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ipuckwithhockey · 3 years

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Just Ask- N. Patrick

a/n: More Nolan stuff? Yup. I should preface this with the fact that we should all be considerate of all hockeys and their personal lives. They have lives that do not include us and we should respect that. This includes their online accounts whether they are private or public. I say that because this does slightly touch on Nolan’s music taste/interest in music, but there’s nothing specific. Also, lets remember that this is all fiction! We’re just here to have some fun. Anyway, this is a short one, nothing too crazy. Let me know what y’all think!

warnings: drinking, swearing

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Meeting the Flyers was a byproduct of your friendship with Carly. The two of you have been friends for ages and she introduced you to the boys early into her relationship with Travis. You were able to avoid being the consistent third wheel by finding a comfortable place within Travis’ group of friends. Although Carly and Travis have insisted that they try to set you up with someone on the team, you continually refused, saying that it would be awkward if it didn’t work out. Not to mention the fact that you didn’t think any of the guys were interested.

The lovesick couple bothered you about it for ages, trying to push Beezer and Frosty on you, and then saying that you and Nolan would be “so cute” together. Joel and Morgan were great, you loved them both dearly, but there was no way you were dating either one of them. They were more compatible with each other than with you.

However, the last one you didn’t disagree with. You agreed, and thought that you and Nolan would make an exceptionally cute couple. It takes two to tango though, and Nolan definitely isn’t interested. Nolan has always been friendly and your personalities mesh well enough that you would consider him a good friend. The two of you even hang out by yourselves when TK and Carly cancel on you to do god knows what. You’ll grab food or watch a movie, but he has never made any inclination that he feels anything more than platonic towards you.

Nolan is shy, and dry, yet incredibly funny. He’s blunt and has a few sharp edges to him, but he’s not the fiery time bomb that TK resembles. He’s more reserved, laid back, and you can feel at ease with him because of it. You loved Travis to bits, and he was the perfect match for Carly’s outgoing personality, but you can only handle so much of him.

Take right now for example. You’re standing in the kitchen of a post-win house party, and Travis is incessantly nagging you to go talk to Nolan. The house you’re in is full to the brim with people you’re sure they don’t know and you and Travis are in the kitchen fixing yourselves another round of drinks. From where you’re standing you can see Nolan in the family room towering over a few doe eyed girls who hang on his every word. They are fixated on him, and you think that he could tell them to get on their knees right then and there and they would do it gladly. (You’re not sure you would say no either, so no judgement there.)

You’ve seen him take girls home from parties and bars, and he’s seen you with your fair share of conquests as well. It doesn’t bother you, and you figure it doesn’t bother Nolan either. Would you mind being the girl he took home? No, not at all, but unfortunately that was a role you would probably never be cast in. Even if you were you wouldn’t want to be one of those other girls anyway. You wanted to be the girl. You wanted to be the girl who made him forget about all the girls before you.

Your silent pining was becoming a little sad, and as much as you hated it, you couldn’t do anything to change how you felt about him. When you first met Nolan, you figured your little crush would soon dissipate, but the opposite ended up occurring. Now you were the sad, lonely, pining girl. You hated being her, but you couldn’t help it. You were totally gone for him.

“Come on, he’s not even listening to whatever those girls are saying to him. And you know he’s been checking you out since you got here.” Travis lays it out simply for you but you’re quick to refute, “Trav, he’s only looking over here because you haven’t stopped staring at him all night. If any two people at this party are into each other it’s you and Nolan, not me and Nolan.”

“What are you guys getting so heated about over here? And why do you keep looking at Nolan like that, Trav?” Carly comes over to tuck herself into Travis’ side as he puts his arm around her. You make a face at Travis as to say, “I told you.”

“He won’t leave me alone about Nolan, thinks I should go over there and interrupt the fan club.” You motion in the direction of where Nolan is still standing in front of his little doe eyed fans.

Carly’s eyes light up, “Oh, he totally checked you out earlier! You should go over there. Scare all those little girls away. They never had a chance anyway,” she explains matter-of-factly.

“Carly! You’re supposed to me on my side, remember?” You look between your friend and her boyfriend, who’s grin is getting bigger and bigger as spreads across his face.

“Look, you can deny it for as long as you like, but he’s totally into you, and you’re totally into him. Travis and I both know it.” Carly and Travis look so satisfied with themselves, that they think they’ve played matchmaker between the two of you, but you’re still not convinced.

“Ok, give me 5 reasons you think he could possibly like me, or that we are somehow compatible, and then maybe I’ll go over there.” You motion back in Nolan’s direction.

Travis is quick to the pitch, “You’re both oddly quiet. Like it kind of freaks me out when I come into the room and it’s just the two of you sitting there on the couch, and you’re not even talking! Sometimes the TV isn’t even on. It’s just silent. Like who even does that?”

This elicits an eye roll from you as you remember the many times Travis has walked in on you and Nolan sitting in a quiet room together, neither of you feeling the need to constantly fill the air with pointless conversation. Travis has never understood it.

“What about how Nolan always gets you drinks when we’re out?” Carly chimes in. “He doesn’t do that for everyone. Hell, I don’t think he’s ever asked me if I needed another when he’s headed up to the bar.”

You’ve never noticed that he doesn’t ask anyone else when he goes up to the bar. Thinking about it now, it does seem kind of odd. But the two of you will often find yourselves next to each other while you’re stuffed inside a packed bar on any given weekend, and you figure he’s just being nice since you’re usually one of the only single ones there.

“That’s only two, and your reasoning is horrible. He’s just being nice and being introverted is not a crime.” You lean back onto the counter behind you as you cross your arms in front of your chest. Now you’re facing toward the open room where one of the girls has inched her way closer to Nolan.

“He’s been a lot more excited to go out lately. He always asks if you’re coming. The last time we all went out I gave him a hard time about it. I don’t think his face has ever been that red.” Travis explains. “That’s another one! Whenever you show up or you do that thing that girls do when they’re flirting, you know the one where they touch a guy’s arm when they’re talking, he gets so red. Like tomato red.” Travis isn’t very eloquent in delivery, but you understand what he’s saying. “That’s four, baby.” He reminds you.

“He gets red when anyone talks to him and whenever anyone is brave enough to touch him. And I do not do that flirting thing.” You look to Carly for reassurance, “Do I?” you ask. She doesn’t offer the reassurance you were looking for, instead stating, “Oh, you totally do that. Sorry, you’re just not that subtle.”

“Oh my god.” You let your head hang back as you look up to the ceiling, “He probably thinks I’m an idiot or just creepy.” You really didn’t think you were that obvious, but clearly you were wrong. He probably feels bad for you because he knows you’re totally into him. “Well, if that wasn’t enough to deter me from ever speaking to him again, that’s still only four, so I think I’m going to call it a night and head home and then never show my face near Nolan again.” You try to exit the kitchen with the last bit of dignity you have left but Travis is quick to jump in front of you.

“Nope. I have a fifth one.” He’s standing there with is hands on his hips and you’re sure he thinks it makes him look more commanding. You just roll your eyes for what feels like the millionth time tonight.

“Really? You think it’s good enough to get me over there?” You quip back at him as you nod back towards Nolan.

“Oh yeah.” He nods back, “And if it makes you feel better Nolan is super obvious too. Like I said, tomato red.”

“So, are you going to tell me the fifth reason or are you just going to keep me hostage here all night?” Now you’re mimicking his stance with your hands placed firmly on your hips.

“It pains me to admit this one because he doesn’t even let me do this,” Travis sighs. “He lets you have the aux every time you’re in his car. No questions asked, he just lets you play whatever you want. Doesn’t even complain about it!”

You’re processing what Travis is saying. Nolan did always let you choose the music in the car, but you didn’t think anything of it. You probably grabbed the aux without hesitation the first time you hopped in his car. That’s just what you always did with your friends. It never dawned on you that he might not let other people do that too.

It checks out though, Nolan loves his music. It’s important to him, and his perfectly curated playlists are like little works of art for him. You’ve watched him manicure his playlists for hours as he sits on the couch, and admittedly you have similar taste in music. Maybe that’s why he didn’t care? Maybe you just always chose songs that he would have also picked? Although there was that one week where you made him listen to the Frozen soundtrack on repeat. He probably wouldn’t have picked that one…

You don’t have time to decide on why you think Nolan would ever let you get away with something he holds so sacred because he has since left his group of girls and has found his way into the kitchen where you’re still squared off with Travis.

“You guys gonna pull your pistols out soon?” Nolan mumbles an announcement that he has entered the room, and you realize that you’re still stood in front of TK, both of you with your hands on your hips.

“Nope, we were actually just heading out to play pong, we’ll see you guys later!” Travis quickly ushers himself and Carly out of the room, and before you can protest, you’re left alone with Nolan. He’s leaning against the counter opposite to you, and when you move your eyes to rest on his figure you can’t help but do a quick intake of just how good he looks. He’s wearing the same basic outfit that just about every other guy in the house is sporting, and yet it looks so much better on him.

“What was that about? You guys okay?” Nolan asks.

“Uh- Yeah, Trav just being Trav, you know?” You attempt to brush off the topic of what you and Travis were discussing prior to Nolan’s arrival. Similar to those times that Travis was referencing, neither of you feel compelled to fill the air with unneeded dialogue, and you fall into a comfortable silence. Neither of you are saying anything now and Nolan takes the time to twist off the cap to another beer from the fridge.

“I was gonna go out back. It’s too hot in here, wanna come?” Nolan nods his head to the sliding glass door at the other end of the kitchen, and you respond by following him out to the deck. The quietness and crisp winter air that fills your lungs is refreshing. The two of you lean against the railing of the deck and enjoy the break from the chaos inside. You continue in your silence and you can’t help but watch as Nolan takes long drags of his beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“Can I ask you a question?” You ask, and without speaking he nods, giving you the go ahead.

“Why don’t you let Travis have the aux?”

Nolan chuckles a bit, “Of all the things you could ask, that’s what you choose?” he retorts before answering, “If you must know, he has horrible taste in music. But also, I don’t let anyone have the aux. My car, my music. It’s the rules,” he states, taking another quick swig of his beer that’s almost empty now.

He confirmed what Travis had said to you, but you’re not convinced. There had to be a catch. He probably never realized that you did it. You’re sure of it.

“But you let me have the aux?” You form the sentence with a question mark on the end, and your eyes follow Nolan as he leans over the railing to look out into the backyard. He’s avoiding meeting your eye, and you can tell he’s thinking, deciding on what he’s about to say.

“Probably ‘cus I can’t say no to you,” the muttered words come out under his breath, like he doesn’t want you to hear it.

“What? What does that mean?” He lets out a huff of air as his hands push is his long hair back out of his face, something he only does when he’s stressed.

His body turns to face you now, “You could literally tell me to jump off a bridge or run through this house naked, and I would probably do it. No questions asked.”

The quizzical look that occupies your face prompts him to continue. He’s frustrated, you can tell, “I just don’t know how to say this without fucking us up as friends…” He starts to pivot away from you again, but you reach out for his arm, stopping him from leaving, “What if I don’t want to be friends?” You’ve chosen to be the bold one now, and if it bit you the ass you were just going to have to live with that, but you can’t help but feel like you’ve both been on the same page all along.

“You don’t want to be friends with me?” Hurt. Confusion. Annoyance. They all flash across Nolan’s face before you can interject again, “I don’t want to be just friends with you. I want to be more than that. I want to be the girl you take home when this party is over, and the girl who gets to wake up next to you every morning after, and even if you don’t want that, you need to know that’s how I feel about yo—“

He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’tt pull you into a heart wrenching kiss, there aren’t fireworks playing behind you. To your surprise, Nolan has chosen to haul you over his shoulder, your arms falling over his back as he walks swiftly back into the house.

“NOLAN! What the fuck!? Put me down!” You yell at him as he continues to carry through the house. The party is so wild by now that you’re sure no one even notices the 6’2 hockey player with a girl over his shoulder.

“Nolan! Seriously. Put me down!” You’re feel like a little toddler who has gotten herself in trouble, and when Nolan finally does place your feet back on the ground, you’re outside next to his car that is parked in front of the house. He sets you down, and you’re slightly dizzy from being swung around like a rag doll, but he steadies you in front of him with his hands on your waist.

“What the fuck was tha—”

He cuts you off again, but this time he isn’t hauling your body into the air. This time his hands are on either side of your face and his lips find yours and there are even metaphorical fireworks going off as you kiss him back. You stand there, pushed against the side of his car, with his hands tangled in your hair, and your tongues exploring each other mouths. When you finally come up for air he pushes back away from you so that he can meet your eye.

“If you wanted to be that girl all you had to do was ask.” A smirk is plastered across his face, and you lightly shove at his chest even though it does little to move his large figure.

You surrender, “Okay, but we have to get an Uber, we’ve both had too much to drive.” You can’t help but grin back at him as he reaches for his phone to order a car for the both of you. When the car arrives, you get in to head back to Nolan’s apartment with your hands wrapped together. “I can’t believe Travis was right,” you say as you let your head rest on Nolan’s shoulder and he turns his head to you with his eyebrow furrowed, “Right about what?”

#nolan patrick #nolan patrick imagine #hockey fanfic #hockey fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #hockey writing #philadelphia flyers #nhl #hockey #travis konecny

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mirrorforevers · 3 years

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here, there, and everywhere • graham coxon/reader

this fic is based on two prompts y'all sent me:

and

this fic really tested all of my blur knowledge holy Fuck. blur as talking heads au i guess. how cool would it be if they

1. had a girl bassist instead of the cheese tory dude

2. werent as unhappy as they were in the mid 90s (just a bit)

3. were just a little 🤏🏻 bit more female friendly lets just pretend this is a universe where the blurjob passes didnt exist heh

it took me everything i had to make this sound as realistic as it could be. u know these girls who think they could fix patrick bateman or don draper? perhaps y’all could fix blur

consider this a gift n not only me writing for your prompt, @nottuned! thank u so much for all your support n encouragement n for always bein so sweet 🥺 i hope u enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!

let’s see how many references to unfortunate britpop moments y’all can find in this

also i hope i captured the silliness of the gossip and drama in that era well. if you enjoyed it, please leave an ask telling me more! ur feedback is rly important to me 😔✊🏻

tw (?) reader has shitty parents

word count: 7.938 (this one's quite long!)

smut. set in the 90s. au.

You were unlocking your door when you heard your house phone ring. The shrill sound echoed through the empty corridors as you hurriedly unwrapped your scarf, tossing your keys and backpack on nearby furniture as you ran to answer the call.

“Hello?” You answer, panting.

“Y/N?”

“Dave?” You smile, that call was a very welcome surprise. Your friend owed you an answer.

A few weeks ago, Dave Rowntree, your music classmate who became a close friend, told you that he had teamed up with two other proficient musicians to form a band. Dave was ecstatic, and every day he had new stories about his new friends to tell you between breakfasts and lunches that you shared between the countless hours of rehearsals. Even though you weren't part of the group, you already felt that you knew Damon and Graham like the back of your hand. Yin and Yang. One was expansive, ambitious, vain, impulsive. The other, shy, introspective, anxious and careful.

Damon Albarn wanted to be an actor, Graham Coxon had a firm foot in the visual arts. One was a fan of grand classical compositions, the other was a Beatles fan. They had been friends since they were children, in a seemingly unbreakable bond. Damon dropped out of his theater class not only because out of a sudden he had found a bigger calling in music instead of acting, but also because he couldn't stand being away from his best friend for so long. You found yourself often imagining their faces and voices while trying to make all of the wild and endearingly funny stories Dave told you more tangible in your head.

It was not long before Dave started dropping little hints that they needed someone else for their project. “It’s not that Graham isn’t good at bass,” he’d say, “but we could do better.” It wasn't at the top of your plans to be part of a band right now, especially as you were preparing intensely to join the Royal Academy of Music, and he knew it. When you mentioned the conversations you had with Dave about the boys on your family dinner, in quiet wonder and timid want of being part of something really exciting, your parents wrinkled their noses. Focus on the greater things, they’d say. Don’t let these boys distract you from your goal.

Our goal, they meant to say. Since you were born, you never knew if the things you wanted were really your will or theirs.

But anyway.

That dynamic went on for a while, until the day Dave invited you to audition for them while you shared a Diet Coke in the tube home.

“Will it take too much of my time?” You asked, coyly.

“Bold of you to assume we’ll let you in that quickly.” He chuckles, amused by your confidence. You playfully elbow him in return. He knew how good you were at what you did, though, and there’s lightness in his tone when he continues, “But no, unless you let it. You’ll probably have to stand up to Damon every once in a while.” He sips the drink, handing it over to you.

“What about Graham? How much is he determined to make it big?”

“Damon’s the one who wants it the most. Graham’s studying Fine Arts at Goldsmiths, so. There’s still cautiousness in him.”

“Huh. Okay then.” You reply, thoughts running wild. “Do we have a time and date?”

“Is tomorrow ok to you?”

“Sure. After our class?”

“Perfect.” The train reaches his station. He ruffles your hair: “See you tomorrow then.”

“See you.”

You don’t tell anything about it to your parents, you just warn them that you’ll arrive a bit later than usual. Dave’s intel was crucial to your choice of songs: knowing Graham was the beatlemaniac and also the rational brake to Damon’s tireless ambition, you knew who to please and have as an ally, so you build an innovative and fresh mashup of Paul McCartney’s greatest basslines to play for them. Of course it could backfire, but you didn’t care. You had a hell of a good ear anyway and if Damon wanted you to play anything out of the blue, you would improvise beautifully over it.

The day comes. You didn’t know why you were that nervous for an amateur audition. You weren’t even sure if it was the right path to follow, given that, depending on how focused Damon really was and how contagious his aspiration was, being part of a band could really take you out of your predestinated course. The reason why you were so nervous, now thinking a little more about it, may be because deep inside, you want your path to be a little less predictable. You didn’t want to fill your heart with hopes that you might make it big and travel all over the world because you didn’t even know them. But… what if it clicks? You knew some people in the scene whose work was getting seriously recognized out there.

Meeting them for the first time was an enigmatic experience. Damon was incredibly brash and cocky - not the first theater kid you’ve met in your life. Graham was way more approachable, though also a bit conceited when pushed just right. You wondered if you’d fit in that boys’ club, and decided you wouldn’t be an easy target for discredit or any kind of shit they might give you. “Took me a while to fully get their trust. You’ll do just fine”, Dave said, out of their earshot.

That gave you more fuel to play amazingly well. Damon definitely wasn’t one to be impressed quickly, but he was, when you finished your set. So was Graham - Graham was starry eyed with your performance, actually. Albarn showed you a song and asked you if you could improvise to it, just as you imagined. Of course you could, on the first play. You even suggested some adjustments to its structure. Your feedback was welcomed and noted.

Even though everything went surprisingly well, you still weren't sure if you would be a member of “Seymour”, as they called themselves. (You knew it wasn’t the best name, but you didn’t have a better suggestion at the time so you’ve kept your opinion to yourself.) Graham became eerily quiet out of a sudden and wouldn’t cross eyes with you the entire time you were there. Damon, well, was Damon. Perhaps he thought you were too ordinary and mainstream for deciding to play Beatles when he’s trying to be the new avant-garde Jesus.

But Dave's news was different than you expected. “They really, really enjoyed your audition. As I thought they would.” You can hear the smile in his voice. "When can you rehearse with us?"

Months after, on your first gig as a fully formed and integrated band, Damon was hit in the face by a guy twice his size, Graham vomited onstage and you and Dave had to take care of both. A beautiful way to close the already exquisite day you had, after you fought with your parents, got kicked out of your childhood home and gave up on entering the Royal Academy of Music two days after you received your acceptance letter featuring rave reviews of your entrance exam.

Dealing with these boys - no, grown-ass men - was hard, but not completely unpleasant. If it were totally unpleasant, you wouldn’t give up on your entire life to embark on such an adventure.

You - plural you - were so gifted and Damon’s compositions were so good. You could see that artsy pretentious mess of an act going somewhere. Of course, you were a bit lost in your life, but so were they, as you ran from city to city meeting new people and trying new things in your journey to fame.

Loneliness, once a close friend, became a distant acquaintance. One you didn’t know anymore.

You confess you were getting worried, though, with how much money you had left on your savings and how much you were spending lately now that your parents weren’t an active part of your life. Wanting to eat something you cannot dream of buying without that money being really useful in a much more critical situation, not having nearly enough money to replace something important that broke or got torn off was frustrating. Some basic things became luxuries out of a sudden.

