiful shrine maidens. If only I’d thought of that earlier. I would have put this off one more week and gotten an outfit made. But the clothes she put on herself this morning are more than lovely. Darquesse will like them. Darquesse will like being back.

Valkyrie keeps straining and trying to get up, the poor dear! I wish I could go over there and pat her face, like I used to pat my son’s when he was resisting me - I wish I could tell her everything will be alright. But I know, even chained and without magic, she could certainly find a way to kill me if I were within reach. And I don’t want her to kill me until the ritual is complete, of course! Otherwise what would be the point?

“I don’t even know,” Valkyrie growls - what a good word for it! Indeed, she is doing her very best to sound deep, dark and scary. Soon it will come naturally. “I don’t even know what you think this will do. It’s not a full moon, or a blood moon, or any kind of moon. It’s not a magical day, it’s not a holiday, it’s not even a day that means anything to me.”

It’s my birthday, but don’t tell anyone that. It’s my special little secret, my gift to myself.

“This sigil is totally made-up. It’s not going to do anything.” She tries to raise her hand to her face to wipe off some sweat, but the chain is too short. “Let me go and I’ll make it quick - because when Skulduggery gets here, he certainly fucking won’t.”

I crouch down to be on her level, and I’m filled with such...reverence. I understand. I understand. This is what I was supposed to feel kneeling in the sweltering heat for hours on end. I’m glad I feel it here instead.

“You will kill us,” I say. “But we’re not going to uncuff you, you’ll do that yourself.”

“What are you talking about?” She is so exasperated and so irritated and so wonderful. “These cuffs are bound. It doesn’t matter how great you think I am, I’m not that strong.”

“You will be! You will be.” In the corner of my vision I see Salma fidgeting. Salma!!! You’re ruining this!! To make her stop, I gesture at her so she can speak and stop annoying everyone with her movements.

“The sigil you’re sitting on,” she fires off in her horrible, grating voice, “and the sigils that are on you are my own designs. Just because you haven’t seen them before doesn’t mean they won’t work. They’ll work.” Her lip trembles and she bows her head. “I’m sorry you don’t...believe in me.”

Valkyrie stares for a moment. “You’re completely nuts.” Nuts! Aah! That’s the word I use to describe her! How exciting!

“They’ll work, I swear. I promise. We only need to activate them, and...” Salma looks to me. Unfortunately, I have to stand up now and go back to looking down on Valkyrie. It’s okay, though. It’s okay. Soon she’ll be looking down on me.

For now, she doesn’t look at me at all. She looks down at where she’s put her arms on her knees, wrists facing out. Perhaps Supreme Mage Sorrows once gave her a lesson on what certain strokes can mean, perhaps she’s trying to work out how to counteract our symbol.

She’s fabulous and smart, yes, but she won’t be able to work it out. I am confident. I snap my fingers, summoning a bright, orange flame into my hand. She lifts her head, looks me directly in the eye, and I smile widely. Very widely. Not widely enough. I hope, before Darquesse kills me, she at least takes the time to appreciate what I’m doing for her. I hope she recognises how much I love her. No - I don’t hope. I know. She will. She must.

I take a step forward and crouch again, reaching my hand out to the edge of the symbol on the ground. My flame will catch onto the petrol paste and spread immediately. Valkyrie will be burned, but only a little bit! Just a little bit. Long enough for the fire to catch the symbols on her skin, and she will be protected - and Darquesse will be summoned back into her. She will be complete again.

Before my flame touches the paste, Valkyrie shoots her hand out and smudges the line, which gives me just about the fright of my life! Thank goodness I have such incredible reflexes, otherwise I wouldn’t have jerked my hand away in time. The paste would have caught on fire and surely burned her to death! She rubs her wrists together, wiping away the symbols written there, then kicks her legs out from under her so she’s in a more traditional butt-to-ground position, but that means she’s made the ground symbol worse and displaced dirt into my face.

It’s hard to love her when she has literally blinded me. That whole thing about the sun and everything, it was more of a metaphor. I still love her of course! I’m only taken aback. Anything I may say as I fall backwards isn’t really my fault, since she’s the one who kicked dirt in my eyes. It's more of my reflexes. I never would say anything of the sort to her under normal circumstances. Never.

“You bitch!”

What an inconvenience. I don’t get to see any of what happens next! I only hear the door flying open and gunshots, the sounds of my people yelling and trying to fight. Punches, kicks, bodies falling to the ground. When I hear Salma scream and feel her blood land on my face, I can’t help it! I can’t help it but think, serves you right for putting a cent in the collection tray every week!

“Skulduggery, the-”

“Valkyrie. Are you alright?” Is that him getting on his knees? Maybe he understands after all. “Are you hurt?”

“My skin’s burning, let me loose so I can get this shit off me. The crank on the wall, I think that controls the cuffs.”

I roll onto my side and wipe the dirt from my eyes. I hear Pleasant at the wall, turning the crank back and hitting the release. It’s terribly uncomfortable, but I can open my eyes and see well enough - and what I see is Crandall dead next to me! It’s such a shock, my heart skips at least three beats. That rotten Pleasant. What a barbarian. I lift my head as carefully as I can, so I won’t be noticed. Valkyrie has lifted her shirt to get the symbol off her stomach and cannot see me.

This is so unfair. I put so much work into this plan. It was so hard to trap her! I was going to bring Darquesse back. Me. Not Crandall, not Salma. Not Nicki. Her black eyes would have bored into my skull and killed me and I would have been good and happy. Huh! Maybe I'm not too different to those Faceless worshippers who go blowing themselves up in public places.

“Isserley. I thought that was you.” Pleasant. Pleasant is talking to me. “How have you been?”

Valkyrie snaps her head up at him. “You know her?”

“We’ve seen her in the High Sanctuary.”

“Jesus. Is there anyone you don’t remember.”

“No.” He reaches out and wipes the rest of the symbol off her stomach in one motion. I have dirt in my eyes but I see how her tummy kind of curls in a bit as she drops her shirt down.

That should be me. That should be me. I love her more than anyone. I burst into tears.

“She tried to set me on fire.”

“I think a list of people who haven’t tried to set you on fire would be shorter than a list of those who have.” I hear the clink of handcuffs. “Come on, now, Isserley.”

I let my head drop back onto the ground and stare up at the ceiling. I do not take one more look at Valkyrie. I’m not worthy. I’m not worthy. I failed. “Why don’t you just kill me.” I’m not even aware of myself saying it, to be honest! Just one of those things that...slips out...

“She makes a good point, Skulduggery.”

“Can’t be done. We should leave at least one cultist alive to arrest, so why not take the woman in charge?”

“How do you know she’s the one in charge?”

His terrible skull fills my vision as he looks down at me. You know, hearing him talk this much at one time has jogged my memory. And he does happen to wear very beautiful suits. My mouth falls open. “You’re-”

Valkyrie was startled for a moment by the sudden gunshot. Shoulders tensed, she looked over to Skulduggery standing over the woman, gun still pointed into a face that didn’t really exist anymore.

“What made you change your mind?” she asked as he put the revolver away. Skulduggery came over to her and brushed some hair out of her face, went back to fussing over the injuries she sustained on her way here.

“Too talkative,” he said, and she laughed and teased him about being a hypocrite.

#skulduggery pleasant #thanks for subscribing