#she's so fucking judgemental every time we have a conversation about food

[jamescarstairs]

still annoyed with what my coworker said to me at work today

#lex waffles #work saga #she's so fucking judgemental every time we have a conversation about food #but this time it was directly at me #'you don't eat healthy food' & her response being 'no you don't' when i say i do ????? fuck off #yeah i don't have the best diet i won't lie but who the fuck is she to be judgy about it and tell me i don't eat healthy things??? #she's such a pureist #like go drink your herbs and shit and leave me the fuck alone karen 😒 #like she's cut out so much out of her diet because of no reason whatsoever because she thinks that's what's good for her and i'm like 😒 #like every damn time she's got to make some sort of judgemental comment towards at least one of us every time #like fuck off #i'm a fussy eater a lot of it has to do with sensory issues but she doesn't know that nor cares #it also hasn't helped that the topic of me being a fussy eater has suddenly become the like butt of the joke every time now too??? #like yes i don't eat a lot of variety of food or am very specific about which brands of food i eat i KNOW #but at least i'm eating something ???? #anyways needed to get that off my chest because it's annoyed me all damn day #and this was at the start of my work shift lmfao

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for kicking someone out of my D&D campaign for reasons not entirely related to the game?

This is long but the context is important I swear.

About a year ago, I (30X) tried to assemble a D&D group with my coworkers. After a whole lot of fucking around, the guy who was going to DM moving across the country, and a bunch of people quitting or getting fired, it ended up being me as the DM, my brother, a few other people who I met through a different campaign, and one guy who used to work with me.

This guy, J (23M), had a lot of personal problems when he worked for us, most of which contributed to him being let go. He had a lot of family issues that led to him missing a lot of work (and I mean A Lot. We have a Very good PTO system for the US that basically amounts to accruing one day off for every 50 hours you work, earning more the longer you stay with the company, and more allowance for attendance infractions than any company I've ever heard of in the states). He also had a lot of interpersonal issues with some of the employees, one in particular, K (21F), with whom he had some kind of situationship. I try not to get involved in work drama, so I don't know all the details.

J also has issues with money, transportation, and depression/suicidal tendencies. I'm not judging him for any of those, as I have experience with them as well, but he has been leaning on me pretty heavily around every time we hang out to play D&D. I would cover his 120$+ Uber rides home, which he would sometimes pay me back but sometimes not (if I couldn't afford it once a month, I wouldn't do it, but he insists he's going to pay me back; since he has lost yet another job I am not expecting it at all and don't hold it against him really, but I do think it's kind of shitty to insist you're going to when you clearly won't be able to), pay for his food, work with my family members to get him home, and let him crash at my house to avoid ordering an Uber. He also messaged me when he was feeling suicidal - bad enough to be institutionalized after I sent him the number for the suicide hotline. Again, no judgement, but it made me uncomfortable because I struggle with the same things. He seemed bothered that I told him I wasn't able to talk him through it, but that may have just been the crisis talking.

After all that, we come to a game session that involves more than just navigating dangerous spaces and fighting off wild animals. The rest of the party does fine, but J really botches the social interaction part, despite everyone telling him what he's doing is a bad idea and me doing my best as a DM to communicate that he should change tactics. He does not change tactics and instead doubles down and goes full murderhobo, which is not the kind of player I'm interested in playing with, something I thought J understood from previous conversations.

My original plan was to say something to the table at our next session about removing themselves from the game if the themes weren't something they were interested in engaging with, but then I get some additional info today about J and K.

Apparently J has been incredibly possessive towards K - someone who, again, he was not dating in any meaningful capacity - for weeks or months, to the point that she has blocked him on social media off and on. And then this past week, J has sent her screenshots of her location, contacted her ex who she still lives with for logistical reasons, made him upset to the point that K thought he was going to kick her out of his apartment, and harassed K's brother to try to get her to talk to him again. K is seriously considering taking out a restraining order against him at this point. J has also been updating his social media to imply that he is going to kill himself.

To say this behavior raises some red flags is an understatement. Clearly J needs help, but as a regular guy, that's really not something I'm able to provide beyond sending mental health hotlines, and I don't feel comfortable being his support system in the way he obviously needs.

All that said, I feel like I might be an asshole for kicking him out of the campaign full stop, because he's been really excited to play this whole time. But the combination of all this really worrisome, potentially dangerous behavior and the mundane reality of him just being a really annoying player kind of has me at my wits end, so, WIBTA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole #suicide cw

[ineffable-nerd]

Shock and surprise, I'm thinking about Good Omens season 2 again. (Spoilers under the cut, this is a long one).

Specifically the scene in episode 2 at the pub, where Crowley and Aziraphale are planning on how to get Nina and Maggie together.

And I thought it was interesting the verbage Crowley used to describe his plan.

"They get trapped under a canopy together by a storm, look into each other's eyes, and realize they were made for each other".

Obviously, we all know as an audience that Maggie and Nina's relationship is essentially Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship's mirror, with Maggie standing in for Aziraphale and Nina for Crowley.

We also know, as the audience, that Crowley immediately went with this scenario as the perfect romantic scene because it directly parallels the moment he fell in love with Aziraphale.

Which is why the last bit of that phrase struck me as odd.

"Made for each other" is such a... Human expression. It's not something that Crowley, who doesn't read often and couldn't even remember the expression "like water off a duck's back" in season 1, would use unless he meant it literally.

Especially in the context of his and Aziraphale's relationship? It's fishy.

And then I thought some more and realized that, inadvertently or not, Crowley did in fact mean it literally.

I had been thinking about Crowley's Fall a lot recently, and it always really struck me as odd.

Crowley, as has been established, Fell because he questioned God's judgement in destroying the universe after 6000 years. Sure, right, sounds like God. He's been a demon since.

Aziraphale on the other hand, who has remained an angel for millions of years... Hasn't crossed God that badly at all? Not once since the beginning of Creation?

Sure, She got mad about the sword, but like, Aziraphale has done things that angels very much are not allowed to do!

He was tempted, by a demon, to eat human food (which seemingly disgusts other angels). He regularly converses with said demon and has, on multiple occasions, allowed that demon to rescue and even thwart his attempts to bring Good into the world (which She very likely saw and didn't say anything about). For fuck's sake, he and that very demon worked together and stopped the end of the world, and their only punishment was to be destroyed which they both got the other out of (and again, if She really did want them both destroyed, She very much could have done it Herself).

So why didn't She? Why has Aziraphale somehow remained in God's good graces? Why have he and Crowley seemingly avoided Her wrath time after time after time?

I can't say for sure, but I have a feeling that it's part of, for lack of better terms, Her Ineffable Plan. She created Aziraphale and Crowley, forced Crowley out of Heaven, did away with him, and then put them both on Earth, for reasons I'm not entirely clear on and don't want to even begin to speculate on.

So, yes Crowley. It would be great if our two protagonists realized they were, with no exaggeration or metaphor, literally made for each other, wouldn't it?

But it's clear it has something that relies on Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship as a demon and an angel. She cast out Crowley for the minor-est offence the second She got the chance and now turns a blind eye to every single sin Aziraphale commits (and there are quite a lot of them, like. A shit ton. It's astounding) because She needs them to be on "opposite sides". I'd be willing to bet good money that She is the reason Aziraphale of all angels was the one passing by the nebula when Crowley was working on it. After all, it is awfully convenient that the only angel we know for certain would let slip something like "By the way your work is going to be meaningless in less than 10,000 years because God is going to destroy the universe" to the angel literally in charge of designing and creating that universe, who also coincidentally is one of the few, what, thousand angels that would be so ballsy as to say "I could run Heaven 1000 times better than God"?

#good omens #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 #good omens 2 #gos2 #gos2spoilers #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale good omens #crowley good omens #aziracrow #good omens theory #there's also my whole 'aziraphale and crowley are themselves human incarnate' thing but i couldnt add that to the post w/o it becoming- #clunky #and then there's the whole 'aziraphale and crowley attempting to do a half miracle together is stronger than anything any other angel or #demon could pull off alone which absolutely scares the shit out of god' thing

[outofcontexturi]

sun 23rd oct 2022 19:16pm journal

im currently listening back to my podcast with Arsema yesterday. its 19:19pm. i think im home alone but i dont know. im sitting in darkness. yesterday was a good day. I went to Travis’ the day before because Cam and Molly had a birthday gathering. I also watched Reba and Tobi and Andre fucking murder their Macbeth project. couldn’t be happier for them. excited to hear what they’re doing. Then yesterday i woke up relatively early and just tried to sort myself out before midday. that didnt work but it was worth the shot. Im listening to some new Kirby right now. as im typing this. 19:23pm. I called Arsema yesterday after leaving Travis’ and linked up with her and her boyfriend Seb. caught up with her and told her about life without my mum currently, the pressures of second year and how third year is treating me. we also discussed how crazy this industry is. I must also add that her apartment is very very very beautiful. like its my type of place. interior designing seems real beautiful. ordered some Nando’s and watched Atlanta and THE BEAR. now guys, when i tell you The Bear is great television, I mean that shit! just very beautiful dialogue and acting alike. what a beautiful cast. Juliet also said that she doesnt have the emotional or mental capacity to talk about whatever is/has gone on with us. I think she’s scared of the truth in some way. i dont know. currently listening to Where I Go by Anderson Paak & H.E.R. i think i need some water. might go and get some. i’ll be right back. that was necessary. the more i see people, the less judgement is have towards them cause im deeping we are all just having a human experience and how that isn’t limited to “every day acts” that we all perform and that sometimes or many times people will do something outside of the norm if you look at the right time or if you look long enough. i hope tomorrow is good to me. kinda regret spending that £17 on five guys (fast food establishment). I was reading a book from Huey P Newton this morning; something Arsema let me borrow. It’s called “revolutionary suicide”. i’m like 16 pages into it and im already moved by how he speaks on his childhood and early experience in America and how loving his family was in a time of such economic and racial turmoil. very very interesting read so far. i wanna have read at least 40 pages by the end of the night. I’ll be reading after i’ve done this. i think i’ve got used to being alone in a house now. like it feels normal. this was one of my fears growing up. just the fear that i’ll hear things that aren’t there or see things i dont want to. but really and truly its the power of my mind projecting that stuff on to me. and im feeding it. being  home alone isn’t as terrible as i’ve made it out to be. so far so good. make no mistake though, i really do miss my mother and would prefer her here right now but im getting stronger every day. or at least more resilient. I dont know what im going to do with this Juliet situation  cause im going into a rep with her this term, I dont have the energy to argue with her about small things or blow mid level things out of proportion cause i have alot of resentment for her still inside me and it wont go without having a conversation with her. being at Arsema’s today made me realise how comfortable i am being there vs when i was at Juliet’s. its so interesting. i want to have peace with her but not at the expense of losing myself trying to please her in the process. i love myself too much to do that and i make no apologies for it. it’s not even like i need her in my life. i dont. i’ve been living without her just fine since she stopped speaking to me so if she is to leave my life again i wont chase after her. i feel like i cant be her friend until i speak up about how she’s made me feel. how she sold me out. and then just re appeared out of nowhere? like what do you want from me? why do you keep coming back into my life? it’s not like i asked you to be here, you know? I do appreciate what Arsema did for me yesterday though. that’s a real friend. i dont exactly know what i’ll do with my evening but edibles will be involved and water and candles. stay tuned folks! sign out time: 20:04pm. toodles!

[monochromemedic]

I had been stuck in the Dark World for who knows how long. The days didn’t seem to matter down here. No sun, no moon, just the vibrant green grid that coated the sky that would twitch and surge with occasional frequency.  When I first got here, I fought hard to get back to the surface, to fight for any sense of normalcy, for home but after a while the dream began to fade. The options began to run dry when compared to the dangers that surrounded me. And so I settled. I survived. I searched for food, begged for shelter from kind Darkners. I did what I had to to live. The Queen was not an option. Whispers from Darkners told me how I was just what she was looking for, that would help her expand her reign to the Light World. As much as that would probably help me, I didn’t want to ruin the lives of others for the chance to see my family, as much as I missed them with every passing minute. The sound of bustling cars and the blinding lights of neon signs stung my senses, my palms pressing into my eyes to drown out what I could. Damn it this place never slept did it? There was always something, some sort of noise. Whatever bags I had under my eyes were probably made cartoonishly drastic with the lack of pure rest I was getting. ‘Supose it was better then being dead... My body felt heavy, and I knew I’d have to find a place to rest or I’d fall asleep mid crossing of a road and get run over by one of those goofy cars I’d seen. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad... I recalled the time one of the car’s rear bumped into a fire hydrant (or at least I thought it was) and made a squeaking sound. The darkness of a certain alley called to me, the silence a sweet lullaby to the roaring around me. Was it dangerous? Oh yeah. Was it stupid? No shit. Was I going to do it? The shadows the engulfed me were perfect and if it wasn’t for the underlying stench of garbage it’d probably be ideal. Still beggars couldn’t be choosers and if tonight was good enough I would have to consider having this as my permanent sleeping spot. My back slid against the cool wall across from the dumpster, eyes half lidded as they read the advertisements littering above. Why the hell did the Queen have ads anyway, if she wanted she could monopolize any products she wanted... Despite the quiet I couldn’t shake the feeling that creeped down my spine. The presence of something other then myself around me. I tried to close my eyes, I was in the city after all. It’d be concerning if I didn’t feel like people were one second from crawling up my ass. Though I had to admit I didn’t expect to actually feel something begin to touch me. My eyes snapped open, elbow prodding into a blurry shape that yelped and tumbled backward, it’s grasp my on shoulder tearing a hole in my already worn shirt in the struggle. “Hey! What the hell?!” I barked, standing over the perpetrator. My shoulders slumped when I saw what looked to be a doll staring up at me with wide eyes, an over exaggerated smile permanently spread across it’s face. The creature’s jaw opened wider with a clack, it’s small body shooting upwards to stand on it’s small pointed feet. “WOAH WOAH WOAHAH- [Live worms]!”   The darkner’s voice was deafeningly loud, a shrill tone that cut the air like newly sharpened blades. “ I THOUGHT YOU WERE [Roadkill]. NICE TO KNOW I WON’T BE [Sleeping with the fishes] T0NIGHT!!” Well he had a certain way of speaking that was obvious. What the hell was going on with him, he talked like he was constantly being cut of random clips of other people speaking. He talked like a youtube poop or any other shitpost that would randomly shove memes into them for a quick laugh. “You thought I was dead? I was just... I was... uh.” I looked around me, eyeing the dirt and debris. “I was... going to sleep... here.”  Dammit, telling people I had to sleep in such ratty places were always a blow to the ego but I suppose it was better then saying ‘Oh I was just sitting down here to die’ The puppet shook his head and waltzed over to the dumpster, his small hand smacking the side with a sense of pride. “ [Finders keepers, losers weepers] HUMAN, YOU PICKED A GOOD SPOT. TOO BAD [so sadd] I GOT HERE FIRST. THOUGH FOR A DEAL I SUPPOSE I COULD [Share the love~]” “Got here first... what are you talking about?” The Darkner let out a laugh, distorted echoes filling the air as he leapt inside, a solitary hand popping out to beg me to come closer. This was a terrible idea, but despite my best judgement I followed, and witnessed what I could only describe to be a makeshift bed inside.  The puppet laid on top of musty mats and raggedy rugs, a single stained pillow resting just beneath his head. My god was he living in here? The creature continued his laugh, lurching only a few inches away from my face. “ [Sweet deal] ISN’T IT? J3ALOUS, [baby]?”  I shirked back, cheeks reddening at the tone of his last word. I was most defiantly not jealous, in fact I was filled with remorse, something his pride did not help with. “It’s... uh something. I guess this means I’ll have to find another alleyway um, sorry for bothering you-” “SPAMTON.” “What?” His hand shot out towards my chest, fingers wiggling for a handshake. “SP-SPA MTON G SPAMTON, [Number 1 rated salesmen 1997]” He announced, an extra flair of bravado laced his titled. His hand was surprisingly warm for what it was made of but nothing that would be described as body temperature.  “Jenna. Also 1997.” “WHAT A YEAR. LISTEN LIGHT nER, I AM DEALSMAN [yes/no?]” “Um... y-yes? I don’t-” “THEN LET ME MAKE A DEAL YEAH? FOR ONLY [many] KROMER, YOU MAY STAY IN MY [Privately owned] ALLEY. IT’S A REAL [steal] YOU’RE ROBBING ME [deaf] HERE!” My brows furrowed as I searched his face for any context clues for what the hell he was trying to say. Kromer? What the fuck was ‘kromer’? The only thing I knew of currency down here was dark dollars not kromer... even if he did ask for dark dollars he didn’t name a price, he just said many. And the amount of dark dollars I had was zero. “Uh I don’t have kromer. I don’t even have dark dollars I’m kinda broke Spamton, in case you couldn’t tell from uh...” I trailed off realizing saying that sleeping in an alley wasn’t a very smart thing to say to someone who slept in an alley.  He seemed surprised by my words, beginning to tug on my coat, flipping my pockets to see if I was really lying. I had to push his mitts off me a couple of times, to which he eventually got the idea the way his hands began to rub at his extended jaw. “NO KROMER... WHAT CAN YOU DO?” “What do you mean?” He seemed to sense my change in tone, his grin beginning to wobble nervously “[Whoopsie daisy!] LET ME START AGAIN. DO YOU HAVE A [trade]? A [skill] TO [Exchange for goods and services]?” he croaked. I eyed the ground, rubbing the back of my neck. What the hell was I good at again? “I mean, I can draw, I suppose...” “ARTIST? WOW OWOW!” Spamton’s face lit up before digging in the dumpster, pulling out a few napkins and a ball point pen and shoving them into my hands. “WHAT A [trade] TELL YOU WHAT. YOU DRAW A [one-of-a-kind masterpiece] AND YOU CAN STAY THE NIGHT!” “You’ll let me stay... if I draw something for you on this napkin. Am I getting that right?” The doll nodded feverishly, basically hovering over my shoulder as I played with the pen. This was certainly the weirdest way to pay someone that I could imagine... well no but one that was in the realm of reality. I had to ask Spamton to give me some space a few time, the feeling of his breath on  my neck making me more then nervous as I drew. God he was like those kids in school that would ask for drawings but ten times worse with the amount of personal space he’d give you. Besides I needed something to draw and with nothing on the mind why not draw the most interesting thing in front of me. I held the finished doodle out to Spamton only to have it snatched out of my fingers so fast I swore we could have started a fire. “WOAH...” The puppet sank inside of the dumpster, his face softening  as for once in what seemed like forever the alley way grew silent. “THIS IS... ME?” “Yeah. Sorry I didn’t know what to draw, you kind of put me on the spot. Besides everyone likes drawings of themselves right?” I shrugged, being pulled away from my thoughts by an overdramatic sniffle. Was he... crying? Not quite, just damn well close. Spamton’s shoulders quaked as a warm smile returned to his cheeks, slipping the napkin into his pocket with glee. “SO GOOD... THANK YOU.” “It’s really nothing, honestly that was a pretty shitty drawing.” “WHAT? YOU’RE [&#!^]ING ME! THAT WAS [BIG SHOT]” He was screaming again, hands gesturing wildly about. “It wasn’t but thank you. I wish I was better to be honest. I’m not very happy with my art, not at all.” I turned away from his gaze, unsure of why I was overcome by a choking sensation building my throat.  Why the hell was I telling this stranger this sort of stuff anyway? I mean I could hazard a guess it was the fact that this was the longest conversation I had had with anyone since I had gotten down here but with how things were it could be some magic power the doll possessed to tell him my deepest darkest secrets. “YOU DON’T THINK THIS IS [Big?]” “No.” “WHY NOT?” “I don’t know. I just... I think it doesn’t look the way I want it to. Doesn’t look good to me, and I don’t know how to fix it. Which I guess is a little funny considering how long I’ve been drawing. Just keep... drawing and drawing and never improving, least not how I’d like. It’s just garbage to me.” Spamton’s face seemed to fall, his glasses fading to a dark inky black.  “YOU FEEL? NO GOOD AT WHAT YOU DO? YOUR [passion]?”  “Yeah.” A laugh ripped from his chest, his head lolling back with each chuckle. I felt my soul began to crack, a shame flooding my body with how hard he seemed to laugh. Did he find this funny? Humorous?  I felt tears prick my eyes as I snapped my head back to glare at him, his head glitching back to stare back at me. “YOU’RE JUST LIKE ME, JENNA. A [slime] A REAL [slime]!” With a quick motion the puppet jumped to the ground, his hand resting against my arm as he spoke.  “YOU’RE A REAL [BIG SHOT] YOU KNOW THAT? STAY AS LONG AS YOUR [Greasy little heart] DESIRES!” Well... that was unexpected. He’d really let me stay here as long as I want cause I was pathetic? Or did he just feel sorry for me? What was going on? And why was he calling me a slime... or us a slime?  “Oh... uh thanks? I didn’t think I was being  much of a big shot whatever that is but I apricate it. Really.” His head clacked with every little nod, leading me to a pile of cardboard boxes and patting them with the grace of a car salesman. “BEST [Seat in the house] ALL FOR YOU. [Night night forever]!” Spamton beamed, awkwardly swaying side to side before stumbling back to the dumpster a few inches away and crawling inside of it, much like a wild animal. I couldn’t help but laugh a little. This guy was weird. Kinda creepy but also kind of funny. I honestly couldn’t pinpoint a feeling on him but at least he didn’t want to hurt me just make weird ass deals and make me ‘big’. Did that mean famous? Was this guy so into my art he wanted to be some sort of manager? I rubbed my eyes and let out a yawn, the excitement of the day finally beginning to fade. God I forgot how tired I was, that little guy made me feel like I was gonna go into fight or flight.  “Hey Spamton?” “YES?” his voice echoed from inside the metal container. “...Thank you.”

#self insert #spamton #vent #idk im just thinking #just wanted something to do

[thefanficmonster]

A Little Childish

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: FLUFF

Summary: Corpse and Y/N go to visit Y/N’s parents for New Year’s. Corpse was promised good food, good company and A LOT of snow. Needless to say, the place didn’t disappoint - quite the contrary actually, it exceeded any and all expectations he had.

