#like my dreams of just: getting into college; leave this shitty as country; maybe try romance again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

purekesseltrash · 3 years

Text

My Fic List

Whelp, decided I should do one of these. I have mostly written for Hockey RPF and BNHA, as you have likely already seen!

My BNHA Fics

Bury Them Deep

- “Shouji Mezou's entire life has revolved around being a goalie and playing hockey since he was five years old. After being drafted in the third round in the NHL, Shouji has two more years of college before moving on to playing professional hockey like he's always wanted. Or at least like he always thought he wanted. An injury that ends his season throws him into a tailspin, forcing him to take a look at his life and how he is going to live it, especially after meeting his fascinating new goth history tutor.”

(This bad bitch is 81k total and is chock full of my red hot hockey takes and midwestern references. I love it very much and it is a sweet baby.)

The Rooftop Necromancy series AKA my black metal band AU:

Downhill from Here

- “ Hizashi just wants to tour the country with his best friends with their metal band in their shitty van like they've been planning for years. He'd successfully hidden his crush on one of them for years, after all, he would definitely be able to make this work and keep things fun and uncomplicated. Until Aizawa decided to start acting weird. “

(In which I take you all on a nostalgic trip to 2006-2008 metal culture and you can see the black metal love song that my dumb ass wrote.)

The Perfect Mistake

- “ It wasn't as though Hizashi had planned on breaking up with his boyfriend while they were on tour in a tiny cargo van with no room and no peace. He would have much rather preferred to do it when they were home and he could easily go and crawl back into his mom's basement. But he didn't have a choice. “

(As relationships tend to do, theirs goes through problems.)

Rooftop Necromancy

-"He’d even ended up leaning into the crowd when someone’s elbow had connected solidly with his nose and thrown him back. They’d gone quiet as Hizashi got himself up to his feet, ripped off his now bloody ‘Within Temptations’ tshirt from 2004, whipped his hair back from his face and screamed, “That’s what I’m FUCKING talking about.” into the mic.

They went wild for it, cheering as blood ran down his nose, past his mouth and dripped onto the stage, leaving him feeling like an otherworldly monster performing an occult ritual. Metal, he thought dazedly to himself, why in the fuck had he ever stopped doing metal."

(I hyperfocused so hard at the idea of Mic as a metal head that I wrote this in seven straight hours and WROTE THROUGH THE ATTEMPTED COUP ON DEMOCRACY WITHOUT KNOWING IT. It’s a bit rough, but it’s got some good parts and it spawned the whole damn series.)

Hands Up

- "But of course he had, they had always been able to read each other and what they meant. That had often been their problem, if he was going to be honest."

(In which they figure their shit out. Basically it was written when I was thinking alot about how my own mental health had evolved through the years. It’s basically the story of two people who are both very good for each other and also very bad and how they deal with that. It’s probably the most personally meaningful thing I’ve ever written.)

The other BNHA fics:

Waking Up With Ghosts

-"Hizashi opened his eyes to a world that belonged to ghosts. His headphones were gone and the gray, grimy world that he felt more than saw was muffled and still. This was bad, he hazily thought."

In which we follow Hizashi shortly after the events of 296. How he's found, how he finds out and how he has to tell.”

(I fished this one out of the garbage of my Google Docs because I’d written most of it and forgotten about it. I dragged it out, prettied it up a little and threw it up on AO3. It is by far my most well read BNHA fic, go figure.)

Leave Her Johnny

-”Captain Hizashi Yamada has combed the Seven Seas looking for the elusive smuggler Eraserhead. He has spent years searching for him, tracking his movements and trying to anticipate where he would be next. But he had never considered what would happen when he finally found him. “

(I wrote a paragraph of this and was immediately like ‘I MUST CREATE THIS’. I take some chances writing wise in this as the whole thing is done in a Victorian Era ish style of writing. But I think it’s effective and the ending is likely one of the best that I’ve ever managed. I’m proud of it.)

Gold Rush

-”"That earned him a laugh and Mashirao’s smile made something in his chest ache, something that made him want to hurt. Why had he ever left?

“I’m really not,” Mashirao was saying but Shinsou just shook his head and kissed him once, twice and wished he could take the sunny afternoon and make it stay forever. Make it stay forever like Mashirao somehow had, while the neighborhood had adjusted without Hitoshi’s permission.

“You are,” he said, “And I love it.”

I love you, he should have said. But as Mashirao’s eyes softened and the blonde pushed him back against the bed, Hitoshi knew he didn’t need to say it."

(You know how sometimes you listen to a Death Cab for Cutie song about gentrification over and over until a fic comes out? Because that’s basically what happened here.)

Black Sun

‘"But then he remembered the way that Shouji had eaten the night after, one hand curled into his hair as he hung back in the corner. Shouji hid when something was wrong, like a wounded cat trying to find a dark place to either live or die and he was being released tomorrow. Now was the time to push or he’d find Shouji right back on his bed, staring at nothing."

Something happened to Shouji on the beach. Tokoyami is sure of it.‘

(Aaaaaand Death Cab for Cutie strikes again. But heyo, my first published ShouToko and it is SOFTTTTT)

In the Far and Mighty West

Mic came closer and despite himself, Shouta could not find it in him to feel afraid. “You won’t understand, not really. I’ll try, though. I’m like Pecos Bill or Paul Bunyan or a jackalope or that fish that your friend caught that he swears he brought in but that you’ve never seen proof of. I’m the herd of dogies moving sweet and steady in the right direction, I’m no stragglers to worry about, I’m that perfect dog that’s there to keep them in line. I’m that group of good friends that you would kill for, I’m the woman who you’re dying to come home to, I’m that promised home of milk and honey. I’m Mic.”

Shouta stared at him dazedly and licked his lips, feeling drunk and stupid as he stared at the man. “You’re… magic?”

“I suppose you could call me that.”

(Cowboy!Erasermic. Inspired heavily by American Gods and my own love of folk heroes.)

In Your Violence

- “'Mezou frowned, eyes narrowing. “Are you trying to say that you’re scared that I’ll be killed by having faith in you?”

“It would be in your best interest to stay away from me,” Fumikage finally said, his voice falling flat and quiet. “I am destined to be a monster.”

'Mezou gets the call he fears, the one that says that Fumikage has lost control again. But this time it's different, in more ways than one.”

(I listened to Silence by Marshmello until I went insane in this is the result. Featuring some of my super depressing headcanons about Shouji! But it’s not awful.)

My hockey fics that I still like:

Hufflepuff Halfwit

- ““Zhenya, the wind is coming from the west, I will not remind you again. You shut that window before the house stinks of factories!” She snapped and Geno stared at the owl as though maybe it would know what to do. But instead, it had given a little hoot and wiggled inside, only to drop it’s letter on the counter.

He turned his head very slowly back to look at his mother, who had suddenly gone very quiet. “It… just showed up, Mama. And um. It brought a letter.” He waited again, looked back at the owl who had begun to nose at the pirozhkis in interest and then looked back at his mother with the best puppy dog eyes he had ever attempted. “Can I keep it?”

(This is a part of my hockey/Harry Potter au that still legitimately haunts my dreams. It’s basically a Sid/Geno in Hogwarts but I really love the world building I got to do with Koldovstoretz, the Russian school of wizardry. Don’t read ‘On the Word of a Slytherin’ though, I’m not as proud of that one.)

The Prince

- “What the fuck.” Matt breathed out, sitting back heavily onto his hotel bed as he stared at his phone.

‘This is Henrik.’ The text read. ‘I would like to meet you. I will book a room in Pittsburgh at your convenience. Let me know what time will work for you.’ -

(Listen, it’s Henrik Lundqvist/Matt Murray smut, I feel like that is novel and interesting and worth your attention. I wax poetic on goalies in this, as you do.)

The Zoo of Toronto

- “No one missed it when a massive porcupine had shuffled in between the reporters with a single minded focus, pushing media away until it was able to grip onto Phil’s suit pants and try to pull itself up. He hadn’t been able to do more then besides pick the animal up before it could shred his pants to shreds and walk out of the locker room before the decision had been made with the Toronto media.

Phil Kessel was guilty.”

(Not gonna lie, this is probably my favorite of the hockey fics I’ve written. And it’s Phil/Carl, which is never found anymore but it was a good pairing.)

#my writing

55 notes · View notes

bloodyshadow1 · 3 years

Text

Beauyashaweek 2021 day 2 Classical Art: Birthed from Stone

Beauyashaweek 2021 day 2 Classical Painting Art

Technically, the prompt is Classical Painting, but I couldn't really think of anything to write for that so I decided to do Classical Art as the prompt and thought of this. There's more to it, but I decided to cut it short because it was getting too long and not ending. I hope you enjoy my story, if you do please leave a comment, they help more than you know.

It was Saturday, there were a million things Beau would have preferred to be doing on her Saturday, one of the few days off she had, than going to the Zadash Museum of Art. That wasn’t fair, she liked the Museum, she liked the artwork, but she hated that she was here on an assignment for school rather than because she wanted to which meant she hated the Museum currently.

Beau had only taken Art Appreciation 110 on her best friend Jester’s suggestion. The blue tiefling art major thought it would be fun to have her best friend in the class she was TAing and assured Beau that it was an easy class being a 100 level. Beau didn’t mind an easy A, she was a double major history and sports medicine in her senior year, she figured she might as well since the rest of her course load was killer.

Unfortunately, unlike most of the classes Beau had taken though her time at Z.U. Art Appreciation 110 wasn’t a blow off class that she could just take the tests and write papers to pass with an A. The teacher Mr. Artagan was more eccentric than most of the faculty at Z.U. full of new age ideas how to run his class. No tests at all and only a few papers, which would be fine for most people, but the fact that participation was worth 60% of her grade made the class a living hell for Beau. He thought that children (despite them all being college students) should be rewarded for showing initiative, not just memorizing facts, something that Beau relied on. She was a smart girl who read the assigned reading before the class had even started hoping it would mean she didn’t have to show up for class only to have Jester’s hippy mentor ruin that dream the first day.

Artagan, as he liked them to call him, no mister for him, was one of those ‘cool’ teachers who thought they were changing the world in their 100 level course that contained mostly freshmen trying to get their gen ed credits out of the way. The teacher who wore an actual green cloak to class everyday that clashed horribly with his tangle of reddish orange hair, but went well with his inhuman green eye, knew he was put on this earth to reach the kids. Beau hated him instantly and thought if not for his laziness, his biggest weakness other than a wicked case of ADHD that no amount of Adderall would fix, he would probably be a cult leader. Luckily for the class, Jester took her job as his TA seriously, or at least as serious as Jester could leading a class taught by Mr. Artagan about appreciating art, so she was at least a competent teacher when the actual teacher decided to take a nap in the middle of a lecture or jump out the window to chase a bird. She would call on Beau whenever she could because she knew her best friend at least knew the information even though she wouldn’t volunteer the information willingly. It saved Beau’s average from tanking in class, but by the time the semester came to a close it didn’t look good, Beau was sitting at a low C which again, wouldn’t be bad for most people in their blow off class, but was horrible for Beauregard Lionett, the disgraced daughter of the Lionett wine family in Kamordah.

Without getting into it, Beau’s relationship with her family, especially her dad Thoreau, was horrible to be kind. She was only at Z.U. due to both academic and athletic scholarships, and losing one would mean she wouldn’t have enough money for her final semester, and she needed at least a B in all her classes if she wanted to graduate. Technically she would still be able to graduate, but her diploma would remain as property of the school until her debts were paid up, which meant she couldn’t get a job with her diploma unless she lied on her resume. And while, no one could say Beauregard Lionett was against lying, she wasn’t a self destructive teenager anymore she knew it would only hurt her in the long run.

Luckily, having her best friend as her T.A. meant Jester begging Mr. Artagan to let Beau have some extra credit so she could pass. Artagan agreed and told her to write a paper on how a piece of art makes you feel. If Beau didn’t desperately need to pass this stupid class she would have thrown it in his face, but instead as a self destructive adult who at least was aware of her money problems, she gritted her teeth and took the extra credit assignment.

Beau had been to the museum at their school a bunch of times, she had given tours for a bit as a work study gig until the people in charge realized how bad she was with people. But there was something about being forced to go there for an assignment that soured the whole thing for her.

“Let's check out the Emon exhibit first Beau,” Jester said taking her and dragging her to the Tal’Dori section. Beau didn’t mind it, but there was too much…, cleanness in the artwork of their neighbors to the West. Tal’Dori was really similar to Wildemount in a lot of ways, without the whole equally large enemy neighbor country that you’ve been in a Cold War with forever. Emon had its own set of problems, but propaganda or not, whatever Beau read made the other continent sound like a less shitty version of the Dwendalian Empire.

Still, the paintings and sculptures were nice enough to look at even if she didn’t have Jester’s excitement. There were a lot of paintings of naked people in some of the exhibits, which Beau enjoyed since there weren’t a lot of men as the subject. She had to hand it to the old masters, they might have been a bunch of old pervs, but they painted a pretty dame without her clothes. Even if they did give their works pretentious names like, “the Sin of Sarenrae,” or “the Seducer of Nations,” as if the women who were the subjects were at fault for being beautiful enough for men to want to paint them naked.

Eventually Jester got bored, it didn't take long, and they moved on to the other wings of the museum. “I’m gonna check out the Xhorhasian exhibit for a bit Jester,” Beau said, needing some alone time. She loved her best friend, but the girl could talk forever on her worst day, a day surrounded by hundreds of years of artwork around her meant she hadn’t stopped since Beau mentioned her paper.

The Xhorhasian exhibit was small and quiet, they were technically at peace, legally and all that, but two powerful countries can’t be neighbors without a lot of animosity. With only the Ashkeeper Peaks between them, there had been a long cycle of wars and ceasefires between the two nations that could break at any moment. That meant not a lot of people congregated in this out of the way exhibit. Most of the artwork and relics were probably technically stolen. Beau wasn’t happy about that despite being a citizen of the Empire, born and raised in Kamordah, less than a day from Zadash.

Maybe after she graduated she could break into the museum and somehow send the stolen goods back home where they belonged. Jester would probably be into it, and Veth wasn’t exactly opposed to petty theft or grand larceny. But that was for Future Beau with her bachelor’s degree to think about. For now, since they were here, Beau was going to enjoy the things from the Empire’s oldest enemy and learning about them, despite how they were procured.

Technically, the Empire wasn’t enemies with Xhorhas, they were enemies with the Krynn Dynasty, the country that had been the dominant power in the Wastes of Xhorhas for thousands of years. There were other people living in Xhorhas that were roped into the conflict, or so Beau heard, most of the stories from the East were about the Cricks or Krynn and the rest were hardly mentioned at all.

As Beau walked around the empty exhibit, for the most part it was bleaker than the other exhibits. Xhorhas seemed like a dreary place, all their artwork lacked the color of other nations artwork. Most of the paintings, few of them as there were, tended to be battle scenes of Drow soldiers in their dark insect like armor tearing through Empire soldiers like paper, it's a wonder citizens of the Empire never come to look at this exhibit. The rest was mostly pottery or weapons, the placards said they were souvenirs from survivors of perilous expeditions into enemy territory. Beau had read them all before.

But surprising her, there was something new in the exhibit. In the center of the exhibit, in a place of honor was a statue with lights pointing down on it. It was made of white marble and depicted the most beautiful woman Beau had ever seen. She was large, tall and wide, if she wasn’t made of stone she would tower over Beauregard, with arm muscles larger than Beau’s head. Long wild hair that the sculpture had managed to get across in the marble. She wasn’t just standing still either, she was swinging a sword like some goddess of battle. The massive feathery wings exploding from her back, that almost looked soft to the touch despite being made out of rock, made her seem even more divine. But even more than the wings, Beau was drawn to her eyes, they were perfect. Despite being just another part of the woman carved from the white stone, they seemed so dark, holding so much anger and sadness that it made Beau’s chest hurt to look into them, but she didn't have the willpower to look away.

The only flaw Beau could find in the sculpture of the beautiful woman, was the smile. Unlike the rest of the statue, the smile was just off. It was just too plain. The rest of the work from the woman, from the way the marble simulated how her arm muscles tensed like a real person would when swing a sword to fight, to her large soulful eyes, to the massive two-handed sword that looked like it was a real metal blade turned to stone, was the work of a master. Yet the smile was clearly the work of an armature, it looked like the smiles Beau had drawn on posters to look extra goofy to passersby. It didn’t fit such a beautiful woman, especially when the rest of her was clearly ready for battle.

It looked so off Beau immediately looked at the placard to find out if it had been damaged in shipping and the archeologist or smuggler did their best to fix it with a smile. The sign didn’t say anything about the smile, just that the sculpture had been found 3 years ago in an ‘expedition’ in the south of Xhorhas. The title of the piece was ‘Angel of Beauty,’ which made Beau gag. Sure the woma-, the sculpture was beautiful, but it was such a boring shitty title for such an awesome bitch. She was wielding a sword ready to chop someone to bits and ready to take on a whole army, Angel of Beauty was such a generic title for a real work of art. Skimming the rest of the paragraph for any more info, Beau learned the locals called the work ‘The Orphanmaker,’ before the archeologist procured the work.

Beau thought it was a bit better, at least more metal and fitting for such a bad bitch, but it still didn’t fit the woman or the sculpture in Beau’s unasked for opinion. Still, Beau couldn’t let her dumb lesbian brain that made her have a crush on the only more unattainable woman in the world than Jester, stop her from getting her paper done. She took a picture of the placard to get a reference and took a few more of the statue itself from as many angles as she could. You weren’t technically supposed to take pictures of the artwork, but no one was around and Beau needed the pictures for her project…, and nothing else.

Still, the more time she spent with the statue the more Beau was enthralled. The more she stared at it, from every angle it felt like the woman was ready to come alive at any second. That one second Beau would be staring into eyes of white marble and then she would blink alive the next. The skill of the sculptor had practically tricked Beau into thinking the woman would have a pulse if she touched her, like she wasn’t carved out of stone.

It got to the point where Beau, who would never break the law, especially when it came to stolen art, got so fed up she decided to touch the statue just to prove to herself it wasn’t a real live person. Just a quick tap on the arm to prove to herself that the woman wasn’t alive, that’s all it would take to make her crazy thoughts quiet for a bit.

Unfortunately, or perhaps very fortunate given the outcome, Beau was wrong, very wrong. The moment she touched what would be the flesh of the woman, not her sword, or hair, or clothes, the moment her finger touched the skin on the woman’s arm, it felt warm. So warm that Beau couldn’t believe it, until the woman’s pulse woke her up. She tore her hand away like the statue was made of fire, but even as she did, she could see cracks forming in the sculpture starting from where she touched the woman on the arm.

“Shit,” Beau yelled, as she slammed her back into the wall, she didn’t even know she had backed away that far. She desperately tried to search for glue or anything that she could use to fix the crack she made, but the cracks only got bigger. By the time Beau looked back, they had shot down the woman’s arm and were coming down her body, and Beau only had time to swear every curse she knew in the five languages she spoke fluently (which you would think would take a while, but Beau had always been quick with her mouth and was well practiced with it and cursing) before the statue exploded.

The room was full of dust clouds and the only sound other than the hammering of Beau’s heart was the sound of a large woman breathing heavily. It only took a moment for the dust to clear and give Beau a good look at the Orphan Maker. On a whole, she was pretty much the same as the statue, same massive frame, same gorgeous face that Beau had gone gaga for, same strong arms holding the now sharp steel blade, and older Xhorhasian garb, not from the Krynn Dynasty. Now that she wasn’t a statue anymore though, there was a big change, even if she was mostly the same, there was a big difference between a beautiful woman carved out of white marble and a real gorgeous flesh and blood woman.

Her skin was pale, almost as pale as the white marble, but the rest of her and her clothes had splashes of color, mostly black, but not white stone. The biggest change though, other than being a living person of course, was her wings. When she was a statue the wings on her back had been white and feathery, now, they were black and skeletal. As if they had been burnt to cinder’s but still attached to her. She has heterochromatic eyes, one is light green, the other is violet, they are filled with rage, but it’s not directed at Beau, the woman who burst from the marble is just angry.

“Where am I,” the strange woman demanded once the dust cleared enough to see Beau.

“The Zadash University Museum,” Beau said trying to stay on the good side of this strange Amazonian goddess that just flexed out of a statue.

“Zadash,” the woman said slowly, like it was a foreign word. “That is a is a name from beyond the mountains,” she asked more than said.

“Yeah,” Beau nodded, “or I mean I suppose. We’re on the other side of the mountains from Xhorhas if that’s what you mean.”

“Then I am a long way from home,” the strange woman said seeming to calm down.

“Are you a spy from Xhorhas,” Beau asked, immediately realizing how stupid that sounded. Beau could handle herself in a fight, but this woman was massive and had a sword almost the size of her. It would be really hot if it was in a movie or a book instead of real life.

“No,” the woman shouted, “I am from Xhorhas, but I am no spy.”

“Alright,” Beau said, throwing her hands up to show she meant no harm, “I believe you.”

“I think…, I am lost,” the woman said calming down, her voice was a lot softer than Beau would have guessed when she wasn’t angry. “I was in my homeland, I was fighting something and then…, nothing.”

“Well, maybe you could start with something you do remember,” Beau asked, trying to keep things calm. “Do you remember your name?”

“Yasha,” Yasha apparently answered after a moment, “Yasha Nydoorin. And I think I need your help.”

It probably wasn’t a great idea to agree to this, she didn’t know Yasha much other than she was big, gorgeous, and popped out of a marble statue. But despite her well above average intelligence, she was also a lesbian with a dumb lesbian brain sometimes, and all she could say was “sure.” Maybe she’ll let Jester drag her off to the museum if this happens all the time.

#critical role #the mighty nein #fanfiction #beauyasha #beauyashaweek2021 #beauregard lionett #yasha nydoorin #my work #cracklepop #modern au

21 notes · View notes

pluvillion · 3 years

Text

i know i barely write here but i guess it's fine because there's really nothing much to write anyways. i'm not going to school (pandemic yup yup), nothing dramatic is happening - every day is the same as the last. i got a Logitech G29 as my birthday present, i graduated high-school, and that's about it.

however, there IS one thing that happened: i got accepted to a university - my alma mater to be exact. and it's not here in Puerto Princesa, it's in Lipa City.

yes, you heard that right. i am set to leave my province to attend college at Lipa City.

let me reiterate just in case the one above was too vague for it to sink in: i am moving out of Palawan and will live in Lipa City for college. it's the whole "moving out" trope found in countless stories, but this time I am doing it with my mother, my brother, and my grandparents. i am ACTUALLY doing the thing that i've been wanting to do since i was a kid!

i remember that 5th grade artwork i did on that 1/2 (was it?) illustration board with my name's acronyms and stuff. i suck at illustrating back then but there was a small house on the lower right and buildings and shit in the distance. in the middle was a car travelling to the city on the road that connected both locations. i was depicting us moving out of the house as a family and onto Manila (hence the buildings). i've always wanted to live the ACTUAL city life (not the one here as it's too "small" to even be considered as a legit city) like my friends and people in social media did.

i've waited and waited and waited for that moment to come, but it didn't arrive. a lot of shit already happened since then. it's never too late, of course, because it actually DID happen, and it was ME who caused it (/pos).

it's surreal to me that within a snap, we're set to leave and live a brand new life in a new place. no one knows us there (except for a few relatives) so i guess it's my chance to be who i've always wanted to be without shittons of relatives trying to pinpoint what i'm exactly doing because "it's not what we remembered you to be when you were a kid". a fresh restart, y'know? if i was unconfident to hell and back here in Puerto Princesa, i sure as shit won't be in Lipa. i'll make sure to lose enormous amount of weight and get rid of this balloon in my stomach so i can style myself without looking like a fatass. yeah i know being skinny is normalized here a lot but honestly i personally prefer being AT LEAST physically fit - i'm addicted to clothes like how i am to cars, i just don't have the money to buy the exact clothes i wanted (at least i can get around with cars via videogames which is a huge plus).

i know we still have a long way to go before we leave (hopefully by next year the pandemic eases instead of worsens), but if i managed to wait, say, 8-9 years to move places, then it won't hurt to wait another year more. besides, we're finally getting our fiber wifi so i can now do whatever i couldn't back when we still had the shitty wifi from Globe (thought i'd put that out haha)

i guess it's finally time for me to start counting down the days before going back to Manila? like i've said above, this won't be a returning trip; once we leave, there's no going back - i'm staying there until for good for a few years. i just hope fate doesn't have anything deadly prepared for me because i'd be paranoid if i had one... i still have dreams to pursue. who knows, maybe i'll do better to the point where i'll leave the country for school? time will tell.

anyways, i have been trying to post this shit since a few days ago but Tumblr won't let me because it's only JUST NOW where my brain started going haywire with my thoughts that a simple "talking to the air" won't do the trick.

besides, at least i have something to read back to when i finally move to Lipa. i can read all the stuff that happened during our final months of stay here in Palawan, the thoughts i had that i chose to write instead of letting the wind hear it, and reminisce what i could remember during the time i wrote a note because i know FOR SURE i'll be homesick when i get there. even just thinking about it makes me homesick already, and we haven't even left yet.

fun fact: it's the same thing i did back when dad announced we'll be visiting him in December 23rd. the moment he told us we'll be going to Manila at December 3rd, i made an oath to write all the shit i can write so when the day arrives, i have something to read in the plane. another fun fact: i actually did. i even wrote a letter to my future self because i'm extra like that.

now i just got accepted four days ago, so that means i can still build this journal the way i like it until the day we go back to Puerto Princesa, we ride a plane to Manila and a roadtrip to Lipa where I'll be staying at together with my mom, brother, and my grandparents for college for around four years or so.

i still can't believe i'm saying this for real. i usually only do shit like this as an imagine to get my excitement meter high but just enough so i don't disappoint myself because it won't really happen. i guess manifesting really does work haha.

that said, our wifi's finally getting connected tomorrow or two, my brother will get his own laptop so i can finally use mine again that he basically worn down (a broken hinge, one part of the monitor's casing had no glue anymore, etc.), and i think i'm gonna get both Forza Horizon 4 and Forza Horizon 5.

also yeah, i'm definitely gonna be active on Tumblr even just for a short while. i know college is no joke.

