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#so like i was doing that shit free hand on my ipad using my note taking app
honourablejester · 2 years
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Okay. Exu: Calamity, Episode 4. I’m only an hour in and I have to leave it for the night, but since that was already quite an hour, I figured I’d put up my somewhat live reactions. To, you know. Zerxus and Asmodeus. Because um.
Obviously, spoilers. And panicky ramblings as I repeatedly pause this episode to try and process things as they hit. It took me about three hours to make it an hour in. I realise this is probably not a sensible procedure to keep up for the other five hours tomorrow, unless I want to finish up next Friday sometime, so we’ll see how that goes when I pick this up again tomorrow. For now, have the panicky ramblings:
Zerxus sees a heart, and within it a writhing humanoid figure, briefly golden, and then settling into red hair (Evandrin’s???) trying to reach out
The figure is beyond the seam, still in whatever other plane
Asmodeus isn’t through, he’s trying one more wounded gazelle gambit for the last gasp, to get his heart through the seam
Zerxus wants to go his companions so bad, but all the answers are in the fire
(Luis: aw fuck, I know what Zerxus is going to do, and I know it’s the bad choice, but he’s gonna do it)
(All credit to him for going all in on his character)
A hand like Zerxus’ hand, ruby red, immune to the fire, reaches out to him across the event horizon and reaches him from beyond the plane, despite the figure being miles away
Asmodeus you motherfucker, he’s scared, apparently, motherfucker, he’s dying here, Zerxus will die to come to him, so Zerxus, of course, pulls him to him instead
(Aabria, despairingly: does the timestop stop?)
Zerxus, you pull the true heart of the Lord of the Hells into Exandria
The hand was his blood, Zerxus’ stolen blood, Asmodeus you absolute motherfucker, you stole the blood, you set this up days and weeks ago, you strung him along through the visions building to this moment, when he went down you brought him back up so he could do this, you put the protection on him so he’d survive long enough, fuck you’re good at this, you absolute shithead of a hell god
Fuck, though, he’s actually good at this, the set-up on that villain, motherfucker
Asmodeus looks like Zerxus now, blood bond
Brings devils and demons with him, shadows, Zartaza weeping in joy, Asmodeus having a little crying fit of victory
Luis: I lay my hand on his chest
Lou: trying to climb into his ipad while lying face-down on the table
Asmodeus mirrors. “Let’s get ourselves cleaned up” you motherfucker, echoes of episode 2, mirroring the old conversation
(Aside note from me: I don’t know if I can do this)
Zerxus: What will become of me? (Don’t ask that, shit son, it’s way too fucking late for that)
Asmodeus: Who can say? You are an oracle. I would think that you would know yourself.
(I am in absolute agreement with Lou’s face right now)
(Travis is also in agreement with Lou’s face right now)
Asmodeus cures him for 40 HP, of course he does, ‘whatever you wish to happen can happen, what do you …?’
They’re floating side by side through a time stopped explosion, lying horizontal, Asmodeus gazing at Zerxus as they fly hand-to-chest together, would you like to add more romance to this scenario, oh Lord of the Hells? Hmm?
Zerxus now moves his hand to his face, instead, holding it gently, my mistake, Zerxus would like to add more romance to this scenario right now
(I CANNOT RIGHT NOW)
Zerxus tries to cleanse him using Evandrin’s name stone
It links to the fragments of the incompleted atonement ceremony before
“I’m doing everything I can to get him to what I believe is the purest him”
(Honey it’s not going to work. The purest him already made this choice. He chose evil of his own free will before evil existed. You can’t get him back to purer than that. He invented evil, or at least part of it, and if he was telling the truth 2 episodes ago, he did so out of the belief that it would aid good. You can’t … there’s no ‘before’ state here. The Asmodeus-as-was already made this choice, and he’ll make the exact same one again. Every time. Evil in the cause of good. Alignment doesn’t matter, he’ll make this choice either way. This is his original alignment. His cause never required a shift of mentality from him.)
(Yes, I’m pausing and stalling because I know where this is going and I can’t yet, let me stall)
Asmodeus: I think you may be the most exceptional mortal I have ever known.
*leans into Zerxus shoulder, accepting his hand, as they sail romantically through the air*
Atonement isn’t working, and Asmodeus knows something’s up
Asmodeus: Is something supposed to happen now? What are you attempting to do?
(You know exactly what’s happening you absolute motherfucker, shut the hell up with this right now)
(Zerxus, please, please stop this, honey, you’re so far over the event horizon)
Asmodeus: I think I know what’s happening. The ritual of Evandrin, the resurrection, it didn’t work because you tried to resurrect him, but he wasn’t dead.
Zerxus: Right
Asmodeus: You’re trying to atone me, and I didn’t do anything wrong.
(And there it is. Yes, I’m immediately stalling again, but oh fuck. That was so perfectly built. All the seeds were sown two episodes ago. If he was telling the absolute truth. I actually had this in my first couple of drafts of analysis on that conversation. If he chose evil in the cause of good, then his alignment never shifted. There’s no way for atonement to work.
Of course, he could have actually succeeded his save against atonement, and he just wants Zerxus to think his alignment never shifted, for this reason, and I don’t know if that’s better or worse. Which is worse to be dealing with, a zealot of immovable morals, or a manipulator so skilled that he knows exactly how the thought processes of both good and evil work well enough to pretend to be either? In the first there is intrinsically no hope, in the second there’s potentially false hope. Which is worse?
Anyway. Okay. Deep breath. Moving on)
*stabs Zerxus through the heart* You wanna know what I’ve always hated about mortals? *starts digging his claws into Zerxus’ head*
Zerxus, ROARING: You’re wrong!
*tries Remove Curse instead* (HONEY! WE’RE SO PAST THAT POINT! But a paladin gotta try, and try, and keep trying)
(For real I can’t do this, I keep flinching and pausing, I can’t fucking do this)
Asmodeus is laughing as Zerxus keeps trying
Zerxus: This is not who you are! This is not who you are.
Asmodeus: WHO AM I?
Zerxus: Not this! How have you forgotten?! You think you know how you came here? You think you stumbled upon this place?
(Sidenote: I love Brennan’s coolly humouring and unimpressed expressions as the Lord of the Hells faced with this … Zerxus, you don’t know! You don’t know how he came here! You don’t know where he came from! Honey, I love you, but you don’t know anything. And you’re about to find out. Badly. We’ve already started with a stab to the chest, you’ve got excellent lung capacity around the lump of fucking steel(?) in your lungs, but honey you didn’t even lose control of this situation a while ago, you never had control of this situation. Well, you sort of did, but you were set up so you would willfully surrender it. And you did exactly that, and here we are)
Zerxus: Look at me, look at me, I am the godless! I am a conduit of divinity that is far greater and more ancient that anything you have ever understood!