Requested by @waterflowersposts Hi there! Sorry for how long it took for this fic to be written :( I hope the final result makes up for the long wait! I also thought it would be appropriate to post it during the holiday season, so I hope you don’t mind. Hope you enjoy the read and I’m looking forward to hearing your feedback and any more requests you may have. Stay safe! Happy Holidays! Love, Vy ❤

I watch as Corpse is basically floating from one room into another in our shared apartment as he’s throwing random articles of clothing in his open suitcase. I have already packed my bags, knowing full well what the appropriate attire is for where we’re going.

I look away from my laptop when Corpse comes in for maybe the sixtieth time today, this time carrying a white tee causing me to chuckle. “Corpse, I know it’s very trademark for you, but the only way you’ll be wearing that when we get there is under a sweater for some extra warmth. I’m not looking forward to having my boyfriend freeze in my parent’s house.”

He smiles, looking at the shirt in his hands, and shakes his head, “Fine, guess I’ll do without it for a week or two.” He throws it in our room, not even bothering to check where it’ll land before he comes to sit down next to me on the couch, “Keep in mind, you have set my expectations pretty high up there. If I am not waist deep in snow the second we step off the plane, I’ll be disappointed.”

I give him a side glance, a smirk playing on my lips. Must say, taking on challenges you know you’re gonna win is the ultimate high-and-mighty feeling. “Honey, you’ve got a big snowstorm coming.”

                                                               *  *  *

All throughout our trip - I’m talking the drive to the airport AND the flight over - I have kept my eyes glued to Corpse, observing as his eyes sparkled more and more with each foot we got closer to our destination. He has told me the most snow he has seen was less than an inch and I immediately felt it was my duty to change that by introducing him to the magic of Canada - my home. My parents own a getaway cottage in the mountains of Calgary where we used to go every holiday season. My earliest memory is playing in the thigh-deep snow with my older sister and crying whenever our parents had to drag us back inside. 

The West Coast of the US was a rather odd surrounding for me, having grown up surrounded by snowy mountains, experiencing Christmas with no snow whatsoever was a true let down and underwhelming feeling. Since Corpse and I started dating about a month after Christmas time last year this will be our first time spending the holidays together and Corpse was more than enthusiastic to visit Canada when I mentioned how much I enjoyed my winters there. We couldn’t go for Christmas, but we’ll be there for New Year’s Eve and the first two weeks of 2021 and I am really excited. I have been dying to see my family that has actually expanded since the last time I visited - my sister has had yet another baby, making her and her husband parents of three very energetic toddlers. The six year old twins - Ashley and Alex - and the three year old Andrew. Or, as I like to call them: The 3 As.

I have warned Corpse about them like seven times despite the fact that he’s already familiar with their energy, convincing him that if that’s more than he can handle we’ve still got time to cancel the trip. He didn’t bat an eye though, each time telling me not to worry and focus my attention on reliving the moments I’ve missed so greatly instead of making sure he was having a good time.

“If you’re there...“ he said, “I’ll sure as hell be having a good time.“

One step out of the airport and he’s already mesmerized. His eyes are shiny reflecting the glow of the snow all around. It’s gonna be funny to see his reaction when he witnesses the real deal - the snow in the mountains. This compared to that is a pathetic excuse.

“I know it’s not waist-high, but that’s because they shovel it and melt it.“ He is looking around, not paying much mind to my words. The utter amazement and disbelief on his face just makes me want to wrap my arms around him and kiss him. He’s simply adorable! I see fragments of the child in him swimming up to the surface in the form of temptation - temptation every kid feels when they see snow: Dive in and lose track of time. “Wait till we get to the cottage.“

This manages to catch his attention, “You weren’t kidding.“

I laugh at my precious kiddy boyfriend. “Whoa there, Corpsie. If your mind is already blown, I’m worried about how you’ll react to the real deal.“ 

I have a feeling I know exactly how he’ll react cause I react similarly - I set the child in me free. After all, no parent can tell you to stop playing and go inside when you are a 23-year-old.

                                                             *  *  *

Walking up to the cottage from the cable-car station has to be the first time I’ve breathed with my lungs’ full capacity in the last five years. The sharp cold air screams ‘home’ to me like nothing else ever did. I am still surprised as to how my sister prefers summer. My family jokes I’m a winter wolf in disguise and I think they’re right. I do like to roll around in the snow much like a wolf. No judgement! Having a few extra years added to my age doesn’t change everything.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God.“ If I could take a shot every time Corpse has repeated this phrase I’d be dead due to liver failure. He is absolutely stunned. And I’m pretty sure he hasn’t blinked at all. Who am I to talk - I haven’t either. These mountains keep getting prettier and prettier, I swear. Taking my eyes off them would be a crime.

“Told you. I wish we made a bet, I could’ve made some easy money.“ I tease him, gently bumping my elbow against his as we walk up the trail.

“I’m glad I didn’t propose such a thing. That would’ve been fucking stupid of me.“ Judging by the tone of his voice, he is not really present in this conversation, so I decide not to let it go on any longer.

Not that I could’ve done differently, seeing as how barely three seconds latter I see three smiling faces coming at me at max speed.

Oh boy.

“Auntie Y/N!“ Ashley and Alex arrive first of course, wrapping their arms tightly around my waist. Little Andrew stumbles his way to me as quickly as a three year old possibly could.

Without wasting a second, I put my bags down and crouch so I can hug them properly. “Hi my babies! I haven’t seen you in so long.” Their hugging strength surprises me and warms my heart at the same time. The twins pull away, leaving room for the little duckling in a jacket two times his size and weight. “Hi Andrew! I nice to meet you! I’m auntie Y/N. Mommy and daddy have told you about me, haven’t they? If not I’ll kick their asses.”

“Y/N, I swear, I’ll tell Amy you’re teaching her kids swears at a very early age.“ Corpse says teasingly, stealing the attention from all four of us.

“She curses like a sailor, these kids probably know more swear words than I do.“ Ash and Alex run straight out of my grasp and to Corpse, proceeding to hug him around the waist as they did with me. They met Corpse when my sister and her husband Finn visited me back in the summer. They immediately fell in love with him. I specifically remember Alex telling me I have a ‘really cool boyfriend‘ and he only uses the word ‘cool‘ when he really likes something or someone. Corpse was honorably declared cool by Alex and that still warms my heart till this day.

“Hi guys, long time no see!“ He too crouches down to hug the little demons that immediately cling to him like koalas.

I scoop up the bundle of clothes with a face and stand up, balancing him on my hip. “Let’s attempt to get inside, shall we?” With my unoccupied arm I grab the handle of my suitcase.

Corpse nods and follows my lead, picking up the bags he also left in the snow. Ash and Alex bolt it back to the house while we struggle to follow, lowkey embarrassed by the pace we’re walking with.

Andrew struggles against me, reaching out towards Corpse. I look at them both apologetically. “You’ll meet Corpse when we get inside, darling. Chill out.”

“Y/N!“ My sister’s voice steals my attention. She emerges from the house, followed by the twins, a huge smile on her face. Her eyes land on Andrew who has calmed down is now resting his head on my shoulder sleepily, “Oh I’m so sorry about them, Y/N. I didn’t know they would charge at you the second you stepped foot on the property.“

Amy motions for me to give her her son but I hand her my suitcase instead. When she takes it I use my now freed arm to hug her as tightly as I possibly can with one arm and while balancing a baby on my chest. “It’s ok! I couldn’t have dreamed of a better welcoming.” I release, giving her a big smile.

She loses interest in me and goes to hug Corpse, taking a bag from him as well before giving him a hug. “Oh my God, Corpse, it feels like it’s been forever. I’m so glad to see you.”

“Happy to see you too, Amy.“ My sister has never liked a single guy I’ve dated. EVER. Corpse is the only one she warmed up to and that’s a huge deal to me. Corpse’s happiness when I told him that was something I’d pay to have filmed just so I can watch it every time I’m feeling down.

“Let’s get you both inside, you must be freez-“ She cuts herself off, rolling her eyes at me, “Of course, you’re not.“

I laugh and blow her a kiss as we keep carrying onward.

“Um, guys?“ Corpse’s voice makes me pause and turn around. He’s still standing in the same spot, looking- unsettled, I guess you could call it.

“What’s wrong?“ I walk over to him, taking his hand in mine.

His hand automatically gives mine a reassuring squeeze, “Nothing really, it’s just that...I’m meeting your parents for the first time and-...What if they don’t like me?”

I open my mouth to go off and start stating the obvious that they indeed won’t like him. They will LOVE him. It’s impossible not to love this man! But my sister beats me to it when it comes to stating the facts.

“Look, Corpse, they already love you. Heck, sometimes I feel like they have known Finn and you longer than they have known Y/N and I! They speak so highly of you and haven’t even met you - that should tell you more than enough about how they see you.“ She waves her hand towards the cottage, “Now walk in there and blow them away.“

Honestly, I’m glad Amy beat me to it. I couldn’t have said it better myself. 

And just like that, hand in hand, Andrew still in my other arm, we walk in.

                                                             *  *  *

Corpse is officially the main attraction, stealing the spotlight from Amy, Finn and I - something the three of us are incredibly thankful for. Amy was right with every word she said - my parents are absolutely in love with Corpse. Luckily for Finn and Amy, the 3 As are all over him as well. Especially Andrew. The second someone sets him down he just waddles his way over to Corpse who picks him up and settles him in his lap while he answers my parents’ questions. 

When the kids were finally talked into taking a nap, Corpse and I snuck out to have a little walk in the snow and, of course, take some pictures. I made it my personal goal to make as many artsy and aesthetic photos of him as possible. His favorite - a hand only pic of him holding a snowball - was my idea and I think I have never felt prouder of myself.

“I am definitely posting this one.“ He says, turning the phone so I can see the screen. I give it a quick glance, thinking he’s talking about the hand pic but do a double take when I realize it’s a picture of me that he has taken without my knowledge.

I actually look rather decent, so I give him a green light in the form of a big thumbs up, “As long as you post the hand one too.”

“Hey, Y/N!“ We look back at the house which isn’t far from where we are right now. Amy is hugging the jacket tightly around herself as she approaches us with fast steps. “You know where we haven’t been in like forever?“

I raise an eyebrow and shake my head as I rack through my brain trying to dig up what she’s referring to. It could literally be any place on this mountain!

“Hello! The Waterless Lake? Ring any bells?“

Oh...it sure does.

Brief explanation: it is a huge circular dip in the ground which fills with water when the snow melts and becomes a lake but empties by the time winter comes back around. That being said, when the snow is still not melted, it’s an absolute wonderland to play in. I suddenly remember all the barrel-rolling Amy and I did there as kids and feel really nostalgic.

“Oh God, yes! I miss that place!“ I say, snapping out of my reminiscing trance. “Let’s go while it’s still light enough.”

“Finn is making dinner right now, or trying to at least.“ She rolls her eyes, turning to Corpse, “But it’d be our pleasure if you tagged along, Corpse.“

Corpse shakes his head, “I’ll politely decline. You ladies can reminisce and chat in peace, while I’ll be helping Finn in the kitchen.” He gives me a quick peck on the lips before excusing himself, “Have fun!”

“You too!“ We call back to him in unison.

Amy gives me an amazed, wide-eyed look, “He can cook?”

I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly, smirking, “Oh, you have no idea.”

She laughs, linking arms with me as we begin walking our way to the Waterless Lake. The place probably has a different name or no name at all, but we named it that as kids and never told our parents where it was. It’s our spot, and it is very surprising Amy offered Corpse to accompany us there.

“Sis, you are very lucky. I hope you know that.“ She tightens the hold on my arm with hers, pulling us closer together.

“I tell myself that every time I look at him, Aims. I am fully aware.“ I say dreamily, recalling all the times I’ve spent with Corpse. Almost one full year and I could never imagine that year, nor the upcoming ones, without him.

                                                                *  *  *

Upon returning, we’re met with the most wholesome scene I have ever seen - Corpse and Finn are making snowmen with the 3 As. It seems like they’ve been at it for a while, considering there is an army of snowmen of different designs, shapes and sizes all at different spots throughout the perimeter of the clearing in front of the house.

“Oh dear Lord.“ Amy mumbles, “I had a feeling this would happen.“

The five snowman-builders don’t even acknowledge our presence when we approach them. Ashley and Alex are running around with Finn, looking for sticks to use as the snowmen’s limbs while Corpse is helping Andrew gather as much snow as possible for the body.

I don’t realize there’s a huge smile on my face up until the point I’m trying to say something. Nothing comes out, though. My words are being muffled by all the overwhelming emotions that have taken over - collapsing my senses. 

With a roll of her eyes, my sister opens the front door, taking a step into the house. The second the door opens, however, I get a whiff of the delicious smell coming from inside. Best guess, and probably the right one - this is Corpse’s doing. 

If I wasn’t already hungry, I sure as hell am now and I’m in no mood to be in that delicious food’s proximity without attacking it. 

“Come on, guys! Dinner time! Get your butts inside!“ I call out to them from the doorway.

Corpse turns to look at me with the sneakiest smirk I have ever seen. He narrows his eyes at me, “You have done the very thing you despise!”

It takes me approximately three seconds to connect the dots and scrunch up my face, picking up all the snow I can an forming it in a snow ball, throwing it at Corpse. Growing up doing this exact thing has given me great aim, therefore I hit Corpse square in the chest.

“Oh you’re so in for it now.“ He laughs, picking up snow to form his own snowball.

“Snowball fight!“ Ashley yells, ditching the sticks to make a snowball for herself.

“Oh no...“ I poke my head in the hallway just as a snowball hits my upper arm, “Aims, I need your help!“ 

Before Amy can respond, I run to take cover behind the nearest snowman that, luckily for me happens to be one of the larger ones. I hear Amy call out my name when she exits the house, followed by a surprised yelp from her when three snowballs hit her. “You are all dead!”

While she is fighting blood and fire (well, water really), I am making ammunition for us both to use. I’m on my eleventh snowball when snow showers me from above as though it has fallen from a tree branch.

“Hiding, I see.“ I am still in shock, hair and upper body covered in snow, when I hear Corpse’s taunting voice.

My vengeance instinct kicks in having me grab two snowballs and turn to throw them at him. To my dismay, he’s faster then me and doesn’t allow me to even get my arm at an angle where I could throw properly. Instead, he turns me back around and picks me up with ease, one arm wrapped around my waist, another grabbing two of my prepared snowballs from the ground.

“Let’s show them who the bosses are.“ I see him wink at me from the corner of my eye and it takes me little to no time to catch onto what he’s insinuating.

In short, with joined forces, we took out the opposite team in no time - like a true couple 😉

#corpse husband #corpse #husband #corpsehusband #corpse simp #corpse x y/n #corpse x reader #corpse x you #corpse husband fanficiton #corpse fanfiction #corpse fanfic #corpse fic #corpse fluff #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband fanfic #corpse husband x reader #corpse hands #corpse imagine #corpse imagines #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband fluff #fluff #christmas #new year #holiday #holiday fluff #holiday fic #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

[siriusmydeer]

breakup with your girlfriend, i’m bored.

james potter x fem!reader, platonic!remus lupin x reader, james potter x lily evans

summary: james’ journey onto finding love; just not with you.

word count: 1.9k

warnings: unrequited love, angst, swearing, crying, mentions of food, self doubt/insecurity, pining, mentions of murder, mentions of marriage and kids

— 0:00

‘You got me some type of way

Ain't used to feelin' this way

I do not know what to say

“so, mates, i think m’finally getting somewhere with lils!” the tone of excitement thickly lacing the bespectacled boys words. “m’sure of it.” he continued, a bit of confusion in his words but still the same amount of excitement as before.

his brows were furrowed and he picked at the skin of his fingernails trying to relieve himself, further wringing his hands a few times before looking at his friends for their input.

“m’so— m’so happy for you, prongs. really, that’s great.” your voice faltering as you continued to speak, trying to scoundrel up a tone of excitement that would’ve played off well enough. instead all you were feeling stone cold truth of dejection.

But I know I shouldn't think about it

Took one fuckin' look at your face

Now I wanna know how you taste

Usually don't give it away

But you know I'm out here thinkin' 'bout it’

a fake smile plastered your face, trying to push back the tears that wanted to desperately prick at your eyes. you tried to further block them from escaping your waterline as you hear the boy jabber close to every single day about the red head he had been continuously fawning over.

the day went subsequently normal; potions, transfiguration, break period, plan pranks and dinner. but unfortunately for you, you didn’t have the privilege to share a messy dormitory with the four other boys leaving their conversations and discussions open about you and more your feelings.

“d’you think y/n was a bit off today?” peter asked abruptly from the place he sat on the oak wood floor, catching the attention of the three other boys who were seated on their separate twin beds. furthering to retain all memories of you from that day attempting to identify where you might’ve seemed ‘off.’

‘Then I realize she's right there

And I'm at home like, "Damn, this ain't fair"

Break up with your girlfriend

Yeah, yeah, 'cause I'm bored

“maybe a lunch a bit, she looked a little melancholy, i guess.” sirius answered this time, recalling the memory of you speaking in a very disconsolate tone. “y’think it’s anything major, or just stress?” he questioned again, beginning to worry about his close friend.

“dunno, i don’t think so.” the lycanthrope added to the conversation. he recalled james’ new confession about the red headed girl, and your extremely unhappy expressions following; of course noticing a bit at the time when it was occurring but just assuming you had a bad day with evan rosier pestering you for a date.

maybe... maybe she— but they’re best friends? his thoughts were extremely close to scrambled, remus was an observer, he was clever and sharp-witted; but this, he couldn’t figure out.

You could hit it in the mornin'

Yeah, yeah, like it's yours

I know it ain't right

“oi, y/n!” a deep voice called in the distance, putting your light jog to a stop in the middle of the courtyard leaving you to stand in the grass. swiftly turning around you were met with the taller fawn-haired boy, who looked tremendously determined.

“i’ve, uh, ‘ve got to ask you something, and it may seem foolish, but i think i just still ask you.” his voice hurried like his panting breaths from running across the school to find you, asking around the library and your dorm mates.

“yeah, moons, sure, anything.” affirming the boy who looked a bit confused, and worried but you didn’t know if it was for his sake or yours.

he grabbed your wrist in his palm pulling you on the prickly grass over to someone more private like to speak with you. “d’you— d’you like prongs? more than friendly...” the boy sputtered, further acknowledging your blown eyes like someone had just committed murder in-front of you.

But I don't care

Break up with your girlfriend

Yeah, yeah, 'cause I'm bored’

“i— uhm, well, that’s a bit— why d’you think— remus, what the fuck!” your words taking a halt every few seconds with a recurrent sputter trying to figure out where the question had even came from, or how he even knew.

“i saw— i saw the way you acted at lunch the other day. i jus’ wanted to know if it’s true.” he asserted, no present lingering touches of judgement in his tone.

remus knew what it was like to be judged, so whenever you had the urge to jabber out all of your problems he was the boy you had always ran too first. knowingly, or not. but he felt particularly disappointed in himself that you hadn’t trusted him with this potential secret.

‘This shit always happen to me (Yeah)

Why can't we just play for keeps?

Practically on my knees

“yeah— i do.” you admitted with a breath, guilt taking a pang at your heart. and anger taking a swig at your brain; how could you be so fucking stupid.

“remus, but you can’t— you can’t tell him, or anything.” your tone was hushed, and only meant for remus’ ears. feeling a tinge of embarrassment warm onto your cheeks, knowing someone you loved clearly didn’t reciprocate those feelings.

“i swear, i won’t. but m’here for you, i don’t want you feeling like you can’t tell me anything.” his words soft, and his tone genuine. why couldn’t you have fallen for someone like him? but instead, you crush on someone who was in love with someone else.

But I know I shouldn't think about it

You know what you're doin' to me

You're singin' my songs in the streets, yeah, yeah

Actin' all innocent, please

“c’mon, y/n.” he beckoned you to follow him, resting his arm on the curvature of your shoulder feeling his side press against your smaller one and guiding you to transfiguration with him.

why? why did you have to be so damn foolish? because it was her, with her beautiful red locks, her perfect maroon lipstick, her exceedingly amazing grades, her ability to be silly for a moment and loosen up. why couldn’t you be her? why couldn’t you have what she has.

it’s because it’s simple; you weren’t lily evans and you were never going to be.

When I know you out here thinkin' 'bout it

Then you realize she's right there

And you're at home like, "Damn, she can't compare"’

“guys! guys! she said yes!” james announced whilst scuttling across the mahogany floor of the common room. his actions at a halt flopping his body over the scarlet-red couch and a grin on his lips.

“who said what?” sirius muttered, glancing up from the map for a moment before looking back down in ascertainment.

“lily-pad! i asked her on a date and she was like, ‘yeah, fine, potter. but if you’re late i’ll kill you.’ just like that!” he pretended to play out the conversation for a moment, his thrilled movements and inflection almost animated from how happy he felt.

‘Break up with your girlfriend

Yeah, yeah, 'cause I'm bored

You could hit it in the mornin'

Yeah, yeah, like it's yours

I know it ain't right’

remus briefly glanced at you, concern swirling in his hazel irises, meanwhile, your eyes widened for a moment. you plastered yet another fake grin onto your lips, about to congratulate your crush on winning a date with his all time infatuation.

“prongs! oh my merlin, that’s amazing, i’m so happy for you!” putting on the best impression of exhilaration for your best friend, the act only remus could piece together and break apart.

“no way! prongs, mate, i knew you could do it!” sirius spoke, his tone fein for his best friend who had been in a pinning coma for the last few years.

‘But I don't care

Break up with your girlfriend

Yeah, yeah, 'cause I'm bored

With your girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend’

the boys continued to congratulate the boy, remus only giving him a nod and a smile. the marauders paying no mind to it and instead james merrily talking about the red head; his red head.

you weren’t his, and you never would be.

yet another realization struck you, the urge and need to move on present in your nervous system almost begging you to find someone else and to hide away from all the pain that could swallow you whole.

‘With your girlfriend

With your girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend

You could say I'm hatin' if you want to

But I only hate on her 'cause I want you’

you were now sat on the smooth ivory bedding that perfectly hugged your bed, remus’ body right beside yours. except you weren’t comfortable, you wanted to cry a valley of tears that could’ve lasted a life time.

“why is it her? why couldn’t he want me, am i not enough?” you spoke through broken sobs, feeling remus’ agile hands rub up and down the column of your back.

“you’re enough, y/n/n. he’s a bloody git for not seeing that.” remus spoke, sponging a kiss on your hairline. he felt the wet tears graze his shoulder, slightly contracting at the cold feeling but paying no mind to them as he comforted you.