#i did: that #i'm proud of myself #i hope my parents are too #i cannot wait to move out #lipa city here i come #new start #new life #new beginnings #new chapter #i actually wrote this in my notes app first lol

8 notes · View notes

henry-cavill-baby · 4 years

Text

To Study (Insects) │3

Pairing: Clark Kent (MoS) x Original Female Character

Warning: Shitty Parents, Fluff

Word Count: 3k~

Summary: Clark and Connie; 18 and Graduation.

A/N: Just Enjoy!

Pomp and Circumstance blares through the stadium grade speakers as the high school seniors walk in a steady line across the green football field, each gracefully taking a seat in the white lined chairs as gusts of light wind nearly blow off more than a few white caps.

The graduating class of 98’ consisted of 79 students, almost all of the girls donning a pair of wedged sandals, seeing as a pointed heel would’ve slid right into the grass, and almost all of the boys wearing obnoxiously colored sneakers.

Principal Johnson tapped the mic that was strapped to the brown podium and cleared his throat, “Fellow Graduates; It is my greatest pleasure to see you off into the world, and knowing that all of you will make the world a better place. Hardships, and tough times tried to keep you down, but you all strode for success… and look where you are.”

Claps echoed the stands as proud parents rooted and hollered for their children.

“I am with deep certainty that each and every one of you fine adults will go off from this school, and follow the dreams you’ve spent years creating. Some of you will go to college, actually, I hope more than some,” he joked.

“And others may travel the world and see all of what it has to offer. And well, I know there are some of you out there who still haven’t the slightest idea on who they want to be. And that’s okay!”

A ripple of chuckles went through the class of graduates, “You don’t have to know what you want to do; you just have to be willing to try. All of you have the will to achieve greatness.”

“You are not defined by the person you used to be, or even the person you will become, but by your actions and how you impact the world.”

The band started up again and the graduates clapped and hollered for the Principal. “Congratulations Class of 98’!”

All of the students leapt up and tossed their caps into the sky, friends hugging one another in celebration and utter happiness. Connie had just stood up when two strong arms slipped around her waist and lifted her sky high, eliciting a yelp of surprise.

The grip was strong and the biceps she reached down to grasp could only belong to one overly muscled but still baby faced country boy.

“Clark!” Her yelp went unheard as he boisterously laughed and started to make his way out of the crowd of overzealous students, dodging the people engaged in bro fives and girls with running make-up and sobbing over friends. His hands felt warm and large on her stomach. It was like being held by a teddy bear.

From this height above the rest of the crowd, the figures of Martha and Jonathon Kent were easy to spot, and Connie failed to stifle a giggle and the arms holding her sped up in a bumpy jog.

It was more than difficult to keep her hair from flying all over the place as she bobbled along. He could be like an overgrown puppy at times.

“Guys!” Martha yelled, “Over here!"

Clark stopped short in front of his parents. A grunt left his clenched lips as he set Connie back onto her two-inch wedges. There was no time for her to enjoy being regular height, or say a grateful ‘hello’ to either Kent.

The thick forearm of Clark slipped around her cushy waist like a slippery serpent.

The smiling face of Martha warmed her heart, “Look at you two,” and her voice was as warm as an apple eye. Being around Martha used to make Connie crave her own motherly affection, but by now, Martha was the best she was going to get.

“Thanks for coming, you two,” Connie gushed. Her own arm wiggled from the space between her and Clark’s body, eventually slithering to cup his waist. They looked like the perfect couple.

“Please, we wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Martha insisted. Reaching into her mint green purse she pulled out a handheld camera. The two graduates groaned, but only Clark spoke up.

“Really, Mom?”

Martha waved him off, “Oh, hush up, Clark. Your mother only sees her babies graduate once, and if that means a few pictures, then you’ll be smiling for every one. Now, get closer you two.”

Any closer and they’d never come apart.

The flash of the camera shined in their eyes, and it was over as quick as it started. Connie smiled until it hurt, and tried to keep any redness from her cheeks as the hand on her back started to rub in a slow circle. Warmth blossomed in her lower back, and god, she could practically taste Clark’s mischievous smile. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“So, are you two up for some brunch?” Martha asked. “Or if you’d like, I could make us something at home.”

Connie bit the inside of her cheek; it was such a bad time to bring it up.

They were all enjoying each other’s company; they didn’t need her to bring up the family drama that lurked at her home. But it was better to get it done with than avoid it any longer.

“Actually,” She interjected, slightly moving away from Clark’s warmth. “I wanted to ask if you’d run me by my place. I promised my dad I’d drop by after graduation. You know; show him the diploma and all. It’ll just take a few minutes.”

The three Kent’s were silent for a few seconds.

“Are you sure about that, Connie?” Jonathon coaxed with a raised brow.

She could taste the questioning worry in his voice, but brushed it off and nodded with a thin-lipped smile.

“Yeah, I think he’ll be happy to see me. Its…” she thought for a moment.

“It’s been a while.”

The ride away from the High School was tenser than fly trapped in a spider’s web. Martha and Jonathon sat in the front while Clark sat in the back next to Connie.

There was nothing playing on the radio, and all the windows were up. Her hand rested on the middle seat, fingers strumming an irregular beat. Normally, Clark’s hand would intertwine with hers, but his were straining in a tight grip against his thigh.

The tightness of his jaw ripped at her soul. It was no mystery that Clark hated—no, despised Walter Mayfield. Maybe, an emotion deeper than she understood, something darker than disgust and rage connected Clark and Walter. She breathed in deep, trying to find the courage to reach over and hold his hand. But it never happened.

The Mayfield farm was more decrepit than any of them remembered.

Jonathon turned off the car and turned in his seat. “Do you want me to come in with you?” He offered.

It was tempting but she shook her head and undid the old leather seatbelt. It was hard for her to ignore the way Clark was visibly holding himself back from saying anything, and turning the car handle seemed to hurt worse than a third degree burn.

“I’ll only be a second,” she promised, shutting the door and moving away from the car.

The air smelt dry; drier than the dirt under her wedges. It was thick and felt like it could clog her throat if she breathed it too long. The shining sun blinded her eyes and she kept her head down on the trek to the front door—taking no mind to the even creakier porch steps and missing rocking chair.

The brown door seemed scarier now than ever before. She had no house key; there was no point to having access to somewhere you didn’t live anymore.

Her knuckles rapped against the aged wood with the hand not gripping the diploma, teeth gnawing into her bottom lip as seconds passed.

A crash echoed inside the house and Connie readied herself as the lock turned from the other side. It’s now or never, she thought, standing straight with her head held high.

The door was lurched open with a gust of air, and her eyes widened at the sight of her Walter Mayfield. Time hadn’t been kind to him, and neither had the glass bottles littering the floor. Dirty blonde hair, missing teeth and the look of a crazed man were what any regular person would have seen; but she just saw her dad.

“Hi, Dad.”

His left eye twitched something ferocious.

“Connie.”

His voice had become rougher than gravel; probably smoked twice as much as he drank. Dirt caked his fingernails and a dried redness smattered the inside of his elbow. He was the picture of being at the bottom, and Connie instantly hated herself for ever coming back here. This was a mistake, she said to herself.

“I finished high school, Dad.” She held up the white diploma for a split second, watching his eyes follow its movement—up and down, “I—I thought you’d want to know.”

Silence hung between the two Mayfield’s; Connie holding her breathe with trepidation, and Walter staring silently. Neither had moved from their positions on the porch, and all three Kent’s were watching from the car window. Just in case Walter tried something.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Aren’t you going to say anything to me, Dad?” she tried to coax an answer from the man she’d once called her father. But he hadn’t been a man in a long time, or ever really. Trying to see past his shoulders into the run down house was the last thing she wanted to do.

Too many memories—bad ones mostly—lied inside those molded walls.

Then finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Walter opened his mouth.

“Go ‘way, Connie.”

And he shut the door in her face, the slam echoing through her head long after he’d walked away from the last piece of living flesh he had. Hiccups tried to take home in her throat, and a river tried to flow from her honey pot eyes.

Was there any timeline that she’d imagined where he’d welcomed her with open arms? What lie had made her believe he’d be happy to see her? It was always going to go like these… and yet, it hurt so much worse.

Warm arms—and the scent of chopped wood and the freshness of dewy wet grass on an early warm sunrise—roamed the air around her clouded mind. It was soothing and sweet, to be in the arms of Clark. He enveloped her in his bear like arms and held her close.

It was a space she never wanted to leave. His clean-shaven face found home in the soft sweetness of her neck, and a solemn kiss found her skin. His lips could chase away any demons.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into her skin, nose rubbing against her warmth.

They stayed that way for only a few seconds and Clark gingerly turned and led them back to the truck. Each step felt like carrying pounds of cement, but with Clark around, she would never fall.

His strong hands sat her inside the truck and shut the door, running around to hop in himself, grateful to leave behind the Mayfield farm in a cloud of dust.

It was nearing 9, and Clark was already upstairs waiting in his pajamas when Jonathon rested against the doorway of the kitchen, eyes watching Connie.

His presence visibly scared her, and she jumped—clutching her heart.

“Jesus, you scared the daylights out of me.” Her hip leisurely shut the fridge, two pieces of blueberry pie topped with smooth whipped cream jammed onto one plate.

“Did you need something? Clark and I were going to watch some movies till one of us passed out.”

A beat of silence passed between them, Jonathon eventually clearing his throat. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

“Oh.” That hadn’t been what she’d expected to hear.

“It’s alright, really. I—I should’ve expected it.” The pie plate dinged as she rested it on the cloth-covered table. “I think it would’ve been weird if he wasn’t like that. It takes a lot for people to change, and I just—I wanted…”

“He may not show it, but I bet he’s proud to have a daughter like you.” Jonathon interjected. “Martha and I sometimes wish you’d been ours.”

“I don’t think it would be in my best interest to be Clark’s sister.”

They both let out a breathy laugh. The whipped cream on the chilled pie was starting to run onto the plate.

“There’s something I want to show you.” Jonathon said, stepping from the wall and making his way to the backdoor. “It’s been a long time coming, and there’s no better time than the present."

“O—Okay?” she slowly muttered. “Is this the Kent dead body that you guys keep tied up in the barn?”

He turned and raised a solid brow, urging her to follow him outside. She tried not to think of where they were going; there was no way this could be anything bad.

This was Clark’s dad; he was the nicest man in town. But as they stalked along the shortly trimmed grass, and the cold chill set into her bare feet, the possibilities flew through her mind.

The thumbnail of her left hand was bitten particularly hard as Jonathon Kent pried open the barn doors, the smell of hay and obstructing her senses.

Her eyes closed as clouds of dust rushed into the air—no ones cleaned this place in ages—and opened to watch Jonathon reach up for rope hanging from the ceiling.

She gingerly stepped onto the wooden floor and tried not to shiver; it was freezing. Her eyes followed the rope, hands tugging to open to floorboards just in front of them.

“What’s down there?” she asked shakily, a sense of slight… it wasn’t fear, but a crossbreed between dread and nervousness. They didn’t actually have a dead body, right?

“What?”

“This—“ his finger pointed at the space hidden under the barn, “—is what we found Clark in. He was just a baby with a set of lungs that wouldn’t stop crying unless Martha held him.”

Connie still couldn’t really understand what she was seeing, or what he was saying.

Out of all the things that the Kent’s were hiding—every little town had families with secrets—but the secret being that Clark was from space was a little out there.

“So… Clark isn’t Martha’s?” She looked at Jonathan. “And you two found him in this, 18 years ago?”

He nodded with the most serious face she’d ever seen, but the words spilled out like a floodgate, “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but you have to know how this sounds. Right?”

“It’s why we’ve never told anyone.” He explained, wiping a hand down his withered face. “We kept this from Clark for most of his life. Martha and I never wanted him to know about where he comes from, but then the accidents started piling up. We didn’t have a choice.”

“You two did your best to protect Clark.” She sympathized.

He stepped down into the hole, and Connie quickly followed. Hey eyes took in the glossy ship, and she found herself reaching forward and placing her palm against the sleek metal. It was cool and smooth, and her palm leisurely moved along to the more patterned area, feeling the bumps and grooves.

It could’ve easily been mistaken for some type of rare metal, but a part of her was starting to believe that this was a spaceship.

“You’ve kept a spacecraft under your barn for 18 years…” she gulped, “And Clark is…”

For some strange reason—in some deep corner of her brain—this wasn’t that crazy. It wasn’t like Clark hadn’t been different from the other kids from an early age, why he seemed to be bigger and stronger than every other kid in their graduating class.

How he pulled a bus from a river.

“Clark’s an alien.” She whispered into the air, nodding at Jonathon with wide eyes. Her lungs blew out all of their air. “Clark is an alien.”

“Please don’t hold this against him.” Jonathon added. “He wanted to tell you the second I showed this to him, but I told him he couldn’t.”

Her scoff nearly cut him off, “I don’t think I would’ve handled it as well as he did.”

“But you are now.” He grinned.

“Because I lo—“

Because I love him

“I love him, Mr. Kent.” Her hand retreated from the aircraft, and she stepped away. “And nothing can change that.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more certain about anything in my life, and that is that I love Clark, and this—“ she longed to hold Clark in her arms, “—only makes me want to protect him more.”

The silence of night stood between them.

Her words shone brighter than a sunset on a summer’s day, and Jonathon found an itch of smile forming on his face. They both stared at the tiny ship, but Connie dared to reach forward and finger a gleaming piece of metal.

It was freezing cold to the touch, but as smooth as polished silver. It was shaped like a stake that punctured dry soil, but the top had a strange symbol. It easily popped off of the exterior of the ship.

It looked like an S.

She held it up to the moonlight, “Do you know what it means?”

But he shrugged his shoulders and pulled the lever to lower the barn floor hatch, both of them climbing out to watch the floor close up again. “It was in there with Clark, so I’m guessing he’d have a better idea than me.”

“How much does he know about where he comes from?”

Jonathon turned back and stared as she rubbed the black tool in between her fingertips. Something felt right about letting her have it.

He nodded to the barn door with a grin, “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

A beaming smile stretched across her face and she tore through the barn, uncaring of the hay digging into the soles of her feet.

The doors flew open with a gust of chilly wind, and heaving breaths winded her chest and she looked across the grassy path.

Clark

He hadn’t changed out of his pajamas—his bare feet stuck in the freezing grass while his hands wrung at his sides. The moonlight shined on the space between them, and she ran towards the sea, thrown into its arms and enveloped in its soothing blue. His arms enveloped her like a blanket, tugging her up and off the grass, holding her close.

It truly was the best feeling in the world, to be in Clark Kent’s arms. It was warmer than you’d imagine, it felt safer than you could dare to dream, and it felt like home.

He gently set her back on the ground, still keeping her close, “Seeing as you’re not running for the hills, I’m going to assume you’re taking your best friend being an alien pretty well.”

Best friend, her rational mind snarled, Lies.

“I mean, I’ll admit, for a moment there I was planning to call the feds and demand a place on their alien tasks unit.” She explained with a giggle, snuggling into his arms with a sigh. His warmth chased away the cold.

“Every single time I pictured telling you about this part of my life,” he reminisced, “It never once went like this.”

Her crown rubbed against his soft chest, humming lightly. “And exactly how had you pictured it?”

“I’d imagined there being a lot more screaming.” A nod to the cornfield, “And I’m glad you aren’t trying to run away. I’d hate to have to chase you down.”

A flare of challenge erupted in her gut, and she pulled back to raise a brow at him, “Is that a challenge, farm boy?”

It would’ve been fruitless to try and escape his arms, and besides, getting smacked in the face with corn was not ideal.

They stared at one another, and their hearts beat in sync.

There was no fear in her soul—her heart—and there was no doubt that this was the same Clark that pulled her from a watery grave, that held her on sleepless nights and whispered sweet words, that gave her a home and a family to call her own. She was his world, but he was hers too.

“I can hear your heartbeat.” Clark confessed as his hands rubbed her soft hips.

“It’s faster when you’re nervous and softer when you sleep.”

His hands rubbed her shoulders, “When I was first learning to control my senses, Mom told me to make the world small, to find something to ground myself.”

“The sound of your heart helped me hone my senses.” He picked up her chin and gazed into her eyes, “You helped me.”

“I—I didn’t know, Clark.” The right words seemed lost for her, “If I’d known, I would’ve done anything to help you.”

“But you did,” he cut her off, thumb rubbing the cheek under his palm. “You’ve always been there for me, Connie, and I love you.”

“I’ve always loved you, Clark.” She squeezed his tighter, “And not even being a freaky alien baby can change that.”

A squeal of laughter erupted from her throat as Clark lifted her over his shoulder with ease and bolted into the house, laughter echoing across the farm.

Chapter 4 coming soon!

#clark kent henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill #henry cavill imagines #clark kent x oc #clark kent fanfiction #clark kent imagines #clark kent #man of steel #dc fanfiction #batman v supeman: dawn of justice #superman #superman fanfiction

44 notes · View notes

pixcldust · 4 years

Text

𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 ;

pairing | iwaizumi hajime x gn! reader

wordcount | 1.5k

warnings | mild mention of death, slight angst i think, small letters on purpose

tags | ambiguous ending, friendship to something more, no beta bc im shy

a/n | i don't write gender neutral often (i barely write in 2nd pov tbh) so if i messed something up, pls let me know!! it’s 1am but i couldn’t sleep lmaoo i’ll try to sleep again after posting this.

the beginnings of a love story in three parts.

it starts in the summer, with you lounging on a deck chair, eating candy that turns your tongue blue. you’re wearing shorts and a tanktop, in one of your friends’ big backyard, watching them scream and laugh in the pool. the sun feels like hell on your bare skin but the laughter is infectious and you’re laughing with them. never mind that it’s your last year of senior high school and that after this, you may never see half of these kids again. there is only the here, the now, and it’s brighter than you’ve ever felt for most of your life.

he comes over, a wide smile on his tan face and pool water dripping off his hair. his fingers move deftly to flick water at you, laughing as he dries his hands and picks up his phone. despite flipping him off, you note his good mood - it’s a rare sight to see him play around so childishly like this. you find that you quite like it.

“done with swimming?” you ask. he nods, eyes on his phone. the first few beats of some hip hop song that you don’t recognise starts playing from its speakers.

“my fingers look like prunes,” he groans as he puts down his phone and splays out his fingers at you childishly. you scrunch your face up at him in return. “plus they want to go eat pizza after this, and hanamaki is gonna take years to shower so i wanted to get a headstart.”

“we’re eating pizza after?” you roll your eyes. “damn these kids and their big appetites.”

“you’re not hungry, because you’ve been eating so much candy,” he wrinkles his nose at the packet of pop rocks in your hand. “that’s not good for you, y’know?”

there’s a pause, him staring at you and you staring at him - time in a frozen state - before you sigh and motion for his hand. “if you wanted some, you could’ve just asked.”

iwaizumi grins as you pour some on his hand. his smile gleams bright against his skin. “thank you.”

he throws them into his mouth as he runs off to take a shower, and you feel a smile curve your lips. it’s odd. your boyfriend isn’t here - he’s opted to train today, even though it’s probably the last time all of you will ever be close together like this - but you can feel your heart skipping the way it does when you’re with him.

ii.

you and oikawa started dating at the beginning of your third year.

it was bound to happen eventually; at least, that’s what most of your friends told you so. you have always been friends with tooru and iwa and, when you reached high school, makki and mattsun. tooru was always the popular one, iwa was the reliable one and you were the calm one. a package deal - girls, students in general, who were interested in oikawa and were too intimidated to approach iwa would come to you. frankly, you didn’t mind. everyone had had a crush on oikawa at least once, and it wasn’t like you were any different when you were younger.

what you didn’t expect was for him to confess to you in your second year. it’s burned in the back of your memory: under the shade of one of the staircases near the gym, in the middle of your lunch break, tooru’s face reddening in embarrassment. you said yes, because you’ve always found him funny and cute and attractive in all the ways more than physical and wasn’t that enough to make a good relationship?

apparently not, since it’s been several months since you last had a proper conversation with him.

he’s in the gym again today, still training by himself, even though he’s already graduated. he’s going to go overseas, to continue his volleyball training in another team. you know this because that was what he told you the last time you two had a proper conversation. good luck, you said to him because you know that volleyball meant that much to him. never mind that he always, always, always put the sport before you, because even though he was your boyfriend, he was also one of your best friends and that meant supporting his dreams. you’re going to be amazing.

you can hear the squeak of volleyball shoes on hard floor, the thwack of ball against flesh, as you approach the gym doors. he’s there - alone, because school’s out for the end-of-term holidays - and he doesn’t immediately notice you standing there. his eyes are too focused on the ball as he sets to himself. he’s always too focused on the ball.

when he does see you there, he lets the ball drop and give you a smile. “hey y/n. what are you doing here?”

seeing his happy face chips at some of your initial confidence and your words falter at your lips, unwilling to come out. a deep breath because if not now, then when? would you really be okay with letting this relationship drag on and on? if there’s one thing you’re certain of, it’s this: you have fallen out of love with oikawa tooru. and he knows it.

“tooru, I think we should break up.”

it hurts a little, if you’re being honest, as you watch the smile slide off his face, giving way to a soft frown. you know he’s had to do this before, watch a person leave him because he was a little too selfish to give up volleyball for anything else, and you hated knowing that he was going through it again. your fault this time. but you know he’s seen this coming. even matsukawa has asked if you were doing okay in a rare bout of seriousness before. at the time, you didn’t know how to answer the question.

oikawa tooru is a lot of things, but he isn’t stupid. he should have seen this coming from miles away, a freight train hurtling at him with its headlights bright and glaring. it’s deliberate ignorance; oikawa saw the train. he just didn’t feel like stepping off the tracks.

“is this because of volleyball?” he asks, tilting his head. he doesn’t have an argument against you, and you know it’s because he’s felt the romantic love for you die off back to a platonic one. like you felt it. “if so, i’m sorry y/n, i didn’t mean to make you feel lonely-”

“it’s okay, tooru. i’m really proud of you, y’know? and... i hope we can stay friends.”

the last sentence sounds more like a question but he’ll understand. his frown disappears at your words, and while it’s not a smile, it’s something like acceptance and that’s good enough for you at the moment. picking up the ball, he nods. “me too.”

iii.

you’re in a tank top and shorts once again, under blistering heat, only this time they’re new clothes, and it’s just you and hajime. all your friends have grown up and out, dotted all across the country. you hum to yourself, stretching your fingers. hajime passes a packet of pop rocks to you.

“hey haji. have you ever thought about death?”

he eyes you suspiciously like you’re about to trick him with nothing but words, and it makes you want to laugh. “sometimes, yeah.”

makki and mattsun moved out of miyagi after high school opting to attend fancy universities in tokyo. tooru left japan completely - said he was going to train twice as hard overseas after the opportunity presented itself. that just left you and iwaizumi, attending the same college in miyagi. you didn’t mind and, despite iwa’s occasional huffs, he never seems to mind either.

and maybe it’s because the both of you are older now, because you’ve found someone who doesn’t mind the way you prefer to skip over small talk, but recently it feels like hajime has been becoming your source of energy more and more. after classes end, he’s quick to send you a text and you’re even quicker to respond - at this point, you’ve visited almost every cafe in miyagi. even the shitty ones, to hajime’s dismay and your amusement.

“we’re so old now, it feels like i’m on the brink of death,” you groan, pouring pop rocks straight into your mouth. they fizzle like miniature fireworks on your tongue.

a magazine smacks you on the head but you can’t be bothered to turn and glare at him. you opt to glare straight ahead of you instead, to the pool and the few people in it. sunlight bounces off of the glittery water and your glare turns to a squint. “you’re 21, you’re not 71.”

“maybe it’s the heat getting to me.

“yeah, it’s seriously hot today,” iwaizumi knits his brows, sitting up in his seat. you steal a glance at his exposed biceps - bless his tank top - and feel a strange pound in your chest. opting to ignore it, your lips unfurl into a grin.