(Oh. Avalir’s hubris rears its head once again. Oh dear. And Marisha’s face. Not to mention Brennan’s face, Asmodeus is enjoying this so much, nodding gently along)
Zerxus: Look at me. You didn’t stumble upon this place, you and your kin, you were called here. We have always been here. You were wandering in the abyss, lost, and we called you here. So that you can have a home. You didn’t create anything. We have always been here. You came and you shaped, you took and you changed and you shaped, but you didn’t create a thing. You’re no god.
(Oh. Are we … Are we doing … What is a god to a non-believer, is that what we’re doing right now? And … Okay. So. There’s some cause. If mages can become gods. If the god in front of you has lied to you. Why would you believe what he says of creation? There’s … I mean, this is a much more visceral version of this argument than you can get in our world, when you can argue with the potential god in the flesh, but … It seems idiotic, you with your mortal lifespan telling a being aeons old what he is and what he did and what he thought, but if you know he lies, why would his version be any more true? There’s … cause. There’s a rational underpinning. But oh god does it feel so flimsy in the face of actual Satan in this moment)
(Sidenote: Lou is hiding his whole face behind his hands from Luis and what’s happening and I feel that. I feel that urge. It’s so hard to stop stalling and keep watching)
Zerxus: You’re a child
(Aaannnddd I’m right back out again, immediate pause, immediate stop, oh my god, honey, there’s … any and all rationality to your argument aside, can you not condescend to the Lord of the fucking Hells right now, please and fucking thank you)
Zerxus: You are a child, you’re lost, how do you not see that?
(Not gonna lie, if I was Asmodeus this second I would bitch-slap the man across the city, oh my fucking god, well done to the Lord of the Hells for keeping his cool so far)
(Zerxus, I’m just, I’m just gonna say that, as redemption tactics go, this is, this is not good)
Asmodeus: You have referred to yourself and your fellow mortals as our children. You are not our children. You are … a bad first draft. The first plan was to destroy all this, to let you fade into nothingness. That’s not gonna be how we do it this time. You think that you are a man of true belief and that it is all these wizards around you that are humbled. Who is the most proud man here? These ones that thought they would fly a city? Or the man who thought he would teach me a lesson? The only difference between you and the Dawnfather is that the Dawnfather is a little more humble.
(… Oof. Go off, Satan)
Asmodeus: Now, I’ll tell you why I spit on your forgiveness. I’ll tell you why I loathe your redemption. To reach a hand down to somebody, they need to be BENEATH YOU. And I’m beneath nobody.
(It’s pride vs pride in here, ladies and gents, ding ding, round three!)
(And, look, multiple personality and character tests have told me that pride is my number one sin myself, I know of what I speak here, I am both the people in this conversation many, many times, this is why I know it’s going bad)
(I mean, that and the fact that Satan already has a sword in your gut and has invaded your world, those are also key signs of badness, but howandever)
Asmodeus: You wanted to understand me? Then you should have accepted that I WAS RIGHT!
Brennan: and he pulls the back of your head and rips the skin off of your skull
(Okay. So that’s. Okay then. This is fine.
Zerxus resilient sphere’s himself, Asmodeus 9th level counters, smashes him into the floor and breaks his spine, like. That’s. I mean. What did we expect from the Lord of the Hells?
And then heals him again, this is why healing magic is the worst thing to have in an enemy. The Life Domain is a torturer’s wet dream.)
Asmodeus: In the vision in the Hall of Prophecy, you told me that you would help me confront those who did this to me. Wake up Zerxus, YOU did this to me! You and your kin. You think my enemy are the prime deities? *spits* Those. Are. My. Siblings. We were happy once. Together. We travelled here, together. Has it never dawned on you that before the Schism, all was well between us? We came here to make something. And then, one of our puppets, one of our foolish paper dolls, mattered so much to them that they threw us into the Pit. You think that my quarrel is with them? No. All of you did something to them. You made them turn their back on us. My greatest heartbreak is that when I have collected every mortal soul and all of my siblings into my pit, that I will only have eternity to punish them.
(… Ah. Okay. So. Not the zealot of pure morals, then. That’s … Is that good? The manipulator, not the zealot. Vengeance, not evil in pursuit of good. Does that mean there is hope for redemption, if someone can get the atonement to stick? Or is that just more false hope? If it didn’t work for Zerxus, who, it must be said, made a somewhat slapdash effort at best, or Sarenrae, then … I mean, probably not, but if this is vengeance and not principle, then there might be more of a chance. In theory.
It's weird, this speech is more visceral and accompanied by literal torture, but I find it less terrifying that his significantly gentler speech in episode 2. This motivation is pettier and more visceral, and therefore less terrifying and awe-inspiring than the remote and pitiless ‘I chose evil to make good matter’. It’s good, I think. It makes evil immediately smaller and more manageable.
I wonder if that’s my arrogance talking. Heh.)
Zerxus is … dying repeatedly, and sending tactical information along his telepathic link to Tempus.
Zerxus: Wait. You’re right. You’re right.
Luis: I mean, can I do that, or is he gonna rip my face off again?
Brennan: I mean, this is his vision. Endless torment without death. This is what he is here to do.
(I love how the tables are trying to de-stress any way they possibly can right now)
On an Insight check of 21 into the Lord of the Hells: You see the Father of Lies. You see it was so easy for him. And what you see is you have fought abominations and undead before, you have fought things that are of an alien need for destruction, cold, unfeeling things that are anathema to life itself, and this is not the Lord of Hells. There is an infinite hatred behind his eyes, purer than anything you can imagine. Perhaps at one point he wore a golden face,
Luis: But that’s long gone
Brennan: And, behind his eyes when they were of gold, this hatred lived.
(No. No, atonement wouldn’t have worked)
Brennan: You see in him that, unlike the aberration or undead hatreds you have faced in the past, it is not beyond, it is something that each human has the gift of, because he doesn’t just hate you, he hates everybody. And he doesn’t hate them in an alien way, he wants them to know that they deserve it.
Luis: Zerxus processes all of that, and you just see … pity.
(Is that my arrogance talking? Thinking it makes him smaller and more manageable? I feel like I’ve fallen into the exact same trap Zerxus is about to. It’s a human-like hatred, so it’s human curable. No hatred is beyond redemption, if it’s something close enough that you can see into it and understand. Is that arrogance? I feel like pity in this instance might be arrogance. But I echo it)
(With, I will admit, a bit of contempt, which definitely is arrogance. Now I’m calling him a child, aren’t I? I thought his motivations cooler and more terrifying when I thought they were more remote and principled, but when they’re mere emotion, hatred, I think them lesser. I feel like I’m learning about my own biases and arrogance over here.)
Zerxus: You hate everything. So purely. Oh you poor thing. Look at how much you hate yourself.
(… Okay, I’m not that bad, holy fuck, did you just oh you poor thing him? Like, you can feel his hatred is pitiable while also acknowledgeing that he’s ancient and powerful enough to destroy a world, maybe? Or is this the instinct to make evil lesser, to better fight it? Like, you have to reduce him to something small, something you can fight, or you just despair right there? No force should be massive enough that we can’t at least fight it. Hubris. Necessity. Hope. Avalir’s defining question. Where’s the line between them?)
