#please read and comment if you still have any attention span left from those 10 sec videos from every current platform ig 🙏 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

achillieus · 3 years

Text

we’re fools. (bucky barnes x reader)

summary: for all bucky barnes knows, he hates clichés. and this thing between you two, happens to be the biggest one.

(enemies to lovers trope or i watched the society on netflix recently and based this entirely on harry bingham and cassandra pressman)

pairing: college au!bucky x reader

warnings: alcohol, angst, too much tension, bucky and reader are stupid and in denial, sexual tension all around the place

tagging: @tonystankschild

(other parts) (masterlist)

part 2/3:

And then it’s the last week of February and you have an assignment together, you and Bucky, the boy with black hair and a mind that you’re certain is not as clever as he insists it is. You know this cannot possibly end well. You feel it when he sits beside you and his knee brushes past your leg. You feel it when you take a breath and smell his aftershave. Sandalwood and vanilla. It makes you want to lick your lips. Please, get a grip. You try to get away, even propose to write the whole thing alone so you wouldn’t have to spend any time around him. In your mind, you call it self defense. But Bucky’s boastful and you can see him pumping the muscles in his neck, trying to intimidate you.

“My dorm, tomorrow at 7,” he says “Don’t be late.”

(your late night instagram search history)

(00:38 AM) #literaturememes

(01:15 AM) @buckybrns

(01:30 AM) #newgirl

(01:50 AM) @buckybrns

(02:10 AM) @buckybrns

You find it annoying; how he’s present even when he’s not around.

The thing about Bucky Barnes is that everyone, boys and girls, adore him alike. He’s charming, he’s crafty, he’s brilliant. He’s everything they want him to be and even more. It nearly condones his megalomania.

The thing about Bucky Barnes is that he’s aware he has an audience. Always plans his moves, knows how to play his character perfectly. He wears dark designer jeans and plain Henley shirts, buttons open, fabric tight around his biceps. Sometimes even a black leather jacket and a tag necklace. Girls are intrigued by the bad-boy, straight A student contrast, while the boys are envious enough keep him close and invite him to all of their parties. Bucky gives them whatever they need.

The thing about Bucky Barnes is that he’s utterly lonely. He has never said so, but it’s the truest thing about him. He has Sam. But for how long? Bucky’s used to people going away. It has been imprinted on him. His best friend, Steve, left with his girlfriend in an exchange program last month and Natasha, the one girl he ever came close to loving, just started dating Clint Barton. Clint fucking Barton. What a downgrade.

And then there’s you, sitting at the end of his bed, playing with the ring in your finger, reading some neatly written lecture notes. Usually, Bucky would think about 129 cheeky comments he could make to a girl in his room. But not to you. Are you sure, Bucky? He has grown accustomed to disliking you. It’s the one constant he has left and he’s not planning on losing it.

He leans down and takes the place next to you, a bottle of beer dangling loosely in his hand.

He offers and you decline.

“We need to concentrate on the project.”

“You’re the biggest killjoy.” Bucky says with a hint of a smirk.

“I’m studying, Bucky.” He can see your left hand holding that dark green pen in a tight grip and your eyes trying to focus everywhere but on his face. He can see your hair glistening in the warm afternoon light that comes from his window. He can see the soft red blush on your cheeks and the beauty mark on your neck. What a tricky thing it is to see. And to feel. And to want.

Is that what dislike tastes like, Bucky?

He talks a lot, that’s the first thing you notice. He says all sorts of things, most of them having nothing to do with your project. You’re certain it’s because he’s feeling as uncomfortable and agitated as you. But still, it’s annoying as hell.

“Listen,” you say and turn to his side “I’m not going to fail this class just because you have the attention span of a two year old.”

A laugh escapes his lips and you watch, completely in awe, the way little wrinkles form around his eyes and his nose scrunches. Right now, he looks tender and warm. No, he doesn’t.

“I think we’re both pretty smart,” Bucky says nonchalant and wets his lower lip with his tongue, before he adds, “We’ve got this, so relax doll.”

There are rules, things that are solid, de facto.

Example 1: Bucky never praises you. At least not out loud.

Example 1: Not valid anymore.

Example 2: Bucky uses the word “doll” approximately ten times a day. To other girls. The girls he likes. Not to you.

That’s actually wrong, he called you doll the first time you met. That doesn’t count. He didn’t know you then.

Example 2: Not valid anymore.

It feels foreign. Pleasant and beguiling, but foreign.

“You always call girls “doll”. What is this?” You ask and he looks up. “Is it like your thing, your flirt move?”

Bucky meets your gaze, his forehead creased, and holds it for some seconds before he laughs again. Is this amusing him?

“No, I’m serious.” You bite your lip. “You even did it to me when we first met.”

“I did?”

Of course he doesn’t remember, what did you expect?

“Yeah, when you helped me find the admission office.”

“And you remember that, an entire year later?” He raises his eyebrows, looking entertained and partly interested.

Your mind empties and for some time you feel out of place, embarrassed. But you’re quick to recollect yourself. You can’t let him get you.

“It was my first day as a college student, I remember all of it.”

Liar. You don’t even remember who you sat next to.

Bucky smirks a little too long for your liking and then he leans in, his body bending in a way that makes you forget to breath. He’s so close and you only see blue, a rare kind of blue between the depths of the ocean and the brightest shade of the sky at noon. This would be so much easier if he wasn’t that handsome. Handsome and indomitable. What an awful combination.

“Interesting.” He whispers and lies back, touching the wall.

You tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and clear your throat.

“I should go, it’s obvious we’re not making any progress.” You pick your books and stand up. “Sometimes I wonder how you get all those perfect grades, you clearly-” You merely finish your sentence before he grabs your arm and swiftly, he has you pressed against his wooden bookcase. You don’t have time to blink.

What’s happening? He was sitting down a second ago.

“That day,” he says while his thumb draws circles on your wrist. “You were wearing a denim dress and some Saturn shaped earrings. And you were holding a cherry juice box.”

It’s utterly terrifying how your emotions toss and turn the moment you realize what he’s talking about and the fragile muscles of your heart ache because Bucky cares. Bucky remembers.

“It wasn’t my first day of college, but I remember.”

You want to throw up. Or kiss him. You’re not sure. You know you hate Bucky. Do you? You’ve taught yourself to. And it was never supposed to change. It shouldn’t have to.

You part your lips to say something, anything, but he shakes his head and steps back.

“You should go.”

And you do. And you’ll never tell him, but you’ll always regret not kissing him then. You’re sure now.

your inbox, the next morning

(10:25 AM) from [email protected]

I’m sending you our assignment. You only need to add a few things and it’s done. If anything else comes up, it’s better we work on our own.

For Bucky, it all came crashing down the moment he first saw you. It was all over the moment his eyes met yours. A gourmand perfume lingered in the air around you that day and it stained his pores. And it’s been with him since then. Clinging onto his flesh.

It’s partly obsessive and partly romantic and Bucky tries to keep it locked inside. He thinks he can make it go away easily, the way he flicks a crumb off his expensive cashmere scarf. He thinks if he doesn’t talk about it, it’ll be less true. That’s not how things work, Bucky.

Yeah, he’s starting to notice.

And he’s trying so hard to hate you. The problem is, he doesn’t think he can.

(his late night instagram search history)

(00:45 AM) #tomfordperfumes

(01:30 AM) @y/n

(01:50 AM) #funnycats

(02:15 AM) @y/n

(03:45 AM) @y/n

You make it your mission to avoid him and it’s going well until the fifth of March. You spot him at Sam Wilson’s party. You should have known he’d be here, they’re friends. There’s a thick cloud of cigarette smoke all around, but still, you can perfectly see him. He’s standing alone, his skin changing colors under the neon lights, a plastic cup in his hand, eyes crystal blue and swollen and fixated on you.

The room is small and everything feels known but unfamiliar at the same time; the atmosphere, his gaze, the lump on your throat.

They’re suffocating you, the looks you give each other.

“Buck, what do you want?” Sam asks, holding both vodka and gin and he observes the way Bucky merely turns his head to look at him.

What do you want Bucky?

Not to play a role anymore. For Steve to be back. Maybe, Natasha. No, he hasn’t thought about her in a month. Perhaps a Pulitzer Prize. Definitely a new pair of sunglasses. But there is one more answer he has behind his teeth.

Y/N, he almost says. Always.

“Vodka.”

He leaves before midnight and you can’t remember where the urge came from, yet you’re following him. You know he has noticed. But he just keeps walking until he reaches the door of his dorm and presses his back against it. He sees you and you see him and his eyes cut your heart open.

“Your place is on the other side of the building.”

“I know,” you mumble, “I just never got to say good job on the assignment and I wanted to.” You are unable to meet his eyes. You sound pitiful and you want to hit a wall; with your head.

Why the hell did you follow him here?

Because sometimes you do stupid things.

Bucky mockingly opens his mouth, as if shocked. It almost makes you groan.

“Did Miss high and mighty just comment something nice about me?”

“Why do you have to contradict everything I say?”

He shakes his head and you can feel your heart beat loud and irregular and it’s not because you’re mad. It’s because he’s coming closer, almost chest to chest now. And it’s because you can swear, he just glanced at your lips.

“Someone has to, you can’t act like you know everything all the time.”

“I don’t do that, you don’t know a thing about me Bucky.”

“Oh, but I do. You’re Y/N, you like plaid skirts and Homer and dark green pens. You expect everyone to be perfect. You expect yourself to be perfect. And you always want to do the right thing.”

His pupils are dilated. Yours must be too. Bucky Barnes is dangerous and fatal. He makes your blood coil and your mouth dry. And there’s a tension, almost pain, almost agony, deep in your lungs and it burns. And you don’t know who leaned in first, probably you because Bucky isn’t that brave yet, but suddenly your hands are everywhere. Your fingers blending in his hair, his digging in the skin on the back of your neck. He’s bringing you closer and it’s a mess and all you can hear is the beating of your heart; a rapid vibration between your ears. It’s pure and raw and it doesn’t hurt anymore.

He tastes like ambrosia and a year-old despair and you think you can go on forever. You eventually break apart because you both need to breath and for a second you worry because he looks like he’s ready to cry, but instead he smiles, softly touching your cheek.

“Did I do the right thing?” You whisper.

...

feedback is so appreciated and motivates me tons, thank you :)

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #college au #bucky barnes imagine #au!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan #alternate universe #alternate universe bucky #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #fools

515 notes · View notes

bangtan-pugh-bug · 3 years

Text

Scott Lang x reader

Chapter 2

I apologise this is a long chapter but domesticated Avengers makes me happy. If you’re reading this it’s meant to be a slow burnnn so enjoy the burning, the Tony x reader friendship and Thor being domesticated. If you like unsmashed lamps this chapter may be hard for you to read I’m sorry.

Warnings: none. unless you count archers breaking things.

You opened your weary eyes but everything was still black. Something warm was brushing against your face. You were warm... and in bed. ‘Please tell me I’m in my own bed.’ Without moving your splitting head you had no idea who could hear you until the unmistakable voice of Thor replied ‘It’s your own.’ He sounded amused. Somehow you felt well rested and more tired than you’d felt since Scott kept you up all night showing you card tricks, all at the same time. Although out of all the occupants in Stark Tower, Parker tired you out the most. The child. He was lucky you liked him.

Groaning you rolled over and face dived into your pillow clenching your eyes closed. Of course it was your bed. No one else’s smelt this good. Unless you’d gone nose blind as that weird advert went. ‘What day is it?’ You felt ridiculous asking but wasn’t this how you were supposed to behave? Youth? because Peter was in the minority being so morally well adjusted.

‘Sunday.’ That voice woke you up. ‘Y/N we can leave if you really want to sleep for another hundred years,’ you finally opened your eyes to see a much happier Scott smiling at you. Next to him was a smiling Thor glancing outside at the blue sky like a bird and a Peter looking apprehensive. You weren’t sure what as wrong with him he didn’t have the worst hangover of all time.

‘Come on get up,’ Scott spoke to you like you were five which just made you scowl... like a five year old. Looking mockingly scared Scott raised his hands up in ‘defeat’. ‘Okay don’t get up. I’ll just eat all the delicious pancakes Thor made myself.’

Thor snapped out of his bird watching trance to grunt before nodding ‘Yes. I’m afraid they are delicious.’ What did you do to deserve such generosity? And how could you resist pancakes? Oh but bed or pancakes?

‘These are amazing!’ You exclaimed (you had chosen pancakes). Thor grinned at your compliment as you ate like a rabid dog. Scott closed all the kitchen cupboards - he was such a dad sometimes - before leaning on the worktop facing you. ‘I’m glad you like them ,’ Thor remarked before finishing his breakfast and going to presumably get a shower leaving you with your favourite ant and third wheeling spider.

‘S- so I have an assignment due next month which is gonna take forever but Mr Stark-‘ as Peter launched himself into a long winded story about homework Scott caught your eye and smirked. You felt as if you were speaking in code. He watched you listen to your friends tangled tale with as much enthusiasm as you could muster despite your hangover. It seemed to amuse him.

‘And I was thinking who do I know that knows a lot about this sort of stuff? Y/N but I didn’t know how to ask y-‘

Scott gave you his best: can-you-believe-this-shit look and chuckled quietly keeping his eyes on yours. You smiled back but tried not to laugh - not wanting to upset Peter. Scott wasn’t as used to him as you were. He must have felt ancient beside someone as young and sprightly as the kid because even you felt middle aged in comparison. Luckily Peter had the attention span of a little child so before Scott could even try and think about asking him to leave he was off. Where? Chasing butterflies and doing something you did not need to know about.

You swallowed your words before they came out once Peter had left you and Scott alone. He was washing up and you weren’t even bothering to offer to do it instead. The hangover brain was strong and you didn’t even remember drinking never mind being pissed. Just as you watched him wash the final plate Scott turned to look at you. ‘You don’t even remember what you did last night do you?’

Oh fuck. Shit. What did you do? What could you have done? How could Scott tell you didn’t know? Was he turning into a psychic because of the quantum realm? It wouldn’t surprise you. Less and less shit did since moving to Stark Tower.

‘No. How can you tell? Have you absorbed Charles Xavier’s powers?’ Thank god the panic didn’t show in your voice for a change because otherwise all those oscar worthy performances you gave in the shower would have been a waste of time. Scott’s face pulled into a smug smile as he sat down at the breakfast table you hadn’t left.

‘Oh poor Y/N,’ he pulled a mocking sad face and used his creepy high pitched voice you hated. ‘Is someone confused?’ He was revelling in having the upper hand for a change.

‘Funny. You’re funny. Now tell me what I did or didn’t do last night before I throw this plate at you.’ You both knew you would never throw a plate at his cute face. It wouldn’t be worth the lecture of Steve on manners either. Steve. What could he possibly teach you about manners - they were fucking impeccable?

‘That’s not asking nicely.’

Your stomach contracted slightly as you could almost visualise the two pathways the conversation could lead to. His eyes were burning into yours with a new intensity you’d never seen in Scott before. It made your mouth dry and you cheeks burn up slightly. You felt like you’d been shoved into an oven without warning.

‘Fine,’ he refused to break eye contact with you and it was infuriating in a way. You willed him to stop as if he could in fact mind read. ‘Please just tell me what happened.’ Normally you only took this tone with Tony, you couldn’t help but wonder if in a weird way it meant you were getting closer to Scott. Atleast more comfortable. That would help you make less of a spectacle of yourself on a daily basis (not that that wasn’t fun but- ).

He told you that it wasn’t as bad as everyone was making out but you had decided to play beer pong with Thor and lost. Badly. You’d apparently cried when Clint said he didn’t want to play just dance and stormed off like a grumpy toddler who couldn’t get her own way.

‘Jeez,’

‘I know. You’re classy.’

‘I can be classy!’

Scott snorted at your outrage, downing the last of his orange juice while you sat in mock disbelief. ‘I’ll believe that when I see it.’ Okay noted. Scott didn’t think ripped fishnets were classy. Interesting. His ex wife was classy - ah let’s not open that door.

‘I didn’t throw up did I?’ You finally asked the burning question every hungover Gen Z member had to ask. He ran his hands through his dark hair but you refused to let your eyes linger for too long. ‘No you didn’t.’ This was followed by a cat like stretch he seemed to revel in performing. You heard the bones in his wrists crack and narrowed your eyes at him because you couldn’t think of what else to say. He didn’t seem interested in speaking either, he was blank. Fuck it. You knew when to let a conversation end.

‘I’m gonna shower.’ and as you left Scott alone in the kitchen to find the bathroom empty you smiled: if Scott had been 18 he would have said ‘without me?’ and thank god he wasn’t. You liked your older men immature in some ways (the fun ways) but pick me boys you could not abide. Scott was certainly not one.

After you’d sucked any joy out of showering dry by obsessing over how sad Scott may or may not be about his ex wife (or if he wanted advice) you dried yourself. You were 18 what advice could you have for the man? Middle aged men did seem to come to you for advice despite your own doubts and lack of experience. When Steve had been left out of a mission because of another fight with Bucky you practically became his mother consoling the drama queen. Tony called it ‘hilarious’ but you had a different word for the experience. That being said you wouldn’t mind listening to all of Scott’s problems on a loop on a fucking tape but bias is bias.

The walk to Tony’s obnoxiously large living room was short from the bathroom. The sound of the cold tile against your bare feet was all you could hear for a moment before the sound of-

‘Shit. Shit!’

Clint.

You entered the crime scene cold and confused, your wet hair was dripping cold down your back making you shiver. Stood in front of the tv flaming at the nostrils was a pissed off yet guilt ridden Clint Barton looking down at his handiwork. Lay on the floor was the lamp you’d bought Tony for his birthday. Smashed.

Nat was scowling at the archer lecturing him on how to carry things like a cross teacher. Wanda, Vision, Bucky and Steve were less concerned. You weren’t concerned at all it was a fucking £10 lamp. ‘Nat it’s fine it was an accident it’s just a lamp.’ You interrupted her scolding which gained you a sympathetic smile from Clint. His eyes said thank you. Nat did not seem convinced but swallowed her pride and calmed down anyway.