“sorry about that.”

the magazine thwacks you on the head again, but not before you see his lips curl into a amused smile to match yours. “shut up.”

all your friends have grown up and out, but your happiness is only beginning.

41 notes · View notes

champhangman · 4 years

Text

No Other - Part Four

Title: No Other Characters: Nick Jackson x OFC Part: Four of ? Summary: I don’t know the loneliness you’ve known. I don’t hear the frosty words echo inside. Word Count: 7,625 Warnings: Slight alcohol use A/N: Due to popular Ash’s demand, I’ve created a Spotify playlist for this fic, which you can check out here. (It means so much when people message me with song recs for any of my fics, y’all have no idea!)

@adampage / @cowboyshit / @lilmisswhiskeygypsy / @bigpixiefoot / @mindofasagittaruis / @kalliravenne / @sadlittlecountess / @baronsbelleevangeline / @brie-mode-activated / @xbreezymeadowsx / @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch / @wardl0w / @what-does-mine-say / @waywardwrestlewritingwaif / @drewshoneybadger / @merchfreak / @markostuntthesehoes / @mysteryoflovve / @knnyomega / @kploveswrestling / @snarkandsarcasmftw

Four

The bar was a sports bar, complete with blaring TVs, neon signs, a low hum of music playing, and flirty, giggly waitresses that all had to walk by the table. Jasmine slowly sipped her daiquiri as yet another waitress strolled casually by, conspicuously staring at Adam. He seemed to not notice, too focused on telling her about his match earlier, and when the waitress turned to walk by again, he glanced up and gave her a quick smile. Then asked for another drink.

Jasmine watched the woman sigh and giggle as she hurried away, shaking her head at his obliviousness when he continued his tale.

"What?" he asked with a chuckle when she laughed.

"Since we got here, five women have walked by to gawk at you," she pointed out.

"Nah," he drawled, shaking his head. "They're just working."

"Please," she snorted. "You can't be that unaware."

"Well, I can't say I'm used to it and sound like an asshole." Adam looked up when their waitress approached. His face lit into a smile, and he thanked her profusely for the quick service.

She made it two feet from the table before fanning herself.

"You're used to that?" Jasmine asked, taking another sip of her drink.

"Not really." He shrugged. "And you're not exactly being ignored."

"By the women I am," she retorted.

"Do you want their attention?" There was a light of interest in his eyes.

"Not if they're going to stare and giggle," she sighed. Then, grinning, she shook her head slightly. "I'm fully straight, Adam, and even if I was a goddess I doubt they'd notice me next to you."

"You're stroking my ego, Jazzy."

"At least I'm stroking something, right?"

His chuckle turned into a full-fledged laugh. Once he'd recovered, he took a sip of his drink and looked at her seriously. "So, what's wrong with dating someone you work with?"

"Are you about to interrogate me?" she asked, sitting back in her seat.

"Hey, I got a right. You asked me if I wore boxers or briefs."

"That wasn't my question!" Jasmine rolled her eyes. "And I didn't expect you to go into a lecture on how different types of underwear are better under different circumstances. But I'm sure your female fans appreciated it."

His cheeks darkened slightly, and his grin was almost one of embarrassment. "Did I take it too far?"

"No." She had the feeling that he wouldn't let his question go unanswered and sighed, toying with the zipper on her hoodie. "And I guess that really, there's nothing wrong with dating coworkers."

"Then why the rule?" he asked, tone and expression serious. "And don't give me some generic answer."

"I got burned." Jasmine unzipped the zipper partway, then zipped it back up. Then again, the noise annoying to her, but she was unable to stop. "Burned isn't the right term. I… I had to leave once we stopped seeing each other."

He barely glanced at her when she passed him, clutching the box of things from her eyes. His humorless chuckle reached her ears just as she reached the elevator, and she glanced back to see him smirking in triumph. She watched his lips move, forming the word that had been whispered throughout the offices for weeks.

Whore.

"That's why you left law?" Adam's voice was gentle.

She jerked her head up. "How did you know?"

"Matt and Cody were talking about it. They said you've got an impressive resumé." He lifted one shoulder in a faint shrug. "Is it?"

"Mostly, yes. I was also burned out. Law wasn't my dream job." She picked up her drink and wiggled the straw around.

"What's the dream?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "For a long time, it was performing. I did musical theater in high school and college."

"Yeah? Were you good?"

"Yes." She'd loved it, every bit. Working on scenery between rehearsals, trying on the wardrobe. Vibrant colors, swirling silks, and satins. Even the corsets had been fun. Elaborate hairstyles, wigs, and makeup. And her favorite part, stepping forward to sing her solos. At first alone with just the director, then with the rest of the cast, and then in front of audiences. The sheer joy of performing, of seeing faces in the crowd laugh and cry. The surge of adrenaline that came with learning a new part, the sweat and aches of learning choreography. The tears of euphoria stinging her eyes when a performance ended and there was echoing applause as the curtain fell.

"Why did you stop?"

"I wanted to have something to fall back on." She blinked, the lights and sounds and colors fading back into her memories. Looking at Adam, she saw his nod of understanding. "Once I got accepted into law school, I didn't have time for music or acting anymore."

"What about now?'

"I'm too old," she murmured, setting her drink down without taking a sip.

"Bullshit."

"I am," she insisted. "I haven't done any of that in years."

Stomach churning. Rehearsed lines and lyrics repeating in her brain. The familiar scent of the stage as she walked out for her audition. A bored voice asking for her name, then telling her to go ahead.

Then, nothing. Knees knocking, stomach violent, heart thudding dully. Eyes burning, mouth watering, breath catching. Lights swirling. A ripple of gasps as she bolted offstage, the darkness of backstage swallowing her, taunting her until she burst outside into blinding sunlight. A curious pigeon cooing at her while she vomited on the cracked asphalt.

"You could still do community theater stuff, couldn't you?"

Jasmine smiled weakly. "I don't think so."

"You'll find something," Adam reassured with a quick smile.

"Not to sound mean, but that's easy for you to say. You're living your dream."

"Everyone should be able to." His voice was emphatic. "If a dumb hick like me can do it, so can you."

"I have to find a dream first." A depressing thought. Her life had changed so drastically in the past three years. She was hardly the same person she had been that lifetime ago when she had had dreams. She did have dreams, but they didn't revolve around just her anymore. Frowning, she picked up her drink and took a sip. She didn't like the taste of it and, with a sigh, pushed it back onto the table and reached for her glass of soda instead.

"You'll find something, Jazzy," Adam promised. "You're pretty, you're talented—"

"Talented?" she cut in, lifting her eyebrows.

"Nick told me about you playing piano. Said you can hear a song once and play it." He shook his head as though in disbelief. "That's talent."

"Right," she murmured.

"More importantly, though, you're smart. It might take you a while to find that new dream, but when you do, I know you're smart enough to stick it through." He lifted his drink in a silent salute before taking a sip. "And you'll kick ass at whatever it is."

"I hope so." Jasmine sighed again.

"Stop frowning and sighing," he groaned. "You're gonna make me think I'm a shitty date."

She rolled her eyes. "It's not a date, Adam."

"Sure it is. You and I, both single – You are really single, aren't you?" he asked, eyes widening slightly. "I mean, you don't have some giant motherfucker of a boyfriend that's gonna come after me—"

"I'm single," she promised with a snort of laughter. "I wouldn't lie about that."

"Thank fuck," he muttered. "You and I, both single, came to the same place with the express reason to have a drink or two and get to know each other."

"That doesn't make this a date."

"Sure it does." He finished his drink and set the glass down with a smile. "And when we leave here, we're going back to the hotel, where I'll walk you to your room, and then—"

"And then I say thanks for the drink and the conversation, tell you good night, and go into my room. Alone," she added when he smirked.

"Not even a goodnight kiss, huh?"

"Maybe a handshake."

He looked at her, head tilted slightly, and gave a sigh. "I won't burn you, Jazzy."

"I'm not going to risk finding out."

"Can't blame me for trying," he said after a moment.

"I don't," she assured him. "If I'm allowed to be honest, it's a little flattering."

Adam flashed a smile. "But you've gotta let me do a little bragging."

"Excuse you?" She stared at him in horror. "Bragging?"

"You ain't stupid, you've got to know Nick's interested in you. And I'm nothing if not an asshole, so I gotta let him think this was more than just a couple drinks." He grinned, a charming, almost adorable grin that very nearly pulled her in.

"Did you ever get punished as a child?" she asked softly, not wanting to comment on what he'd said about Nick.

"Not really… Why?"

"Because I don't think anyone could punish you, really."

"That's what my mom would say," he admitted with an embarrassed grin. "I'd do something and she said I was too cute to be mad at."

"I can believe it," she sighed, shaking her head.

"She says I could get away with murder."

"Your country boy looks and charm, with the right lawyer? You probably could."

"Would you be my lawyer?"

"I don't practice anymore," she reminded him.

"You evade questions so well, though. And you change the subject like a pro."

"I haven't changed the subject—"

"Nick." He leaned in slightly, elbows resting on the table. "He's a subject."

"What do you want me to say? He's my boss."

"Oh," Adam breathed, nodding with understanding. "I got you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's okay. He's pretending he doesn't like you that way, too."

"He—"

"Which is just gonna make it even more fun for me."

"You really are an asshole," she groaned. "It doesn't matter if I like him—"

"So you do like him."

Jasmine scowled. "Are you sure you never studied law?"

"Naw, I'm just an asshole, remember?" He grinned. "Don't worry, Jazzy. I won't tell him."

"Tell him what?" she asked.

"That you like him."

"I never said—"

"You want another?" He turned his head, obviously looking for the waitress, and when one immediately came towards the table, he turned back with a grin.

"I can't even finish this one." Jasmine pushed her drink further away. When the gawking woman reached the table she opened her mouth to request something else but closed it as the woman giggled flirtatiously at Adam. She looked on in awe, wondering how she had missed out on the playful gene. Both her parents still teased and flirted, despite so many years of marriage, whereas she had never been good at it. She'd tried, many times, and had felt silly and awkward. Banter didn't come easily to her, except with—

"You want something else?" Adam asked her.

"No, I'm fine. Maybe some water," she decided. She was actually ready to go. The loud TVs were starting to give her a headache, and the constant giggling wasn't helping. She thought about leaving so Adam could be free to flirt and chose one of the women obviously willing to share his bed. And if she left, she wouldn't be subjected to more talk of Nick.

"Some water for my date, please?" Adam flashed a grin at the waitress.

Jasmine kept her face impassive when the woman slowly looked over at her as though only just noticing someone was with the man. "Please," she said sweetly.

"Yeah, okay, sure."

Adam watched her walk off and was turning back as the door opened and several people began to enter. She saw his face light with recognition, then he was waving. "Alright if some of the guys join us?"

"Of course."

Relieved, she watched the group approach the table. Greeting them, she rolled her eyes when Dax apologized for crashing their date. She slipped out of her chair, trying to catch Adam's attention, but he was already talking animatedly with Cash. But she couldn't leave without telling him. Self-professed asshole or no, she knew he would be, if not worried, at least a little bothered if she left without saying a word. The group around the table grew and she squeezed behind Cash, reaching around him to tug at Adam's sleeve.

"Hey," he said, chuckling. "Where you going?"

"I'm heading back to the hotel," she said, wincing when Dax hollered loudly for some service. She saw Adam start to stand and shook her head. "No, no, you stay. Drink a couple for me."

"You can't walk back alone," he said with a frown.

"It's barely a block away. I'll be fine," she promised. "Stay."

"I ain't a dog," he groused. Shaking his head when she sighed, he held up a hand. "Alright, alright. But text me so I know you got back, alright? If I don't hear from you, I'm coming to look for you."

"I will. Good night," she said. "And thanks."

Turning to leave, she caught herself before crashing into Mox and flashed him a quick, apologetic smile before slipping away. She noted that every waitress was hurrying to the table, and that the one she'd asked for water didn't have it on the tray she carried. With a roll of her eyes she stepped out into the night and breathed a sigh of relief.

Her walk to the hotel was uneventful, those she passed barely glancing in her direction. Fans were milling around outside the hotel, and a few in the lobby, but none paid her any attention as she headed for the elevators. While waiting she sent Adam a quick text assuring him she'd made it safely back, added that she hoped he had a good night, then switched her phone to silent as the elevator doors open.

"Jazzy!" Brandon greeted, holding the doors open for her. "How's it going?"

"Hey. Going great." She stepped onto the elevator and unzipped her hoodie. "How are you?"

"Doing good." He glanced around, then stepped onto the elevator and let the doors close. "Quick question."

"Okay?"

"You live near Jacksonville, right?" he asked, still smiling.

"Yeah, why?"

"I'm bringing the family with me in a couple weeks. I was thinking we could get together, let the kids have a playdate?"

"At the venue?" she asked, eyes widening in horror.

"No, no, at the beach or something," he promised with a chuckle. "We're gonna stay a few days, do Disney and all that. What do you say?"

"I…" She knew one of Brandon's kids were close to Beatrice's age. "That sounds like a good idea. Bea hasn't really hung out with other kids, except at the park once in a while."

"Great. I'll get with you next week and we can plan something?" he suggested, punching the button to open the doors.

"Sure. Thanks," she said, smiling. "It means a lot to me, Brandon."

"Have a good night. See you next week, alright?"

"Bye," she laughed as the doors slid shut. Pressing the button for her floor, she checked her phone and saw a text from Adam.

Sure you don't want company tonight?

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. I'm sure. Ask the cute waitress.

She had reached her floor and was opening her door to get change from her bag when he replied. Holding the door open with her hip, she waited until she'd gotten enough money for a couple snacks and a drink before looking at the message.

They're all cute though.

Choking on a laugh, she tossed her phone into her bag and, making sure she had her key, pulled the door shut and headed for the vending machines. The hallway was quiet, though she could hear muffled TVs and music when she passed a few doors. She turned the corner, coins jangling in the pocket of her hoodie, and her steps slowed when she saw Nick coming from the opposite direction.

He looked up from his phone and looked surprised to see her. "Jasmine. Hey."

"Hey," she said softly, stepping into the small room that housed the vending machines. They glowed eerily, and she approached the drink machine first, swallowing when she sensed him entering behind her. She pushed coins through the slot, each metallic clang sounding overly loud to her. When the drink dropped she bent to get it, sidestepping awkwardly around Nick to reach the snack machine.

"Your date's over already?"

"My da—" Jasmine stopped feeding coins into the machine and stared at him. AN ache flared in her chest at the flash of…pain? Did the thought of her going out with someone else hurt him that much? Why? Because of what had happened between them already? She kept telling herself it had been just a kiss, one that wasn't supposed to occur. And sometimes she almost believed that it hadn't meant anything, because the alternative was too painful to bear. But she couldn't intentionally hurt him. No matter what Adam said, she doubted that letting Nick think they'd done more than just go out for a drink would be fun. "It wasn't a date, Nick."

"Wasn't it?"

"Nick," she whispered, shoving her hand into the pocket of her hoodie to find more change. She glanced down and it was only then that she noticed it was his hoodie. The one he'd tucked around her and insisted she keep. The one that, if she breathed deeply enough, she could still catch the scent of his cologne on. It was warmer and softer than any other hoodie she had ever own, and although she knew she should, she couldn't bring herself to give it back to him. Each time she pulled it on she thought of him, which was probably a very good reason to give it back to him. "It wasn't a date. I'm not interested in Adam. He's funny and charming, but he's not—"

She cut off the sentence and jammed the last of the change into the machine. He's not you.

"It wasn't a date," she insisted, punching buttons blindly until she felt the coils whir and something land with a thud in the well at the bottom of the machine. He bent to retrieve what she'd bought, and she frowned when she was it was a granola bar. Taking it, she stuffed it into the pocket of her jeans and began feeding more change into the machine.

"You don't like granola?"

"Not really. Bea loves it, so I'll just take it home for her."

"Your niece?" he asked.

"Yeah. Short for Beatrice." Who had fallen asleep before the end of the show, which meant it would be morning before she could talk to her again.

"You're a very dedicated aunt," Nick said with a smile. "I never think of bringing stuff back for my nieces and nephews."

"Does Matt?" she asked out of curiosity.

"Once in a while."

"Yeah, you better get on that if you want to be the favorite uncle. It doesn't take much, trust me. They'll be happy you thought of them while you were gone. Granola bars, or a funky keychain from the airport."

"I bow to your superior wisdom." His laugh was easy, and she could tell the tension between them was easing. "If I can't think of anything, can I ask for your input?"

"Of course." She smiled, and jumped when the machine clicked and she heard the change rattle into the coin return. Reaching to get it, she paused at the sight of the sleeve bunched up on her arm. With a groan, she began to shrug out of the hoodie, heart thudding as it slid off her shoulders. She immediately missed its warmth and its softness and the hint of Nick's cologne but held it out to him. "You should take this back."

"I told you to keep it."

Was the man ever anything but nice? "I don't need it."

"Obviously, you do," he pointed out.

She scowled. "I have three hoodies in my suitcase. I just grabbed this one because…"

Nick lifted his eyebrows when she faltered.

"Because…" Damn it, she was not going to tell him the reason she'd grabbed it and put it on. "Because it was on the top."

"Was it?" he asked casually.

"Yes, because I packed it last. So that I could give it back to you. Because it's yours."

"Jasmine," he sighed.

She glanced down and saw she was hugging it to her chest. "God," she groaned, tipping her head back and staring at the ceiling as though the recessed light above could explain why she was acting so stupidly. Unfolding her arms, she held it towards him, gulping as he closed the space between them again. "Thanks for letting me borrow it."

"Anytime," he murmured.

Watching his hand close around the garment, she knew it was time to let it go. But she was frozen. She could smell his cologne again and this time it was coming from him and it was so much nicer that way. Sandalwood and musk. Not overpowering, not obscene, just… Nice. Comforting, almost. Just like him.

"I can't take it if you're still holding onto it," he said, and there was a teasing quality to his voice that made her smile.

"It's a really, really nice hoodie," she commented. Remembering her change was in the pocket, she dug it out and pushed the hoodie towards him. "I'll have to buy one for myself."

"I only wore it a couple times, but yeah, it's a good one."

He tugged but still she held on. "Where'd you get it?"

"I can't remember. I'll look through my receipts when I get home and let you know."

"Please do." She looked up, smiling now, and saw he was smiling, too.

"Did you have fun? At the bar," he added.

"Honestly? No." Still holding onto the hoodie, she shrugged. "I'm not really a bar person anymore. But god, don't let him know I told you that. He's planning on being an asshole and letting you think we did more than have a couple drinks."

"Why?"

"He said because you're interested in me."

"Wow," he chuckled. "He is an asshole."

"A harmless one, though."

"But he's right."

"About what?" When had he moved closer? When had his hand moved from the hoodie to her arm? She shivered at the feel of his fingers sweeping over her skin and held her breath.

"I'm interested."

"You shouldn't be. I'm very boring. Just work and home and spending too much time listening to music and watching Disney movies. A houseplant is more interesting than I am. And I've made things awkward, right?" she asked, looking down. "And I hate it."

"Jasmine?"

"I hate that things are so awkward and weird now. I hate that I caused it. And I hate that I can't think of a way to make it end… I really fucking hate that I can't do what I really want."

"What do you want?" he asked softly.

She lifted her eyes to his, wetting her lips with her tongue when she felt his breath. It smelled of mint and she wondered if he'd already brushed his teeth for the night. Then she saw that he was moving closer. Or maybe she had moved. The hoodie slid from her grasp and she felt it fall between them.

"Jasmine?" His hand covered hers and she dropped several coins to the floor. She heard them clatter and roll but didn't look to see where they'd gone. Too busy trying to deny the frisson of warmth that rippled up her arm, she drew in a shaky breath. His brows pinched together faintly, and he leaned his head to one side. "What do you want?"

"You," she gasped. She wanted to smooth his brow, to be the one that made him smile instead of frown. God, she should have stayed at the bar with Adam and the others. Adam was safe. Her insides didn't turn into a trembling mess when she was around him. She felt on solid ground, her head not in a horrible jumble of warring thoughts. She knew she wouldn't be so tempted to take the risk that she couldn't allow herself to take. She could already feel herself leaning up, could feel his t-shirt beneath her hand. And, beneath that, his heartbeat, which seemed as unsteady as her own. "But—"

"Did you get murdered or something? It doesn't take twenty minutes to—"

Matt's voice dumped ice water over her and she snatched herself away from Nick, who pulled back as well. The space between them was comically large by the time Matt popped around the corner, and she tried her best to ignore his amused expression as he regarded her and Nick. She, studying the contents of the vending machine. He, picking up his hoodie and her scattered change.

"Oh. I see." Matt cleared his throat. "Hi, Jazzy."

"Hey," she said brightly. Too brightly. "What's up?"

"Did I interrupt something?"

"No," she and Nick said in tandem.

In the glass of the vending machine, she could see Matt turning his head to look from her to Nick rapidly. Seeing the candy bar she wanted, she reached for her money and realized it was still all over the floor. Still struggling to calm her jangling nerves and steady her thudding pulse, she squatted down to gather the coins that had rolled beneath the machine.

"Okay…" Matt dragged the word out and punctuated it with a chuckle. "You good?"

"Yeah," Nick said.

"Yep," Jasmine answered.

"Never better."

"Great, even," Jasmine added, choking back a snort of laughter.

"You're so weird," Matt said with a groan.

"Me? Or Jasmine?" Nick asked, and when she glanced at him she saw he was grinning.

"Both." Matt looked at them strangely as they both began to laugh.

Jasmine sank down until she was seated on the floor, giggling when Matt shook his head and walked away. She thought she heard him muttering as he went down the hall but didn't pay him much attention, too caught up in the absurdity of the moment. Nick's laugh subsided into giggles as well, and once the hilarity began to fade, she looked up to see him standing over her. He extended a hand and she grinned, letting him pull her to her feet.

"We shouldn't let what happened make things weird," he said, turning her hand and dropping the change he'd collected.

"I know." Pushing the coins into her pocket, she decided against buying candy and instead looked up at him. "I don't like weird."

"If we can't be something more, can we be friends?" he asked gently.

"I'd like that." And she would. Fluttering and twisting heart and chest aside, she liked Nick. She liked his deadpan humor, and she liked his quiet generosity. She liked that he was a happy person.

"Me, too." He smiled, that gentle, warm smile that, for some reason unknown to her, made her calm.

"I better get some sleep," she murmured. "Early flight in the morning."

"Do you really have three hoodies packed?"

She paused. Biting her lip, she thought of her suitcase, which didn't have the first hoodie packed into it. She had meant to get one from the merch stand during the show but hadn't gotten around to it and had only thought of it after she and Adam had left. "No, I don't," she admitted. "But—"

He was already handing the hoodie over. "Can't let my favorite Disney princess going without a jacket, can I?"

"Nick—" She cut off with a sigh and took the jacket. "Thanks."

"See you next week."

"Goodnight," she murmured.

"Night."

***

"Do you know if Jazzy's left yet?"

"Why would I know?" Nick asked with a grunt, looking up from his packing.

"You saw her last night," Matt pointed out with a roll of his eyes. "Do you?"

"Probably. She said she had an early flight. Why?"

"She keeps forgetting this, and Tony shoved it in my hands last night." Matt tossed a manila envelope onto Nick's bed. "I'm officially shoving it to you now."

He opened his mouth to suggest they just overnight it to her but thought better of it. A contract, even one for someone working in social media, was too sensitive to trust in anyone else's hands. Picking it up, he looked at Jazzy scrawled on the front in Matt's familiar handwriting. "I'm not gonna see her before you do."

"You see her more than me. We really need to get an assistant to do this shit." Matt slung his toiletry bag into his suitcase. "What were you doing with her last night, anyway?"

"We were just talking." Nick tucked the envelope in the inner pocket of his suitcase. And, seeing a bulge, he reached inside to see what he'd already stuffed in there. His fingers touched hard plastic and he tugged it out, turning the small dinosaur over in his hand.

"What about?"

"…Stuff." Nick pushed the toy back into the pocket and closed the lid.

"What kind of stuff? The stuff making stuff weird?"

"Yeah."

"Am I allowed to ask what was making stuff weird?"

"Sure, you can ask."

"Then—"

"But I'm not gonna tell you."

"Oh come on! This is driving me crazy," Matt groaned. "Why won't you tell me?"

"Because you'll blow it out of proportion, like you do everything." Nick pushed his suitcase to the floor and looked to all of Matt's things still scattered around. "It's nothing, Matt. We talked about stuff and things aren't weird anymore."

"Even though she went out with Adam last night?"

"How did you know that?"

"I ran into him when I went down for coffee." Matt began shoving things into his suitcase. He looked up with a grin. "He said they had a great time."

"Yeah, so great she came back to the hotel within an hour," Nick muttered with a roll of his eyes. "It wasn't a date."

"Is that what she said?"

"Why are you so obsessed with what she says?" Nick asked, leaning against the wall while he waited for Matt to finish packing. "She wasn't lying."

"She wasn't?"