Asmodeus: You know what your fault is, Zerxus? Other than just being very trusting? You truly believe that you are above this all, this city that you will not call home, me, the gods. But I’m not the one who left my little son down in that city for all of my devils to find.
(I fucking knew he’d go for Elias, I fucking knew it, he’s the Lord of the Hells, what’s the most pain you can put a father through? Of course)
Asmodeus: So I think you’re going to make a very good champion for me.
*kills Zerxus again, his spirit starts to be released*
Asmodeus: Sorry about your sword. I tend to have that effect. But, the fact that you … pity me, doesn’t spoil anything for me, because I think that you are my greatest champion, Zerxus. So. If you’d like to be back in the world …
*crushes and explodes Xartaza into blood and creates the mace*
Asmodeus: … that’s there. For you to pick up if you want, Zerxus. But you know the cost you pay for it. But I won’t force you. The afterlife awaits.
(And on that masterful bombshell of an absolute dick move, I might have to leave this for the night)
(I’m an hour and ten minutes into this fucking episode, this thing is going to kill me)
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OKAY STORY TIME
So I woke up today at 6:30 AM with the following goal: Go to university, print out my a lecture reader before 9AM, have it bound at my university store that opens at 9 and then dedicate the rest of my day to going through the whole reader so I can start studying with it and practicing exercises tomorrow.
THAT IS NOT WHAT HAPPENED!
so first of all, I fucked around a bit, and only actually tried to print my reader at 9:18. But we're still good, right? I purposely went to the campus where the store opens at 9 rather than 10 so I can get shit done faster. Except ERROR 404, when I uploaded the PDF to the printing platform, the printer couldn't "find it." I had had issues like this in December, and I knew that maybe a solution could be to try a different printer in a different building
I make my way to another building. It takes a while to track down the printer but soon I'm set up to print. YAY! except the printer is starting and stopping every 15 seconds and I have to print 242 pages!!!! help!!!! It ends up taking like 40 minutes during which I can't really be productive because I'm cooped up in this tiny printer room
Okay it's like 10:30 by now, but it's finally done printing (or so I think) so I head out to the store where I can get it bound.
MID-BINDING I NOTICE THERE ARE LITERALLY FORTY PAGES MISSING. JUST RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE. WHAT THE FUCK???
So I leave the store again and head out to a different building because I'm thinking, that last one can't be trusted. It's only when I reach this building I realize that building doesn't actually have a printer.
So I turn back around and end up in the first building, but a different printer there. I sit down, make a new pdf with just my missing pages. Try to print.
GUESS WHAT??? I'VE RUN OUT OF FREE PHOTOCOPIES! this has basically never happened to me. wtf! where did I go wrong?? ANYWAY I'll suck it up and add money to my account balance so I can make these last copies and finally bind this reader
WELL FUCK YOU FIONA BECAUSE THE SITE WHERE YOU CAN ADD MONEY IS DOWN FOR MAINTENANCE. UNTIL 5PM.
At this point it's 11:15. I haven't had breakfast so I throw my hands up and get lunch, figuring I'll add money to my balance in the evening and then finally bind it.
In the meantime, I text a groupchat asking if anyone is on this particular campus, because they could use their free photocopies. Everyone is like: no.
Then, after lunch I realize: Oh Shit! The store where you can bind closes at 4PM. I can't wait until 5 to add money to my printing balance!! I don't want to lose an entire day what the fuck
I hang around a fourth printer for a bit, and tell my sob story to two dudes who come to pick up a print job. One of them is like "how did you run out? Did you print that much? Or did you use colour" AND YES I FUCKING USED COLOUR. I FORGOT HOW MUCH OF A DIFFERENCE IT MAKES EVEN THOUGH THE MAJORITY OF THIS READER IS BLACK AND WHITE.
Anyways they feel bad for me but they don't have any balance left either rip
Suddenly, I remember a group of people I know usually study in this one specific building on the other campus, which is a 20 minute bus ride away
I decide FUCK IT and grab the shuttle and track down the nearest acquaintance and beg him to let me print on his account. it's 1PM by this point
IT WORKS!
The binding store on this campus isn't super close + I get myself a coffee because What The Fuck + I can't be bothered to walk back so I wait for a tram that isn't much quicker than walking so it almost takes me another hour after starting to print my last 40 pages to do the full back and forth + binding
So it's a little after 2 and I am FINALLY sitting down to do what I set out to do. Get through this reader. Highlight stuff. Add post-it tabs.
EXCEPT I'M AN IDIOT AND FORGOT TO PACK A HIGHLIGHTER AND POST-ITS. So I end up paging through it and just taking notes on my iPad for what I want to highlight and tabulate later lol. (Which.... I could have done with just the PDF probably. fml I guess.)
BUT: WORRY NOT! HAPPY ENDING!
Because, For The First Time In My Life, I have overestimated how much time a task would take. I get through the ENTIRE reader by 7:10PM.
OH MY GOD.
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schoolbusgraveyard · 2 years
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sobbing at [the big spoiler] so pls give me your tyler/sbg in general headcanons
heres some of mine: tyler was an ipad kid, logan has the biggest crush imaginable on tyler and likes flower sculptures, ben and aiden know basic sign language, taylor is an astrology geek and loves freaking out logan, and ashlyn has the worst joint and back issues ever which might as well be canon because she does ballet and as a former ballet dancer, THAT MESSES YOU UP
[pats your back and offers you tissues while you sob]
YESSS THOUGH (okay Tyler being an iPad kid is kind of funny in concept, but also if i think about it too much it makes me sad bc I feel like he had to learn a lot of skills at a really young age and ended up on youtube/wikihow a lot). I’m esp big on the Ben & Aiden knowing basic ASL--like yeah, Ben can just write or use his phone, but knowing even basic fingerspelling is so helpful when you’re nonverbal/can’t talk. That's always one of my favorites dfgdfg and same for the HC Ashlyn having a lot of joint pain--I've never done any form of dance but I've seen/heard the horrors, her having the worst back/joint pain sounds about right
I'll start with some Tyler ones and then kind of ease off into general SBG headcanons :D Under a readmore for length bc whoops this got a little longer than expected
(There are some vague spoilers ahead? But honestly, I’m p sure what I mentioned that would be a spoiler has been implied by a few episodes before the finale so)
Tyler can cook; so can Taylor, but he's a little bit more picky about how food prep goes and can get overwhelmed if anyone is in the kitchen with him and he doesn’t know what they’re doing/if they’re in his way/if they’re trying to talk to him a lot.
He will let Taylor help sometimes, though, especially if they’re both extra worried about their mom for some reason or something else is up.
He’s extremely meticulous about washing his hands/tools/cutting boards between ingredients. Even if everything he’s chopping goes into the same pot or pan, he’s going to wash that knife every time he switches to a new ingredient.
A lot of people don’t really think of it with how ~picky~ and meticulous he is with how he cooks, but he actually does enjoy it a lot. It’s grounding for him, helps him calm down (so long as nobody else is in the kitchen), and gives him a chance to think things through.