You scanned the room until your eyes met Scott, which you knew you needed to stop doing so often. There they were. Pointing back at you : a mixture of humour and the sadness you couldn’t stop noticing even if no one else did. You caved first and smiled at him. It was impossible not to.

‘Are we forgetting he’s a millionaire?’ Scott laughed at his own comment.

‘Excuse me, billionaire.’ Tony revelled in correcting people on how much money he had. How many cars he owned was a fun one too or how many times he’d redesigned everything in the house because he was ‘bored.’ Nat rolled her eyes in your direction which you quickly returned.

‘Really? Billionaire?’ Scott couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His voice was so high and his eyes were so wide you just grinned at his adorable face. Bless him. He knew nothing about Tony’s empire. What no one wanted was Scott’s lack of knowledge to end in a long speech from the billionaire about his life story. No one would stay for that.

‘I bought you churros. You said I had to pay for everyone’s.’ Scott sounded as if he could cry, so naturally everyone laughed. Even Vision. You weren’t sure if you’d ever seen him laugh before, it was so sweet. ‘Well I’m sure you’ll survive.’ Tony’s signature eyebrow raise was code for I’m-better-than-you.

Once everyone got up to get drinks and choose a film Scott snaked his arm onto your shoulder startling you. Everyone was on the other side of the room and no one was looking. There was a chance Tony was to see if you made a fool of yourself but you could live with that. ‘You jump so easily,’ he was not wrong. Everything startled you. ‘Did you know how much money Tony made?’

His hand left your shoulder, making you fight the urge to sigh in disappointment from the lack of touch. He sounded genuinely curious. Why he was fixating on Tony’s money you did not know. He didn’t steal anymore.

‘Everyone does. Why are you so interested? Are you planning a heist?’

Scott’s face changed. He was stood so close to you if either one of you moved there’d be no space to breathe. You wondered if he would ever fucking notice your ‘little crush’ on him or if it would continue like this forever. Would that be so bad? No. It would make more sense.

‘If I was you could be my accomplice.’ He sounded so confident. Of course it was a joke but still .. you? A criminal?

‘Hmm ... I think Nat would be a better choice.’ He smiled down at you as his hand found its way back to your shoulder. His touch, even in a non sexual way, made you feel like putty.

‘Sure she can come too. You’d be better company though, she’s a bit scary.’ You both laughed and then he was back to the sofa with the others. It took you a moment of standing around like an idiot taking Scott’s words in before you could join them.

Better company. Better company. Better company that a Russian assassin? Did that really mean much?

Taglist: @supraveng

#marvel #marvel fandom #scott lang x reader #scott lang fluff #scott lang #ant man #marvel x reader #thor #tony stark #peter parker #the avengers #marvel fanfiction

28 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Devoted: Stream (Katlaska) - Kamylove

Sixth in my collection of unrelated one-shot ficlets. This time with Covid!

Young, untreated, self-medicating Katya was an introvert whose greatest fear was embarrassing herself.

Sober, almost-38-year-old Katya is an extroverted introvert who embarrasses herself daily and whose love language (and she only knows this thanks to Trixie the romantic, honest) is touch, and whose attention span is shorter than a ferret's.

Self-quarantine is killing her.

She was in Europe when shit started going to hell. She got out just in time, flew home to have her temperature taken at LAX, and was told to lock herself up for two weeks before she could see another human being.

It sucks.

Other queens (including Alaska, damn her) are doing Instagram lives, dragging up for shows on Twitch, collecting tips on Venmo and Paypal. Katya's ADD ass can't get herself together to unpack, let alone do her job virtually, but she still craves the attention.

Worst of all, Alaska is quarantining somewhere else. Somewhere Katya can't go. Somewhere that is not their house.

Alaska was home in LA when it happened, the lucky bitch. Alaska is a hypochondriac who would lose her mind if she had to shelter in place all alone, and Katya didn’t want to risk infecting her or the staff of a hotel. So Alaska, after much convincing, had decamped to the house she used to share with her best friend.

She's facetiming Katya every day, several many times a day, and dropping off care packages on the front steps. But Alaska needs drag to stay sane, so she's up in everyone's Insta, writing new damn songs for digital drag shows, agreeing to another and another and another show every hour. Or that's what it feels like to Katya.

Trixie's up on Insta, too, and Twitch. Trixie's doing live performances from her condo. PEG was even smart enough to invite Fena to do a digital show, which is fierce and fabulous because Fena is fierce and fabulous and Katya loves her like a brother.

But Katya's still got all those emails and voicemails sitting untouched on her phone. You'd think she'd be dying for any variety of human contact, and she is, but the thought of being productive right now is just too much.

Oh, look, there's Alaska on her friend's live again. There's Alaska laughing and being adorable and sharing space with--actually sitting next to--a human.

Katya loses all self-control and comments, "Bitch I am losing my self-quarantined mind STFU and call me."

And she does it from her public account, like an idiot.

The host of the live squints at the screen. "Oh, honey, your favorite Russian spy is stir crazy. We love you, Katya."

"Aww, Katya," Alaska's former-slash-temporary housemate says. "We miss you, gurl."

"Katya's here?" Alaska says. Katya can see her scrolling up on her iPad screen, because she'd obviously missed Katya's comment. And it should not bother Katya that Alaska missed her comment, because she knows what comments on lives are like. She used to livestream her entire damn life.

"Oh, no," Alaska says, looking straight at the camera. “Poor Russian spy. I'll call you in a bit, okay?"

Other commenters have now caught on, unfortunately, because Katya is an idiot, and there's a swarm of comments about her. I love you Katya, hearts to Katya, and suddenly she's taken over the live and she feels awful about it. Like she needs to feel more awful.

She exits and texts Alaska, "I hate you all and please apologize for me for barging in. CALL ME."

She doesn't know what happens in the live after that, because she leaves her phone in the bedroom and goes to the kitchen to cheer up with some Skittles. Skittles make everything better, and she's almost out of them. Thank God for Postmates. And Alaska's care packages.

Alaska facetimes her just a couple minutes later. Katya rushes back to her phone.

"Don't fucking apologize," is the first thing Alaska says. She's retreated to her old bedroom, a space Katya is very familiar with, and is sitting under a window Katya recognizes. It's unreasonably annoying.

"I didn't want to make myself the center of attention," Katya says through a big mouthful of candy. “Sorry."

"You always want to be the center of attention," Alaska teases lightly.

"A drag queen with a pathological need to be on stage," Katya says. "Shocking."

"They all worried about you after you left. They miss you."

"Now I feel worse, so thanks for that."

"They love you. They love you even when they can't see you. Even my fans love you."

"Hahaha aren't you funny."

"But none of them love you as much as I love you."

Katya scowled. "Fuck off, making me feel better. I'm enjoying my miserly misery."

"I would like to remind you that I wanted to risk my life and stay home and bring you breakfast in bed every day, and you said no."

"Why the hell did you listen to me?"

"Hey," Alaska says with a gentler smile. "It's only six days before we can social distance together."

"Six days is forever."

"I've got to warn you, though, that when I get home, you are getting your wig on and getting on camera. I’ll paint you myself if I have to."

Katya doesn't have a rude answer to that, and she doesn't want to give a polite one. She pouts instead.

Alaska can read her pouts, though. This one doesn't mean, That's an awful idea, don't make me do it. It means,

Alaska laughs at the pout and says, "Let me set up something digital for you? I'll do all the legwork and you'll just have to show up. I know you miss the fans as much as they miss you."

"Point one," Katya says. "I, unlike you, do not enjoy getting all dragged up with no place to go."

"Point one,” Alaska counters. “Yes, you do. Point two, you would have a place to go!"

"Sitting on the couch with an iPhone camera does not count as a place to go. But point two, if I start Instagramming live I'll never stop, and we both know where that would lead."

"Embarrassing personal revelations and masturbating on camera?"

"Precisely."

"Oh!" Alaska brightens with an idea. “You know what the world really needs?"

"A vaccine and a new president?"

"An episode of UNHhhh with the two of you in your pajamas and full face! And I'm going to make it happen!”

It's another good idea Katya doesn't want to admit is good. "Don't make promises you can't keep, bitch," she says.

"I'll keep it. I'm drafting an email to World of Wonder right this second."

"You're not. I can see you."

"In my head. I'm drafting it in my head." Alaska produces a pen from somewhere and writes in the air. "Dear WOW, Katya's lost her mind and I know this is hard to believe, considering, but I think more UNHhhh will help her find it. Also, if you don't make her do something," which she underlines in the air with a flourish, "with all that talent, I'm never doing Bro'laska again. So there."

"Please. You’re never doing Bro'laska again anyway."

"I’ll never sign on to Werq the World?"

"As if a major recording star like yourself would sink that low in the year of our lord 2020. Face it, you have no leverage here. Maybe if you said you’d never make another appearance on Drag Race...”

"Oooh," Alaska says. "Buuuuurn."

Katya tells her to fuck off.

After she stops laughing, Alaska says, "Let's have dinner tonight."

“On Facetime? Like always?” It's something they often do when their schedules put them in different time zones.

"No, for real.”

“Still not looking to pass on my potential plague,” Katya says.

“I’m sure you’re not sick," which is what Alaska says every time the topic comes up. "But no, listen. I’ll bring takeout. Whatever you want. You sit inside the back door, and I'll sit out on the patio."

"Hmm," Katya says.

"At least I could see your gorgeous face without a camera or a window."

"At a socially safe distance of at least 10 feet. In case I drool. Which I might."

"Are we on, then?" Alaska asks.

"Anything I want? Would that include watching me jerk off?"

"I would absolutely love to watch you jerk off."

"Then it’s a date," Katya says. "As long as I still have enough Lysol to coat the entire patio."

#rpdr fanfiction #alaska thunderfuck #katya zamolodchikova #katlaska #fluff #canon compliant #ficlet #devoted #kamylove #tw covid

3 notes · View notes

shiny-procrastinates · 3 years

Text

(re)Watching Magia Record S1 - part 11

part 10 here

Hello and welcome back everyone to our Magia Record s1 watch-along! Last time, we had the aftermath of the Endless Solitude's incident, found out that Mami is now part of the Wings of the Magius and left off with the reveal that one of Ui's (Iroha's sister, for those who have forgotten) might be another one of the Magius. What is this all about? Let's watch and find out:

Puella Magi Madoka Magica Side Story: Magia Record S1 episode 11

For some reason, we are now watching Tsukuyo's club practice. Wait- Akatsuki? That's not the surname I remember. We also see a photo of Mifuyu on the club room, so they must've been club mates.

Good question, Tsukuyo. Maybe she's waiting for Sana? (lies)

awnt the whole family's on the op now. Yachiyo is even smiling!

NOW we're back to where the other episode left off. According to Sana, she sometimes heard the Feathers talking about Nemu when they came to Ai's barrier to retrieve a witch. The girls then wonder if Nemu's being forced to work with them and Iroha says that maybe Ui's being kept captive by them too, with everyone falling silent at this.

Felicia asks if they can't just catch a Feather and force them to speak, so Tsuruno says if they should keep going after the Rumors them. While the three are wondering that, Iroha remembers about Tsukuyo, who she had seen in her uniform, and we are now back to the present.

Yeah right, are you saying you were actually triplets?

So Iroha decided to catch Tsukuyo after school. If Tsukuyo had a braincell, she could've left by a backdoor or used her magical girl powers to jump over the wall, but it seems she borrowed hers to Tsukasa today.

Tsukuyo stops Iroha from outing her as a Feather, so Iroha invites her to go talk somewhere else. Tsukuyo asks if she plans to interrogate her or worse but Iroha really only wants to talk.

After changing locations, Iroha seems to have told Tsukuyo about her situation. Tsukuyo asks why Iroha would go so far as telling her that, and Iroha answers that she needs to see Nemu no matter what.

After asking who between Tsukuyo and Tsukasa is the younger sister, appealing to their point in common, Iroha threatens outing Tsukuyo to the others if she doesn't let her see Nemu. Tsukuyo is shocked, asking if she's threatening her and Iroha says she doesn't care if she sees it that way. Damn, Iroha really means business when it's about her sister.

As always when it comes to Ui, Iroha's unusually pushy, and Tsukuyo ends up giving in and promising to at least talk to Mifuyu about it.

Later that day, the Mikadzuki girls minus Yachiyo are having a meeting in Iroha's room, and decide to get Yachiyo coasters as a thank-you present for giving them the mugs. So cute.

...that's some interesting club this school has.

The next day, Iroha meets up after school with the other girls to go buy the coaster. Can we talk about the fact there's a group chat just for watching over Felicia? lol

The girls go buy the coaster, and get interrupted by a witch. Guess we can add that to the things magical girls can't do in peace. No probs Tsuruno, there's really no run-time for this.

Look how happy she is. Please don't ruin this in the next scene, show (flag).

Back at the house, Iroha's waiting for Yachiyo's return on Tsuruno's instructions. She hears the doorbell ring and answers it immediately, thinking it's Yachiyo (really, Iroha, why would Yachiyo ring the doorbell to her own house?) but, shockingly, it's Mifuyu.

This probably situation couldn't get more awkward for Iroha had they tried. Iroha tries to show some hospitality, but Mifuyu takes the lead and the opportunity to rub in that she knows the place (and its owner) way better. What's with the attitude, Mifuyu? It's not like Iroha threatened your friend or a- oh wait, nvm.

Iroha asks what business Mifuyu has with Yachiyo today, and Mifuyu asks in return if she has to have some business in order to visit a friend... no, not business Mifuyu but normally you'd warn someone before dropping by, where's your manners? Iroha points out that she hasn't visited for a long time and Mifuyu explains that she didn't come because she knew Yachiyo wouldn't agree with The Wings of the Magius. She then explains she's actually there to talk to Iroha today.

Oh, she did it, she flipped Iroha's switch.

Mifuyu asks if Iroha wouldn't join the cult if she wants to know about Nemu, but Iroha questions Mifuyu's motive for recruiting her, to which Mifuyu says it'd be good for them because she'd be able to investigate about her sister without clashing with them. Iroha presses her about Ui, which she says she doesn't know, and Nemu, but Mifuyu does not say anything else.

...aaand the other girls are standing there in the garden while all this is going on lol

*peek*

Mifuyu invites the girls of Mikadzuki Villa to attend a lecture about what exactly the cult is doing... this is definitely a trap ain't it. At that moment, Yachiyo arrives. Oooh man...

Mifuyu apologizes for the surprise and makes to leave, saying this one unpleasant remark to which Yachiyo angrily replies right away.

Mifuyu provokes Yachiyo, saying how she went back to being her old self, which Yachiyo denies, eventually losing her cool and ordering Mifuyu to leave.

Tsuruno tries to check on Yachiyo but Yachiyo also leaves. Felicia's confused and Tsuruno tries to keep a bright mood, but the atmosphere is definitely ruined.

Yachiyo has went back to her room and-

ohhwoah what is that that's creepy!

So, uhh, Yachiyo is not well at all, she's now hallucinating. Whatever Mifuyu was trying to get at earlier it definitely got to her.

Seems the other girls aren't having a much better night either... but at least they're not hallucinating.

The next day, Iroha relays Mifuyu's invitation to the others. Yachiyo, however, refuses to take part in the conversation and leaves. She's very clearly still bothered about what Mifuyu said, and now she's avoiding her team.

Iroha and the girls have each their reaction to Yachiyo's behavior for a moment, but then go back to the matter at hand. Sana asks if Iroha really plans on going to the lecture, and she says she decided it'd be best to go, after thinking it over. They don't want to fight the cult either, so it shouldn't hurt to at least try to hear them out. Felicia says it's definitely a trap but that they can just break out together then, with Tsuruno agreeing. The two laugh, but doesn't it feel kinda forced?

...and then they realize no one knows where Memory Museum is lol

Mitama! Long time no see.

Iroha drops by the Coordinator's to ask about Memory Museum, which Mitama reveals is a Rumor that's being spread around Sakae Ward.

We then get a scene about the contents of the Rumor. Apparently, the Memory Museum archives memories (who'd thought!) and you can do things with them by ringing a bell, or something. But if you see one you'll end up influenced by it. (I refuse to comment about the goat)

In any case, Momoko points on the map the probable location of Memory Museum, to which Iroha thanks the two and goes back. After Iroha leaving, Mitama advises Momoko to tell "something", at least to Rena, since Kaede is still down, and Momoko says she knows. Quite the dark clouds are on the horizon.

No, literally. It's raining.

Back at Mikadzuki Villa, all the girls except Yachiyo are leaving to go to Memory Museum. Iroha warns Yachiyo they're leaving, but she doesn't answer. Ohh Yachiyo, please, are you sure you won't regret this later?

Iroha and co. naruto run on the rain to Memory Museum, meeting Chibi Kyuubei on the entrance. Yep, definitely Rumor. I might be going crazy but I always think that Iroha looks more her age with the raincoat, despite Madoka's wei- I mean, unique art style. Gotta be something with the proportions.

Also like this detail with Tsuruno's coat folded weird and Felicia's not folded at all lol

We are platformer game now

While climbing up the drawers, the girls talk about chibi Kyuubei, eventually raising suggestions on how to name him... which is funny because that's for the player to decide in the game, so we don't have an official way to call him.

Meanwhile, Rena's meeting up with Momoko. She starts complaining like usual, but soon hesitates when she reads the mood. Momoko says she thought it was time to tell her what happened to Yachiyo one year ago. Wait, what? We never heard about anything either.

But, well... we can guess.

Back at the Memory Museum, Iroha might be the unluckiest mahou shoujo ever, because

One of the Magius is none other than one of her sister's friends.

- x -

Aaand that's it for episode 11. That last scene is a bomb drop, but it's not like you couldn't see it coming from the moment they said Nemu was part of the cult. I mean, if one of the hospital trio was erased from existence, and the other was part of the cult, what were the odds that the last one would be normal? lol

Talking about this scene, I feel compelled to post here the corresponding still from the game, because the world was robbed of Iroha's surprisingly gallant back:

Seriously, when was she ever this cool?