"Just because she stopped practicing law a few years ago and didn't mention it to you, you think she's secretive and dishonest." He shook his head. "Don't you have other things to take up your time?"

"She is secretive. Who doesn't talk about having a degree in law?"

"Someone who doesn't want to brag about their smarts?"

"Has she talked to you about it?"

"No. It hasn't come up."

"Yeah, something else keeps coming up instead," Matt snorted.

"Oh, Jesus. I don't—"

"Have a boner for her, I know, I know." His brother grinned. "You're still telling yourself that lie?"

"It's not a lie."

"And it doesn't bother you that she went out with Adam?"

Nick groaned and pushed away from the wall. "No, it doesn't. Because it wasn't a date, and because me and her are just friends."

"She already friend-zoned you?" Matt looked horrified.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah, yeah, lemme grab my charger. Did she?"

"No." Nick cringed. "I hate that term. It's not like two people can't have a platonic relationship. She doesn't owe me a date."

"But she won't go out with you?" Matt bent next to the desk to unplug his charger.

"I haven't asked her," Nick grunted.

"Why the hell not?" Matt popped up with a look of horror.

"Can we go?"

"You haven't asked her out?"

"Friends," Nick said slowly.

"Why?"

"I'm leaving," he announced, grabbing his backpack and the handle of his suitcase.

"Sonofa – I'm coming, I'm coming."

Matt caught up with him at the elevator, his face purposefully calm. He stared straight ahead, mouth twisting, and Nick could feel the question coming, even when his brother merely rocked back on his heels and sighed.

"We're in Chicago next week."

"I don't—" Nick cleared his throat when he caught his brother's smirk. "Yeah."

"And Jacksonville the week after?"

"Yep."

"Jazzy lives near there, doesn't she?"

"I think so," he said carefully.

"You should take an earlier flight," Matt said casually as they stepped onto the interview. "Week after next, I mean."

"Why?"

"Oh, you know…" Matt smiled sweetly.

"Pretend I don't know."

"So you can take her the contract."

"I can give it to her in Chicago."

"And risk her leaving it behind again?" Matt clicked his tongue in disapproval.

"I'm not gonna just show up to her place," Nick scoffed.

"Funny that she keeps forgetting it. Like she wants someone to bring it to her."

"I doubt it. It probably keeps slipping her mind. She's got a lot to do."

"Hmm." Matt smirked again. "So defensive over your social media lady."

"Jasmine is not my—"

"Sorry. The social media lady."

"That's better," Nick sighed.

"Who you totally have a boner for."

Nick rolled his eyes and reached for his phone.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking up how to disown my brother."

Matt gasped. "You wouldn't."

"You know how we're planning to kick Hangy out of the Elite in a couple weeks? Maybe we should kick you out instead."

"You can't kick me out! I helped create it!"

"No? Watch me."

"You mother—" Matt snatched the phone from Nick's hands and scowled down at the screen. And, seeing what he'd been doing, he began to laugh. "You asshole."

Nick grinned and took his phone back, finishing the text he'd begun composing to Jasmine. I've got something that belongs to you. Please remind me to give it to you next week.

"Can I just ask one more question?" Matt began after they'd checked out and were heading outside to meet the Uber. Without waiting for an answer, he squinted at Nick. "Why the hell do you call her Jasmine?"

Nick looked at him, brow furrowing in confusion. "Because that's her name?"

"Everyone calls her Jazzy. She introduces herself as Jazzy. Even on the thing she did with Adam yesterday, she told everyone her name is Jazzy. You're the only one that calls her Jasmine."

"She said I could call her Jasmine."

"Oh, did she?"

Nick sighed. And waited.

"Was this before or after you let her friend-zone you?"

"Fuck off," he muttered as his phone alerted him their Uber was arriving.

"But—"

"Gonna kick you out of the Elite and go on a singles run," Nick called over his shoulder while walking away.

"No, you're not!"

"Then I'm gonna disown you and adopt Hangy as my brother."

Matt's gasp cracked with outrage. "Him?! The guy you call an asshole?!"

Nick stopped short and laughed when Matt slammed into his back. "You're such a dick."

"I'm your brother," Matt growled. "You love me."

"God help me," Nick muttered.

***

"We could have done this at the arena," Jasmine said while Nick double-checked the placement of the tripod on the desk. "Isn't this cutting into your free time?"

He chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped around her to go sit on the couch. "What's free time?"

"You're telling me you don't have any downtime?" She frowned, reaching for her phone and tablet so she'd have her notes ready. "At all?"

"I guess I do. But you know, we don't have a headquarters that we go to during the week to do stuff. So I'm working from home a lot. Then there's workouts, stuff for BTE, and me and Matt do things with local indy guys on the weekends. I don't mind, though, because I like being busy."

"What do you do in your downtime?" she asked. Then, remembering that had been one of the questions, she shook her head. "Wait, don't answer that yet."

"Okay," he laughed. "We ready?"

"Yeah, just a couple minutes." She snapped a quick picture of him and, after posting a reminder of the Q-and-A to Instagram and Twitter, leaned against the desk to wait.

"What do you do in your downtime?"

"Oh, this and that. I'll take Bea to the park or the museum, and if it's not too hot we'll go to the beach. I play music and watch trashy reality TV. And read."

"What do you like to read?"

"A little bit of everything," she admitted with a smile. "You know Bea's obsessed with dinosaurs, right? So I'm reading books about them so I'll know what we're looking at when we go to the museum. And I just finished a book about the Donner Party. Actually, not really everything, because I tend to stick to history or true crime. Sometimes I'll read a book that everyone's talking about to see what the big deal is. What about you?"

"Ah, sports stuff mostly. Biographies, if it's someone I find interesting. And once in a while I'll flip through some poetry," he muttered.

Jasmine looked up to see him ducking his head. As though he regretted the statement. "Really? That's cool, though. Like Shakespeare? Whitman?"

"Whitman, yeah. Maya Angelou, Robert Frost… Edgar Allan Poe if I'm feeling moody. I don't read a lot, just some here and there."

"Do you have a favorite—" Looking at her phone when the alarm started, she silenced it and leaned to start the stream. "Time to start."

She waited until the feed was live then stepped around to join him on the couch. She was nervous at first, as she had been the week before, but within moments felt herself relax. Nick was obviously comfortable in front of a camera, which made her relax further, and within three questions it became less an informal interview and more a conversation. She could tell the planned time was running out but didn't want it to end, enjoying learning more about him.

"Next question comes from JBerkowitz39…" Jasmine ducked her head in hopes of hiding her smile as she looked at her tablet screen. She hoped he wouldn't connect the username she had made up to her. She probably should have gone with something more innocuous, but it was too late now. She had thrown the question in on a whim, having seen many similar ones from female fans. "What is your idea of a perfect date?"

She lifted her head to see him grinning. He chuckled, shaking his head. "Why is that a question?"

"Because it ends with a question mark. Answer, please, the people are waiting."

"Oh, jeez," he sighed. "I don't know that a perfect date exists."

"Come on, Nick, you can do this," she encouraged, keen to hear his answer. "What would the perfect date for you include?"

He sighed again, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "It would depend on the woman, but for me… I like to do things outside the box."

"Not the dinner and a movie type, then?" she asked softly.

"No, not really. That's fine, but if I'm really into someone I'd want to make it special. I'm around people all the time so I'd like to do something like pack a picnic and drive out to a spot in the middle of nowhere so we can focus on each other. Then lay out and look at the stars or watch the sunset. I know it sounds corny, but have some music playing and dance under the stars."

As he spoke, Jasmine lowered her phone and stared at him, a smile tugging at her lips. It sounded so romantic. So beautiful. That he would want to make a date special instead of the usual cut-and-dried date ideas. And so like her own idea of the perfect date. Getting out of the city and breathing fresh air and being surrounded by nature while tentatively exploring a possible new love. So unlike all the dates she'd gone on in the past. Stuffy restaurants. Upscale clubs where it was more important to be seen than to spend time with someone. Caught up in the mental image of lying on a blanket next to him and talking about anything while the stars came out, she didn't notice he'd stopped speaking. She wasn't in the hotel room on a couch with a camera pointed at her and Nick, she was in some unknown place, wrapped in his arms and twirling in the grass while a love song serenaded the night air.

"Jasmine?"

"Yeah?" She smiled, admiring the backdrop of a starry sky and the glow of the moonlight on his face.

"Didn't you have more to ask?"

"I did?" What was he talking about?

"That's what I'm asking."

"You have questions?" Her smile began to fade.

"A lot, actually…" Nick laughed and she felt his hand on her knee. "But right now you're the one with all the questions, remember?"

"Oh." He nudged her knee and she looked down at it, the daydream scattering like dandelion seeds on a breeze when she saw his hand cupping her knee to nudge it again. She jerked upright, scrambling to keep from dropping her phone, and felt her face burn with mortification. "Shit – Oh! Sorry!"

She stumbled through the last of the questions, still embarrassed when they finished and she hopped up to end the feed. Making sure to share it so people could view it later, she idly bounced the toes of her foot against the floor while waiting for it to load, then went through the process of sharing the link on Twitter and Facebook, inwardly cringing and wishing she could edit the portion of her spacing out like a fool. Once finished, she switched off the tablet and began gathering everything to pack into her bag.

"I think it went well," Nick commented from the couch. He'd leaned forward, elbows on his knees while he looked at his phone. "I'll post it to my story."

"Great, I'll let you know what people are saying." Looking at the time, she started shoving things into her bag. She was running late, although technically she supposed she wasn't since she had been working. "Thanks so much for doing this, Nick. I know fans like learning more about their favorites."

"Don't know why, I'm really boring," he murmured, rubbing his chin. "But I'm not gonna argue with you."

"Good, because I'm a master at arguing." Jasmine began dismantling the tripod. Nick hummed in reply and she glanced over at him, surprised to see him watching her speculatively. "…What?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head. She waited while he glanced at his phone, and when he looked at her once more his expression was still puzzled. With a sigh, he shook his head again. "Nothing."

It had been something, she was sure. He had been about to ask a question about her arguing mastery, she knew it. She didn't know what her answer would have been – she probably would have said something along the lines of spending so much time with a toddler made one an expert in the art of quarrelling. Laying the tripod on the desk, she glanced to make sure she'd gotten everything. "I'm gonna head out. I'll see you at the arena?"

"Of course."

"Thanks again."

"No problem." He smiled as he walked her to the door. "Who are you doing next week?"

"Kenny. Then Matt, and Britt the week after. I'll have to put out a new poll this week. It's fun, reading through the questions. I mean yeah some are gross or offensive or downright stupid and rude, but I think a lot of them are thought-provoking."

"Oh, absolutely." He reached around her to open the door. "I'm sure everyone wants to know my perfect date."

"I did," she murmured without thinking. Then, realizing he hadn't heard her, and not wanting things to get awkward again, she turned to face him. "You'd be surprised, Nick. A lot of fans had that question."

"Did they have that question for Hangy?" he asked.

"Actually, yes, but I decided to go for the boxers versus briefs debate."

"God, I'm glad I didn't get asked that."

"Too personal?" she guessed.

"A little. It would be like someone asking you if you prefer…" He shrugged. "Whatever the women's alternatives are."

"Briefs, bikini briefs, hi-cuts, thongs, g-strings… The list goes on. It's ridiculous, because none of them are really comfortable but we have to suffer through or go commando." She shrugged. "And on that note, I'm gone."

"But you didn't answer the question," he teased.

"Neither did you," she fired back.

"Boxers around the house, boxer briefs the rest of the time."

She'd guessed the boxer briefs part, having seen him wearing nothing but a pair once when she'd gone into the EVP room to check with him and Matt about a video they'd wanted her to post. "You know, I think I'm gonna do an unofficial poll of everyone just to see which style is the most preferred. I don't know what I'll do with the results, but it will be interesting to know if there's a clear winner."

"I'm always happy to help with research," he said with a quick grin. "You?"

"Damn, do I have to answer?"

"I did."

"It's boring, but bikini briefs." She wasn't about to tell him she went commando sometimes.

His gaze dipped and she felt unexpectedly naked. Wondering if he could tell that she wasn't wearing anything beneath her jeans, she somehow kept from sliding her back in front to shield herself, and felt heat rise as his gaze slowly returned to her face. He pulled his lips in briefly, tongue darting between them.

And she felt a stab of lust.

"Good to know," he said softly.

***

#nick jackson fanfiction #aew fanfiction #my fics #multipart:NO #me dropping a fic in the middle of the night like nbd

42 notes · View notes

tuffduff · 4 years

Text

Life After You (Duff McKagan x Reader)

Pairing: angsty/fluffy Duff x Reader

Words: 4,733

A/N: Hey loves! This one actually isn’t a request, I was inspired by Taylor Swift’s “All Too Well” and actually didn’t intend for this to be so long, but it just came out.

P A R T T W O

Seattle had never been your home. You were not a born and raised native, never quite got used to the torrential downpours and overcast skies. In fact, you always waited for the day you would eventually move, figuring the setting to be just a minor stepping stone in your ultimate life story.

Until you met him.

It started in autumn, with falling leaves and brisk air. You had barely entered your twenties and the existential dread hadn’t yet set in; you were itching to find your niche and sense of belonging. Maybe that’s why you agreed to go with friends to some punk house to see a local band. The guys playing were interesting for lack of a better word, and you found yourself staring at the bassist. He was the tallest of the bunch with shaggy blonde hair and wandering eyes that kept finding their way back to you. You brushed it off though, thinking you were imagining it, until your friend leaned over and whispered, “the tall blonde one is checking you out.”

After the show, when the band began mingling with the small crowd, you wondered if he was going to come and introduce himself. That’s when someone hollered a warning for the cops and everyone scattered. You split out one of the backdoors, thankful that you lived just down the block.

“Hey! Wait up!” You slowed down in the alley, watching your breath in the air as the tall blonde ran to catch up to you. He had something in his hand; the scarf you had worn out and already forgotten about. It must have slipped off when you ran.

“Oh...thank you! You didn’t have to do that,” you replied, accepting the garment back. He shrugged a little, trying to keep eye contact but slightly faltering.

“I’ve never seen you around before.” He noted.

“Do you recognize every face around here?” You asked, unable to stop the smile from forming on your face. He smiled back.

“Only the pretty ones.” You weren’t expecting that. Nor the blush that crept to your cheeks. “I’d known if I had seen you before.”

“This is my first show. You were really great, by the way...?”

“Duff.” He replied, sticking his hand out. You took it with a smile.

“Y/N.”

“Do you live far?” He asked. For some reason, it wasn’t threatening. Some wall had already been broken from the beginning, when you both couldn’t stop staring.

“Down the block, thankfully. I should be able to make it home in about five minutes if I walk fast.” You replied.

“How about I walk you and we make it in 10?” He offered. You tilted your head.

“Why 10?”

“We’ll walk slow.”

That was exactly what happened. Ten minutes turned quickly to 15, and then 20, with the both of you talking outside your residence, both of you seemingly unwilling to let the night end. You were freezing beneath your coat but didn’t notice; Duff however was without a jacket and had his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

“Can I see you again?” He asked bluntly. You smiled.

“You know where to find me.” He smiled back.

“Cool. Okay. Have a goodnight, Y/N—” he had turned to start walking away, but you had grabbed onto his shoulder to stop him. Gently, you draped the scarf around his neck.

“I think you need this more than I do. Take good care of it, you hear?” You told him with feigned seriousness. His returning smile was one you would never get out of your mind. Even to this day.

And so it went you discovered real love. Maybe with other people, they didn’t quite realize it at the time, but with Duff, you just knew. He was your first love, and with him came a new stage in your life. There was life before Duff and now life with Duff.

Back then, you had been blissfully unaware that there would be life after too.

Days quickly turned to a weeks. Months passed; holidays were celebrated in a new fashion, always together. Him not having quite enough money for a Christmas present, so he wrote you a song and gifted you a necklace that had once belonged to his grandmother. There were never any arguments, the both of you couldn’t get enough of each other. You figured, in the back of your head, that it was infatuation and it would wear off soon, but for those months, neither of you could get your fill.

Somehow a year had flown by and you found yourself back in autumn again, a year under your belts as a couple without possibly being able to imagine being more in love. And yet, you found new ways to fall in love with him just about every day. The two of you moved in together, Duff working at a bakery and you doing your best juggling school and working at a record shop, where Duff would spent his free time.

He had a broad assortment of family members and friends and you had taken a spot amongst them. They all knew you too, they were now your friends. Duff’s mom had you over every other weekend and would bake pies with you, telling stories of growing up during the depression and what Duff was like as a child. The charming youngest, always creative and eager to perform his duty as a man, trying his best to look after his mom. “He’ll always do his best at taking care of you and succeeding, but I’m just glad he’s found someone to take care of his heart.” She would tell you.

Duff knew he could make real money moving up at the bakery he was at. After-all, he was a hard worker and his bosses appreciated that, and really, it wasn’t bad work. But he always talked about music; the both of you would stay up at night staring at the darkened ceiling sharing your hopes, your dreams, your past, your futures. Sometimes the ceiling would grow light as you stayed up talking. Your fears would come into conversation too, but those moments were fleeting; you were both young and ambitious and fueled by love, what in this life couldn’t be accomplished when you had that?

He talked too, in disdain and grief, about the state of his hometown, of the dangerous heroin use spiraling out of control, vowing he would never turn out like them. He said he was ready to get out, like you had always said.

But then you were offered a chance of a lifetime, an internship at the local radio station for your journalism degree. You couldn’t leave now, but Duff was already decided. It left you both at a fork in the road.

“I would never stop you. You’re right. The only way you’re gonna know if you can make it is away from here. I’ll be right behind you; I’m sure I can easily find work in LA after my internship.” You put on a strong face and decided to be his rock. You had to take care of his heart. After all, your love was the strongest thing you had ever experienced. If you were meant to be, it always would and you had no doubts whatsoever, even if it meant time apart.

“I love you, Y/N. I’ll call you every day. You’ll have to visit when you have the chance, okay?” He took your scarf amongst the bare minimum of things packed away in his old car, and you waved goodbye with a smile and weird sense of displacement, but ultimately, you were hopeful.

Time somehow went faster and slower after he left. He did in fact call you every day, telling you about his new job working at the same restaurant with his brother. The shitty apartment he found and how he slept with cockroaches. “You wouldn’t last a day here, baby.” He teased you over the phone when you lamented your disgust. “Every night there’s helicopter lights outside my window. If you don’t hear from me tomorrow…” He kept your spirits high with his humor, even miles and miles away.

He told you all about meeting Slash and Steven, who were looking for a bass player for their band. He called you with a heavy heart often because he missed you, he called to hear your voice when he doubted himself. The excited phone calls were your favorite. His happiness was yours and it was beginning to sound like he might just have a chance in LA—not that you ever doubted it.

You answered every call at first, but as your semester went on, it got harder. Your phone calls grew scarce, but he still kept you updated. He mailed flowers to your house when you had your finals, somehow scrounging up money he had made from gigs with his new band, Guns ‘N Roses.

“The guys can’t wait to meet you, Y/N.” He told you over the phone and you would laugh listening to the group of guys yelling their hellos in the background. You had chatted with all of them at one point. They called you hotshot affectionately, impressed by the fact that you were actually obtaining a college degree.

Graduation came, but Duff didn’t. He had a gig the same night. But it wasn’t a big deal to you, his mom and sisters came. Duff called you as soon as the gig finished, and though you stayed on the phone for over an hour, you still cried yourself to sleep.

Aspiring for LA right out of the gates had been a naïve pipedream on your part. Duff had done it, but it was different for you. Turned out, it wasn’t the place where dreams came true, at least not for you. Work sent you across the country, all the way to Spartanburg, South Carolina, where you found work as a reporter.

“Someday when we’re actually making money, you won’t have to work anymore.” Duff would try to reassure you. To his credit, he helped you move despite his busy schedule that was only growing more demanding. “I’m gonna give you the life you deserve.”

“I don’t mind the work, if it weren’t here.” You told him, smiling. “Gotta get something out of this piece of paper though, right? I just…miss you.” You never knew missing someone could cause physically heartache.

“Believe me, babe, I miss you more. The guys are tired of hearing about it. But we’re gonna be together again soon, just wait. You can stick out here and you’re going to do amazing and soon, we’ll both be living in some nice place in LA.”

This was the point in your life where you were so busy you couldn’t keep your eyes open when you made it home at night. You had long hours, early hours, and it seemed your schedule and Duff’s schedule, or, lack thereof, never matched up. If he called, it was usually after midnight when you were sleeping. If you called back, it was early morning, when he was sleeping. Communication was exchanged more through voicemail than an actual call. You saved every one that he left you.

Guns N’ Roses gigs were now selling out all the local clubs. There was a record deal for his band, and then an album. You were climbing your own ladder too, and just when you finally had the opportunity to work out of LA for a promising up-and-coming music magazine, Duff was about to be taken away, on tour. You only had about a week together in LA when you made it. But what a week it was.

“Every day you weren’t here, I would wake up and the sun would be out and the first thing I would think is ‘Y/N is gonna love it here.’” He told you as you drove down Sunset Boulevard. He had an actual car now to his name and new clothes and you had never been attracted to him more in your life. The both of you spent at least a day marveling over one another’s new appearances.

“God, I can’t believe I get to call you mine. You just look different,” he told you while stopped at a stoplight. He couldn’t take his eyes away from you, traveling up and down in disbelief, shaking his head slightly. “How is it possible that you’ve gotten more beautiful?” His smiled, you told yourself to remember the moment, to take in the warm glow of the sun and crowds of people on the street, Guns N’ Roses on the radio as you drove, palm trees over your head. You were in bliss. At least, most of the time.

Love was just as you had remembered it. That reunited week was like heaven for your tired soul; you had grown used to an empty bed and now you still couldn’t catch up on sleep, the two of you wasting each night tangled in limbs and sheets, still unable to get enough of each other. He showed you his favorite parts of the Sunset nightlife, some of which you didn’t have the heart to tell him you disliked; the shady Mexican restaurant where patrons were getting blowjobs under the table, or the various clubs they had played and conquered, where bar-goers puked outside the doors and went back in for more.

The rest of Guns N’ Roses were as authentic as Duff and they were easy to appreciate and get along with. They never made you feel like an outsider, even when that was plainly obvious—you didn’t dress like the girls on the strip and you never let it bother you, you were simply being you and that was enough.

Though you and Duff still had endless conversation to share, you couldn’t help but notice a difference, one glaringly obvious one; he drank more than he ever had before. It would start with vodka out of the gates and never seemed to stop. You were the only one left to carry him home, sober and still living in the real world.

“Baby, maybe you should slow down on the drinking.” You tried to tell him before he left for tour.

“Hey—don’t worry about me, okay, beautiful?” He breezed off your words with a kiss goodbye and a smile. “Take care of yourself and don’t miss me too much.”

This time, time went even faster. The magazine was in high-demand and you had several assignments seemingly all at the same time, ever moment of every day. You even had the pleasure of covering Guns N’ Roses as they became one of the hottest bands in the world. It seemed everywhere you went, all you ever saw were guys dressed like Duff, or Duff’s face on the cover of a magazine. On MTV, sometimes the news. Now, everything felt surreal.

This is where things get blurry; you don’t spend too much time in this period of your memories. Why would you? The drunk phone calls. Lonely nights in LA. The nasty rumors. Any time you were reunited, all you could smell was liquor. To this day, the smell made your stomach drop.

“Duff, I’m serous. I’m not asking you anymore, I’m telling you; you drink too much.” You were forced to put your foot down during a rare time of being reunited.

“Y/N, ease up. It’s not that big of deal, that’s what we do.”

“Since when?” You questioned. “How many times did we talk about old friends back home, how many of them took it too far?”

“I’m not like them.” He snapped back. “I don’t depend on drinking, or coke, or anything—I’ve only done heroin one time!” This was the first of many times his addiction finally began cracking away at your heart. You couldn’t fathom that he didn’t see an issue in his words.

“Duff, you said you never would.”

“So what, it was one time, Y/N! It’s not like I’m addicted, get off my back.” No, these were not the conversations you spent your time thinking of.

It began a long battle in your relationship that you were both destined to lose, and also became an internal battle to yourself. Maybe you had it all wrong, after-all, it wasn’t as if you didn’t indulge in drinking every now and then too, the both of you were young, it was LA—what was the harm? You tried desperately to see it from his point, he was a Rockstar, he did have an image to maintain…but that never held up in your head rationally; this wasn’t your Duff. He didn’t give a fuck about an image. But was it your place to police him? Often times, you just felt like the lame girlfriend. You started keeping your mouth shut despite your growing alarm and aching heart.

Too quickly, it turned to recklessness, then even quicker to hopelessness. To the rest of the world, Guns was still the band that was gonna take over the 90s. They were on one of the longest rock tours in history, they had a double album out, but you knew better. They had already lost members; you had written the articles about Steven and then Izzy’s departures. You sometimes wondered at night if Duff would be next.

He hadn’t even been there to help you move into the new house the two of you bought together. It felt as empty as your relationship and you wondered why you stayed, only to have the question answered every time you looked back into his eyes. Would you ever not love this man?