He's actually a lot better at cooking than Taylor. Nobody really expects it out of him.
He, Taylor, and their parents used to actually cook as a family. After their dad died, though, he took on the majority of cooking.
He and Taylor are vegetarians. This is oddly specific and holds no weight other than “they wore matching shirts with the name a now-closed vegan restaurant that existed in New York printed on them Once” but it kind of stuck w me after I pointed it out to my husband. I’m p sure he had a School Burger (definitely not vegetarian friendly) on his tray in one of the early episodes, but like [I Do Not See It.png]. Not sure if I have the headcanon that Mariana is also a vegan or a vegetarian, I kinda go back and forth with it a lot.
While his dad only taught him a few songs on the guitar, he would actually be really good at it, if he gave himself the time to sit down and work with it. I think he probably loved it a lot as a kid, but after losing his dad, it just kind of... Hurt to try to pick it up consistently again. If he's ever home alone or near one and alone, though, he'll absolutely pick it up and just slowly/carefully strum out a few notes or songs.
I'm p sure that it's implied to be canon based on One conversation he and Taylor had, but I'm completely saying that he prioritizes sports (especially baseball) because he's hoping he can secure a scholarship through it+essentially get a free ride to college and make shit easier on his mom. And also, y'know, make her proud.
He gets overwhelmed really easily in-general, and that contributes to a lot of his angry outbursts. Pressure stim (weighted blankets, weighted items in-general) are a godsend for him. He hides it pretty well, but after a certain point, he’ll start to get snappy--and it really just seems like it happens for no reason (but, y’know, he’s actually overwhelmed/under a lot of stress).
He also really just. Loves to hold hands with people that he's close to. He says it's so that they feel safer/more comfortable, but honestly, it's a mutual feeling. He feels safer with the people he loves/the people he cares about within arms reach.
He tends to sit really close to. Anyone that he considers a friend or family. Like, shoulder-to-shoulder with them. If they move away, he notices--and will try to remember that for the next time he sits next to them.
Taylor will also do this; it's something she kind of subconsciously picked up from her brother. She notices just as much as he does if someone moves away, but instead of just silently keeping a little bit of a distance, she'll actually ask if she can sit closer to them.
Ben loves this a lot, actually. Taylor is so physically warm (and also just generally sweet/understanding), and he loves having conversations with her, so he loves having her nearby. It’s convenient when she can see his phone easily/see what he’s typing.
Ben prefers traditional art, but he isn’t opposed to digital; he’s not used to using a drawing tablet yet, but he really likes the various tools and other features that come with it. Since his art is for him/a lot of it is art therapy, he doesn’t really post it or share it with anyone unless one of his friends asks.
Logan actually loves having his nails painted. At first, he was kind of worried (because of bullying, his grandparents, just generally afraid he couldn’t pull it off, worried about ruining his nails while working in the greenhouse, etc.), but after he heard Aiden and Taylor talk about it, he was like... Huh. Maybe I could try it. He doesn’t really like experimenting with colors or designs--he likes a lot of neutral tones (specifically dark browns), but Taylor did convince him to try a really warm orange shade once and he loved it.
When he gets extremely embarrassed, Logan will hide his face in his hands. Unfortunately, in these moments, he usually forgets he has glasses on, so those get dirty or he accidentally jabs the nose piece against his eye.
Aiden doesn’t paint his own nails often, but when he does, he goes for the brightest, most eye-straining colors. Like, the brightest neons ever.
Aiden sneaks out often, much to Ben’s panic. He tries to sneak out without Ben noticing/after Ben falls asleep, but. This happens more as the weather gets cooler/colder. It stopped happening as much after the Savannah trip, but he still slips out every now and then (and has, at least once, narrowly made it back in through his window before midnight)
Ashlyn keeps their group chat labeled “them.” Not out of any negative feelings towards anyone in it, she just can’t be bothered to change it or think of any new name for it. It’s kind of growing on her though, it’s almost endearing now.
I’ll throw One in about the parents but this has gotten a lot longer than I initially expected dfgdfg Emma is so nervous around Logan’s grandparents. She already kind of struggles socially--she isn’t the same level as Ashlyn, she’s more indifferent and “eh, if I talk to someone, I talk to someone”--but man Logan’s grandma unnerves the absolute hell out of her. She just seems so intense to her.
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padfootastic · 2 years
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mme propenn pls be so kind and answer 3! 4! 8! and 32!(and how many of those are ao3 is the real question 💀)
3. 3 films you could watch for the rest of your life and not get bored of?
this is the worst question ever bc i’m terrible with visual media like u can show me anything and i’d probably get bored within a few minutes. the only exceptions are when im in a theater (bc i’ve paid 💀) or when im w friends and have some external focus (also im a terrible person to watch anything w bc im constantly just making comments & shitty jokes hehehe)
but i guess if i had to choose 3, it would be—
- iron man (tony stark is love, tony stark is life)
- sound of music (<33333 so much nostalgia)
- help i’m so confused idk what to do uhhh magadheera bc ram charan is v v hot hehehehe
4. what’s an inside joke you have with your family or friends?
you’ve rly brought out the big guns huh bc i’m so confused about this lol
hmm i guess this one thing i do whenever i’m being sarcastic is put on this terrible valley girl accent where you stretch out all the consonants and act very coy and stuff. always, always gets a giggle out of everyone i talk to bc it’s so exaggerated.
ooh no wait there’s another one! so recently someone asked me something a bit personal about why i didn’t do something and i answered ‘mental health’. conversation closed. since then, we’ve made it this lil joke between ourselves where ‘mental health’ is the reason for anything we do, kind of like a cop out? (imp note: this is said in the same aforementioned accent, complete with a hair flip and wave of the hand)
8. any reacquiring dreams?
oof, yes. so many. but most i can’t remember. see, i’m a huge, huge dreamer. like i love sleeping and i can go for hooooooours at a time (my record is like,,,20 at a stretch. i’m v proud) and i always end up dreaming, even if it’s a quick power nap in class or a car lol
i think one i get very often is like,,,free falling? idk why but it always leaves me w a fun adrenaline rush & a weird leg spasm that always creeps others out lol. i also tend to lucid dream quite a bit (or atleast something resembling it?) so it’s a very choose-your-own-adventure sort of a thing.
also this isn’t…reacquiring exactly but i get very regular dreams about anything i’m currently obsessed with at the moment. and considering i get into (and out of) things v easily, it means i’m dreaming about weird shit like subway surfers or table tennis or a new cigarette quite often lol
32. how many tabs do you have open right now?
oh my god this is where i expose myself 💀💀 see, i’m sure it won’t come as a surprise to anyone who knows me but i’m an absolute tab hoarder/fiend. i hate closing them even if it’s the most basic google search in the world so stuff that actually has something of value? no chance until i’m physically forced to do it. like, this one time chrome fucked up and removed all my open tabs and i was so close to tears i cannot tell u.
but yeah, so. open tabs. i use both chrome & safari on my phone and my ipad so lemme just grab the number for you.