On the other hand, Touka looks like a cute normal kid here which is about as far of the truth as we can get, so I'll give the anime credit for that.

All that aside, we are now approaching the end! With the Magius giving a lecture about salvation and Momoko having a talk with Rena, it's quite clear that the truth about magical girls is about to be revealed to our cast next episode. The big question here is: how will they react? Felicia specially shouldn't be very happy to learn this, considering what her wish was. Exciting!

We also have left to wonder what's up with Yachiyo. Why did what Mifuyu say affect her so much? We have yet to see her backstory, so Momoko talking might just gives us the answer to that question.

With that said, I'll leave it here for today. I can't believe this ended up even later than yesterday considering I start writing even earlier. Dammit short attention span, stop getting sidetracked pls. Tomorrow we'll be watching episode 11 that's looking really promising, so I hope you'll be reading me again then. Have a good morning/afternoon/evening and bye-bye!

#Magia Record #magireco #pmmm magia record #Puella Magi Madoka Magica

5 notes · View notes

venusoliver · 3 years

Text

The Taste of Sweet Silk on Your Lips: Chapter 10 BTS

NOTE: this post will discuss plot points from Chapter 10 of my Ao3 Fic, The Taste of Sweet Silk on Your Lips. Please refrain from reading further if you'd like to avoid any possible spoilers. Enjoy!

This chapter was difficult, to say the least.

Personal business has left me very little time to work on other things. Finals (I had finals last week and this week for some reason. Long story), trying to get onto a normal sleep schedule, and the like. Neither of those things are compatible with my "binge write at 1 AM for a few hours" habits.

I try to get a chapter out every week, but this time I was rather far from that deadline. Each extra day that ticked by made me feel more and more stressed about a chapter I hadn't even begun writing.

I had an outline, as always, but recently I've changed the course of the story dramatically. Which is fine, I've written/changed my plot outlines for each chapter to reflect those changes, but it's still a lot of new elements to think about and try to properly integrate.

There's two ways in which I've written the chapters for this fic.

Number 1: sit down and write the vast bulk of it in one sitting, usually late at night.

Pros: the chapter is cohesive, even in the first draft. The chapter usually goes up much faster.

Cons: My back will hurt immensely by the end of it. It requires a longer attention span, which I don't really have.

Number 2: Write it piece by piece whenever you get the chance over the span of a few days, and revise it in the evening. Due to constant procrastinating by yours truly, it'll end up posted late that night.

Pros: there's a lot more random, exciting elements involved. It can spur a lot of new ideas and genuine moments I wouldn't have thought of otherwise.

Cons: the consistency is lacking, which causes the revising portion of the writing to take a lot longer. Adding small paragraphs, rephrasing sentences constantly, it's a lot of work.

Notably, I wrote chapter 3 using the first method. I refused to get up and use the bathroom until I had that entire bondage performance typed out.

For chapter 10, well, I used option number two.

The outline and very beginning of the chapter was written in my bathtub. (I write quite often in my bath tub, it's a very relaxing experience!)

The bulk of it, however, was written during a free period for one of my classes— orchestral waltz music blasting in my ears to drown out the noise of the people around me.

Suffice to say, both methods are good methods. It just depends on the content of the chapter.

So far, I'm really happy with Chapter 10! I've gotten a few comments already on it, and I see a lot of surprised reactions as to the ending— when Hitch's plan is made clear to the reader.

That addition was in my most recent plot revision. No where in the past did I think I'd go in that direction— but I'm so, so happy I did.

When you introduce something in a story, it needs to have purpose and meaning. As my lovely, theatre-professor-parents like to say, "don't put a knife above the fireplace in act one if no one is going to get stabbed in act two."

Thus far, Hitch has pretty much only been a plot device. She's Annie's bondage partner, I threw in some back story, but I didn't have many plans for her after that.

But now, that's completely changed!

I was a bit stumped for a while on what direction I wanted to go after Annie and Mikasa's angsty separation.

But one night, while sitting outside in the freezing cold, I realized something.

BDSM never made an appearance again in my initial draft. My plan was to maybe throw in a light bondage scene between Annie and Mikasa whenever they finally get intimate with one another, but I didn't have a solid concept in place of the BDSM club really mattering much anymore.

But I saw it as a large element of the story.

So, again,

Don't put a knife above the fireplace in act one if no one is going to get stabbed in act two.

And that's where Hitch's plan was devised from. I couldn't be happier with how it turned out.

I hope my readers are enjoying the story thus far, and I hope that they liked the recent chapter!

4 notes · View notes

uwunnie · 4 years

Text

Update + Week 1 recap (Nov.7, 8:21 PM US Mountain Time)

Today marked the final day of the first week since this whole ordeal began. Truthfully, it feels like we somehow transported to the Dramarama video because time seemed to stop, but alas, here we are.

For the recap, I’m not going to put specific dates, but for today’s update, I will title it as such. You’ll see - this should be a pretty easy format to follow (tiki-taka),

For the sake of everyone’s timelines, the recap and update begin after this read more.

When news broke out regarding a Wonho’s sudden departure on October 31 (US and the like time-zones), may have been November 1 for other zones, there really weren’t that many updates in the way of efforts to bring him back. That day was full of shock, so everyone was more angry and depressed - even more so compared to now.

But after a day or two, Monbebes managed to channel their emotions into a bigger cause: Bringing Wonho home, and bringing him home we will.

Let’s recap:

Twitter Monbebes, Carter and Kei, organized the GoFundMe to raise $10,000 USD to purchase an ad in NY Times Square.

Within 45 minutes of initial service, the goal had been met.

After a couple days, the donations kept piling in and finally, as of November 3 - the GoFundMe closed at $25,102 USD ($15,102 USD over the original goal).

The ad’s payment was successful and the ad went up! However, my understanding is that the ad’s run-time ends in a few hours.

Ad’s location: New York, 42nd St. and 7th Ave., facing east.

Photos of the ad:

Reads: We shine brighter as a family, then proceeds to list each name of OT7 along with their logo and a photo of OT7 together with MONBEBE on the photo.

The board kicked off on November 6 and ran 30 times per hour for 15 seconds all day except 2-5 AM.

A petition calling to keep Wonho a member of Monsta X was published. Within a week, the petition is still going pretty strong with over 400k signatures. The goal is 500k, so I predict it will reach its goal within the next week.

The petition can be found here.

In addition, more projects/campaigns have been released since then and can be found in this master-post here.

Since this day, however, more projects have been revealed, so once I compile all of them, I’ll add them to the previous link.

Let’s remember:

K-MBB left sticky notes on Starship Ent.’s building. Eventually, within a few hours, a staff member was photographed collecting them.

News outlets began reporting about Monbebe efforts to bring Wonho back, thus bringing more attention to our goal.

Celebrities reached out and showed their support of Monsta X.

Monbebes began writing everyone to spread awareness - spanning as far as contacting Moon Jae-in, South Korea’s president.

Naver (shockingly) released a positive article - something that’s very rare.

Efforts are still being made to spread more awareness through physical ads in South Korea.

K-MBB’s held a silent protest outside of Starship Ent.

International fans flew to South Korea to participate.

Staff said they can and will welcome Wonho back.

Staff also helped Monbebes greatly:

Met with MBB’s on the day of the silent protest to help them cut out banners.

These plaques read, “I do not want to remain just a memory,” which are lyrics from If Only.

Supported MBB’s in the fan cafe - even went as far as changing their icons, I believe, to photos of Wonho.

Continued collecting MBB sticky notes and even provided tissues at the protests for those who were crying.

Continue encouraging us to continue with our efforts.

Other fandoms have showed their support for Monsta X and MBB.

International MBB are still organizing a silent protest from what I’ve seen circulating the web.

For Minhyuk’s birthday, MBB adopted four whales as gifts. One is a southern humpback named Monbebe, another a blue whale adopted in Minhyuk’s name. I’ve heard another one was named Monsta X, but don’t quote me on it because I’m not 100% sure.

Minhyuk’s birthday tag also reached #1 worldwide trend.

A set of stars were also purchased and named Lee Hoseok and Monsta X.

NY-MBB got a dance group to dance to Follow.

UK-MBB are hosting fundraisers in efforts to raise money for a central London billboard.

As I stated prior, all sorts of ad efforts were, and still are being, made.

Over 30 tags have consecutively trended worldwide for one week - many of them reaching -#1 trend several times.

K-MBB’s used the original fan chant during one of the performances for Follow’s promotions. If you don’t know what I’m referring to, it means that they used the OT7 chant including Wonho’s name.

300 fans were allowed into the Inkigayo recording - 100 over its normal capacity.

Tower Records, international music franchise store, showed their support in their Japan branch’s sector through MX signs and posters.

MX reminders:

Wonho is still active on the fan cafe.

Majority of the members have been active on the fan cafe.

Minhyuk posted this for his birthday:

Changkyun posted this two days ago:

Wonho is still on Starship’s official site.

This photo was posted a day or two ago:

For those that may not understand, the white ink is circling Wonho’s signature and name on the wristband. Some people claimed it doesn’t matter because those bands are pre-made, but to that I’d like to point out that those bands are made out of paper and his name is printed/signed on the end, so it would have been very easy for staff to cut off the end part if they really wanted to, or were instructed to do so.

This was circulating the web:

Speculations:

Nov. 7: Shownu wore Wonho’s shirt.

Nov. 7: Kihyun wore Wonho’s earrings.

Nov. 7: Hyungwon wore Wonho’s chain.

Nov. 7: Changkyun wore Wonho’s, or a similar, earpiece.

Nov. 7: Our boys left a space for Wonho at the end of their performance. Take a look here and see what you think.

Nov. 2: MX left a space for Wonho during Follow and Find You.

Nov. 2: Jooheon’s lyrical slip-up could have been in protest of what’s occurring.

In regards to this speculation, he did this recently again as well, so my interpretation is that it’s probably related to the protest as well as exhaustion.

Starship info and overall legal matters:

As far as my knowledge extends, this is the ONLY official statement SS has released:

The explanation/speculation of this letter can be found here.

SS is involved in their own, personal, controversy. I’ve made past posts regarding the situation, but for the sake of not stirring the pot, so-to-speak, I’m going to exclude them from this particular post. Until further information about their situation is released, or I feel it’s becoming a detriment to MX, I will bite my tongue.

In regards to 🐻’s controversy, SS confirmed the photos were manipulated (fake).

🐻’s searches have been cleared, at least from my knowledge. I’ve been told that they have been, but I’m not entirely sure if they’ve come back or anything.

I know a lot of people messaged me that particular night in regards to a YouTube video talking about 🐻’s situation and everyone was concerned it would spark up the searches again. I didn’t want to say anything until I saw the video taken down, but I messaged KJ and explained the situation to him. He had no ill intent with his video - in fact, he was trying to help clear the negative rumors revolving around MX. He was just simply unaware that, unfortunately, any publicity regarding 🐻’s situation would trigger the searches again, so I explained this to him and told him about MBB efforts. He completely understood and removed the video.

Updates from November 7:

MX received their 2nd win!

The video and post involving Hyungwon’s speech can be found here. HIGHLY recommend watching it.

GOT7 congratulated and hugged each member, and E-Dawn congratulated Changkyun.

Only 10 Monbebes were allowed inside for the performance, so Ahgases (GOT7’s fan club) held up Monsta X light sticks during our boys’ performance in place for the MBB not allowed in. Ahgase also helped MBB with the live voting.

In other words: Ahgase and Monbebe are each other’s sweethearts. 💚🤧💜

Jooheon told MBB not to cry.

They held a fan-sign to which:

Wonho’s photo was projected on the screen behind them. A link to the photo can be found here.

K-MBB informed MX of the Times Square ad.

Changkyun stayed this is the last week of promotions.

Kihyun said he will do a cover of Believer.

I think Shownu earned his PhD? Or is going to?

Jooheon confirmed the release of the studio version of Sambakja, or he said he might. I’ve seen people talking about both, so I can guarantee 100%, but Jooheon, if you’re reading this - please.

Trends continue meaning we’ve successfully trended for one week straight.

Eshy:

Voting for MAMA has been open and Monsta X is a nominee in all except a couple categories.

There’s two ways to vote:

Voting for them in specific categories on the website, here.

Voting on Twitter as well by utilizing:

#MAMAVOTE #monstax

Current twitter tags to trend as well:

#LoveUWonho

#우리_항상_네_곁에_있을게요

@/OfficialMonstaX

@/STARSHIPent

Overall reminders:

Do not engage in fan wars.

Do not engage in any hate towards the duo. I’ve said this in the past and it’s practically been confirmed: They’re trying to gather sympathy through the situation they’ve caused by trying to play victim. Popular sites are posting articles painting them in positive undertones and netizens are starting to support them because of the hate they’re getting on their social platforms and what not. Those comments can also be collected and utilized in the ongoing legal case, so please, do NOT engage with them. Instead, channel your energy into MAMA voting, campaigns/projects, trends, and other positive things that will bring Wonho home to us.

Messages to MX, project created by @wonderlanddragon, ends Nov.8/9. The posted regarding the details can be found in the campaign link above!

Bunnies for Wonho, created by @thoughtsfromaclutteredbrain, has been ongoing now. They’ve also planned a new project for a video, so please send in your favorite Wonho moment along with your name and/or nickname to them!

@stay-dont-strayy creates an International MBB project. You can find the info on their blog!

Kpop group chats have been created, links here.

@sezy001234 has also created five tumblr kpop group chats, so hit her up for details on everything!

I’ve also made a kpop tumblr group chat, so if you’d like to be added, send in an ask or message!

The source to find the bunny 7-1=0 profile pictures can be found here in seven different colors.

You can leave letters/sweet messages to the boys on the fan cafe. Please be mindful of the situations at hand when doing so and also, give a little extra love to our baby, Changkyun. MBB at the fan-sign have mentioned that he seems to be struggling the most and tbh, it’s been very visible in his performances and photos.

All seven are trying to be strong for us, so let’s try our best to be strong for them. ❤️

We’ve made it through the first week, babes.

We can do it time and time again.

I love you all. ❤️🤧

Let’s bring our bunny home. ❤️🐰

(Posting: Nov. 8, 3:05 AM US Mountain Time // yes, it took me this long to make lol)

#monsta x #wonho #shownu #kihyun #hyungwon #minhyuk #jooheon #changkyun #im #joohoney #updates #first week #monbebe

143 notes · View notes

foxtophat · 4 years

Link

strange things like mercy is finally done!!!!!!

it took a while and i was worried i wouldn’t be able to keep on schedule, but in the end i fuckin NAILED IT guys. i know that i’m patting myself on the back but i feel great about this fic. i got to do most everything i wanted with it, and i think that it came out pretty good in the end!!

for those of you who have been reading from the start, i just gotta say thank you SO MUCH for your support. i know i was kind of lame about replying to comments early on but i hopefully will beat that bad habit back in time for the next story in this series!

now that mercy is over, uhhh, i guess i gotta start thinking about what happens next. what does everybody wanna see out of this universe, and what stories do i already have imagined that would appeal to you guys? i guess i gotta think about it. if you guys have any ideas or prompts for mercy universe fic, i would love to hear them :) even if i don’t write them i’d love to shoot the shit about headcanons and shit i got for this series, which TECHNICALLY spans 10 years... ugh so much time, ubisoft come on.

uh, anyway... i don’t know what else to say. i’m so fuckin thankful. i hope you guys enjoy this epilogue, and that it feels... coherent??? sorry this one in particular was tricky because uh, narrators are hard you know? well. i’m gonna go ahead and stop blabberin now, and for now i’ll just leave you guys with my love!

as usual, the chapter is under the cut if you’re in a hurry or don’t wanna leave tumblr. if you feel obliged, please consider reblogging and sharing the news of an actual completed fic for once in my fucking life

It is hot outside today. The cool morning air has no chance against a bright sun in a barely cloudy sky, and there's no way to confuse this summer heat for a warm spring day. By the time John and Nick finish loading the truck-bed with salvage, both of their shirts are damp from sweat. There's no such thing as sunscreen anymore, so Nick scrounges up an extra hat for John, and Kim reminds Carmina for the sixth time to drink as much water as she can while she's out in the sun. This is Carmina's first full summer above-ground, but from the sound of it, last autumn hadn't been much cooler, so she at least understands the concept of heat exhaustion.

As far as John can tell, the only person unphased by the heat is Grace, who stays on the porch and watches the two men work. She hasn't said more than two words to John in the past month, but she's always watching him. She makes it abundantly clear whenever she comes over to pick up Carmina or spend time with the Ryes, and no amount of conversation can keep her from boring holes between John's shoulders. There have been a lot of murderous glares thrown his way in his life, but Grace's is the only one that feels truly lethal. There's no social code left to keep Grace from shooting John the moment he steps out of line, and John is certain only Kim's goodwill is preventing her from going through with it.

Ten years ago, John would have been humiliated to be so utterly powerless against someone as insignificant as Grace Armstrong. Today, John is only grateful to finally understand somebody perfectly. Grace is exactly who John had prepared himself for when that caravan passed through. There's no uneasy truce between them, no muddled water. All John has to do is keep his head down and not look directly at her, and she won't shoot him. It's painfully simple, and exactly what John needs.

Kim hovers in the doorway behind Grace, going over house gun-safety with Carmina for the umpteenth time. John keeps his back to the porch as Nick slides plank after plank of plywood his way, so he mostly doesn't see them, but he can tell Carmina is bored by her exasperated yeses and okay 's. John briefly wonders what might've happened if he'd ever talked back like that to his parents, then promptly stuffs the thought away for another day. He's trying to stay positive about this trip, after all. The last thing he needs to do is think about the Duncans or the Seeds.

"You sure this is a good idea?" Grace asks Nick once they've finished loading up. Even with his back turned, John tries to keep his expression neutral.

"What? Yeah, of course it is." Nick looks across the bed at John, who is far too busy remaining silent and neutral to offer any support. "Everybody who lives there's already been through. It's not like John's gonna be a surprise at this point, and anyway, we're gonna need the extra hands."