“I’m gonna fix it, I swear. I just—there’s nothing I can do. Axl’s always late and so we just—we drink. And, I can’t help it, Y/N, you know those panic attacks I always used to get? It’s not like you’re with me anymore and I just get them all the fucking time. I can’t fly without drinking; it just sets me off. I can’t take all the shit, when we’re late to the stage all you can hear is the crowd getting angry...” you knew all about that; you had written an article about the Riverport Riot. At this point you were tired of writing about the latest of the controversial rumors and incidents.

It wasn’t as if his words didn’t break your heart. You were at a complete loss. Rationally, you knew he had a disease that you had to fight together, but it only resulted in the both of you screaming at each other. Duff wasn’t at a place where he wanted to change, that was what made it hard.

At first, you avoided the realization, you tried running from it. When friends asked, you always said your relationship was better than ever. But the worse his issues got, the more you were pushed to confront them. It was just drinking anymore, it was pills and cocaine and whatever else just happened to be in the room, whatever someone slipped him.

Ultimatums weren’t your thing; you were never going to beg someone to prove you were important. Plus, you had seen addictions cripple people. Duff was in its vice grip and had already slipped away from you, it was very obvious what you had to do. But how? How could you, he was your soulmate. This was still the boy who had walked you home that autumn night—he was all you knew. How do you unravel yourself from someone tied so intricately to every detail of your life?

You couldn’t tell him at first, you just packed up and left. You ran. It was a while before he called you, demanding to know what was going on. To date, it’s still your most humiliating phone call. It’s not a memory you revisit, ever, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the pain of it or the embarrassment—you had cried so hard you couldn’t work the next day.

For a while, you felt empty. Lost. You would cry at stoplights. You would cry at lunch, in the grocery store passing by his favorite chips. The radio was much too risky to ever bother with, if it wasn’t one of their songs coming through the speaker, it was his favorite Prince song, or a song tied to a memory.

The youth of your twenties faded that day and you were pushed into the next period of your life reluctantly, your steps sluggish and uncertain. It was autumn again, cozy months where people spent their time with loved ones. You spent it crying over the idea of Thanksgiving alone, unable to pull out any Christmas decorations or pretend to care about any semblance of a normal life; all of this was new again and still littered with the broken promises of something you thought you would never lose. How were you ever going to decorate a tree again when he wasn’t there to put you on top of his shoulders to place the star? Who was going to make snickerdoodle and gingerbread cookies by your side? His jackets and shirts made up half your wardrobe, his fingerprint on your life was almost entirely irreversible.

It wasn’t as though he gave up on you. Sometimes he would call. At first you always answered, frantic and hopeful.

“I stopped drinking,” he told you, but had a slurred speech.

“Then why are you drunk?” You questioned, already on the verge of tears.

“I’m not drunk,” he denied your words. “I haven’t drank vodka in a week.”

“Then what are you drinking?” You were aware of how stupid you sounded, playing along, but couldn’t stop the hope you felt.

“Wine. It’s not bad,” he insisted. “I stopped drinking for you, why aren’t you happy? Y/N…C’mon, please, I promise I’m better now, I just miss you—” You hung up. That night was a bad one.

Looking back, maybe there were more bad memories than good. It wasn’t as if you were unbiased. But maybe the good outweighed the bad by importance. Duff had shaped your life, the foundation of who you were. When you thought of love, you thought of him, and gave up the concept.

Now, just barely entering your thirties, you found yourself surprised to be back in Seattle. Maybe deep down you were still chasing after the best time of your life. It probably wasn’t healthy to let your mind wander backwards, but it did, every time you took certain roads. Sometimes you avoided them, but most of the time, you drove down the tree-lined roads, remembering when it had been the two of you. Back to a time when you thought you hated the rain and couldn’t wait to get out of it; now rain brought you peace.

Life was much more peaceful now. You worked as a freelance writer and genuinely enjoyed the topics you wrote about, thankful not to have to write another Guns N’ Roses article. It wasn’t like there was much to write about anyways in that category; there were rumors the band was on the brink of breaking up. It was still lonely, but the pain had subsided. You were okay with being alone and you were smart enough to fill your time with meaningful activities.

You never lost contact with Duff’s family. His mom finally stopped trying to apologize. You did your best not to consume your waking hours following the band, trying your best to force yourself into moving on entirely. Duff had released a solo album, and though your heart still swelled with pride, you couldn’t listen to it. There were rumors a lot of the songs were about you.

Nowadays, the reminders of him were scarce. He looked to be in rough shape, but you did your best not to let it bother you; that wasn’t your battle. You stopped crying and you had developed your own routine. Routine was important. Your house was decorated the way you wanted it and you had a dog, an affectionate brown Labrador. Now, you considered this place home and had favorite spots and local shops you spent time at, and yes, some of them were places the two of you had once frequented, but the reminder didn’t hurt anymore. The hurt was still there, if you pulled everything back and looked down within, but mainly, there was an appreciation for what once had been. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

It was clear that wasn’t the case when you left your favorite coffee shop one Sunday afternoon and spotted a familiar face across the parking lot. At first, you thought your eyes were deceiving you—his hair had been long for years. This man no longer looked puffy and fatigued like you had seen in pictures, he was leaner and had short spiky hair. More importantly though, his eyes were clear. That was when you were sure you must have been dreaming.

“Y/N?” He said, his voice unsteady, but somehow still sounded the same. Your coffee tumbled to the ground and he reached out too late. “Shit. Sorry, I...” he trailed off helplessly; you hadn’t even looked down at the spill once yet.

“Duff?” You asked, waiting for wake up from this weird dream. He stood a little bit back from you.

“You still come here, huh?” He asked after a moment, trying to smile. When you didn’t reply, he cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I heard you moved back. I didn’t really believe it at first, but I guess...I bought a house here too.” you didn’t reply still, no words could come out. He shoved his hands into his pockets and you could feel your eyes watering. “How have you been?”

“Good. Fine, yeah.” You replied quietly, somehow able to keep the moisture in your eyes. “I’m surprised your home and not on the road for your album.” Maybe you had paid more attention than you realized. He looked down.

“...Yeah. Um,” he chuckled uncomfortably. “I actually canceled a lot of the days earlier this year, I was exhausted. I thought maybe coming back home would be better for me...I...” he paused before he shook his head a little and let out a breath. “It’s been...a real eye opening few months.”

For a second, your heart pounded hopefully and you wondered desperately what that meant, before you told yourself to stop.

“To be honest, I’m in a hurry, so...I should probably get going.” Your tone was suddenly curt, sharp and brisk as the autumn air; the falling leaves behind you threatened to break your composed façade; it was all taking you back to a different time and you knew you needed to leave. Duff suddenly looked apologetic.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, uh...” he shrugged. “Um...I just. I know you’re busy and everything, but...maybe, just...” every time he met your eyes, he looked away again. You bit your lip hard.

“Yeah, I don’t have a lot of free time nowadays. I’m sure you get it.” You forced out. He nodded, looking down and backing away from your car.

“...Yeah. Well...take care.” He ended lamely. The longer you looked, the more it was apparent his eyes were actually clear. “And I just…I hope you know I’m sorry.” You swallowed hard and turned away without another word to get into your car and seal yourself away. Inside, you could finally let yourself crumble, feeling the mixture of a pounding heart and butterflies quickly crumbling and falling in your stomach, your hands shaking as you tried to get the key into the ignition.

Realizing in panic maybe you had made a mistake, you quickly turned your head to find him again, but only caught a brief glance of him before he entered the shop, and that’s when it caught your eye.

The red fabric around his neck, nestled into the leather jacket he had on.

Your old scarf, still there, the lasting image of you on him.

You weren’t the only one struggling with accepting the loss of the only real thing you had ever felt in your life, but it wasn’t enough to move you from your car. So you sat, engine idling, until finally tears that had started as a stream turned to just a few stray drops. But it took you longer than 5 minutes, longer than 10, to finally drive away.

#duff mckagan #duff mckagan imagine #duff mckagan fanfiction #duff mckagan x reader #duff mckagan fanfic #guns n roses #guns n roses imagine #guns n roses fanfic #80s imagines #gnr #gnr fanfiction

158 notes · View notes

arcticdementor · 3 years

Link

Media Twitter does not hate Substack because it’s pretending to be a platform when it’s a publisher; they don’t hate it because it’s filled with anti-woke white guys; they don’t hate it because of harassment or any such thing. I don’t think they really hate it at all. Substack is a small and ultimately not-very-relevant outpost in a vastly larger industry; they may not like it but it’s not important enough for them to hate it. What do they hate? They hate where their industry is and they hate where they are within their industry. But that’s a big problem that they don’t feel like they can solve. If you feel you can’t get mad at the industry that’s impoverishing you, it’s much easier to get mad at the people who you feel are unjustly succeeding in that industry. Trying to cancel Glenn Greenwald (again) because he criticizes the media harshly? Trying to tarnish Substack’s reputation so that cool, paid-up writer types leave it and the bad types like me get kicked off? That they can maybe do. Confronting their industry’s future with open eyes? Too scary, especially for people who were raised to see success as their birthright and have suddenly found that their degrees and their witheringly dry one-liners do not help them when the rent comes due.

…

Life in the “content” industry already sucks. A small handful of people make bank while the vast majority hustle relentlessly just to hold on to the meager pay they already receive. There are staff writers at big-name publications who produce thousands of words every week and who make less than $40,000 a year for their trouble. There are permanent employees of highly prestigious newspapers and magazines who don’t receive health insurance. Venues close all the time. Mourning another huge round of layoffs is a regular bonding experience for people in the industry. Writers have to constantly job hop just to try and grind out an extra $1,500 a year, making their whole lives permanent job interviews where they can’t risk offending their potential bosses and peers. Many of them dream of selling that book to save themselves financially, not seeming to understand that book advances have fallen 40% in 10 years - median figure now $6,080 - and that the odds of actually making back even that meager advance are slim, meaning most authors are making less than minimum wage from their books when you do the math. They have to tweet constantly for the good of their careers, or so they believe, which amounts to hundreds of hours of unpaid work a year. Their publications increasingly strong arm them into churning out pathetic pop-culture ephemera like listicles about the outfits on Wandavision. They live in fear of being the one to lose out when the next layoffs come and the game of media musical chairs spins up once again. They have to pretend to like ghouls like Ezra Klein and Jonah Peretti and make believe that there’s such a thing as “the Daily Beast reputation for excellence.”

I have always felt bad for them, despite our differences, because of these conditions. And they have a right to be angry. But they don’t have much in the way of self-awareness about where their anger really lies. A newsletter company hosting Bari Weiss is why you can’t pay your student loans? You sure?

They’ll tell you about the terrible conditions in their industry themselves, when they’re feeling honest. So what are they really mad about? That I’m making a really-just-decent guaranteed wage for just one year? Or that this decent wage is the kind of money many of them dream of making despite the fact that, in their minds, they’ve done everything right and played by all the rules? Is their anger really about a half-dozen guys whose writing you have to actively seek out to see? (If you click the button and put in your email address, you’ll get these newsletters. If you don’t, you won’t. So if you’re a media type who hates my writing, consider just… not clicking that button.) Or do they need someplace to put the rage and resentment that grows inside them as they realize, no, it’s not getting better, this is all I get?

It’s true that I have, in a very limited way, achieved the new American dream: getting a little bit of VC cash. I’m sorry. But it’s much much less than one half of what Felix Salmon was making in 2017 and again, it’s only for one year.

You think the writers complaining in that piece I linked to at the top wanted to be here, at this place in their career, after all those years of hustling? You think decades into their media career, the writers who decamped to Substack said to themselves “you know, I’d really like to be in my 40s and having to hope that enough people will pitch in $5 a month so I can pay my mortgage”? No. But the industry didn’t give them what they felt they deserved either. So they displace and project. They can hate Jesse Singal, but Jesse Singal isn’t where this burning anger is coming from. Neither am I. They’re so angry because they bought into a notoriously savage industry at the nadir of its labor conditions and were surprised to find that they’re drifting into middle age without anything resembling financial security. I feel for them as I feel for all people living economically precarious lives, but getting rid of Substack or any of its writers will not do anything to fix their industry or their jobs. They wanted more and they got less and it hurts. This isn’t what they dreamed. That’s what this is really about.

…

My own deal here is not mysterious. It’s just based on a fact that the blue checks on Twitter have never wanted to accept. I got offered money to write here for the same reason I got offered to write for The New York Times and Harper’s and The Washington Post and The LA Times, the same reason I’ve gotten a half-dozen invitations to pitch since I started here a few weeks ago, the same reason a literary agent sought me out and asked me to write a book, the same reason I sold that book for a decent advance: because I pull traffic. Though I am a social outcast from professional opinion writing, I have a better freelance publishing history than many, many of my critics who are paid-up, obedient members of the media social scene. Why? Because the editors who hired me thought I was a great guy? No. Because I pull traffic. I always have. That’s why you’re reading this on Substack right now.

…

A really important lesson to learn, in life, is this: your enemies are more honest about you than your friends ever will be. I’ve been telling the blue checks for over a decade that their industry was existentially fucked, that the all-advertising model was broken, that Google and Facebook would inevitably hoover up all the profit, that there are too many affluent kids fresh out of college just looking for a foothold in New York who’ll work for next to nothing and in doing so driving down the wages of everyone else, that their mockery of early subscription programs like Times Select was creating a disastrous industry expectation that asking your readers directly for money was embarrassing. Trump is gone and the news business is cratering. Michael Tracey didn’t make that happen. None of this anger will heal what’s wrong. If you get all of the people you don’t like fired from Substack tomorrow, what will change? How will your life improve? Greenwald will spend more time with his hottie husband and his beloved kids and his 6,000 dogs in his beautiful home in Rio. Glenn will be fine. How do we do the real work of getting you job security and a decent wage?

…

But how do things get better in that way? Only through real self-criticism (which Twitter makes impossible) and by asking hard questions. Questions like one that has not been credibly confronted a single time in this entire media meltdown: why are so many people subscribing to Substacks? What is the traditional media not providing that they’re seeking elsewhere? Why have half a million people signed up as paying subscribers of various Substack newsletters, if the establishment media is providing the diversity of viewpoints that is an absolute market requirement in a country with a vast diversity of opinions? You can try to make an adult determination about that question, to better understand what media is missing, or you can read this and write some shitty joke tweet while your industry burns to the ground around you. It’s your call.

Substack might fold tomorrow, but someone would else sell independent media; there’s a market. Substack might kick me and the rest of the unclean off of their platforms tomorrow, but other critics of social justice politics would pop up here; there’s a market. Establishment media’s takeover by this strange brand of academic identity politics might grow even more powerful, if that’s even possible, but dissenters will find a place to sell alternative opinion; there’s a market. What there might not be much of a market for anymore is, well, you - college educated, urban, upwardly striving if not economically improving, woke, ironic, and selling that wokeness and that irony as your only product. Because you flooded the market. Everyone in your entire industry is selling the exact same thing, tired sarcastic jokes and bleating righteousness about injustices they don’t suffer under themselves, and it’s not good in basic economic terms if you’re selling the same thing as everyone else. You add that on to structural problems within your business model and your utter subservience to a Silicon Valley that increasingly hates you, well…. I get why you’re mad. And I get that you don’t like me. But I’m not what you’re mad about. Not really.

In the span of a decade or so, essentially all professional media not explicitly branded as conservative has been taken over by a school of politics that emerged from humanities departments at elite universities and began colonizing the college educated through social media. Those politics are obscure, they are confusing, they are socially and culturally extreme, they are expressed in a bizarre vocabulary, they are deeply alienating to many, and they are very unpopular by any definition. The vast majority of the country is not woke, including the vast majority of women and people of color. How could it possibly be healthy for the entire media industry to be captured by any single niche political movement, let alone one that nobody likes? Why does no one in media seem willing to have an honest, uncomfortable conversation about the near-total takeover of their industry by a fringe ideology?

And the bizarre assumption of almost everyone in media seems to have been that they could adopt this brand of extreme niche politics, in mass, as an industry, and treat those politics as a crusade that trumps every other journalistic value, with no professional or economic consequences. They seem to have thought that Americans were just going to swallow it; they seem to have thought they could paint most of the country as vicious bigots and that their audiences would just come along for the ride. They haven’t. In fact Republicans are making great hay of the collapse of the media into pure unapologetic advocacy journalism. Some people are turning to alternative media to find options that are neither reactionary ideologues or self-righteous woke yelling. Can you blame them? Substack didn’t create this dynamic, and neither did I. The exact same media people who are so angry about Substack did, when they abandoned any pretense to serving the entire country and decided that their only job was to advance a political cause that most ordinary people, of any gender or race, find alienating and wrong. So maybe try and look at where your problems actually come from. They’re not going away.

Now steel yourselves, media people, take a shot of something strong, look yourself in the eye in the mirror, summon you most honest self, and tell me: am I wrong?

#freddie deboer #substack #journalism

3 notes · View notes

gothic-safari-clown · 3 years

Text

The Mind’s Power Over the Body

Part Twelve: It’s Time

Story summary: They only ever had each other. It had been that way since high school, ever since Elianna transferred to dreary Arlen and took Jonathan under her wing. They go separate ways for college, and when they're reunited at Arkham Asylum professionally, Elianna comes to find that they've both changed during their time separated. Can she look past the promise of danger and stay by Jonathan's side as they slide further and further into the darkness while she grapples to come to terms with the truth about herself? Can she accept what needs to be done in order to hold onto the only person who holds any meaning in her life? This is a very self-indulgent AU that draws from several different canons of the DCU and ignoring others, starting in the Batman Begins Nolanverse. This will follow the plot of the movie, although the timeline has been very slightly tweaked.

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten / Part Eleven

Word count: 2524

Trigger warning for needles and toxin-induced self harm.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Jonathan asked from the kitchen for the third time in two days. Elianna rolled her eyes; she was getting sick of this conversation. "I think you're the only person who would do it voluntarily."

"You did it," she pointed out nonchalantly, around a mouthful of ice cream. She hoped he was making dinner; the dessert wouldn't hold her over forever. The day before, the two had visited her apartment ("why do you have so many plants?" "I don't know, but I'm glad I do, the air quality here is garbage.") to retrieve some perishables from the kitchen so that they didn't have to go grocery shopping.

"I did it for research. I didn't have a choice at the time. You do."

"Okay, look," El stood from the couch and joined him in the kitchen. "The chance of learning how to break down fear is just too promising to pass up," she said earnestly. "If there is even the slightest possibility of a positive outcome, I have to do it. Since I was attacked, I've just been getting more and more paranoid, and I thought it would go away once we started using it on Zsasz, but it hasn't. And paranoia is just going to turn into anxiety, which is going to turn into fear, and I just can't handle that." Jonathan opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by Elianna.

"I know that there are better ways to prevent that, but if I'm going to be joining you on this project anyway, then I should get an idea of what I'm in for in case of any accidents! I mean, I appreciate that you're worried, but I just don't understand why you don't think I can do this."

Jonathan sighed and rubbed his forehead, leaning against the counter; he knew that she was right, but...

"Because I don't know what it will do to your psyche. When I built up my immunity, it wasn't on purpose, and we have no way of knowing if it will do the same for you." El mulled it over, carefully considering what he had to say.

"I understand. But like I said, would you rather me be exposed here, in a controlled, safe environment, or on accident at a time when it really matters? It's almost guaranteed to happen anyway, so I still think that I should at least know what to expect." She reiterated resolutely. "We're doing this."

Jonathan saw the firm determination in her eyes and knew that at this point, there was no way to talk her out of it. If he didn't expose her to it, she would do it herself, and the results could be infinitely worse than if he just went along with it.

But that didn't mean that he had to be happy about it.

"Fine." He lifted himself from the counter and turned to continue what he had been doing before—making dinner, I knew it! El put her ice cream away before sitting on the counter, swinging her legs a little. "I know you're bored, but do you have to...hover?"

"I don't have anything else to do! If you have any ideas, I'd be happy to hear them."

"You could go out or something; I don't know. Look at you, go to any bar you don't even need to take any money. Someone would cover your tab." He sounded almost bitter. What's that about?

"Yeah, that's a great idea. When I get murdered, then you wouldn't have to give me the toxin." She shot back.

"I thought you had a guardian angel."

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that guy. I wonder what he's up to."

"I don't care." God, what is he so upset about?

"You probably will in a few months. Maybe we should follow the news more closely." Nothing. El let out a short breath. Fine. "I know you don't want to talk about it anymore," she started quietly, "and I'm sorry that I'm making you do it." He didn't turn to look at her or even stop what he was doing when he spoke.

"You don't have to apologize. I understand why you want to do it, and I do want to help. I just wish you had taken the time to think about it before your decision."

"Fine, but I've thought it through now."

"I know. Since you're so sure, we can start tomorrow after work."

"Here?" He nodded.

"You'll want to be comfortable when it wears off, trust me." El smiled and slid off the counter. Satisfied with the way the conversation turned out, she went to take a shower.

"No going back now," She called over her shoulder.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

.xXx.

It was a slow day. A really, really, really slow day.

"Seriously, universe? Today?" El groaned, spinning back and forth in her chair idly. Of all days, why was she only assigned one session today? She had forgotten to check her schedule before leaving the previous day, so she hadn't even known that she could go in late. I hate looking forward to things.

For the time being, she resorted herself to see how fast she could spin her chair without knocking it over and found very quickly that the answer was 'too fast.' Way too fast. Already bored of that, she laid her head on the desk, trying to think of anything she could do. Finally, she decided to go on a walk, see if she could find Harley or Jonathan.

It took a while of wandering before El finally caught sight of blonde hair crossing the upstairs foyer from the west wing to the east wing. "Harley!" She called after her friend, jogging slightly to catch up. "Hey, how's it going?"

"Real good!" The blonde seemed more excited than usual. "I just got assigned to one of the maximum-security cases!"

"Oh, that's great!" El forced a smile, suddenly very worried about her friend. She had been assigned a max security case with Zsasz based on her work record, and it hadn't exactly ended up well.

"I know! I've been waitin' ages to get a career-making case finally, and I finally got one! I got my first session with her tomorrow." Her?

"Who is it?"

"She goes by Poison Ivy; she's an eco-terrorist. She's got this connection with plants. Apparently, she can control them, and she goes after organizations that harm the environment."

"Well, she sounds like a badass; you'll have to let me know how it goes."

"Of course, I will. They're gonna write books about me." Harley looked at El with bright eyes, and the redhead couldn't help but smile at the thought of her friend's face plastered on a biography all over Gotham.

"Just make sure to be careful okay, those guys are in maximum security for a reason." El found herself subconsciously moving the hair that fell over her forehead, where she would surely have a scar.

"Don't you worry about me, honey. What are you doin' today?"

"Apparently nothing for another few hours." Elianna sighed.

"Aw. Anything interesting?" She shook her head in response.

"I think Jonathan asked them to keep the dangerous ones away from me until I have more experience here. I mean, Zsasz didn't kill me. It's not like I'm helpless, right? I was savvy enough to get away twice." Harley bobbed her head in agreement with a sympathetic look.

"Well, maybe he's right; you're new in Gotham. It might not be a bad idea to let you settle in a while longer."

"Yeah, but now I'm only treating patients with borderline anxiety disorders. Borderline, Harls!"

"Aw," the blonde tsked and patted her friend's arm. "I'm sorry, honey, it'll get better. Oh, shoot!" She checked her watch. "I gotta go, I'm gonna be late. Maybe we should get lunch this weekend, whaddya think?"

"Yeah, that sounds nice. Go on. I'll talk to you later." El sighed as Harley rushed off to her appointment. That didn't last nearly long enough. She was now stuck where she had been before and made her way back to her office.

Who would have thought there would be so little to do in the most notorious asylum in America?

.xXx.

Finally, the end of the day came, but Jonathan's awful speed limit driving made Elianna antsy. She was so close. Besides all of the reasons she had given Jonathan over the last few days, she couldn't help but be curious about what it was like to be under the influence of the fear toxin. Seeing Zsasz's reaction had sparked an interest in the experience, although she couldn't fathom why.

"It's weird, isn't it?" She asked half an hour later as she helped Jonathan put leftover takeout in the fridge.

"What is?"

"Coincidence. Probability. Chaos theory."

"You need to stop watching Jurassic Park. It's turning you into a monster."

"Over my dead body, and you know what I mean." Jonathan closed the fridge as they finished and looked at her expectantly. "Well, my mom and I just happened to move to Arlen, out of all the places we were looking at. Then we happened to move down the road from you, and we had some classes in common. And even after all that, I still could have been really shitty and tormented you, or ignored you, or you could have been successful in keeping me away. Then we still managed to stay in touch after high school from opposite sides of the country, which is super rare, even in friends, and on top of all that we happen to have the same interests, and now here we are working in the same place after all of that, which led to tonight. To the decision I made."

Jonathan considered her words, leaning back against the counter, eventually nodding in agreement.

"It's not too late." He said quietly. "You can still change your mind."

"I'm not having seconds thoughts." El insisted gently, standing next to him and leaning her head against his arm. "Actually, I was thinking about how lucky I am to have this opportunity. Do you know how many people would jump at the chance to confront their fears? To try and fix themselves?