phone: 417, chrome. 215, safari.
ipad: 665, safari. 78, chrome.
so uh, that totals to 1375 which um. yeah. clearly i have a bit of a problem but it’s okay, everything’s okay, nothing to look at here, folks 😳
(now how many of these are ao3? god, a lot. but less than before bc i try to do these cold turkey quitting fanfiction situations where i close all the fic tabs and it’s never worked out but i always hold hope it will one day)
From this ask game
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disengaged · 2 years
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hello! i'm here from elliott's post about film class, you replied to her and i found out that you have a double major of film studies and psych. anyway, i scrolled through your blog and i think you are quite passionate and really knowledgeable about your major, and i'm not lmao (i'm a multimedia arts student, but i want to be like a film director someday). hence, i'm here to get inspiration and advices from. i actually already saved the books you recommended though!
i'm going to take a film language class this coming sem, and i feel anxious about it (+ the fact that i'm a beginner in every medium of art/media makes me feel out of place and undeserving of being in this major lol). i started advanced studying with Crash Course's free film history course, but i just feel lost, i don't know what to do. i feel like i should be studying 60mph because i can't keep up with anyone.
my school does not really do examinations right after every semester, even quizzes are non-existent. i don't have a classmate or friend that i can ask these questions because they have other interests that do not interest me. that's why i find it hard to understand anything. i'm currently at the burnt-out stage so perhaps the reason why i am so naive. but any advice will really help. thank you :((
DUUUUDE omg .... okay first things first, take a deep breath, it's gonna be okay
i really respect your dedication/the fact that you're trying to study before the class even starts, but like . if it's an intro-level course, you're gonna be ok !! TONS of people take FS courses as optional arts credits/"for interest", it's typically expected that you're not going to know everything. as long as you have the right prerequisites for the course, you should be doing ok! if it turns out your prof sucks (like elliott's) you can brush up on the rest as you go ♥️ :-0
like ...... if you're already dealing with burnout, studying super hard ahead of time is gonna make you feel even worse. & yknow ....... if it's really bad in the first week, just drop out tbh 🤷 some courses ain't worth it
in terms of exams: i'd say about half of my film studies classes have been essay-based rather than quiz/midterm/final exam-based, idk how your school works though
as for feeling 'undeserving' of your major ...... i can't really help you there, but you should know that imposter syndrome is super common in every single discipline and at any college/uni, especially in the fine arts side of things — but you're ok !! like !!! if you were a pro at everything already, school would suck ass. i hope u can get over this fear and better enjoy learning new things, cuz that's really what postsecondary is all about ♥️ it's ok to be naive, especially in subjects the average person knows jack shit about.
the path to becoming a director is ....arduous.... and typically requires training within the industry and/or a degree specifically in film production (which is different than the 'scholarly' branch of film studies) but if it's what you really want, go for it. put your heart into it, yknow, do whatever it is that makes you feel like you're doing something important. YOLO
it can be tough when your friends don't Get your interests, i'm here to chat anytime if you like tho !! film studies is basically my favourite thing on earth :'-)
also i saw u asked elliott abt notetaking ...... i use OneNote & i love it, it's great cause it puts your notes in The Cloud and you can access them from any device. super user-friendly and has drawing, highlighting, font changing functions, you can insert PDFs as printouts ....... i hate carrying my 5lb laptop to campus (and it doesn't fit on the little desk trays in my lecture halls anyways. fml) so i just have an iPad loaded up w OneNote and i'm set :-) i take some of my notes by hand but only for English/Writing/CMPUT classes lol, my FS and Psych classes go way too fast to keep up
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avintagekiss24 · 3 years
Text
WE LOVED WITH A LOVE THAT WAS MORE THAN LOVE || STEVE ROGERS
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pairing: Steve Rogers x black!reader ; minor pairings: peter parker x michelle “mj” jones, andy barber x black!reader, sam wilson x black!reader, ransom drysdale x black!reader, bucky barnes x black!reader || word count: 19,080 || warnings: smut, sex, gang bang/multiple sex partners m/m/m/m/m/f, vaginal fingering, oral sex (male and female receiving), biting, marking, anal sex, hand job, nipple play, cult-like gathering, mentions of voodoo, voodoo lore, cult rituals
authors note: it’s here! took me forever. i wanted to post this much earlier, but the election week threw me off my schedule so this got pushed because i had another deadline to meet for another challenge. this is for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​​ once upon a midnight dreary challenge! i chose “believe nothing you hear, and only one half that you see”, an invitation to a stranger’s party, and a cultish gathering for my prompts. again, i got a little help from my girl @tropicalcap​​ in helping me piece together a few plot points.
just a quick note :: steve never goes into the ice and the government doesn’t give him the serum... his transformation is achieved in a different manner. therefore, bucky’s transformation is also a little different than canon.
manip of peter & mj by sidewalk manips (i think they’re on instagram... not sure, i found it on google) // divider by @whimsicalrogers​
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MONDAY
The ornate envelope in your hand is heavy. It’s decorated with thin, gold leaf, hand drawn designs, almost resembling the intricate henna leaves. Your name is scrolled across the front in big, black Old English calligraphy— hand written as well; you can just tell. You flip it over in your hand, the weight of it making a soft thud when it rests against the heel of your palm. A red wax seal is pressed against the flap and the back of the envelope, two initials carved deep— S.G.R.
Flipping the envelope back over in your hand, you press your lips together in a hard line. Junk mail is getting really fancy now-a-days. You blink at the front, reading and then rereading your name. A tinge of something— you’re not sure what, pulls at your stomach, making it constrict as your breath deepens harder than before. You even stop walking. You just stare at the envelope, drawing your bottom lip in between your teeth as you blink down at it.
It’s just unsettling. The weight of it, the attention to the little details of the writing and the designs. It’s anything but junk mail, but the tiny shards of anxiety that are prickling up against your skin don’t want you to think too much into it.
You shove it to the back of the pile of mail in your hand and continue flipping through it as you walk down the hallway towards your apartment, your purse bouncing against your hip as you move. Once inside, you throw the mail down first, then your keys, before you turn on your heel and move towards your bedroom, already tugging out of your blouse.
-
The TV is nothing more than background noise at this point. You’re curled up on your couch, a bowl of popcorn in your lap and a glass of red wine in your left hand as your eyes flit across the screen of your iPad. You scroll slowly with your right index finger, gobbling up a Stucky fic on ao3. Your eyes widen at the written words before you, your mouth dropping open as your heart starts to beat just a little harder— you’d die if anyone at work ever found out that you spend your free time reading about Bucky Barnes getting his back blown out by Captain America— but nobody told them to be so attractive. It’s their fault, really.
There’s a heavy knock at the door, but you don’t budge. You just push back against the pillows and keep your eyes on the illuminated screen as the door opens, “Take your shoes off.” A heavy sigh greets your ears seconds later, drawing a smile onto your lips as you throw your eyes quickly towards your little sister, “House rule.”