‘Say I'm trippin' if you feel like

But you without me ain't right

You could call me crazy 'cause I want you

And I never even ever fuckin' met you

Say I'm trippin' and it ain't right

But you without me ain't nice’

“m’the bloody git! i fell in love with m’best friend who’s in love with someone else! next thing you know i’m accidentally setting dumbledores beard on fire, and accidentally spawning voldemort for christ’s sake!” your words mumbled and obstruct from the tears that had over come you.

you whipped your face free from tears for a moment, basically scrubbing the black colour of your mascara down your cheeks. “you’re not alone, you know? m’right here.” his tone, yet again, sincere.

you felt undeserving of his coddling, that your messy puppy love was so little compared to his issues. “i can tell your belittling your problems right now, you’re aloud to be upset.” he whispered, trying to assure you all he could, whilst disrupting you from your senile thoughts.

‘Break up with your girlfriend

Yeah, yeah, 'cause I'm bored

You could hit it in the mornin'

Yeah, yeah, like it's yours

I know it ain't right

But I don't care’

“merlin, she’s fantastic.” the brunette finished his third speech of the day on how ‘amazing�� lily is. yeah as if him pining after her wasnt enough, then what the hell was this?

the devil poking at you for cheating on your herbology test in first year, the time you accidentally tripped peter when rushing to potions, maybe it was the time you put belching power in sirius’ drink everyday for a week because he said you had a flat arse?

what the hell did you do to deserve this incessant torture that had been inflicted upon you. we’re you being dramatic? probably. but the boy you were quite literally in love with could not stop talking about how he wanted to ask another female to be with him, companionship, life, marriage, children. he wanted everything with her.

‘Break up with your girlfriend

Yeah, yeah, 'cause I'm bored

With your girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend, baby, girlfriend

With your girlfriend’

but then again it was also extremely simple.

he just simply didn’t want you.

he wanted lily fucking evans.

‘With your girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend

With your girlfriend’

taglist: @fathermarty @kittykylax @terr0rizer @aspiringsloth20 @maddoxsmythologicalmind @amourtentiaa @dear-luna @famdomhideout @hufflepogue

if your username is crossed out that means you gave me the wrong username or your settings for public display tags are off!

#james potter one shot #james potter fluff #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #james potter x oc #james potter x you #james potter #james potter x y/n #james potter x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x reader #lily evans x james potter

[non-un-topo]

College, Car Seats, and Creamy Pasta (ficlet)

(This title, idk.) So I’ve been having feelings lately about the old guard with babies in modern aus, so here’s an experimental, kind of self-indulgent ficlet filled with extreme amounts of softness and bébé feels <3

_______________________________

There’s an infamous story all the way back from college that Joe loves to share which involves Andy drunkenly rolling her ankle on a beach and Joe having to carry her home--though, she could have walked, but Joe demanded to carry her--and fashioning an ice pack out of the only things he could find in his and Nicky’s tiny, decrepit apartment: A condom, and some ice from a small McDonald’s sprite (their freezer was broken when they moved in).

He lives to tell that story every chance he gets. Especially now, as he reaches into Andy and Quỳnh’s (much bigger and much colder) freezer nearly fifteen years later to retrieve a not-homemade ice pack and wrap it in a clean dishtowel for Andy’s poor crotch.

She’s lounging on the couch, even though she’s proven that she can walk, but Joe doesn’t mind, as she reaches back for the ice pack and shoots him a sly smile that says, Yeah, I know exactly which story you’re thinking about. He bats his eyelashes innocently back.

It’s a balmy Friday evening and Quỳnh’s still at work, though likely on her way home, so Joe has taken the liberty of cooking dinner. Andy begged to order a pizza, but Joe was not having it. And he thought himself to be the lax one of the bunch. If Nicky were in the kitchen at the time, it would have been anarchy.

“Thanks, Joe,” Andy says, as she settles into a more comfortable position on the couch with her ice pack, sighing. He adjusts the pillows at her back, which causes her to snort and slap his hand away.

“I’m not dying.”

Joe sniffs. “Yeah, coulda fooled me. How much did that baby weigh again?”

Andy laughs out a quiet, fuck off. “Nine pounds, eight ounces,” she says, quick as a whip.

“God…”

The baby, the reason for Joe and Nicky’s visit to Andy and Quỳnh’s apartment, is fairly chunky, sure, but he looks awfully tiny and pink, especially when he’s wearing his little hat. The hat with little lamb ears that Nicky painstakingly knit for him months ago, when he was barely more than a bump, that rarely leaves his soft little head. Nicky hadn’t even known how to knit at the time.

The baby’s name is Lykon, after a childhood friend of Andy and Quỳnh. Lykon was born at 4:26 AM on Monday. It’s Friday evening. Joe and Nicky have not left the apartment since Andy and Quỳnh brought him home.

And neither Andy nor Quỳnh have physically kicked them out, so Joe is staying right here.

Nicky had disappeared a few minutes ago to go change the baby while Andy napped, but he reappears then, slinking into the living room with Lykon held against his shoulder--he’s so little in Nicky’s hands, they almost swallow him--and Joe smiles at his husband in greeting before doing a double-take.

“Babe,” Joe says, and Andy cranes her neck to try and see Nicky over the back of the couch. “What are you doing?”

Nicky continues his journey across the living room floor--lunges, he’s doing lunges. Deep ones that make Joe’s eyebrows jump up in appreciation.

Nicky releases a finger from his gentle grip on the baby’s head and presses it to his lips. “Shush.”

“You trying to get your ass workout in while carrying my son? Really?” Andy asks.

Nicky’s response is whispered so softly, Joe can hardly hear him. “This is the only way I can get him to sleep.”

“Put him in the car seat,” Andy says, like it’s the most simple solution in the world.

“He likes it,” Nicky argues, still whispering.

Andy only shrugs. “Okay, but if he spits up on you…”

And right on cue, Joe hears a tiny gurgle, and there’s baby puke sliding down Nicky’s back.

Andy doesn’t say, told you so, but she doesn’t need to. Her smug grin is enough. With a poorly hidden pout, Nicky reluctantly hands the baby, who is now crying quiet little wobbly squeals, to Andy.

“You know,” Andy says, “you guys don’t have to stay. You have other commitments, I know.”

It’s the first time since Lykon’s birth that she’s said something like that, and Joe is only moderately surprised to feel a sudden onslaught of tears in his eyes.

“Or not,” she says, quickly. “We really appreciate your help, boys, it’s just… We don’t want to keep you.”

“Andy, shut up.”

She laughs, loud and open-mouthed. “Okay, Joe, okay. I love you guys.”

“We love you too,” Nicky says. Then he leans over the couch to peer into Lykon’s squishy little face. “And we especially love you.”

His voice changes when he talks to the baby. While Joe can’t control the way his voice raises several octaves and the way he coos gibberish, Nicky’s voice softens and hushes to something so comfortable, barely audible. It’s the way he would talk to a fussy toddler, Joe thinks, given the opportunity. He would level his eyes with them and speak to them like a person equal to him, providing the safest and most non-judgemental space for them.

Joe thinks. He hasn’t had many opportunities to see his husband speak with toddlers.

“I would be worried about you guys kidnapping him,” Andy says, “but I think it only counts as kidnapping if you leave the apartment.”

Joe snorts, and then he hears the water boiling over on the stove, so he dashes.

When Joe met Andy and Quỳnh, he had been a wide-eyed twenty-year-old, freshly out of the closet and already hopelessly in love. Well, that hasn’t changed, which always delights him to realize, after all these years. It was the love of his young life--Nicky, of course--who introduced him. Andy and Nicky were family friends, more like siblings, really, and of course Andy and Quỳnh had been together since the dawn of time. It took Joe no time at all to find a family in the four of them, inseparable as they all were.

Andy and Quỳnh had actually surprised him when they started talking about kids. That unexpected and world-changing conversation had been the beginning of a long and at times heartbreaking four years, before they finally got their donor, then suffered through a little over a year of IVF. They had almost given up, Joe remembers, between the frustration and the arguments and doctors telling Andy her eggs were too old. But, there he was, at the end of the journey, coming into the world flipping off everyone who said they couldn’t do it: Baby Lykon, the little warrior.

Joe remembers all of it vividly. The phonecall when they told him and Nicky they were pregnant, the panic to help them find a bigger apartment, the indulgent shopping trips, though Andy tried to keep a cap on those, and the weight and warmth of the baby in Joe’s arms the very first time he held him, barely thirty minutes after he’d been born.

Joe had sobbed, of course (something Andy and Quỳnh had anticipated so strongly they bet money on how long he cried for), and he looked into the baby’s big brown eyes and promised him the world.

They had talked about kids. Of course, they had. He and Nicky. But life was busy, and in the last five years between Joe finishing his dissertation and Nicky’s mother getting sick, the subject of kids just hadn’t come up. Besides, Joe thinks now, he’s only thirty-three.

Quỳnh comes home as he’s dishing up dinner for everyone--a creamy, cheesy pasta, because it’s the best comfort food--and her eyes brim with tears when she gets to hold Lykon again. She hasn’t been able to get a lot of time off work, even after becoming a new parent, which Joe thinks is frankly outrageous, but the work she does as a crisis counsellor is of course monumentally important.

They huddle around the couch to eat dinner, but Nicky pulls up one of the rickety chairs from the kitchen table and sits next to the baby, who is snoozing in his car seat on top of the coffee table. Joe doesn’t know how he does it, but Nicky manages to eat his dinner, drink enough water, and hold a conversation while keeping Lykon’s car seat rocking gently so he doesn’t wake up and scream.

Joe watches him as he chews his pasta mindfully and leans close to peer into the car seat. Beautiful. He’s always so beautiful, especially now. The way he looks at Lykon--their nephew, Joe realizes, elated--makes Joe’s head spin off his shoulders. He feels like he’s twenty.

“Crazy how tiny he is,” says Quỳnh, her voice soft and reverent. She already sounds so much like a parent. Joe’s eyes are still on his husband, so he sees how brightly Nicky smiles at that.

Andy makes an indignant noise. “Shut the fuck up.”

Quỳnh laughs, though she tries with obvious effort to keep quiet. She pulls Andy closer, her arm draped over her shoulder, and presses three kisses to her cheek. Then Quỳnh catches Joe’s eye and winks.

Andy shovels another forkful of pasta into her mouth and moans as she chews. With a full mouth, she says, “Joe, this is perfect. Please, boys, never leave.”

Joe shrugs bashfully, pretending to be shy. “It’s Nicky’s recipe.”

“What did you use,” Quỳnh asks.

Joe hums. He juts his chin to the kitchenette. “Your parmesan, mostly, and that fancy milk.”

“What fancy milk,” Andy asks, absolutely stuffing her face.

“Y’know.” Joe waves a hand. Chews, swallows. “The milk in the fancy bag, from the fridge.”

Andy and Quỳnh both stop eating, their eyes bugging out. Quỳnh slaps a hand over her mouth, poorly hiding a laugh and clearly choking a little, and Andy looks… Oh, Andy looks furious. Her face is red.

“J-” She forcefully lowers her voice, shooting a fearful glance at the baby. “Joe,” she whispers through her teeth. “Did you use my fucking breast milk?”

“Dio.” Nicky sticks his fork back into his dish.

“Oh,” Joe says, like an idiot. “Um.”

Andy’s cheeks puff out and somehow her face turns an even darker shade of red.

“I pumped…” she whispers, low and lethal, slow. “...For so… long…”

“There’s more in the fridge, babe,” Quỳnh says, and Joe fears for her life for a hot second. Then she brings her hand out to hover over Andy’s chest. “And it’s not like the tap is running dry, or whatever.”

“So I’m a milk bag.”

“A badass, sexy milk bag who--oh, who is murdering me with her eyes right now.” Quỳnh turns on Joe, then, scooping another forkful of breast-milk-pasta into her mouth and jabbing the fork in his direction. “You’re gonna be up all night paying my wife back for this, genius. See how skilfully you can wipe meconium from his bum.”

Joe only nods in shame. Fair enough.

Lykon signals that he’s awake, then, with a series of soft little snorty grunts that devolve very quickly into shrieking, wobbly sobs. Nicky launches into action with a speed that rivals the pitcrews at NASCAR. He lifts him from the car seat with such gentleness and oh, Joe’s heart breaks to see the baby’s little lips trembling as he cries, the way his little feet kick out against Nicky’s chest as he holds him over his forearms. Nicky is about to pass him to his moms when Quỳnh smiles softly up at him and says, “Looks like you’ve got him.”

He throws her a glance as if to ask, are you sure, and Quỳnh and Andy both nod. Joe’s sure they’re grateful to have the small amount of rest time and, looking at them now, curled together on the couch in their soft clothes, exchanging light kisses, he knows he and Nicky haven’t come close to overstaying their welcome.

“Look at you, Nico,” coos Andy as Nicky carefully holds the baby against his shoulder to peek at his diaper through the waistband his tiny pants. “You’re making us look bad.”

Nicky only chuckles lightly and shakes his head. The diaper must be clean, because he leaves it be and brings a hand up to cup the back of the baby’s wispy-haired head more steadily, and begins to hum, almost a whisper, and Joe’s heart flutters.

“Do you think he’s hungry?” Nicky asks Andy when the baby continues to fuss.

Turns out he is hungry, because he quiets almost immediately when Andy brings him to her chest. It’s not silent in the apartment--Joe can hear some sirens through the window on the streets far below, can hear the air conditioner groan to life, can hear Quỳnh and Nicky’s forks clink against their plates as they continue to eat the questionable breast-milk-pasta (good lord). And, Joe can hear the soft little grunts and snorts that the baby makes as he feeds.

Joe watches his oldest friends--they’re parents now, he can hardly believe it--as they huddle close on the couch and watch their son. Quỳnh wraps her arms under Andy’s so they’re both holding him, and his little chubby fist twitches and flings out every once in a while against Andy’s rolled-up shirt. His feet look impossibly small. Joe remembers the sounds he made when he and Nicky went shopping for all manner of baby supplies to help shave some stuff off Andy and Quỳnh’s list. He’d nearly sobbed when Nicky came up to the cart holding a pair of incredibly tiny socks (and then he had teared up and nearly passed out when Nicky popped the socks over his thumbs. A lot of people stared).

Joe would be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t been thinking of revisiting that store with Nicky every day since.

Now, he looks at his husband to find him already watching him, his heart in his eyes. Nicky slowly moves his gaze to their friends, to the baby, and Joe follows it. When their eyes meet again, Nicky’s are a little damp with tears, but he’s smiling, and there’s something inquisitive and hopeful in his eyes. Joe matches him and slowly, they both nod.

Yes.

#2000 words is not a ficlet sig. i digress #tog #the old guard #tog fic #anyway i am very very very shy about this #might do more with it. idk bébés make me happy. and i don't usually write aus but that could change #sage writes #i promise joe and nicky aren't going to steal andy and quỳnh's baby i just realized how it almost looks like that rip #anyway i'm shy now byeee <3

[nugnthopkns]

i know you get deja vu

word count: 1.4k

warnings: explicit fem!reader, cursing, it's mild angst up in this b

recommended listening: deja vu | olivia rodrigo

a/n: wrote this short little ditty while avoiding my adult responsibilities lmao. it is not great but i really like the premise, maybe one day i'll do something more with it

Your eyes have to be failing you.

There’s no way he showed up, let alone with another girl – who looks shockingly similar to you. She’s a more polished, more refined version of yourself, and anger bubbles in your stomach the moment you see him walk through the door with her in tow.

When your parents informed you they’d invited Pierre-Luc to your graduation party you shrugged it off. Their reasoning was he’d been a large part of your college experience, and it was sound enough logic. You stumbled across him in a coffee shop during your freshman year and quickly fell into a romance that lasted until a few months ago. The breakup was rather brutal, though your family doesn’t know that, so you didn’t expect him to stop by your parents’ house to congratulate you on completing your degree.

Much to your distaste he does make an appearance, with who you presume to be his new girlfriend. You don’t want to stare at the pair, but you can’t help it – they look good together, possibly better than you and Pierre did. However, you notice that the young woman has on a dress that’s identical to one hanging at the back of your closest. Pierre had bought it for you when you accompanied him to France one offseason, and the thought of him replicating the trip with her crosses your mind.

Finding it too much to be in the same room as him, you excuse yourself from a conversation with some of your father’s business partners and grab your sister by the elbow on the way into the sunroom.

“What’s the matter with you?” She grumbles, upset you pulled her away from a conversation with a boy she has a tiny crush on.

“He’s here,” you whisper shout, doing your best to inconspicuously point to the culprit of your dampened spirits.

“Who?”

“Luc.”

Her expression softens, and it’s clear she feels sorry for you. “Shit. I didn’t think he was actually going to show up.”

You let out a rather strangled laugh. “Me either, but he’s here and I don’t know what to do.”

The two of you stay tucked inside for a few more moments, deriving a plan that gets your ex-boyfriend off the premises as fast as possible without him seeing you. She heads outside first, making sure to grab one of your cousins who’s obsessed with hockey on her way. Together they make a beeline for Pierre, who is beyond excited to catch up with your family. You slip through the door and into a conversation with some fellow graduates in the back corner of the yard. It isn’t interesting, just about future plans, but it keeps you occupied. You’re careful to keep you back turned and your voice low – anything to keep your existence inconspicuous.

Your sister keeps Pierre-Luc busy, chatting to him about how the playoffs went and what his goals for the offseason are. A small crowd gathers around him, mostly just extended family members who haven’t seen him in a while, and he indulges their questions with a kind smile. You can tell your luck is running out, that he’s finally going to spot you in the crowd and rush over to say whatever he came here for. The fates are cruel, and at that moment your mother calls everyone into a circle for a toast.

“I want to thank you all for coming,” she says, pulling you to stand beside her. You can tell Pierre is looking at you, but you avert your eyes and look anywhere but him. Your mother continues talking. “We’re incredibly proud of our daughter for completing her degree, and we can’t wait to see what she does next. If you’re here, we appreciate the role you played in her success. To Y/N!”

Your name is chanted like a chorus, and your eyes meet Pierre’s as he raises his glass. The intensity of his stare makes you blush, and you bury your head into your father’s shoulder, playing it off as being overcome with emotion. More toasts ensue, including one where you thank everyone for their continued support, and then the cake is cut. You try to slip inside, praying that Pierre-Luc and his date will leave, but the devil himself grabs your elbows as you open the back door.

“Congratulations,” he says softly, accent thicker then the last time you heard his voice. You can’t lie to yourself – he looks good. The sunshine has done wonders for his skin, and the tattoos peeking out from his shirt sleeve look new.

“Thank you.”

You offer nothing more to the conversation, which clearly upsets him, but he doesn’t do anything other than knit his brows together. It makes sense that you wouldn’t want to speak to him since the last time you did was the screaming match that ended your relationship. You go to make your exit, but the small girl hanging off Pierre’s side speaks.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” she smiles. “I’m Maisie. Luc talks about you a lot.”

“Pardon?” You’re caught off guard. Why would he talk about you to his new girlfriend?

The man in question shifts uncomfortably, like he’s going to get caught in a lie. “Yeah, it’s so nice that you guys are still friends.”

There it is. Saying that you split amicably is probably the only way he could convince her to attend this stupid party in the first place. “Ah,” you sigh, “Well not everyone is afforded the same luxury.”

Against your better judgement, you compliment her dress. Maisie thanks you graciously, explaining that Pierre bought it for her and once he’s cleared to leave Columbus they’ll be taking a trip to France, with a pit-stop in Portugal because she’s never been. Your insides churn, but you manage to keep a glaringly fake smile plastered on your face. The conversation shifts, and you find out that she also studies English Literature and expects to graduate next year. You laugh off all the coincidences, but it’s obvious to you and Pierre-Luc that Maisie is a substitute for the person who came before her.

“Why don’t you go get us some drinks babe?” Pierre asks, and the girl skips away after reaching on her tip-toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

You fiddle nervously with the hem of your dress, anxious to be alone with him. “It isn’t what it looks like,” he starts, but you cut him off.

“It’s exactly what it looks like Luc, and don’t you fucking dare say otherwise.”

He lets out a defeated sigh. “So what if it is? I think it’s glaringly obvious that I still love you.”

No shit you think, but you bite your tongue and say something more respectable. “I’d say so. She’s exactly like me, but hopefully she won’t mind being asked to put her whole life on hold.” There’s a bite to your tone that you can’t help, but it sets Pierre-Luc on edge.

“You can’t still be fucking on about that.”

You’re seeing red now, irate that he is still choosing to minimize your emotions. “I am! Because you asked me not to continue school, which is something I explicitly told you I wanted to do, just so I could be a more conventional NHL girlfriend. And then you broke up with me when I said I wouldn’t do it.” You inhale a deep breath before continuing. “I hope you have fun with Maisie in France. You should take her to that little café we went to, in Bordeaux, where we ate so much food we couldn’t walk back to the hotel. And I hope that every time she looks at you like you hang the moon, you remember that you’re recycling our entire relationship because you let it fall apart at the seams.”

Perhaps your emotions got the best of you, because the look on Pierre-Luc’s face is nothing short of shock. You’re taken aback too – your parents raised you better than to say hurtful things, but seeing him again brought up a myriad of things you hadn't yet dealt with. Without another word, you spin on your heel and head inside, slamming the door behind you. It shouldn’t upset you this much, after so many months, but for a reason you’re unwilling to admit to yourself it does.

You sit in the bay window of your childhood bedroom, wrapped in a blanket even though it’s the beginning of summer, and watch as Pierre-Luc presses a kiss to her forehead before thanking your parents for inviting him one last time. Just like him, every relationship you have for the rest of your life will be an attempt to replicate the love you had for Pierre – a never-ending circle of deja vu.

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @samsteel @kiedhara @tortito @boqvistsbabe @iwantahockeyhimbo @himbos-on-ice @2manytabsopen if you want to be added shoot me an ask :)

#pierre-luc dubois imagine #pierre-luc dubois x reader #pierre-luc dubois fic #winnipeg jets imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #cwrites

[beenjen]

I feel like this is the world right now.

Being medical, we have to mask and wear eye protection at all times. The number of people I interact with daily; that continue or not believe Covid is happening, and that basic precautions prevent the spread of disease is astounding.