"I'm surprised you don't just have Carmina do it."

"Kim won't let her ride in back," Nick grouses. He walks around the truck, pausing by the tailgate to double-check that it's locked in place. "Anyway, John wants to go." He eyes John, frowning, triple-guessing himself even after John's told him it's time. "Right?"

John has to take a breath to ease his exasperation before he responds. "Yes," he says, although really, it isn't about wanting to go. He needs to. He can't stay hidden away at Rye & Daughter Aviation forever.

Grace is not even slightly convinced. "If you say so," she says.

As usual, it's Kim who comes in at the eleventh hour to distract Grace away from John, who can safely move around without more scrutiny. "Thanks for watching the place," she says, swooping into the conversation as if she hadn't been listening a few feet away. "Carmina's been excited to show you her progress in the yard since the last time you were here."

It works like clockwork, and Grace winds up bashfully smiling under Kim's genuine gratitude. "Hey, it's no problem. Like I said, I'm always happy to help keep Carmina busy."

John had never taken Kim seriously before, not really, but he never should have underestimated her de-escalation tactics. Honestly, he'd never understood why Nick would rely so much on her. He'd assumed that it was all some sort of act that Nick put on so he could constantly remind everybody that Kim was his property, or occasionally to escape from a situation he wouldn't be able to win. John hadn't thought anything at all about why someone like Kim would let herself be used like that.

Nowadays, John holds their relationship up as a standard to set all others to. It's horrifying how far short John's past relationships fall in comparison to theirs. But those thoughts, like any others involving his families, aren't suitable for today.

Grace disappears into the house, Carmina following eagerly behind. Kim steps off the porch, lifting one hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

"You ready?" she asks. At this angle, it's hard to tell which one of them she's talking to, but John knows better than to assume she's thinking about him.

"As we'll ever be," Nick replies. "You sure you'll be okay in the back, John?"

Nick isn't trying to slight him, but John still has to hold back an instinctive reaction to say something snide. It's a struggle, more than he's willing to admit to, but he manages. "Yes," he says, the easiest word to fall back on in his vocabulary, but Nick doesn't seem convinced. He usually isn't, not by single-word responses and certainly not by that word in particular, so John rolls his eyes for show and adds, "I'll be fine as long as you can drive better than you can fly."

"Man, when'd you get so goddamn mouthy?" Nick gripes, mostly in good nature. "Lucky there aren't any planes left to settle that matter."

Kim waves Nick into the cab, and John climbs into the truck-bed, settling with his back against the cab. It takes a minute to adjust as they start down the drive, but John figures out how to hold down the open container of components, and most everything else lies flat on the bed beneath him. The driveway itself is bumpy terrain, but the road levels out surprisingly even as they turn towards Fall's End. John's view is limited to the road unfurling behind them, the scenery feeling like a strange, dreamlike replication of the place John used to know. Everything is simultaneously familiar and alien, and for most of the ride, John can only hold on and mark the distance by once-familiar billboards that are now mostly torn down.

From the way Nick and Kim had talked about Fall's End, John had expected more of the town than what he gets. After all, it was never meant to be a direct target of the Collapse. That's why Joseph had wanted it so badly. But as it turns out, calling what's left a town is stretching the word to its limits. Other than the church, only the Spread Eagle managed to escape complete annihilation, apparently by divine providence alone. The rest of the structures that once lined the side-roads are now nothing but abandoned ruins, picked clean of useful salvage and left to rot. From John's place in the truck bed, he has a good 360-degree view of the remains, although most of his attention is on not letting any plywood fall out of the bed as Nick speeds down the bumpy road.

It isn't as though John is surprised by the wreckage. Everything John had been working towards with Eden's Gate had prepared him for the fact that the old world would be gone when he came back from the brink. Still, as the truck chugs its way towards the bar, John finds himself unexpectedly struck by the ruin. All of the buildings that had provided tactical advantages according to Jacob are gone. There's no way to repair any infrastructure here. Joseph's talk about empty homes available to everyone, about fields of grain and a church full of children learning how to be good, honest people — all that's left of those empty promises are decimated buildings and hard, scorched earth.

Surely Joseph would have blamed John's expectations on his own laziness and impatience. Maybe he'd be right. But all John can think is that they could have simply waited the resistance out. They could have saved the valuable resources they had thrown at the war against the valley. What was the point of wasting their supplies and sacrificing blind followers for something like the Reaping?

John doesn't want to think about Joseph any more than he already has to. Thankfully, Nick brings the truck to a sudden stop, rocking John backward into the cab's window and pulling him out of his obsessing brain.

"Hey, see?" Nick comments to Kim as he climbs out of the cab, "I told you we had it."

"Barely," John adds. "Did you make an effort to hit every pothole on the way here?"

"I mean, the road's mostly potholes," Nick chuckles.

Clicking her tongue so that she doesn't incriminate her husband, Kim comes around to the side of the bed. "Let's unload everything before you two start arguing, okay?"

Even as Kim is talking, people are showing up to find out who just rolled into town. John recognizes most of them from their forays out to the Rye homestead, although a few unfamiliar faces are crowding the blown-out windows of the bar. John counts six people, which is already more than he expected to live in one place, but there are doubtless more inside. By his estimation, more than a dozen people are living in the area around here, including Jerome, although he can't imagine they all live here. They can't possibly.

"Glad y'all made it," one woman says as she steps out onto the deck. She sees John looking at her and remarks sourly, "Jerome said you might be bringing him. But not Carmina?"

"We needed the extra hands," Kim replies. She has her back turned to the bar, and so only Nick and John can see her roll her eyes in exasperation as she explains. "And Grace is watching Carmina today. They're building a shooting range at the end of the runway."

Sour-faced as she is, the woman who's been put in charge seems pleased to hear it. "Well, better'a shot, better'a person, I guess. C'mon, it's all going upstairs."

John unloads most of the truck by himself, leaving Kim and Nick with the task of taking everything inside. A few sheets of plywood, a crate of miscellaneous fasteners, and two metal fence poles later, he finds himself waiting alone by the truck. It's hot as hell, and although John will take the dry Montana heat over Atlanta's oppressive humidity, he still wishes that air conditioning was a thing. He can see the heat radiating off the distant cracked asphalt, and the sun gleams in the broken windows of a derelict shop across the street. There's a boisterous conversation happening inside, but John knows better than to go looking for shade in the Spread Eagle. He's fairly certain that if he put one foot in the bar, Mary May would rise from her grave and destroy him.

Nick had mentioned a memorial, but John doesn't see it from his spot on the street. Nick and Kim seem to have things under control, so John slowly paces away from the truck, heading around to the space that used to be a parking lot. Mary May's father would keep his ugly big rig parked out here as a trophy, but now the dirt lot is empty. There's no telling what happened to the truck, but John hopes Mary May got some solace out of it before the end.

John had expected the sort of memorial you would see on the side of the freeway, with a crude wooden cross and some affectations of remembrance. He's more than a little shocked, then, to find that Mary May's grave is itself the memorial. He shouldn't be surprised. Where else would they have buried her? But still, there is something deeply unsettling about it as he stares down at the uniform mound of rocks covering the dirt. There's a clean, fairly ornate cross lying across the rocks, and a crude wooden headstone that has her name, Mary May, carved in heavy uppercase, along with two dates: 1993-2023?

Of course, they wouldn't have known the actual year. John isn't sure of it himself now.

He stands at the foot of her grave for a while. There's a bare breeze sweeping over the empty valley, which manages to make the sun a little more bearable. John's not sure if it would be blasphemous to pray for Mary May or not, but he's sure she would cuss him out if he did, so he refrains. Apologizing to Mary May would have... well, it would have made John feel better, but now that he's standing here, he's not so sure she would tolerate it. Honestly, knowing her, she would have died out of spite if she'd made it far enough to see him again. She would have spat on him and told him to go to hell, then choked on radiation poisoning right there on the spot.

Then again, John had expected Nick to shoot him without reservation. Maybe she would have surprised him, too. Been different from the thing he'd imagined her to be in the dark.

Somehow, he doubts it.

With Nick and Kim still distracted and the rest of the group seeming to have forgotten about him, John takes the opportunity to explore the remains of town further. He walks from the bar, across the empty field and towards the decrepit church standing by itself. The road is still visible in patches, but John chooses to walk across what used to be the backyards of residents who have long since died. He keeps his eye out for snake-holes, but the dirt is undisturbed and possibly uninhabitable to even the most tenacious of serpents. Only time will tell whether or not anything could ever grow here again.

It's clear that nobody has made the same effort to reclaim the church as they had with the bar. John assumes that's largely due to Mary May's influence, although he can't blame the survivors for choosing the communal space with alcohol over the one without so much as a root cellar. Still, it fills John with a strange melancholy to see the church overtaken by vines and left like a sacrifice to nature. He's never particularly cared for religious institutions before, but he's no doubt personally responsible for the end of the practitioners who might have tried to save this particular building.

John had last passed through the front doors of this church in 2018, flanked by devoted sycophants of his personal design. He'd strolled down the aisle while Jerome was being wrestled to the ground, and he'd thought of every pew and pillar as his rightful property. Beyond the Project, this church was going to be his.

Now, standing here in the late 2020s, John only feels as hollow as the interior. He'd thought he'd been in control. He'd thought he'd been chosen. But in the end, every single thing Joseph had asked of him led him down a path to ruin, and the only thing that had saved him in the end had been his own cowardly, second-guessing self.

Stepping through the doors into the open, empty hall feels like trespassing in the most divine sense, but at this point, John figures God can't expect much from him. He's always been inserting himself in places he doesn't belong, after all. It's God's job to forgive him for it.

The wooden structure creaks even in the gentle breeze. Otherwise, the church is silent; even John's footsteps are muffled by dirt as he slowly makes his way to the remnants of the altar. It's been too long, but John imagines he can spot his blood caked on the floor from when the deputy shot him. Nick's, too, has been absorbed by time, but John knows that it's still there in the wooden floorboards.

There are more holes in the roof than shingles at this point, letting in patches of sunlight from the drifting sun. As a cloud passes overhead, the light briefly dims, and John feels a deep internal chill at the first hint of creeping darkness. Nick would probably tell him it's normal, or something, entirely unaware that John has no goddamn idea what normal is supposed to be.

That's ungrateful, he knows, but sometimes it's difficult not to resent that jackass a little for being so well-adjusted.

The clouds shift, and for a moment a single shaft of light shines down in front of him, haloing the weeds in an inviting ring of warmth. John is reminded abruptly of Faith, lingering deep underground with him, the light glowing off the ladder rungs as she reaches out for him, her hand outstretched as if she could show him what might be a way out.

The clouds move, flooding the church with light, and things are clear again.

Maybe he should be more worried by the fleeting afterimages of his bunker hallucinations, but considering how bad they used to be, John will take any improvement where he can find it. For the first few nights at the Rye's home, he had been plagued by the same near-tangible shapes that had haunted him below ground. Even after the worst had passed, so many of John's dreams of Joseph in the bunker had felt more real than the room he'd wake up in. Sometimes, he would stare into the distance and see a mirage of Joseph appearing over the horizon; other times, he would snap awake from a nightmare only to find Jacob watching him from the unlit corners of his room, flickering and disappearing in the edge of his vision. Faith's voice might laugh in his ear when he gets distracted by the slow-moving clouds in the sky. Even now, if he stands still enough, he can almost hear Jacob's off-key humming in the wind.

He hasn't told Nick or Kim about any of it, of course. He's not sure how he would explain it, for one — and for two, he doesn't know if he can stand any more of their pity. They already treat him like a child; if they think that he's mentally unwell, they're only going to be worse about it. John can handle a lot of things, but their sympathy chafes more than he'd like to let on. Besides, what could they possibly other than worry?

He knows that hiding it is more childish than explaining himself, but explaining himself these days just feels like asking for pity that he absolutely does not want. Nick's gotten back to hiding his moon-eyed concern with some degree of success, but Kim still speaks so gently to him and keeps suggesting he take breaks, that he rest, that he sit down and talk, just for a minute. If it weren't for her open altruism, he'd think she was trying to get something from him. Hell, maybe she is. Maybe spending eight years by himself has tanked John's ability to see when he's being manipulated.

It doesn't really matter. If his only choices are between Kim's prying and Joseph's interrogations, then it really isn't a choice at all.

Although John doesn't hear anybody enter, he isn't terribly surprised when he hears someone clear their throat behind him. He turns to find Jerome standing in the entryway, the light streaming around him and framing him in the whirling dust. It's uncharitable, but John's first thought is just how old Jerome has gotten, eying his weary, slumped posture and the thick, dark gray banding his temples and beard.

"I thought I might find you here," Jerome says.

"Funny," John replies, "I was thinking the same thing about you."

Jerome approaches, although he stops at the first overturned bench, leaving the entire length of the aisle between them. Some part of John wishes other people would be as cautious about him as Jerome is.

"Nick and Kim wanted me to check on you. They said you might have come this way."

"Of course they did," John sighs. He can't help but be impressed that they didn't come looking for him themselves. Kim will no doubt have something to say about him having wandered off by himself, even though they're nowhere near danger.

The last time John stood in this church with Jerome, he had been desperately trying to maintain his control over the situation, wildly throwing everyone towards salvation without considering what saving somebody meant. It's been nearly a decade, but John can still feel the tension that remains between them, stretched between the destroyed pews like a tangled net.

"I take it things have been working out well," Jerome says. Despite having every right to be suspicious, he only seems curious as he asks, "Are you planning on staying with them?"

John resists pointing out that every plan he's ever made has gone belly up almost immediately, as well as the fact that he hasn't thought more than a day or two in the future for a long time now. The most neutral response he can offer is, "As long as they allow me to."

Jerome hums in response. John feels a sudden urge to bolt as Jerome begins to slowly pace down the aisle towards him, but his boots are glued to the spot. He already knows how the pastor feels about his miraculous survival, and he braces himself for what will most likely be a scathing indictment of all of his short-comings. A list of reasons why he should abandon the Ryes and resign himself to some serious kind of penance.

When Jerome speaks, it's only with neutral curiosity. "It's been a while since you've been inside a church, hasn't it? A real one, I mean. For genuine reasons."

John feels childish for not being able to directly meet Jerome's eyes, but he can't help it. "Not... since my parents died," he admits. For a second he wonders if Jerome ever read Joseph's manifesto, if he ever had the opportunity to see for himself what Joseph had to say about his youngest brother's upbringing. Jerome's expression betrays nothing, but John worries anyway. He isn't lying when he says, "They... soured my relationship with religion," but he still feels like he is. It wasn't the Duncans who kept him from church, after all. If anything, they would have been massively disappointed to learn that he stopped the moment they weren't around to demand his piety.

"And then Joseph changed your mind," Jerome says. It's just a fact, but it still feels like an accusation.

Still, it's the truth. "Yes," John says. "He came to me, and promised me it would be different."

Exhaling slowly, Jerome finally passes John by entirely, stepping up behind the ransacked altar and looking at the spot where a crucifix should still be hanging.

"It's been a while for me, too," Jerome says after a short stretch of silence. "I want to say that maybe this place still counts, but I don't know. It could be that there are no churches left to go back to." There's no missing the age in Jerome's posture as he bows his head. "After everything we've been through, after everything you put us through — I don't know. There's probably no coming back from that."

Despite the blame being put squarely at his feet, it doesn't sting like an insult. It's just another fact, one that John won't forget any time soon. He can't afford to.

"You only have to tell me to rebuild it," John says. He tries not to hate himself for how desperately the words come out, but he means it. At least it would be a tangible step in the right direction for once, instead of one more blind stumble.

Jerome huffs, eying John with no small amount of bemusement. "I think we have more important things to worry about for the time being," he says. "The church can be a lot of things, but it can't hold a candle to a place with electricity and some aged whiskey."

How would Joseph react, if he had come out of his bunker to find his flock had chosen a bar over his church? John can't imagine he would have handled it with the same resigned grace Jerome is showing now. How long before he would decide to return to the armory, so that he could remind his followers they were supposed to be afraid of him? Of them? How long would Joseph's utopia have really lasted, even if everything had worked out exactly as he'd hoped? He can't imagine it would have taken long for his own voice to join the chorus shouting might makes right.

"It's only a place," Jerome says with some concern, which cuts through John's thoughts like a knife. "We can pray just as well at the bar, or in a bunker. After all, God doesn't live in the temple."

"I suppose that's true." John wishes that there was a pew left safe enough to sit on. Jerome might be right about the fundamentals, but right now John just wants to feel some sort of physical support. He settles for leaning against the least fragile part of the wall he can find, listening to the creaking wood for any sign of splintering.

The church remains silent around them. Somewhere up in the rafters, a bird flutters around, and it's the only living thing to break the gentle sound of the breeze. Jerome paces the perimeter away from John, no doubt going over every lost item, every blown-out window, and reminding himself of what once was. It's all John can do as he looks around.

Eventually, Jerome gets to the heart of the matter, which John has been waiting for since he arrived in the church. "I don't expect you to have an answer," he proceeds, "But I wonder whether you've been thinking about what I told you."

John has, as a matter of fact, been thinking about what Jerome told him. He's been thinking about it since they talked on the radio, a few days after the caravan had left Hope County. In a way, he's been thinking about it ever since he saw Joseph and his people invading the Rye homestead. There had been too many followers already for John's comfort, and if Joseph is left entirely alone, that number will only go up. They might not have to assassinate him, but they'll most certainly have to stymie the number of people who might listen to what he has to say.

"I don't know if I'm the best candidate to deprogram former cultists," John says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Almost every follower had to go through me. There's not much chance they'll listen to anything I have to say."

"It won't be just your words that will convince them, but your actions, too." Jerome sighs heavily, wearily making do as he sits on a ruined and overturned pew. "Their faith was shaken like you said it would be. But word of Joseph's return has begun to spread, and... well, reason is already unfamiliar territory for some of them."

That's not surprising. John wonders how many members survived who had walked the path, who had been baptized and washed in Bliss and left in that inexplicable limbo as the Collapse came and went. John's own mind is still riddled from the endless testing and perfecting, sleepless weekends wandering through fictional fields with his brother preaching in his ear, finding the right balance between this world and the next so that Joseph could show the world.