She rolls her eyes hard and toes at her sneakers— making sure to kick them up against the wall so the thuds rumble through the apartment— you know, for added drama. She pulls her bag over her head and drops it to the floor before padding across the carpet and plopping down next to you.
“You readin’ the one I sent you?” she asks, grabbing the popcorn out of your lap, “Can we order a pizza?”
“Yes and yes.” You answer absentmindedly as your eyes nearly pop out of your skull at the smut on your screen, “MJ!”
She laughs, scrunching up her nose as she pops some popcorn into her mouth and nods slowly as she focuses on the tv, “I told you it was nasty.”
“You didn’t say it was this nasty, good God.”
The younger woman scoffs as she throws her loose, wavy hair over her shoulder, “But you steady readin’ it though.”
You cut your eyes towards her, “I didn’t say that I don’t like nasty, just that it’s nasty. I think I have a coupon up on the counter for Tony’s if you wanna order now.” MJ is up on her feet as soon as the words leave your mouth, “Get some bread sticks too.”
The rummaging MJ does in the kitchen blurs with the screams from the television as you start to read again, losing yourself quickly back in the BDSM world the author has so vividly painted. You leave a kudos and a quick comment before tossing your iPad to the side and lift your eyes to your sister again, blinking as you find her leaning up against the counter, the weird envelope in her hand.
“The fuck is this?” she asks, her lip snarled, eyes squinted as she turns it over in her hand, “Why’s it so heavy?”
“I don’t know,” you laugh a little, “I got it in the mail today. It gives me the creeps.”
MJ moves around the coffee table and falls next to you again, tossing the coupon at you before sliding her finger underneath the flap. You grab her wrist before she goes to open it, tutting softly, “Don’t. Just leave it.”
“Why?”
“Because! I’m gonna throw it out.”
“Are you kidding me? I’m opening it.”
“Come on MJ—”
She slides her finger underneath the flap before you can stop her again, breaking the wax seal in two. You huff as she pulls out the 5x7 piece of heavy cardstock, then tips the envelope to lodge whatever was weighing it down free. A brooch falls into her palm, both of you leaning up to inspect the intricate piece of jewelry. It’s floral in design— pearls, or what look like pearls, placed strategically between the little, diamond encrusted, platinum leaves. Three pearls are bunched in the middle—  the center of the flower, with three larger diamonds outlining them.
“Holy shit, is this real?” MJ asks, lifting it up and turning it over, “Holy fuckin’ shit.”
You shake your head, “It can’t be. There’s no way.”
“It looks real.”
“No,” you scoff, waving her off, “It’s costume.”
She shoves it into your palm, “Feel that thing! It’s heavy as fuck, that ain’t costume jewelry.”
You furrow your brow as you let it sit in your palm, feeling it. It looks old— really old, like something that would have been worn back in the 1800s. You flip it over, bringing it up to your face as you spot another set of the S.G.R. initials engraved in the back of one of the small leaves.
“Fuck.”
The word slips out of your mouth effortlessly as you eye the jewelry and lick your bottom lip. You glance over at MJ who stares back at you with wide, hazel eyes, her lips parted, “See? That shit is real.”
You point at the card in her hand, swallowing quickly before you clear your throat, “What does that say?”
She takes a breath as you push your side into hers, your eyes scanning the writing, “We request the honor of your presence this Friday, October 31st, 2020 at 1543 Asher Ln. 8pm. No extra guests. S.G.R.” she slides her eyes towards you, “You know somebody with those initials?”
You blink, racking your brain, “No. I don’t— I don’t think so, at least.”
“Well, he or she obviously knows you.”
You grab the invitation from her, reading it again before you turn it over, hoping to find something else scribbled on the back. You drop your hand to your lap when you don’t and zero your gaze in on the television as it starts to tunnel.
“Bro,” MJ laughs quickly, “This is some freaky deaky shit.”
You eye the white invitation once more, reading it over again and again— as if you’re missing something, “What, um,” you start absentmindedly, “What do you mean?”
“This is some Eyes Wide Shut shit, sis!”
You scoff again, rolling your eyes as your shoulders slump, “Stop it MJ.”
“Girl,” she laughs harder, clapping her hands and letting her head fall back against the couch, “You gonna go?”
“No!” you squeal at her audacity, tossing the invitation and brooch on the coffee table, “It’s obviously some kind of joke or something.”
“That is no joke! The brooch has got to be at least ten g’s, easy.”
“It’s not real. That shit’s not worth ten dollars.”
“Keep tellin’ yourself that, prude.”
You feel anger flushing through your veins, your face heating up as you stand quickly and walk into the kitchen, “I’m not a prude, Mary Jane.”
“Oooh, my full name,” she mocks, “What are you gettin’ mad for?”
“I’m not mad, I told you that thing gave me the creeps. Everything is a joke to you.”
“I’m not jokin’! Somebody obviously went through a lot of trouble to send you that, I’m just callin’ it as I see it.”
You down the rest of the wine in your glass and quickly pour another, bringing it to your lips as you rub the back of your neck with your free hand, “It’s some kind of prank.” you exhale, taking another sip, “I’m throwing it away.”
MJ rolls her eyes again, grabbing your iPad before she props her feet up on the small, square table in front of her, “Sure, sure. Yeah, somebody sends a diamond encrusted brooch and a handwritten invitation just for funsies. Got’cha.”
You close your eyes and take another gulp of wine, using it to stop yourself from saying something that will more than likely dissolve your evening into a fight. You swallow slowly, pushing the smooth alcohol down your throat and letting it settle and warm in your belly.
“1543 Asher Ln. is a real house, just so you know. Pops right up on Zillow.”
You sigh loudly.
“And,” she starts, dragging out the end of the word, “It’s only fifteen minutes from here.”
“Are you gonna order the pizza or what?”
“You should go, I’m just sayin’.”
“I’m not gonna,” you stop yourself as you glare over at her, her eyes and posture taking that MJ tone as your voice gets sharp, “I’m not going to a strangers house. Okay? Drop it.”
“There’s no reason not to go.” You stare at her for a few seconds. You squint your eyes and let your mouth fall open as you scrunch your face, honestly in disbelief, “What?” she shrugs, “I literally met Peter last year at a party of someone who, to this day, I still don’t know. I can’t even remember how I ended up there.”
“MJ—”
“Don’t MJ me. It could be fun!” She smiles big as you sit next to her again, “You need to live a little. Get some dick, man.” You cut your eyes back over at her and lift your middle finger, “I mean it!” she laughs again, “There is nothing more fun than a Halloween party.”
You lean forward, reaching for the brooch. You roll it around in your palm, keeping your eyes on it as MJ babbles on. You eye the invitation as it lays on the table. The anxiety is back— constricting your stomach, making you itchy and jumbling your thoughts. It’s like it’s screaming at you— like something or someone is trying to get your attention.
You reach forward and slide the invitation to the edge of the table with your fingertips. You grab it swiftly and stand again, feeling MJ’s eyes on your back as you move into the kitchen. Shoving the invitation, the envelope, and the brooch in a drawer, you push the notion right out of your mind.