It’s not a judgement, my saying that. I’m just flummoxed. Why, would you think protection would save you from STDs, HIV and TB, but somehow isn’t applicable to Covid, I can’t possibly understand, I also though, don’t have the energy to have those conversations anymore. So when someone says anything these days, I just look at them.

I’ve gotten back into HIIT and functional strength training. I’ve said it before, and here we’ll have it again, lifting - even though it’s lighter dumbbells on my front v heavy by some of my amazing mutuals - makes me feel capable and strong. I like it. Too, I SWEAR my booty has lifted a good 2 inches 🤣🤣🤣 my weight continues to ping pong and some days I’m hitting my lower numbers, others I’m higher, and it’s odd that no matter what, nothing fits differently? So what does that even mean? I give up on trending at this point because those just don’t add up.

Fun fact. Jamis’ school sent us an email last night that a kid in his class popped positive. So, he’s out for this week. They haven’t adopted a virtual program this far for this grade, and I can’t worry about it. We’ll read and do some math and hope for the best. I spent the morning working out a schedule this coming week with my work and hubs’ that keeps the kids covered and us. It’s a lot. I’m tired. I keep thinking to myself, how long can this really last? Then another year slides by.

Clarification with mom. Her cancer markers in her blood were trending down, which was encouraging….BUT, She has a spot internally, they have been monitoring as it’s inoperable, that on scan appears to have grown. Even if only minuscule, the change up instead of down indicates something about the current plan isn’t working. So, there you have it. That yo-yo string on my emotions is fucking agonizing. I keep reminding myself that if I feel as I do, this has to be doubly bad for my parents, and not express my absolute rage to them in particular? I try to keep it positive with mom, and that’s hard, she has enough on her plate though than to feel she needs to comfort me all the time. Adulting blows folks - if you didn’t already have an inkling, you heard it here first.

Here some of my food and my cool as sheet kids -

Every rose has its thorn xx

#cancer still sucks #I’m tired of Covid #adulting blows #my kids are cool as fans #eat your veggies #every rose has its thorn #i work out

[1engele]

daybreak | sal fisher x fem!reader - 1. petrichor

Next

You move to a small, rural town, in the middle of nowhere, accompanying your mother. Nockfell, she says. A boy named Larry Johnson introduces you to his friend, Sal Fisher, occasionally dubbed "Sally Face." Your feelings cloud your judgement and you get yourself caught up in what seems will change you and Sal Fisher's life, forever.

[warnings: cursing, smoking]

"the kind of blue that makes you ache."

—

Sticky wood against your skin, the hard pressure of the surface beneath your face. The unrhythmic pulsing of the migraine that pressed at the sides of your skull—like phantom palms, relentlessly squeezing your brain.

You slowly sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before squinting as you adjusted to the dimness of the room. The noon sun filtered through the windows and cast its golden warmth over every surface. Its comfort found its way over your face, and you breathed in slowly.

You could see the dust particles floating through the air. The sunshine opened out its rays over the beige carpet. You crawled from the dinner table, laid on the soft floor, and allowed yourself to bathe in the welcoming heat.

Your fingers absentmindedly began to play with the looped fibers beneath you as you stared up at the dull ceiling and thought. Today you and your mother had awoken at an unearthly hour of the morning to start your travels to a town called Nockfell.

You'd arrived hours later. At the moment, your mother, who was named Michelle, was out at her new job—a supervisor position at a bank, or something. She'd also worked at a bank in your old town but was promoted to another location and that was the reason for the move.

You had the apartment to yourself. It wasn't much better than your last flat—equally as unsettling as the last.

Your body jerked and you murmured a frustrated curse as the resoundingly impressive knocking of your door frightened you into an upright position. You scrambled onto your feet, the heated carpet warming your soles.

After you'd approached the door, you turned the doorknob and pulled it open as far as the safety chain would allow. You then settled your weight on your right foot and leaned toward the opening. The cool, dead air of the hallway breezed your face.

A boy, with long brown hair and dark eyes. Seemed to be around your age, and taller than you. He was tanned. You assumed it was genetic, as your mother informed you the weather in Nockfell was almost always droll and depressing.

You had to incline your chin upward an inch to meet the brunette's eyes.

A person stood behind him, with eye-catching blue hair that wisped past their ears and brushed their shoulders. Matching eyes, a bit lighter than their cerulean hair. The only thing about this person that seemed a bit jarring was the mask they wore. They were smaller than the boy beside him, and you were able to look them right in the eyes.

You weren't any type to judge off of appearances, so you didn't spend much time staring.

"Hello," you press a shoulder against the door, awkwardly fidgeting. "I'm- do you.."

Before you can painfully struggle for something to say, the tallest boy resolves your conflict. "Hi," he grins easily. "I'm Larry, and this is Sal. He and I had the idea to swing by and welcome you to Addison's.."

He trails off, noticing your disheveled state and tired eyes. You were conscious enough to recognize his hesitation and quickly rubbed the sleep from your eyes. "Oh. Oh. Sorry- I know I look so bad right now.." You quickly passed a hand through your hair and licked your lips. "I was laying on the floor when you knocked."

Why did you say that? You've made yourself out to be a real weirdo, haven't you, Y/N?

"Larry", glances over at his friend "Sal" amusedly, almost like he knew something you didn't. His eyes then revert to you. He opens his mouth to speak, but his blue-haired friend beats him to it.

"You're going to Nockfell, right? I'd say you're 16, like us.."

Yeah, okay. Any suspicions a person could have about Sal's gender upon just seeing him—you didn't, his build was masculine enough and you'd already watched his Adam's apple bob, and Larry had referred to him with male pronouns prior—would probably cease upon hearing him speak.

After realizing you should speak, and not silently trail your eyes down his body, you replied. "Oh, yeah. I'll start the same day as everybody else. Shouldn't that be tomorrow, or-"

"After that," Sal tentatively cut you off, and you watched him swallow. It was sweet, his resignation. Like he was constantly worried about offending. "The day after that."

You felt as though you were missing something.

"Oh!" You exclaimed, embarrassment washing over your features. You quickly tell them your name, regretting not having said it earlier.

Beneath the tank top, you were wearing, your bra strap slipped further down your shoulder. You felt it slide. Oops, you thought, comprehending the fact that it had been misplaced the entire conversation.

Quickly, you pushed it back up and reached for the doorknob. "Okay, um, see you guys then!" And then basically slammed the door in their faces.

You slapped a palm over your mouth. "Oh my god," you breathed, abashed at yourself. "That was horrible."

They'll probably make fun of how awkward you are at school, you thought. "I wouldn't blame them," you told yourself.

At the time, you didn't realize the importance of that meeting. But, then and again, if it hadn't happened that day it would definitely have later.

The next day you and your mother settled further into the apartment. Your mother was supposed to start work the following day so that meant she had time to properly furnish your apartment. The moving vehicle had arrived a day after you'd arrived in Nockfell, which was "highly inconvenient and unconventional", to quote your mother directly.

Uninterested in watching your mother painstakingly put flower arrangements together, you took it upon yourself to explore the property and familiarize yourself with Addison's Apartments. There wasn't really much of anything besides trees and grass and the view of buildings in the distance. Oh, and the treehouse. Curiosity got the best of you and you made your way towards it.

It had rained in the night. You could smell the scent of water on dry earth and feel it against your hands and face. You tasted mist on your tongue and your sneakers squeaked on the wettish grass. You could practically feel the dampened mud staining the white soles.

You almost slipped climbing up the ladder and into the treehouse. You were glad you weren't being watched because the face of terror you'd just made was really embarrassing.

The structure was actually pretty impressive. If you could live in it, you would. A few posters here and there and a lot of storage for nicknacks and food. A family photo and a stool. A toolbox, some other shit- it was almost as if people hung out in this extremely well-kept treehouse a lot.

Fuck. You didn't expect the damn thing to be lived in. You'd expected the thing to be made in the 70s and extremely old and abandoned. You'd practically just broke into someone's property! You'd burglarized this treehouse!

"I have to get out of here," you murmur, frantically. "Before we get evicted."

That actually wouldn't be too bad, you replied to yourself. Pissing Michelle off would be really funny.

Letting out a breath, you move from the window and pivot around to climb back down the ladder and run like hell. Instead, your ears absorb the sound of creaking and boyish laughter. You have no time to react before the blue-haired boy you'd met the following day is climbing into the treehouse and meeting your eyes.

His laughter ceases and you scramble to explain yourself as his brown-haired friend follows him into the treehouse.

"I am so sorry," you rush. "I thought this thing was abandoned. I had no clue it was yours. I'm really, really sorry. Seriously. I, um- I'll leave, and I swear I've-"

Larry jerks like he was trying to hold back laughter and promptly fails. He sounds like he's going to bust a gut and you feel your face growing hot. Through your heavy embarrassment, you're concerned he's going to fall out of the treehouse from where he sat on the edge of the entrance.

His friend sends his elbow in Larry's ribs. Larry groans in pain.

“I think what Larry was trying to say there was that it's perfectly fine," Sal looks away from Larry and his steady blue eyes meet with yours. "Really. Not a big deal. Right, Larry?"

Larry wheezes promptly.

"See?"

You can't help but giggle. You quiet yourself as quickly as it starts, and hoped he hadn't heard. When you look away from Sal, you miss his softening eyes.

Larry grins at you. "Laughing at my suffering, it seems. I see how it is." He grunts in his effort to get himself up and on his feet. He's on one knee when he speaks again, an elbow resting on his knee. "What the hell is in that lanky ass arm, Sal? Steel?"

"Something like that," Sal replies, the sound of a smile on his tongue. You meet his eyes again. "So," he says your name, slowly. You breathe in but it hitches. "Why'd you move to Nockfell?"

"No reason that's interesting," you state. "My mom was relocated for work." You step back toward your back presses against the wooden wall and relax your shoulders. "And why did you?"

Sal blinked from behind his prosthetic. He doesn't answer your question but instead returns it with his own. "How'd you know I moved?"

"You don't sound like you're from here," You answered. "Where are you from?"

"Jersey." He returned, gazing at you curiously.

"You guys are like old people," Larry has finally got to his feet, brushing off the black denim on his knees with his palms. He rises to his full height and momentarily startles you. Despite his statement, he asks you his own question. "You miss your friends back home?"

You smiled despite everything. "Oh. Haha, no. I didn't really have a best friend or anything like that. I sort of floated. Never really met anybody."

He pauses. "Well, you live in our complex now." Larry runs a hand through his hair and looks down at you. "If you want, we can both be your friends."

Your eyes widen, and a wholesome feeling flutters in your chest. "Oh!" You glance over to Sal. "I- sure! If you'll have me."

Larry flashes his well-kept teeth. "Good! We need some more females within the gang, don't we, Sal?"

Sal looks as though he cringed. "Please don't call them females. And, uh- sure, I guess."

After that, it isn't a few minutes until you all sit down. You pull your legs criss-cross applesauce and plant your elbows in your knees, resting your chin on your hands.

"So," Larry says your name. "Ever smoke before?"

Your eyebrows raise.

"Sweet Jesus," Sal mutters. "Larry, you can't ask her that." Despite himself, he reaches for the cigarettes Larry's just pulled from his pocket.

"I only asked a question. You're a bully."

You look on in amusement. You can't help but feel a bit nervous about the prospect of doing something you've seen be demonized so often. "I haven't," but this is a new start, right? "Are you offering?"

"Oh, sure," Larry leans toward where you're sat directly in front of him. "Do you want to? Just asking. You seriously don't have to."

It was amusing how hard he was trying not to be to peer-pressure you. You still felt an anxious feeling, but that was only natural. The want to do something "rebellious" overpowered your inner unease. "Uh, yeah. I'd like to."

And with that, he resigns to his own cigarette and slowly lays back onto the wooden floor, brown eyes stuck on the ceiling. Smoke cascades from his mouth and floats through the air. The treehouse begins to smell like a bonfire, the earthy scent sticking to the wood.

You move closer to Sal and maneuver yourself onto your knees.

"Alright," he starts, to himself. He grasps your hand—which makes your heart jump, and you can't tell whether or not you're nervous or his touch had just heightened your attention for whatever reason—and places the cigarette in your hand. "Put the smoke between your teeth."

You follow his instructions. Sal's suddenly closer to you, flicking the lighter with the pad of his thumb and birthing a flame. "Okay, stay still." Suddenly, his unoccupied hand is brushing your hair aside and ghosting the side of your neck before sliding back and flattening on your nape. Chills erupt all over your body from being touched so personally by the opposite sex.

Your nerves are all over as he gets even closer, inches the flame to the end of the cigarette, and lights it.

He pulls back. "Alright," Sal watches you intently. "Now take it and inhale."

As you do so, you notice him stand and walk to the side in your peripheral.

Inhaling it into your lungs tastes like oxygen deprivation and extremely burnt steak. Your entire body is shaking and shuddering as your body instinctively attempts to repel whatever you've just sent into it. Suddenly, there's a water bottle in your hands, and the cigarette has been taken away. The cap has been unscrewed prior, thankfully, and you drink the water. It tastes like god's tears and rainbows and angel dust and you gasp in relief.

"Sweet Jesus," you choke out his earlier statement unintentionally. "What the hell was that?" You raise your head, and he's got his head bowed, bottom straps of his prosthetic unbuckled and he's smoking your cigarette from beneath it. Smoke filters from behind the shadows of the nose and eyes of his mask and into the air and slowly dissipates around you both. "And how are you doing it so well?"

"The first time around is absolutely horrible," he replies to you attentively. "It's all burnt and stuff. Drink some more water and you can try again if you want."

You do as he says, and shortly after you're trying again. It's nearly as rough as the first time around but you hold it in for long enough to do what it's supposed to and breathe it back out.

"Oh," You murmur. "Huh."

Larry chuckles at you from his place on the floor. Sal sends him a lighthearted glare before returning his attention to you. "See? It gets better." Empathically, he adds: "I don't want you doing that much this time, though. The nic sick sucks."

You didn't ask what nic sick was but it was safe to assume it was the effect of smoking past your tolerance and ultimately resulting in nausea.

You pass the cigarette back and forth—Sal taking a lot more hits than you, but that wasn't saying very much—until it was useless. Sal placed it beneath his shoe and put it out. He and Larry both dispose of the cigarettes and return to you, matching your position on the floor.

"So, how was it?" Larry asks you, amusedly curious.

You shrug and smile. "Wasn't bad after the first few hits. Couldn't have done it without Sal, actually." You then meet the boy in question's eyes, who meets yours back steadily, But after a moment, he looks to the floor and sharply exhales through his nose, reciprocating your amusement.

Larry's face moves in your peripheral, and you look towards him, but his features are already changed to how they were before you'd looked away from him.

Huh.

By the time you'd all left the treehouse, the sun was falling behind the horizon, and the sky above you was becoming a darker blue.

The two boys walked you to your apartment.

"That was a lot of fun," you expressed warmly as you stood at your door. "Thanks for that."

"We'll see you at school tomorrow," Sal responded, shifting his weight.

"You can walk with us!" Larry grinned. "If you want."

You found yourself genuinely looking forward to it, agreeing on the suggestion, and turning to your door to open it and retreat inside. Before you could, you were stopped.

"Wait," Sal blurts. You turn, gazing at him curiously. The mask shifts on his face. "Make sure your hair doesn't smell like smoke. Mine always does. Shake it out before you go in."

You doubted your mother would even be awake, nonetheless notice your presence, but you appreciated his advice and followed it anyway. You passed your hands through your hair before shaking it for a moment. You flattened it as well as you could afterward and laughed at yourself.

"Think that was good?" You asked, flashing your teeth.

Larry raised his eyebrows, thoroughly humored. "I think so. What do you think, Sal?"

Sal's silent for a moment, like he's forgotten he's there. Just staring at you.

"Sal?'

He blinks, shaken from his reverie. He quickly recovers, as it'd never happened. "Oh. Yeah," he states, moving to turn around and leave. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

With that, Sal's down the hall and making haste toward the elevator.

Larry exchanges a glance with you and laughs, bids you goodbye with a wave, and departs from you by following after his blue-haired friend.

You think nothing of Sal's quick departure, grin as you think of the fun day you'd had, and enter your quiet apartment.

#sally face #sally face x reader #sal fisher x reader

[valkyriegoddesses]

Thoughts on ACOSF

⚠️ SPOILERY, SO DON’T READ IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THE BOOK ⚠️

⚔️ the good and the bad, I’ll try to get rid of the bad thoughts first and keep the positive ones for the end but idk where my line of thought would go as I recall and type so here we go

• Nesta’s journey of healing is hers and hers alone. She owes no one in the inner circle anything, they didn’t do her any favors. (Now before I delve into this, I just want to say that I see they (Feyre and Elain only) had good intentions, but I’m going to point out everywhere it went wrong, probably against what they planned, but still it went horribly wrong) She was still suffering all the same after she got her free will stripped from her, the decision made for her by packing her things without informing her or listening to her opinion or trying to have a more lenient approach to the matter, being threatened that her second option is being thrown to the human lands where she could die, being lied to about the consequences of her actions in law, being told she “belongs in the Hewn City”, being told she’s “a pathetic waste of life”, and choosing the place everyone admits they hate going to aka the House of Wind, as her destination to heal. Knowing full well she can’t make the descent down these stairs and would be imprisoned without the power to winnow. And instead of being given her space and time, they push her to talk and interact when all she’s trying to do is have some distance from everyone. Some time to herself, to not feel anything, to control the storm of thoughts raging on the inside. And she’s pushed time and time again to face her trauma and heal RIGHT NOW because apparently, they’re timing her. And she shouldn’t have her emotions on display, when she tells them she doesn’t feel like talking yet she’s forced to interact and socialize. Anyone who’s been forced to interact against their will knows how draining it is. Now imagine this coupled with being triggered by water, and being triggered by fire, which are a daily necessity. And imagine everyone got a decade or more to deal with their trauma and are still not entirely healed, yet your time is up after little over a year. It sucks. And I hate how what triggered them to action wasn’t that she was wasting away to nothing, but the bill. When the bill was high, they drew the line. And I hate how in the narrative, the “conversation” -even though I wouldn’t call it that because only one side was allowed to talk and the other side wasn’t allowed to object- was written in a way that made it about THEIR image, when she’s frequenting taverns. THEIR image, when she doesn’t show up to their parties. THEIR image when the bill for her drinking is high. (They say it’s too much money, as if they don’t have all the riches and they all spend money on things that are absolutely not necessary, and THEY drowned her with gifts, LOADS of gifts, after she sacrificed her power to save her sister, which she didn’t do for payment, but anyway the thought is, they had the money and just like they thought Amren deserves payment for what she did in the war, they should’ve kept the same energy for Nesta because she had no small role in that either). I just think they handled it badly. Not exactly how you’d talk to someone suffering from PTSD, depression and survivor’s guilt. For one, threatening a worse alternative isn’t helpful. Secondly, There were way too many people in that room. More than necessary. Feyre and Elain would’ve been enough AS HER FAMILY (and I’ll get to details on this in a moment). And Feyre was the only decent one handling it as someone who actually was looking for a better outcome and really had the intention to help, someone who wasn’t there just to humiliate. Amren and Rhys were only there to land jabs and poke at her insecurities and bad coping mechanisms. Rhys used his power on her to force her to obey him and we all know how it’s a big NO among them. Many of those in the IC had worse coping mechanisms. But what she was doing was too much for them to handle? She was self-destructing. And she kept her distance. If I told someone I needed my space and they kept poking their head in my business, I sure as hell would lash out. When someone needs space, their privacy should be respected. No matter how long it takes them.

And I don’t see where the problem with her drinking was. She never showed up to events drunk. We never saw her hungover the day after. She was spending some money on drinking yes, but it did not get out of hand. She was also spending money on food and gambling. All in all, not the worst coping mechanism among those who were criticizing her. Not to mention that everyone who criticized her were drinkers as well, and they all slept around during some part of their lives.

Now the problem with the presence of other people in that room, other than Feyre (if Elain didn’t wish to attend and preferred to have some space between her and and Nesta, it’s her choice) anyway, only Feyre’s presence was required. Everyone else there was just an accessory, only adding stress to the atmosphere, forcing Nesta to get on the defensive with the way they slut shamed her, shamed her for drinking, shamed her for not being able to take a bath even though she told Feyre how the water still scares her, etc. I can see Sarah wanted it to look like a “family” intervening. Like some tough love sort of thing. But she failed. Simply because, the IC might be Feyre’s found family and she might take such a talk from them because it would really be tough love. As for Nesta, she doesn’t view them as family. She barely knows them. So for a group of strangers, or let’s say newly acquainted people, to sit around her and point out her every flaw and shame her for every misstep, who wouldn’t lash out at that? It’s enough she’s forced to spend time among them, on holidays she doesn’t really believe in, where they force her to attend but actively ignore her presence and treat her like a ghost. Why make her come if they don’t enjoy her company? It’s just ridiculous. Then when she gets angry from all the pushing and lashes out and it’s entirely her fault. they’re all like “come to our gatherings where we will insult you, nitpick all your unhealthy coping mechanisms, but don’t be offended and seclude yourself, we all took decades to deal with our trauma and killed people while doing it but your coping mechanisms are unhealthy. And your actions are unforgivable because you lash out at us when we shove ourselves down your throat. How can you not like us? Everyone has to like us.” Then she gets thrown away to a war camp, a FUCKING WAR CAMP, while a big part of her trauma is because of war. And instead of dealing with her face-to-face, while being gentle and showing her they’re on her side WITHOUT JUDGEMENT, WITHOUT WINCING AND GLANCES AT EACH OTHER AND INNER CONVERSATIONS ABOUT HER WHERE SHE’S EXCLUDED, they’re like “we’re tired of your shit so here’s a house you can stay in while you sort this out away from our merry little circle, which has its nose up your business anyway. But still, sort it out away from us.” And in that house she became more and more closed off and her healing - and I will die on this hill - her healing DID NOT start until the house came into play which was her own doing. And it kicked off because of Emerie and Gwyn, who both didn’t judge her, didn’t demonize her, didn’t only see the bad in her, but accepted her as she was and loved every part of her. Showed her that she was not a waste of life and there are things to live for. As for the beloved inner circle? Beyond insulting her and her coping mechanisms, They don’t tell her about the weapons SHE made, because pro-colonization Amren doesn’t think it’s wise, that Nesta would use it against the world. (Amren do you hear how stupid you sound?) they always villianize her, assuming she’d be out to take the world and take revenge on everyone who ever glanced her way. They assumed she was bad, they assumed because she was angry, that she would use her power for killing and terrorizing and building an Empire like they all do. When all she wanted to do was listen to music and be around good company who passed her no judgement.