One day in particular, you very briefly mentioned that you were dying to eat a slice of chocolate cake, but your voice was so small and everyone was so immersed in their duties you thought no one gave two shits to what you said. Two days later, Graham arrived late at rehearsal with a small chocolate cake in his hands, handing it over to you like it was a completely ordinary act. Nothing in the way he acted told you he expected a reward, it was so natural and… gentle. You knew no one in your band could buy a chocolate cake without it being apocalyptic to their personal finances during that time.

That day, you were assured by fate that feeling lost together was better than feeling guided alone.

The band finally got on track - strictly musically speaking. Personally speaking, many contemporaries who followed you at parties and other events described you as an ever-growing odd, annoying and intermittently disarming bunch - and Blur and its members became household names, at least in the UK. It became harder and harder everyday to impose yourself as an entire industry and its target public aimed to tear you down. Men couldn’t understand.

(Graham Coxon was the one who tried the hardest to.)

It was four in the morning. You’ve got used to following your bandmates to hospitals, running away from trouble or knowing when to relish in it. But it was the first time you offered yourself to clean up dried blood from one’s face, given how much you hated seeing the fluid and even fainted when younger whenever exposed to it.

You, so delicately, wipe the saline solution-soaked cotton across Graham’s face, who flinches at the cold sensation on his still sensitive skin. He stares at you with the eyes of a child, and you couldn’t help but give him a slight, warm smile in return, which he retributes. Your face conveyed gratitude and affection towards the one you were taking care of. Your hands still struggled to stay completely still after the surge of adrenaline your body received a few hours ago.

Being the only girl in a massive band, and one the music magazines and mainstream media loved sexualizing, meant having paparazzis in your window in odd hours (not that that’s acceptable in any hour, but you had to lower your standards even more these days), meant having different photographers trying to pressure you to get into all kinds of uncomfortable angles with skimpy-ass dresses and just count on the intervention of your fellow bandmates so they would stop, also having invasive male fans who would try to harass you in any way they could.

Of course the day where one of your bandmates would get into a fist fight with one of these men inserted into these categories would come. And even though they were all protective of you, each in their own peculiar, increasingly contradictory way, Graham’s dedication to it was sometimes commendable.

You were making your way through a small corridor of people on your way to the stage when a random guy cupped one of your breasts. It’s not like the venue was incredibly tight, it could not have been on accident and it made your blood boil. You turned around to scream at him, and Graham, who was just behind you, threw a punch directly towards the man’s face, without thinking twice.

And oh boy, took a lot of people and a sweet amount of time to separate the two after that.

After all was said and done, Graham had a few scratches, a black eye and a cut brow. He kept dodging your many “sorrys”, “you didn’t have to do this” and other expressions of guilt. “You have nothing to be sorry about, he deserved it”, he kept assuring you, like a mantra, just giving in to your pleas when you supplicated to take care of his wounds during intermission and after the show.

“I get why you did what you did, Gra. I hate that you took such a risk because of me, but I understand.” you say, voice cracking from not using it for a while after spending some good minutes in complete silence taking care of him. “However,” you soak another cotton ball in the saline solution a roadie got you, punctuating the word with a squeeze to the cotton to remove excess liquid. “I was worried sick about you. What if he… had a knife or something? You could’ve got seriously injured. Or killed.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m perfectly able to have a good fight,” after wincing from the contact of the cold wet cotton with his dried blood, he purses his lips in a forced, shy smile, trying to light up the mood. He notices your hands are still shaking from the adrenaline, and takes one of them in his bigger ones, trying to calm you down. The fact that he did this for you, coupled with the fear and how tired you felt of having to go through that kind of situation once again, made you cry-laugh from how overwhelmed you felt.

His expression changes to one of pure compassion in an instant. “Hey, don’t--oh my,” he gets up from his chair to embrace you as you pour your frustrations through fat tears running down his shoulder.

“It’s so exhausting,” you mumble, through sobs. “Now I’m putting you in danger too. I feel like I did and I’m still doing everything wrong. I should be the one giving you a shoulder to cry on.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong! Anything at all, I promise you,” he says, tenderly, running his hands through your hair, still holding you tight. “It was his fault! I decided it was the right thing to do. You’re worth the risk. What people have been putting you through is unacceptable.”

“I’m not worth the risk!” You break apart from his arms, trying to get your point across. “What would I do without you if someone killed you? You need to be more careful!”

The silence hangs heavy between you two thanks to the weight of your words.

“You should’ve asked me before you lunged at him, at least. I don’t know.” You wipe your many tears as you move towards the nearest bottle of water to try to calm yourself down. “It’ll never end. I’m so afraid that these situations will get even worse. That,” you motion at his wounds and dirty clothes, “is a bloody tragedy. It’s a tragedy things escalated to this point. You can’t do that forever.”

“This is just a consequence. And something I would do for you in a heartbeat whenever necessary.”

“Graham, I don’t want you to get hurt because--”

“They hurt you. I won’t let you go through that alone. Besides,” he comes closer to you again. “As I already told you, I can take care of myself, most of the time.” He takes your face in his hands, his fingers so delicately running across your cheeks to dry your tears. You knew that gesture wasn’t his way of asking you for anything you weren’t ready to give him yet. He just wanted you to feel safe. “And I want to take care of you.”

“I’m the one cleaning your wounds.”

“A great partnership, I think.” Coxon chuckles softly, and finally gets a smile out of you. As he always does. “And they make me look cool, don’t you think?”

“Shut up.” You giggle, still feeling too emotional to return to the stage. You sigh: “Thank you for being there for me. You know I’m still not very used to it. Just please be safe.”

The roadie returns, a little flustered by interrupting your little moment together. “5 minutes and you’re back, guys.”

“Okay!” You both turn to answer her.

“I’ll be. No need to thank me for anything, Y/N.” He answers, giving your forehead a little kiss. “Let’s go.”

“Give me two minutes. I’ll be right behind you.”

“What’s it like, being the only woman in the band?”

Four eyerolls at once don’t seem to faze the interviewer. She waits for your response.

Apparently the thousand invasive questions regarding Damon’s love life and the same bullshit treatment of women as either rare specimen or sex dolls is what pleases the audience of music TV shows these days.

“What do you think?” is what you say.

“Must be a thrill to have these beautiful boys around you all the time. And we’ve heard you never even took advantage of it!”

You don’t like where this is heading. “Is that… a bad thing? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Perhaps some of our lady viewers might think it is. No judgement though!” She raises her hands. “You do you, it’s just that it’s quite unexpected to see prudes in non-Christian bands. I mean… from what we’ve heard.”

“I’m sorry? What are you trying to say? What did you hear?”

Her tongue clicks while she stares at you with defiance and mischief on her eyes, as she goes a little further and raises her voice so it can overlay yours. “Oh love. You do know what I’m talking about. There’s no need to be ashamed of being a virgin.”

Your cheek burns intensely and the only thing you wished for was for the ground to swallow you whole. Dave and Graham are especially uncomfortable. Damon’s a bit amused. The three knew almost everything there was to know about you. The one topic that surprisingly they didn’t know about is that you’re still a virgin.

They know you’ve been single for a long time. They know that’s part of what draws so much attention and twisted lore regarding you and your past, but that’s not something they felt they needed to know about you at all, and you truly never felt the need to comment about that with any of them, and they haven’t asked. Not even Mr. “the way to be successful in this game is to make all the boys wanna be you and all the girls wanna sleep with you. In your case that’d work in reverse” Damon Albarn.

“Is that even something that should be discussed in an interview about our music? Is that what your boss told you to ask her about?” Dave answers, his tone venomous.

“Musicians are way more than just music. You’re entertainment in every sense of the word.”

“Who told you that about me?” You asked, not sure if you want to know the answer.

“A lovely elderly lady who lives in Elgin Crescent. She knows you so well.”

That’s your mum. That’s how far low your relationship has degraded. You’re not surprised. That doesn’t feel less like a punch on your gut, but you don’t feel like tumbling again. Not today.

“I know who you’re talking about. Tell her I asked her to go fuck herself and burn in hell. In that order.”

“But that’s your--”

“Yes, she is my mum!” If people are going to expose you anyway, then why don’t you do it on your terms? “We’re truly entertainment in every sense of the word, aren’t we. Not everyone’s mum’s a cunt. Some of us aren’t that lucky.”

“You want to be the next Gallagher sister with the spicy remarks?”

“Not sure. But I do want to be the last person you ever get to interview.”

The management of the band wasn’t at all surprised your interview became UK’s topic of the week. People were heavily divided between family is family and we shouldn’t hate our relatives and blood isn’t everything, family can be shitty too. Your bandmates were proud of you. The management was angry but tried to understand, and didn’t press you for further explanations. They suggested a two-week break from everything so Blur could rest their image and start a fresh cycle after that, and you gracefully accepted it.

The whole thing seemed so ridiculous the more you thought about it. Did your mum tell the reporter about that gratuitously? What was their conversation like? How did that even happen?

You became the butt of jokes in some places. You saw other famous people doing challenges between them, countdowns, all sorts of crude remarks. What a pathetic, sad chapter of your career.

You dial Graham, and you feel like your heart was about to burst out of your chest.

“Hey, Gra. It’s me.”

“Hey, Y/N.” He sounds pleasantly surprised. “How's it going?”

“Better, I guess. I have to take my mind off all that chaos though. Are you available right now?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve been owing me a movie night for quite a while now and I miss spending time with you. Wanna come over?”

“Aww. Sure, I--um. Do you want me to bring anything?”

“I’m pretty sure I got everything we need here--ah… I think I don’t have any more beers.”

“I’ll buy some then. See ya in a few minutes.”

Actually, you couldn’t take all that chaos off your mind because that was the only thing in it. You’re feeling so nervous.

The main reasons sex wasn’t a priority for you until now were:

You didn’t have any real opportunities of losing your virginity in your teens. You were impossibly introspective until, like, 3, 4 years ago, and the way your family worked hasn’t really allowed you to get really close to people. Be it boyfriends, girlfriends or just friends. Anything that threatened to take time off the various tasks and classes your parents assigned to you just couldn’t be part of your life. To be honest, you still struggled a bit to form meaningful connections with people thanks to how you grew up.

The moment you stopped being shy, you noticed it was a real man’s world out there, especially in music, classical or not. You didn’t want anyone to think you fucked your way up to the top, you didn’t want any messy affairs. Also, you had yourself, and you didn’t get all of the hype regarding the concept of screwing someone. But apparently there’s a lot you’ve been missing, given the importance people seem to give to it. After that incident, even though you swore to yourself you wouldn’t give in to any kind of misogynistic pressure, that was one that really got under your skin.

You never really found someone who you felt 100% safe with in that sense until the one who’s about to arrive at your house appeared in your life. Bloody hell, and you don’t even have anything romantic going on. By the time you were a Blur member, you’ve fooled around a bit, but not all the way. You knew how to kiss, knew how to touch yourself and even brought manual satisfaction to some random fool you thought you were into one time. But perhaps this is the time to go all the way. Why not? Everyone knew how close you two were. He made you feel special. He was so kind. And gorgeous. And--

You hear a knock on your door. It’s him. Beers in hand, hair somewhat in place, twitchy as ever.

He comes inside and you feel like your legs will give up anytime. It was not the first time he visited you. It was one of many, actually, and he noticed you were acting… different.

“Y/N, are you okay?” He asks after a brief dialogue between you two, after plating some snacks for both of you.

“Graham...” You sigh, being really careful with your words. “What is your perception of me?”

“My perception of you?” He smiles. “I… think you’re great. You’re fun to be around. You’re one of the best musicians I know, if not the best. Why are you asking me that?”

“N-nothing. It’s nothing. Also, I asked the wrong question. What was your first perception of me?”

“Uh… the day of your audition?”

“Exactly. You barely talked to me that day.”

His eyes lower to his own feet. “I was really timid, actually. I wasn’t used to being near any girl, especially one who… w-would spend so much time around me if everything went well.”

You giggle. “I thought you hated me.”

“Never!” his smile turns into a full blown laughter. You melt at his confession. “Also because it seemed like you were trying to read my mind or something.”

“Of course! Because I thought you hated me!” Now that was a laughter you two shared. You do a voice: “‘Why is that pesky girl trying to get in my band?’”

“My goodness, no! I don’t even sound like that - you know what, I changed my mind. You suck. Because, besides the fact you don’t even know what I sound like, you still haven’t told me why you are asking me that in the first place.”

You couldn’t help but notice how he slightly cornered you physically in one of the kitchen corridors. Graham could be really persuasive when he wanted to.

“Okay. Right. Um. I’ve been thinking about some stuff.”

“What, exactly?”

“Everything that happened this month. The great virginity debacle,” you roll your eyes, and he scoffs.

“You don’t own anyone any information about what you do or don't do with your life. Everyone’s being so invasive. That was incredibly childish of the reporter to do, and we talked about that hundreds of times.”

“Yeah, but… you know what, forget it.”

“Tell me, Y/N. I just said that because I want you to know you were not in the wrong.”

“I know. It’s just… I’ve been thinking that maybe it’s silly for me to… keep closing myself for affection. Any kind of affection.”

“What are you talking about?” His brows furrowed in curiosity.

“I’m not sure if it’s the pressure that finally got under my skin, but… I’m willing to learn what all the fuss is about. Maybe it’s silly that I’m still a virgin.”

He bites his lips, still processing what you just said, expression unreadable. Perhaps you’ve treaded a ground you shouldn’t. You step back both literally and figuratively. “I’m sorry I even brought that up--”

“No, no, don’t be.” He assures you. “I’m just… surprised, that’s all. I swear.”

“And...” You know what. You already went too far, so why not go all the way. You’ve already gone way past the point of no return. “I was wondering if… you would… popmycherry?”

His eyes widen, yours still closed. When you finally open them, he’s closer to you again.

If his head was a machine, you’re sure it would be releasing lots of steam and shaking due to overprocessing. You felt like you just ruined everything.

“Y/N, you don’t need to do it if you don’t really want to.”

“But I want it! At first I thought I didn’t, but then I thought...”

“I don’t want to be part of that if you’re just doing it to fulfill weird expectations.”

“But it’s not that. Not just... that. I asked about your perception of me because I really like you, Gra. I think we should be more than friends and I wanted to know what you think about me. And I want to know what the fuss is about, yes, but I’m not telling you that just so I can lose my virginity to prove some point. I’m telling you that because I like you, I want to kiss you, and I think it would be a great idea if you showed me what it’s like. Y-you know, sex.”

“I-I can’t believe it. Did you even have any movie in mind?” His smile’s back, but you’re still not confident about what his answer will be.

“I didn’t. I’m sorry. You don’t have to--”

He sighs. “I was in love with you the moment I first saw you, actually.” He says it like he’s releasing a huge load out of his back, his arms crossed. Now your eyes widen, and you hold your breath without even noticing. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured. I know how you feel, or, felt about relationships, so… there wasn’t any reason for me to tell you that. And what I said about being timid was just half of the truth.”

“Huh?”

“I also was really intimidated by how pretty you looked. You can’t imagine how.”

“No way.”

“It’s true. I felt like I wasn’t even worthy of looking at you, really.”

“You’re joking. That’s mean, Gra.”

“I’m not. I’m really not.” He doesn’t look like he is joking. He looks relieved. “I’m really not. That’s why I’m so surprised by your request.”

“I’m nothing special.”

“You are everything to me. But I can’t accept your offer, not now.”

“Are you… seeing someone? Am I too late?”

“No. Definitely not. I just want you to be sure you’re not doing it because people are saying you should.”

“Graham, I’m a grown woman.”

“I know.”

Graham carefully presses his slightly chapped lips to yours, kissing you for a few precious, heart stopping seconds before pulling away; his voice is impossibly silky when he suggests, “Let’s watch a movie. How about The Godfather? I heard it’s airing tonight. Then, if in two weeks you don’t change your mind, tell me and I’ll be glad to help you with what you want. Do we have a deal?”

“That’s so unfair. I want you so bad.” You whisper.

“Tell me if you still do in two weeks.”

You sigh, defeated. “...Deal.”

You definitely notice the subtle shift in Graham’s personality and actions after that fateful night. If you were already close, both figuratively and literally, it now seemed like he would use any excuse to always touch you, be near you, sometimes tease you. The shift was subtle, though, don’t forget it’s still Graham Coxon we’re talking about - the constant “is it okay if”s or “is it alright if I”s were still there, as careful as ever. You don’t even talk about your deal that entire time, or even kiss again - sometimes you wondered if it was even real or just a fabrication of your mind.

The way he now caressed your hand discreetly when you listened to Damon’s ramblings, the way his hands now went directly to your waist when your games became too handsy, the way he seemed to be madly in love with everything you were and still are from the start - made you realize you were ready for this man to be a consistent part of your life.

The dust of the controversy was settled, and your own intentions were 100% clear to you now. The societal pressure has waned. The need for Graham to be your first persisted. After exactly 2 weeks have passed, you call him again, yearning to share the answer with him.

One beep.

Two beeps.

Three beeps.

Four beeps. “Hello?”

You release a sigh hidden deep inside of your lungs. “Graham, it’s Y/N.”

“Oh. It’s been two weeks.” You could hear the contemplative tone of his voice.

“...Yeah. That’s precisely the reason I’m calling you.”

“Do you still want to…?”

“...Desperately.”

“Ok.” He chuckles, flustered as hell on the other side of the phone, probably one of the prettiest sounds you’ve ever heard. “Right. Ok. Your place or mine?”

“I think there’ll be an element of mystery if I go to your place this time.” You lose some of the constraints this silly shyness has been tying you on. “Do you have everything we might need there?”

“We don’t need a dungeon, you know.”

“The basics.” You make your smile heard.

“I do have… I do have the basics.”

“See you in a few minutes then.”

“Will you want to… ease into it? Or just go straight to it?”

“God, don’t make it awkward!” Your cheeks burn, your smile turning into contagious laughter. “Maybe… I don’t know. Ease into it, I guess? A movie night… but with s-something else?”

“Okay. Sounds good.”

“Alright then. See you.”

“See you.”

You don’t choose any particularly fancy or sexy clothes, instead settling for a slightly oversized yellow striped shirt he gave you as a birthday present some months ago and some skirt that fit you well. He wasn’t one to lavish his loved ones with gifts all the time, but few things were as precious as the look on his face whenever he saw you wearing something he gave you or, hell, even eating something he paid for you. You’re thrilled to see it again when he opens the door for you, it easing some of your deepest doubts.

2001: A Space Odyssey is already playing on the TV when you arrive. Despite it being one of your favorite movies of all time, and his, you’re not mad it was already halfway through when you arrived. It wasn’t your main priority to rewatch it for the 17th time tonight.

He offers you some wine, which you accept to ease the nerves. You sit on his couch, and he shares the cozy space with you, now mindlessly throwing one of his arms around your shoulders. You cuddle up to him, and everything seems peaceful in the world for a while.

The tip of his fingers softly caress your lifted knee, absentmindedly. You couldn’t help but notice how well his body fits with yours, how your skin was apparently made for him to touch, and the anxiety rumbles in your stomach like a storm in a wild wavy sea. After some minutes, you raise your head, his big brown eyes meeting yours as if asking you a silent question. You leaned up a bit more to press your lips to his, in a silent answer. The sweetness in him makes this moment as precious as every other moment you ever shared with him. His hands enter your hair, making you shiver a bit from the unfamiliarity and the electricity of it all - but it doesn’t sway you from deepening the kiss, wanting more of his taste, more of this, more of him.

“Do you wanna take this to the bed?” He whispers, after noticing your moans were becoming more frequent and needy. You nod, and you are taken by surprise when he carries you bridal style to it, hiding your excited giggles in his broad shoulders.

Graham wasn’t exactly the most organized man in the world - so the fact that his bedroom was now impossibly tidy was something that positively caught your attention. He put some planning into this. He lays you down and you part your legs, beckoning him to meet you between them. He does, and you go back to the breathtaking makeout session. You notice he’s holding himself back a bit, taking his time, his warm tongue moving smoothly, not hurriedly, against yours. His self control falters a bit though, given how he can’t stop grinding against you. You follow the rhythm of his hips a bit timidly and not nearly as in sync as you’d really like, though the pressure his covered cock is creating against your core can already be felt and some particular thrusts are able to fill at least partially the aching, wet need growing within you.

“How do you feel about oral?” He asks, breath warm near your ear, his voice raspy and spent by his desire for you.