You’ve never entertained MJ’s crap before and you aren’t going to start now. Out of sight, out of mind.
TUESDAY
There’s a flower arrangement sitting on your desk the next morning. It’s lively— all of the flowers a different shade of pink. The stocks are a blush-pink, the roses spanning the pink spectrum. The spray roses are more purple than anything, but they bring the whole thing together.
There’s a small card leaning up against the glass vase, your name scribbled across the front. You pluck it up quickly and flip it over.
Hope to see you Friday— J.B.B.
Your purse falls off your shoulder and down your arm as your eyes go wide. You turn quickly, scanning the bullpen as people move about but you’re not exactly sure what or who you’re looking for. You drop your purse into the chair front of your desk and walk out to your assistant.
“Did you sign for these?” you ask, your voice slightly raised and agitated.
Nakia glances up at you slowly over the rims of her glasses, clearly picking up on your demeanor, “Uh, yeah? ‘Bout half an hour ago… everything okay?”
“What flower shop are they from?”
She shrugs, widening her eyes, “I don’t know, it came by delivery service.”
You tug at your suit jacket around your hip and let out a huff, “Don’t accept anymore, okay?”
You turn on your heel before she can answer and stomp back into your office, closing the door behind you. Heat ripples through you as you grab the handset of your phone and bring it to your ear, angrily dialing your sister’s number. You lean against your desk, arms crossed over your chest as it rings, eyes shifting around the room.
“Yo.”
“There are flowers sitting on my desk.”
You’re met with silence for a few seconds, “... okay?”
“There from someone else that I don’t know,” you huff, “The initials are J.B.B. this time.”
“Oh shit, I forgot about that. Okay, so two dudes wanna rail you at this party. That’s my kind of Friday night, sis.”
“Will you cut it out!” you hiss angrily, turning to face the windows behind you, “This is freaking me out!”
“Oh my god,” you hear her moving around, like sheets and pillows being rumpled until a muffled, groggy moan sounds, “Peter… wake up… wake the fuck up… what did you say about that weird party thing?”
You roll your eyes and tap your foot nervously as the two go back and forth. There’s shuffling again on her end, and then a heavy sigh, “I think it’s a masquerade party.”  Peter Parker finally says, his words slurred with sleep, “That’s where—”
“I know what a masquerade party is Peter, thank you.”
“Oh yeah, okay, sorry, so,” he starts, shuffling around again, “I heard for the past couple of years that somebody has been throwing a secret masquerade party at different places around town.”
“How did you hear that?”
“So, there’s this girl I had a class with last year, her name was uh, Liz. She said her older sister was invited to it. And then, there was this other girl, Shuri, she also said that her sister got invited one year too. I didn’t get the full scoop from Shuri though cuz she ended up transferring to Columbia, which, okay, yeah it’s a great school and all, but—”
“Peter,” you say, closing your eyes, “Focus please.”
“Right, sorry. So, yeah, it could be that party. Liz said her sister got the same brooch.”
The hair on the back of your neck stands up. You clear your throat as you shift, cutting your eyes back to the vase of roses sitting in the corner of your glass desk, “Did she go?” you ask trepidatiously, rubbing the back of your neck with your hand.
“Uh, yeah. She said it was pretty chill.”
“Pretty chill? The fuck does that mean?”
“Sorry, um, she said her sister said it was fun. Plenty of alcohol, plenty of food. But, because of the whole masquerade thing, she never found out who invited her.”
Put it on speaker, your sister's voice rings, then a sharp, sudden sound of skin on skin followed by a squeal from Peter, “Ow! Okay!”
“So,” you start, your fingers picking at the spiral telephone cord, “They didn’t say anything weird happened or anything? They’re both okay?”
“Liz said that her sister said she talked to some blonde guy for a while. He was asking her a bunch of like, weird, artsy questions but she thought it was all a part of the allure of the party so she just went with it. Other than that,” Peter trails off, and you can practically see him shrugging as if he’s right in front of you, “She said it was fun.”
“See? Everything is on the up and up.” MJ adds, “You should go.”
You don’t answer right away. You slide the small card towards the edge of your desk, picking it up again.
Hope to see you Friday— J.B.B.
“Peter, thank you, sorry for waking you up.” You say a few moments later, clearing your throat, “I’ll call you later MJ, okay?”
“Okie,” she purrs into the phone, “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Your answer is distracted— quiet and airy as you set the handset back into the base. You stare back at the flowers, chewing on the inside of your cheek as something starts to gnaw at you. Something deep. You set the small card back up against the vase and shake your mouse to wake up your computer, forcing yourself into your emails, the small sentiment running circles in your mind.
Hope to see you Friday— J.B.B.
WEDNESDAY
You’re barely home from work when there’s a knock at your door— in fact, you only have one shoe off when the thud sounds through your apartment. You sigh, slipping your pump back onto your foot before you stand from the bed and move to the door. Peering out of the peephole, you spot a FedEx driver, his hands full of packages.
“Hi,” you greet as you open the door, “Goodness, these are all for me?”
“As soon as you sign for them they are.” He laughs, handing you the small pen and handheld scanner.
You sign quickly as he places the boxes just inside your door, and wiggle your fingers as he makes his leave, hustling back down to his truck. You keep your eyes on the boxes as you close and lock the door— you didn’t order anything. You haven’t ordered anything in at least a week and when you do, it’s always from Amazon. All of these boxes are unmarked, except for the shipping label, that has no return address.
An envelope is taped to the side of the largest box and based on how your week has been going, you already half know what to expect. You rip it away from the box and slide your finger underneath the flap, pulling out another handwritten, five-by-seven card.
Hope it fits… A.S.B.
You shove the card back into the envelope and toss it aside before grabbing the large box, sitting it on the bar. With the help of your house key, you rip into the box, popping open the flaps once the tape is broken down the middle. You gasp as you pull out a black and gold ball gown, your mouth dropping open as your eyes go wide.
The corset top is strapless and intricately hand woven with small, black beads in a leafy design. A layer of gold tulle spills down an even longer layer of black tulle, all the way to the floor. The dress is thick— heavy, as you hold it up in your hands. You search for a tag, sewn in initials, something to try and place where this could have possibly come from, but find nothing, as if it’s one of a kind. You splay it out over the couch and move to the second box— your interest now suddenly piqued.
You pop open the second box to find a slightly smaller box inside. Tucking your fingers underneath the rim, you pull the top away and gasp again— this time bigger— and take a physical step back. You blink stupidly and you fumble around in your pants pocket, trying to find your phone. You slam your finger down on MJ’s name and bring it to your ear, lifting a gold Giuseppe heel up in the air.
“You need to get your ass over here, now.”
-
There’s total silence in the apartment as you, MJ, and Peter stare at the Giuseppe heels and a handful of jewelry. The most jaw-dropping being a thin rose gold chain adorned with ninety one (Peter counted), different shaped diamonds arranged to resemble the leaves of a vine. At the center, they all meet at a large— museum caliber— yellow diamond.