Anyway, getting into some details with each character:

Feyre: I hated Feyre’s “crying over scrambled eggs because my image is destroyed my sister spent so much money on drinking”. And the fact that when telling Nesta she was doing this for her own good, she told her she was embarrassed for her own image in the same breath. But beyond that I was fine with her. I loved her reconcilation with Nesta. I loved that she was one who wanted to give Nesta more time, recognized that she needed her own time. I love them together. I think without everyone’s interference, their reconcilation would’ve happened much faster. They were already making progress before ~some people~ ruined everything and caused Nesta to be closed off again. I don’t hate that Nesta sacrificed her power to save Feyre in the end. She’s her sister and she loves her and this is not the first time she proved this. She would do anything to protect her sisters and she hates herself for the times she misstepped. Even though it wasn’t her fault and there was a full grown man sitting there who conveniently got a redemption arc. What angers me though, is that it was only after this, that the inner circle viewed her as someone who is worth their respect. And made the sacrifice materialistic by drowning Nesta with gifts. She didn’t do it for their acceptance or for their love, or for payment. She did it because her sister needed help. Period. (Sidenote: I’m writing a post where I delve deep into their relationship, which I will eventually post, because I think I reached an understanding about their relationship)

Elain: let me get something out of the way, she has power. She has free will, she’s not a baby. She’s a grown woman who doesn’t need coddling. I hate how the fandom views her as a baby. And she’s constantly infantilized, preventing her from reaching her full potential. Now that that’s out of the way, here are my 2 cents on her, since she wasn’t in this book much: Nesta’s wording was very clear, yet I’ve seen this scene misread all over the timeline. Nesta said “I sat by your side for weeks. Weeks, while you wasted away, refusing food and drink. While you appeared to hope you’d just wither and die. No one suggested you either shape up or be shipped back to the human lands.” Nesta’s problem is NOT that Elain wasn’t “there” as in “by her side”. She explicitly stated she needed space. Nesta’s problem was that she stood between Elain and anyone who might tell her to snap out of it and lock her trauma in some dark room in the back of her head. She made sure Elain had her time. While Elain agreed to pack her bags and didn’t prevent them from shipping her away, deciding her time was up. All she wants is time, and Elain didn’t have her back on this. Then we have the fact that Elain slut-shamed Nesta. And then when Nesta comes to the party this time, Elain meets her at the door and her reaction instead of saying hi and leaving it at that or simply ignoring her, is “did Feyre pay you this time?” I’m torn on where to stand on the Elain-Nesta situation, a part of me is disappointed in Elain. I think she should’ve handled this better than anyone else because she was there, she witnessed the trauma happen, Nesta was there for her, they grew up being inseparable the entire time. If anyone should understand her better than anyone else, it’s Elain. So why did she abandon her to everyone’s judgement? And a part of me is like maybe she knew whatever she voted wouldn’t matter because the IC were taking the step anyway, and didn’t want to be there when it happened. Or maybe she’s still dealing with her own trauma in her own way and doesn’t want a confrontation. But I always circle back to the sl*t-shaming and the shaming about the drinking, and then I think about the Solstice scene where as soon as she saw her she was like “did Feyre pay you this time?” And a part of me is angry about the shaming undertone of that too, while some part of me thinks that maybe Elain felt unwanted along with everyone else and that in order for Nesta to meet them, she has to be paid, but we will never know unless we hear it from her.

Rhysand: that piece of shit, misogynist, who used his powers to compel Nesta to obey his orders, pulled rank on her, taunted and threatened her every step of the way and utilized her for his own agenda, and was *surprised* to learn the woman has trauma. Took him being inside her head and unable to wake her up from the nightmare, because the behavior she was exhibiting wasn’t enough. [insert shocked pickatchu meme]. I also would like to add that him playing the protective love interest from his mate’s own sister, WHO COULD’VE HARMED HER IF SHE WANTED TO, but never wanted to because she’s not a bad person, is so cheap. Like- you, the guy who drugged her and made her give you lap dances, are afraid for her sake… from her sister? Who only ever used words as jabs and is generally rude? Or do you feel like you’re overpowered and are trying to fill the void in your toxic masculinity and reassert dominance ?

Cassian: He was patient with her, and probably the healthiest person in the inner circle who dealt with her until she was okay, but he still silently agreed with all the shit that was said about her. Shit she didn’t deserve to be said about her as someone going through trauma. He mocked whatever progress she made on the stairs calling it pathetic in the beginning. He stayed silent when Nesta was stripped of her will, when she was told she belongs in the Court of Nightmares, when her fate was decided for her, when she was being lied to, when she was threatened to be thrown to the humans who would kill her. He made some progress and understood her better with time, but it doesn’t excuse how he stayed silent when she was being mistreated. Specially since he claims her loves her. He also stayed silent as the Inner Circle despised her presence but still used her to reach what they’re plotting for. He progressed, and he got better, I’ll give him that. But still, as someone who claims he loves her the way he does, he shouldn’t have allowed his friends to manipulate and use her in their schemes but then exclude her from everything else, even knowledge about her own power. But I love that he was patient, that he worked to understand her, that he grew to stand up for her. I would argue that they are the healthiest ship written by SJM this far.

Mor: fucking Mor, who experienced trauma, told Nesta she belongs in the court of Nightmares. Where she was abused herself. Knowing women are viewed as objects there, knowing Nesta would recieve abuse there. She said that, wishing abuse on someone who she simply didn’t like and had some quarrels with. They never saw eye to eye and that’s fine. They always had sharp tongues when talking to each other and that’s fine. What’s not fine though, is that THIS of all things, seemed so out of character for Mor. Now, she never knew Nesta was a survivor of SA. But as someone who helps SA victims, she’s the last person I expected such a comment from. It felt very out of character. I hate that this is the Bi character in all of this mess. Of all people, a hypocrite is the Bi person. The LGBTQ community deserves better. I thought about it, and maybe Mor, being like a stranger to Nesta, and seeing her ignore Cassian in front of the Illyrians who already look down on him, made her angry to the point where she just wanted to land a jab and didn’t think her words would mean anything. Maybe all she wanted to do was stand up for Cassian, but what she said was definitely not true and not okay. I wanted her and Nesta to have a talk about it, but also she grew to have decent conversations with her and she helped her when she and Cassian had that fight. So I don’t know, maybe it’s a silent progress between them.

Amren: this one told her she was a waste of life. What a great way to deal with someone who’s suffering from PTSD and depression and having suicidal thoughts, Amren. Tell them they’re a waste of life, enforce every thought they are having as fact, push them to the point where they doubt they should be breathing, and when they’re told they could tumble down a mountain and break their bones while hiking, their first thought would be “good”. Amren deserves a medal, a badge of honor for being the 500+ old woman who has healthy ways of dealing with traumatized people telling them they don’t deserve to live because the thoughts of their power and dealing with controlling that power right now is so overwhelming. Amren, who decided that because Nesta was always angry, she had no right to know that she used her power unknowingly and forged powerful weapons. Amren, who was pushing for colonization throughout this book, was afraid of Nesta misusing her power. Villainizing Nesta’s every thought, as if Nesta wasn’t overwhelmed from the thought of possessing so much power, as if Nesta doesn’t refuse to use her powers and train. As if Nesta is out there hiding as she masters her power to reemerge and turn the world upside down. You’re the one who’s pushing Rhys to colonize other territories and become high king, Amren. Maybe *you* should be locked up in the house of wind for therapy. What hurts most in this is Amren was her friend. She trusted Amren. Amren said that shitty line to her and then lied to her and manipulated her and used her to further Rhys’s agenda. She flopped from telling Feyre that Nesta is immortal and a few years are nothing, and she should be given time. She would not betray her trust, to whatever she turned into in ACOSF. And everyone give SJM a round of pats on the back and an applause for making Amren the wise one here and making Nesta, the traumatized one who was wronged, get on her knees and apologize. I mean- if you thought this apology scene was necessary, then clarification about the fight between them was just as necessary. Or you include neither scene. But deeming the apology important and not the incident? This is some victim blaming on a whole other level.

The House of Wind: The house of wind was honestly one of the best parts of this book. It was Nesta, “Lady Death” as they call her, breathing life into something, and it was gentle, and it was patient, and it was understanding, and it pushed her to be healthier without judging, without throwing insults or slut-shaming. It hated that she didn’t eat? It kept waiting for her until her body gave out and she had to eat. It didn’t like her drinking? It gave her water when she asked for wine. It showed her its darkest part where she found the greatest warmth as well, as if saying don’t be ashamed of your darkness because in it you’ll find light, and it didn’t abandon her or stop responding to her when she was angry. It was actively by her side, without any judgement, only support and pushing her to fix the behaviours without dissing her. and it was everything those people around her weren’t. It was family.

Gwyn: their first meeting wasn’t at all what you would call “friendly”, to a fault by Nesta. Gwyn didn’t even know anything about Nesta, yet she didn’t react with even more anger as ~others~ did, she didn’t fear Nesta, or give a retort, or get angry and lash out at her. She took the blow and was, with all the calm in the world, like fine, you want to tell on me, go tell. And Nesta did go tell on her, then realized by herself how she acted rashly. And later helped Gwyn without being asked to, by swapping the book so Merrill doesn’t scold her. And their friendship grew to the point where Gwyn, a traumatized person who couldn’t dare leave the library, started training with her, was her friend and had conversations with her that didn’t center her trauma or her coping mechanisms being analyzed. She went out of the library for the first time in 2 years when she knew Nesta needed her by her side. She occupied her mind with stories of Valkyries, women being strong and unyielding in a society which didn’t allow it. She took her hand and gave her a purpose in life to work for. Gave her a friend who didn’t judge, a kind face in the maelstorm of judgemental faces. Until she felt like a safe space to Nesta to the point where she spilled all her thoughts, the ones she could only admit to herself, to Gwyn, letting her inside those walls. And when she braced for judgement, she didn’t receive it. Gwyn dealing with someone’s trauma, as someone who’s been through trauma herself, is one of the beautiful corners of this book

Emerie: Another woman with trauma. She sees Nesta enter her store, of course she knows who she is, yet she doesn’t judge her. Nesta asks about making the fatigues warmer, Emerie says she’ll ask, but it’s costly. Nesta says then she can’t afford it, admits that she was cut off, Emerie, as a stranger, doesn’t judge her. She says she could make them anyway and she can pay her as she can. Because no one should feel cold. It’s simple, irrelevant. Nesta wouldn’t freeze to death, she as a stranger has no obligation to help, it’s a simple reasoning. “You shouldn’t feel cold”. It’s enough for her to help Nesta. Something as mundane as feeling cold. She asks her to join her for a meal. And Nesta asks her if she would join the training, which Emerie refuses. and Nesta blurts out that she didn’t take her for a coward. And later, Nesta sends her the herbs she wishes to get which she can’t get often because of her location, and it’s a message of “you too deserve to see what’s best in the world, to go out and experience the beautiful parts and live, not just exist”. So Emerie goes to training with her as well, and they bond over romance novels. Emerie also reaches a point where she opens up about her own trauma, and tells the truth about what she faced and her survival. This girl who is 50-something at least, who has never had friends, living a lonely secluded life, finally found someone who was trustworthy enough to be around and form a bond with. As for the fact that she is a PoC, and the illyrians are portrayed as this group of savages who abuse their women and their women have no say in their lives and futures and how they clip their women’s wings, when wings, wingspan and wingplay heavily imply that wings are erogenous parts of the body and wing clipping seems to be the equivalent of Circumcision, which again so happens to be done by the “PoC savages who abuse their women”, hits a whole lot as fucking racist and xenophobic. PoC deserve a storyline where they’re not viewed as the villains.

Azriel: I loved his relationship with Nesta. He was the best chaperon™️, he never spoke in judgement toward her. There was a silent understanding between them. However, I’m not against him showing his feelings toward Elain or her toward him. It’s fine, if that’s what they both want. I don’t think Lucien is the type to call for a blood duel. He simply brings her presents and attends when invited, he doesn’t force himself on her and keeps his distance. However I did hate that Azriel took the necklace and gave it to Gwyn, as a secondhand. I know his only intention was to make her smile but the necklace wasn’t meant for her. It’s not a trial by error, he can’t just keep trying out with different women every time he fails with one. And I’ll just leave this here.

The elephant in the room: the entire IC is involved in this, them all blaming Nesta, framing her as the wrong person, when she told Feyre about the dangers of her pregnancy? I don’t care if she did it while she was angry, her heart was in the right place. She got hurt from them deciding her fate without her involvement, voting on her, not once, but twice, about her fate because she wasn’t fast enough to deal with her trauma, then again when deciding if she should know about what she did with her own power and the weapons. and she showed Feyre what was really at play. Protecting her from what she faced with the Inner Circle. Just because she was angry while doing it does not mean she did it out of spite. She did it to expose them, specially Amren at that point. But I don’t get how it was twisted to “because she wanted to hurt Feyre”. She wasn’t even angry at Feyre. But you all would rather suck up to the Inner Circle than confront the fact that they’re hypocrites and liars with a propaganda. They’re evil. They fear Nesta using her power to seize control of everyone because it’s how THEY are. With all this High King crap. Basically colonization dreams. With how they press rank whenever it suits them, and lie about the law to win arguments. It’s because those who are inherently bad think everyone is bad just like them.

Other Elephants in the room which have been here a long time: the thing with blaming Nesta for not being the breadwinner… I could never get it. Some have money-earning skills, others don’t. She, at the point of her life when she was human, was only trained in dancing and appealing to men socially so she could uplift the family’s social status. She couldn’t hunt. Feyre could. And NEITHER, should’ve been the breadwinner. Nesta was willing to starve to death if it would push her father to do something. Feyre wasn’t willing to wait and starve or watch anyone starve. But it doesn’t mean Nesta was at fault. She was only 3 years older than Feyre. Let’s leave the “the oldest child has to step in for the parents when the parents fail” mentality in the past. It’s ridiculous. Nesta was under no obligation to be the breadwinner. And she suffered self-flagellation regularly for letting Feyre walk out there and hunt. But she literally had no skills that when she thought of something to do, she could only think of selling herself on the streets. The parents were abusive, both of them. Favoring one child over the other and planting rivalry between the siblings. “i love you” means nothing. NOTHING, when there is no action to prove it. And if anything, this book made me realize that Nesta was never okay. She was never in a good place mentally. I mean, I knew, but this book just proved it. Her mother favored her alright, but it was not in a loving way. She simply exploited her to climb the social ladder. She didn’t give her love, she gave her instructions. She enabled the grandmother to beat her, and instill some “harsher punishments” one of which Nesta still holds the scars for. She was called worthless, as a child. Why? Because she made a wrong step in a dance. She was physically and verbally abused, and her mother let it happen. Yet she was the only one who would give Nesta the time of day so Nesta still loved her. As a child, her mother was the only person who showed interest in her and she clung to. However twisted it was, it’s the only love she ever got. The only love she knew. Then she lost her. and later the family also lost their wealth. So all she was taught to do her entire life suddenly became meaningless because she can’t achieve what her mother “trained” her to do. And we know the rest of the story. She never felt at home, not even when her mother lived and she still had that wealth. She admitted as much. She was never fine. She might’ve appeared the part, but it was never true. And since she was so good at masking her emotions, nobody was the wiser.

side note: As for her power being the “bare minimum” now, there better not be a plothole, since Rhysand couldn’t contain merely the “surface of her power” because it was too much. and if that’s all she retained, then it’s good enough for me.

#acosf #a court of silver flames #a court of silver flames spoilers #acosf spoilers #nesta archeron #nesta acosf #feyre archeron #elain archeron #cassian #anti rhys #anti rhysand #azriel #gwyn berdara #emerie acosf #emerie of illyria #mor #the morrigan #sjm #sarah j maas #a court of frost and starlight #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #anti amren #nessian #pro nesta

[heliotropehotch]

distance - s.r. x gn!reader

Summary: idiots in love realize the truth after a bad date and some snooping through personal journals.

a/n: it's been a hot minute since I created any Spencer content so here you go! Thanks to all of you for your support on my first Aaron smut!!! Please leave any feedback or requests in my inbox I just love interacting with you guys<3

CW: jealous, unwanted sexual advances (just comments and words, a little bit of groping) idiots in love, snooping through journals, adorable fluff

Masterlist

author: author

words: 1589

happy reading!

The date was a complete bust. While they had really tried to enjoy it, it wasn’t like Y/N could ignore their rude tone, entitled attitude, and blatant disrespect for their boundaries. The guy had already tried to grope them three different times before they even got to the restaurant.

As their date progresses, John’s, or was it Jim, advances got more aggressive, making it clear to them that he only wanted one thing.

“Why don’t we just pay now and head back to my place?” His smirk curled unsettling across his face.

Y/N cleared their throat, fingers curling around the ends of their shirt in brace of the conversation. “I’m not sure I feel comfortable with that.”

His brows furrowed, smirk quickly dropping. “Not comfortable? Ugh, I know you’d be uptight.”

“Excuse me?”

“I agreed to go on this boring ass date, the least I can get is laid. But now you’re a fucking prude, after all this. I’m leaving.” He threw his napkin on the table before pushing his chair back loudly and brushing past the table.

For a minute, Y/N sat there shocked, staring blankly at the now empty seat across from them. They looked around, making sure that their date’s little explosion hadn’t drawn the attention of the neighboring tables. A shaky sigh left their mouth, pulling cash from their wallet and leaving well enough for both meals.

Spencer wouldn’t do this, they thought. Pain coursed through them, knowing he was the reason they agreed to this date in the first place. Spencer would be kind.

They reached for their phone, turning their car on and pulling out to get as far away from that place as possible.

“Hello?” His voice echoed through the speaker of the phone.

“Spence,” their voice was soft and saddened. “Can I come over? Please?”

“I thought you were on a date.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but wasn’t sure how well he was doing it.”

Their voice was heavy, trembling with tears caught in their throat. “He just wanted to get laid, Spence. Stormed out when I said no.”

Spencer Reid swore that he had never felt more anger than he had then. “He did what?”

“Can I just come over, please? I- I don’t wanna be alone.”

“Of course, Y/N/N,” he sighed, heart rate increasing with a new kind of panic. “Do you need me to come get you?”

“No, I’ve got my car, I’ll be there soon.” They sighed, indignant of the evening behind them. “Thank you, Spence.”

“Of course.”

---

When his best friend (and secret love interest) had arrived at his door with remnants of tears tracking down their cheeks, Spencer immediately felt guilty for even being angry at them for going on a date.

They pushed forward, wrapping their arms around his waist and burying their head in his chest. He squeezed them, rubbing small circles on their back between their shoulder blades. His heart clenched as he felt their lungs stutter with tears. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

He pulled them into his apartment, thumbs brushing excess tears off their cheeks before setting them on his couch. He darted off to the kitchen, pouring a cup of their tea he keeps handy before settling next to them on the worn letter.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He threw his arm over the back of the seat.

“He called me a ‘fucking prude.’” They sniffled into their mug. “Said I was a boring date.”

Spencer’s hand clenched at his side in anger. “You don’t deserve that.”

They shook their head, settling the warm mug down on the coffee table. “Maybe he’s right, Spence.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean every relationship I’ve been in just ends with me getting left behind because they’ve grown tired of me.”

“Y/N,” he took their hands in his, something he was only comfortable doing with a few people. “Those people didn’t understand how amazing you were, and couldn’t see what they were leaving behind.”

A weak smile was sent in his direction. “Come on, let’s distract you.”

The opening credits to Doctor Who were an oddly comforting sound as Y/N sunk further into Spencer’s couch and his side. Heart racing, as it always did when they cuddled (platonically), his arms tightened around them and prayed his heart wouldn’t pound enough to disturb them.

An episode, or two passed, he wasn’t really paying attention to the screen. Their breath had settled into a steady rhythm, both of their bodies shifting to lay on the couch. The soft pressure of the air leaving their mouth tickled the thin cloth of his t-shirt, lulling him into his own sleep.

The sunlight trickled through his curtains, awakening him to the presence that still laid on his chest. He shifted carefully, releasing them from his hold. He sighed peacefully, watching their undisturbed form continue to rest.

He shuffled quietly around the apartment, resuming his own morning routine as quietly as he could. He pulled his notebook out of his work bag, writing down his thoughts to un-jumble his mind as he sat at his kitchen counter. He left a sticky note on Y/N’s phone, letting them know he went to grab food before retreating quietly out of the apartment.

When Y/N woke up, they noticed their best friend’s absence immediately, frowning at the possibility they had made him uncomfortable. Their spine elongated as they stretched from the rough support of the couch, taking account of their surroundings and the note that was left for them.

They were used to spending nights at Spencer’s honestly. Too many late nights talking, too many sleepovers. They found their way to the shower, washing off last night’s emotions with an unexpected ease. However, they grabbed a t-shirt from Spencer’s closet, too tired to put on the fancy clothes they had on yesterday.

Y/N had yet to be by themself in Spencer’s apartment, always spending time with him whenever they were there. Yet now, they could properly look at his decor without fear that he would think there was judgement. The books that littered the apartment were the perfect amount of clutter, much like how Spencer’s mind usually seemed to be. Eventually, inevitably, their eyes found the journal.

They didn’t mean to snoop, not really. But having your name written on a journal would draw anyone’s curiosity. Y/N’s heart pounded as they read the words over and over again.

I don’t understand how anyone could treat Y/N the way that dick did last night. Why doesn’t anyone see their beauty like me? I want them to be happy, even if it’s not with me.

They missed the sound of the apartment door unlocking. Or Spencer opening the door and crossing the threshold.

“Hey I got your favorite-” He paused, eyes widening at the open journal he left on the counter.

“What are you doing?” Spencer rushed out in a panic as he closed the door to his apartment, stumbling onto the sight that caused his stomach to drop, and his grip to loosen on the pastry bag.

“Were you ever gonna tell me?”

“Are you wearing my shirt?”

“That’s not the point, Spence.”

“Y/N-”

“Spencer Reid, I have sat here for years, so hopelessly in love with you and I had to find out from a fucking open journal that you feel the same? How is that fair?”