"I want to help," John insists hoarsely. "But... talking to them will be difficult. The further down the path you are, the harder that becomes." Even now, a dull but steady pressure is starting to build behind his eye, his mind flooded by a super-cut of Joseph's voice, questions chanting at him, Do you feel it? Can you see it? Do you understand now?

John doesn't expect Jerome's hand on his shoulder. He hadn't seen the other man move, but suddenly there he is, gripping John's arm as though he's trying to drag him from a crowded room. His grim, critical stare is unsympathetic in a way that neither Nick nor Kim would probably appreciate, but that steely gaze is the cold water John needs to clear his mind.

"We can wait," Jerome eventually relents. He doesn't sound disappointed, but that doesn't stop John from imagining it. It's not much better when Jerome reluctantly admits, "Nick... mentioned what happened with the bunker."

Of course he did. Nick couldn't possibly keep something like that to himself, could he? Well-meaning bastard. John tries to gather some sort of frustration, but it's hard to fight the resigned relief he feels now that he doesn't have to explain himself all over again.

"These things will take time," Jerome says.

John sighs heavily, rubbing the tension from his temple. "I am not known for my patience, Pastor."

Jerome's response is a deep bark of a laugh, equal parts humor and exasperation. "Ain't that the truth," he chuckles, smacking John's arm hard promptly before putting a good six feet back between them. "I'll do what I can for anyone who comes to me," he says, crossing his arms. "Eventually, I'm going to... need your help. They are going to need your help. I want that time to happen before Joseph makes another move." Any levity in his voice dissipates as he grimly reminds John, "It's only a matter of time before he learns you're here with us. I don't think he'll let that lie."

Briefly rubbing his knuckles, John casts his gaze towards the sky above, as if there might be some revelation to be had in the atmosphere. "I know," he says at last. "I can only hope he's disappointed enough in my survival to be satisfied with my cowardice."

It looks as though Jerome wants to say something, but he refrains, shaking his head briefly. "We can certainly hope," he says uncertainly. "Now, I think it might be best if we head back."

John can't help but suspect that Jerome doesn't want him to linger in the church any more than he already has. Still, he's right — nobody said this was meant to be a long trip, and John could use the ride to think.

It's only once he steps through the front doors that he realizes how much cooler and quieter the church had been than the rest of the world — there's some loud laughter floating in the wind from the bar, and the air comes as a blast of warm wind that nearly takes John's hat off before he can put it back on. From where he stands on the steps, John can see Nick and Kim by the truck, talking to a handful of people who John may or may not have personally attacked. Should he wait? None of them will appreciate his presence, even if Nick and Kim appreciate the work he does. It might be better for everyone if he lets the crowd clear.

Jerome's hand is heavy on John's shoulder. "No use avoiding them forever," he says, applying just enough force to encourage John to push forward. "Redemption doesn't happen by sitting around and waiting for it."

None of the townsfolk acknowledge John's presence, even when a few call out greetings to Jerome. Kim looks mildly irritated when she glances at him, which is probably because he walked off without mentioning his plans.

Nick, on the other hand, only seems relieved to see John arrive. "Great, you're back," he says, genuinely enough that some of the townsfolk seem scandalized by it. "You ready to head home?"

John doesn't know how to handle the words. He can hardly explain his reaction to them, unable to fully grasp the sensation of warmth that comes from such a simple sentiment. There's only one word that comes to mind, lighting up in his mind like a marquee, a sentiment genuinely given for once in his life even as he struggles to hide it.

"Yes," he says. "I'm ready."

#far cry 5 #fc5 #fcnd #new dawn #john seed #nick rye #kim rye #far cry fanfic #my fic

11 notes · View notes

vanchlo · 5 years

Text

The Assistant / Chapter Twenty Two, “Don’t Let Me Go”

Hi!!!! Wow, long time no see. Somehow the writing bug bit me again and I finished up this chapter. I hope to post some another one for you guys soon, but (as you know) unfortunately I don’t know. Life has just been so busy the last few years and writing hasn’t been interesting to me or it’s just dropped as a priority. There are no words for how sorry I am to leave you guys hanging with this story.... I hope I can keep posting chapters for you guys, even if it’s off and on. I hope that some of you are still around and will see this chapter, and that you’ll like it. I’d love to hear what you think :)

“Y-you did all of this?” I ask, pointing at the food, the streamers hanging from the ceiling, my favorite music falling from the speakers, my favorite foods donning the tables in the corner, and so on and so forth.

“Who d’ya think did it?” he laughs, giving me a fake glare. I barely have time to laugh with him when people start clinking their solo cups with plastic spoons and shouting “speech, speech, speech” over and over with their eyes on Harry.

I find myself chanting along with them as his cheeks fill with the color of roses. “Alright, alright, calm down ya crazy lot,” he shouts, dimples drilling into his cheeks as he uses his arms to tell them to quiet down. “I didn’ really prepare a speech, but fine, I guess you lot will get one. Fuck, where do I even start?” he titters, and so does everybody else at his choice of words.

Briiiiiiing!

“Styles and Lawson, this is Rebecca,” I chime, finding it hard to hold in a sigh as I play the fake cheerful card. And boy do I try to believe it, too.

"Hi yes, I’m calling about . . . ,” the shrill voice belonging to an old granny spills into my ears. I grudgingly reply and transfer them to the right department that they should have called in the first place. Sigh.

My fingers return to the keyboard of my laptop and glide across the keys. I pick up where I left off from the middle of the sentence. The sentence I was interrupted in the middle of.

“I need copies o’ these,” a voice rasps, before I hear a definite clud. I look up to find a pair of tired green eyes belonging to Harry. They disappear in a flash when he turns his back, walking away without another word. With a huff, I reach over to grab the small stack of law books and documents, post-its spanning the color of the rainbow sticking out to mark pages.

Beep.

I tap my finger along the screen, first entering Harry’s code. Welcome, Harry, it reads. I press OK and ignore the many options, and instead select Copy. After selecting what I need, I tap the green button and wait for the whirring of the printer.

Ten minutes and many copies later, I plant the last post it on a stack of copies of Chapter 10 from Law’s Empire. After rearranging the stacks in alternating directions in one big stack, I settle the hefty pile in my arms before turning around.

I nearly lose it when I turn around. Harry stands mere inches in front of me, floating into the room unannounced like a ghost. And in my fright, my arms do a weird thing out of my control. In staggering slow motion, dozens upon dozens of papers jump into the air.

Suddenly, my vision speeds up to the present. I groan loudly at the mess of papers lying on our feet all over the floor.

“‘m sorry, didn’ mean t’ scare ya, love,” Harry comments softly. He falls to his knees as he gathers a handful of paper. “Here, lemme help you.”

“I’m fine, I got it,” I reply, grabbing a piece of paper with an orange post-it. “Did you need something?”

“What?”

“Well, you were standing two inches away from my face when I turned around. It kind of implies that you need something,” I say, starting to recognize some similar papers. I begin to make stacks of the familiar pages.

Law’s Empire. A History of British Law. Pages from a file on somebody named Harrows.

The reason is fleeting me, but I look up briefly to find his head bent down as he gathers papers together in a uniform stack. The pause rouses him and he looks up too. I tear my eyes away after only a few seconds of eye contact. A chilling silence fills the space between us, often interrupted by the sound of shuffling paper and the almost quiet ticking of the clock.

Maybe minutes later, my five stacks are growing higher along with his. I start to see the tile floor that I had forgotten was there.

“I wanted t’ talk t’ you.”

“Of course,” I almost retort in a mutter, setting aside a copy of page 489 from The Infamous Case.

A syllable falls from his lips, but it stops there and I try to ignore it.

The stack for Dallow vs. Emprise Inc. has nearly doubled in size by the time he speaks again.

“Why can’ we talk ‘bout what happened?”

“Because, Harry, there’s nothing for us to talk about,” I answer, picking up copies from the Harrows stack and clinking them against my thighs to straighten them out.

“Becks,” he almost pleads by the sound of it, and it catches my attention. I’m coming to hate that name, with how much it’s been battered and abused.

“It’s over, Harry, just drop it. Please.”

“No, I don’ wanna drop it, Becks. ‘s not over.”

After sorting through a good two dozen papers I pick up another, leaving only a handful or so left. Thank God, then maybe I can get out of here.

“Yes, it is, Harry. Stop it.”

“Why?” he retorts through gritted teeth.

He pushes his stacks into the middle.

“Because it was over the second you didn’t try to give me the benefit of the doubt,” I say curtly, staring down at his messy stacks that I combine with mine. Throwing caution out the window, I put them all into one stack that I hug to my chest as I get to my feet.

Finally, I meet his eyes as our shoes squeak against the tiles. He stands between me and my way out. A synonym to sadness tugs at his eyes. His red rose lips pout out of the corner of my eye.

The door clicks behind me with a definite thud as I make my escape.

I have to push away my disappointment when I don’t hear the clud of his footsteps coming after me.

It pains me to wrap my fingers around that handle. I feel a pang seeing his desk and all of his familiar furniture and books. It hurts, even more, to look at his leather couch and see where we sat at each end on late nights. Boxes of takeaway and empty beer bottles would sit on the carpet nearby. Our laughs floating around the room and filling the empty cracks in the walls. And the empty parts of my heart. Maybe even his.

My feet hardly budge from his doorway. I drag them across the room and over to his desk. My eyes land on the scattered mess atop it. Papers. Empty mugs. Forgotten pens. Hastily written notes. I juggle the stack of papers back and forth, trying to find an empty space for them where they won’t get lost. My eyes catch the dark wooden frame beside his phone. His dimpled cheeks and sparkling eyes smile at me from a picture. Next to the excited smile and fake blonde head of hair called his girlfriend. Amber.

“I coulda taken those,” a voice speaks from behind me. I jump at the sound of his voice. Once again, it’s as if he floated into the room without a squeak.

Gulp.

I pick a spot and drop the papers there. Turning around, her perfect smile and perfect face stare at me out of the corner of my vision. Touching my hair nervously, I find him standing in his doorway looking lost. Nervous. A question sits on his face. The way he looks at me is as if he wishes for me to answer it. I look down quickly as thoughts storm through my brain. I strive for the calm after the storm, and I know the only way that’ll happen.

I lift my head, and it finally feels clear for a moment. I meet his eyes and nervously lock gazes.

“Consider this my two week’s notice. I’ll help you find a replacement for me. I’ll train them in and I’ll finish up what I’m doing, but then I’m gone,” I announce suddenly. I wish for my voice to sound balanced and confident, but I’m almost sure it’s the polar opposite.

His eyebrows raise as if controlled by a puppeteer, and his jaw drops nearly in sync. No words fall from his mouth, but I see question after question blossoming behind his big eyes.

The storm behind mine rages and howls as I walk past him. Now it’s my turn to float away like a ghost. If only I could turn invisible, too. And maybe haunt a person or two, like a certain somebody’s girlfriend.

The rest of the week drags on slowly. Rain plagues the city and puddles litter the sidewalks everywhere I go. I count the days until I can leave and call this time in my life a stupid mistake of the past. But the days can’t go fast enough, and with the incessant rain, they only seem to go by slower. The jumbled mess in my head only grows worse, too. The dread. The slight excitement. The relief. The confliction. The sadness. The feeling of being lost. The wondering of what the hell I’ll do next.

Another storm rumbles overhead amidst the beeps and whirring of the elevator. Finally, the red number reaches 17 and the silver doors part. I’m bombarded by the sounds of the seventeenth floor. Chatter. Typing. Phones ringing. It’s not long before it blends into the background, just like any other day.

One week down, one left to go. My Monday is slow and I’m quickly reminded of my restless sleep from the night before.

Caffeine is my saving grace throughout the day that seems like it’ll never end. First, the copier won’t work. Then I get an earful from some stranger on the phone. Next, I realized I forgot my lunch at home. To top it all off, Harry is in a disastrous mood. This last one is by far the worst as if the others weren’t bad enough.

“Wha’s this I hear ‘bout you hangin’ up on people?” a voice rasps from behind me. The four numbers unique to me show on the screen of the kiosk before I hit enter.

“I’m on my lunch break, I’m not working right now,” I reply, walking away and towards the fridge with the hopes I’ll find something forgiving there.

“I don’ care if yer on yer lunch break, or if yer off for tha day. I wann’ talk t’ you,” Harry retorts. I resist rolling my eyes at his remark as my eyes search the shelves of the fridge. The barren shelves.

“Then what do you want?” I huff, turning to face him as the refrigerator door closes with a soft thud.

“First, yer hangin’ up on people, then sumbody called t’ tell me that ya messed up their appointment with me, and lastly I still haven’ gotten tha copies I asked for at nine this morning?” he continues, holding out his ringed fingers and using them to count. He holds up three of his fingers and waves them in the air. As if I don’t know how to count, too. “What, are ya tryin’ to make yer last two weeks hell for tha both of us?”

“No.”

“Well, it sure fookin’ seems like it. What, have ya just given up halfway in? Ya still got anotha week left ya know, a week that still requires you t’ do yer job. And train yer replacement in, but ya seemed t’ forget that part haven’t ya, considerin’ ya’ve still failed t’ find one?” Harry goes on, poking at the ticking time bomb inside of my chest. The anger pumping through my veins goes a little quicker with every word that falls from his lips.

“Fuck off,” I tell him, pronouncing every syllable clearly and slowly.

His green eyes expand in a second flat and instantly regret fills me with a sick feeling. But then the anger returns and my heart starts racing.

“Excuse me? What makes ya think ya can talk t’ me like that? ‘m still yer boss, don’ bloody forget that,” Harry says, his voice rising as he wags a finger at me. Annoyance and anger knits his eyebrows together.

Fear surges into my veins and suddenly I’m tired. My stomach growls, yelling at me to feed it so it won’t be empty anymore. But I couldn’t find five minutes this morning to order something, and I’ve had enough of the rain that the last thing I want to do is step back into it before I absolutely have to.

“Please, just stop. I’m sorry, okay?” I sigh, my voice threatening to break on the last syllable. Suddenly, his features soften and the real Harry peaks out at me from the cracks.

“Becks, I’m sorry, too. I know ‘s not an excuse, but ‘ve been having a hard time lately. ‘s been so hard t’ try and find a replacement tha’s even half as good as you. I jus’ wish we could talk ‘bout this more, and that you could stay. Please, Becks, ‘ll do anything,” Harry says quietly. His voice leaks of pleading and honesty - two things I haven’t seen in a long time.

My shoulders threaten to fall with a loose shrug, but I stop them before they can. I gulp past the knot in my throat and force myself not to give in. A flicker of movement behind him catches my eye, and I look over briefly to see what it was. The door opens and in walks Asher with two brown paper bags clutched in his hands and a question painting his face.

“No, Harry. My mind is made up, I’m leaving. I spoke with somebody who sounds like they’d be a good fit - she’s coming in tomorrow,” I say softly, defeat tugging at the corners of my voice but the edge sticks. And so does my decision.

I walk away after the last word hits the air before he can say anything else. The smell of greasy fish and chips tempts my taste buds as I near Asher.

He flashes me a small smile before whispering, “are you okay?” as he turns to follow me out the door. I nod ‘yes’ and take the bag he holds out towards me.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

A microwavable cup of oatmeal. Picking titles off Harry’s bookshelves and making copies at his request, over and over. Then putting them back where they were, in alphabetical order by title. Picking up his newest dry cleaning. Taking care of his shopping lists. The next mornings consisted of this. Oh, and ordering take away because guess who was too busy again to make herself lunch?

“Hello, is anybody home in there?” somebody says. I jump a few inches off of my seat and jerk my head up to see who’s talking to me. Harry. With his large hands resting on the edge of my desk. Wrinkling papers and pushing things around. “You okay, love? You look a little down, and tired, and-.”

“Okay, I get it. I don’t look the best. Noted,” I reply, looking away from him and to my computer.

“I-I didn’ mean it that way . . Really, are you sure yer okay, Becks? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, everything is fine, thanks.”

“Okay, if you insist,” he replies. He finally lifts his hands from my desk and makes it look like he’s going to leave. But he doesn’t. He continues to stand there and look at me, awkwardly.

“Um, can I help you with something?” I ask him, holding my hand out before I rest my chin in my palm.

It takes him a short moment to collect his thoughts. But then after looking around mindlessly his eyes return to me. “Ya know if ya need a letter of recommendation or something, I’d be glad t’ write one for ya. Unless ya’ve already found a job and ‘m saying this kind late . . I mean if yer looking for another personal assistant job which whoever that’s for they’re tha luckiest in tha world,” Harry goes on. He talks like he’s never going to stop, but I wouldn’t put it past him. “Have ya already found a new job?”

“No, I uh haven’t. But I’m working on it,” I reply. I awkwardly meet his eyes that gently look back into mine. An unwelcome thought creeps in through a crack in my reserve, and there I am feeling the weight of its words.

If only things could always be easy like this and he could be easy like this then I wouldn’t be looking for another job. But they’re not.

“Good. ‘m sure you’ll find something great, whatever it is ya choose. Anybody will be lucky t’ have you,” he rambles on quietly. The tension in the air grows and I suddenly wish this conversation was over minutes ago. “Ya wouldn’ ever go and work for Tomlinson or the bloody Scotts-.”

“No no, of course not. I’d never do that to you,” I reply quickly. A quick smile flashes across his face and a blush pinches his cheeks.

“Yeah yeah, I know. I didn’ want it t’ seem like I thought you would, but-.”

“I know, Harry. It’s ok,” I tell him softly. Now it’s my turn to smile, or the best I can try.

“Y-you’ll be ok?” Harry says slowly, thumbing at his bottom lip. The question catches me off guard, and I look away from the feeling in his eyes. I can’t handle it. This is already hard enough, and the two weeks isn’t even up.

I clear my throat and pull my head back up to look at him. I nod at his question and his head moves a little too. He bites at his bottom lip and turns his eyes away.