“Um… It would be my first time receiving or doing it.”

“Would you like me to go down on you?”

“Wow. I never thought I would hear you saying something like that.” You smile, still assimilating the situation you’re in, trying not to show how badly his voice is affecting you. “Sure.”

“I never thought I would get to propose this to you. Aren’t we full of surprises lately.” He smiles back, warmly. He notices your hands trembling a bit from how anxious you are while you’re taking off your underwear with his help, and as he lowers himself to where you need him most, he takes your hands in his as an act of reassurance. “Tell me what you like. Tell me if what I’m doing works for you. I want this to be a great experience.”

“You want me to get addicted to you, that’s what you want,” He chuckles, lovingly kissing your thigh as a reply. “Okay, Gra. Guess I’ll find out along the way.”

You quickly take a peak below you to see the lower half of his face disappear in the middle of your thighs. The sight alone sets your fire ablaze, as he hooks his arms around your thighs and lifts you closer to his mouth, his lips ghosting over the curls between your legs tantalizingly and his breath catching when your hips jerk forward.

As he begins his ministrations, you immediately notice it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt. That feeling was completely alien to you. It was even wetter than you expected, and weird, but powerfully pleasant. Before this exact moment, you had a firm belief that hardly anyone else would make you feel the same way, or better, than you do yourself, but apparently you were very wrong. Thankfully you were wrong. “My god,” you gasp as the flat of his tongue drags over your folds, too much and not enough, and you jerk at the contact. “This is great. So weird, but-- great.”

He moans at your response, his movements carefully enthusiastic. He works his tongue between your folds and traces up to curl the tip of it around your clit, and it’s quite endearing and madly arousing to see how he eats out you like you’re the sweetest and tastier dessert he has ever tasted. You involuntarily buck against him with a desperate sound the moment he moves his tongue and lips in a particularly wicked way, something that definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by him, but you still feel the need to highlight in case it didn’t - “That. Keep doing that, please,”

And he does. The building of this climax is also different than the ones you already had by your own hands, and is more coy. As he sees the drops of sweat sliding along your soft skin and the expressions on your face as you get lost in this new but enchanting sensations, his hesitation and self-control fades away; there’s nothing uncertain in the way he buries his face in your cunt now, nothing restrained in the groan he lets out as he devours you and drinks you down as if you’re the first stream of water he has seen in days.

His tongue glides deeper in your folds again and again, swirling up through the wetness you’re coated with to tease at your clit while he grunts and strains closer, squeezing your thighs with both hands tight. The wave of heat inside of you is cresting so fast, you don't even know how to tell him, how to signal that you’re nearly done for and, in the end, it happens too fast to even try. He sucks at your clit, circling it with his tongue, once, twice, and then you’re crying out, shaking underneath him, trying to keep your thighs from clenching too hard around his head as he laps you through it with with urgent whimpers and moans, as if he cannot have enough of you.

You’re still trembling when he rises, the look on his face revealing to you how proud he feels by making you feel this way. It looks so good on him.

You fail miserably at the simple task of connecting words together after that, choosing instead to collect your remaining strength, prop yourself up and beckon him again to keep kissing him and learn, through his talented tongue, how you taste. He kisses the thin fabric of the shirt at your chest that covers you from view, your throat, your jaw, and before he reaches your impatient lips, he notes, sinfully, “Seems like you enjoyed yourself, love.”

“That was… unbelievable. Stars, I want to make you feel good too. Please show me how.”

“Keep kissing me,” he begs, voice still strained from how aroused he is. “I want to be inside you so bad. Let’s get you prepared.” You’re still so sensitive, you tread on overstimulation when his fingers lightly touch your clit, making you break the kiss in a hiss. He traces a line on your folds, inspecting the impact his mouth had on you. “So wet for me.”

“Bit slower, Gra,” He complies to your breathy plea, his fingers now more tame as he slowly spreads your wetness throughout your pussy. He stretches towards the nightstand to grab a bottle of lube, interrupting his contact to spread some on his fingers before unhurriedly slipping his middle finger inside of you. The coldness of the gel makes you shiver in surprise, the easiness brought by it very welcomed. Again - the sensation is odd. Completely unfamiliar. The feeling of having something inside of you for the first time, going further than you ever dared to try, probing, exploring; the coldness of the lube clashing against your burning hot cunt. But it also felt nice. The focused look on his face was adorable, he looked like he was a scientist in the middle of very complex research.

Despite the panting, the messy hair and the fire in his eyes.

Your body already has a lot of new sensations to process simultaneously, so when he asks you to take off your bra and shirt so his tongue can work on your nipples - which you gladly accept, you feel like you’re on sensual overload. His tongue, again, so talented, takes your mind off the slight burning you feel when he introduces his ring finger to your soaked, throbbing core, his focused, carefully overpowering and constant stimulation driving you insane.

“Does it feel good?” He asks, voice muffled by your breast. You nod, carried by the wave of pleasure sweeping you.

“Yes. God, yes.” You pant, tangling your fingers tightly on his thick hair as an encouragement, a desperate sound escaping from your lips the moment he reaches a certain point within you you didn’t even know existed, hot mouth continuing to lick and suck your nipple. Even though you were spent by your last orgasm, he was indeed getting you addicted to those new feelings, and even though this was heavenly, truly heavenly, you needed more. “Gra, I’m ready, I think.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Please.”

Releasing your nipple from his lips with a sounding pop, he eagerly frees himself from his trousers - hard as a brick - and puts protection and lubrication on, swiftly positioning himself between your thighs while stroking himself to the sight in front of him. You motion to take off your skirt, and he holds your hand, not letting you. “Don’t. It’ll be really hot to fuck you in this.” He confesses, giving your forehead a kiss in a very different context than before. He aligns his forehead with yours, each of your lips just barely touching while you breathe each other’s air. He looks deep into your eyes, slowly running the tip of his cock between the slick folds of your pussy, coating himself in the remnants of your pleasure. “Do you trust me?”

You trust me to know your limits? Not to go any further if you don’t really want me to?

“Absolutely.”

The only response you get from him is a shuddering, helpless moan into your mouth and you hold him tighter to you, grinding your still sensitive cunt up against his cock while he pulls hard at the soft fur next to your head. You feel your soaking pussy lips part around the solid curve of his length and gradually coat the underside of him in slick with every gentle circle and roll your hips make, as he finally pulls away from your mouth to drop his forehead to your neck. He then, very slowly, penetrates you, stopping when he hears the noises you make indicating you’re struggling to adjust to his presence. Out of everything you’ve felt in the last minutes, this was by far the most painful sensation. “This-- is new,” you note, your face completely incapable of hiding the discomfort. He also notices that.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?”

“It’s okay. I’ll get used to it.”

“It’s not supposed to be about endurance, you know.” He says, a bit breathless and worried, caressing your hair. “Tell me when it’s okay to move. Or if you feel too much pain.”

After some long seconds and some deep breaths, you say: “Okay. Go on.”

“As you wish.”

He moves inside you at a very slow pace, the lubrication clearly making it easier for you to handle it. It still hurts, significantly, but the sensation of being filled is also surprisingly arousing.

His hand moves to your sensitive clit again in small, measured circles, your little moans being a mixture of the pain of penetration and the sheer ecstasy of seeing him falling apart because of you. The way his chest heaves while the drops of sweat start pearling his fair skin, the furrowed brows and broken groans, the thickness of him as he rests heavy up against your entrance, the way his voice presses deliciously tight in his throat as he gasps out into the quiet room - everything’s making your chest burst in love and satisfaction. You tighten your grip around him and roll your hips up into his cock, letting it break you open nice and slow; it stretches you wide with a deliciously sharp fullness and pleasure rips through you, and Graham becomes even more vocal as he picks up a steady and gradually faster pace. He turned all of your keys, it’s about time you turn some of his.

“Graham, deeper,” you whimper, continuing to tighten your legs and hoist yourself up, lifting your hips to take his cock deeper inside you. His name rips itself from your throat while Coxon clenches his jaw and starts to lose himself in the pleasure, holding you down into the bed while he allows your desperation to guide him to the perfect angle and speed to sate you. He found denying you to be impossible.

He snarls and curses as he holds you down and rails you, determined to make you sing again before he finishes, and to his delight, your heightened sensitivity gives him what he wants. And this time, he couldn't hold on.

Graham kisses you one last time as he groans and gives in, head dropping to your neck again. You didn’t reach a second climax, but stars, what an experience you just had.

When he comes back to himself enough to realise he still had you practically folded in half, he carefully pulls his softening cock free, taking the condom off and taking the strands of hair out of your face as you struggle to catch your breath. You suggest a shared bath, a suggestion he gladly accepts.

Too tired and too sore for pillow talk, comfortable silence falls as your hand finds his, and you lay, listening to each other’s breathing slowly settle.

I could get used to his little snore on my chest, is the last thought that twinkles on your mind before you fall asleep snuggled with him.

#graham coxon #alex james #damon albarn #dave rowntree #blur #britpop #smut #imagine #reader insert #graham coxon x reader #graham x reader #y/n #fluff #au #fanfiction #blur band

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letteredlettered · 5 years

Note

How do you think it would go when David finally met Patrick's cousins? Since we know it's canon that they are close with Patrick after all. Who would be more nervous about it going well, etc.

I think Patrick has lots of different cousins and they’re all in different places now so meeting each one would be different. Like Elliot and Allison think David is weird but funny, and David thinks they’re nice and have bad taste. Rob thinks David is “too much” and David thinks Rob is nice and has bad taste. Peter thinks David is interesting and David thinks Peter is tall. (“That’s all?” Patrick asks. “He’s very tall,” said David. “He’s definitely quiet,” says Patrick, and thinks that to David, “tall” probably means hot.) “I like Jessica,” David says.

“Yeah, I thought you would,” says Patrick, because Jessica thinks she’s the boss of everyone and states her opinions very decidedly for someone of her age. “What do you think of James?” he asks, when they meet James.

“He’s nice,” David says, which Patrick knows means, he has bad taste.

Jessica is nervous about it going well because sometimes people don’t like her. Peter is nervous about it going well because he’s shy. Rob is nervous about it going well because he’s not sure about this whole gay thing. Patrick is not nervous about it going well, because it’s David and anyone who doesn’t love David is a tool, and his cousins aren’t tools except for Rob, and who cares about Rob? David is extremely nervous, because he wants everyone to like him and think he’s beautiful and exquisite and perfect for Patrick and he knows he’s a lot and small town people are sometimes homophobic and the more nervous he gets about all those things, the more loud and flamboyant and picky about everything he gets, so he doesn’t like meeting people he wants to impress in general, but he already did the parents and Clint thinks he’s funny and Marcy will burn cities for him as well as knit sweaters he’ll never wear, so it’s all good.

#schitt's creek #david/patrick #Anonymous

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godzillamendoza · 5 years

Text

My story of abuse and trying to overcome it

I talked about her before. Said some fake name. Avoided details. I’m ready now to tell the whole story. Maybe sharing it will help me get better. Because I can’t keep living like this. This is the story of how I was abused. And how I’ve tried to recover from it.

It’s 2015. I am 16 years old going on 17. I go to a small private school. Everyone’s either there because their parents keep them sheltered or they were kicked out of somewhere else for being a shitty student. She was the latter. I was the former.

She was really into sex for her age. Guys lined up around the block to ask her for a go. She had been at our school for less than 4 months and had already dated 2 other guys for a bit. I should have seen that as the first warning sign. I sat behind her in history class. I think she noticed one day that I just didn't pay attention to her the same way the other guys would. I just trained myself not to stare. To be polite and keep my feelings to myself after having so many girls treat me badly in middle school. I think she saw me as a challenge because I wasn’t an easy target.

So she started talking to me more. She got my phone number from one of my friends instead of just asking me for it. That should have been the next warning. I talked to her and developed a little crush, but I still had my reservations. She was so abrasive and crude. She cussed like a sailor, smoked behind the school at lunch, and showed up to class buzzed at times. She was set on partying and causing chaos. I was quiet and shy. Back then I had barely said the word "fuck" 3 times in my life.

Eventually she asked out another guy, and he said no. So she texted me about it. By that time I was in her friend zone and I was comfortable there. I assured her that this guy didn't know what he was missing and she'd find someone better. She asked me if I was someone better. She asked me to go out with her. I shut her down and said she was just in the rebound after a rejection and not thinking clearly. We stayed friends after that though.

So she asked again while we were talking one night. And I still said no. I told her I didn't want it to affect our friendship. I think half of it was my fear of her lifestyle and the other half was just not being used to those kinds of interactions. I wasn't ready to be in a relationship yet. Aside from some one-off dates with 2 girls prior that didn't go far, I had never had a girlfriend before.

One day she and a friend of hers called me on Skype while I was play Gmod with my friend Jackson. At first it was just 4 friends hanging out, but she kept steering the conversation, and her friend helped. Both girls kept saying I would be a great match for her, and that we'd be really cute as a couple. She kept insisting and the peer pressure of 2 other people being there made me say yes. She changed our relationship status on Facebook immediately to dating. My family and friends saw it. They were excited for me. A friend of hers named Lexie absolutely hated it and had an angry meltdown in the comments on that post. At first I thought she was being protective of her friend and thinking I wasn't good enough since I wasn't really part of their clique. Those girls dated soccer players or popular kids. I was the quiet guy that no one knew.

The next day was awkward at school. I didn't know how to be a boyfriend so I just acted how I always did. Nervous and always trying to make a joke. I figured if I could make her laugh I was at least doing something right. Her friends gave us nasty looks at lunch and in math class. Lexie was very disapproving and angry, and I thought it was at me for the longest time. I talked with Lexie again recently. She confided in me some very personal things and revealed she was angry about my relationship because she knew her friend was "going to eat you alive, Xavier." She was right. I forgive her for being angry now, because I understand it wasn’t at me.

At the end of that first day I tried to walk home but she grabbed my arm and asked if I was forgetting something. I had my first kiss. Her friends stood around us watching. Judging. Waiting for me to walk away do they could laugh and giggle like teen girls do. I felt terrible because I wanted my first kiss to be more romantic and intimate. Not this awkward, rushed, public thing.

We dated for around 5 months at first. We only got to hang out outside of school twice. The first was a somewhat pleasant date for Valentine's day. It was embarrassing how my mom had to drive us around because I hadn't gotten my drivers permit yet. But otherwise it was okay. We took pictures in a photo booth and hugged and kissed and played games. At the end when I dropped her off, I met her mom. Her mom intentionally spilled hot soup on one of her previous boyfriends, but she liked me. She thought I was charming and smart. She said dating someone like me would be good for her daughter. I really was different from all the guys she had been around. That's my last happy memory with her.

After that, our interactions would sour. She would tell me to stop sitting with my friends at lunch and just stay with her group, who all hated me and didn't talk when I was around. She'd force me to talk with her on Skype for hours while she did boring things like browse tumblr or text her friends. She would guilt trip me if I tried to leave to do anything else.

After 2 weeks, Lexie asked us in the hallway a very forward question. "Have you had sex with her yet?" Lexie seemed baffled when I said no. The girl seemed angry and disappointed. That was a turning point.

She would start being more provocative, more flirtatious. Sending me photos of her in her underwear, slipping her nipple out of her shirt while we talked on Skype. Asking me to send her shirtless pictures. I played along as well as I could but I never took the bait. I never fully gave in and it frustrated her. She started getting more aggressive in asking me and saying sexual things. I could tell she hated how little I reciprocated, but I just wasn't built for it. I didn't know how to do that and I wasn't ready.

I found out she sent pictures of me undressing to her friends. She showed me their reactions like I was supposed to be excited that they complimented my body, but that was a major breach of privacy and trust. One of the girls said "face ain't that great, but the abs are *thumbs up emoji*" or something and it really hit my self esteem. I stopped undressing for her a d taking those pictures. I just cut off from all of that part of our relationship. She hated it.

One day it snowed. Snowed harder than it has in a long time. The sky was just a white void. The ground was covered in fog and blizzard. It looked like Antarctica in our back yards for a day. But the school didn't cancel class.

After school ended, a student veered off the parking lot and hit a post. It caused a lot of chaos as the staff tried to help him and other students put on their parkas and gauked. She took it as an opportunity. She took me to a part of the school where no one went. An isolated little antechamber between the halls and the outside. My grandpa used to drive me home from school because my parents had to work. He called me and said he was outside waiting. She told me to tell him to wait. I made up a lie that I was finishing an assignment. I hung up and she started to kiss me. She got on top of me. I didn't like what was happening. I was frozen and timid. She grabbed my hands and made me touch her because I was too afraid to. I could taste the cigarettes in her mouth. Her braces scratched my lips. I just stopped being in that moment and looked outside at the snow falling. Her hands were cold and I felt this awful shivering in my bones while she touched me in ways I wasn’t comfortable with. It kept escalating and my phone kept ringing over and over. Eventually I found my courage and pushed her off me and told her I needed to leave. She was disappointed and angry that things didn't go any farther. That she didn't get what she wanted again. I felt so violated and sick and disgusting. I went outside in the snow. I couldn't even feel how cold it was. I got to my grandpa's car and he yelled at me for making him wait 40 minutes. I just apologized and asked to go home. He passed away earlier this year in 2020, and he never knew why I was so quiet on that ride home from school. I never told him why I was so afraid and sad on the ride TO school every day after that.

She was angry then. She said hurtful things all the time. Told me sex stories about her previous boyfriends to maybe make me jealous or change my mind. Some days she'd corner me with her friends and they'd make jokes and pressure me to do things with her while they watched. One of her friends tried to pull my shirt off. She called me a faggot. The girl just laughed with them. She didn't see how much it was bothering me. Feeling pressured and watched and all those hands grabbing me and touching me. She just thought it was funny like the rest of them.

She started talking about going to hang out with another guy she met on snap chat. Some guy named Patrick. I said I was worried something would happen between them and she made me feel guilty. Said I was being controlling. I backed off and acted complacent. I was well trained by that point. She didn't hurt me when I just gave her what she wanted. The day after she saw him, she was unusually mean. Calling me names and acting sick of me. I asked her what I did to deserve it and. She broke and told me she felt guilty because something did happen with her and Patrick. For once I decided to stand up for myself. I demanded to have his number. I texted him and asked what had happened. He gave me details while she just stood there, staring at me and looking guilty. He said they had been intimate. That he could give her what I couldn't. He said she complained about me all the time and he would have her by the end of the week. She said he was lying and she loved me, but I knew better. I felt the first panic attack of my life. I started shaking uncontrollably. I couldn't breathe. I was trying not to tear my hair out and cry. I was so panicked that after I was done calling her I just laid on the floor of my room and hyperventilated.

She did the last nice thing she ever did to me. She was so worried about my mental health that she told me to call my mom and tell her I was having anxiety attacks and needed some help. I think she did this out of guilt for me and someone else she had hurt. She told me a story about another guy she had dated. This guy took a bunch of pills one night and killed himself in the bathroom of his home. His mom called her the next day to tell her what happened. To this day I don't know if that story was true, or just a fearful prophetic vision she wanted to avoid me fulfilling. I completely ignored the cheating and just latched onto that lone act of kindness since they had been so rare. I tried to talk myself down and pretend I forgave her and loved her.

After that it was weeks of uneasy normalcy. She stopped asking for sex and nudes. She talked to me a little less. One day I overheard her tell a story to one of her friends about how she lost her virginity at a party when she was 14... To a 25 year old. She told the story with pride like it was a fun romp, and not something disgusting and wrong. I understand now why she struggled with the concept of consent. She was a victim too, but didn't even know it. Or maybe just didn't care anymore.

The second time we hung out outside of school was a fashion show she was a part of at school for some art class. Her and her friend (the one who tried to pull my shirt off) drove me to school. They bragged to each other about guys they had slept with and which ones had the biggest dicks. She knew I could hear them. I think she wanted to spite me with it. Or worse, she just didn't care about me being able to hear it. The show was stressful. Behind the stage I saw her put on her dress while acting cold. Wanting nothing to do with me. After the show we all went to the store. I bought her flowers to help her mood change, but she acted annoyed. She said she didn't have anywhere to put them. They dropped me off at home. Even though she was the one being cruel and spiteful, I was still the one who apologized to her. Like always. I thought about killing myself that night.

Instead I started working on this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t-ypqagJNXY&feature=youtu.be

I showed it to her after it was done some time later. She said it was too nerdy and didn't watch past the first 30 seconds.