Spencer took a step back in shock, with his hands falling aimlessly to his sides. “You love me?”

“I mean even when you liked JJ I just sat there quietly because I knew that she was more important to you, but I wanted to scream every time I caught you look at her. And don’t even get me started on the whole Emily thing because I love JJ but I swear I’ve never wanted to slap her more for hurting you that way because of course I care about you Spence, how could have not known that-”

And while Spencer had been in love with them, and the way they talked with their hands when they rambled, he needed nothing more than to shut them up. He smiled as he pressed his lips against theirs, their mumbled words fading into sighs as their kiss continued. His arms wrapped sweetly around their middle, enjoying the familiarity of his shirt of their body and pulling their body further into his. He pulled back when they couldn’t breathe, and rested his head against theirs. “I love you, too, by the way.”

“How could you not tell me?” They smiled, happy to be breathing the same air as him. He chuckled, squeezing them affectionately.

“How could you not tell me? Y/N I just picked you up from a date.”

“Well, it was only an attempt to move on.” They laughed softly, combing their fingers through his curly mop. “How long, Spence?”

“Hmm?” His eyes had drifted closed, too peaceful to move.

“How long have we been loving each other from a distance, Spencer? How long have we both been pining over something we could have had this whole time?”

“I’ve been in love with you since you walked through the door.”

They giggled, looking into Spencer’s eyes. “Who knew you were such a sap. I expect you to let me read everything about me in that journal.”

He laughed, squeezing them tightening against his chest and pecking the side of their forehead. “You wish.”

#spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #spencer reid #mgg #idiots in love #cm #criminal minds #spencer reid x you

[iwantitiwriteit]

Slow Burn: Book I - Part 7

The Lunch - Small Thank You’s

Pairing: Chris Evans x Famous!Reader

Summary: You and Chris get to know each other better over a flirty friendly lunch.

Warnings: Fluff, spinkle of Angst, Profanity, phonetic spelling of words said in a Boston accent because I needed a laugh

Notes: Hey loves! Hope you all are well! It’s been a while— praying I didn’t forget how to write too bad and y’all enjoy this installment lol. Little FYI: I’m basing the reader’s music off of that of Banks and SZA. Before you dive in, set the mood with the moodboard + music specially curated to go with this part! Read the previous part here.

The GPS said the drive from the museum to the restaurant would be… well, you were distracted from that bit of information. Not that it would matter. Chris keeps making turns against the suggested route, citing that this was “his city” and that he’s a “real Boston boy”.

What you do know is that the talking and laughing with Chris made the car ride seem all too short. Pointing out familiar streets and landmarks, he lit up telling you his childhood stories laced within the city. Pardon, his city. The glint in his eyes and excitement in his voice sent tiny sparks up your spine, but you did your best to ignore it.

Chris tried to guess where you had the two of you going for lunch. You, however, wouldn’t give in to his guesses. Eventually, you arrive at a market of sorts, a culture clash of small businesses and patrons. It’s in an area Chris is familiar with, but he never thought much of coming to.

“I thought we were going to a restaurant?” Chris inquires, not seeing a food establishment from his spot in the driver’s seat.

You puff out your jaw, squint your eyes, and proceed with your best ‘Godfather’-like impersonation as you tell Chris,“I thought you would’ve learned to stop asking me questions by now, hm.”

“That... was horrible.” Chris’ deadpan causes you to giggle in response.

“I know! Now c’mon; I’m starved!” You draw out as you reach to let yourself out of the car.

“Woah, woah, hold on,” Chris stops you with a gentle hand on your arm. You questioningly look over your shoulder at him. He unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the car. Settling back into your seat with a huff of delighted shock, you realize what he’s doing.

Chris jogs to your door, the returning drizzle giving him a sense of urgency. He opens the door for you then offers his upturned, open hand for you to choose to take. You hesitate for a millisecond before obliging, delicately placing your smaller hand in his large palm.

You’re unsure of the last time anyone was this... chivalrous to you. Trying not to dwell on it too long, you give him a soft-spoken ‘thank you’. Chris responds with an equally soft ‘of course’. You both find it difficult to meet each other's eyes, missing the shy smile the other is sporting.

“Lead the way,” Chris gently prompts with a hand extended in the market's direction.

Mildly busy, the market is livened by business people, college students, housewives and househusbands alike. Store fronts of small businesses ranging from sustainable fashion to high-end housewares line the long cobble stone path, accented by fairy lights for added whimsy. Chris curiously takes in the sights from beneath a low baseball cap and hoodie. He’s sure to not let his eyes linger too long for fear of locking with anyone.

Meanwhile, you’re walking with purpose, leaving a distracted Chris behind. He catches up when he notices you turn a corner in his periphery. When he follows the path you took, he finds you by a green, white, and red beaded archway.

You pause and look up at Chris, a playful grin on your lips that makes his heart skip a beat. He’s looking down at you, brows raised with utter anticipation. You think this might be your favorite expression on him. You pull back and step through the beaded entrance, Chris following suit closely behind you.

“Woah…” It was almost as if that small act of stepping over the threshold transported you both to Sicily. The faint notes of Italian standards play in the background as Chris gawks at the charming restaurant.

The mostly occupied dining area is quaint, housing about 10 tables max, including a couple of booths. The walls are decorated with floor-to-ceiling built-in shelves of libations from Italy. The alcohol display is interrupted by creeping vert vines that add that little bit of spice to the space.

As a waiter walked by, Chris breathed in deeply, the warm aroma of marinara sauce, freshly baked bread and Italian spices filled his nose and lungs.

“How’d you manage to find the one Italian restaurant in the greater Boston area I’ve never been to, much less heard of?”

“Hmmm… must not be as much of a Boston boy as you think,” you say with a wink, and Chris scoffs through his lopsided smirk.

“There she is!” a bellowing voice familiar to you draws yours and Chris’ attention away from each other. Chris looks on as the short, husky man pulls you in for a cheek-to-cheek kiss. “It’s been too long! Mi sei mancata la faccia!”

“Charlie, you know I have no idea what you’re saying, but I like the way you say it!” You share a laugh with your Uber driver-turned-friend. “And what do you mean ‘it’s been too long’! I was just here last week.”

“5 days ago to be exact. 5 days since you, ya castmates… most importantly ya directah,” Charlie stresses lustfully in his strong Boston accent, “have swarmed Ma’s restaurant. Whassup with that, huh?”

“The real question here is what’s up with your crush on Sonya, huh?” you tease him. Charlie’s smitteness with your director has not gone unnoticed.You can practically see the hearts forming in his eyes at this moment.

“I doan know what ya tawkin about.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“Enough abowut it! Let’s get ya seated and you can tell me who’s ya new friend,” Charlie says, motioning to Chris.

When you’re seated in a corner booth by a rainy window, you introduce the two men.“ This is Chris, my, uh…um…” You hadn’t really thought about what to call your relationship with Chris. It’s been… rocky up until this point, and while you’ve been friendly, you’re certainly not friends. Not yet, at least.

Chris notices and understands your hesitance, a small part of him hoping it’s because you don’t want to friend-zone him. “It’s alright, don’t worry your pretty, little head about it,” he teases you, earning him an eye roll. “We’re… acquaintances, right?”

“Right! Acquaintances… I guess?” It didn’t feel right, a little too impersonal, but you’ll roll with it for now.

“‘Acquaintances’?” Charlie sizes Chris up, a comical sight considering the dramatically different statues of the two men. He tilts his head and squints at Chris’ face, his expression melting from intimidation to inquisition. Chris tenses, knowing the look he’s being given all to well. “Been here before, Chris? You look mighty familiah…”

“Umm… no... I don’t… don’t believe so,” Chris answers almost timidly. The avoidant gaze into the plastic covered menu, the heated cheeks that shone the same color as a tomato— you know that look all too well. You decide to do what you hoped someone would do for you.

“He’s just got one of those faces! But um, I’m ready to order if you are?” you try to deflect. Charlie doesn’t think much of it and takes down your meal decisions, but that small act means the world to Chris. He mouths ‘thank you’ from across the booth, and you smile and tip your head in a slight nod, sure he would’ve done the same for you.

You order your usual, spaghetti with vegan meatballs, and a glass of the house white wine. Chris has what you’re having except he’s ordered a “tonic”, which you learned the hard way the other night is Bostonian for soda. Charlie is back promptly with your drinks and breadsticks and ensures that your food will arrive shortly with a small smirk on his face that you don’t think too much of.

It’s quiet at your table for quite some time. Both you and Chris take small sips from your glasses, nibble at the garlic-y bread, look out the window and around the restaurant. As you do so, you run through a list of conversation starters in your head but you’ve deemed them all too dumb, too boring or too invasive. Why the hell do I care so much? You glance up at Chris and wonder if he’s going through the same irrational inner turmoil you are. Maybe he’s not, or maybe he’s overcome his when he finally breaks the silence.

“So, um… how long have you been a vegan?”

“Um… how long have we been shooting this movie? My character— she’s very, uh… power to the people— and plants,” You chuckle out. “Figured it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try myself. Go a little method,” you say with a shrug.

Chris waves his breadstick at you as he asks, “You believe in all that method stuff?”

“I don’t know… I’m really new to this whole acting thing, but I guess I just like the idea of really connecting with this character in every way I can. She reminds me so much of myself at that age.”

“How so?” Chris presses on.

“She’s… sure. She’s sure of herself… of her judgements and decisions. She’s sure of her hand in her own success. And that breeds this really un-fuck-with-able confidence in her that if I had an ounce of, it’d be over for you hoes,” you end with a slow nod and look off into the distance.

Chris laughs at your dramatics, but it dawns on him what you’ve shared. “Wait… you’re telling me that’s not you now? I mean, I know I’ve only known you a short time, but you seem pretty un-fuck-with-ably confident to me.”

“Ha! Guess I’m a better actress than I thought,” you mutter. Chris knows it’s meant to be a joke, but watching as you fiddled with the rings on your finger, his chest tightened. A look of sympathy must’ve shown on his face, because you start to wish you hadn’t said anything at all. Did I just overshare? God, I thought I outgrew that.

To save you from your minor embarrassment is Charlie with the same smirk from earlier. He gently places the order in the center of your table, and you finally understand what his face was trying to give away earlier.

“We’re, uh… runnin’ low on plates...” is Charlie’s half-baked explanation. “Buon appetito!” he offers before hastily leaving.

Sat between you and Chris was the meal you ordered, yes, but on the single largest plate you think you’ve ever seen. One plate of spaghetti for two people— two practical strangers— to share. The embarrassment just won’t stop, will it?

Elbow perched on the table, your hand acts as a visor of sorts on your forehead as you massage away the headache forming at your temple. You can’t see Chris, just hear him chuckling and breathing out an “oh man…” under his breath. His fork comes into view as he twirls the pasta onto it. You peek under your hand up at him.

“What? Not gonna just look at it!” Chris insists. “Now, let’s see what this vegan meatball is about… DAMN! That tastes legit!” You giggled at his enthusiasm and felt your tension melt away.

You began to dig in as well. It was fine, normal even, for a few moments. You could almost forget you’re sharing one big ass plate of pasta with one of Hollywood’s most sought after stars at a hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant. Yep, very normal. As long as I keep from oversharing the rest of this afternoon, everything should be fine… you thought to yourself.

“Tell me… how are you liking Boston?” Chris asks.

“It’s fine.”

“‘Fine’?! Just fine.”

“It’s great Chris, no need to get your panties in a twist. But, ya know… It’s just not…”

“Home? Yeah, I get that. Where’s home for you?”

“Um… well I guess home has never been a single place for me. It’s with people I love, as cheesy as that sounds. Home is where my heart is…” you trail off as you remember you shouldn’t share too much.

“And your heart is with family, friends… a boyfriend…?” Chris slips in.

“What is this? 20 questions?” You quip as you sip on your white wine.

“Maybe... if you want. You can ask me something.”

“Hmm… Ok…” You ponder over what to ask him as you twirl your pasta around your fork. “What is… mm no. How about… nah, wait.” Chris huffs impatiently as he awaits your first question. “Ok! I got it!”

“Alright, lay it on me.” Your breath hitches at his word choice and you hope doesn’t notice. Why’d he have to say it like that?! You clear your throat and ask your question.

“What’s your favorite song of mine?”

“Really? That’s your question? So conceited…”

You giggle before explaining, “Well, I only ask ‘cos a little Scottie told me he saw you, and I quote, ‘full on rocking out’ to one of my songs. I’m just curious which one it was.” You sip on your straw and peer up at Chris, watching for his reaction.

Chris groans, covering his face while sinking down the booth seat. You can’t hear too much of what he's saying behind his hands and over your laughter, but it sounds like he’s cursing Scott’s name. When he finally restores some gumption, he places his hands on his napkin, eyes fixated on his fingertips picking at the dampened corners. Teeth sunk into your bottom lip, you try your best to bite back your amusement to not further Chris’s obvious embarrassment.

“Ok…” Chris sighs out, “ I’ll admit it! I’m man enough to own up to it,” he shrugs. “Yes, I was ‘full on rocking out’ to your music. You’re amazing at what you do.”

Your face heats up, not expecting the compliment. You don’t know what to say. It’s not like you’ve never heard it before. In fact you’ve heard it a lot the past couple of years, you’d thought you’d become numb to it. Yet, for some reason, sitting across from Chris, his eyes looking tenderly into yours, the compliment you’ve heard a million times before just… hits different. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

You clear your throat and break eye contact with Chris. “You still haven’t answered my question, though...”

“Right! Hold on…” Chris says as he fishes his phone from his front pocket. He scrolls through his music app to find the playlist he’s made of his favorite songs of yours. Your cheeks burn even more intensely as you watch. “‘Gemini Feed’ is my favorite to dance to; hands down! But I also really love ‘Drew Barrymore’; it’s fun… but sad, ya know? What am I saying; of course you know; it’s your song!”

You giggle in somewhat disbelief of watching Chris motherfucking Evans geek out over your songs!

“Well… this is a rare opportunity I have, to talk to the artist herself, that is. So, I have to ask, how did that song come about? From personal experience, I suppose?”

“Yeah… um, gosh. You want the full or abridged version of the story?”

“Full! Are you kidding me?!”

“Ok, ok! Well, it was right before my album was set to come out, and my boyfriend-at-the-time dumped me,” you laugh lightly at the now-funny memory. “After weeks of heated arguments and projecting his career insecurities on to me, he picked his final fight with me about how I was “acting too famous for him” and just ended things.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah... It completely caught me off guard. I couldn’t think straight in the studio that day, so I ended the session earlier and went to a party, per my best friend-slash-manager’s coercion. She’s a bad influence.”

“I like her style! Did the party help?” Chris asked.

“Well, it was on the higher-end of house parties, and I just wasn’t used to being around such an expensive lifestyle yet. But guess who was there because why wouldn’t he be?,” you exhale and roll your eyes as you reminisce.

Chris leaned in with intrigue. “The Ex?”

“Mm-hm. In my standard walk-in-the-party-scan of the room, I spot him. I should've known because that party was very much his scene, but what I wouldn't have guessed is that he'd be there with some other woman.”

“What?!”

You nod your head as you proceed to spill the tea to Chris. “This dude is there with another woman, after being out of a relationship for all of 8 hours. I think the worst part is that she looked nothing like me. Like, imagine the complete opposite of me to the hottest power, that was who was hanging all over that idiot.”

“He is a total idiot for letting you go.” You don’t know what to say to Chris’ statement and quite honestly forgot where you were, what you were talking about… “What happened next?”

“Right! We locked eyes for a moment and there wasn’t anything from him. No emotion at all. Like, he didn’t care that our relationship just ended. But then I had the thought that maybe we’d been over for a while and I had just been too distracted to realize and accept the party was over.”

“Jimi peeped what was up and got me out of there. I hoped that we could go home so that I could cry on her shoulder all night. Instead, she dragged me to a real house party. I so badly wanted to pity myself, but the energy there was too infectious to not enjoy; it felt like a 90s movie!”

“The next day, I went through my crazy ass camera roll, and I couldn’t help but... smile… and laugh! Then I thought about him, and how stupid he made me feel, and I don’t know… I kinda put all these weird, conflicting emotions into this one song, and felt better afterwards. Like I was turning a page.”

Chris didn’t immediately say anything, taking in the very personal story you shared. The somewhat unfortunate event that fueled his favorite lyrics. He looked at you carefully and quietly. However kind he looked in this moment, it didn't matter much to the creeping thoughts in your mind.

The silence made you self-conscious. You took inventory of your physical, how your face was hot, how your chest felt tight. Your left hand had somehow migrated into Chris’ right hand in the middle of the table. “I, uh— my bad…” you start as you take back your hand.

Chris quickly grabs your hand before it gets too far. “Thank you for sharing that story with me... and your music with the world. Your confidence in your vulnerability is really fucking inspiring. Thank you. Seriously, thank you,” he gives your hand a gentle squeeze for emphasis. He’s looking at you with a boyish smile and tilted head that makes you break down and smile at him, too.

“Thank you,” you return, just barely above a whisper.

——————————————————————————

You and Chris spent the rest of your time at L'amore Della Madre exchanging stories of love lost and life wins, sharing loud laughs and silent signs of admiration. To anyone on the outside looking in, it may have seemed like two had known each other longer than you actually have.

“I gotta say, I don’t like this,” Charlie whispers to you. He pulled you aside for a moment to say your goodbyes, while Chris waited for you outside. “Mostly becahse it was supposed to be my jahb to set you up with a nice Italian boy, but you’ve brought your own,” he says with a smirk.

“Oh, no! It’s not like that! Chris and I aren’t— wait… how’d you know he’s part Italian?“

“I have my sources… which may be the wait staff who are big fans of the guy. Here this is from them,” Charlie hands you a to-go box.”It’s tiramisu… for two,” he winks.

“Oh my god! I told you, we--”

“Will thank me at your wedding!” Charlie says as he waves you out of the door to the sidewalk where Chris is waiting.

“Wedding? Who’s getting married?” Chris asks.

You let out a sigh and shake your head. “Nobody. Want dessert?”

You and Chris small talk and walk and eat tiramisu on your way to the car. It was nice. It was normal. It felt… real. You didn’t realize how much you needed and missed small, yet meaningful moments like this until right now.

The pair of you stop in front of a pet shop window and watch the puppies play together for a moment. You pointed out a pair of snuggled up puppies to Chris. “Hey, they kinda look like us!”

Chris chuckles when he looks, “They do!” A chocolate brown puppy and a tannish-white one lie peacefully in one another’s presence without a care for the world on the other side of the glass. The tannish-white one starts to lick and nudge at the chocolate brown one, eliciting what you made out to be a sleepy smile from the brown pup. You don’t know why, but witnessing such intimacy causes you and Chris to straighten, fidgeting and giggling nervously.

“I had fun today.”

“As did I. You’re better company than I thought you’d be,” you joke.

“Uh… thanks?” He answers reluctantly, causing you to giggle. “Maybe we could… hang out again sometime…?”

“Maybe we could.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.” There’s a beat of silence as you and Chris hold each other’s gaze. “So… you wanna take my number down?” you prompt him.

“Right! Right. Yeah, I should probably do that…” Chris stammers as he pulls out his phone. You take it from him, replacing it with your phone. You put in your number along with taking a silly picture for your contact, and he does the same.

Chris laughs at your shared child-like humor, and you revel in the moment. It was nice. It was normal. It was the first time you’d felt unmistakably connected with someone without feeling anxious of their motives or what the world thought of it in a very long time.

Time moved slowly when you were with Chris, it seemed to good to real life. But just like that, a flash snaps you and Chris out of your daze and back to reality.

You both look in the direction of the camera flash to find a young woman trying to pretend she didn’t just take a picture of the two of you. Chris turns back to you but doesn’t meet your eyes. Instead his head is hung low as he says “I really… hate that shit.”

“Preaching to the choir.” Chris looks up to your face, your gaze steady in the general direction of the perpetrator. “Makes me feel like an animal in a cage.” You say.

This is why Chris doesn’t mind celebrity companionship. You get it. You understand this strange aspect of his life that not many other people truly do. You also get the value of normalcy and privacy… and leaving when the party’s over.

“Let’s get out of here.” You say coldly and walk in the direction of the car.

Chris was baffled, to say the least. This was usually the part where you talk about how “fans” will cross invisible boundaries just because they know your face and name. However, you seemed uninterested in trauma bonding.

You were already buckled in when Chris caught up to you in the car. The energy the entire drive to your sister’s brownstone was… off. Nothing like it was earlier in the day. A simple flash changed your mood, and Chris was aching for it to go back to before. But no joke, or crank of the radio volume seemed to work.

When Chris pulls up to the curb, you immediately hop out, mumbling a final thank you to him.

“Hey,” Chris grabs your wrist gently, halting you, “You get kinda used to it. Ya know... after a while,” he says hoping you’d find comfort in his words.

You look down at where his hand was wrapped around your wrist. “Yeah… that’s what I'm afraid of... but thanks anyway.” Taking back your wrist from Chris, you turn to walk to the front door.

Chris is calling after you. He doesn't want to be emotionally intrusive, but he hopes you'll give him a chance to understand you. Help you. Comfort you. If only she'd turn around. You can't bear to look back at Chris. It will only remind you of everything good today, and why you can't have it.

Part 8 coming soon! What’d you think?

#chris evans fanfiction #chris evans imagine #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans fluff #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x you #chris evans one shot #slow burn series

[taeyohonic]

stolen dances | chap. 8

summary: sometimes supporting the person you love is the hardest challenge you’ll ever face.

pairing: jeon jungkook x fem!reader

rating: m

warning: swearing

additional tags: f2l, ceo!jungkook, bestfriend!jungkook, shrink!yoongi, my best friend’s wedding meets 27 dresses (if the boss/secretary couple had happened), angst-y

words: 2200

links: prev. | next  [masterlist]

note: lower case letters intended

chapter summary: maybe there are too many red flags to ingore.

“what do you mean the menu changed?”, you hiss into the receiver, not caring how your colleague aches an eyebrow at your harsh tone.

“mr. jeon’s assistant called yesterday and demanded the gluten free pasta to be added instead of the duchess potatoes.” your caterer sounds as lost as you feel.

“but… the duchess is gluten free – now there’ll be a double pasta dish for entrée and sides”, you explain to the person who professionally cooks. never would you have imagined you’d be this upset about a vegetable.