“You have an appointment later with Judge O’Connell at 3, and then the new prospect, Amelia Jones, should be here in fifteen to interview,” I say quickly so as to avoid any more sappy talk. But I quickly regret it, because knowing Harry it’ll be another few days until another moment like this.

And I only have six left, counting today. Six days to figure everything out, and to let him go. As if I could do that.

“So. . ,” he rasps as the hum of the heating fills my ears after the previously incessant chatter.

“What?” I ask softly, tearing my gaze from the wall to Harry’s inquisitive eyes that search for mine.

“What did ya think of her?” he continues, speaking with his expressive eyebrows that climb up his forehead. The pen in his hand ventures out towards me in question before it returns to its stay between his teeth.

“She was good, probably the best one yet,” I admit hesitantly, looking down at my clipboard holding an interview sheet similar to the one in his lap. She checked nearly all of the boxes, and the one’s she missed were miniscule. Insignificant. She’s damn near perfect. I hate it.

“She was better than good, she was bloody great,” he nearly sings with a giddy smile, and I find it tugging at my heart. I shouldn’t feel resentment and jealousy when I’m the one choosing to leave, but this whole situation is wrong and nontraditional so what’s one more thing then? “I think ‘ll hire her. What d’ya think?”

“Go ahead, you’re the boss,” I reply, standing from my chair and stretching my arms above my head. Images of her flame-like curls pop into my head along with her piercing jade eyes and beautiful laugh that put a spark in Harry’s eyes.

“Becks,” Harry begins as I shake my head with the hopes the motion will break up the unpleasant thoughts enough to make them turn into dust and blow away. And maybe to get him to stop calling me that, too. If only it were that easy. “I want yer opinion. If ya don’ think she’s good enuff, tell me.”

“She’s great, Harry, she’s more than good enough. She said so herself that she’s willing to learn and has some similar job experience. I’ll give her a call and tell her she can start training tomorrow,” I respond, turning my head to meet his eyes briefly before I head for the door and out of this painful moment.

“Ya know, you can still change yer mind . . ,” he blurts, his words rooting me to the spot but persuading me to do the opposite.

“Harry, please don’t. What’s done is done.”

“We can still talk ‘bout this,” he starts, but I don’t let him finish.

“No, we can’t,” I retort, whipping around to meet his eyes begging for mine. “And you know exactly why, Harry. It was your choice, not mine.”

If he said something, I didn’t hear it. I’m passing the threshold and out the door before he has the chance to speak and before I have the chance to. There’s so much I want to say, but I don’t know if I’ll ever know how to.

Beep.

The elevator climbs another floor and when I look up I’ve arrived at floor 17, for the last time. My first time being just a few short months ago, although it’s felt far longer. Nothing has really changed besides the newness of the place fading away, and the redhead standing at my desk that’s almost her’s.

I walk to the break room to clock in for the last time. I hear voices spilling out of the cracked door before I even enter.

“I think she’s the longest one he’s kept around,” a man’s voice remarks.

“I’m glad he got rid of her, or whatever happened, ‘cuz this new one’s much better looking. I wouldn’t blame him if he slept with this assistant for real this time, heck maybe I will even,” his friend snickers beside him, their backs to me as they drop sugar cubes into their cups of tea with laughs.

“What, ya mean he didn’t sleep with this one already?” the first bloke asks with a soft laugh. The stirring of their spoons fills the short silences between their gossiping.

“No, he didn’t,” I announce loudly, and I watch one of their teas fall over and begin to coat the counter they stand at. They both face me with a “deer in the headlights” look before moving their feet as fast as they can to leave the scene of the crime.

“Ignore them,” a voice says behind me, and who I find to belong to my nearly only friend here.

“Easier said than done,” I reply, following him to the kiosk to clock in.

“How ya holdin’ up?” Asher asks, looking behind me after he puts his code in.

“I couldn’t even tell ya,” I confess as I punch my number in for one of the last times. I bring my eyes to meet his and I feel my lip wobble when our eyes connect.

He reaches out and wraps an arm around me, pulling me into his side.

“Come on now, don’t start crying because you’ll miss me too much,” he jokes as I nuzzle my head into his chest, my arms winding around his taut middle. I laugh with him as I swipe at a tear on my cheek.

“You’re the only one I’ll miss,” I tell him, looking up to find his eyes that are somewhere up there at the top of his lanky body.

“We both know that’s not true,” he whispers with a flick of his brow. I nod and return my cheek to his chest and give him a squeeze. “Go get ‘em, Tiger,” are the last words I hear from him with a wink and a toothy grin. Oh, Ash, what would I do without you?

“Good morning, Ms. Holte,” somebody says as my fingers leave the handle of the break room door.

“Oh hi, Amelia. How many times do I have to tell you to call me Becky?” I reply casually as I meet the eyes of Amelia Jones.

“Yes yes, of course, I’m sorry uh, Becky,” she says nervously, stumbling over her words and nearly her feet as we walk to my desk.

“It’s okay. How are you this morning? Do you think you’re almost ready to take over for me on Monday?” I ask her with a teasing tone, even though it’s the plain truth and a hard one to swallow.

“I think so, I just hope I can do as good of a job as you, Becky,” she replies with a sugary sweet smile.

I thank her before we start our day with her sitting at the desk and me sitting at the side now because this is how it’s going to be from now. I still can’t get used to it, even if all but a few of my personal effects are now replaced with her own. I gulp before forcing a smile and letting her begin.

“Lookin’ great this morning, ladies,” a familiar raspy voice chirps and I look up to see Harry coasting on by with a wink. I hope Amelia can get over her little crush before Monday because God knows that isn’t going to bode well. I should know.

Mid morning I take a tea break as well as an Amelia break, because God, how can somebody be that happy all of the time? I drop a couple of sugar cubes into my tea and stir the spoon around, hearing its clinking and scraping as another sound interrupts my thoughts.

“Are you actually getting sad about leaving this job finally? I thought this was something you’ve wanted for a long time,” Asher’s sunshine voice mumbles from the doorway as he closes the door behind him.

“Yes and yes,” I reply with a small laugh and return my eyes to my cup of light brown tea.

“Ah, I knew it,” he responds, pointing a finger at me. He stops in front of me and leans against the countertop, looking around and behind him nervously. Asher wrings his hands together and nibbles his lip, things I’ve only seen him do when he has something on his mind.

“God, can’t anybody around here act normally today?” I huff before taking a cautionary sip, but it’s still too hot to drink quite yet. “I swear, Amelia is acting even more weird than usual. She kept having me help her with copies and scans, even though she nailed that the first day here, and then was talking secretively to Harry a lot. Then there’s Harry and Myles acting weird, I mean even Jennings is being nice to me today, and then there’s you acting like you’re being watched by the cops.”

“I am not acting weird!” he protests with a funny look, but I think we both know I don’t believe him for a second.

“Whatever, I’ll find out why soon enough,” I say, taking my cup of tea and leaving the breakroom to continue supervising Amelia even though she’s nailing every part of the job and she hasn’t even officially started. I’m not even gone from this job yet and I’m being shown up by my replacement. Ugh.

“Hey, Becky? . . Becky?” a voice speaks, interrupting my daydreaming.

“Uh yeah?” I say, spinning around to find Amelia standing in front of the desk. Now her desk. Her bangs crowd her eyes as she tightens the bow on her waist tying her wrap around violet dress that hugs her in all of the right places. She even has a better body than me, what the fuck.

“I uh t-told the client coming at noon that we’ll go a-and wait for them in the conference room, so um if you’re ready . . ,” she trails off, not knowing what to say next because she can hardly get out a full sentence as it is.

“Uh yeah, sure let’s go,” I say, getting to my feet. “There should be some notepads and pens in there. We’ll just do a preliminary consultation with them to see what kind of representation they would need from Harry, and also if their case would be up his alley,” I explain, and she nods fast as if I’ve already explained this before.

As she leads me away from the desk and down the hallway towards the conference room and the offices, I rack my brain wondering if I’ve already told her this. I’ve done this annoying repeating thing before already, and it’s embarrassing enough when she tells me that she knows because I’ve gone over it already. I don’t want it to happen again, especially in front of a client. I don’t know why I’m worrying about it anyways when it’s my last day here, I mean-

Amelia interrupts my inner monologue when she opens the door to the dark conference room and suddenly the lights turn on as the rest of my senses are bombarded.

“Surprise!” a mix of voices shout at me, freezing me in place. “Happy going away party, Becky!” my coworkers continue as they throw their arms in the air, confetti blowers popping, kazoos kazooing, and party hats atop their heads.

My mouth opens as if to speak, but the words run away from me as my cheeks pinch with a smile. “Oh my- I don’t know what to say. Um, wow thanks, everybody!” I beam with excitement and am suddenly overwhelmed with hugs from everybody and anybody from the firm - people I don’t think I’ve ever seen and others who I didn’t like and who didn’t like me, including “deer in the headlights” guys from this morning.

“I’m sorry, I hated to keep it from you, but I promised,” Asher says, finally coming to my rescue with a drink he shoves into my hand as he wraps me up in a warm hug.

“It’s okay, Ash, I guess I can let you off the hook,” I laugh as I hug him back.

“I’m really gonna miss you, ya know. I don’t know how I’m going to survive this shithole without you,” he continues, giving me a kiss on the head.

“Awww, Ash, don’t make me start crying again.”

“I know, I’m just so good at it,” he giggles with a wobbly voice, and I laugh too.

“Go have something to eat, but not that Jello salad Bitchy Trishie from IT brought. It’s probably poisoned with her spit or something,” he teases, and I smack his arm playfully as he walks away sticking his tongue out at me.

I laugh softly to myself before taking a drink from my cup of fruit punch, looking around at everybody milling around. Eating free food. Hugging one another. Laughing with each other. Talking with people they say they hate. And signing the poster board on the table by the food, writing fake messages to me that I’ll most likely read only once or never. I tsk when I see one of the most gossipy girls signing it, but as I turn my head to look away my vision is blessed with that of something else.

My lips spark with an instant smile that outdoes my surprise of just a few minutes ago. He sees me just a few seconds later, and a smile tugs his lips upwards effortlessly.

“What d’ya think, did I do a good job?” Harry asks as he stops in front of me, holding his arms out and my jaw drops in astonishment.

“Who d’ya think did it?” he laughs, giving me a fake glare. I barely have time to laugh with him when people start clinking their solo cups with plastic spoons - it’s an even more annoying sound than you would think - and shouting “speech, speech, speech” over and over with their eyes on Harry.

Harry thumbs at his bottom lip as he stares off into the distance before his eyes float over to me and glue themselves there. “Becky, or as I like to fondly call her, Becks, I dunno where to even begin with you, love . . Never have I had a personal assistant like you. No offense to you, Amelia darling, but there’s never been one like you, Becks. Yer one of a kind and nobody could ever replace you. Once again, no offense,” Harry continues, occasionally pointing at Amelia laughing and making her blush up, but nonetheless, she waves him away in response. “There aren’t even words that exist to describe you and how amazing you’ve been t’ me and tha firm, and I know because I went to uni and fucking law school so I know a lotta big words,” insert here a throaty laugh of Harry’s echoed by those of the room’s. “Yer a bloody angel with all the shit you put up with from me, from several coffee runs a day, to grocery runs, to dry cleaning runs, to going down to the creepy ass files room and wading through spider webs to find what I needed for my cases. You were my lucky charm, Becks, you were tha reason I won so many cases, ‘cuz if I didn’t have ya there checking me notes or making sure I did it all right, I dunno where Ida been without you. And ‘s safe t’ say I dunno where ‘ll be without you afta t’day, or tha firm for that matter. So thank you, thank you, and thank you a billion for all that ya did in yer short time here and I wish you tha best in tha future. I know yer gonna do bloody amazing things out in the world, I can’ wait t’ hear all ‘bout ‘em. I hope we’ll see you back out there in our li’l law world soon, I know you’d kill it,” Harry says, his voice cracking in places that pull tears from my eyes and down my cheeks. “I don’t care what any o’ these idiots say, ‘cuz nobody’s gonna miss you as much as ‘ll miss you,” he ends with tears threading through his words, jolting his voice to a stop.

The tears welling in his glassy eyes finally topple over and land on his cheeks, just as he steps forward to embrace me in a warm hug. My face goes into his chest and his chin rests atop my head, fitting together perfectly like a puzzle piece as our arms wind around one another. “I meant every word I said, Becks. I hope and pray ya’ll finish up school and fight our fight, cuz I know you’d kill the hell out of it . . If ya do, yer welcome back here, we’d be bloody lucky t’ have ya again. Anytime yer welcome, Becks . . . I really dunno what ‘ll do without ya here, I dunno ‘bout that Amelia . . ‘m so sorry about everything, Becks, you have no idea how sorry I am; it kills me every day,” Harry speaks into my hair, tears strangling his voice every few words. I sniffle against his chest, spilling tears there and he sniffles above me where he too spills them.

“I’m going to miss you more than I’d like to admit,” I confess into the collar of his silky mustard button down. “I won’t miss the midnight texts or 4 coffee runs a day,” I laugh and he does it with me. “Thank you, that all truly means a lot to me, Harry. I wish things didn’t have to end this way either . . but they do,” I finish, pulling away from him and looking him in the teary eyes briefly before severing the pain and wiping away the same from my cheeks.

I wish it didn’t have to be this way, either, but it has to be. But that’s your fault, Harry, not mine.

43 notes · View notes

andy-loves-corgis · 5 years

Text

All of The Lights - Ch 4 (TRR AU)

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: well, now just the dysfunctional Rileyx Liam and the awful Liam x Madeleine

Rating: PG

Word count: ~ 3,300

Notes: I’m so sorry and I hated this chapter, that’s all I can say. Thanks, whoever is still here ♥️

WARNING: Read the Prologue! Every chapter has TWO timelines, Before (about a year before the Prologue) and After (two years after the prologue), if you don’t pay attention to that you might get confused!

Fast cars, shooting stars

BEFORE

Drake stretched his fingers absentmindedly, after a week immobilized he decided upon taking the gauze off and though a little sore, they seemed to have healed perfectly.

“What in the seven hells?!”

Liam was horrified, Drake could see by his contorted face looking outside the tinted windows of the limo.

Looking like every bit of a Cordonian Sweetheart, Riley stood in front of the press, half of her chocolate locks now a deep shade of red, some blonde spots seen between the brown and the red, redder than Liam’s livid face.

“I’m telling you, Drake. She has a very unique way of driving me insane” Liam said burying his face in his hands.

“I think it suits her” Drake tried to control the smirk in his lips.

Yes, Riley had her own way of bringing hell to Liam, or basically anyone who crossed her way. He knew she had been stressing over her broken ankle and not being able to care for herself, whether dying her hair herself or painting an entire wall of her home, she would always find a way to express her need of change.

Leaving the limo with a now very composed Liam, Drake spotted another livid individual, Madeleine’s nostrils flared under her perfectly done makeup, of course she would hate to divide the spotlight with Riley.

The press went wild as Liam walked to Riley, pressing a chaste kiss on her cheek, and whispering something on her ear that made her face fall as he turned smiling to the camera.

That’s none of your business

He just walked away from the frenzy of the crowd, who had just spotted Leo, poor guy, Leo was suffering so much he even lost weight, which could be completely related to his drinking habits and whole-night sex with his maids. The future king was doing anything to forget that he would soon to be married to one of those uptight bland women or worse... Madeleine.

On the far corner, next to the boats, Drake found his father’s pupil, looking as tired as someone could be.

“You look like shit, Bastien” Drake laughed, standing beside his only living father figure.

“Every night with Leo takes a week out of my life span” Bastien whispered.

Drake tried unsuccessfully suppress a laugh.

Looking at all the nobles in their exclusive designer clothes gathering around the harbor just to see those girls who never tied a knot in their life, Drake felt glad for living in the invisible sidelines, he always thought that he preferred the snarky comments and side outraged glances than the fake smiles and sugar-coated condescending words.

“I hate those stuff, how to you manage to survive to every one of these things?” Drake sighed as soon as the boats sailed. “It’s just so boring.”

“It’s just work, it’s not every time that we are breathing on some terrorists neck” Bastien simply said. “Sometimes you are in Bósnia-Herzegovina at 04:23 am to pick up a drunk heir to the throne.”

Drake snorted again, excusing himself to get some water.

“No, Liam, YOUR problem is that I didn’t tell you I was going to dye MY hair!” It was undoubtedly Riley’s voice behind the drink station.

“Well, if you wanted so much to look like Olivia, you should’ve dyed it all” Drake could almost picture Liam’s smirk, knowing he’d hit a soft spot.

“EXCUSE ME?!”

Drake cleared his throat and the voices turned to angry whispers, until he heard hard steps towards the Riva, Liam appeared chewing the insides of his cheeks and adjusting the collar of the shirt under his sweater, barely throwing a second glance at Drake.

The commoner made his way to the secluded place where Riley stood leaning on a fence massaging her temples.

He was about to greet her when they heard the cheering voices of the crowd.

“Shit!” Riley exclaimed.

Even though what unfolded in front of him wasn’t anything new, every time Drake saw Riley inhaling deeply before putting the most dazzling smile on her face, he was amazed - saddened to the core, but amazed nonetheless.

“Oh hi!” She said in a cheerful tone, if Drake hadn’t grown up with her, he might have believed she was happy. “Mind to help?”

One of her crutches had fallen to the ground and Drake quickly lowered himself to get it, he noticed her swollen calves and a crease formed in his eyebrows.

“Thanks” she smiled and left walking like with her head held high.

Sometimes he couldn’t understand what it took to be like that, to live like that.

Madeleine won, obviously, as if she hadn’t paid Nick Thompson to sail for her, but in the end, it was all power games during social season.

Imagine a dozen of the most well-crafted women of the kingdom, they were molded since they were able to walk to sit still, look pretty, pour tea and to think like true strategist.

No, Cordonian court wasn’t a complete sexist place, of course as in any patriarchal society men would have the upper hand on the ladder to success, but women were always behind that.

Drake watched as Madeleine hugged Riley while the other suitors clapped, those sweet smiles only hiding their next step.