Days after the fashion show, she told me she just didn't feel like she was in a good place to be in a relationship. That she needed time to be single again, but she still loved me. I started sitting further away from her in class. I finally got to be around my friends again. I think I was more quiet at school than I was even before her.

She started posting pictures of herself and some girl holding hands on Facebook. I asked her why she lied about not being ready for a relationship. She just wanted to finally officially date this girl she had been cheating on me with for a few weeks (since apparently Patrick couldn't quite "measure up") I told her I didn't want to see her again. She begged me not to go and said she had gotten so used to me being in her life. I was her longest relationship by that point. As usual, I conceded and just forgave her. She and this other girl broke up maybe a week later. We then spent these awkward few weeks doing finals and avoiding eye contact. She told me one day she was transferring schools. Maybe because she was too guilty to stay and see me every day. Knowing what she did to me. Maybe she realized how fucked her reputation was at that school because none of her old friends talked to her anymore. Maybe she just wanted to get out and find a new hunting ground since guys here knew she was bad news. Maybe she wanted to transfer to help her chances of graduating because she had bad grades in every class except the one with a teacher who wanted to fuck her (And might have, I don't know. He was like 25, seemed really annoyed seeing me with her, ate lunch alone with her some days, and gave her A+ grades on assignments she didn't turn in) The last day of school came around and I knew it would probably be the last time I saw her in person. She was wearing one of my old jackets she had taken. A Batman hoodie that was too big for me, so it looked like a trench coat on her skinny body. I heard the bell ring and we both stood up. And I stared at her. I couldn't think of anything to say. So I just hugged her. And then I walked away. I never saw that hoodie again.

For a few months I was alone again. Burying the trauma and heartache. I was so disgusted by my own body I stopped looking at myself in the mirror. Stopped looking down while taking a shower. Some days I would just lay on the floor in the bathroom feeling this empty hole in my chest grow bigger. I never lied to myself and pretended it was all because I missed her. I felt relieved to be away from her. But I felt worthless and unloved.

Comic Con came again that summer. I was having fun. I was happy. I was finally starting to get back to normal. Then she messaged me... Told me she was there too. Asked me to come meet her. I was in a Deadpool costume having fun with my friend Jackson, who I made a Rorschach cosplay for since Watchmen was his favorite comic. I didn't want her to ruin it. So I gave her bad directions so she couldn't find me. I was eager to get to the hotel and change out of the costume so it would be harder for her to spot me.

Later we went to the hotel and she texted me, saying she was sorry for how things went and that that she missed me. She asked if we could try again. The thing about abusive relationships, is that even when you don't want to, even when it hurts you, you give the other person what they want. It's like being hypnotized. You just can't see them sad. Even if deep down you hate them. Even if you wish they'd die, you just say yes to them. It doesn’t make sense until you live through it yourself. Remember that next time you judge someone for giving in to someone who hurts them repeatedly. They can’t help it.

When we were dating the first time, she never went inside my house. She always had an excuse for why she had to skip dinner and meeting my family. I cleaned my whole house top to bottom 4 times because she promised to visit me 4 times. It took me a whole day each time. The 5th time I didn't do anything. I left my room a mess because I knew any minute I'd get that text saying "sorry I can't make it..." I knew that would happen again. A few days after comic con, I asked her if we could meet up. I was tired of being in a long distance relationship with someone who lived 20 minutes away. I told her to come to my cousin's graduation party.she swore she could make it. Then she didn't. And i told her I was tired of being let down. I wanted to just stay friends. She said she missed the party because a fight with her mom and she refused to just be friends with "someone she was still in love with" She told me she was in love with me. After everything that had happened. Everything she had done.

Time goes by. She texts me out of the blue again. She's now started dating another guy, and they're having problems. He wants to have sex in the first few weeks and she's stonewalling him. She says she's reevaluating why her relationships keep falling. Why they only last 3 weeks maximum. And she remembers we dated on and off for close to 7 months. Something was different about me. She says it was because I was the only one who never pressured her or asked. I keep my distance and wish her well. By that point I was too busy working on Spider-Man retrospective part 3. Sometimes it’s hard playing Web of Shadows now because I associate certain parts of the game with pausing to text her and what she was saying at the time.

More time passes. More failed relationships. She keeps failing to hook anyone. She talks to me again. Says she missed me. She's in a new relationship with a new guy ALSO named Xavier. I don’t even know how to interpret that. She keeps acting like she can't stand him and I was “the one that got away.” She very much wants to rekindle things with me once again. She asks me to meet up for my birthday that was coming soon on July 4th. In the same stupid subservient trance, I say yes. I know she won't be there.

The night we were supposed to meet, she says she got too busy and we'll try again some other time. Then on Facebook she posts a picture of her and the other Xavier kissing with fireworks in the background. I connect the dots that she only talked to me when she was mad at him. I was the new Patrick.

I write her a text. A long, angry, paragraph of hate for her behavior towards me. Her friends text me the next day asking "what did you say to her? She's been crying all day. You're such an asshole." Her boyfriend texts me. He asks what's going on, so i tell him "I know you're trying to defend her honor but she made plans to cheat on you with me. She's not good for you. She'll just hurt you." He tells me to go fuck myself. Makes a joke about me being a ginger. Clearly what i said bothered him. They break up shortly after.

In that long message to her, I never once brought up the sexual abuse. I still hadn't even accepted it happened. I just ignored it and yelled at her for everything else. A few bad relationships happen over the next 2 years. One with a girl I didn’t have feelings for, but I felt safe with because she was too afraid to even mention sex. The other with another girl that was just as verbally abusive and emotionally distant as the first one. These are just more weights on me.

Then i met Anna. This was when my life changed. I fell in love with Anna almost immediately after we started talking. I had dated other girls after the first one, but I was never this... at peace. I never felt like they understood me or cared for me like Anna did. She was different. She had also been abused by her exes, but in different ways. One day while dating Anna, I start breaking down crying. I tell her everything that happened to me. I cry for maybe 5 straight hours. Anna cried with me. Both over what happened to me and her own traumas. She promises she'll never force me or hurt me. But now Anna realizes why we had been dating for weeks and I never brought up sex. Why I just completely avoided it. After that night we started getting more intimate. She wanted me to feel safe so she eased me through it. It started to feel fun to send pictures or flirt. She taught me how to do everything step by step. She was amazing. In the time since writing this initial post I’ve visited Anna in the Philippines. Being with her physically was freeing and felt different from everything I experienced before. I always felt safe with her and never afraid when we were intimate in person. I know she’s the girl for me, and we plan to get married later this year.

I wrote the first girl one last message. Saying goodbye. I talked about the sexual abuse. How it made me feel. How it ruined me. How it gave me nightmares. I told her I wanted to make peace and move on And let go of the hate. She laughed at me and insulted Anna. And that was the last time I ever talked to her.

I still have nightmares about her. Trying my hardest to forgive her. My natural defense mechanism of just being her pet. I keep dreaming of meeting her and trying my hardest to be nice, even though I'm so afraid I'm shaking. A year after we stopped dating I had a dream about marrying her and being terrified. I have dreams have her touching me again and I wake up. Some days the first thing I say when I open my eyes is a panicked "don't touch me." I developed a twitch in my neck from her. When people touch me unexpectedly, or when I'm stressed, or when the weather gets cold and the snow reminds me of that day. Just recently I woke up covered in sweat and hyperventilating just because I heard a voice in my sleep saying “we need to talk about__________” and saying her name. That’s all it takes sometimes apparently. Just hearing her name.

I still have a hard time with physical contact. I push people off if the hug me for too long. I feel my skin crawl when I think of her. I get these panic attacks where I feel her cold hands again. It feels like they're inside me. Feeling my skin from inside. Squeezing my ribs and lungs. It feels like there are ants on on my body and I want to claw out of my skin. Just tear it all off.

I hate how I owe all my current life to her. She made me so depressed and sad that I spent nights awake writing my novel. I wrote whenever I was sad, and she made me finish all 250 pages of it. When I ran out of book to write, I made that YouTube video. I was considering suicide every day and i made part 1 of the Spider-Man Games Retrospective to distract myself from thoughts of self harm. I think it makes sense in retrospect. There's jokes about self harm in there. An overly shocking joke about how awful it is to think Spider-Man wasn't there to stop someone from being raped because he was too busy catching balloons. I guess at the time I was angry no one tried to save me. Feeling like all the role models in my life were just out catching balloons.

If she hadn't made me that fucking depressed, I never would have made these videos. I wouldn't have the success of the channel. I wouldn't have met the scores of friends I have now. I wouldn't have Anna.

Everything good I have in life now is because of the awful thing she did. And it all feels a little tainted by that fact sometimes.

I've never really written it all out like this in this amount of detail before. It feels good to just lay it all out. But at the same time it makes me feel sick. I do think things have gotten better. With the help of a loving and amazing fiancee, and more friends than I think I deserve-- it’s gotten better. The nightmares are less frequent. I can handle being with someone now, and I want to be with Anna for the rest of my life. For whoever you are, if you know what it’s like to deal with this, and you’re afraid that people will judge you... I promise you that you’re valid and people will care and accept you. It does get better. Being open and trusting about what happened makes it easier, because you no longer have to deal with it alone.

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jumbledfangirl · 5 years

Text

1. Who was the last person you held hands with? My boyfriend.

2. Are you outgoing or shy? Shy for the most part unless you’re part of my trusted group.

3. Who are you looking forward to seeing? My boyfriend.

4. Are you easy to get along with? I like to think so.

5. If you were drunk would the person you like take care of you? He would. But I don’t really need taken care of when I’m drunk.

6. What kind of people are you attracted to? Kind. Funny. Nerdy.

7. Do you think you’ll be in a relationship two months from now? I hope so.

8. Who from the opposite gender is on your mind? I’m trying to not just put my boyfriend for every answer lol.

9. Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable?Not really. I guess it would depend on who I’m talking to. Best friend or boyfriend not at all, grandma yes.

10. Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with? Either my best friend or boyfriend. I think it was my best friend tho.

11. What does the most recent text that you sent say? “what time are you leaving tomorrow?”

12. What are your 5 favorite songs right now? Go-Boys Like Girls, Cinderblock Garden-All Time Low, Chasing Cars-Snow Patrol, Cold As You-Taylor Swift, All Too Well-Taylor Swift

13. Do you like it when people play with your hair? I love it.

14. Do you believe in luck and miracles? Sometimes.

15. What good thing happened this summer? I learned a very big lesson.

16. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again? Absolutely.

17. Do you think there is life on other planets? Yes I do.

18. Do you still talk to your first crush? No.

19. Do you like bubble baths? Love them.

20. Do you like your neighbors? Nope. I actually can’t stand almost all of them but like one or two.

21. What are you bad habits? Overthinking.

22. Where would you like to travel? UK

23. Do you have trust issues? I try not to but it happens.

24. Favorite part of your daily routine? Food. Lol.

25. What part of your body are you most uncomfortable with? Mouth.

26. What do you do when you wake up? Message my boyfriend good morning and pet my dog.

27. Do you wish your skin was lighter or darker? I’m fine with the color, just wish it didn’t have a yellow undertone.

28. Who are you most comfortable around? My best friend.

29. Have any of your ex’s told you they regret breaking up? Yes.

30. Do you ever want to get married? Yes.

31. If your hair long enough for a pony tail? Yep.

32. Which celebrities would you have a threesome with? Benedict Cumberbatch and Kristen Bell.

33. Spell your name with your chin. Not on my phone.

34. Do you play sports? What sports? Nope.

35. Would you rather live without TV or music? TV.

36. Have you ever liked someone and never told them? All the time. Most of high school.

37. What do you say during awkward silences? So yeah.

38. Describe your dream girl/guy? Same as I said above. Kind. Funny. Nerdy.

39. What are your favorite stores to shop in? Lush. Grocery stores.

40. What do you want to do after high school? I’m long done with high school lol.

41. Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance? I used to say yes, now I don’t think so.

42. If your being extremely quiet what does it mean?I’m thinking or tired.

43. Do you smile at strangers? Sometimes.

44. Trip to outer space or bottom of the ocean? Outer Space.

45. What makes you get out of bed in the morning?My dog needing to go outside and me needing to pee lol.

46. What are you paranoid about? Being abandoned.

47. Have you ever been high? Yes.

48. Have you ever been drunk? Yes.

49. Have you done anything recently that you hope nobody finds out about? Nope I have nothing to hide.

50. What was the colour of the last hoodie you wore? Blue.

51. Ever wished you were someone else? All the time.

52. One thing you wish you could change about yourself? My fear of some things.

53. Favourite makeup brand? Urban Decay or Elf.

54. Favourite store? Lush or grocery stores.

55. Favourite blog? @adaline-hiero

56. Favourite colour? Purple.

57. Favourite food? Carbs. Lol.

58. Last thing you ate? Cookie.

59. First thing you ate this morning? Taco bell.

60. Ever won a competition? For what? I’m not sure.

61. Been suspended/expelled? For what? Off the bus lol. Sticking my hand out the window to say bye to a teacher.

62. Been arrested? For what? Nope.

63. Ever been in love? Yes.

64. Tell us the story of your first kiss? Tasted like Mountain Dew.

65. Are you hungry right now? Not really.

66. Do you like your tumblr friends more than your real friends? No. I like them almost the same.

67. Facebook or Twitter? Facebook.

68. Twitter or Tumblr? Tumblr.

69. Are you watching tv right now? Nope.

70. Names of your bestfriends? Cynthia.

71. Craving something? What? Fruit Snacks.

72. What colour are your towels? Mostly blue.

72. How many pillows do you sleep with? Two are on my bed but my head is normally only on one while my dog has the other lol.

73. Do you sleep with stuffed animals? Nope they’re on the other side of the room.

74. How many stuffed animals do you think you have? 6?

75. Favourite animal? Elephant.

76. What colour is your underwear? Black.

77. Chocolate or Vanilla? Vanilla.

78. Favourite ice cream flavour? Ben and Jerry’s Cinnamon Bun(with almond milk) or Cookies and Cream(with almond milk)

79. What colour shirt are you wearing? Coral.

80. What colour pants? Dark jeans.

81. Favourite tv show? Veronica Mars.

82. Favourite movie? The HTTYD movies.

83. Mean Girls or Mean Girls 2? Mean Girls.

84. Mean Girls or 21 Jump Street? Mean Girls.

85. Favourite character from Mean Girls? The Principal.

86. Favourite character from Finding Nemo? Crush or Bruce.

87. First person you talked to today? Bestie.

88. Last person you talked to today? Patrick(my dog)

89. Name a person you hate? My grandfather.

90. Name a person you love? Lots of people.

91. Is there anyone you want to punch in the face right now? Yes.

92. In a fight with someone? Nope.

93. How many sweatpants do you have? Two?

94. How many sweaters/hoodies do you have? 7?

95. Last movie you watched? How To Train Your Dragon.

96. Favourite actress? Kristen Bell.

97. Favourite actor? Benedict Cumberbatch.

98. Do you tan a lot? Never.

99. Have any pets? Yes I do.

100. How are you feeling? Eh.

101. Do you type fast? I can.

102. Do you regret anything from your past? I try not to since everything makes you who you are.

103. Can you spell well? Not as well as I would like.

104. Do you miss anyone from your past? Yes.

105. Ever been to a bonfire party? Nope.

106. Ever broken someone’s heart? Yes.

107. Have you ever been on a horse? Yes. Many times.

108. What should you be doing? Nothing really.

109. Is something irritating you right now? Not really.

110. Have you ever liked someone so much it hurt?Yes. The life of teenage me.

111. Do you have trust issues? I try not to.

112. Who was the last person you cried in front of? My boyfriend.

113. What was your childhood nickname? Doodlebug.

114. Have you ever been out of your province/state? Yep.

115. Do you play the Wii? I have.

116. Are you listening to music right now? No but I should. Lol.

117. Do you like chicken noodle soup? I used to, but now I don’t eat animals or their byproducts.

118. Do you like Chinese food? I do.

119. Favourite book? Kissed by an Angel by Elizabeth Chandler.

120. Are you afraid of the dark? Sometimes. In my house? No.

121. Are you mean? Not even close.

122. Is cheating ever okay? Never.

123. Can you keep white shoes clean? I can’t keep anything clean.

124. Do you believe in love at first sight? No, just lust.

125. Do you believe in true love? I do. I’ve seen it.

126. Are you currently bored? Eh a little.

127. What makes you happy? Patrick.

128. Would you change your name? 100%

129. What your zodiac sign? Sagittarius.

130. Do you like subway? Nope. Can’t stand it. After working there 3 years. Ew.

131. Your bestfriend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? Say thanks?

132. Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? My best friend or boyfriend.

133. Favourite lyrics right now? The whole song Sucker by the Jonas Brothers.

134. Can you count to one million? If I cared enough.

135. Dumbest lie you ever told? I didn’t take your phone.

136. Do you sleep with your doors open or closed?Closed. Need it as dark as possible.

137. How tall are you? 5’5”

138. Curly or Straight hair? Straight. Ugh.

139. Brunette or Blonde? When it’s not dyed fun colors it’s dark brown.

140. Summer or Winter? Fall lol.

141. Night or Day? Night.

142. Favourite month? December.

143. Are you a vegetarian? Nope, vegan.

144. Dark, milk or white chocolate? If I could get my hands on some vegan white chocolate I would die happy.

145. Tea or Coffee? Neither. Ew.

146. Was today a good day? It’s been okay.

147. Mars or Snickers? Neither.

148. What’s your favourite quote? “Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, if one remembers to turn on the light.” I love it so much I plan on getting it tattooed.

149. Do you believe in ghosts? I do.

150. Do you tag anyone else to do this?

@adaline-hiero @veganfangirl5 @sobeautifullyobsessed @simplyshelbs16xoxo @wilderwesteros

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fuck-bowers · 6 years

Text

Opposites Attract (Henry Bowers x Reader)

request: the reader is really shy (like me) and she has a huge crush on Henry. Henry finds out one day that she has a crush on him, and he teases and flirts with her and does sexual things to her until he gets her to crack and admit her feelings for him. then Henry asks her to be his girlfriend.

a/n: thank you for the request @kaitlinp0rrini, and I hope you enjoy it! this is the cheesiest thing I’ve ever written

It all started when Clark Freeman, number 52 on the Derry High football team, got tripped by Henry Bowers in the first floor hallway in between class periods five and six. You’d been standing by your locker, organizing your papers for science class, when you saw it go down.

Clark was a complete asshole, not only to you, but to everybody around him, one of those popular jocks who thrived on thinking the world revolved around him. No one had ever challenged that idea before. Henry seemed to take it into his own hands to fulfill such a task single-handedly, while walking towards the cocky quarterback one fateful Monday afternoon.

You’d heard a rumor that the whole football team had a secret fear of the Bowers gang, a club of four delinquents that made games out of terrorizing their peers. You’d never thought much of them, until you turned around and saw a flash of a letterman jacket fly to the floor before you.

Clark gasped as he turned around to see the perpetrator of the crime - Henry Bowers in the flesh, turning around to look at his victim with a sneer.

You froze, anticipating to be in the VIP section of the fight of the century, but saw nothing of the sort transpire.

Clark scrambled to his feet, keeping his eyes on Henry, giving a death glare that was undermined by his body language.

“You wanna fuckin’ go, Bowers?” He asked, though it seemed he didn’t want to know the answer, as he scurried away without another look behind him.

You couldn’t help but start to laugh. It wasn’t something you did often - you were extremely shy, and hated drawing too much attention to yourself. However, it was just too funny. You fucking hated a majority of the football team, it was chock-full of assholes like Clark. Finally, you saw one of them get a taste of their own medicine.

The other witnesses around you looked just as shocked, just as amused, but you were the only one to outright laugh, granting you the momentarily undivided attention of Henry himself.

His eyes locked with yours, and before you could nervously look away, he spoke.

“Somethin’ funny, sweetheart?” Henry questioned with the ghost of a smile. Your eyes widened as his scanned over you, making eye contact once again before stalking off.

That’s all it took for you to develop a crush on the most dangerous boy in school.

Patrick Hockstetter loved people watching.

People watching at Derry High was like studying an ant farm. Students and teachers scattered mindlessly wherever they needed to go, and interacted with each other for arbitrary reasons, and all looked so normal until you picked just one to study and tried to figure out its motives.

Of course, it was never very hard to do, but it was a way to pass the time far better than paying attention to the teacher.

One day in science class, Patrick picked you as a specimen.