“i’m doing what mr. jeon wants, ms. _____. my apologies.” yeah well, jungkook doesn’t know what he wants. his cold shoulder equals an iced crystal – your best friend has been mute even after getting back from his business trip. all the information you need as his unofficial wedding planner are thrown at you from different partners – like the caterer today or the florist last monday.

it’s seems like jungkook really wants to sabotage his own wedding to win this fight between the two of you. until now you’ve let him throw his childish temper tantrum, passively accommodating his changed decisions. but you’re drawing the line at the duchess potato.

“very well”, you say to the caterer. “i know you’re just doing your job – sorry for being rude. i can’t wait to taste… the gluten free pasta.”

the chef on the other end chuckles at your faked enthusiasm and you soon join.

“will you be there for the cocktail testing?”, he asks and you rummage through your desk, finding your planner in milliseconds.

“of course, it’s still on saturday?”, you ask, not trusting jungkook to change dates just to mess with your schedule.

after confirming the date, the two of you hang up and you start to pack up for the day. you’ll do the log entries for your students from home.

“everything okay, ___?”, your coworker jisoo questions, seeing you leave earlier than normal.

“yeah, don’t worry. i just… forgot an appointment. see you tomorrow”, you answer absently taking your prepacked lunch from the community fridge to eat later.

after taking two different trains and one bus, your self-made hummus is looking more like vomit than food as you stand in front of jungkook’s office building. but with your stomach in knots, you lose all appetite.

“miss ______, what a lovely surprise!”, the doorman greets you with an honest smile on his face. normally jungkook would send one of his town cars to collect you for your weekly lunch. to see you getting out of a bus worries the employee.

“how is the family, hanseo?”, you ask and answer his smile with one of your own.

“all well and healthy, miss! mr. jeon just got back from his meeting”, he informs you warmly and you bow in thanks.

with swift steps you move to the elevator, ready to make jungkook listen. arriving at the final floor, you greet his secretary with a short hug, your eyes already set on his closed door.

“may i go in?”, you ask mrs. yang – not really up to date on jungkook’s schedule. her knowing eyes stare right through your question.

“he’s all yours for the next hour; i’ll hold all phone calls.” you nod silently grateful for her discretion.

two loud knocks are the only forewarning jungkook gets before you barge into his office. your best friend sits at his desk, the top buttons of his shirt undone. his neatly styled hair and the reading glasses tell you that the last few hours were full of business decisions and negotiations.

his tired eyes look at you in surprise, before they cloud over with indifference.

“_____”

no ‘hey, how’ve you been the last week?’, no ‘did you manage to grab the credit card i forgot at the restaurant i stormed out of?’, no ‘i’m sorry, i canceled your favorite potato dish’.

“jungkook”, you greet him and hate yourself for how soft your voice sounds. your feet won’t allow you to move further into the room as your body stands still right next to the closing door.

a hefty silence sets around you, while the two of you muster the other. you notice the bags under his eyes – even with the expensive concealer covering the dark rings.

“_____”, your best friend says again, uncomfortable with the tension in his office.

“jungkook”, you answer, mimicking his tactic.

two estranged friends smile timidly at each other, before the CEO gets up from his seat and closes the distance. in front of you, he hesitates for a breath, but then you are in his arms. your winter coat and heavy bag create a barrier which jungkook crushes easily. he presses your body close to his chest, the suit jacket tightening around his shoulder blades.

you embrace him back, just as fiercely, and inhale his musky scent. he smells like love and you feel your eyes water.

“you’re a jerk”, you whisper against his neck, not ready to let go, but willing to work through your anger. the former idol huffs and buries his nose deeper in your hair. you can feel his breathe against your scalp and thank the lord with a silent prayer for taking a shower this morning.

“i know”, jungkook admits as he manages to squeeze you tighter at the same time.

“you’re a child”, you continue while drawing soft patterns across his shoulder blades with your fingertips.

“i know”

another silence follow – but it’s one without anger. it feels like going on vacation. nevertheless, problems need to be face, you’ve learned that from your shrink. so, with a heavy heart, you lose your embrace and try to step away from your best friend. after reluctantly holding on to you, he huffs and lets you go.

“have you eaten?”

“jungkook, we need to talk about this”, you tell him while the both of you sit on the leather couch. you have to suppress the impulse to take off your shoes, an old habit after the long nights spent in his office.

“when did you eat lunch, ____?”, he asks again and loses his suit jacket. the white button up shirt underneath looks a size too small, which troubles your heart greatly. jungkook doesn’t seem to notice, his focus remains on your eating habits.

“jungkook, i’ll eat later, promise”, you deflect and pat your bag with the hummus vegetable stew in it. your best friend doesn’t seem impressed.

“you’re upset because i haven’t told you about a close friend of mine”, you start, only to see him grimace at your wording.

“for five months”, he specifies.

“it never came up in conversation, jungkook. you… you don’t know all details of my life”, you justify yourself while mentally bowing at your backbone.

“yesterday, your mother invited me to their vow renewal, i can open a whole art gallery with your food pictures and i helped you plan a funeral for your living room plant last month”, jungkook replies astonished. “i even held the eulogy.”

yeah, fair, you’ll never forget seokjin’s oscar worthy crying scene in front of the calathea. even jimin was impressed.

“but you can’t introduce me to the guy accompanying you to my wedding?” there is a thick, and reasonable, accusation behind his words. you feel your hands sweat as you look at the tired eyes of your best friend.

“i’m afraid you won’t like him”, you offer. it’s the most logical explanation you could come up with after your phone call with taehyung. when truthfully, you are more afraid of the person yoongi will see in you face-to-face with jungkook.

but your best friend seems to buy your white lie. his face softens as he rests one hand on your knee.

“_____”, jungkook starts, “every friend of yours is a friend of mine.” you snort right into his words, not believing him for a second.

“you put my last boyfriend into jail.” the answering chuckle from him does not sound one bit apologetic.

“he was trash.” you know he’s right, still, his distrust was there before it turned out that your ex-boyfriend committed tax fraud.

“what about jisoo?”, you ask. “you’ve never warmed up to her.”

jungkook looks like he just swallowed something bitter at the name of your coworker.

“she hit on me.” his reveal shocks you.

“but she has a fiancé!”, you exclaim, only to see him roll his eyes.

“she hit on me”, he repeats unforgiving.

just… great.

“yoongi is different”, you say softly, not ready to reflect on jisoo’s audacity. it’s quite common for others to hit on jeon jungkook – he’s famous after all. but your own friend?

“let me be the judge”, jungkook demands equally soft and squeezes your knee.

“i’m not asking for your judgement, kookie”, you huff. you don’t need his approval. and yoongi sure as hell doesn’t want it.

“but”, you start again, “i think it’ll be best if you got to know him before the wedding.” you’ve thought about this a lot. it seems like the best course of action. even if you can’t picture yoongi and jungkook in the same room.

“he isn’t invited to the wedding”, your best friend scowls like a child. now you push his hand from your knee, irritated by his actions.

“he is”, you press, not willing to back down. jungkook’s eyes flash in anger.

“you can go with taehyung. he still has to make amends for fucking the DJs”, the CEO offers businesslike and moves up from the couch, like he just singlehandedly solved the problem.

“i don’t need a pity partner, jeon. i – there is a person who actually wants to go with me to your wedding”, you bite back. sure, you had to beg yoongi, but you won’t disclose that now. you’ve seen his gummy smile last week as he tried on expensive suits. he looked way too happy and handsome.

your best friend pushes some documents around his desk, deep in thoughts.

“as my best man you won’t have much time to be with him during the wedding. he will be alone in the midst of strangers. it’ll make him uncomfortable”, he tries to reason. you can’t help but roll your eyes – yoongi’s whole job description is to talk to strangers and make them feel safe. but wait…

“i’m not your best man, jungkook.” you’ve scheduled the event. seokjin’s best man speech comes right before the main course. you even sent the man some keynotes, with topics not to add to his roast.

“you got upgraded”, jungkook states with a shrug. no, no, no, no, no.

“you’ll have to rearrange the seating chart – the place next to my parents’ is now yours.”

“jungkook”, you breathe, astonished by his thoughts, “i’m not your best man.”

he tenses at your refusal, but won’t admit defeat too soon.

“you’re my best friend, so you should be my best man as well”, he says like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“she was against it at first – some bullshit about gender norms and how the photos will look. but, ____, not talking to you for this long made me realize, that you are way more important than seokjin.”

you can see the red flags wave behind jungkook as you feel your heart quicken at his words.

“jungkook” no longer is your voice angry. the sadness in your tone makes jungkook flinch while looking at you from across the room.

“we’ve both created very – very idolized versions of one another”, you start to explain. “maybe you think of me as important – but jungkook, there is so much we haven’t shared with each other.”

he shakes his head, willing to interrupt, but you hold your hands up in warning.

“jungkook, i lo- i like being with you a lot these last few years. but there are parts of you i’ve never met. i never shared your trainee days with you, the hardship, the success. i was only an unknown fan cheering your band on from afar.”

you take a deep breath. “but even now, you still surprise me with new sides of yourself. leaving me on an island? disinviting my plus one? that’s not the jungkook i know. and that’s sure as hell not someone i want to toast to.”

your best friend looks like you’ve just broken something dear to him and you can feel the defeat in your bones.

“seokjin is your best man, jungkook”, you end and smile at the CEO who won’t look at you anymore. before you can move closer to him, the door opens.

“mr. jeon, your next appointment is waiting.” mrs. yang sounds apologetic and looks uncomfortable between the two of you – so far apart.

jungkook nods at his secretary and she closes the door, leaving you to finish the train wreck of a conversation.

“are we no longer best friends, ____?”, he whispers as he logs into his computer. his posture screams dismissal, but you can see how tensed his shoulders are and how hard is mind is working.

you have to suppress the coo on the tip of your tongue.

“jungkook – you are my best friend. you are a person of the utmost importance to me.”

“you still like me?” i love you, you fool.

“i still like you way too much for my own good.”

he nods silently and you can see the tiniest smile spreading across his lips.

you leave without goodbye, only to feel your phone vibrating in your pocket while the elevator rushes to the lobby.

bring your plus one to this week’s movie night.

before you can send a smiley face in responds, an email form the caterer pops up.

subject: duchess potatoes are back.

_____

happy new year! i hope you all have a healthy and kind 2021! let’s make life better by wearing our masks, helping others in need and supporting those who experienced hardship during this tiering time!

i know i promised yoongi/jungkook cat fight – but the chapter got so ugly that i squeezed in this scene of reader und kookie talking about this mess. so that yoongs won’t bleed during game night.

i’d love to hear from you all, it’s been really silent in my virtual life…

all the best and the warmest of hugs from, dana

taglist: @livewittykid  @thequeen-kat @kagami-s-void @goldenclosethobi @youwannabelostandnotbefound @jinsalpaca @bishuthot @laabellaavitaa21 @baekstans @jalexad​ @kimluvwoo​  @jinsearthh​

#btswriterscollective #bangtanuniversity #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #idol!jungkook #ceo!jungkook #bts x reader #bts angst #bts scenarios

[zigtheeortega]

incomparable

pairing | logan x mc

word count | 7.4k

warnings | there’s a lot of angst in this one, and it’s definitely an emotional hurt/comfort fic! if you don’t like the idea of logan trying to move on, then this one isn’t for you!

tags | @raleighcarrera, @pixeljazzy, @senatorraines, @dionneserrano, @blainehayes, @rodappreciationweek

author’s note | a while ago, my sweet friend and fellow mod @/pixeljazzy suggested a fic plot that’s angsty and absolutely demonic, aka logan tries to move on, so i decided to write it! i’d been working on this before the mods decided to create the time capsule challenge, so i’m very content that this fits into the theme well !!! and to clarify, this is an au where my mc raquel writes down her experience with the mpc and ends up publishing it and unintentionally becomes a best selling author! also yes rodaw brought me out of my choices writing break and i’m not mad at it at all

•─────────────────•

She wasn’t Raquel.

That much was obvious – she was taller. Her shoulders were broader. Her hair was short, bluntly cut at her collarbones, and dark brown.

She was tattoo free. The skin of her arm was bare – a clean slate. Untouched.

She seemed more innocent, too. Not in the way that Raquel was when they first met.

This woman was grown with a full time job and a comfy apartment in the heart of the city, but… there was something missing.

She probably had no clue that there was a seedy underbelly to her home. Didn’t have the misfortune of crossing paths with someone like him when he was at his worst.

She was privileged enough to go about her life while a whole microcosm of crime happened right under her nose. And she didn’t want to know. Didn’t need to know.

Logan wasn’t exactly jazzed to shatter another woman’s innocence the way he did with Raquel.

This girl seemed… safe. Level headed, secure, and millions of miles away from the life he’d abandoned.

It kind of happened by accident. Meeting her, that is.

It wasn’t a carefully crafted “accident” like with Raquel. She actually just… caught his eye.

He’d gotten an honest job as a mechanic on the outskirts of L.A., working mostly with the struggling working class that had long been banished to the dingiest corners, despite being the most important cogs in the city’s machine.

The autoshop was family owned, and had been for generations – the owner, Nicandro, had accepted Logan as his own, and Logan had practically become a part of the Alvarez family.

He hadn’t anticipated finding his own home in the same city that’d chewed him up and spat him out time and time again.

A couple months into working there, he was finally settling into his routine. Nine-to-five job on weekdays, community college classes on weekends, and the occasional Saturday mass when he was invited by the Alvarezes.

He was functioning. He had a routine. And then this girl came in and disrupted it all.

The Honda Civic girl.

When the average looking car pulled up outside, he didn’t give it a second glance.

He went back to work, arms deep in the engine, grimy and stained from repairing Miss Anita’s ancient artifact she insisted on saving even though it was less than a thousand miles away from crumbling cartoon-style till only the wheels were left.

(But she was family to the Alvarezes, so Nicandro insisted on repairing the car for free nearly every week when she needed something new tweaked.)

He heard her voice from across the room and still didn’t look up from his hands.

“Hi, this is embarrassing, but my engine light thingy came on and I have no clue what it means,” she said with a nervous laugh. “I’m on my way out of town for a couple of days, so I thought I’d stop and get it checked out before you closed for the night.”

“Aye, Lo, can you help her out real quick? We’ve gotta truck coming in with parts soon and I gotta keep watch,” Nicandro called across the garage, shooting Logan a toothy grin as soon as he looked up.

“Sure,” Logan smiled politely, scrubbing his forearm over his brow, the sweat managing to hold a couple strands of his hair captive against his skin.

He was assuming it’d be a typical oil change, but the second she came into view, the ghost of the last time he left L.A. gripped his heart and squeezed until adrenaline shot through every vein in his body.

Her t-shirt, tucked neatly into her denim shorts, read “Langston”.

It wasn’t the sweatshirt, but it was the same design, same color.

He knew staying in L.A. was a gamble, but he was willing to risk it. Staying away from Raquel was priority for her safety, but… he couldn’t bury the inkling of hope that pushed its way to the surface when he walked into a coffee shop or a bookstore – places he knew she’d love.

Once he saw the shirt and her big brown eyes, he was done for.

She wasn’t Raquel, but something about her lived in this stranger.

Before he could stop himself, he was comparing her to his first love – a disaster waiting to happen.

Their first date was anything but – she insisted on bringing him a vanilla milkshake from his favorite burger place to his work.

“How’d you know I was working?” He asked earnestly, mirroring her soft smile.

“I didn’t. Nicandro told me vanilla milkshakes were your favorite and I didn’t want to ruin the surprise so…” she shrugged, her cheeks flushed. “I’ve, uh, brought milkshakes up here every day this weekend.”

He laughed – a real genuine surprised laugh – and took a sip from the styrofoam cup. “You didn’t let them go to waste, did you?”

“Nah, Nicandro’s been really happy with me.”

“Yum,” he hummed. “I’m happy with you, too.”

She grinned in delight, taking a sip from hers. “I’m glad my hard work paid off.”

She stayed there for his whole lunch break, and they chatted, casual conversation with no substance, and he actually enjoyed himself.

The last time he remembered having casual conversations about nothing with a girl his age, he was curled underneath the sheets with Raquel, tracing the outlines of her sleeve of tattoos. He could’ve listened to her talk for hours.

This girl… she was pretty tolerable – she listened to him (hung on every word, even) and cared about what he had to say, even though it was a laid back, low stakes conversation.

“My name’s Renée, you know. I realized I haven’t told you,” she smiled, resting her cheek on her hand. She was facing him, and they were seated on the same side of the old wooden table out back behind the garage.

“Renée,” he repeated, shaking the styrofoam cup to gather the last bit of milkshake at the bottom before tipping it back to lap it up. “I’m Logan.”

“Logan,” she nodded. “It suits you.”

“S’not my real name,” he shrugged.

He didn’t know why he was telling her that. If he told her too much, it’d end the same.

She tipped her own cup back, tapping the bottom to get little stray ice chunks out. “Fine by me. I still think it suits you.”

She was way too trustworthy of a man she didn’t know, but… wasn’t that what attracted him to Raquel in the first place?

Without a shred of judgement in her eyes, Raquel took everything Logan said as the truth, despite how many times he’d fucked up. Betrayed her.

Renée didn’t look at him like he was a criminal and… well… he wasn’t one anymore. He was still in the criminal mindset, though, since he’d been ostracized for so damn long.

The next couple weeks were uncomfortable – not because Renée made him uncomfortable in the slightest. If anything, she was doing the opposite, and that was the problem.

He’d had to reopen himself to caring about another woman, and to say it was a difficult task was an understatement. The gates were stubborn, rusted shut, so much so that he had to force them apart, ignoring the grating screech of metal and the inevitable pain that came with being vulnerable again.

They went on a few dinner dates. She brought him lunch at work. She invited him to her apartment. They went to a food truck festival together.

Renée disrupted his routine, and it was a breath of fresh air.

He’d gotten so comfortable with his quaint life and his work family that he hadn’t pushed himself to do much more than that.

But the first time she held his hand, he froze.

She casually grabbed his hand to lead him through a crowd and his body reacted like he’d been electrocuted. It wasn’t wrong, but it felt wrong.

“Are you good?”

“I’m fine,” he reassured her, wiping his clammy palm against his jeans before letting her grab his hand again.

It wasn’t wrong, but it was wrong.

He should’ve ended it that moment, but he didn’t. He’d convinced himself that if he could push through the initial weirdness of it all, he’d be happy. Eventually.

So he went through the motions with her, trying his hardest to push his comparisons of her to Raquel to the back of his mind, but every so often it’d bubble to the surface.

It’d manifest in the most random ways.

She liked Coke icees, not cherry.

Oh we watched that rom-com together, and she hated it because it was too corny.

She likes that TV show as background noise because she thinks it’s dumb, and I do, too.

It was unhealthy to think of Raquel that much – to compare Renée to her that much – but he couldn’t help it.

The last time he was happy, safe, loved, was with Raquel. He hadn’t chased that feeling for a long time (because he wasn’t sure he could find it again), but with Renée he was getting closer to what he used to have.

Maybe it was selfish, but he wanted that warmth – that comfort – again.

She wasn’t Raquel, but she’d have to do.

A month into their casual dating, Renée kissed him. Well, she tried.

She’d insisted on driving him to a boujee rooftop bar near her place and was thoroughly buzzed off a couple of cosmopolitans less than an hour into them being there.

The party was in full swing around them, the corny ass cover band on their fourth “tribute” to Billy Joel.

He was out of his element to say the least. 

Just as he was about to lean over to tell her he needed to use the bathroom, she’d wrapped her arms around his neck and smashed her mouth against his, planting sloppy, sugary, open mouthed kisses on his parted lips, frozen in shock.

“Logan,” she breathed, squeezing him tighter, not even registering how tense he was.

“Renée… hey, hey,” he said, gently but firmly pulling her away from him. “I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink.”

Her big brown eyes welled up with tears and his chest twinged with guilt, the distant memory of the first time he’d betrayed Raquel floating around the back of his brain.

“I’m sorry I – I don’t know what came over me –” she turned away from him, dabbing her eyes with the crook of her finger.

“It’s okay. No need to apologize,” he reassured her, rubbing his palm in small circles on her back. “We’re good.”

“I wanted our first kiss to be special and I royally screwed that up,” she sighed, swivelling back till she was facing him again.

“Can’t do worse than me.”

She chewed her lip, trying to hold back a smile. “Oh yeah?” 

“I was a girl’s first kiss… five minutes after we’d outrun the cops.”

Her laugh was a surprised one, her bright smile replacing her disappointed expression almost immediately.

“That’s surprising. I never pegged you as a law breaking type,” she blinked, the alcohol clearly making her a bit more ballsy than she normally was.

It was his turn to laugh – he doubled over, nearly knocking over her half empty glass in the process.

“I used to be quite a troublemaker.”

Despite her not-so-subtle hints over the next few weeks, he couldn’t bring himself to kiss her.

She probably thought he was the prudiest of the prudes, the local catholic church’s golden boy,  the working man’s poster child of abstinence till marriage.

He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Yet.

He was wearing himself down more and more each day – he was on the track to kiss her in… a couple months to a year. Probably.

Two months in, she invited him to a swanky event her job was hosting.

She was one of many accountants working in the financial department for a large publishing company. She had a really cool gig, and she knew it. She never bragged, but she was proud of her accomplishments. 

So why was she dating a mechanic who was making a third of her income? He had no idea.

Either way, he tried to enjoy himself. The car that picked them up was luxurious, and that and the food and booze reflected just how much money their company had made that year.

The venue was huge and packed to the brim with hundreds of people, the standing tables a couple feet apart all throughout the ballroom.

“Damn, they weren’t playing around with this, huh?” He mused, taking a sip from his mug, filled to the brim with locally brewed beer.

“Yep, they’re serious about giving a warm welcome to new authors,” Renée said over the rim of her drink, gesturing vaguely to the room around them.

“Yeah, so is that what they’re doing?”

“Mhmm. Every year we hold a big party to celebrate our deals for that year. It’s really just to pat ourselves on the back and give our new authors a sense of comfort here, you know?”

“Can I get a booklist or something? I might wanna check out some of these books afterwards. I feel guilty as hell eating duck, drinking their expensive ass alcohol, and rolling back home without, ya know, doing anything,” he shrugged, the fabric of his hand me down suit straining with effort at the motion.