"Yes, I do, and it's not a good thing." El looked up at him, surprised by the empathy. "If no one were affected by fear, then none of this would be possible, and I wouldn't be able to continue my research." El stared at him in incredulous silence before laughing.

"Because that's what it all comes down to. You're really fucked up, honey."

"Look who's talking." He said with a little smile. He couldn't put it off any longer. Scarecrow was ecstatic that Elianna had volunteered for this, and it was giving him a headache. "Come on, let's get started. I'm going to give you a small dose, so hopefully, you'll be able to sleep afterward." El nodded as they straightened up, making their way to the bedroom.

She could hear Jonathan adjusting the bedsheets while she was in the closet, putting on more comfortable clothes. When she came out, he had folded them all to the end of the bed so that she wouldn't get tangled.

"I'm going to say this in advance: shut up." El gave him a confused look as he opened the false bottom of his briefcase and produced a set of four restraint cuffs that were usually attached to the medical beds, at which point she raised an eyebrow. "We needed a way to holds your limbs down so that you don't hurt either of us, just...don't." He said exasperatedly as he began to affix them to the head and footboards. El snorted, with a little smile; there was nothing she could say to make fun of him that Scarecrow probably wasn't saying already.

"Do people...hurt themselves often?" Jonathan nodded.

"Once or twice, they try to gouge out their own eyes, things like that." El swallowed herd, suddenly very glad to have such a thorough friend. "Which reminds me, I didn't think about it earlier, but I do have neighbors. We'll need to find something for you to bite down on; I've also had people bite through their own tongues." At that, El shivered and returned to her duffle bag, where she knew she had packed an old belt.

"How often would you say that happens?"

"Not too much, but it does make a mess, and we sleep here." Despite her sudden nervousness, El laughed softly at the ever-tactful Jonathan Crane. Normally she might be upset with him after that comment, but here she was volunteering for that risk.

She set the belt on the edge of the bed and positioned herself in the middle of the mattress, trying to prepare herself for something from which she didn't have a clear idea of what to expect. Gently, Jonathan lifted her head and slid a pillow underneath; the small act of care made her smile to herself as he continued to secure her wrists and ankles, careful not to tighten the restraints too much.

He took a few extra minutes to prepare the serum, during which she agreed to let him take notes. If they were moving ahead with this anyway, he might as well conduct his research on a new subject.

Jonathan was just about to put the belt in her mouth when El had a sudden thought, turning her face away. "Scarecrow, he's under control? He isn't going to try anything, is he?"

"No. He's excited, but he promised to be good. And he's impressed that you're doing this willingly." Satisfied with the answer, El nodded and let the belt between her teeth, biting down securely.

At that point, Jonathan prepared the syringe with a translucent fluid, flicking the chamber and getting rid of any air bubbles. "This is an old batch, so the effects might be a little less intense than they would normally be." Unable to speak, El nodded. He swabbed clean a patch of skin on her arm and gave her a look, giving her one last chance to change her mind. With no fault in her resolution, he finally pricked her vein and injected the serum into her bloodstream.

The concoction was thick, and El could feel it burning through her veins for only a moment

and then everything took a turn for the worse.

#The Mind’s Power Over the Body #Jonathan Crane #scarecrow #batman begins #Nolanverse #Elianna Montgomery #jonathan crane x ofc #slight au #fanfiction #multi chapter fic #cillian murphy #cillian murphy scarecrow #Attraction To The Insane #tmpotb chapter 12

5 notes · View notes

crimsonbluemoon · 4 years

Note

8, 6, 32 w minicat pleeeease! :D

Okay, last of the drabbles and this one is a doozy. >.> Like 10 pages long, ugh. But Grace deserves it cause she’s been my rock during these drabblez and really helped me commit to getting them done. Thank you so much for your support! Please enjoy this as my thanks.

AU: College

Trope: Fake dating

Prompt: “Shut up for a second, will you?”

Pairing: Minicat

Tyler wasn’t stupid; he knew he was one of the last choices people thought of when needing help with something on campus. In his defense, he was busy; his parents’ low income meant he had to have a full time job while also maintaining a high GPA for his scholarships for his overly priced college. His classes were tough, never wasting time on filler courses when he was paying thousands of dollars to attend. It meant hours of homework after long shifts, sometimes all nighters. He didn’t have the time of day to breathe, nevermind think about others. Brock, probably being too understanding of a roommate (Tyler didn’t give a shit what anyone thought of him, but Brock’s sad eyes always hit him far too hard to ignore), never pushed him to engage in extra socializing or unnecessary events. Brock’s dumbass boyfriend tried (seriously, how did Brian manage to swindle Brock into falling in love with him? Gross.) to provide Tyler with ‘the college life’, which was harder than getting water from a rock.

But even Tyler wasn’t a big enough dick to miss Brock’s birthday party.

At least the venue was nice; Tyler swirled the water in the fancy glass while he leaned on the country club’s bar, watching the large group of strangers mingle. Brian came from money that far exceeded Brock and Tyler’s wildest dreams. Brock almost never allowed Brian to spoil him, which had been a different experience for Brian. It still bothered Tyler how lost Brian first looked when they both turned down his money for ‘hanging out with him’. Tyler had seen his flustered roommate refuse to let the rich brat pay for a two dollar water bottle once. So when Brock had finally, finally caved enough to let Brian pay for his birthday party, Brian didn’t hesitate to go over the top. Every person who Brock had ever met seemed to be at the event, filling the room with hundreds of people.

Tyler hadn’t bothered following his roommate when Brian pulled him somewhere twenty minutes ago. Honestly, knowing those two, he didn’t want to see what they were up to. Brock had morals, but Brian was a charmer. He used it for teachers, police, and anyone who had eyes and the smallest of hints of attraction toward men. Seriously, Tyler had seen Brian give far too many straight guys a gay panic for it not to be seen as a freaky mutant power. Brock was helplessly in love with Brian (seriously, why?), which meant he was even more likely to fall for any of Brian’s sneaky schemes.

Especially when it resulted in sex.

“Ugh.” Scrunching his nose at the thought, Tyler took another swig of his drink before scanning the crowd again. So far, the event had been pretty tame, which was saying something for Brian. His parties were always over the top for all the wrong reasons. If the police weren’t called, it was seen as a failure, according to Panda. But Brock had asked Brian to make the party alcohol free, and like the sucker for pretty brown eyes he was, Brian had agreed.

Tyler glanced down at his phone again, wondering when Evan and Panda were going to show up. They were the only friends he bothered with when Brock hung a sock on their apartment door. Evan had texted saying they’d got stuck in a late lab and had told them he’d be coming late. So Tyler, lacking the only three (and a half; Brian was okay when he cooked breakfast) people he actually liked at the party, was alone. But what the fuck else was new? It was better that way. He knew that too many people would just distract him from was important. His grades, his future, and his goals in life. So what if he spent more Fridays alone than with people? That his phone could go three days without a text? That he hadn’t gotten laid in over a year? And so what if some nights, his stupid heart wondered what it’d be like to have a disgusting relationship like Brian and Brock, to be pointlessly cared for and overly adored-

“Really, you should go.” The voice that cut into Tyler’s self-loathing made him frown, refocusing his eyes to pinpoint where it’d come from. Two seats down from the bar he’d inhabited alone (because who would wanna hang out at a bar with no alcohol?), a guy that Tyler recognized looked stiff when staring at another leaning completely into his space. It took a second for Tyler to realize who it was; Craig was a high school friend of Brian’s, and had become one of Brock’s good friends when Brian and Brock started dating two years ago. Craig also went to their college, making a name for himself despite the thousands of students. He was always busy, invested in way too many clubs and groups between his classes. They were so different, that Tyler saw no reason to befriend him.

Except Craig had tried to get to know Tyler. Despite being busy and having far too many social groups for Tyler’s liking, Craig had actually always made an effort to create small talk whenever they bumped into each other. They weren’t friends, really; maybe acquaintances if Tyler was being generous. Since Craig was Brian’s best friend, he was around more often than Tyler was comfortable with.

Because Craig was good looking, flirted worse than Brian, and was just a damn distraction. He was someone that could yank Tyler’s attention from important homework or project’s due dates to argue about how ‘culturally important’ The Office was. Sometimes he got Tyler to explain what he was working on, which devolved into little conversations about their lives that had nothing to do with the original topic. Craig learned about Tyler’s complicated relationship with money, while Tyler heard stories about Craig’s struggles with depression. He knew about Craig’s promiscuous years when he was a teenager, which led into the conversation of how both discovered their bi-sexuality. One time, Craig’s eyes shined with excitement while he told Tyler all about his dream of becoming a marine biologist.

Tyler had barely finished his term paper that night.

In a little over two years, Craig snuck his way under Tyler’s skin like a weed. Each time Tyler swore he wouldn’t let Craig get his attention (because he had to stay focused), the busy body made it a point to prove him wrong. Brian had mentioned Craig to Tyler a few times when trying to get him to come out with their group, like he was some bargaining chip. Like Brian knew something that Tyler didn’t.

It annoyed Tyler how often he ended up at those events.

Normally the first to wear a grin far too big for his face, there was no sign of a smile now. Craig’s body language was telling Tyler all he needed to know about the predicament; these two were not friends. “Does Brian even know you’re here? Because I doubt Brock invited you.”

“I’m a plus one of a friend. The new boy toy seemed to forget my invitation in the mail.” There was a cockiness in the stranger’s voice that instantly pissed Tyler off, his eyes narrowing as the conversation continued.

“Yeah, maybe because you’re Brian’s shitty ex-boyfriend, and he’d rather eat shards of glass than see your face again. And Brock’s not a boy toy; they’re actually in love. I know, new concept for you.” Craig’s snark was coated in a sweet tone that seemed to rub the ex the wrong way, though Tyler got a small chuckle out of it. Craig was always presented as cheerful and energetic, but one on one talks proved there was more sarcasm than sweetness. He was Brian’s friend after all.

“You think Brian’s going to actually manage to keep an innocent guy like that? We both know he’s far too self-destructive for that kind of happily ever after. Why do you think he always comes back to me each time?” Okay, Tyler could conceed he wasn’t always the nicest to Brian, but he also knew the guy wasn’t trash. Brian was good for Brock, as annoying as that was. And this punk was really starting to push Tyler’s buttons.

“Brian’s happy, actually happy. Brock wants him, not his wallet, and you’re not ruining that. So you need to leave, now.” Craig’s firm words didn’t have the effect that he wanted, and Tyler felt his teeth clench when the other man stepped into Craig’s personal space, posturing.

“Don’t think you can really make me. Last time didn’t go so well for you, did it?” This guy had muscle, and was obviously taller than the man sitting on the bar stool. Craig’s lips looked tense when they pressed together tightly, but Tyler could pick up on the slight flinch of his shoulders. This guy didn’t just bother Craig; he scared him. He was trying not to show it, but Tyler was sure it was a well known fact by how cruel the smirk on the other man’s face was. “How’s your arm, by the way? Fractures can be a pain in the ass, so I’ve heard. Still got that pop in your shoulder?”

“It’s fine.” The tone was quieter than before, and Craig pressed closer to the stool’s back, Still, his eyes shone brightly with defiance, unwilling to lower. And after a moment of tense silence, Craig surprised Tyler when his lip rose in a half-cocked grin. “How’s your dad? Divorces can be a pain in the ass, so I’ve heard. He still got that freckle on the tip of his-”

“You fucking slut.” Tyler was out of his seat before the guy could raise his fist, catching the punch inches from Craig’s face. Craig let out a surprised squeak, but Tyler didn’t look back when he used the contact to shove the man back, stepping between him and Craig.

“Don’t even think about it.” He didn’t need to posture or present himself as intimidating; his broach shoulders and tall genetics already did the work for him. While this guy had looked impressive in front of Craig, he wasn’t nearly as intimidating when compared to Tyler’s glare and tense shoulders.

“Who the fuck are you? His boyfriend?” The words were snapped off like an insult, as if the guy thought dating Craig was the worst punishment someone could have. From the corner of his eyes, he picked up on the wince behind Craig’s glasses, knowing he’d heard the same disgust Tyler had. Craig’s sexual history wasn’t hidden knowledge, though how much he’d changed since high school seemed less known. Sighing, Craig pushed out of his seat, shoulders dropped in shame. Like maybe he agreed with the scumbag.

“He’s-”

“Yeah, I am.” In a move that was far more suited for Brian, Tyler reached out, snagging Craig’s hip and yanking him closer. It was impulsive and fucking stupid, but Tyler’s heart lost track of it’s beat when feeling Craig’s warm body meld against his. It felt like a perfect match, with Craig’s head bumping against his collar bone before settling into the crook of Tyler’s neck. He let his arm drop around the waist, keeping Craig plastered to him to support the act he still wasn’t sure he wanted to perform. “Is that a fucking problem, asshole?”

“Tyler…” Craig’s lost tone didn’t sound right for the man who two nights ago gushed about the astrology compatibility on Tyler’s couch. He tried not to focus on how annoyed that made him, burning his glare into the man who now snorted.

“Oh, wow. You really want to claim this trainwreck? The kid’s had more people in him than the New York subway station.” The insult was tossed out without hesitation, like it was used far too often in correlation to Craig. The body against his tensed for a second before going limp, the words sucking whatever fight was left in Craig’s body out. And Tyler didn’t know anything about this situation, shouldn’t have cared about Craig’s happiness or the weird past these two had. This was Brian’s drama, Brock’s fight, Craig’s problem. It didn’t mean shit to Tyler, had no correlation to his future. Because it wasn’t his job to help people.

But that excuse wasn’t good enough this time.

“You talk about my boyfriend like that again, and I’ll knock your fucking teeth out.” He added no growl or movement to his threat, making sure his words were clear and deadly in their presentation. His hand squeezed the hip under his palm, letting the line between pretend and reality blur for a moment. “He’s mine. I don’t care what people think of us; I don’t give a fuck what he did before me. And I ain’t worry about anyone else coming after me, cause I’ll make sure he doesn’t need to find someone else. If those idiots couldn’t keep him satisfied, that was their loss. I don’t have a problem in that department. My only problem at the moment is you.”

“I never fucked-” But Tyler didn’t want to hear what this asshole had to say.

“Out of respect for my roommate, I’m not beating the shit out of you for hurting Craig before. But I’m really losing my patience. If you ever come near Craig again, I’ll make sure they don’t find your body. And since my boyfriend likes that dumbass Brian, he tends to hang out with him alot. Enough that you might bump into Craig if you bug him. That would be a bad day for you. You understand, or do you need specific details?”

Tyler didn’t interact with people often, but he sure as hell knew how to threaten someone.

“You-whatever. Brian’s not worth this shit. Enjoy your five minutes with Craig while it lasts.” Tyler could hear the fear in the guy’s voice when he turned tail, but he didn’t let his eyes move away from the glare he’d pinned on him since the threat.

“Your dad’s dick is small!” Craig’s shout at the guy retreating made Tyler roll his eyes, sending a look that made Craig smile sheepishly. “Well, it is.”

“I don’t need to know that,” he answered, feeling the chest against his ribs vibrate with Craig’s laugh.

“Aw, come on. You know what you were getting when you made me your boyfriend.” Craig’s smile was a nice change of pace, and Tyler’s arms pulled him closer without thought. A moment of surprise passed through both of them, Tyler unsure why he hadn’t dropped his hold on Craig’s waist. He knew the guy was long gone, and their act didn’t need to continue. Yet his brain and body didn’t seem to be on the same page. Craig looked pleased at the lack of distance, curling a hand on the back of Tyler’s neck. But the hesitant bite of his lower lip proved that the bravado wasn’t fully felt. “Rumors are gonna start, you know. If you’re looking to get yourself out of this alive, we shouldn’t be so close.”

“I already said I don’t care what people think of us.”

“But that was when-”

“Shut up for a second, will ya?” Tyler sighed at the headache that was forming behind his eyes. This was why he didn’t deal with people. “If it’s going to bug you or whatever, then we can make sure Brian spreads it was a joke. But I don’t have a social life, and I really could give two fucks what anyone but my teachers think about me. And if having people think I’m your boyfriend keeps assholes like that from harassing you, then use it.”

“You don’t mind? You really don’t mind being labelled as my boyfriend?” There was a spark of excitement in Craig’s tone when his eyes looked up at Tyler with an awe that made him squirm in discomfort. He felt his face flush at the attention, his stomach twisting in a way he couldn’t explain.

“How many times do I have to say that I don’t care-”

And then Craig was kissing him. The suddenness of the lips on his made Tyler’s mouth part in surprise. Craig took the opportunity to deepen the kiss and hum in pleasure. The softness of the tongue against his was mind-numbing, Tyler unsure how to counter the skill that Craig used. But after a second, he decided he needed to try. The fingers trailing lightly along the back of his neck during their leisure kiss had goosebumps rising on his skin, Tyler’s hands yanking Craig closer to feel the smaller body flush against his. The slight wiggle of Craig’s waist against his own proved the movement was appreciated, and Tyler only broke the kiss when soft lips sucked his tongue in a way far too familiar to an act he didn’t want to think about in public.

“That was nice.” Craig’s grin was pressed to Tyler’s slack lips, his breath even as he dropped a small peck between his next sentence. “We should definitely do that more to sell this whole boyfriend thing. Maybe in a bed and with less clothes on. A snapchat or two, you know, commit to our roles and such.”

“Jesus Christ.” He wanted it to sound exacerbated, not breathless, but it was obvious he missed his mark when Craig tossed his head back and laughed. Tyler stared down at the bright smile of his… something, arms tightening to keep Craig close. Unsure how he had gotten there, he only knew one thing for certain.

He was never helping someone out again.

#mssjynx #Minicat #Mini Ladd #I Am Wildcat #Fire and Ice boys #<3 #Crimson drabblez

90 notes · View notes

libraribear · 3 years

Text

2020 in Review

2020 is in the books. What a year. It seems a given that through life, some years will be good and some years will be bad, and for many 2020 was one of the bad ones. Globally, it feels like it was the worst year ever. Personally, I can’t go that far. So many people have it worse than I do, and I’m leery of writing this post because I don’t want to sound unsympathetic as I count my blessings (before going into the undeniably shitty, but FAR LESS shitty things than what some other people are going through).

Nonetheless, as part of a New Year’s Resolution to create more, I figured I’d polish up this blog and write more, so here’s my 2020: Good, Bad, and Ugly. This is a heckin’ long post so only read on... if you dare.

The Good

I never lost my job.

A lot of my academic colleagues did - basically everyone who had “temporary” or “adjunct” in their title was axed. By virtue of being temporary year-to-year faculty for five years, I was promoted to the tenure-track in 2019. I feel very badly for my colleagues, all who lost their job to circumstance, not merit. Six years ago I took a chance leaving a steady job with a newborn to pursue my goal of being an Academic Librarian. The job was a one-year temporary position with no guarantee of continued employment, and I worked hard, interviewed for my job twice in five years, and managed to hang on. It’s crushing to imagine what it would have been like to survive all that and get axed because of a pandemic, and I feel very badly for my colleagues who suffered that fate.

I got to spend most of the year working from home with my kids.

Before I get into “The Bad”, namely that keeping a five and six year old on task while working a full-time job is incredibly stressful, the good was that I got to watch one-year-old girl grow and grow and grow every day whereas my two boys were in daycare at that age. I got to spend a ton more time with the boys and my wife too.

My kids live in a school district with resources.

We’ve made a lot of strides in Distance Education, but it still isn’t ideal. I feel like my kids’ school district is doing the best they can to make it work. I feel extremely fortunate to live in a district where that was an option from the start, with full distance, hybrid, and in-person options. Not wanting to expose my kids or their teachers to any risk, we’ve gone full distance the whole time. we chose this to keep our kids as safe as possible, so I hope you’ll forgive me when I go into detail under The Bad as why it sucks for everyone involved. ;)

Ms. Bear and I started Doctoral Programs

File this one under “things I’d have never done if I knew the pandemic was going to be this much of a problem in Fall”, but it’s still a good thing - and definitely not the kind of thing I would do if it wasn’t free through my university. With Ms. Bear it’s more of a life-fulfillment thing and I’m happy that I can help her realize her dream.

The Bad

Distance Education Requires Training - Students Are Struggling

My college freshmen struggled to adapt to their first year seminar class and I attempted to make it as easy as possible for them to follow along, engage online, have second and third chances to turn in assignments... it didn’t matter. Elementary school students have it worse - my kids struggle to stay on task, and me and Ms. Bear do our best to keep them on task. I feel really bad for those kids whose parents can’t work from home or are too busy to stay on them and help them with distance education. I’m not anti-distance education by any stretch, but the pandemic forced a lot of people to switch to it relatively quickly and since distance education is by its nature very self-directed even with a good teacher/instructor, some people unused to this method really struggle.

I should note that none of this is meant as a criticism of the decision to go for distance education. Health is most important, period, and those politicians that are like “But think of the children, send them to school” - well, hold them back a year if it’s that bad. I repeated the first grade. It’s better than dying. I worry less about the kids’ educational attainment and more for those kids from bad homes where school is a safe haven/source of food. If you’re that worried about it pass some laws to help.

The Roof, The Roof, The Roof is leaking water

When you find a tiny leak in your roof, if you can afford it, pay the money and fix it. Don’t wait “because it’s a pandemic and we may need that money”. The money sat in my bank account until the the bedroom ceiling started to drop a few months later. Definitely the decision of 2020 I’d most like back.

2020 Was Not The Year to Reduce Stress.

I think everyone is running on fumes by the time they got to the end of this year. For my wife and I as young parents (can’t help that), full-time workers (gotta eat to live), and grad students (like I said above, if I had a do-over I’d DEFINITELY have waited until 2021, the pandemic represented the steady erosion of all the gains I made the past year. Anxiety? Back up. Overall level of physical fitness and nutrition? I was exercising and eating and feeling really healthy in March, but I eat (and feel) like crap now.

The Ugly

Misinformation, Misinformation Everywhere... and Politics

Misinformation is nothing new for a US Presidential Election year. But as a librarian whose job it is to promote information literacy, understanding which sources are indeed trustworthy and which are not, this election year was frankly, terrifying for me. I mean, if you know a source is trustworthy because of the standards and norms that are used to govern it, but people simply roll to disbelief it’s trustworthiness... I’m not sure how in the hell you get through to them. Lest this be construed as too political a post (I did get a little political above, hee), I’m going to stress that these information discernment skills that seem to be lacking are skills people on both Team Blue Donkey and Team Red Elephant lack. Add to that the psuedoscience, lack of fact-checking, and the whole “If it doesn’t agree with my worldview, I refuse to believe it” attitude illuminated by the pandemic and I’m not going to lie, this shit is terrifying to me. I’m hoping it’s just a phase we’re going through in America, but geez. I’m not a doom and gloomer, but this year was TOUGH in the whole “Faith in humanity’s ability to reason” department. I’ll listen to anyone’s political opinion if they back it up with well-researched sources and facts, but rather than driving closer to this goal, we’re heading in the wrong direction.

I should note that to me, it’s not just Team Red Elephant that has trouble discerning information, or is duplicitous. I need to make that clear. I definitely lean left and it’s not hard to see why - I mean, I’m a heckin’ librarian for crying out loud. But lying and misinformation or misconstruing facts? Some politicians may be more egregious offenders, but most politicians do that regardless of stripe. I feel politics are more like a teeter totter constantly switching up and down. We do ourselves a disservice when we believe everyone on our team is rational and level-headed and everyone on the other team is evil, stupid, irrational. There was a time when we could have discourse, and through disagreements we could at least learn from one another. I intensely understand the desire to make and justify political beliefs, but they’re not how we progress in a country that’s run the way the US is. Maybe it’s always been this way, but as I’ve aged I notice we have a lot more tendency to anoint a politician of our political stripe as a savior. Whatever happened to the old worldview that all politicians were lying dirtbags and though you might side with them, you could never fully trust them? It seems to have been turned on its head, I’m not sure how, to “Trust my side implicitly, DO NOT TRUST THE OTHER SIDE AT ALL.” That one side could be a bastion of truth and virtue and the other a bastion of evil and ugliness is, I’m not gonna lie, extremely unlikely.

Do as I say, not as I do. I got swept up in the political fervor myself with my D&D Friends - for a time we had a “Just Politics” channel to talk politics. That was a big mistake. Though no friendships were ended, that channel alone intensified my anxiety tenfold (MY FRIEND IS WRONG ON THE INTERNET! I HAVE TO SHOW THEM THE ERROR OF THEIR WAYS!) and... yeah. The BEST decision I made in 2020 was folding and walking away from the political discussion table - but it took me a few months of arguing and stressing to get there. I’ve reverted back to trying to do good for all people in my little corner of the world and the web by treating everyone respectfully and rationally unless they give me reason to do otherwise, at which point I’m far more likely to ignore you than engage with you. I hate that I have to do that, but it is what it is. If I talk politics, it’s privately with someone I know that is sane enough to safely distance from the chaos, or someone I trust implicitly. I won’t deny that it’s a very fascinating subject to me since politics is so ingrained into human nature, but good lord, what a minefield.