Quiet people were usually the most interesting to watch, and were always the best fucks - you were even one of the more attractive girls in that class - but the potential of developing even remote interest in you hinged on whether or not you were entertaining to observe.

You were very entertaining, much more than he anticipated, but not because of your unconscious mannerisms - you’d kept your eyes on Henry for a majority of the class period.

Henry attracted many girls, but Patrick noticed that they were a particular type of girl. The loud, raucous ones, or the dangerous, wild ones made up his fan club. Very rarely would the quiet librarian type develop feelings for him, or at least make it as obvious as you made it, without using words.

Only at the end of class did you turn and notice Patrick staring at you one row over. Face reddening, you looked down as the bell rang, folding your textbook into your arms and walking out of the classroom in a rush.

Henry approached Patrick, hands in his pockets.

“We goin’ downtown today?” He asked, apparently completely oblivious of how you’d stared at him all period. Patrick smiled slyly.

“Sure thing, Henry.”

Patrick intended on telling about you later that night, but that evening he’d completely forgot by the time the Bowers gang was huddled around a table at Barry’s Burgers, and it had completely slipped his mind.

“You guys should’ve fucking seen it.” Henry laughed, taking a bite of his burger. “He fell like a ton of fucking bricks, and ran the fuck away like the pussy he is. It was hilarious.”

The guys laughed with him.

“I would’ve fucking paid to see that. Did any teachers catch you? They basically worship the football team.” Vic sarcastically questioned.

Henry shook his head. “Not this time. Thank fuck. I’ve had enough bad shit with teachers.”

“You had an audience though, right?”

A nod. “Yeah, everyone looked fucking thankful I did it. This girl from my chem class burst out laughing when I did it, like, loud, and she’s one of those quiet girls. He must’ve fucked her over or something.”

Patrick immediately perked up.

“What?”

Henry blinked, taking another bite before his reply and talking as he chewed. “Everyone was happy I tripped that little bitch. You guys should’ve been there. It was like, two months ago.”

“You said a girl was there?”

Henry smiled when he thought of you. He swallowed.

“Yeah, I think her name is Y/N? She’s in our science class. She was there when I tripped him, and she laughed out loud about it. He must’ve fucked her over or something. Or she just hates him like everyone else. Surprised more people didn’t laugh. He’s such a dick.”

Patrick smiled.

“That’s interesting.”

Henry scoffed. “What, have you met Clark? Cuz-”

“Do you like that girl?”

Henry had thought you were hot since the beginning of the year, but had a feeling you were one of those out-of-reach girls, either with a boyfriend, or with standards too high for the head of the Bowers gang, much less any of the other members. Henry rarely attracted shy girls, and he was positive that he’d never heard a single peep out of you before the day he tripped Clark.

“She’s a babe.” Henry said, furrowing his brow at Patrick. “Why?”

Patrick had gained the attention of Vic and Belch, and the whole table stared at him.

“That girl’s totally in love with you. She spent the whole fucking period today staring at you.”

Henry blinked, perplexed, trying to imagine you doing such a thing without him noticing.

“How the fuck would you know?” He asked, nearly insulted.

“I had nothing to fuckin’ do, and I looked around the room and I saw she was fucking staring at you, like, the whole period. Like a freak.”

“Don’t fucking insult her man, you’re a freak.”

“Fuck you.“

Henry had already known about Patrick’s tendency to people-watch. Maybe he was telling the truth. There was no reason for him to lie anyway, and Henry had caught you looking at him a few times.

As Vic and Belch picked up a conversation, the gears in Henry’s head began to turn, and he smiled, turning to his best friend.

“Well, thanks, Pat. I think I’ll put it to the test.”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “You really don’t fuckin’ trust me?”

“I do. I just wanna see how right you are.”

It was perfect, it really was - on most days, you’d sit with desks about two feet apart. On testing days, they’d be even farther apart, sometimes positioned in random opposing directions - but due to an upcoming project, Mrs. Baxter was sure to separate people into partners for the week ahead. Fifteen minutes before the end of class that Friday, Mrs. Baxter began her weekly process.

The two of you had never been paired before. Henry knew full well it was time to strike.

“I think I’ll pair you with Roger this week, Calvin… and Y/N…” the teacher glanced around the room, until she spotted Henry with raised eyebrows, as well as a raised hand.

“Yes, Henry?”

“I’ll be her partner.” He volunteered.

Your heart nearly did a backflip. What was he doing?

Though it caught you off guard, you weren’t about to turn down such an offer.

You swallowed and nodded at a crossed-brow Mrs. Baxter.

“Yeah. We’ve never been partnered up before.” You added. Henry shot a smug glance at you from the back of the room.

“Alright.” She said, moving onto the next student.

It was the protocol to go to your partner and talk about the study guide, start going over the first page if you had the time. As you turned to look at the boy you’d been partnered with, it seemed that he wasn’t going anywhere. You’d have to go to him.

You stood up, your textbook and your notebook wrapped in your arms, nervously walking towards his seat in the last row. You passed Patrick Hockstetter, who wore quite an ominous smirk, staring at you intently. Shifting your gaze to the floor, you continued, looking up only once more to see Henry.

His stare sent waves of butterflies through your stomach, blue eyes bearing the same sly grin that his lips did. He probably loved how nervous you were.

The end of class was near. You could do this.

For a minute, neither of you spoke. Mrs. Baxter reminded everyone of the test date, the material being tested on, and asked everyone to become familiar with their partner and inquire about study sessions outside of class, if possible. No one ever met up for science studies.

Finally, it was silent, and she momentarily left the room, everyone breaking into conversation.

Another moment passed, your mind racing for something to say, wondering if you should say anything at all. That’s when he spoke.

“My friend Patrick said you stare at me a lot in class.”

It felt like your ribs caught fire. You stared down at your paper, embarrassment washing over you. Thanks for that, Patrick.

You swallowed before speaking, organizing your messy thoughts, flipping open your notebook to distract yourself.

You could feel him staring at you merely inches away.

“W-Well, I don’t. He must’ve gotten me mixed up with someone else.”

Henry leaned back in his seat. “You can admit it, babe, a lot of girls are obsessed with me.”

Immediately, you scoffed, underlining sentences of your notes randomly. You refused to look at him.

“I’m not obsessed with you.” You quietly remarked.

“Then why do you stare at me in class?”

You shrugged. “Patrick lied to you.”

“Why would he lie about that?”

You finally turned to him, and your anger was offset by his jovial, entertained expression.

“Patrick is crazy.” You said, as-a-matter-of-factly.

Henry cocked an eyebrow, looking at his nails.

“I dunno, Y/N. Crazy people stare at other people in class. I’ve never caught Patrick staring at me.”

You let out a sarcastic laugh. “He was staring at me the other day!”

Henry smirked. “Sounds like a match made in heaven. Two crazy people.”

The boy looked at your lips, making you nervous all over again. You turned back to your notes and flipped open the study guide.

“You don’t talk too much, do you?” He teased in a low voice. His voice turned you on.

You hesitated a moment before replying. “You never talk in this class, either.”

“Well, I fucking hate science. Is that your excuse, too?”

The fact that the guy you’d developed a crush on months ago was finally flirting with you now was a high you’d ride out until it died.

“Yeah, science sucks. But… I mean, my friends all say I’m shy. So I guess I really am just shy.”

After a moment of hesitation, you suddenly felt his hand on your knee.

Goosebumps spread over your skin, from your legs up to your back. Henry smiled at you, tracing his nails over your kneecap.

“You’re not being too shy with me, today.” He said.

Your cheeks must’ve been bright red, your heart beating a million miles per hour.

“Neither are you.” You nervously joked.

Mrs. Baxter had left the room. None of the kids facing forward remotely seemed to notice Henry’s advances. At least you didn’t have an audience.

His fingertips gently trailed up your thigh, going further up and further inside. He tightly grasped your leg, making you gasp.

You put your elbow on the table and rested your face against your hand, covering your face from his view.

“I can’t help myself. You’re so fucking hot.”

The compliment made your heart flutter, but also put a bad taste in your mouth. He was probably one of the boys you’d been warned about by your parents and the TV shows - saying anything to butter you up and get in your pants.

Please let the bell ring, you mentally pleaded with the clock on the wall, edging closer to the end of class, his fingers edging the hem of your skirt.

Though part of you absolutely loved the attention, the pursuit from the guy you��d wanted it from most, you were so nervous, so unsure of what to do. Mrs. Baxter reentered the room, and seemed completely oblivious, sitting down at her desk. She was probably used to ignoring Henry.

“Why are you doing this?” You asked, in a nervous yet enthused, moving your arm back down to rest on the table. You didn’t have to look at him to know that he was smiling.

“Cuz I know you like me.”

You rolled your eyes, still turned away from him. “I told you Patrick was lying.”

“Even if he was, I know you still like me.”

You finally turned to look at him.

“How?” You sarcastically questioned. He answered you very simply.

“Because opposites attract, sweetheart.”

Your nerves were at an all time high as he gently moved his hand in between your thighs, ever so slowly, the eye contact single-handedly killing you - right as the bell rang.

“The study guide is due Monday!” Mrs. Baxter said, almost pleading, as the room broke into loud conversation and laughter. In the midst of it all, you quickly stood up, grabbing your books and walking away with them in a rush. Your only goal was to get out of the school as fast as possible, leaving Henry in the dust.

You felt scared, so exhilarated, and you knew there was no real reason for it - but he was too bold, too terrifying, to have anything to do with you.

You threw your books into your backpack and speed-walked out the door, melting into the throng of students moving through the hallway. Within minutes of urgently flowing through the crowd, you made it out the front doors, and finally you felt the first waves of calm. That was, until someone gripped your shoulder.

“Y/N!” Henry Bowers groaned, in an exasperated tone. You nearly jumped, turning around with wide eyes to see him. He was breathing heavily.

“I’m sorry.” He said.

You didn’t expect him to follow you. For a moment, you just stared at him.

“For what?” You asked.

“I think I scared you off.”

You took in a slow breath, unsure of how to phrase your concern.

“I like you, Henry. I just think we’re too different.”

Other students passed by, but the two of you barely noticed, completely focused on the other.

“Sure, we’re pretty different, but it’d be boring if we were the same.”

You looked up at him, blinking in the sunlight. He stepped closer.

“I like you. A lot. And if Patrick wasn’t lying about you starin’ at me, I wanna take a chance on that.”

He smiled, putting his hands into his pockets. You were surprised how he seemed so… Nervous.

“Do you…” He picked up his gaze from the ground and looked at you. “Do you wanna go out?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, hiding all signs of mental explosion that you experienced.

“You mean, hang out after school to study for our test?” You coyly questioned, cocking an eyebrow, unable to hide your growing grin.

“Do you wanna be my girlfriend?” He finally asked, smiling back at you.

He was bold, he was terrifying, but you couldn’t say you didn’t like those things about him. It was true - you had no idea how well you'd do on the test - but you knew for sure in that moment, he’d proven to you that opposites attract.

Holding eye contact, the two of you beamed at each other.

“Of course.” You quietly replied.

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doctorpariahdax · 6 years

Text

Dishonored Fancast - Dishonored ->Brigmore Witches

Angela Bassett as Jessamine Kaldwin �� She’s just very professional and strong and she has a powerful presence on stage so I think even for a small part she’d be a really strong pick for Jessamine, someone who commands power and respect just with her voice.

Anson Mount as Corvo Attano Mostly because he has the beard and long hair game down. The first time I saw him was on Hell on Wheels, and I haven’t watched much of that show, but for being someone who I would usually dislike simply because of the background of the character he did a really good job at showing a caring and friendly side of a rough skinned man. I think he would be amazing at being everyone’s favorite deadly vengeance/family driven assassin while also showing compassion for Emily.

Carol Kane as Granny Rags Aside from the fact that I think she’s a terrific actress and very funny/scary Carol Kane always seems to make her characters more realisitc than just being acted for the sake of existing. Even in funny roles like her role on Kimmy Schmidt she’s far more entertaining and believable than any of the other actors in my opinion. I think she would do a terrific job at scary us and empathize with her as Granny Rags.

Jeff Bridges as the High Overseer Jeff Bridges is an amazing actor. I can’t even describe how flexible he is as an actor. And maybe it’s just his stature, voice, and talent but he makes a terrifying villain.

Mads Mikkelsen as Daud Unabashedly biased on this one but it’s for a good cause! He is probably my favorite actor because of his micro-expressions. He’s notoriously been cast as a villain in ‘Hollywood’ movies like Le Chieffre in James Bond and Hannibal Lecter. Beyond being a great villain, in his Danish and French films he’s a superbly empathetic actor. He doesn’t overact, he doesn’t yell, he doesn’t have to physically force his way through a scene because he does wonderful micro expressions that show us accurately feelings of rage, pain, loneliness, despair...etc. The guy is amazing and I think that Daud should have a cold and calculating actor who’s an expert at subtle acting. P.S. Go watch his Danish films.

Sir Patrick Stewart as The Lord Regent/Spymaster Sir Patrick Stewart is amazing (starting to sound like a broken record) but like Jeff Bridges he adapts excellently and flawlessly to practically any role he is given. I picked the picture above from the film adaptation of Macbeth because he did an amazing job at being devious and unhinged. (And I did not like the movie....like I was mad that I had to watch it, I just really didn’t dig the dystopian cold war adaptation to the play, but Stewart was FRIGHTENINGLY convincing as Macbeth) And you can’t have a spymaster without that nose, you know? :P

Gal Godot as Delilah Copperspoon I haven’t really seen anything that Gal Godot is in but I love her as Diana Prince and she is really a strong presence on screen. I think that for a character like Delilah that was confident and extremely independent Gal wouldn’t be a bad choice and I think she’s far more capable of actually appearing in a macabre characterization of someone and usual typecasts like Eva Green. She has a very beautiful voice too and I think an essential part of Delilah should be that she’s alluring, even when she’s speaking to you through statues.

Cillian Murphy as Treavor Pendleton Cillian Murphy, to me, is just really good at playing slimy, evil, devious people. I don’t really like him as an actor, but I think that’s mostly because I can’t stand the characters he plays. He’s really a good actor but I think he would fit a perfect niche of being enigmatic, devious, and someone who you can call a friend but never really trust - aka the epitome of Treavor Pendleton.

Christoph Waltz as Teague Martin Christoph Waltz was a frightening and alluring character in Quentin Tarantino’s ‘Inglorious Bastards’, and as Blofield in James Bond. In Hollywood he’s played snake like people such as Walter Keane in ‘Big Eyes’ and as August in the film rendition of ‘Water for Elephants’. Despite that, he’s really a charming gentleman in person and he has played roles from a cute, scheming, pet shop manager in ‘ Weihnachtsmann gesucht’ to the infamous Hans Landa in ‘Inglorious Bastards’. Making him, in my mind’s eye, a great Teague Martin - capable of being very charming and quite frankly very sarcastic and funny to straight up terrifying and murderous.

Peter Mensah as Thomas I really wish I could see more of Peter Mensah in movies. In what little I have seen of him on television he’s always found a way to be my favorite character, even if he’s only a side character or a very minute villain. (Remember when he was kicked into a well in ‘300′? ...Literally my favorite character) His portrayal of the Doctore on ‘Spartacus’ was really emotional, even when you didn’t know much of his character. He’s a very strong and powerful actor who, on the flip of a dime, can be intimidating and calloused and then suddenly quiet and warm, compassionate.

Gary Oldman as Samuel Beechworth Like with Jeff Bridges and Patrick Stewart Gary Oldman adapts to all of his roles without flaws. I really like Oldman’s performances in practically every movie/play he’s done and I really like him playing ‘calmer’ characters. I think if he was Samuel a lot of fans of the game would immediately feel more connected to the character and love him more than we already all do for being LITERALLY our only friend in the whole game.

Lupita Nyong ‘o as Billie Lurk I can’t describe how much I love Lupita. She’s an empowering figure for women and she exudes confidence and strength. It was a tough pick between her and Laura Mvula (wonderful singer, go check out her songs). I can’t help but see her as Billie when I think about Billie’s character development - being abused and belittled and mistreated by the world around her, then finding a family and making a niche for herself through dedication and skill, always looking forwards, always being ambitious and adventurous, with a healthy dose of hubris and care for others’ well being, but not afraid to get her hands dirty for those who harm the ones she loves.

Amandla Stenberg as Emily Kaldwin She straight up tore my heart out as Rue. I know it’s been a couple years but I loved her in Hunger Games and I think she’d be a great Emily. I can totally see her being quiet, shy, and looking out for Corvo at the Pub and also totally fighting back and really giving the Whalers a tough time as she throws punches and makes a run for it at every chance she gets. Also kicking the shit out of the Pendleton Twins

Steve Buschemi as the Older Pendleton Brothers, Crispus and Morgan I don’t think I really need to say anything on this. Steve Buschemi is amazing and scary. I think he’d be great at the Pendleton twins. Like really great...and really scary.

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turnertimeline · 6 years

Text

Telling the Littles

Collection: Tim and Annie

Year: 1967

Characters: Timothy Turner, Annette Thompson, Angela Turner, Teddy Turner, Shelagh Turner, Patrick Turner

Content Warnings: none

Rating: K

Style: mostly prose

Summary: Oh jeeze, when Tim tells Teddy and Angela that Annie has a baby in her belly.

They've met her a few times, when Tim has brought her around because he doesn't know what else to do, and home is safe and Shelagh will always know what to do.

But it gets to the point they should tell them or else they'll notice, they're not stupid and they're around enough baby related stuff they'll probably notice before most kids would. And he sort of wants to because he knows Teddy and Angela will be excited about baby, and Annie deserves that, because Shelagh was happy for her but also concerned with practicalities... whereas the kids will just be pure joy.

So Tim sits them down on the sofa, Annie is in the kitchen with Shelagh, a little nervous about how they will react.

Teddy and Angela looks up at him.

A bit get on with it, we have shit to do.

Tim is a little unsure as to how exactly to tell them.

"Are you coming back to live with us?" Teddy asks, tilting his head at Tim. "Is Annie?"

Tim chuckles a little. "No bud. But Annie is going to have a baby."

There's a few moments of silence and then Teddy scrambles up to stand on the sofa. "A BABY!"

Angela watches him with great big eyes.

"Is she really!?" Teddy reaches out towards him.

Tim laughs and picks Teddy up. "She really is. If you don't believe me you can go ask her. She's in the kitchen with Mummy."

Teddy squirms to be put down and runs into the kitchen. Angela is a little bit slower. She looks up at Tim. "Is she okay?"

"She is. Auntie Trixie is taking very good care of her at clinic."

Angela is a lot like Tim, even at 5 knowing a little medical bit helps

"Oh. Mummy was sick..." Angela murmurs quietly

She only really remembers Shelagh had to go to hospital

"Mummy was sick when Teddy was in her belly. But Annie is okay."

"Okay." Angela trusts him. She takes his hand.

Tim and Angie walk into the kitchen to find Teddy up on his tiptoes with his face pressed against Annie's belly.

Annie looks a little o.O but she's smiling at Teddy and laughing a little.

"Hello baby!!"

Tim leads Angela over to Annie and squeezes her hand gently. Angie hovers at Annie's side, eyes on her brother and her belly.

Annie reaches out and touches Angie's hair.

"Baby is still small, you won't be able to feel it, but you can say hi like Teddy if you'd like"

Angela nods and puts her hand on Annie's belly next to Teddy's face. "Hello, baby," she murmurs solemnly and then wraps her arms around Annie's middle.

She will be so excited. She's just worried.

Tim slips behind Annie and whispers that Angie is worried that she'll get sick like Shelagh did.

Annie makes a soft noise and nods to him, with a small smile. "Angie, would you like to sit on the sofa with me?"

Angie nods and takes Annie's hand as she's led to the sofa. Sitting down Annie goes to pull Angie onto her lap but Angie resists a bit.

"It's okay sweet girl, it won't hurt baby."

Tim follows them and nods. "She's right, Angela, it's okay. I promise."

Angie carefully sits on Annie's lap but doesn't cuddle into her like she usually does. She's barely balancing on Annie's knees, her toes still on the floor. Annie winks at Tim slyly and puts her hands on Angie's sides, and starts tickling her. When she starts laughing Annie pulls her fully onto her lap.

"Baby has been in my belly as long as you've known me sweetie. Cuddling won't hurt baby."

Angela still looks a little hesitant but curls into her and cuddles close.

Still giggling a little from Annie tickling her.