“Do you like whiskey?” He heard Liam’s voice next to him.

“Was that even supposed to sound like a question?” Drake rose an eyebrow to his best friend.

“Hope McCallan isn’t too cheap for you” Liam’s smirk grew.

“Liam, every time you come up with the whiskey talk it’s because you’re gonna ask me to do something I don’t wanna do... what is it?”

Liam cleared his throat but kept the smirk

“Well, there’s whiskey... in Olivia’s yacht”

The prospect of that night becoming a huge nightmare has shifted to 112%.

“Please...?” Liam gave him a forced smile.

Gathering all the force he still had, Drake just nodded, rubbing his eyes to avoid the scowl.

Well, at least there will be whiskey.

Olivia’s yacht was big enough for a family of four to live comfortably, but oddly enough she gathered her guests on the small deck by the jacuzzi.

The sun was setting and they were a swimming distance from the shore, but the view was still a breathtaking, sipping from his whiskey, Drake noticed that Riley was focused on another view.

By the jacuzzi Liam laughed with Olivia, their elbows touching as they sat side by side in the hot water. To any spectator the scene unfolding would look as friends having a good time together, but to anyone who knew that little love triangle, it was way more than that.

York: I’m about to throw myself in the waters.

He tried not to laugh at the message on his phone, Riley was known for being dramatic, so he casually walked to the jacuzzi, under Kiara’s blushing gaze and Olivia’s scowl.

“Hey” he squatted next to Liam. “I don’t think Riley is feeling well, I’ll take her back okay?”

Liam’s knitted his eyebrows puzzled.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s feeling nauseous” Drake came up with the first excuse he could think of.

“Oh, well...”

“Leighton can take them to the shore, Li” Olivia interjected without looking at Drake.

“See you at the palace” Drake taped Liam’s shoulder, wetting his hand in the process.

He walked between the crowd, their champagne glasses glinting on the fading sun.

“Let’s get out of here, York” he looked at his miserable friend.

“Thank God” she answered grabbing his hand for support.

It was a short way to the shore and they made their way in silence as droplets of sea water splashed on their faces.

Drake helped her hop on his truck and finally felt at ease feeling Riley get comfortable turning the radio on.

Night fell as the black truck made its way through the woods near the palace where a clearing welcome then along with a smirk Riley couldn’t suppress.

“And I thought you were just going to leave me alone in my room to scroll through Twitter” she laughed as he helped her out of the car and proceeded to open the pick up truck bed where some pillows and covers awaited them.

“I got your back, York” he smiled as she got cozy on the pillows and he pulled his guitar.

After a minute of only the soft melody he was playing and the wind hushing on tree leaves she turned to him.

“Sing something”

He gave it a little thought, slowly striking the chords before he decided.

I wanna be drunk when I wake up

On the right side of the wrong bed

And never an excuse I made up

Tell you the truth I hate

What didn't kill me,

It never made me stronger at all

Love will scar your make up

Lips sticks to me, so now I maybe lean back there

I'm sat here wishing I was sober

I know I'll never hold you like I used to

But a house gets cold when you cut the heating

Without you to hold I'll be freezing

Can't rely on my heart to beat in

'Cause you take parts of it every evening

Take words out of my mouth just from breathing

Replace with phrases like 'when you leaving me? '

Should I? Should I?

Maybe I'll get drunk again

I'll be drunk again, I'll be drunk again

To feel a little love

“That’s beautiful... and sad. You should really start playing it somewhere” her small voice filled the silence. “Is it about Erika?”

Drake shrugged.

“I guess it was when I first thought about it”

“You never told me why you two broke up” she propped herself on her elbows.

“It just didn’t work out”

“Well, I never liked her” Riley laughed.

“You never liked any of my girlfriends, York” he threw a pillow at her.

“Hey! I’ll like her when it’s the right one okay?”

“Yeah, now shut up and look up” he adjusted himself next to her.

He heard her soft gasp at the sight of the falling stars, as if she was the same 10-year-old girl he brought there along with his sister and father to see their first meteor shower. He felt her hand grabbing two of his fingers and smiled.

“Make a wish, Walker”

AFTER

The sun wasn’t too high in the sky when he finished shaving, God forbids Madeleine saw a glint of facial hair on anyone at any of her events, not that he minded what she thought, but he rather be invisible at this event.

A cup of coffee and a croissant later, he found himself at the site of the barn raising, it would be so fun watch the nobles having the day to pretend they have any inclination to do hard work. Penelope and Kiara for example were wearing high heels, he betted 5 euros one of them would fall in 5 minutes.

Drake laughed to himself but got pulled out of his thoughts by a loud engine blasted on the road, the feeling of déja vu overcoming him, he knew exactly who loved loud engines drawing the attention to her entrance.

Shit

A white Bugatti stopped at the entrance and for a second, after seeing the frightened face of Hana getting out of the car, he forgot that he was pissed.

Although he remembered on the next second when Riley got out of the driver’s side laughing heartedly, she was wearing a simple plaid shirt, jeans shorts and sneakers, all the flashes were on her, the first press appearance since she was back two weeks ago.

“Lady Riley! Lady Riley!” The press screamed to get her attention. “How does if feel to be back?”

“Amazing!” She smiled, but he saw right through her, she didn’t get any better at hiding her lies and discomfort than she did at 18.

“Lady Riley! How do you describe your style today?”

“Riley York ready to build a barn” Maxwell made his way through the press to hug Riley and Hana.

“Lady Riley! Don Brine here! We see your coming with a new crew, Lady Hana and Lord Maxwell, does this has anything to do with your best friend getting engaged to your ex while you were away?”

Her smile faltered for a second, Drake held his breath without even knowing, across from the press he finally acknowledged Madeleine grabbing Liam’s arms forcefully while the future king didn’t blink watching Riley getting close to them.

“I think I’ll have to set the record straight” she pulled Madeleine’s hand into hers, locking them in an uncomfortable hold. “Liam, Madeleine and I all grew up together, and some people change along the way, some relationships change along the way.”

Riley’s angelic face gave the future monarchs the sweetest smile, Drake could almost touch the longing in Liam’s eyes.

“Liam and Madeleine will rule wisely and will be remembered for generations, and I couldn’t be more than happy for them. i guess that’s all.”

“One more thing Lady York. Ana de Luca for trend. We got an anonymous tip that you were away on a rehab clinic for self harm, what do you have to say about that?”

Drake saw Riley twisting Madeleine’s hand.

“Ana, some people don’t know when to shut up” she smirked and left them under the urges for more words and flashes blinking.

He watched as Liam cleared his throat and gave his speech on the barn raising, completely mechanical as he forced himself not to look over to Riley laughing with her friends.

Drake saw himself standing awkwardly with his hands buried in his pockets until he felt a light touch in his arms.

“It will all happen again, won’t it?” Kiara’s black eyes met his and wandered where Riley was. “She’s a bulldozer Drake, I remember how you were when she left, how Liam was, god, even Penelope...”

“Shall we start?” Liam started gathering everyone, not giving him any time to answer Kiara.

“Kiara and Penelope can help with the hay, Maxwell and Hana can take care of painting the fences and... Drake and Riley will work lifting the wood of the barn walls.” Madeleine smiled proudly at herself and Liam choked.

“It’s too much of manual labor for a Lady, my dear, I’m sure Lady Riley could trade places with Maxwell” Liam pondered.

“No way, it would give my hands blisters!” Maxwell interjected and Riley laughed.

“Don’t be silly dear, Lady Riley spent the last year as a working woman in America.” Madeleine’s fire gaze pierced through Liam’s blue eyes.

“Hey Liam, it’s okay really, I used to do some heavy lifting at work...” Riley finally spoke and Liam’s gaze went from her to Drake.

At that moment Drake understood why Liam didn’t want her inside the barn.

“Told you so..” Kiara whispered beside him.

“I can help you two...”

“No, you can’t!” Madeleine exclaimed more fiercely that she probably intended. “We need to make rounds and pose for pictures dear, it’s our engagement event after all.”

“Then we should go!” A completely anxious Penelope stated, wanting as much as any of them to be excluded from the awkwardness.

Drake sighed and made his way to the structure of the barn without a second glance to Riley. He was preparing the wood when she reached their spot.

“Hey, let me help” she said smiling and reaching for the wood he was carrying, he didn’t reply.

They worked in silence for almost an hour, she didn’t back up from any activity, from carrying heavy buckets of water for the horses, to helping him pulling up the wood.

“We’re still a good team!” She exclaimed after most of the work was done, he stole a glance and her proud look and warm smile, a drop of sweat descending from her neck.

“We’re not a team” he grunted at his relapse.

The smile vanished from her face.

“After everything, how you can say that?”

“After everything, how can YOU say that?” Drake spat turning fully to her. “Why the hell did you come back, Riley? Why didn’t you just disappear and let us live our pathetic lives here?”

“Why didn’t you let me drown, Drake? It would definitely be better than be here now, right?”

Drakes face fell, and suddenly flashes of that fateful afternoon flooded him like the gelid winter see, the white dress plastered on her numb skin, the muttering blue lips, his heart beating so hard in his chest, wanting to trade places with hers, to make her alive again.

He got close to her, closer than he should for the sake of his sanity, he could feel the heat coming from her body as her resolve slowly crumbled and his rage grew.

“Go to hell, Riley. Fuck you!” She shrank at his words, spat so cruelly it made her eyes watery.

Drake suddenly couldn’t breath so he left the almost finished barn to the hired workers to complete, the sun hanging low in the sky only heating his chest more, he wanted to scream, but he refused to be seen by anyone of the court, so, like a coward, he just sneaked out.

The humming sound of his truck engine was the only thing calming him right now, he drove aimlessly for more than an hour until night came and he saw himself somewhere he almost forgot it existed, somewhere he locked in her mind along with every other memory of Riley.

He sat on the empty boot of his truck, opening a can of beer and looking at the sky, as if he was a child, he was desperate for a shooting star so he could ask for everything to be normal again.

The loud engine once again pulled him from his thoughts, the white Bugatti now had several brown spots of dirt on its side, she sat on the hood, no respect for a €4 million car, one more reason he could add to the list for hating her.

“I’m sorry.” She said without looking at him, her tired eyes lost, miles away, in the sky.

Drake looked at the beer in his hands, then back to the sky.

“I shouldn’t have said that today.” He heard her sighing. “I actually never thanked you, so thank you, Drake.”

“For what?” He gave another gulp to his beer.

“For taking me out of the waters, whichever mean it has, you saved my life in more ways than that for years, but that day, that day I only came back breathing because of you.” Her eyes were full of tears once again, eyes pleading to him. “I didn’t come back to screw everything, I just... I miss my best friend, Drake.”

“I just can’t understand why, Riley?” He licked his dry lips, thinking of how to say it. “You gave up on us, you decided to stay, and then... why? You really meant it? You really wanted it?”

He really hoped she said no.

“Yes” Her voice was almost a whisper. “I wanted to die that day.”

“Why?” He tried in vain to keep his emotions under control.

“I don’t know” she dried her cheeks with her sleeves. “ I came back to try and find it out, it’s the only thing holding me back, I need to find out. Then I promise you’ll never hear of me again.”

If you wanna be out of the tags, just let me know

@drakewalkerrosenberg @sleepwalkingelite @agent-bossypants @pug-bitch @iplaydrake @rtinaz @silviasutton1989 @ooo-barff-ooo @likethetailofacomet @notoriouscs @mind-reader1 @annekebbphotography @walkerismychoice @tmarie82 @blackwidow2721 @thequeenchoices @missameliep @jovialyouthmusic @perksof-everything @choicesmacmakes @carabeth @drakenazario @drakesensworld @moneyfordiamonds @ao719 @lynne1993 @ilovedrakewalker23 @msjpuddleduck @iplaydrake @drakewalkerisreal @violinist3121 @wannabemc2 @gibbles82 @furiousherringoperatortoad @jenp02cutie-blog

#drake x mc #drake walker #choices fanfiction #choices trr #trr fanfic #the royal romance fanfic #choices stories you play #the royal romance #trr drake #trr

51 notes · View notes

especially-heinous-ada · 6 years

Text

A Police Gala pt. 4

Image found at: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/613826624183185352/

Part four has been re-written! I lost part four along with part three when my laptop took a dive the other day, and I was crushed, so it took some time to work up the motivation to re-write. While part four is not as long as previous chapters, it’s a good one! Brace yourselves, because we get to see Rafael’s reaction to the reader coming down to his office! Thank you guys for all the support! As always, feel free to leave comments and constructive criticism: I love them!

If you haven’t read the previous chapters, please do! Part 1-- Part 2-- Part 3

Rafael sighs and looks up from his paperwork to take a sip from his fourth cup of coffee. He looks at the clock. It’s 10:00 A.M., but he’s been in his office since 7:00. He was hoping to get as much paperwork done today as possible because he knew was going to be in court all day tomorrow. However, fate had other plans, as there had been a steady parade of people in and out of his office ever since he arrived. SVU detectives complaining that he wasn’t pressing charges on the Clydefeld case, the DA giving a lecture about how we can’t afford a mistake on the Patricksson case, and so on.

The only person he hadn’t seen yet today was Liv. Though he knew she’d be in his office eventually. He was surprised that people had come to visit him that early, but figured he must have a reputation by now for being here all the time. He can’t say he’s shocked—he’s certainly earned it. He finished his coffee, then got up to get cup number five. He began pouring freshly brewed coffee from the carafe when someone rapped quietly at his office door. I’ll bet that’s Liv now.

“Come in,” he calls, without bothering to look over his shoulder.

He hears the clicking of high heel shoes enter his office. So I was right. It is Liv.

“So, what good news have you brought me today, Liv?” he snarks. It seemed like any time she came to his office, it was always with bad news. He didn’t dislike Liv. In fact, she had become somewhat of a friend to him. However, bad luck seemed to follow her everywhere she went, like a dark, ominous cloud. If he were a superstitious man, he would think she was cursed.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Were you expecting someone for an appointment?” Rafael turns his head to face the voice. It’s familiar, but it’s not Liv’s.

“Y/N.” He says, with a look of confusion. He walks back to his desk, and takes a seat before motioning for you to follow suit. You don’t move. This is a standing moment. He looks at you, reading your expression, then sets his coffee down and stands once more.

“I have a bone to pick with you.” You announce.

“Go right ahead. There’s not much left to pick at though, a couple people already took their turn with me before you got here.” He smirked. For a moment, you almost felt guilty for wanting to add onto his list of troubles. Damn it, don’t you dare fall for his charm. Somehow, he looked even more handsome today. You’re here because you’re angry. You quickly contemplated how to express what you were feeling, and why you were here. You decided to go right to the heart of the matter.

“You didn’t call.”

“I’m so sorry. I can explain—I—” You didn’t wait for him to finish formulating his sentence. You needed to get everything out while you still had the nerve. You moved to the short side of his desk, so that you were only a few feet away from him.

“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.” His expression sinks; you figure it’s probably not the first time he’s heard that. “I never give away my personal number. You’re the first guy I’ve given it to in two years. Maybe my instincts are off because I haven’t been on the dating scene for a while, but I thought we had a connection. We danced, and laughed and you almost kissed me. Twice! You promised you’d call. But you never did. Why did you promise when you knew you wouldn’t call?” You feel your anger and frustration reach their peak. You were furious that he’d dared to deceive you; but you had one more question to ask.

“Why?” The word comes out smaller and shakier than you had hoped it would, and you realize that you’re fighting back tears. You wonder why you’re so upset. Is it because you hate rejection? Is it because you’d been hurt by a charming liar once before? You push that trauma to the back of your mind to be dealt with another day. Right now, you were angry at Rafael Barba. You needed answers. Answers only he could give.

“I’m sorry. I understand you’re mad. You have every right to be. When I promised I would call, I meant it but—” he opens a small drawer toward the top of his desk and pulls out a piece of paper, setting it down on the wooden surface of the desktop. You frown. “That’s what was left of your number after my suit got soaked by that taxi. I couldn’t read it, and I didn’t have any other way to contact you. I didn’t want to show up at your apartment like a stalker and scare you off. I even went to another charity gala two nights ago to see if you were there, but—”

“But I didn’t go because I was planning to go to the one yesterday.” You offer with a nod. Your anger had faded, but you were still apprehensive. He steps closer to you as you watch his every move. He’s close enough now for you to smell his delicious cologne once again.

“I’m not very good at this, I’ll admit.” He says honestly.

“This? What is this?” You ask, curiously, motioning between the two of you. He’s close enough that you have to tilt your head up to look at him—he’s nearly a whole head taller than you now that you weren’t wearing your signature sky-high stilettos. Not that you were surprised; you were quite petite. Half of New York was taller than you were. He meets your gaze with his and you feel your heart flutter. He steps even closer.

“I’m not sure,” he admits, “but I’d like to figure it out, if you’re willing to give me the chance.”

“I’m not sure, either.” You say, appreciating his honesty. You glance down at his chest before answering. Today, he was wearing a dark grey suit. His dress shirt was red with white stripes and he had a coordinating red necktie. You appreciated his fashion sense before looking back up at him. “I’d like to figure it out too.”

His face softens. He must have thought you’d reject him. You don’t blame him. After all, you came down here to tear him a new one. You can’t help but notice that standing here in his office, he looks broader and more powerful than he did at the gala. His jaw looks even more structured than the five year plan your financial investor had relayed to you in explicit detail earlier this week, and you’re hit with a sudden, urgent need to suck on it.

“You wanna step up to bat one more time? It’s a new day.” You say, smiling deviously. He appears confused for a moment before he remembers his baseball analogy from the other day. He moves another small step closer until your bodies are almost touching. He takes one hand and puts it on the small of your back and his other hand goes to your cheek. She’s tiny. He thinks, as he realizes his hand almost spans the entire width of your back and his other hand looks giant from where it rests on your cheek. He turns his attention to your skin. It’s smooth like porcelain and almost as flawless, save for a few sun freckles on your nose. Adorable. Your mouth is a perfect pout. You painted it a deep, rich red color that he finds undeniably alluring. He’s tired of looking at your lips and wondering what they would feel like against his. This time, he’s finally going to find out, he asserts. Don’t mess it up.