UGLY Bonus Edit (I always think of the coolest things to say right after I hit post, after all)

A last thought - whenever we’re confronted with a worldview we disagree with, whatever happened to asking the person why they feel that way or what they meant before immediately labeling them scum on Earth? We don’t even bother to fact check the people we loathe when honestly at worst you’re just confirming suspicions, at best you may even cause them to question why they believe what they believe? I can’t remember the last political or heated conversation I’ve seen where that happened. When I was fighting with my friends on “Just Politics” I don’t think I bothered to ask that often enough myself.

Anyway, I’m looking forward to making 2021 a better year than 2020. Happy New Year, everyone. Love and hope to you all.

#libraribear life #Happy New Year

3 notes · View notes

wetwellie · 4 years

Text

Your Name AU

(because i’ve seen this movie a bajillion times and it makes me feel things and i am FEELING THINGS about zimbits rn) (It probably won’t work, but i’m gonna make it work)

Bitty is a guy who is trying to peacefully spend his last summer before heading off to college in peace.

He spends his days working his part time job at his Aunt’s produce stand.

and Baking

and playing club hockey twice a week

Fairly peaceful

and...boring as hell

Until the dreams start

Jack has just started his third year at Samwell university

he’s still broken

still anxious

still the “golden boy” --even if he doesn’t feel like hes polished and shining

but he’s making do

and making friends

just a year or two left until

until what?

graduation? getting signed?

wasting away?

Jack doesn’t know. But he’s resigned to focus on hockey and let the rest of the world pass him by

Until the dreams start

Jack wakes up and it’s too hot

He shifts to get out of bed and finds that the covers he is tearing away from his body

are not his

or Shitty’s

or any of his roommates’

also. uh

those skinny legs and short shorts are not his

his hands look different too

and his face feels different

and the voice that calls to him from downstairs is not one he knows

huh

well

weird dream

hope it’s over soon

Bitty goes downstairs to eat the next day

His parents are both fairly silent

“I see you got over whatever mood you were in yesterday, young man”

“mood?”

“it doesn’t matter.”

That’s all he gets out of them

When he drives to the produce stand his cousins run up to him smiling

“I see that you actually remembered how to drive that thing”

“What?” says Bitty

“yesterday you were all over the place. almost knocked over the stand. if you were anyone else I’d think you were drunk”

“Aunt Judy figures you might have been possessed” the other cousin says

“With a fit of stupidity”

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about” Bitty says

“It doesn’t matter. Just don’t ‘get lost’ or forget ‘how to drive stick’ again, Dicky” she says using finger quotes

Later in the day, Suzanne asks Bitty if he’s really feeling ok.

She was really worried about yesterday’s behavior

Bitty replies that , despite evidence on the contrary, he feels normal

They finish up some jars of jam and Bitty returns to his room for the night

There is where he finds it

Tucked under his pillow there is a note in scratchy handwriting

“Who are you?”

Bitty wakes up cold, in a bed that is too big for him

an alarm he doesn’t remember setting, or ever having, is blaring next to him

he looks to see the time

4:30 am

oh.

hell no

bitty gets up to unplug the dream alarm clock, and returns to sleep

Bitty wakes up 6 hours later with another man coming into bed with him

This man is naked

and moustached

one of those dreams? huh

never would he dream about this kind of guy though

because this guy doesn’t crawl into bed, like he thought

he wraps bitty in a burrito made out of comforters and yanks him onto the floor

“I know you needed to a break, but let the coaches know before you sleep through morning practice like that”

“practice?”

“yeah. and you’re lucky that I’m waking you up in time to go to your 11am.”

“but it’s summer”

naked moustache man just looks at him and rolls his eyes

“we’ll grab lunch after class”

“Wait!”

“What”

“...where is my class?”

Jack wakes up the next day

and is dragged to the doctor to test for a possible concussion

“the things you were saying and doing yesterday were crazy”

“you skipped morning practice”

“After class you threw down your notes and said you’d never major in History”

“You baked seven as an apology for skipping morning practice”

“And then you dropped into fetal position in afternoon practice when Ollie was about to check you”

“And you took, i don’t know, 7000 selfies of yourself and called yourself handsome”

“have you ever taken a selfie before in your life?”

jack just shakes his head

“yeah. like i said you’re getting checked for a concussion”

Did I hit my head? , Jack asks

“no. but it can’t be” Shitty pauses “It wouldn’t be your other thing would it?”

I don’t think so he says.

Jack has never really had memory problems. and his anxiety and panic never particularly affected him in the way described

faintly, he recalls a young boy at one of his games right before the draft, voice broken as he says “Jack, don’t you remember me?”

it leaves his mind as quickly as it entered

because he had bigger problems to figure out

namely how he had new entries on the journal on his phone

it was a summary of all of the things that “Jack” did the previous day

“Thanks for a long day of being a Big Shot on campus, handsome!”

signed Eric

Eric??

Who the hell is Eric?

it happens again

Jack spends a day as bitty

and Bitty spends a day as Jack

and they wake up not remembering too much about what happens

the only thing that cements that it’s not just a weird dream is that

well...real life consequences

Jack becomes a lot more...spinny and less up for contact when he plays hockey

and ends up enjoying time with his teammates a lot more

and has a huge country dialect now

and one time someone came up to him speaking french and jack had no idea what was going on???

and he smiles sometimes???

and at the end of the day he’s almost always on his phone typing away

Bitty is able to kick ass into gear with hockey

but can’t bake worth shit

honestly, suzanne hasn’t seen anything of that quality since bitty was seven

AND he had to check a recipe

also, he’s started to bike to work

driving stick is impossible

he’s very serious on some days

he spends his evenings watching history documentaries and writing in a journal

Well. It seems like this is just gonna be life for a while, they both figure

best set up some rules

Bitty, as Jack, is NOT ALLOWED TO DITCH CLASSES

no use of the word y’all

no beyonce

no short shorts

don’t drop like a brick when someone comes to check you

seriously Eric it’s fine

Eric it’s my body that would get hurt don’t worry

also please don’t drink or use drugs in my body

it’s a long story but again

it’s my body

Jack-as-Bitty is asked to be polite to his friends and customers

and please never bake anything ever

don’t leave the house dressed like some weird clothing outlet exploded

if you yell at my teammates i swear to god, mr. zimmermann.

don’t disrespect senor bun

or anyone

stop frowning so much, even Coach has asked me about it and i don’t know what to say

don’t watch stuff on my netflix account. your history documentaries are messing up my recommendations

Despite the rules

They find ways to keep bothering each other

But also trying to make each other better

As captains of each others teams, both teams are able to benefit from their guidance

Bitty’s team gets a lot stronger technically

but kind of hate how much of a hardass Bitty is 3 times a week

The SMH is more in synch with each other than ever

and Bitty is able to help out a lot more

But Jack ends up having to put a lot of money in the sin bin for

‘acting off’

Jack is very upset to find a picture of himself in the swallow, sitting on the roof of the Haus shirtless and wearing short shorts chilling

what the fuck Eric

But they get a little routine down, and nothing changes except for minor nuisances

so whatever

It all works good until one day, while Jack and Suzanne are bonding over making jam, Suzanne looks Jack right in the eyes and says

“oh...you’re not my dicky. you’re dreaming aren’t you?”

Jack snaps awake in his bed

not Eric’s bed. His bed

Huh. weird.

He goes to check his phone and of course, there is a long journal entry left over from the day he didn’t get

It’s all mostly ok until he gets to the end

“It looks like your first big hockey game is tomorrow night! Be sure to have fun. Enjoy it!”

“There’s a comet tonight for me. I’ll take lots of pictures so that you can see it next time we ...do whatever we do”

Jack and the SMH win the game. and he actually tries to have fun. but the only person he wants to celebrate with is

well

he’s in georgia

bUT

Jack has a phone

He dials bitty’s cellphone number that has been saved in his contact

his heart is beating quite fast.

and then he hears

“We’re sorry. The number you have dialed is no longer in service”

Jack stops switching after that

He should be relieved. overjoyed

but he’s not

he doesn’t miss the humidity

or the dirt roads

or the bugs

but he does miss something

and he’s forgetting all about it

so he tries searching online for the town

the town he can’t remember the name of

he doesn’t want to forget, so he starts drawing sketches of what he remembers

they’re not bad

pretty darn good, even

Not as good as Lardo’s, but she’s still abroad

He tries to call Eric’s number a couple more times. He gets the same results

Jack can’t take it anymore

During the winter break, Jack flies down to Georgia for a weekend, rents a car, and drives himself in the general area he remembers the town

he stops locals and shows them sketches

“is there any town nearby that looks like this?”

they all respond in the negative

he does this for hours

the sun is starting to set when he resigns to give up

he pulls into a diner in the town he’s in, orders, and looks at his sketches again

maybe it’s possible that the town isn’t...even real?

it really could have just been his dreams

that is what he thinks when the server returns with some water

“Hey. that’s a pretty good picture of Godfrey”

“Godfrey?”

“Yeah. I grew up there.” he says looking a bit sad

“Can you tell me how to get there?”

The server pauses and gives Jack a mourned, but puzzled look “ it was about a 15 minute drive from here but-”

“it was?”

“you didn’t hear about what happened?”

Jack shakes his head.

“If you don’t mind,I’ll take you to it after you finish your dinner”

It’s all gone.

Oh God.

Everything from the small ice cream shop to the old creek where Bitty’s cousins would hang around

It’s all rubble

and mounds of dirt

Literal miles

Jack can’t breathe

he can’t

breathe

just breathe

just

breat--

#au #a shitty au #omgcp #check please #it's really nothing like the story except for the couple of major plot points #because honestly how could i bring in ancient forgotten japanese concepts into an american context #fic #wipitgood

55 notes · View notes

atlas-of-space · 5 years

Text

Dance with me - writing prompt

Synopsis: Did you really think you would be going alone to prom?

Prompt: “Dance with me”

A/N: this is a writing challenge by @starksparker for this summer :) i think i went kinda overboard on the backstory but okay lol did i forget i was writing a prompt and did i have to insert said prompt later into the story? maybe.

Word count: 3,6K

warnings: a few swears here and there

You and MJ had been friends since elementary school. You bonded when both of you weren’t invited to Macy’s birthday party, thus organizing your own party that was way more fun. From that day, a close friendship was born. Fast forward to middle and high school. Both being kind of hardcore nerds, you both got into Midtown Tech. You befriended Ned and Peter and you felt that you had finally found your place in the world.

Your senior year was the hardest and easiest of high school. You started applying to your dream college (NYU), writing essays and what-not, you had several competitions and science fairs going on et cetera. That was the easy part. The hard part had yet to come for you: prom.

Most kids already had a boyfriend or girlfriend, so they automatically had a partner. There already had been a fair share of promposals (MJ had been asked by the new kid Brad (was he really new?? He just aged when the rest of you were in the Blip), Ned asked Betty and that was that.)

“So, who are you asking, Peter?” MJ inquired. Peter had been relatively quiet when you guys started talking about prom. He shrugged and his mouth set in a hard line. “I’ve been thinking about asking this girl, but I’m about 125% sure that she’ll say no. So I’m thinking about going alone.” MJ frowned, “there’s no harm in just asking the girl. Why are you so sure she’ll reject you?” Peter shrugged again, “She’s probably waiting for someone else to ask, so I’d rather not be embarrassed thank you very much.”

This was Peter’s pessimistic side talking. You two bonded over being total opposites (him being more pessimistic and you being the positive person) and you just knew that he was overreacting. “Don’t be so melodramatic Pete, for all you know she’s waiting to be asked by you. Who are we talking about by the way?” You really wanted to know who Peter was talking about because you had absolutely no idea who this could be. Could it be Charlotte from the debate team? Or Amina who’s volunteering at the library? Or even just someone he met on his internship because duh it’s the stark internship and how many smart beautiful awesome people work there??

For the rest of the day, you continued to sulk and you actually felt quite miserable. You had had feelings for Peter for a while now, but they really took off when you two spent a weekend together going on a field trip.

“So, can you get that stick out of your ass and talk to me or are you going to keep being miserable for the rest of the week?”, MJ pointed out. She sat next to you in the library, where you two always studied and revised together. You rolled your eyes but you knew that what she said was true.

“Well, if I say what’s been bothering me will you promise not to tell anyone?” “Not to tell anyone that you’re actually in love with Peter or to not tell anyone that in 4th grade you got the class hamster for the weekend and you accidentally killed it because you thought your older brother’s snake would want to be friends with it?”

“Jesus, MJ not so loud!”, you groaned. Let’s be honest. Both things she said were true and you didn’t want any one to know about them. “Please don’t ever bring up Ozzy up again. I’m still traumatized and everyone thinks he died of old age, so zip it.”

“So we’re not going to talk about you and Peter?”, she softly asked after a short moment of silence. “I just really don’t know what to say,” you sighed, “we’ve been friends for such a long time and I really don’t want to mess it up by like declaring my love or something for him.”

“Well, I wouldn’t necessarily call it declaring your love, but I do think there is something between you guys. Don’t you remember when you came back from Boston and you two were like, inseparable?” MJ was so fucking observant, nothing went by her without her noticing, and at times like these it was quite annoying that she knew everything, but for the most part it came in really handy. MJ just knew you and knew what was going on in your head. She just wanted to be a good friend.

“For anyone who didn’t know you guys, it really seemed like you guys were dating or something. Do you really not notice how he looks at you?”, you shook your head. You had been wrapped up in assignments after the trip and just had been studying and yeah, you just didn’t really have a lot of time to think about it. This doesn’t mean that you ‘lost’ your feelings for Peter, they just had to make room for other things.

What started as a boring history trip to Boston, ended in laughter and getting to know each other even better. The four hour drive was something no one was looking forward to, because duh you literally can’t do anything besides talking and okay, Peter was your friend but you had never had much one-on-one time and you were kind of nervous? Also, when did Peter get these muscles?

“Are we sitting together for this ten million hour drive, y/n?”, you nodded and pulled him onto one of the benches, giving him your backpack to put on the rack above you.

You started bickering about some random movie you had seen a week before and Peter wanted to facepalm because you were so stubborn. “No, jesus, Y/n, the ending was so good, it was meant to be sad because life isn’t just rainbows and butterflies! You can’t just expect a good ending in every movie because you get sentimental afterwards.”

“Well, okay mister I’m-always-negative, sorry for wanting the main character to have a nice life. I just think he deserved better. He just had this really romantic outlook on life and then everyone dumped him and he died alone. That’s sad right, don’t you agree?”

Peter had to agree, but he just wanted to get you to understand that sometimes shitty things happen (like getting bit by a radioactive spider and getting super powers and trying to save your city, because you were now a friendly neighborhood spider-man). Anyway, he admired your positive outlook on life and he didn’t want to ruin it, but he also didn’t want you to get hurt every time something remotely negative happened in your life - which was inevitable, let’s be honest.

“I was just saying, but I really like that about you,” Peter softly said, his eyes locking on yours. You slightly blushed, but disregarded the comment. Friends say stuff like that, right? You squeezed his bicep, turning to look outside of the window. “God we’ve only left the city and I already want to get out!”, you changed the subject. Peter swallowed hard and coughed, trying to get rid of the intimate moment you guys just shared.

For the following hours you talked and talked about everything and nothing. The bus arrived at the hotel you would be staying at for 2 nights and you both teamed up with someone to share a room. After doing a tour of the city, everyone got back to the hotel and you were free to do what you wanted.

“So, are you down to go eat something together?” Peter asked, whilst leaning against the doorframe of the room you shared with Drew. Drew shot you a look, silently saying ‘YES!!!! GO!!’, and you rolled your eyes.

“Um, yeah sure, let me just grab my things and we’ll go look for something then,” you started gathering your stuff and said goodbye to Drew. “It’s a date, right?” She winked and you wanted to throw yourself out of the window, because just stop with this! “Yeah bye Drew, have fun on your own!”, you sarcastically called out.

Peter and you walked down the street, trying to find a cheap place that had decent dinner.

You decided on a dumpling place that actually looked really cool, it had these old wooden floors and lots of plants. “You down to share some dumplings with me or not?” You asked whilst flipping through the menu. Peter nodded and decided for some classic dumplings, while you chose the vegetarian ones. That way, you could share some.

“So, do you already know what uni you want to go to?”, Peter asked, whilst battling with your chopsticks to get a dumpling. “I’ve been looking into some unis in New York area so I can stay close to home, but there are just so many good schools over the whole country so yeah.. I’m still confused as fuck.” You smirked when you got the dumpling you were fighting about and popped it in your mouth. “So, what about you?” You asked once you ate the dumpling.

“Yeah so I really want to stay in the city. This place is my home you know, and I’m not really ready to leave everything behind and start over again so yeah, I’m thinking about Columbia or NYU or just a local college so I can combine the stark internship with studying. But yeah, I’m really looking forward to next year.”

You nodded and gave him a soft smile, “so, we’ll probably stay in the same city. We can meet up then!” Peter’s eyes twinkled and he smiled, “this is going to be great! We can go to parties together and study together!”

After dinner, you walked back to the hotel, it looked as if both of you had drunk just a little too much, stumbling through the streets and giggling so much that you couldn’t breathe. “Are you actually serious? You thought the hamster would be friends with the snake?”

“I was in 4th grade! I just didn't want him to be lonely!” You exclaimed, trying not to ruin your mascara because you were definitely crying of laughter. You put your hand on the inside of Peters inner arm, trying to hold onto him because you just couldn’t keep your ground anymore.

“You can’t tell anyone though! MJ has been keeping it a secret for years, so if this ever gets out I’m done!”, you joked while you entered the hotel lobby. Because you both looked a bit out of place and were making a bit too much noise, you got some weird looks. You both ignored everyone, too wrapped up in each other.

You calmed down in the elevator, still holding onto Peter’s arm. You loved being with Peter alone. You connected on a deeper level, you just understood each other. You had liked him for a while now. Nothing serious, just a small crush.

You walked to your room. Instead of going inside, you waited outside and looked at Peter. He was leaning against the doorframe, waiting for you to open the door. “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?”, you said quietly. Peter nodded and licked his lips. He looked in your eyes, and it was as if he wanted to say something else, but he just kept quiet.

“okay, I’m going in now, bye Peter,” you got your room key and swiped it, opening the door. You looked at Peter one last time. He had already straightened up but opened his arms to give you a hug. You stepped into his arms and squeezed your arms around his torso. Had you ever been this close to Peter? God. He smelled really good and you felt at ease in his arms.

He released you and gave a small wave, turning back to go to the elevator to go up to his room. You smiled to yourself and got into your room.

The rest of the weekend went off without a hitch. You visited some museums and did a few workshops, learning about the history. This was going to be one hell of an assignment to write. Peter and you spent most of the time you were awake together. Drew was suspiciously absent when you were with Peter. It's almost as if she stayed away on purpose.

When you returned, you had a lot of work to catch up on and you had to make this ginormous assignment about the trip. You still saw Peter a lot. During lunch and other classes you had together, you would always sit next to each other. You worked on the assignment together and you visited each other in the weekends. MJ noticed that every time you were studying in the library Peter was there, just left or was about to arrive. You hardly had any one-on-one time with MJ anymore, and she was starting to feel left out.

“I mean yeah, we became really good friends on that trip, perhaps even more but people don’t fall in love over a weekend, MJ, I’m not that naive.”

“People don’t fall in love over a weekend, but they do if these feelings have been build up for literal years!”, MJ was at the end of her wits here. How could you NOT see that Peter was in love with you?? He came over every other weekend, he helped you if you were stuck with something. You spend so much time together and he hadn’t been on a decent date in months. This wasn’t some bullshit crush - this felt real.

“AND, after that trip, we hardly spent any time together because you were with Peter every breathing second!” MJ exclaimed, “So don’t go bullshitting me that he doesn’t like you, because that boy is head over heals in love with you.”

“Well okay then. Why wouldn’t he ask to prom then? If he likes me?” You tried to reason. You were ignore these feelings, because once you both admitted them to each other, it would be real.

“He’s insecure. It’s 2019, girls can ask guys to prom. You just ask him already.” You sighed and rubbed your eyes with your hand palms. “I know you have like the soul of a 120 year old activist in you, but I’m still a regular-ass teenage girl who’s scared of being called abnormal. So i’m just going to ignore everything you just said and go alone to prom, because that’s what nerds do.”

MJ wanted to strangle you, because this was like a horror movie; the main character did everything they weren’t supposed to do. “okay, you do you. But don't complain to me if Peter shows up with some random girl because you’re both chickens.”

MJ got her books and got up. She was frustrated with you, but you knew it was all in good heart. You tried to get some more studying done, but you were really distracted.

What did you have to lose, if you asked Peter to prom? A few years of friendship? A great study-buddy?

Prom was next week, and both you and Peter had been avoiding the topic. Both MJ and Ned were so fed up with it (MJ had told Ned everything), but decided not to do anything about it. It was your life, so your problem in the end.

Cue to the day before prom. You had everything prepared. Your dress, heels, make-up, you even got a corsage. What you didn’t have: a date. You were too chicken to ask Peter, so you went alone. You were going to dance your heart out and enjoy your life, because that’s what being young is about.

You decided to drive yourself to the venue. You got everything ready and were about to put on your heels when the doorbell rang. You figured it would be MJ who forgot something and opened the door.

It wasn’t MJ though, who stood on your porch. Peter was wearing an all black tux and his hair was combed neatly, instead of the wild curls he always had. His hands were in his pockets (his hands were really shaky at this moment and he didn’t want to seem like a weirdo in front of you) and he didn’t say anything for the first few moments.

“Oh, um, wow, Y/N you look-.. you look amazing!” He struggled to say. His cheeks got a light pink hue, as did yours. “Thanks, Peter, you look very handsome yourself.”

You both looked at each other awkwardly, not knowing what to say, because What The Hell was Peter doing here?

“What do you need, Peter?” You asked him. Your palms were getting sweaty and you felt your face heath up. What is happening right now?

“I know this is probably so out of line and I understand if you don’t want to but I’ve been thinking about it for a while now and I was too chicken to tell you until this moment now, but uh-, Y/N I uh, I really like you and I totally understand if you don’t reciprocate these uh feelings,” he rambled and had to take a deep breath after saying all this.

Internally, you were freaking out, but externally, it looked as if you had just seen a ghost pass by.

“Um, Y/N? Can you say something please?” Peter croaked. Tears were beginning to form in his eyes and this lump in his throat was keeping him from rambling again.

“Oh my-, I’m so sorry Peter oh my god! No, I just didn’t think this moment would ever arrive? I don’t know what to say other than, um, that I like you as well?”

You royally fucked this one up. Peter was almost crying, you started to have a panic attack? What is this evening?

“Are you serious?” Peter asked after he gathered himself for a moment. You nodded and held the door a bit further, signaling that he could come in.

You closed the door behind him and rested your back against it, trying not to lose it. God was this real? Was this some awkward dream during the nap you took before you had to get ready?

Peter took a step closer to you and grabbed your wrist. “Do you want to go to prom with me and dance with me then?” He softly said. You interlaced your fingers with his and looked up at him.

You gave him a small smile and nodded, “I’d love to go with you Peter.”

You were both shining and when you were ready to go, your mother called out to you.

“Y/N, even though you don’t have a date, I still want pictures!”, she came out of the living room with her camera. When she saw you standing at the door, hand in hand with Peter she stopped and got a small smile on her face.

“Oh, unexpected but actually not. Hi Peter, how are you?” She joked.

“I’m good, really good actually. I’m coming to pick up your daughter for prom actually,” he answered politely.

“So, is this a,” she pointed between you two, “a date situation?” Peter instantly got red again, but you smiled confidently, “Yes, we’re going together.”

Your mother smiled dearly and nodded. “Well, if you’re going together, I do want some pictures of you two!”

You posed for some pictures and left quickly after, your mom giving you a wink. “Have fun, guys!”

Peter drove himself to your house, so you got into his car (after he held the door for you).

When you both walked up to your high school, some people did double takes. Especially your friends. MJ walked up to you with a smile, you never releasing Peter’s hand.

“Well, well, who do we have here?” She smugly asked. You wanted to give a quick-witted response, but you were just too happy.

“He came to my house just before we left and well, we both like each other and things just happened? And no we are here!”

She squeezed your other hand and smiled at you. “I’m happy for you, Y/N, even though it took literal WEEKS!”

For the rest of the night you had so much fun with your friends. You danced together, got stupid photo’s in the photobooth, and held Peter’s hand.

You slow danced together and he had his arms or hands around you at all times. This was such bliss.

You and Peter were sitting outside for a bit, trying to escape all the commotion. Your knees were touching and Peter’s thumb was rubbing over your hand.

“So,” Peter said softly, trying not to disrupt the comfortable silence, “I know this is probably way too quick, but I really like you Y/N.”

“I really like you too, Peter,” you replied gazing into his eyes. Gosh, he has such pretty eyes. How did this ever happen to you?