"Baby's really been in there that long?" Angie asks, eyes wide.

Angie feels like Annie's been coming around for ages.

Angie laughs a little. "Yes sweet girl. For that long. Baby is very very small at first."

"Right, Tim?"

Tim nods, "That's right. Baby is still so small we can't even hear it's heartbeat yet."

"how big??" Angela asks, looking between them. She's fascinated.

Tim holds his hands up to about how big baby is now according to his text books."About this big."

"Oh wow," Angela whispers and squirms around a little to put her hand on her belly again "When can you hear the heartbeat??? And feel baby??"

"We'll be able to hear baby in two or three weeks." Tim tells her

"I should be able to feel baby around then too." Annie says, "but it'll take a little longer for baby to be big enough for you to feel."

Angela's eyes are so wide and fascinated. "I liked feeling Teddy..." she admits, almost shy

"It felt funny. But nice."

"I can't wait to feel baby move." Annie tells her "Your Mummy says it feels like a little fish swimming inside your tummy." Annie starts tickling her again

Angela shrieks, giggling at the tickling and the thought of a little fishy swimming around in her tummy. Shelagh is watching quietly from the doorway of the kitchen, with a small smile. She's so proud of her children. A little sad that Angela is already worried about when someone has a baby, but. Proud of them.

She feels a little guilty that Angela is already worrying about it.

Should they have protected her more? Dealt with it better somehow?

Annie stops tickling Angela and they settle back onto the couch again, quiet for a little.

"I'm happy you're having a baby Annie." Angie says quietly.

Annie kisses the top of her head. "Me too, sweet girl. Me too."

Teddy scrambles up onto the sofa too. He'd been listening to the Serious Voices

Tim helps him climb up and pulls him onto his lap.

Teddy squirms around so he can lie on Tim and Annie

"Gonna love you and baby lots and lots..." he mumbles

Annie looks over at Tim with tears in her eyes

The joy and love she's feeling right now is overwhelming. Their happiness isn't undercut by worry and stress like hers and Tim's.

Even Anglea, now she's been reassured and is enthralled by the information about the baby

Tim squeezes her hand gently. "Told you they'd be happy."

It was definitely what Annie needed. Angie and Teddy have no concept for kicking people out of their lives, or even why someone wouldn't be happy about a baby. Why wouldn't they be happy and love Annie and the baby?

Shelagh visits a few days later with a whole stack of paper cards and drawing and questions from Angela and Teddy.

And Annie just kind of...breaks down

Shelagh is startled. "Annie, dear?" A little worried her kids had accidentally overstepped a line. They're a little ... enthusiastic.

Annie wipes at her eyes and starts to apologize. "I'm sorry, it's just, it's overwhelming."

She sits down on the sofa and Shelagh follows her.

"It's okay," Shelagh reassures her. "No apologies needed." Shelagh hands her a handkerchief.

"They're just a little ... enthusiastic."

"And it's so wonderful." Annie dabs at her eyes. "They were the first people I've told who were...just happy."

Shelagh softens and puts her arm around her shoulder. "They're very happy. It's all they've talked about."

That makes Annie smile. "I always thought that when I had a baby, everyone I knew, my family, friends.....would be happy. The father...."

Shelagh squeezes her gently. "I can't do anything about the father... but your family *is* happy for you. If you want us. I know it's not what you imagined."

Annie lets out a little sob. Shelagh wanted to be her family?

Shelagh pulls her into a proper cuddle

Annie can't think of anything to say in response, she just leans into Shelagh's embrace

Shelagh just cuddles her quietly for a while

"Would you like to see their letters?" she whispers after a while.

Annie nods and sits up more, to be able to look through them.

Shelagh hands her the stack and helps her translate Teddy's scribbles. Angela has drawn little pictures of babies and booties and has a few questions, more about how big the baby was, when did you know, are you hungry more?

Teddy's is more just drawings and cards.

The drawings and cards and questions make Annie's heart swell. She'll have to remember to answer them the next time she sees Angela.

"Don't tell her I told you, but Angie asked me if I could teach her to knit. She said she wanted to try and make things for baby."

"Oh that is the sweetest."

Annie really can't form any other words. She's just so shaken by how happy Angie and Teddy are. She wishes that she could be experiencing this with her sisters too. But, her baby will have people who love them.

#ctm #call the midwife #narrative: prose #narrative: tim and annie #narrative: turner family #1967

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runson-stories · 5 years

Text

Part 2: A Kiss

Length: Long

When Lisa woke up, she knew it was going to be a great day.

Rays of warm light kissed her cheek as they broke through her window, and she smiled in acknowledgment of their warmth. As her eyes softly opened, she could see leaves dancing in the sun outside her window, and amidst the quiet sleepiness of her room, she could hear the soft whistles of songbirds. She rolled onto her back and yawned into a full-bodied stretch. Yes, today was going to be a great day.

When she sat up, her feet met the cold hardwood ground and the searched for the softness of her slippers. She loved how her slippers let her glide across the floor, and as she completed a complex spinning maneuver, she thought herself akin to someone like Dorothy Hamill. In another semi-professional slide of acrobatic proportions – at least in her mind – she found herself in front of her record player, and pressed play. “What’s Going On” by Marvin Gaye… That Marvin sure knew how to make getting dressed a sexy occasion.

With Marvin’s apropos voice filling the room, Lisa felt that she could now sit at her vanity and begin her morning rituals. Her bright, hazel eyes met her with a knowing glance as she breathed in the satisfaction of her beauty. She was beautiful in-fact, and she knew it. She started to remove little pink curlers from her hair, and one-by-one, beautiful brown curls fell around her face. To her left was a poster of Patrick Swayze holding a bright-eyed Jennifer Grey. Lisa looked from Jennifer to herself. Close enough, she thought.

After making some final touches to her eyes and lips, Lisa skated from the vanity to the closet. A nice floral top would do, and oh yes, that white skirt with those Converse… Yes, today is going to be a great day indeed.

With one last self-approval of her ensemble, Lisa made her way downstairs and into the kitchen.

“Well, you’re looking chipper!” said Lisa’s mother, Sharon, as she placed some bacon on a frying pan. “What’s the special occasion?”

“Oh nothing…” said Lisa coyly. “Just a date!”

“A date?” said her mother, surprised. “With who? And why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?”

Lisa frowned, “Oh, relax mom. It’s nothing crazy… he’s just a boy I met at school.”

“At school? Do I know him?”

“No, he’s new to town” said Lisa seeming very satisfied.

“New? From where?”

“Gosh mom! Do you want his social security number?”

“Oh, don’t be silly. I have a right to know who my daughter is going on a date with” said Sharon as she flipped a piece of sizzling bacon.

“His name is Juda and he’s from Texas, I think… I’m not really sure. He’s kinda quiet, but he’s really cute and he asked me out last Wednesday.”

“Do you know where he lives? Have you met his parents?”

“No mom… I told you, he’s new to town. I just met him like two weeks ago.”

Sharon placed a piece of finished bacon on a plate, and Lisa quickly snatched it up with a napkin.

“Well I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t go out with random boys I don’t know… why don’t you take that boy Derek along? He’s such a sweet boy…”

“Mom. No. I told you, I’m not talking to Derek anymore” said Lisa sternly as she ripped off a piece of bacon with her teeth.

“I know… but I really did like Derek.”

“I know you did…”

“Well anyway, are you going to stay for breakfast?”

“No, Juda said he wants to make a day out of it, so he’s going to pick me up in a bit.”

“A whole day?” said Sharon with a concerning look. “That’s quite the commitment for someone you barely know.”

“Mom, relax. Like I said, it’s nothing crazy. He’s just a really nice guy” said Lisa as she checked her lipstick in a hallway mirror.

“Well alright” said Sharon with a sigh. “As long as he has you home by eight for dinner.”

“Dinner at eight?” asked Lisa, confused.

“Yes, your dad said he’s going to have a late day at the office, so we are going to have a late dinner.”

“Ok, well I’ll let Juda know.”

“Thank you. And sweetie?”

“Yeah?”

“If he tries anything funny, you just run ok?”

“Oh my GOD mom, stop!”

“I’m serious Lisa! You don’t know what kind of creeps are out there.”

“Ok, ok! I got it… Not everyone in the world is a creep…”

“I’m just saying… Anyway, eight o’clock” said Sharon with a serious look.

“Eight o’clock” acknowledged Lisa.

A car horn sounds from outside.

“He’s not going to come in at least?” asked Sharon in a tone that seemed offended.

“I told you, he’s shy.”

Sharon stifled an eye roll.

Lisa rushed towards the door, “Ok, I love you! I promise I’ll be fine and that I’ll be back for dinner.”

“I love you!” called Sharon as Lisa ran out the door. Deep down, Sharon couldn’t shake the feeling that something was a bit off, like an ember sitting at the base of her gut. But like most mothers of a 16-year-old, she suffered the internal battle of trusting her child. She feared that if she clung too tightly that her daughter would slowly and more aggressively push her away.

Sharon walked up to the kitchen window and looked out on the front yard. In the driveway, she saw a dark green Toyota Celica Supra. In the driver’s seat was a curly-headed figure. When Lisa got in the car, Sharon saw that figure lean over and kiss Lisa on the cheek.

Met him two weeks ago? And what teenager could afford a car like that? She thought. Lying little… The smell of smoke distracted her. “Shit!” She ran to the burning bacon, grabbed the pan, and threw the bacon into the sink. When she looked out the window again, the car was gone, and she could hear an engine revving in the distance. “Be careful Lisa…” She said to herself, and deep within her, she felt that ember burning a hole in her stomach.

#short story #writing #horror #creepy #forshadowing

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curewhimsy · 7 years

Text

Meme Dream

Nico dreams of being a meme, so she does a bunch of ridiculous things. Meanwhile, Umi's poker face is a big meme and Umi is humiliated. Slight NicoMaki. Contains angst and hurt/comfort. Sad Nico backstory.

Words: 2,862

Notes: Melodramatic AF

"Hey Umi, have you noticed how your face is everywhere lately?" Nozomi stated one day as they were walking through the city.

Indeed, Umi's face was everywhere. Not even in a good way. The city was covered in billboards of her. Umi felt overpowering shame.

For someone shy like Umi, this was a nightmare.

It all started with a simple card game of Old Maid against Honoka, using Nozomi's tarot cards. Umi was so bad at hiding her expressions, that her expressive faces were practically famous among the group of friends.

Rin decided it would be good idea to hide behind the bush and snap a picture of Umi so that more people would be able to see her fantastic faces. Right as Honoka took the good card away from Umi, her face turned into an expression of pure shock, terror and fear. Yes, you know the one.

Rin snapped the shutter at the perfect moment and captured Umi's hilarious face, preserving it forever and ever. When Rin and the others uploaded it online, they didn't expect it to get even a fraction of the attention it ended up getting.

Umi's ridiculous face had become a widespread meme.

There were Umi's face T-shirts, Umi's face phone cases, Umi's face on mugs, and thousands of jokes on the internet featuring Umi's face.

"Look everyone, it's Umi!" Honoka would say whenever she saw Umi's face somewhere.

In the city, at the idol shop, there was a whole section dedicated to Umi's face.

"I want to disappear..." Umi said, burying her face in her hands. She felt beyond humiliated and ashamed.

"But why?" Honoka asked.

"Hey look, it's the real Umi!" A kid said, approaching the blue-haired girl. He was licking a lollipop that had Umi's face on it.

Umi got so embarrassed, she made her famous face again before running and cowering in the corner.

"Wow! She really makes that face!" The kid said again. "Did you see that, mom?"

Umi started crying when the kid was out of sight.

"I hate this! I hate memes! I never wanted to be a meme, not like this!" She sobbed.

"Aw, cheer up, Umi." Honoka said. "Now everyone will know your name!"

"I don't want that!" Umi shrieked.

Meanwhile...

"It's not fair!" Nico yelled. "Why does Umi get to be a meme, and not me?"

There was silence from Maki, Rin, and Hanayo.

"I mean, seriously! I try so hard to be funny and famous, and instead Umi becomes a meme before me? She doesn't even WANT to be a meme!"

"Well, Nico." Maki shrugged, "Maybe if you stopped being so annoying..."

"What was that!?" Nico said.

"I mean, I don't get why you want to be a meme so bad. It's just something I don't understand. It's stupid." Maki smugly took a sip of tea, as if the tea was randomly there to make Maki seem even more smug. And it worked.

Nico was about to go off on a tangent but instead stayed quiet. Nico had given up on trying to reason with Maki at this point.

"You'll see..." Nico grumbled, clenching a fist as she always did.

"I'm just going to walk away." Maki said.

And she did.

"Fine."

Nico crossed her arms until Maki had left the room. Once Maki was far away, Nico sighed and punched the table in a fit of disappointment.

"Hey, Nico, nya!" Rin said, "I'll help you!"

"Me too!" Hanayo said, smiling.

"Guys... Really?" Nico was overflowing with gratitude, and it showed on her face.

"Sure we will, nya!" Rin meowed. "We'll be the Meme Team!"

"So, what are we going to do?" Hanayo asked.

"Hm... I was thinking about making an even funnier face..." Nico said, "Then we'll lie and say I slipped on a banana peel... and you take a picture of me lying on the floor with my funny face!"

"Alright!" Rin said.

So Nico began to lay on the floor, with the banana peel in the frame.

"I need a face with lots of impact..." She thought, busting out the funniest face she could possibly do.

Rin and Hanayo started laughing.

"This is great, nya!" Rin giggled.

"This is going to be lit." Said Hanayo as she snapped the picture.

They uploaded the picture online and waited.

And waited.

The next day, they checked the computer again.

"Twelve hits, huh...?" They all said.

"Phooey." Nico felt the disappointment punch her in the gut.

"It's okay. Maybe it'll suddenly explode soon..." Hanayo said.

Nico was clicking the comments on the picture. There was one.

"I can tell this is fake. It isn't very funny either." It said.

Nico realized she was reading the comment in Maki's voice and suddenly suspected it could've been Maki on anonymous.

"CURSE YOU NISHIKINO..." Nico cupped her hands into a fist as she felt the rage consume her.

"It's okay Nico, nya." Rin tried to console her. "We'll do something with even more impact."

"But the thing is..." Nico sighed hopelessly, "Memes are never staged. They're never intentional. They just happen. To the most unsuspecting of people."

"But Nico, we could always fake being unintentional." Hanayo said. "Like, maybe we can just do crazy things. We're bound to become memes. We can do it!"

So the Meme Team decided to research memes to see what kind of things were trendy, and to "unintentionally" create something along those lines.

"Here come dat boi... Rare Pepe... Pretty much all of Shrek..." Nico listed.

"Well, have you noticed that all three characters are green, nya?" Rin suggested.

A green spark lit up in Nico's head.

"...That's it!" Nico beamed. "Green is a meme color! I should wear green ribbons in my hair!"

"You should dye your hair green, nya!" Rin meowed.

"And paint your skin green!" Hanayo squeaked.

"That's it, that's it, yes!" Nico began cheering, and laughing maniacally.

So Nico spent all night getting green paint and accessories for her look. She even painted her fingernails green and bought green sunglasses that made everything look green.

The next day...

"It isn't St. Patrick's day, freak." Maki said, crossing her arms.

Nico ignited into flames the moment she heard Maki's voice. Green flames. Green flames of rage.

"Well, it isn't rotten tomato day either but I still see you walking around. What's up with that?" Nico spat.

"That was a weak comeback." Maki said in her smug tone of voice.

"Well, unless you shut up, you'll be red everywhere too when I'm through with you. We could be the green and red duo."

"Oh, I'm so scared!" Maki mocked Nico.

Nico, losing control, charged into Maki, who had her foot out. Nico, the little green gremlin, tripped over Maki's foot and tumbled right into the wall and the multitudes of framed idol pictures fell on Nico's butt.

It could've been funny. It could've been the perfect meme.

But nobody saw the scene except for Maki, and nobody was recording it either.

"Darn it..." Nico punched the wall. She wanted to make a hole in the wall so it could be like the meme where someone frames a hole that was punched in the wall.

But Nico couldn't leave a hole no matter how hard she tried. And even if she did, Maki wouldn't frame it.

The next day, Nico decided giving up being green. She washed out all the dye and paint in the shower and put away her green ribbons for good.

"No matter how hard I try, I'm never funny." Nico said. "I'll prove to Maki that I can be funny and that memes are great."

Memes made people happy. Memes made people al over the world smile. Why couldn't Maki appreciate that? Did she want the world to be a sad, terrible place?

"All I want to do is make people happy. Why does Maki always act like that?"

For the next few days, Nico tried and tried.

From recording herself being stung by bees, to yelling her longest "Nico Nico Nii" ever until she fell over coughing, she wouldn't give up.

"I'm going to record Hanayo punching me in the face!" Nico said on camera.

"Nico... why would I ever punch you in the face?" Hanayo squeaked.

"Because it'll make me famous!" Nico said.

"But Nico..."

"Don't hold back." Nico said, "Really let me have it!"

"Okay, but..." Hanayo whimpered, "This is going to hurt me more than it will hurt you."

Suddenly, Hanayo's fist was speeding towards Nico's face before she was even aware.

"GAH!" Nico cried out. "I wasn't rea-"

Before Nico could say she wasn't ready, Hanayo punched her again.

"HANAYO PLEASE." Nico said again.

Hanayo roared like a lion and punched Nico again.

"AAAAAAH!"

In the end, it turned out that the camera wasn't even on, so none of the footage was caught. All Nico ended up with was a bloody nose, a missing tooth, pain, and disappointment.

"Oh well. Maybe I'll just give up now." Nico said, putting on a fake smile.

"Are you sure, nya?" Rin meowed.

"Yeah... I've grown and realized... it isn't worth it and I should just live my life." That's all.

Nico was smiling. But it didn't look genuine. She looked strained and like she was lying.

Looking closely, there were tears in the corners of her eyes. Tears that she had tried so hard to conceal...

Nico began to walk away to the girls' room as Rin and Hanayo watched her concernedly.

------

Maki walked in the bathroom to empty her leftover tea in the sink, when she heard crying.

"Dad, I'm sorry."

It was... Nico, doubled over in the last stall. She was gripping a picture of her dad and herself, both smiling and saying "Nico Nico Nii". Nico had left the stall open, and Maki saw everything.

"Nico's dad..." Maki thought. It suddenly occurred to her that she never saw Nico's father before. "Is he... dead?"

"I'm so sorry..." The sobbing continued as Nico talked to her dad. "I'm worthless. I can't even make people smile. All I do is act stupid and get hurt, and then people hate me. I've made more people sad than happy... I mean look at Maki! She hates me!"

Maki suddenly felt a weird emotion. She couldn't walk away. But she couldn't let Nico see her dropping in...

She went into a stall opposite of the side of Nico and listened more.

"It's all my fault that you're gone. If I didn't want donuts that day, you would've never drove to the store, and got into that accident..."

Maki's heart took a hit.

"All you wanted was to make people happy, right? So I wanted to make the world happy for you... but instead, I..."

Nico sighed and began taking really deep breaths. It seemed like she was getting herself together now. Maki quickly noticed and ran out of the bathroom before Nico would notice that she heard everything.

The hallway strangely seemed even longer when Maki walked down it. Longer and emptier. She suddenly realized that her face was pink from holding in her emotions.

"Nico..." She thought, lamenting everything she did to her. "I never knew she had such a sad story..."

All Nico wanted was to keep her father's dream alive.

"Nico, I'm sorry. I... want you to be happy too."

That night, Maki shed a tear.

The next day...

"Have you heard? Nico's going to launch herself out of a cannon!" A student said.

What!?

Maki had overheard many things, but this had to be the most shocking...

"I'm sorry, but what!?" She asked.

"Nico Yazawa should be in the courtyard right now..." The students said.

Oh no.

Maki started running. Her feet were moving on their own, and her heart was pounding so hard that she could feel it in her face.

In the courtyard, people were gathered around Nico, who was going to fly out of a cannon over a statue in the schoolyard and into a giant pile of rice...

Maki got there just in time to see Nico shoot out.

"NOOOOOO!" She shrieked.

"NICO NICO NIIII~!" Nico sang as she flew through the air, fantastically soaring out of the cannon.

Nico felt like she was soaring. Maki felt like she was falling.

Everything was happening in slow motion, but not slow enough. Maki couldn't run fast enough. Her voice couldn't come out fast enough...