He tilts his head slightly to the side and leans in to close the gap.

This is it, you think. He’s finally going to kiss you.

He leans closer until your lips are less than an inch away, then stops.

Suddenly, his phone rings. Damn it.

He looks over at the phone where it sits on his desk, and you think for a moment that he’ll answer it but he doesn’t move, and his hands stay put.

“They can wait.” He says with a smirk. Your face feels hot. The hand on your cheek is large and vascular, with long, thick fingers that scream, I am a man. Suddenly, you want nothing more in the world than to feel those hands all over you. Once more, he tilts his head slightly to the side and leans in.

Your mind cries out in delight as you feel his lips against yours. Finally. You think. Finally. The feeling of his lips against yours sets your insides on fire and you kiss back passionately. He uses the hand on the small of your back to pull your body against his, teasing his tongue against your lips to request entry. You gladly welcome it and your tongue dances with his when it enters your mouth. His kisses feel so good it’s sinful. You moan into his mouth. He gives a little grunt and deepens the kiss, pleased by your enthusiasm. He invades all your senses and all there is is Rafael. The smell of his heady cologne, the taste of coffee on his tongue, his mouth on yours. You can feel his arousal grow from the length of his body pressed against you.

You take a few steps back and sit yourself down on short side of his desk, and he follows you—both of you unwilling to break the kiss. He positions himself between your legs and you feel the heat from his body. He trails one hand down, tracing a line to your stomach. He straightens up slightly, breaking the kiss. Your hands go to his shoulders and your mouth to his jawline, laying wet, open-mouthed kisses to it. As you work, he slides the neckline of your strapless dress down, exposing your breasts. You had decided not to wear a bra today—a fact which made Rafael feel equal parts grateful and turned on. He cups one of your breasts with his hand, while he takes the other in his mouth, worshipping your nipple with a perfect combination of licking and sucking. His skillful touch makes your body scream with need.

“Rafael.” You whimper. He moans when he hears you say his name, and returns to your mouth, kissing you harder, deeper. You fling your hands around his neck and press your body as close to his as humanly possible.

It’s not ladylike to fuck a guy without going out on a date first. For some reason, your mind decided to remind you of a time when your sister-in-law had said that to you. Fuck being ladylike. You thought. All you wanted in this moment was Rafael. He was all you could feel. All you could see. Nothing else mattered. You needed him. Now.

You break away from the kiss to lay your back down flat against the desk, pulling him with you. Your hands slide up and grip at his back and your legs wrap around his waist to pull his body even closer. From this position, you feel his erection pressed directly against your center and moan loudly, grinding your hips into him. He gives a low grunt noise, which you take to mean that he approves. The noise brings out your inner vixen and you begin to lay wanton kisses on his neck, trailing down to the tender flesh where it meets his shoulders, sucking hard, then nibbling.

“Y/N.” He groans and pulls away, taking your hands off from his back. You feel a flash of disappointment, thinking he wants to stop, but he pins your hands down by the wrists and presses his body into you, then kisses you right above the collar bone to return the favor.

“Oh god, Rafael.” You moan.

“—We’ll subpoena him if we have to; we need his testimony. Barba—for the Patricksson case—” Olivia Benson and Amanda Rollins stopped just inside the doorway of Rafael’s office. “Oh.”

Rafael hears Liv’s voice and straightens up, helping you to do the same. You climb down from his desk and adjust your dress while he sits in his chair and slides as close to the desk as he can to hide his excitement. Before leaving, you grab a notebook and pen from his desk and write your number down once more. You slide it in front of him and bend down to whisper in his ear.

“Don’t lose it this time,” You say with a smile and a kiss on the cheek. He gives a chuckle.

“I won’t.” You say a quick but pleasant goodbye to the women with shining NYPD badges before walking out the door and closing it behind you.

“She seems nice.” Liv says with a knowing smile.

“Yes. Yes, she is.” Rafael replies with an eyebrow cocked and a wide grin. “Now what is it you need for the Patricksson case?”

#reader x barba #fic #svu #rafael barba #police gala #part four #smut

48 notes · View notes

liskribbles · 6 years

Text

“The Fandom Food Chain” or “Why I Can’t Be Bothered To Make This Rant A Comics, Though I Am Fully Capable If I Please”

Ok, so, this has been brewing for a long time, for a year at least for myself and even longer for a few content creators (writers, artists, photographers) I know and talked with over several different sites with different ways of viewing and feedback. But, basically, nearly everywhere the situation is the same.

It seems, that the fandom culture faces 2 serious problems, that, actually, are connected:

feedback has all but died out even on the basic "like' and "kudos" level. Not to mention actual comments and reblogs.

fandom lifespan drastically shortening and people constantly searching for a new hypetrain to jump on.

This are serious issues that affect content creators and, in the long run, content consumers.

Here are some thoughts on what led to this and how it will be a rather grim future if something won't change.

Imagine an ecosystem - without any interference it functions properly, predators and prey have enough food, the greenery renews itself in a steady rate. Now, let's introduce a new specie or hunt down one of the existing ones. What do we get? Less predators - the prey consumes more plants, they can't regrow in the same rate. More territory suffers from herbivores, which leads to soil erosion, less bugs=>less birds, less pollination. The soil is withered by wind and rain, less plants can grow on poorer soil, the area can feed even less animals, they move to greener pastures. The area can either stabilize over time, or not - think how badly rabbits affected Australia (multiple species extinct, great erosion damage).

So, a fandom is also an ecosystem (food chain) of sorts. Sure, we can't measure it in terms of predators and prey, but we can in terms of creators and “consumers” (aka viewers/readers) with the resources being content (art, photography, music, writing AND feedback).

So, what is the "food" for creators?

That's right - the Canon, side inspiration (non-fandom and fandom content) and feedback (i.e. "content" "created" in response to their work). The first two are something the creators need to consume and then add extra resources (time, work, motivation) to actually make into the "food" for the Fandom (both other creators and simply viewers/readers).

And what is the food for the "consumers"?

That’s right - the Canon and the creator generated content they receive though the fandom network. It's easy to consume, they don't need any extra resources to enjoy it.

And here lies the problem. With modern technology and the fast pace of consuming information, the viewers attention span grew smaller as well their patience and time they spend on 1 piece of content. Thus they rush though their feeds and dashboards, leaving no feedback (since it requires resources from them (time, work and motivation), and they feel that they don't need to apply them - there will always be a hot new fandom to get a quick high for favorite archetypes, kinks and AUs.

But what the creators see is that their "food resource" is getting smaller - the Canon doesn't usually grow as fast as the creator process it, and with little feedback content on their works they have less motivation to produce similar content. They turn their attention to other venues - be it another Fandom where they still can get enough "nutrition" from the source material alone, or something that doesn't require them producing all together (playing games, watching movies, simply browsing, i.e. they become "consumers" themselves).

And here is when the "consumer" doesn't get enough new content (or the quality of content drops, because who'd wanna make a three course meal if it get's the same quality of feedback as a sandwich) and is either forced to move to "greener pastures" of other fandoms or try to get by with what husks are left. And this usually leads to wails of "there's nothing good to read anymore", "the fandom is dying" and etc.

What can I say - we reap what we sow.

And if things will continue this way - no, fandom creative contents won't go extinct, not really. Creators will still get bursts of nutrition from new stuff, they still will create - and in place of those, who'll stop all together will come new ones. But all in all, the quantity and quality will suffer, because, like I said - once the brain figures out it doesn't have to put as much resources to get a result, it will not motivate a person to spend 10 hours on a drawing. Because, why bother if it'll get the same feedback as a 1 hour sketch session - you then can spend 9 hours doing instant and guaranteed gratification stuff, like gaming and watching tv!

People tend to think that creators have an unlimited source of creativity, that they create because they can't not do it. Sure, it s a case for some. But for most, this is a really slowly renewable resource they have to choose wisely how to spend. And without feedback they, most likely, will choose to spend it on more personal passion projects and ideas. But with re-fills from outside sources they can create more and. more often than not, in the venue this fill came from.

What I also heard about a lot - people finding excuses to why they don't give feedback.

"The author doesn't want feedback" - BULLSHIT. The author may not want criticism, but if he put it on a public platform, tagged and did not forbid comments (like some platforms allow) - you better believe, he want attention for it. A reblog, a like, even better - a comment. You don't need to write an essay or a hymn of praise, but even the simplest reaction of "Love this pair", "wow!", "cute art", "can't wait for the next chapter" gives a creator a HUGE boost. Even if the piece left you with mixed feelings - it's better that with no feelings at all. "Not my pair, but interesting idea", "never considered this before" - is a lot better for the creativity, than silence.

"I don't reblog because it doesn't fit my blog/ I don't want people knowing I'm into this" - that's when you can use a side blog or sent a private message most of the time giving kudos to the author. Even if a reblog is to a blog with no followers - the creator doesn’t know that and it still might expose the piece to your future followers.

"I don't want to interact/I'm shy/I'm an introvert/I have anxiety”- but you want to consume the content? You really can't eat an omelette without breaking some eggs. The creator too might have issues and be self-conscience about their art and actually put a lot of self-worth on how it’s received by others. As I said - you don't have to get all buddy-pals with the author, but a lil comment or like or note doesn't need to spark a big conversation. A tip of the hat while passing by.

“I don’t want to/It’s not my job to contribute to the fandom” - well, neither is the creator’s and you’re a butt that doesn’t deserve all the free content other people put out for the fandom to enjoy. Go chew some glass.

So, what can we do? Well, it's in the word itself -

FEED BACK.

You "feed" the creators back for the "food" they give you. This goes both to those who just view/read content, and to the creators - support your fellow starving for attention authors. You don't need to go like and comment every single of their work, but if a piece made you pause for a few seconds while scrolling - let the author know that. Otherwise, there won't be much to stop by in the future.

#fandom #tumblr #perv rant #and now back to out regular programming

27 notes · View notes

atticusblog2016-blog · 7 years

Text

New Post has been published on Atticusblog

New Post has been published on https://atticusblog.com/fox-news-anchor-others-hit-network-with-race-bias-claims/

Fox News anchor, others hit network with race bias claims

Fox News faces renewed felony claims that it mistreated non-white employees, a week after network discern Twenty-First Century Fox Inc severed ties with its largest star over unrelated sexual harassment court cases.

11 modern and former Fox employees, such as Information anchor Kelly Wright, filed an amended lawsuit in New york nation court docket on Tuesday claiming they were demeaned, humiliated, paid much less than white co-workers, and surpassed over for promotions.

The lawsuit was firstly filed remaining month by Fox News payroll personnel. Tuesday’s criticism brought magnificence motion racial discrimination claims.

One after the other on Tuesday, a former Fox News money owed payable specialist, Adasa Blanco, filed a lawsuit in federal court docket in NY claiming her complaints about racial discrimination were unnoticed and she became forced to give up in 2013 as a result.

A Fox News spokesperson in a declaration said the network vehemently denies the claims and “will vigorously protect those instances. “In both instances, the plaintiffs say they have been ridiculed and mo They are saying Fox executives along with Dianne Brandi, the network’s pinnacle lawyer, informed them nothing might be carried out due to the fact Slater knew too much approximately unspecified “improprieties” committed by way of former network chief Roger Ailes and top-rated commentator Invoice O’Reilly.

Fox stated Slater turned into fired in February in reaction to the complaints.

Catherine Foti, a lawyer for Slater, in an announcement stated the claims were “frivolous” and “entirely aimed at producing headlines, inflaming racial tensions and poisoning potential jury swimming pools and judges. “The brand new racial discrimination allegations came after Fox on April 19 stated it had ousted O’Reilly over sexual harassment claims. Ailes become pressured out ultimate yr after a sexual harassment lawsuit by using former anchor Gretchen Carlson, which turned into settled for $20 million.

Both Ailes and O’Reilly have denied any wrongdoing.Feed through former Fox News senior vice president and comptroller Judith Slater because of their race.

Maxine Fox

Maxine Fox writes well-researched diabetes articles with an emphasis on curing diabetes certainly. After being identified with type 2 diabetes, she did sizeable research on a way to reverse diabetes evidently. As a scientist, she changed into able to delve deeply into the scientific literature going returned for many years. What she found was shocking. kind 2 diabetes did now not even exist earlier than the 1920’s and an enormous root purpose changed into the creation of “trans fats” and other unnatural ingredients into the human weight loss program. This is a 100% verifiable reality but None of the mainstream diabetes magazines and other most important assets of diabetic information want to reveal this reality. They may be very worried about making their advertisers (most pharmaceutical agencies and diabetes supply businesses) satisfied. In truth, even if doctors have attempted to put this records of their diabetes articles, advertisers threaten to leave and the articles don’t get posted. A real remedy (and a herbal therapy for diabetes might suggest an extreme loss of sales for these multi-billion dollar industries.

Maxine Fox’s diabetes articles are devoted to supporting people cure their diabetes via natural way. Besides supplying strong facts, she hopes to serve as an instance to others that it’s miles feasible to completely reverse your diabetes and loose yourself from a lifetime of taking diabetes medication every unmarried day. Maxine’s HgAC1 turned into above 10 whilst she was first identified however every test has lower back a analyzing of much less than 6 for greater than a yr. There are no extra daily curler coaster rides in blood sugar tiers – in fact, even consuming ice cream sometimes does not appear to purpose an intense surge in blood sugar.

Leftist Cable Tv News Interview So-Called Experts Who Hold Pronouncing – I Assume – Before Speakman

The leftist Faux News and socialist propaganda have hit an all-time high. Their techniques so obvious now that even a low-IQ, millennium with the attention span of a gnat can see quicker than a Google search which brings back 4.five million items for your question in 0.0054183710391 seconds – do not accept as true with me – seek Faux Information and spot for yourself why do not you?

Right here’s how it works. The leftist media gets collectively to attack President Donald Trump, blows something out of proportion, embellishes his feedback, calls him a racist and then interviews semi-outstanding individuals who want to get on Television and asks them; Do you think Donald Trump is a racist, bigot, homophobe, Islamaphobe, sexist or liar? Then, the visitor being interviewed gives us their Opinion based totally on their echo chamber mindset. Then the media repeats with lesser recognized, frequently difficult to understand folks, individuals who manifest to want their three minutes of fame and represent some leftist organization that sounds neutral. Then the interviewee another time states the same speak factor.

Nevertheless, each time media brings on a guest interviewee, after interviewing themselves, journalists on Television, the interviewees start their sentences with; “I Assume” and then cross directly to trash Trump, and the reporters by no means query their remarks, best trust them in one huge glad Kumbaya moment. The humorous element Right here is we don’t have to ask what someone “Thinks” who’s from the Middle for Progress of America, or the Sustainable Equality Institute for Girls. We already know they hate Trump, marched in opposition to them, perhaps even broke the law somewhere rioting?

Whilst the News media interviews a person who has a leftist bias, and that they say they “Think” properly this is no longer Announcing lots because, in the event that they repeat the identical vintage talking points, they are now not questioning at all. And, to that point, no person at the left or proper in all likelihood cares much approximately what they Assume. This is not News, newsworthy or maybe relevant to the truth of life in the world. All it does is give media repute and fame wherein it isn’t always due and hasn’t been earned.

It is a substitute illuminating as to why the left-wing media is losing ground, profits, and viewership in recent times. It also is going to show us why no person trusts cable Tv Information anymore. At first-class It’s miles enjoyment, and an experience-exact programming to help one’s view of the arena, and this is the best true thing possible say on it. Please Suppose in this, no, truly don’t forget it all.

Network Advertising In A Way That Works

One of the first-class parts about turning into a Network marketer is that your marketing campaign can develop indefinitely. However, that doesn’t mean it’s guaranteed to grow at all. Do not be One of the realize-nothings trying to get rich via Marketing. Read the records furnished in this text and you’ll recognize what it takes to prevail at Community Advertising and marketing.

At the same time as many humans mistakenly recognition their efforts on the numbers of leads they get, a hit marketers emphasize the significance of satisfactory prospects. When you have employees who’re dedicated to their component, each you and they may see monetary growth.

Get a separate phone line as a Network marketer in order that humans can constantly stay in contact with you without intruding on your non-public life. You may get this cell phone line on the identical cellular smartphone, However, ensure it’s registered to a blank commercial enterprise address. You do not need to be so personal with every person.

Usually, make certain the prospect is relaxed and relaxed with you earlier than seeking to promote your product. Being a terrific listener and displaying the individual that you care approximately their emotions and thoughts go a protracted Way towards building consider. Be honest about your need to listen from them because people can tell when someone is faking them out.

When beginning a Community Advertising approach, you must parent out what your driving motivation is. Is it how plenty income you want to make? Is it an item you need to shop for or maybe, it’s fulfillment based totally on the quantity of earnings-earning people you have got on your downline? Sometimes, supporting others is the greatest advantage of all.

Monitoring your Community Advertising downline is extremely vital. If you see someone underperforming, ask them if they need any assist or advice. If a person drops off entirely, maybe they just need a few motivation to get back on track. You need to be a mentor to the human beings underneath you to ensure they’re making you profits in addition to themselves.

With so many details to attend to on your Community Marketing commercial enterprise, it is easy to lose sight of your number one purpose: prospecting. When you have a dozen emails to respond to, a pile of paperwork cluttering your desk, down-lines to train, and an enterprise convention to wait, locating new potentialities can From time to time get lost in the crowd. make certain you prioritize your duties to maintain prospecting on the pinnacle of the listing. Whilst your different responsibilities are still important, you Do not have an enterprise with none customers.

Boom your Community Marketing success by means of taking the time to study one new approach each day to enhance your leadership abilities. Skim an e-book of inspirational thoughts. Find out what 9aaf3f374c58e8c9dcdd1ebf10256fa5 experts are announcing. Sign up in a community university or person-mastering management direction. Examine the biographies of well-well famous world leaders and enterprise specialists. Comprise their techniques into your business plan, and take rate of your accomplishments!

0 notes