“One of the authors insisted on not being included in any of the party promos so… she kinda ruined it for everybody. But she’s our number one best seller for this year, so…” she rolled her eyes, tipping back the last of her cosmo.

“And don’t worry about it. We budgeted for this and we’re good,” Renée nodded, giving Logan’s hand a squeeze over the table.

“So what’s the itinerary for the night?” Logan asked, rolling his mug around by its base, the beer swirling around the edges, just barely kissing the rim, but not quite overflowing.

It was stupid to relate to a fucking mug of beer, but he did.

Anytime he pushed himself to his limit with Renée, he retreated, never breaking past that threshold, that barrier he set in place for himself long before he’d ever met her.

“The President is gonna give some speech – he’s that guy right there –” she said, scooting around the table till her arm was pressed against the sleeve of his jacket, “Then the Vice President – that woman – is gonna introduce the guests of honor, and they’ll give introductions. Then a brief presentation from my boss about how much money we raked in this year, then… yep. We can leave.”

“Sounds painless enough.”

She laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Thanks for coming with me, Lo. I really appreciate it.”

Before he could register what was happening, she’d tipped his chin towards her, pressing a tender, gracious kiss on his lips.

She pulled back, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

He mirrored her smile, but inside he was screaming.

He felt nothing. The kiss elicited absolutely nothing from him.

She kissed him and it felt like he was kissing a friend. Completely platonic.

He’d sunk months into getting comfortable with her just for it to blow up in his face. The second he’d let his guard down so things could progress naturally, it backfired.

He’d taken Raquel for granted. Being with her was so effortless that he didn’t have to think about it, and he let that slip away without trying to get her back.

He thought he was doing the right thing by her, but it was hurting him more than he’d ever anticipated.

It wasn’t that he considered her another notch in the bedpost. It was the opposite – the bedpost didn’t exist anymore.

There was only her. No one else. No matter how many times he tried to remedy his broken heart, it’d just bring him right back to her: the only woman that ever had the privilege of making herself a home there.

“I, uh, need to go to the restroom. Excuse me,” he said, jabbing his thumbs toward the double doors, heading outside before she had a chance to respond.

He pushed his way out of the room, his heart in time with the slap of his shoes against the flooring.

As soon as he was out of the doors, he kept walking, striding past the laggards mingling in the hallway, past the bathrooms, past the security, till he felt the dirty L.A. air coat his lungs.

God, if he could only catch his breath maybe he could go back in there and salvage the night. Maybe even make himself look less like a skittish idiot.

Despite the fact that his brain was wired to unintentionally treat her like a friend, he didn’t want to hurt this girl. 

He didn’t smoke often – just a taste of nicotine when he was drunk or the occasional cigarette when he was stressed.

There was a crumpled pack in his glove box that’d been there for months.

Why didn’t he just drive? He was fucking stranded. He couldn’t run. Couldn’t put distance between him and this situation that he’d willingly put himself in.

None of this was Renée’s fault. There wasn’t a single aspect of the situation that was her fault.

She was a girl who wanted to date a boy because of reciprocated interest.

He felt like the biggest loser in the world. Here she was, a beautiful girl with a lust for life and ambitions that dwarfed anything he’d ever imagined for himself.

And all she wanted to do was love him.

And he wouldn’t let her. Couldn’t let her.

His back slid against the brick wall until he was squatting, arms braced against his knees while he tried to gulp down fresh air as fast as the wind whipped at him.

He’d managed to find the one corner of the building that was completely unoccupied. For once, he was thankful for his gut instinct to lurk in the shadows.

He’d barely gotten a minute of solitude before the door closest to him flew open, a blur of tulle streaking across his peripheral.

The person’s breaths were labored, panicked, as they ran the opposite direction until they were at the edge of the pavement.

They bent down, just like he had, and clasped both hands over their mouth, letting out a small muffled scream.

When she was finished with that, she tilted her chin upwards, her skin illuminated by the light from the parking lot that spilled onto their side of the building.

If he thought breathing was difficult before, it got a whole lot worse when she noticed he was there.

She jumped, yelping like a wounded animal before stumbling back, catching herself with her hands. “Oh my god, I didn’t know anyone was here – I’m sorry –”

Pushing herself back up to stand, she brushed her palms off and shook the tulle skirt clean. “I’m just a little stressed. Sorry again for the outburst.”

That can’t be her. There’s no way, he thought, his mouth drying out when he got a clear view of her face.

“Raquel?” He asked, timidly, voice cracking on the first syllable.

She froze, searching the shadows, her hands white knuckling her skirt.

He didn’t speak, and neither did she. He couldn’t tell how long they’d been quiet when he pushed himself to his full height and took a step towards her.

“No, no, no, there’s no way,” she whispered, stumbling backwards, catching herself on the brick wall.

“It’s – uh, it’s me –” he said, laying his palm flat against his chest. “It’s Logan.”

His voice trembled, the effort of speaking (despite nearly being rendered speechless) was more than he could handle – it was as if he had to manually pick up his words like stones and drop them, and they were heavy, and he was weak.

She slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. She didn’t respond.

“I… uh, what are you doing here?” He asked finally, forcing the question past his lips.

If he didn’t say something he’d be drinking her in all night. It’d been a couple years, but she looked exactly the same.

Yeah, her hair was mid-length, the ombre traded for a black tone, and she’d gotten a few more tattoos that he could see, but she was the same old Raquel.

Same old Raquel, but professionally styled. He wasn’t self conscious of his hand-me-down suit until he noticed how polished she looked.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she breathed, a strained tone followed by a struggled breath.

His heart dropped to his stomach. He’d completely forgotten about Renée.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened and closed it again, like a fucking fish out of water. There was no way to beat around it.

“I’m a plus one.”

Her perfectly gelled brows furrowed, and his gut clenched at the motion.

He was scared as hell, but damn did she look exactly like she did when she was hunched over a textbook, scrawling notes as quick as her brain summarized the words on the page.

“You didn’t… deliberately come here to see me?” She asked, searching his face for something (the truth, probably).

He ran a hand through his unruly hair, an inch or so shorter than she’d last seen it.

Why’d he have to run into her after he’d gotten a trim? He’d imagined this moment going so many different ways, and every scenario he’d pictured them looking like they did the moment they parted – if he had it his way, every detail would be exactly the same as the day he disappeared into the night, from his head down to his shoes.

“I, uh… No, I didn’t,” he stammered, taking another step her way, and that time she didn’t move back.

Shaking her head, she watched him, expression incredulous. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Just because I didn’t come here for you doesn’t mean I’m not happy to see you,” he said, reaching out towards her.

He thought she’d flinch away, but she stayed planted in place, her eyelids fluttering shut when he stroked the pad of his thumb against her jaw, revelling in how soft her skin was. Just like he remembered.

“So beautiful,” he murmured. “The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

She turned her head just enough till she could kiss his palm, leaving a streak of lipgloss on his calloused skin. “This doesn’t feel real.”

“It is, baby,” he reassured her, before testing her even further by tugging her into a hug. “This isn’t a dream, but it sure feels like one.”

She ran her hands across his back, like she was refamiliarizing herself with his frame, before squeezing him tight, her arms shaking with effort. “You smell exactly the same.”

He laughed, burying his nose into her crown, pressing a kiss there. “You do, too. Like lavender’n’heaven.”

Raquel was in front of him, just as warm and pretty as she was the last time he’d seen her. She even felt the same in his arms, molding to his shape like no time had passed.

Adrenaline surged in his veins, and he took advantage of his momentary courage by tipping her chin upward to get a good look at her.

God, she was so fucking pretty.

Nothing else mattered to him anymore. His mechanic job, his car, his friendships, his home in L.A. –

He’d made a home in those dark brown eyes, and he was willing to drop everything and follow her to the ends of the earth if that meant he’d be back in the one home he’d ever known.

She blinked away a few tears, her bottom lip trembling, dimpling her chin.

He cupped her face between his palms, cradling her face as gently as he would with something breakable, soaking in the moment for as long as he could.

He could’ve held her like that and re-committed every inch of her face to memory, but she broke first, closing the gap by pressing her lips against his and Christ did she taste sweet.

Their mouths, arms, bodies, slotted together perfectly, not an inch of space between them.

Just as he parted his lips for her, she stiffened, retreating from him immediately.

“You taste like cherry. I hate cherry.”

Her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip. “You hate cherry.”

He went rigid, the details from a few minutes before flooding back to him. Renée was wearing cherry gloss.

“Oh my god… you’re here with someone?” She asked, but she said it with such conviction, because she knew it was true, and she was begging for it not to be.

His mouth popped open and shut again. “I’m sorry –” “You don’t have to apologize. You’ve moved on and that’s okay. I’m happy for you.” Her voice was trembling with each word – the stones were heavy, and she was struggling, and he could tell.

“No, Raquel, it’s not like that. I promise –”

“Please don’t make me any promises, Lo. I don’t know if my heart can take it,” she said, palms up in surrender.

And she said his nickname. It sounded wrong coming from anyone but her.

“I’m serious, baby, I didn’t think I’d see you again, especially at a schmooze fest like this.”

She blinked, once, twice, processing what he’d said. “So… not only did you insult me by showing up with another woman, but you’re insulting this event that I’ve worked so hard to attend, and you’re insulting me.”

“Raquel… I never meant it that way, I… I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

He dug the heel of his palms into his eyes, groaning in frustration. “I stayed in L.A. in case I ever saw you again, but I didn’t think it’d be this soon, and I dreamed up lots of scenarios but none of them went like this. I fucked it up majorly and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t fucking know.”

She didn’t say anything for a while, her arms folded across her chest while she mulled over his words. “I never tried moving on.”

It hit him like a gut punch, grabbing his organs and twisting till pain shot throughout his body. “You didn’t?” Was all he could manage.

“No, I couldn’t. There’s no way I could when I’m still in love with you.”

She screwed her eyes shut, a sob leaving her before she could contain it.

“Raquel, please believe me –” Logan pleaded, stepping towards her. “If I woulda known you were gonna be here, trust me, I’d be dressed better and you’d be my date and I’d be showing you off to the world –”

Her watch buzzed, startling the both of them. “I… have to go. We can talk after, if you want.”

“Yes, please. That’s all I want,” he laced his fingers with hers, gently tugging her hand towards his lips to press a soft kiss on her knuckles. “I’ll find you after. I promise.”

Giving him one last once over, drinking him in, like she was second guessing if he was real, she stepped back through the doors.

He took a few deep breaths to compose himself before heading in – explaining his outburst to Renée hadn’t crossed his mind till he walked back inside.

He made his way back to the table, running over how he was going to apologize, but nothing stuck. He couldn’t think of anything but Raquel.

Renée was sipping on her second drink of the night, and his beer looked like it’d been dipped into as well.

“Are you okay?” She asked immediately. “I’m sorry about kissing you like that I just – I just thought you were comfortable enough. I screwed up again, Lo, and I’m so sorry.”

“Renée…” He couldn’t get over how unnatural “Lo” sounded coming from her. “The way I’ve been acting has nothing to do with you, okay? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Kinda sounds like you’re breaking up with me,” she laughed once, rolling her eyes. They widened as soon as it dawned on her. “Wait… are you?”

“Can we talk outside? I really want you to hear me out –” “Logan, if you’re gonna dump me, at least respect me enough to not do it in the parking lot,” she sighed, chugging the rest of her drink.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed, sliding his half empty mug of beer her way. “I do respect you, though. A lot. You’re an amazing person.”

Sighing, she tipped back the beer, gulping until he could see her eyes through the transparent bottom of the glass. “I’ve definitely heard this spiel before.”

“I’m gonna tell you this story, and you’re probably not gonna believe it, but it’s true, and it was my life – it is my life,” he started, leaning against the table so she could hear his low tone.

“Years ago, I met the woman of my dreams, and she was innocent and way too fucking good for me. I was breaking the law daily by doing jobs with crews of criminals like me, living off the grid, making money in ways I’m not too proud of.

“She was a part of one of my last jobs before I left L.A. to lay low and I, uh, I fell in love with her. I’m still in love with her. I don’t know what my life would look like if I wasn’t in love with her, you know?”

Her face screwed up in disgust, and she all but slammed the mug down, whispering furiously. “Are you mocking me? Did you seriously just regurgitate the plot of Ride or Die to me? That’s the story you’re going with? One that isn’t even your own?”

“Huh, what? What are you –”

The speakers crackled and a mic squeaked as who Logan assumed to be President tapped the surface of it, cutting off his response.

“Hello everyone, I hope you’re all having a wonderful night so far. As most of you may know, my name is Arnie Harris, and I’m the President of Harris Publishing. When my grandfather founded Harris Publishing back in 1901, he only did so because he wanted to be able to publish a few of his wife’s poems as a gift. Publishers refused to register it under her name, so he made his own company so my grandma could achieve her dream of being a published author, and throughout the years, we’ve been committed to giving voices to women and minorities alike.

“This year’s been one of our best yet, and I’m so thankful to our new authors for seeing something in us and our mission statement. A big thank you to everyone here tonight – Editing, Marketing, Finance, all the staff and employees, hell, the caterers here tonight, valets, everyone. Tonight wouldn’t be possible without you.”

He droned on for a bit longer before the Vice President took the stage, and she began introducing the newest authors that they’d signed that year.

They’d copped quite a few best sellers, which was impressive. Each author took the stage briefly to thank Harris Publishing and give a brief summary of their goals for the next few years.

Renée was ignoring him at that point, refusing to even look his way. He’d be more upset about that if he wasn’t scanning every inch of the room for Raquel, trying desperately to spot the rose colored tulle and midnight hair in the crowd.

“– and the last author of the night, the number one young adult New York Times’ Best Seller for five months and counting, Raquel Olvera with Ride or Die!”

His head snapped towards the stage, his eyes wide. “What the fuck –”

“Renée, she… who…”

“She’s our top seller. The one I said didn’t wanna be in the promos?” She answered flatly, still staring straight ahead.

“Renée, that’s – that’s her, that’s the girl I’m in love with –”

“Oh, please –” She stopped when she saw how genuinely caught off guard he was. “Oh my god, you’re not lying.”

“No, that’s her – I didn’t think – I ran into her outside and she said we’d talk later, but I – I didn’t think she was coming back inside for this –”

“You’re who she wrote about,” Renée whispered, her eyes as wide as Logan’s were, words beginning to slur just a bit. “Holy shit, I just thought the names were a coincidence, but no, you’re him.”

“What… huh?”

“Oh, Logan…” Her eyes filled with tears. “Ride or Die is about you, your old crew, and how she fell in love with you.”

His heart sank. “About me?”

She nodded. “She changed most of the names but kept some, including yours. The ending… you really had to leave L.A. to flee the cops?”

He nodded. “The feds were on our tails.”

“My god… she’s so in love with you. You have to go to her,” Renée shook her head, her hair swaying around her. “No hard feelings at all. You can’t let her go – I’m serious.” 

She’d taken the stage, and had begun thanking people while Logan and Renée whispered furiously at each other. By the time they looked up, she was beginning her speech.

“I never really set out to become a writer. Even though I’m a published author, I don’t really feel like one. Every time I step back to assess the response I’ve gotten to ‘Ride or Die’, I’m rendered speechless without fail. I just wanted an outlet to get my story out, and surprisingly – thankfully – the lovely staff of Harris Publishing decided to take a chance on me. I never thought this level of success was possible, and I’m so grateful for everyone here.”

She held for applause, smiling as though she was grateful for each clap.

“But beneath the positivity and praise I’ve received, I’m still healing. I’m still hurting. Most people know that ‘Ride or Die’ is somewhat of a true story. And yes, I know there’ve been discussions on whether this is a fake autobiography and that I wrote this for attention. Honestly, for the first year after they left, I wished that it was fake, because I was in a lot of pain. Emotionally, I was in shambles.

“I’ve loved telling my story as a form of therapy, but I wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone. The love of my life vanished into the night and I couldn’t do a single thing about it. No closure, no healing, no moving on.

“Stagnancy’s been the norm for me for so long that I forgot what life was like when I was smiling every day. I’m still getting used to happiness being an everyday feeling for me.”

Raquel shook her head, taking a deep breath and dabbing at the corner of her eyes. The audience took this cue to clap again, encouraging her to continue.

Logan watched the monitor on the wall, which zoomed into her face, catching her dazzling brown eyes. He was in awe. She was tough as nails with a heart of gold and he still didn’t deserve her.

“I thought that a life without love was bleak, and that I was doomed to suffer because I didn’t know if I’d ever see Logan again.”

She took another deep breath, squaring her shoulders.

“I’ve realized that I’m surrounded by more love than I know what to do with. By those who love my story, who resonate with my story, and who want or already have a Logan of their own. I get to experience love every day through that affirmation, and I took it for granted till… well, tonight, honestly.

“The end of the story wasn’t really the end of the story for me. I thought that ‘Ride or Die’ was the first and final book, and I’ve been terrified for a while that by the time the hype for this book died down, so would my hope, and I’d have to move on… but like I’ve said, the closure I’ve craved is in everyone that carries my story with them. You’re all healing me by making me feel seen and heard and loved.

“This might be a lot for a speech at a fancy event at the publishing company that signed me, but through all of you who’ve made this possible, I feel like the version of me from years ago when I hopped in a sports car with a stranger who later turned out to be the love of my life.

“The adrenaline, the lust for life, feeling alive – I owe it all to you. Thank you.”

The cheers were raucous by the time she stepped off stage.

Logan’s throat was tight – she still loved him no matter how much it hurt.

Jesus fucking Christ, he would never deserve her.

Renée was sniffling next to him, hand over her mouth. “Logan, you seriously need to go to her. You can’t let her get away again.”

He pulled her in for a quick hug, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart. You really do deserve so much better than me.”

She grinned and patted his cheek lightly. “You’ve never been more right.”

He turned, darting towards the doors, shoving past anyone and everyone to get outside.

When he made it out of the doors, he ran smack into Raquel.

Thankfully, the only people outside of the room were the security guards, who’s attention was focused on the front door.

Raquel pulled him down the hallway and stopped at the last door on the left, a sign with her name on it taped to the outside of the door.

She fumbled with the keycard, her hands trembling.

“Shit –” she cursed, the card tumbling from her hands and onto the tile floor.

He snatched it off the ground and scanned it in one swoop. Within seconds, she’d shoved the door open and slammed it behind them.

His heart was racing. The last time she’d been this hasty was their final kiss, and he couldn’t fathom going through that again.

She stood in front of him, his back to the door, her gaze trained on his chest.

From his height he can see that her face is contorted, but she buries her face in her hands before he can get a good look.

“She looks just like me.” Her voice was a mere whisper, like she couldn’t manage anything more than that.

His heart sank to his feet. “Raquel –” “You say you didn’t know I was going to be here, but then why’d you date someone that works at the same company my book’s being published at?”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I didn’t come here with the intention of hurting you,” he started, gently resting a palm on her shoulder. “Especially knowing how hard it’s been for you, I –”

He broke his sentence off, cursing himself. “Shit, I didn’t know you were having just as hard a time as me. I figured you’d go to college and meet someone better than me. I don’t know.”

“You can’t just say you expected me to move on because you clearly haven’t. What, is her name Rachel or something?” She pulled back, putting a step of space between them. 

He shook his head. “Renée.”

“It even starts with the same letter,” she shook her head, biting her lip. “You thought I’d move on so you started dating the first person that reminded you of me?”

“I – I’m –” He stuttered, dumbfounded that she’d gotten it in one try, as much as he didn’t want to admit it out loud.

“I want you to understand why I’m upset, Lo. You came back to L.A. because you thought there was a possibility that you’d see me again, but you ‘figured I’d move on’. You’re seeing a girl that looks like she could be related to me, yet you’re avoiding discussing that. “I’m mad because while I’ve been trying to heal, you’ve been making yourself suffer, and that’s not fair to Renée. You had no idea if you were gonna see me again so you tried to get the next best thing. You have to see why that’s fucked up, Lo.”

“Even if I was dating Renée because she reminded me of you, none of that matters now.”

“You can’t just dump Renée because you took one look at the girl you dated for a month years ago and decided you wanted her instead –”

“Stop. Don’t try to downplay your role in my life, Raquel. You’re not ‘just the girl I dated’, alright? I loved you then and I love you now.” 

“You can’t love me and string her along at the same time, Logan,” she furiously whispered, her voice nearing hysterics.

He blinked, shaking his head. “Did… you think I was coming here to show you that I’d moved on? And wanted to rub it in your face?”

She chewed the inside of her lip, her dark brown eyes downcast. “Maybe.”

“Renée ended things first. Just now, actually. The minute she realized that I’m the Logan from your book, she told me I needed to go to you,” he reassured her, reaching out to tip her chin up with a crooked finger, forcing her to meet his eye.

“Raquel, I had no fucking clue you’d written about us and the old crew. All these years, I’ve always known how much I love you but… goddamn, I didn’t know you loved me the way I loved you.”

Her eyes glistened, her surprised laugh coming out as a soft sob.

“So… you really do love me? It wasn’t just circumstance?” She asked, leaning into his palm when he slid his hand up to cup her cheek.

“It doesn’t matter how we felt back then, baby. None of that matters now because we fell for each other while we were apart,” he smiled softly, leaning in to press a soft kiss on her lips.

“God, I love you,” she whispered against his lips, deepening the kiss.

“Say it again,” he murmured. “I need to hear it again.”

“I love you,” she repeated, louder, more confident this time. “I’ll say it as many times as you want, as long as you say it back.”

“I love you,” he said, no hesitation, tangling his fingers through her hair and pulling her in again.

The only time they came up for air was to whisper sweet affirmations against each other’s skin before delving back into silently relearning what they could about each other.

Logan had never been the best with words, and he was at peace with that. He knew that when it mattered, he’d show it. And in the dim lighting of Raquel’s green room, he showed her over and over just how much she meant to him.

Kiss by kiss, they adhered themselves to each other, undoubtedly deciding they’d never let each other go again.

She wasn’t Raquel. That much was obvious. She’d grown into much more than the timid girl he’d met on her 18th birthday, and even more than the headstrong driver he’d left behind. 

And he loved her this way and that way – any way he could get her. His love for every version of her was boundless, incomparable to anything he’d ever felt before.

#playchoices #choices rod #rod logan #rodaw #rodtimecapsule #jade writes choices fics