"NICO!" Maki screamed. Nico was now flying too far left of the mound of rice she was supposed to land in. Even Nico knew at this point. This wasn't going to turn out well.

Maki couldn't watch.

Nico, despite trying to break her fall, hit the ground. The cold, hard ground.

"Nico..." Everything and everyone went painfully quiet. Students held their hands over their faces and mouths. Rin and Hanayo were as still as statues as they huddled together, terrified.

"Nico!" Maki began to cry and rushed to Nico who was collapsed on the ground.

"Someone call an ambulance!" She shouted, "She isn't okay!"

------

All the members of Muse rode in the ambulance with Nico to the hospital.

"Nico..." Maki sobbed. "This is all my fault." She said. "She wanted to make people smile so bad, and I let her down..."

"Maki, come here." Rin offered a hug to Maki, who was in hysterics.

Everyone else gathered around Maki.

"It's okay... don't blame yourself." Umi said.

"But... Nico's dad..." Maki said. "His dream was to make people smile too. But then he passed away in an accident... So Nico wanted to become a meme and make people happy for her dad."

"Maki, how do you know all this?" Honoka asked, her hand cupped over her mouth.

"I overheard Nico talking to a picture." A tear dripped down her cheek. "It seems like Nico loved her dad very much..."

"Oh..." Everyone said. They all shared a good cry.

"All this time, Nico's been hiding her feelings... She's never even told us this. She's such a strong person." Maki said.

"We should do something for Nico." Honoka said. "We'll throw her the biggest, best party ever."

------

The next day, Nico woke up from her mild concussion. It turned out that she broke her nose again, however, along with her right arm.

Maki was the first to visit Nico once she was awake.

"Go away." Nico said.

"Nico..." Maki used a gentle tone of voice Nico never heard before.

She looked to Maki and saw she was smiling, her face red, as if she had been crying.

"I just want to say, I'm sorry." Maki said. "I heard you talking to your dad, and... now I'm sorry. All you wanted was to make people smile, so..."

Maki smiled. It was the most beautiful sight Nico ever saw.

"You made me smile." Maki said, "You're closer to your goal."

Nico, who was hiding everything in not so long before, let the tears slide down her cheek in front of Maki for the first time.

"But... Maki..." Nico sobbed. "Now that I'm hurt, all I did was make people sad again..."

"But you made me happy." Maki said, "Because I got to be friends with you."

Nico looked at Maki with teary eyes.

"Do you want to come outside with me, Nico?" Maki asked.

Nico nodded and wiped her tears, feeling vulnerable. She tried to smile.

When they got to the lobby of the hospital...

"SURPRISE!"

All of Nico's other friends were there, holding cake and surrounded by colorful balloons and banners.

"Nico, this is for you, nya!" Rin cheered.

"Happy birthday!" Hanayo said, "Even though it isn't."

"See these smiles?" Honoka pointed to her face. "They're for you! Nico, our favorite meme!"

"Wait, what?" Nico said.

"You became a meme!" Honoka cheered, "You're famous for being, well, you!"

Nico looked closer at the cake and saw that it was covered in funny pictures of her. Wow! Just the way she liked it.

Eli pulled a string and it started to rain fan letters.

"Everyone loves you, Nico!" She smiled. "See how many fans you have?"

Nico was so happy, overwhelmingly happy!

"You know what this calls for?" She bounced.

"Oh no, is Nico going to sing?" Umi said.

"You know it!" Nico yelled.

Rin took out a trumpet and started to play a little tune.

"Hey!" Nico, Rin, and Hanayo jumped to the beat. "We are number one!"

"Now listen closely." Nico said.

"Here's a little lesson in meme-ry, this is going down in history! If you want to be a meme number one, you have to work hard, wear a smile and have some fun!"

"Just follow my moves, and dance around, and make a lot of joyful sound! NO, DONT TOUCH THAT!"

Hanayo slipped on a banana peel for real, sliding right into Rin, who bumped into Nico, who got a face full of cake.

"HAHAHA!" Nico laughed, pink icing and cake crumbs covering her face. "This is the best party ever. Thanks guys!"

So Nico went down in history as the idol who made everyone smile. She may have been small, but she had a heart filled with laughter and joy, and that was all that mattered.

#yazawa nico #nico yazawa #love live #love live!#nicomaki #fic #meme #memes #my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #sonoda umi

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captainbatman252-blog · 5 years

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My Columbine Story.

I’m not even entirely sure how to begin this entry, honestly. What’s a good intro for a journal entry about the worst day of your entire life? It wasn’t even the day that was the worst, I suppose. The entire week after felt like one giant nightmarish day, it was at least that long before I saw the first glimmer of hope that I could move through it. April 20th was just the first day of the hardest thing I’ve ever had to experience and process. The processing part is still going on, 20 years later. Almost everyone I know has a Columbine story. Many of my friends have stories from inside the building, my story doesn’t take place there, though. Many of my friends in and around the Littleton community have stories about their connections, or their grief. The whole community grieved. All of my friends-all across the globe-have stories about where they were, how they heard, what they felt. I was speaking with a friend this week who didn’t live in Colorado in 1999 and she said something that gave me pause. She said “the only perspective I had on Columbine was what we were shown on the news. It wasn’t until I moved here that I really understood how huge and how deep Columbine was.” The moment my friend spoke those words, I was kind of jealous. Here was one perspective I would NEVER be able to understand. I was immersed in the whole thing from the moment it started, never will I be able to remove myself from this event enough to look at it through the lens of someone who came here after the fact. In that moment, in that conversation, I wanted nothing more than to have an outsider's perspective of what happened. Like my perspective on Sandy Hook, or Parkland. I empathize with the people who experienced those horrible events, my heart hurts for those communities but I am removed from the experience. I can’t tell you the layout of the schools, I can’t describe to you the roads and parks that surround those places. I can’t tell you what it smells like as you drive through the closest major intersection to these places like I can with Columbine. It’s almost like an emotional buffer, my heart can break for them but I can’t really feel the pain they feel because I’m not living their story. I have never sat and thought about any of this until my friend brought it up, but since she did I have been going back over my experiences in the days and weeks after everything happened. I was a teenager, back then. I processed everything as a teenager would, a very lost and flighty teenager who was the farthest thing from grounded. I don’t know if I’m fully grounded today, but I try to be. I have been reprocessing my story through the eyes of Kristin, 20 years later. It has helped, some. I truly thought I had explored all angles of what happened in 1999 over the past 20 years. I was friendly with one of the boys who carried out this horrible thing, he murdered a dear friend of mine that day (I probably don’t need to tell you how much therapy I have needed over the years trying to come to terms with all the feelings that dynamic has caused in my life). I don’t share a lot about how I felt in the weeks after because it was so complicated and tumultuous, I remember the outpouring of love and support but I also remember the anger and the hate directed at the boys. No one likes to remember that part of it...but it was very present. I was afraid to tell people about my connection to this boy because the hate was palpable. I remember someone put up 15 crosses at the park next to the school and that same night someone, I don’t know who, tore two of them down. When the crosses were placed I felt like someone was acknowledging that he had a life, too...I felt like someone was giving me permission to grieve this boy I knew and it was the first time I felt like that, but then the crosses came down and I went numb. I was angry, I was sad, I was confused. But I knew that whatever I felt about this friend had to go in a box, I stopped feeling anything about him and didn’t talk about him to anyone anymore.

I guess this is where I should start my story... Memory is such a funny thing, time can make it shift, blur, or bring details into clearer focus. I knew something was wrong before any news on Columbine came across the airwaves, or at least I SHOULD have known, but I didn’t recognize what I experienced that morning as anything serious. I was off of work that day because I was supposed to head out to DIA that afternoon to pick up a friend who was returning home for a visit from Florida. He had moved there the fall before with other friends of ours, they were in a band and one girl in the group was going to college in Sarasota so the band followed. I don’t remember what I was doing the night before, anymore...I’m sure I once did. That morning I dropped off a shirt I had previously borrowed at a friend’s house near Columbine. The shirt was a black, off the shoulder billowy dress shirt with laces down the back. I remember when I first borrowed it I spent about twenty minutes trying to fix the laces so the length of cord at the ends were even. I was satisfied to return the shirt with even laces...I didn’t mention it to my friend but I remember feeling good about it.

Since I had to head out to the airport that day I pulled into a gas station up the street from the school to fill up my 1990 maroon Toyota Camry I had named Axl (after Axl Rose, of course). I went in to the gas station to pay for my gas and buy cigarettes, while in line the manager of the gas station had been on the phone, he hung up and told us we couldn’t leave just yet, he had gotten a call of some sort indicating that a kid at the school had shown up to the school parking lot with a gun and he locked the door to the store. I remember rolling my eyes and feeling a little annoyed. I remember hearing sirens go by, but I was self centered in that moment, I remember thinking some kid was in a whole lotta trouble but I never thought something horrible was happening. I wasn’t capable of really knowing, I don’t think. I don’t remember exactly how long I was there, I completed my transaction and stood around with the few other people inside waiting, but not talking to them. I was a goth/punk teen and no one really talked to me back then and I was shy. I do remember people coming up to the door trying to get in and the manager was waving them off and trying to explain through the door what the situation was. Eventually he unlocked the door and let us go. I got in my car and headed home. I was waiting for my friend, who was a senior at BCHS, to get out of school for the day so she could come to the airport with me. She called from the school payphone shortly after noon and said they were making parents come to the school to sign kids out because of whatever was happening at Columbine. I told her it was some dumb kid who showed up with a gun but that was all I knew. She was 18 at the time so I told her to go see if she could sign herself out. She was able to, so I went to pick her up and we headed out to DIA. It was on the drive to the airport that things started coming into focus. Looking back now I think I was in shock from that point on. We had the radio on in my car and all the stations started broadcasting about the shooting. Social media didn’t exist back in 1999, we only had the news, via radio or TV. And the news, much like today, would put stuff out there without fact checking first. Just to be the first to report on something. So what we were hearing on the way to DIA was that the death toll was in the 30s, then the 50s. I think the highest number we heard was 62. Obviously that wasn’t true, but in those moments I just remember saying “What?! No…” over and over again. I didn’t fully understand anything about what I was hearing, I don’t remember crying or getting emotional. It was just a mix of denial and disbelief. I didn’t feel anything, I didn’t get upset or scared, it was almost like it wasn’t really happening. Back then we were still allowed to go to the gate to greet people as they got off of the plane. My friend and I parked and walked into the airport to go wait for our buddy. The television at the gate had the news on, but it only had subtitles. That’s where I saw the now famous picture of the boy (his name is Patrick) dangling from the window and dropping down to police below. That image...that’s when it hit me. I knew exactly what window that was, where it was in the school. I didn’t grasp the entirety of what was going on, but I knew it was serious. I vaguely remember my friend coming off of the plane, my other friend was filling him in on what we had heard and I was just quiet. We were all quiet in the car on the way home as we listened to the radio.

I don’t remember many more details of that day. There were phone calls back and forth trying to make sure our friends were safe. Not very many people had cell phones but I did, it was mostly a game of telephone. I didn’t talk to many of my friends from Columbine that day, we were all just calling other friends and having them list off who they knew was safe, then we would pass that info on to other friends. I remember Cassie’s name came up a few times but I wasn’t worried about her that first day, everyone I knew was turning up safe and ok. So I knew she would, too. That day there was zero information about the victims. I was mentally exhausted. I do remember going to my friend’s house and sitting on his roof late that night, watching some of the activity at the school. There were cops EVERYWHERE. I had never seen so many cop cars in one place, before. They had so many people going in and out of the building, but we could only see one side of the school. I don’t remember what time I went home, but it was late. The next day no one was answering their phones. There were still a handful of friends I hadn’t heard anything about, mostly because they didn’t run with my core group of friends. I had friends from every circle, mostly from working at the mall. I was a little worried about my friend Phil, we worked together and I hadn’t heard anything about him, but my brain didn’t really go to that place where I believed anyone I knew was hurt. They hadn’t released the names of the victims yet. It wasn’t until two days later that they released the names.

I was sitting alone on my bed. The news anchor was in the middle of her blurb about how they were going to show us the victims one by one in alphabetical order. Before she was done with her intro they put Cassie’s picture on the screen, her last name starts with B so she was first. I remember staring at her picture, while the anchor was still talking, and nothing moved. The world stopped, my heart stopped. I was totally numb for what felt like forever. Then the anchor said her name. I didn’t yell out, or break down into sobs. I just sat in that same position, cross legged on my bed, and tears started rolling down my face. I sat through the whole list. When it was done I shut off my TV, drew my knees up under my chin and hugged my legs to my chest. I just cried quietly for a long, long time. I think I sat up crying for a couple hours, then all I wanted was to sleep. I took some Tylenol PM and laid down. My cell phone was ringing but I ignored it, at some point my friend Shannon called and I picked up the phone half asleep. I remember telling her that yes, I had seen the list. I didn’t want to talk about it, I had taken a couple sleeping pills and just wanted to sleep. I totally freaked her out, in my sleepy incoherent communication she thought I had overdosed so she called my sister to come and check on me. After that night all the days and events run together. I went, several times, to Clement Park to the makeshift memorial that had sprung up. It started out with some flowers on Rachel’s car. It quickly spread into this GIANT mountain of flowers, the media came in and set up all over the place. I remember walking right by Katie Couric and being totally confused about why she was there...I didn’t realize it was national news for a few days because I had turned the news completely off. I remember Al Gore speaking from the steps of the AMC movie theatre across the street. I sat and wept while sitting on the curb of Bowles, the whole street was shut down that day. Some photographer got right up next to me and started taking pictures, I asked him to stop. It felt so...violating. Then we all followed Al Gore down the street to the memorial, again. I spent a lot of time at Clement that week. Again, I looked different back then. I hung out with punks and goths among other people. At some point that week the story about Cassie being confronted by the gunmen about whether she believed in God or not had come out. Every time I was at the park with my punk/goth friends we would get stopped by reporters. Everyone kept saying that the gunmen wore trench coats, but I never once saw my friend...the kid who was responsible for this...wearing a trench coat. I was mad that my friends, my wonderful, sensitive, artistic and pacifist friends were being vilified by the way they dressed. I do remember speaking to someone from Germany, he asked why I was there. I told him to pay respects to my friend. He asked who, I answered Cassie. He then asked me if I believed in God. I answered no. He asked why not, and I didn’t really have a good answer for that. I think I said something about how we are all here on this earth for a short time and God is something made up so people feel better about dying. He turned out to be a reporter. I didn’t talk to anyone else after that. I can’t remember now when Cassie’s funeral was, I want to say it was ten days after she passed. It was overflowing with people. There was a long line of people waiting to sign her white casket but I couldn’t bring myself to get that close to her, so my friend and I went and took our seats. It was a beautiful service. They showed a wonderful video of Cass, she was on a youth retreat of some sort and she was professing her love for Christ. It’s a long, detailed and personal story...but over the course of that 2 hours I lost it. The floodgates opened and I just sobbed and sobbed, all of those emotions I’d been holding in for over a week just came pouring out. I wasn’t angry, I had never questioned why God would let this happen, or take Cass...nothing like that because I didn’t believe in God. I was just...broken. Unequivocally broken. But then something happened. At the end of her funeral, for the first and only time in my entire life, I felt the presence of the Holy Spirit. It was the single most powerful feeling I’ve ever encountered, I can’t put it into words that would make sense to anyone else, so I won’t. I remember running into my friend Rich as we filtered out of the church, I felt lighter than I had ever felt in my whole life. Rich was a devout Christian, I told him what I was experiencing in that moment, he was the only one I confided in about what I was experiencing, and he got it right away. He pulled out his personal bible that he carried with him (when I say devout...I mean devout), scribbled a wonderful personal message on the inside cover, and handed it to me. That was my first step in my personal relationship with Christ. My relationship isn’t defined by any religion or book, but I am grateful every day for the part Cass had in kicking it off. As I moved forward I wanted to know more about Cassie as she was before she died. When her parents moved her to Columbine we didn’t see each other as much, but we still spoke every now and then. When we’d run into each other we’d hug and talk, it was easy to be with Cassie-no matter how much time had passed, but I had left high school and my life centered around Boulder. When we were younger she and Victoria would walk over to my house a lot, especially in summer and we would just hang out. When I went to high school and she was still in middle school she’d give me notes to pass to one of my friends, a boy that lived by her that she had a crush on. That crush went on forever, at least until she moved from my neighborhood to her new house by Columbine. When she came to high school with me she had friends in my crowd...the “park group”. We spent a lot of time hanging out in the park adjacent to the high school socializing with friends. She wasn’t there every day, but she was there sometimes. Then she moved and we grew apart and she found God. She was really happy before she died, and I wanted to know more about that so I attended a few meetings of her youth group. Rich attended so I had a friend to go with, I was WAY out of my comfort zone but I went. I asked questions about her, I got to know who she was. It brought me some peace. I remember that Cassie’s mom wrote a book. I was angry about that for a while because I know some of the details in the book are horribly wrong. She painted certain people to be much darker than they were. She definitely painted over some things with a rose colored brush and it upset me. She also chose to perpetuate the myth that Cassie was asked if she believed in God before she died, even though we now know she was never asked anything and never said anything before my friend murdered her. From where I sit now I can understand why Cassie’s mom changed things to fit her story, though. She wanted to hold on to the good, she needed to rewrite a few parts of her daughter’s past for her own reasons to help her heal and move forward. She needed to believe that Cass professed her faith, that was what got her through her grief. I am not angry about it, anymore. I don’t remember when all the details came out about what happened that day 20 years ago. I don’t remember where I was when I learned who exactly had ended Cassie’s life. I just know that at some point I learned it was, indeed, my friend and not the other boy. I learned what he did right before, the last thing Cass heard...all of it. It was years after the fact. It didn’t impact me in any significant way, when I learned it. I had put it all away, in a box in the back of my mind. It wasn’t until years later that I actually unpacked that entire box and worked through all of the emotional baggage. I’m still working through it, honestly. Every year when the anniversary comes up I struggle, hard. All of the feelings come flooding in, and I shut them down and box them up. The 10 year anniversary is when I started seeing a therapist, that one was hard and I realized I needed to work through things I’d been carrying around for a decade. I didn’t know it then but my entire life changed course that day in 1999. I was able to mostly shove it aside and tell myself I had moved on, I didn’t talk about Cass a lot. I didn’t talk about Columbine either. Only around the anniversary when it was unavoidable. When Cass died I made a promise to myself to name my first daughter after her, but when I got pregnant my husband vetoed that. He didn’t want me to be reminded of something that made me sad for the rest of my life. I don’t think I would have been reminded of the way Cassie left us every day if I had gone ahead with the name, but I don’t regret listening to my husband. My daughter now goes to Columbine and I think being Cassie’s namesake wouldn’t have been fair to her, I don’t want to visit any of my personal trauma on my daughter. My daughter’s 8th grade continuation was held in the Columbine gym, that was my first real emotional reaction in a long, long time. Cassie sat in that gym. Cassie walked those halls. To know that my daughter was going to be doing those things was something of a hurdle I had to get through. Even though it took me almost 10 years to be able to drive by Columbine, I had been in that school a dozen times over the course of my daughter’s elementary and middle school years and I had never had a reaction like I did at continuation. In December there was a threat to the school that prompted a lockout and the media picked up on it. I knew nothing about it until my daughter called me in my classroom to let me know she was ok...ok from what? She told me there had been a threat and the cops were combing the park looking for someone or something. Someone had pulled it up on the news on their phone. I assured her she was in the safest school in the country (it’s true) and there’s nothing to worry about, these false threats happen all the time. I asked if she was upset or scared and her voice began to break a little. She was scared. In that moment my heart went into my throat and it was all I could do to remain calm. When she seemed ok we hung up, I had to excuse myself from my classroom and go cry in the bathroom a little. Everything was ok that day, a lot has been learned since Columbine happened and law enforcement has been amazing every time. Since then nothing has really rattled me, including the events of this week. Initially I was anxious because I didn’t know what was going on, but when I learned some details I just got angry. I thought someone was trying to intrude on the anniversary, which I childishly consider to be my community’s anniversary. I don’t like the outside coming in to try to be part of something they aren’t...I want it to be for those of us who went through it. I don’t like sharing it. It’s not rational, but it’s how I feel. This anniversary, the 20th, I made a promise to myself to be mindful of how I’m feeling. Though I’ve gone to therapy at various times in my life I don’t think I ever really processed and let go of everything like I should have. The anniversary shouldn’t continue to take me out at the knees. Every year I am transported right back to 1999 and I spend all my energy fighting it, so this year I’m allowing myself to feel and work through a lot that I have ignored. It’s not like I’ve come to some enlightened stage in my life, I will forever carry scars from what happened. Some I can see...they are big and bold and right there on the surface. Some, though, are tiny. They are invisible to the naked eye-mine or anyone else’s. They affect me without me knowing it...it’s not until I reflect on certain things that I can tell they are there. I’m sure I have some that will never be fully uncovered. It’s just how life goes, I suppose. My scars aren’t the scars of a survivor, I wasn’t there. I am on the outside, too. I am grateful that I wasn’t there, but then I feel guilty for feeling grateful for that. I feel guilty for wanting to be even more removed from everything that happened. So much guilt...I’m almost Catholic. Getting most of my story, at least the parts I’m comfortable (or only mildly uncomfortable) with, out onto paper is something I’ve tried to do for a long, long time. I’ve been able to get bits and pieces out here and there, but this huge brain dump has been something I never could do until this year. I’m proud of myself. Perhaps I will one day clean this whole piece up and make it something that doesn’t make the writer in me cringe when I read it...perhaps one day I’ll add the pieces that I’m still holding close to my heart and don’t want to share. Perhaps one day I’ll add the honest pieces that I withheld out of respect for other people and their journey. For now it shall remain a raw entry, because that’s all I am able to do with it at this point. I miss you, Cassie, and I’ll never forget what you told me.