“Would you wanna go on a date soon? Like a real date and not some high school dance?” Peter wasn’t nervous anymore. He knew you’d say yes, he just wanted to confirm that you were actually up for it.

You nodded quickly, “I’d love to. We could go tomorrow even! I just want to spend more time with you.” God would you love to just spend the rest of senior year with Peter, that was how much you liked him.

“What do you say, tomorrow at seven? We could go eat something and decide the rest during dinner?” Peter proposed.

“It’s a date.” You said, giving Peter a kiss on his cheek.

—————

Sooooo, this is the end! Sorry it took so long to write, I had less free time than expected lol. I tried to leave the ending a bit ‘open’ idk this is my first time really writing something (other than weird af wattpad stories when I was 14 let’s be honest)

198 notes · View notes

ofclaires · 4 years

Text

SELF PARA.

Date: April 18, 2020, noon in America.

Location: Room 102

Brief summary: Claire calls her mom ! They talk about sheep. This is the happiest thing I’ve ever written and I hate it.

As Mary suggested, it was Claire who made the room look like no one lived in it – spotless, like a hotel room. However, it was not just a coping mechanism to keep her mind off of the way things had happened between her and Kass, she'd been looking for something. It had taken ages, but she'd found it, tucked back behind her desk, precariously perched above an outlet: a postcard. Claire doesn't do anything with it for days, just keeps it under her pillow, but she thinks about it. She's been rereading it a lot.

Claire –

Hope everything is well at your school. You have no idea how thrilled I was so excited to hear from Callum that you were attending college – I never got to go myself, you know, so...you're a first generation! I think they do scholarships for that, you should see what's available. I know it's been a while since we've talked, but Olaf's mom is very sick, so we'll be moving back here to be with her. And we're getting married! We'd love for you to be here, if you can.

Miss you, Your mom +354 267-7777

The postcard is about a year old and worn at the edges. Claire never made any plans to go to Iceland. ( She never liked horses all that much anyway. ) When Claire first got the postcard last year, she’s pretty sure she broke not one but two of the punching bags in the gym – because after everything that happened, her mom wasted little time getting hitched with some guy. Some guy that was gonna treat her like shit, and Claire resolved she was DONE. She has too many memories of laying in her twin bed in the trailer, holding her hands over her ears as she waited for the screaming to stop, unable to sleep until she was sure her mom was getting into bed safely. Sometimes, she would sneak into the next room, crawl into her mom’s bed and wait.

Claire’s tired of waiting for people that don’t come back. After all, she’s been one of those people.

She doesn't know why she's started thinking of her mom so much now. Maybe it’s a result of allowing Callum back into her life or the fact that so many people are thinking of their parents, with the email that came out recently. She feels glad that her mom is semi-normal and clueless about what she does. Claire hopes that keeps her mom safe, from everything that's been going on at Gallagher. It's been a hard year on everyone, that should not be undercut, and while she'd like to say that her fight with Kass is the biggest thing on her mind...terrorism is just a tad more daunting.

Claire keeps her distance from the witness protection students for good reason. But she worries about Francis and his close friendship with one of them, and she worries about Kass, who has a tendency to form friends and attachments everywhere. She never thought she'd be glad about Nudge being totally preoccupied by a boyfriend, but at least it makes her feel like Nudge is safe.

After all, hanging out with one of those kids is what cost Amelia.

She taps her foot anxiously, whole legging shaking, which rattles the desk that she's sitting at. She knows there are things she doesn't want to die without doing, she just doesn't know if she's brave enough to do them. Claire doesn't even notice her own nervous tick until Tilly rolls over and looks down at her from her bunk. She gives Claire a look.

"I'm fine."

Disbelief. Tilly is too smart for that, and Claire has never been great at masking her emotions.

"Well, mostly fine. Do you mind leaving the room for a minute? Nothing freaky, I just want to make a phone call," Claire asks, and Tilly's not the type to be difficult, so she agrees. But now that Claire's said the words out loud, she realizes that she wants to follow through with them – she's just scared. Granted, she should feel lucky that her mom is some regular lady in Reykjavik rather than some hired assassin or secret member of a terrorist organization. It's the little things.

Claire is pretty sure the dial tone is the worst sound she’s ever heard. She grips her phone tight, like...she might break it, if she squeezed hard enough, and she has to physically calm herself down, remind herself to breathe.

“Halló?” An unfamiliar voice answers the line. “Hver er þetta?”

Claire does not speak any Nordic languages, so she just stutters. “Um, hello? Is Maggie there?”

“Oh, hello! Yeah, she’s around here somewhere...in the garden, probably,” the man chuckles, switching to English without a second thought. “Who should I say is on the line?”

Claire likes how he phrases that, like she can make up anything for him to say and he’s happy to go along with it. She considers it, but shrugs, “You can say it’s Claire.”

The line goes silent for a moment, and she has to assume that this is her new husband – Olaf. He has a nice voice, but the last husband had a nice voice too. She’s met lots of boyfriends with nice voices, and by now, she’s realized there’s no way to really know a person until you get to know them. Instinct means next to nothing, you can’t trust it.

“Yes, of course. Hi – Claire.” He emphasizes her name, like he’s shocked that he’s gotten to say it, and then Claire spends the next ten minutes waiting in anticipation. She starts biting her fingernails, a habit she thought she broke years ago, but waiting on the line for her mom makes her FEEL like a child again.

“Claire, sweetie? Is that you? Oh my god, are you alright?” Her mom’s voice is like honey to Claire’s ears, bringing back memories she thought didn’t exist. Curled up in bed after long nights, pushing Claire’s hair back away from her face as she tells extravagant stories of pirates and vikings, eating junk food until the sun comes up.

“Hi, mom.” Ever reticent.

“How are you? I mean, I’ve heard from Callum a bit, he’s such a nice boy, but really, how are you?”

“I’m fine. It’s – it’s just been a while, so I thought I might...try your line,” Claire’s voice gets choked up near the end, and there’s tears in the corners of her eyes. She used to never cry, but she’s been doing it a lot lately, for some reason. Maybe she’s getting more in touch with her feelings, which is a horrifying thought.

“Well, it’s good to hear from you! It’s the first nice day we’ve had in a while, so I’ve just been out in the garden – I’m making Olaf fix the dishwasher, damn thing is ALWAYS acting up,” she laughs, and Maggie talks fast – it’s apparent she’s nervous, trying to fill the noise with some chatter. “And we’ve got sheep, and chickens, you would love these little guys.”

Claire furrows her brow. “Mom, you...you HATE gardening. And you also hate dirt. And chickens,” she adds, and she can already feel her heart sinking, because it’s just like her mom to meet a guy and completely reinvent herself into someone new. Claire’s seen her mom go through phase after phase – granted, gardening is a bit better than psychedelics, probably.

“Not any more! I’m a changed woman!” Claire can only nod emphatically at that, because, well, of course she is. “What are you studying again?” It’s also just like Maggie to act like it hasn’t been, oh, five years since they’ve spoken. Just launching into conversation like it’s normal, skirting around the rough stuff. Maggie always did that – avoided the tough conversations until it was too late.

“Listen – Mom, I just...I wanted to call to say I’m sorry. About everything that happened, I shouldn’t have...and I should’ve called sooner too, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened, and I still can’t – I –”

“Claire, honey, please. It’s alright, I’ve – I’ve moved past all of that, and...sometimes I do think about it, you know? And I wonder what my life would be like if you hadn’t stepped in when you did, or...if I’d even have one. I made some mistakes too, we both did. That doesn’t matter now.”

But to Claire, it still matters, at least a little. As long as she still dreams about the blood on her hands, it will matter. But it’s nice to hear her mom say it, and it’s a comfort to know that her mother’s life isn’t ruined by what she did – that things go on. She’s spent years imagining worse case scenarios, the turmoil she’d put her mother through, too afraid to reach out for fear of hearing the worst. This, at least, is some comfort.

“It’s okay, I know it can’t have been easy – forced to raise me on your own, and all. If I had a kid I’d probably drop it off on the doorstep of a nunnery or something.” Was that a thing? A nunnery?

“Don’t give me too much credit, I sure tried to get out of it – and god, your dad had it easy, doing God-knows-what in God-knows-where with his shitty band.”

“Is this the part where you tell me my dad is like, Mick Jagger or something?”

“Jesus, Claire, how old do you think I am?”

This makes Claire laugh, and after a moment, they’re BOTH laughing, and if it weren’t for the miles between them, it’d feel nostalgic – like coming home after school and throwing her backpack across the floor of their trailer. She’d sit at the kitchen table, eat dinosaur nuggets and Kraft mac & cheese while her mom would put on the radio, sing along to Dolly Parton in some ridiculous outfit. Claire remembers the bad days best, but when she remembers the good days, they’re really good.

“You’re happy though?” Claire asks, “I mean, you like this guy?”

“Yeah, I really like this guy – and I KNOW I don’t have a great track record, but he’s good. He’s really good. I mean, I’m out here gardening! I have chickens! He’s the real deal, and...he’s a great cook. I know it seems sort of crazy, packing up and moving to another country, but I really love him. You’ll get it someday, when you meet the right person.”

Claire rolls her eyes at that, in spite of herself. She’s glad her mom can’t see her face. She still doesn’t know what to think about love, but she has a feeling that it’s not really for her. She’s the metaphorical equivalent of Iceland – too distant, too much effort.

Then again, some people seem to think moving to Iceland is worth it.

“Okay.”

“Wait! Oh, Claire, what are you doing this summer? Do you want to come stay with us?”

Claire wrinkles her nose, “And what? Shear sheep?”

“Yeah!” Maggie replies enthusiastically, not picking up on the note of disgust in Claire’s voice ( or choosing to ignore it. ) “It could be fun, and I’d love for you to meet Oly. It’s a great little place, and summer’s really the only time worth visiting because it’s pretty much all darkness from September to March. You’ve seen that little video on the Youtube, with that guy–”

Claire cannot recall the little video on the Youtube. “I don’t know, I’ll think about it. Summer classes and stuff, you know.”

“Oh, of course, I’m sure you work so hard!” Maggie sounds so PROUD over the phone, and Claire wonders what her mom would think if she knew the truth about everything. Claire doesn’t know whether to be happy or sad about the fact that her mom blissfully ignores everything that’s difficult, inviting Claire for the summer as if no time has passed.

“Yeah, so, um...tell me more about the chickens and sheep and stupid dishwasher, I guess. And the city? What’s that like?”

Claire’s happy to sit on the line for thirty more minutes, listening to her mom describe her new life, and they chat animatedly, like they’re at that kitchen table or laying in bed ‘til dawn, uninterrupted by the rest of the world. For thirty minutes, there’s no Blackthorne, no terrorist attacks, no witness protection students, or interpersonal drama. There’s only Claire and her mom ( mostly her mom, going on as Claire shakes her head and interjects, rolling her eyes as her mom teases. ) Although Claire knows better than to trust a calm before a storm, than to believe that nice things like this last. She won’t get her hopes up about the summer, because knowing Maggie, there’s a last-minute cancellation already in the works.

But she’ll enjoy this moment, right now, curling up on her bedspread like she’s a little kid again. So, when they get off the phone after a while, Claire just – she looks up at the slats of the bunk bed and smiles, so wide that it makes her face hurt a little – does smiling usually hurt like that? Now she’s pitying all the happy people.

Claire gets up to pin the postcard above her desk, deciding that there’s no point in hiding it underneath everything again. It’s probably not a good idea to get excited about even something so fleeting as weekly calls, but Claire is a glutton for disappointment, it seems. Lately, it’s felt like a big piece of her life is missing, and even if this one doesn’t fit perfectly in its spot, it’s still pretty damn good, because it fits perfectly in a different place – one she’d stopped noticing because it had been empty for so long. Optimism is a feeling she’s never really afforded herself before, but it feels good.

Well, as they say in Iceland:

Þetta reddast.

#*#i redid claire's theme and its cute tho

13 notes · View notes

katjacksonbooks · 4 years

Photo

Ummm, I started this romance last year at some point and then put it away, as I often do. But now that the world feels super bleak (super SUPER bleak? what’s the scale for everything sucks and I hate it all?) I’ve decided to add this story to my list of things I want to finish soon-ish. (I mean, it’s me tho, so what does soon even mean?)

Anyway, if you want to read a preview of Alien Escape (erotic ffm) and meet Drea, a girl with big dreams and a plan to get as far away from her toxic parents as she can, read on!

CW: allusions to domestic violence and emotional abuse

Also, if you’re wondering if I really have face inspiration for an alien couple, the answer is yes. I do! Y’all should watch Star Trek: Discovery!

Prologue

“Shut up!”

“You shut up! All you do is come in here and whine like a baby until you get your way.”

“When have I ever gotten my damn way in this fucking house? I work my fingers to the bone—”

“Where? When? Doing what?”

“Oh, fuck you! Someone’s gotta keep food on the table in this damn place—”

That’s about when I tune them out. My parents have the same fight every three to four days, like clockwork. It’s not really about anything, or not about anything specific; they just like to fight and really dislike each other. Mom hates living in Ohio, and she’ll never forgive dad for moving us out here. Dad hates living in Ohio too, but he refuses to admit that this was ever his idea. Money’s tight. There’s nothing to do. Neither of them can keep a job. Somehow, this is all my fault.

Different day, same bullshit, and why I don’t bother listening.

We all learn things from our parents, and mine taught me early and often that we all have lots of times in our lives when we can make decisions to not stay with people we barely know and can’t stand. My parents had more roads to escape than most.

My life as I know it might never have happened if their casual fling — without birth control, because dad didn’t believe in it — hadn’t turned into an unexpected, but obviously expected, pregnancy. That could have been a wakeup call, followed by a visit to a Planned Parenthood and an important life lesson learned, except mom was from a hardcore born-again family and didn’t believe in birth control or abortions. She believed in premarital sex, though, so I’m still trying to make sense of that faith system, but the damage was done. The damage being the mess those two made of my childhood because, even though they could have decided to co-parent or something, they apparently felt compelled to stay together. Why? I’ll never know, and I’m convinced they don’t know, either. My earliest self-realization wasn’t “This fucker took my nose!”, it was “My parents see me as a burden.” Can you imagine? Being barely old enough to sit up without wobbling and knowing, somehow, deep in your bones, that the two people who should love you unconditionally, don’t? It’s not a great life, just in case you need to see it in black and white. To my parents, I was just another mouth to feed, the thing that kept them bound to this person they hated more each day. Their entire relationship and my entire existence were just one bad decision after another, and the soundtrack to my entire life has just been this same argument.

They bickered all over New York in the almost-identical shoebox apartments they could just about afford, during our road trip West and ever since we settled in Akron. They don’t even like each other enough to shake up these knock-down, drag-out fights. Maybe a cheating accusation here, or a “Who ate the last piece of chicken?” there, but other than that, nothing.

The most interesting part of my life was that year just before they finally decided to move to Ohio. Dad had tried to feed me and mom some fairytale about how life would be different here — fewer people, better housing, more trees, less pollution and a stronger family unit. I never believed it, because in each of the yarns he spun, I was still with them — both of them — and there’s no happily ever after with them around; not for me, at least. But mom had been swayed, and next thing I knew, we were in a beat-up Ford truck, the entirety of our belongings packed precariously in the bed and heading West. Surprise of all surprises, none of dad’s stories had been true.

Well, okay, let me be fair. There are technically fewer people in Akron than the Bronx, and the house we’ve been renting since we arrived is bigger than those small New York apartments, but besides that, my parents’ dysfunctional relationship and my shitty life are business as usual.

There were more trees when we got here, but I’m not giving dad credit for that since most of them were cut down about a year after we arrived to make room for the new pipeline running right through our backyard. That’s why the rent’s so cheap.

My parents fight about that, too.

The move wasn’t a Band-Aid to their relationship, and it certainly didn’t make my life better — not that anyone was worried about me — and as far as my parents are concerned, every problem in their life is my fault. They fight about it regularly and then circle right back around to being united against me, and that’s why as soon as mom banged the pot of spaghetti on the kitchen table, I scarfed down my portion and excused myself immediately.

Their problems aren’t my fault, I know that, but there’s no reasoning with them. It’s best to just disappear. I headed upstairs to my room with a mumbled “homework” and waited. Once I heard them start sniping at one another, I did what I always do and climbed up to the attic and out onto the roof. This is the only place where I feel safe, emotionally, if not physically. If I’m being honest, I really shouldn’t be up here. It’s slippery, and a bunch of the tiles are a good gust of wind away from falling off, but if my choices are inside my parents’ house and up here, the roof wins every time.

Out here, there’s enough space to escape my parents’ incessant fighting. The late spring air is a marked change from the stifling, probably not-quite-safe gas heat in our house. On a clear night, I can stand on the eastern edge of the roof and see all the way downtown, not that there’s much to see there. I mean, I can see the marquis of the Burger King where I work, but I’m not interested in that, so I usually look in the opposite direction. There’s not much to see there either, just a few farmhouses surrounded by large fields and the pipeline.

But I’m not looking at any of that. I put my earbuds in my ears, turn my music up as loud as it goes and lay back on the roof to stare at the clear, dark blue sky. Sometimes, I haul my sketch book up here to draw, or pull my old astronomy textbook out and try to identify the constellations, but whatever I do, I say a prayer that my singular wish will come true. All I want is to get as far away from my parents as fast as I can.

My classmates are preparing for college, and lots of them want to enlist, but my only real goal post-graduation is to get away. I’ve worked out any number of escape routes up here. Instinctually, I know that I can’t just move to Columbus or Detroit. Those cities aren’t far enough away, and I’ve long been worried that my parents’ obvious co-dependency means that I need to put some serious miles between us if I want to have a chance at real freedom.

I toyed with the idea of leaving the country, but Burger King money doesn’t stretch nearly that far. Right now, I’m making just enough to give my parents one of my checks a month to help with household bills — and keep them off my back — and split the second between my cellphone bill and savings account. After three years, I have enough money saved to absolutely get the fuck out of Akron in exactly six months on my eighteenth birthday, and I plan to do exactly that, but I’m still working out the kinks in my escape route.

I’ve done the math, and I can either buy a decent used car or a plane ticket to California. Every time my dad comes home and tells mom that his paycheck was docked for calling in or mom hides yet another online delivery from dad, I’m tempted to go for the plane ticket, but I usually talk myself down from that impulse because I’m sensible, unlike my parents. Even though the thousands of miles away from here is attractive as fuck, I know that once I get off that plane, I’ll be broke as hell.

On the other hand, the rusty Honda Civic I have my eye on at the used car dealership downtown is sensible. It has less than 100,000 miles, good mileage, and if push came to shove, it could double as a temporary home. It wouldn’t be a six-hour plane ride to California, but I’ve got enough money that I could put some real distance between my parents and myself and have enough to really start the rest of my life.

But when I’m up on the roof, I also have another secret fantasy. It’s not real, but when my parents are really loud, and I worry that the yelling and crashing might turn to the sound of fists hitting skin and bone, I dream of space. Forget California or Tokyo, I wish I could go to the moon or beyond. There’s a tiny, terrified girl inside me that knows in her bones that the only way to really escape my parents is up above me. Sometimes, I lay back on the roof and imagine what it would be like to know that I was far enough away that I’d never have to hear my parents wake me up arguing again. It’ll never happen, but some nights, daydreams of flying up into the sky are the only things that make me feel safe enough to fall asleep. But just like with San Francisco, I bury that deep inside myself and calculate how many shifts I need to work to have the full price of the used Honda. The sky is my fantasy, just like Ohio had been my parents’, but that Honda Civic is the real path to freedom.

The sound of glass breaking hits my ears in the quiet between two songs, and I jump at the shock of it. I tap my cellphone screen to pause my music. I pull the earbud from my left ear and listen, trying to figure out which part of the argument they’re at now.

“Do you feel better?” dad yells at mom.

I roll my eyes, shove my earphone back into my ear and press play on the music again.

Mom likes to break dishes when she’s really frustrated but trying to hold it together; it’s why the few dishes we have don’t match. I suspect she’s gonna drag me to the Goodwill tomorrow to look for a replacement for whatever she’s broken, and I can’t have that. I pick up my phone and tap out a quick text message to my boss, Peter. In a plea that he’s very familiar with, I tell him that I’m available to cover any shifts tomorrow. Peter’s a good guy, and I know that he’ll do what he can to get me a shift, even if it’s just a few hours or closing. I’ll take it, and he knows I will. I’ll also immediately put whatever extra money I get directly into my savings account and readjust my timetable to purchasing the Honda and getting the fuck out of here.

The music builds to a crescendo and mercifully drowns out my parents’ screaming as I look back up at the sky.

On nights like tonight, the moon is so clear and big that I swear it’s close enough to touch. I stretch out my right arm above me, squint one eye closed, tilt my head to the left and pretend to capture the moon between my thumb and forefinger. I smile for the first time in what feels like hours, maybe even days.

And then I see it.

While I’m looking, a small speck in the sky moves across my vision, only visible because it passes the light of the full moon. At first, I think it’s a distant star, or maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me. I blink, and something in the sky moves again. Whatever’s up there, it’s too far away to see clearly, so I sit up, trying to make sense of it all. It’s moving too slow to be a shooting star and too fast to be…well, literally anything else. I pull my earphones from my ears, as if it will sharpen my vision. I stare up at the speck that’s now bigger, closer; close enough for me to realize that the one speck is actually a cluster of distant lights. I’m not looking at a star or a planet but a constellation that’s moving in formation towards me. Toward the Earth.

But that’s not possible. I know that. I aced astronomy.

“What the fuck?” I whisper to myself.

As if in answer to my whispered question, those bright not-stars seem to move faster and get bigger in the large pane of sky above my house as they get closer. The lights seem to fill the sky of this boring ass town with a pipeline running through it dangerously close to the local drinking water; this town my parents hate that I can’t wait to escape.

I shake my head and turn to the right. My eyes land on the pipeline cutting through the fields behind our house. I can barely remember a time when it wasn’t the first thing I saw when I woke up in the morning. I’ve read dozens of articles about what it is and how much time it’s probably shaving off of my life. I guess the environmentalists were right and assume that thing must finally be leaking. It has to be. Because how else do I explain what I think I’m seeing in the sky?

And when I tilt my head back to look up there, I gasp and jump to my feet.

In the handful of seconds when I’d been looking away, those not-stars seem to have come closer. Like real close. Now they’re so close that no one can mistake them for stars because no stars have ever been so damn clear in the sky or moved so fast. I watch as they get closer and closer, and then I shriek in shock as the constellation breaks apart.

If I’m hallucinating this, whatever the pipeline is leaking is grade-A lethal shit.

The lights disperse so fast that I actually miss it. One second, there’s a cluster of lights heading toward me, too many for me to count clearly. The next second, I blink. Then the next second, there are only five lights still above me, but I can see turquoise blue light streaks in the sky heading in thousands of different directions. And then in another second, those five lights begin to slowly move apart, still descending, closer to the Earth’s surface. They’re landing, I realize, and my mouth falls open.

“Fuck,” I breathe as my mouth curves into a smile so wide it hurts.

Now that there are fewer lights and they’re even closer than before, I can just about recognize what’s hovering in the sky above me. They’re ships, and not space shuttles like the ones I’ve seen in my social studies textbooks about the moon landing. These not-stars are huge, bigger than the biggest plane I’ve ever seen in the sky, maybe even bigger than the entire town, and they’re not US-made shuttles or like anything I’ve seen of Russian or Chinese ships. These big, hovering ships look like they’re covered in shimmering jewels, glittering as if reflecting their own sunlight. “Fuck,” I breathe again.

“Drea, are you up there? Girl, get off the fucking roof, we can’t afford no emergency room visit. Do you hear me?”

I hear my dad yelling at me. I do. I just don’t give a shit, because there’s an alien spaceship in the sky almost directly above our house — an actual fucking spaceship — and this is infinitely more interesting than him reaming me out for being on the roof again. Besides, I hear the moment when he sees what I’m seeing and stops caring that I might stumble and fall off the roof. I hear the choked gasp that comes from his lips just before my mom bangs out of the front door, still yelling. I hear her words cut off when she sees the ship too, the final confirmation I need that I’m not having a pipeline hallucination, but still, I don’t care.

Because I’m speechless. I know, deep down in my gut, that this ship is going to change everything about the world I’ve ever known, and I can’t help but feel elated. My body feels light, as if I weigh nothing more than my fantasies. I swear I could float up to one of those ships, and that’s exactly what I want to do. I want to bang on the door of a ship and beg them to let me in, because I can feel the surety along every inch of my skin that this ship is going to be my way out. This ship is going to get me as far away from Akron and my parents and that damn pipeline as possible.

My mother’s scream is a delayed response to seeing the impossible, and it rips into the quiet night. She keeps screaming and screaming, but dad and I are too mesmerized to stop her. Eventually, I hear our neighbors begin to file out of their houses, probably when they realize that mom’s screams are different from their regular weekday fights. I hear them gasp and cry out. Babies are crying, and other people’s screaming joins mom’s. There’s even the sound of the hurricane warning blaring out eventually, but none of those noises seem to touch me; not anymore. It’s like they’re far away because I’m already gone.

14 notes · View notes