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semisweetfics · 7 years

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The Ribbon On My Wrist Says Pete Wentz Is a Lovable Idiot

okay so i’ve been meaning to do this for my good friend annie ( @plumptrick ) for a while so i’m finally writing it!!

Prompt: Pete sees Patrick’s stretch marks on accident and tells the counselor, panicking because he thinks they’re scars.

TW: mentions of self harm, depression, suicide, hurt/comfort, this is fluff though i promise, highschool au, the age gap isnt the same as real life i know let me live

Pete Wentz used to love gym. He was the star soccer player, several colleges eyeing him for scholarships, and he was decently liked by the student body. Not adored, of course, like he was in the punk scene; Infamous Pete Wentz, the edgy highschooler Casanova.

Most people got along with him pretty well. Except, of course, for Patrick Stump, the sophomore kid that was for some reason in their gym period.

Patrick seemed nerdy at first, a quiet band geek, but everyone learned quickly that the kid had a fiery temper and sarcastic remarks about everything. Pete loved egging him on, making his ears turn red as he attempted to knock Pete’s ego down.

He didn’t seem to like Pete at first, but that was before Pete had stuck up for him. The football team was ruthless against younger students, for whatever reason; Pete never did understand bullies. Patrick seemed grateful, giving Pete a shy smile whenever they passed in that hall, and although his witty remarks never stopped, they seemed more playful now.

Pete thought he was wonderful, of course. The kid was brilliant, apparently very musically talented according to the band nerds, and was overall pretty cool once you got past the layer of smartass. Patrick seemed to passionate to Pete though; he hated gym with a passion, but he would absolutely light up when talking about his favorite bands. Pete never got the balls to talk to him, though, aside from the few friendly exchanges in class. Everything he picked up on was mostly second hand, through Patrick’s friend Joe that Pete knew from the Chicago scene.

Pete needed to get a move on and ask the kid out. Throughout class that day he planned and plotted, desperate to come up with the perfect way to ask, and settling on nothing.

He thought about this all through gym, hurriedly packing up his things for the long walk across campus to his next class. Two minutes before the bell, he joined the rest of his classmates beside the door, ready for the day to end.

Pete swore to himself when he realized he’d forgotten his gym bag. Thoughts of Patrick distracted him; he really needed to get a grip. Grumbling about being late, he turned and headed back into the locker room, moving quickly so that he could at least try to avoid being tardy.

The locker room door slammed open when he pushed it, and Pete was startled by a yelp from inside. His eyes grew wide, and met the shocked and embarrassed blues of Patrick’s.

He was standing barefoot and shirtless, jeans hugging his waist in a way that would normally have Pete melting, but not right now; his eyes were drawn to the silvery lines along his side, most of them bunched together in one spot, and oh god.

No. No, there was no way in hell. This kid was too young, too funny, too perfect.. Pete blinked away his disbelief and stuttered out an apology, moving to grab his gym bag. Patrick scrambled to put on a shirt, spouting off nervous apologies, watching Pete’s face in confusion.

He could feel the tears welling but he didn’t care. He’d been in that position, been where Patrick was, and so many good friends of his had too. Hell, he’d even lost friends that way. It wasn’t fair.

“Pete?”

His name on Patrick’s lips sounded soft, confused, and a little worried. Pete shook his head, all but running out of the locker room. He ran across campus blindly, tears stinging as his stomach dropped; it all seemed like a bad dream.

Pete was gasping for air by the time he hid himself in a bathroom near his class. He shook, sinking to the floor, knees pulled up to his chest. The tears finally overflowed; Pete remembered what it was like to be there, how terrible it was to feel so alone. He still struggled, of course; that shit didn’t go away overnight. But he was working on it, he was trying, and he wanted to help anyone else he could.

It was probably a bad idea, and he knew that, but he at least had to try? Pete stood, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, slowing his breathing enough that he could walk into the front office.

The people at the front desk seemed surprised when he walked in, and rightly so; Pete Wentz, captain of the soccer team, awkwardly stepping inside of the building with puffy red eyes.

He smiled, trying to put on his best face, and approached the closest person.

“Hi, can I, um, speak to the guidance counselor?”

The woman blinked at him for a moment, confused, and Pete hurried on.

“It’s kind of important and just.. Please?”

After a moment she nodded, leading Pete through the hallway to the counselor’s office. She smiled politely as she held open the door, closing it behind him. The school’s counselor, Miss Ashley, was seated behind her desk, scribbling on a piece of paper. Pete sat down awkwardly, trying not to be rude and disturb her.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence she sat her pen down, smiling apologetically. “Sorry about that; What can I do for you Pete?”

He swallowed, biting his lip. “It’s.. I don’t even know where to begin.”

She nodded, concern flashing across her face. “Why not from the beginning?”

Pete nodded, quietly retelling what he had seen.

Pete was hesitant to come to gym the next day. Patrick most likely knew that he had told the counselor, knew that it was him that forced his secret out, and he was undoubtedly pissed. Pete deserved it, though, but it was worth the trouble if it meant the younger boy had a chance at being better.

The locker room was as loud as normal, everyone shouting and laughing as they dressed for class, filing out together in groups. Pete took his time, staying beside his locker until he heard the door close one last time, followed by silence. He sank down on a bench immediately, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, pulling at his hair. He had to work up the courage to go out there, he had to. Not that it mattered if he skipped one class; it’d be the first time in three years, and he had a perfect 100 anyway-

“Pete.”

His head snapped up, staring at Patrick in shock.

He was dressed for gym, of course. Dorky black gym shorts and running shoes, a large green hoodie covering his band tee. His hat was missing, but his expression was what really threw Pete off. He was confused, scared, and pissed.

“You’re the only one that I can think of that might have yesterday, so let me just ask you, what the fuck did you tell the counselor?”

Pete swallowed, tears stinging in his eyes again as Patrick glared at him.

“Look, I.. I know you’re pissed, and you have every right to be,” Patrick huffed, crossing his arms, and Pete’s voice got higher,” but I was just so worried.. I.. I’ve been there Patrick, I’ve been right where you are..”

Patrick stared at him in confused disbelief, arms dropping to his sides, head tilting. Pete rambled on, tears threatening to overflow.

“Patrick, I.. Don’t do it to yourself man? It’s taken me so long to get better, so fucking long.. Meds and therapy can only do so much, I.. Patrick I’ve lost people because of this, it doesn’t solve shit..”

Patrick’s expression turned even more confused. “Pete, what the fuck are you talking about?”

Pete swallowed, shaking his head, tears flowing freely now. He couldn’t be bothered to care. Patrick stared at him for a moment, before realization suddenly dawned on him.

“Pete.. Do.. You think these are scars?” Patrick asked, pointing at his waist. Pete nodded helplessly, making Patrick sigh.

He shook his head, a humorless grin stretching across his face, and it was Pete’s turn to be confused.

“Pete. They’re stretch marks, dumbass.”

Pete flushed, the realization that he was an idiot suddenly crashing over him. They were stretch marks, just stretch marks. Patrick was okay, he was alright, but Pete had just ruined his chances of ever even being friends with the guy. He laughed dryly, pulling his knees up to his chest.

“Oh,” he mumbled, hiding his face.

Patrick sighed again, moving to sit beside Pete on the bench. He pressed his palm against Pete’s back, moving it in slow circles, and Pete felt his heart stop.

“Pete,” the younger boy whispered, shaking him gently so that Pete would look at him. Reluctantly, the senior dropped his legs down, looking at Patrick sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he whispered back, voice thick from crying.

Patrick shook his head, and then, shocked him by wrapping his arms tightly around Pete’s shoulders. Pete stopped breathing; Patrick was so close, so warm. His chest was against Pete’s, face hidden in Pete’s neck, making his longish hair tickle the side of Pete’s face. Pete carefully hugged him back, arms loose around his waist, and he marveled in the moment. Patrick pulled away all too soon, meeting Pete’s eyes seriously.

“I appreciate you trying to help me Pete, I really do, but now I’m serious. Everything you just said... Say to yourself. Please?” he frowned, looking down and playing with his jacket sleeves before continuing. “It kills me to know that you... I mean, you’re so great Pete, literally everyone loves you, I.. I think you’re wonderful, actually, and.. And you don’t deserve to be sad.”

He looked up suddenly, determination set in his jaw. “You don’t deserve to hurt like that, Pete, and I’m going to remind you of that until you believe me.”

Pete gaped, fresh tears falling as he stared at the boy in front of him. There was so much determination and compassion in his eyes that Pete had never seen before, and it made his fingers tingle with warmth. Patrick cared about him. For whatever reason, the universe was kind enough to make Patrick Stump give a shit about him.

Pete bit his lip, wiping his eyes before speaking. “I.. That.. Thank you, Patrick. Thank you so much. I- I don’t.. Could I call you sometime? Like, I, um, I kind of think you’re great too, and I’d like to hang out sometime, or whatever, like it’s cool if you don’t, and, um..” Pete’s semi-frantic rambling trailed off at the shy smile on Patrick’s face.

“Are you asking me out, Pete Wentz?”

Pete nodded helplessly, closing his eyes, unable to watch as Patrick tried to turn him down kindly. He was shocked instead to feel the warmest brush of lips against his cheek; his eyes flew open to watch as Patrick pulled away, face flushed and grinning.

Wordlessly, he reached into his bookbag, pulling out a black sharpie from somewhere in it’s depths. He held it out to Pete, biting his lip nervously as he pulled up his shirt sleeve.

Pete took it giddily, unable to stop smiling as he scribbled his number onto Patrick’s pale arm. Patrick shook his head as he watched, running his fingers over the ink before dropping his sleeve again.

Pete stared as Patrick gathered his things, walking towards the door. He turned, smiling smugly at Pete.

“I’ll call you later, okay? Don’t forget to text me back, jackass.”

Pete laughed, staring as he shook his head and left, door swinging closed behind him. The bell rang moments later, and Pete scrambled to start changing, heading to his next class in a blur. The smile was impossible to take off of his face, only getting worse when he arrive home to a new message from an unknown number.

Unknown:

Were you aware that you’re not only an idiot, but a mega dorky, mega sweet idiot also? Because buddy I’m here to let you know.

Pete grinned, shaking his head as he typed out a reply. This was not the way he’d envisioned asking out Patrick, but it was pretty close to perfect, and so was he.

this probably could’ve gone a few different directions but i stuck with this! thank you for reading!!

#ask to tag #patrick stump #pete wentz #peterick #peterick fanfics #fluff #hurt and comfort #hurt/comfort #depression tw #self harm tw #body image tw #fanfics

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kappadeltageorgiasouthern · 6 years

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Appropriation and use of media stereotypes

exaggerated performance class, race, gender and sexuality abound in social platforms. Nicki Minaj, the infamous Real Housewives of Atlanta, or malicious young talents Making Band made exaggerated caricatures made for entertainment and profit. The integration of these activities, as well as brothers Gregory made by Antoine Dodson, creates a level of authenticity and visibility of these cartoons. When Bryant Keith Alexander asks, ""Who can tell why, how and what the consequences,"" the cost is based on the intersection, where there are exploiters and exploited, although in the same body.47 There are risks associated authenticated caricatures; but there is not much to gain if space is created under this brand authenticity involve a lot of history of the body and create a more complex narrative itself. Social media ensures that space. There are no porters or persons specially employed to silence others. Although some sites use rules about what can and can not be shared on the basis of age limits, graphic sexual content or hatred, in every place, that no restrictions are places with far fewer restrictions after receiving pornographic, hatred and other types of information that are usually censored further controlled media like on TV. Sites such as YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, WordPress and many others to provide unlimited space to upload, share, retweet, follow and comment on content. These performative gestures speak about what we have to do every time, even if it is authentic or representations, as there is in the power structures already built. Antoine Dodson used the building of the micro-world, Henry Jenkins articulates.48 managed to use social networks and portals to create a new story full of the same level. His official site contains personal stories, videos, comments, and controls the fans. The site has some of his own YouTube videos that are not directly related accidents from the bed intruder, but working with memes towards creating a credible story. How DeAndrea and Walther say Dodson involved in the strategic use of digital and social media strategy, such as print management, where the shape has more control over their identity portrayed the hegemon unseen puppeteer.

Dodson assisted in the same way multimedia companies. We can be critical of the performances of race, class, sexuality and gender, but in the end, Dodson used social networks to create a niche for themselves in order to protect his family and improve your lifestyle. He went so far as to ask for donations, to move his family out of the projects and a more pleasant home, and to raise funds for the Juvenile Diabetes Research. What began as an announcement of public services has become a great marketing campaign staff.

Dodson example, using their performative identity is revealed in his application criminals Tracker gender factor. Dodson commercial contacted him to make purchases. In any case, post-video Dodson, is quiet, modest and shy. He dresses in what he believes to be fashionable clothes. We have not seen tank tops, doo-rags, or bad hair days. However, in the ad, which aired on October 20, 2010, we Dodson in its original form, full of red shirt and black doo-rag cover brushing hair.

Borrows key phrases from the original message and delivers his message in a similar manner.

This film, like the first, called the wave of the virus. On October 25, the video had more than ninety thousand views. On the twenty-seventh, the video had more than seven thousand views between different republication. From these data, it is clear that social network users to click and share loud, flashy, stereotypical, Dodson. Its performance, even if it is true or not, is a caricature of himself that he is ready to play in making money.50 appropriate well authenticated cartoon stereotypes that limit the view of all the public transport run by reducing the representation of race, sexuality, class and sex. It is no coincidence that the producers decided to use the original cast further wave of viral news, hoping that viewers are funny videos, then click and share virus free publicity for your product. Dodson, however, found a way to balance performance with cartoon performative possibilities of social media.

The possibility of execution / performance of social networks

Ownership is not always a negative phenomenon. We have changed the behavior, attitudes, style and use of language by our everyday ways of being. Patrick E. Johnson question as both the darkness of black-and-white, and through these means, to create political unrest comprising applying a dark enclosed space, such as television and movies mediated ways.51 which are dominated by porters dark desirable to limit the ways. 52 however, social networking is not the same kind of guardian or limited space and time (think of primetime television against night infomercials). social media has the right to reproduce any image, but simplified representations of identity through the click and share video, or more complex stories and through personal blogs, websites and Twitter. social media, and provides a space to challenge representation. Social media users can participate in making the world of micro inserting detailed stories from viral videos and memes to enable the full story emerges a story in which everyone feels like it fits the other.

While the media creates the space for a full representation of the identity of the objections would be remiss social networks are utopian ideals. daily users choose what to watch, what to share and what is worthy of viral. No wonder that social media users generate the same images ""no danger"" in the media controlled by large corporations and porters communication. While social media into existing power structures adds communication, social networks are not closed systems dominated by large companies such as educators or other traditional media.

Individuals can get their stories online asynchronous event during the formation of more complex and fluid representations. When a person is social media reputation grows, people are looking for these stories and participate in the building of the world. Antoine Dodson is thanks to the many music videos and interviews to YouTube, a website full definition, bio and updates, as well as through his Twitter account and post comments about other nations. Social media is free, virtual, unlimited and not subject to any time limit. Since June 2012, people kept commenting on their website, tweets and YouTube videos. Antoine Dodson for the light can enter the body and complicates relations between the exploiter / exploited and performance / performativity. When users have used social media identity Antoine Dodson, who had every right to benefit from the operation too. Dodson admits that it intends to use its ""Cyber-point look"", saying: ""I have received I was running with her, and I still work with him."" Dodson holds 55 agency it was active and smart in this situation. He took the opportunity to advance, and it worked. Dodson was able to move his sister in Los Angeles, he has negotiated with the Gregory Brothers for 50 percent of revenues from the sale of Youtube, and continues his dream of owning a beauty salon and get a business degree. Some users of social networking sites, Antoine Dodson derided homosexuality as a presentation coonery black minstrel ghetto fabulousness next posting videos that demonize them black as bad, evil, irrational and lamb body, he inserted mix.56 but his story in a way that is complicated identity and invited the intersections of race, class, gender and sexuality, he said. He brought his body by doing performativity, but also uses his body in terms of performance to resist sexual assault, resist exploitation as a victim, and the body, in order to create change.

Leveraging the power of social networks, Antoine Dodson told his version of events. In his interpretation, it is the body Dodson doing things for performance. He embodies the heroic, to protect his family attributes care of the family financially, thwarting rapists using her voice and agency exercises in the media to talk about the dangers of rape and sexual. Dodson is also doing things to improve himself, as he goes to school to get a degree, make smart business decisions, and using the media uses it as a way to earn money to take care of your family. All the wonderful stories easily available on their YouTube channel, website and other media created for himself. Dodson success with his effeminate action creates space for many performances and complex curling identity works as a man and a woman. In addition to simplified classification of a limited and is more complex character and not a caricature, which denies tracks.

Dodson success shows that gender and racial boundaries and change Dodson, which is largely in part because of the possibilities of new media. Dodson ability to enter their stories in social media has become possible to screen more complex identity. Dodson has created space for the queen, he exercises his manhood when he constantly refused, because if their sexuality and race, exploited their vulnerability, their voice is used, and the agency performed.

As you enter Dodson, we embrace previously denied based on human sexuality class and the lack of formal education as a bachelor, among others. Moreover, Dodson acceptance based on their performance leaves room for complex intersectional identity and narrative. How Adica reminds us that it is not stereotypes are not true, is that they are not all there is.57 media creates space for people to perform complex identities, identities are authenticated, and sometimes operated on the basis of these identities. As Johnson, ""Black says it is fragile, it is subordinated to the principles of integration, but how gender and sexual Performativity mobility does not prevent once it starts moving in / by running, no matter who is in the driver's seat. ""58 due to lack of porters, unlimited storage and asynchronous nature, social media allows buildings less inhibited sexuality, gender, class and race.

Using sectoral approach, the objectives of this study were as follows: (1) to decompress the various intersections of the identity of Antoine Dodson in a manner that authenticates the autonomous operation of the team, to reduce to a stereotype; and (2) consider options and performance performative social networks. I hope it is clear that although the identity of the reducing agents are easy to use by the media, social media allows people to redefine their identity more complex, because their bodies in the landscape of social networks, and the use of social media as a form of printing and individual change management. Dodson has done just that by telling his story in many places, such as Facebook, Twitter and YouTube, to generate income and create a level of mobility for themselves and their families, who otherwise would not be possible without the use of the opportunities available through social media. As for my second goal, I hope, to light the way social networks (1) to create a space to insert the body indefinitely, or porters, I processed digital stories; and (2) leave the track for researchers to investigate how people bring their intersectional identity in the virtual world.

The same aspects that make it possible to also create challenges. The changing political representation as individuals have more control over self-presentation. Furthermore, the size stimulation can be overwhelming. There are countless parodies of the song read the attacker did not have the opportunity to analyze, because they were too many. effective social media can be difficult to completely contain and control access. Future research should continue to cover the possibilities and benefits of social media and performative identity of liquidity within the intersections. Future research should also examine what types of viral videos and what these problems (if any) as to suggest the propagation of existing power structures.

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