“So let me get this straight,” MJ starts, placing her hands on her hips, “Those are Giuseppe heels, and not just any Giuseppe heel, the Cruel Crystal Giuseppe heel, that they don’t even make anymore,” she emphasizes with her hands, “A necklace with a diamond that bigger than my goddamn fist, and a, hang on a second,” she closes her eyes, holding up her hands to add to the drama of it all, “A hand stitched ball gown?”
“Don’t forget the mask,” Peter breathes heavily, “That’s, I’m pretty sure that’s made outta pure crystal, so,”
You play with your bottom lip nervously, your left arm thrown over your stomach as you slowly turn your head towards your sister and her boyfriend, “Did your friend's sister get all of this shit too?”
The young, brown haired man scratches his head as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other before shrugging and expelling a breath out of his mouth, “I mean, I…” he shrugs again, completely at a loss, “I don’t know.”
“Maybe we can google the initials or something. Where’s your iPad?” MJ asks, turning on her heel and rushing into your bedroom.
“I tried that already,” you call, grabbing the shoes from the counter and slipping your feet into it, “Oh my god, they fit.” You whisper more to yourself than to anyone else in the room.
MJ rolls her eyes, “Well, what came up?”
“Steven Grant Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes,” you answer as you twirl around in a circle, completely enamored with your shoes, “So, nothing.”
Peter gasps and places his hands on his chest as his face fills with a quick fear, “Fuuuckkk, what if it’s them?”
You and MJ both scoff, “Don’t be stupid, Parker.” MJ says.
“It could be! You don’t know!”
“Ok, yes, Captain America and the Winter Soldier are behind this. Sure,” she cuts her eyes towards you, “He has such a crush on them. Did you try the third set of initials?”
You nod as you stare down at your feet, turning your right foot slightly, watching as the gold glints underneath the light, “Yeah, no luck there either. Just random ass dudes— look at how good these look on my feet, sissy.”
She waves you off as she sits on the coffee table, her face being lit up by the light of your iPad, “Okay, A.S.B., Andrew Stephen Barber, assistant district attorney— could be him… he’s cute at least.” she shrugs.
“I doubt it,” you let out a breath, “I should try on the dress, huh? I mean, you know, just to see.” MJ throws you a look while Peter glances between the two of you nervously, “What? I’m still not going, I just want to see how it looks.”
“Uh huh,” MJ squints her eyes, following you as you walk back into your bedroom, already pulling down the zipper on the back of your shirt, “Sure.”
THURSDAY
MJ💕 12:37pm
Lunch? I’m right around the corner from your building
You hear your phone chime, but you don’t tear your eyes away from your screen immediately. Voices come from the speaker on your phone as you type fervorously. You’re only really half listening— this meeting has nothing to do with you, but, you’re the account manager, so you have to at least try and seem interested while you work on another contract with a much more lucrative, expensive company.
The iPhone rattles again against your glass desk and you snap it up this time, your eyes scanning the message. Right on cue, your stomach rumbles.
You 12:40pm
Sure, sure. Chinese?
MJ💕 12:41pm
Yum.
A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you open your SPARK messenger and tap on Nakia’s name. She knows you and MJ’s order like that back of her hand, and messages you back minutes later to confirm the food will be on it’s way within the hour. You return your attention to the large computer screen before you, pushing your glasses up your nose as you shift your vision to the second monitor slightly to your left.
There’s a small tap a few minutes later, followed by Nakia’s beautiful face peeking in as she mouth’s MJ before opening the door wider to let your lanky sister breeze into the room. You hold your fingers up to your lips as the chorus of voices still speak from your speaker, but keep your eyes on her as she pulls her bag over her shoulder and head and plops down in one of the plush seats in front of your desk.
She makes herself busy on her phone, no doubt texting Peter as you return to your emails and contract, losing twenty or thirty more minutes.
“Okay guys, I’ll talk to you next week right?” You ask, your fingers hovering over the speaker button, “Okay… alrightly, buh-bye.” you slam your finger down on the small, round button and widen your eyes as you let out an audible breath, “Sorry, sissy.”
MJ holds up her hand, her face still buried in her phone, “You’re an important lady, I get it.”
“I thought you had class today?”
“That’s the good thing about having a pregnant Professor,” she smiles, wiggling her eyebrows, “Morning sickness apparently lasts throughout the day.”
Another tap comes at the door before Nakia emerges again, this time her hands full of food, “Here we are ladies,” she smiles as she sits the bags on your desk, “This also just arrived for you too.”
Your face twists in confusion as she hands you something wrapped in plain brown paper. There’s a black ribbing wrapped around it, tied in a neat little bow in the center of the package. It’s light whatever it is. Your eyes drift slowly over to MJ, who sits up in her seat, peering at the package in your hands before she blinks up at you— a knowing look on her face.
“Thanks Nakia,” you smile, trying not to draw her attention to all of the air being sucked out of the room.
MJ’s phone rings just as Nakia exits the room. You hear her mumble a greeting, but your attention is quickly sucked back to your hands. Curiosity gets the best of you. You pull at the ribbon and toss it aside before curling your fingers around the edges to find where it’s taped together.
Just as your fingers find where the edges meet, Peter Parker’s voice fills the room, “Am I on speaker?”
“Yes!” MJ hisses, “Talk.”
“Ok, so, I was talking to Liz about the weirdo party her sister went to last year. She got the same packages throughout the week! Monday, she got the invite, Tuesday she got flowers, Wednesday she got a dress, shoes, and a masquerade mask, and Thursday she got—“
“A book of poems,” you breathe, the sound low and airy, “By Edgar Allan Poe.”
“Exa-Exactly.” Peter stutters.
It’s delicate, this book— the pages. You thumb through them gently, smelling the authenticity of it— the rarity. It’s been kept in pristine condition but it still looks old, the pages a dull brown; crisp and brittle to the touch. Your heart thumps against your chest as the hair on the back of your neck stands on end. Your throat constricts as you swallow hard, nerves filling your body.
“Which one is it?” Peter asks softly, the weight of this affecting him through the phone.
“Tamerlane and other poems.” You recite as you close the small book and run your fingers over the front cover.
MJ scrambles to her feet and scurries around you, her eyes plastered on your computer monitor as she starts to type.
Peter clears his throat, “Liz’s sister got a copy of Al Aaraaf. It was like, a first edition or something.”
“Fuck,” the obscenity falls from MJ’s lips with ease, but with a gentle discomfort, “This says there’s less than twelve copies of this in existence— twelve. I mean, how do you even get your hands on something like this?”
You can’t even speak. You just sit there, feeling the small book in your hands, staring blankly at the cover. Peter and MJ start to bicker back and forth as they try to make heads and tails of all of this. You aren’t taken by the book exactly, yeah, you're holding one of maybe twelve copies left in the entire world, but there’s something else gnawing at you in the pit of your stomach— something that’s been just at the tip of your subconscious all week long.
It’s like—
“Was Liz’s sister into Edgar Allan Poe?” You ask suddenly.
“Not at all,” Peter answers quickly, “She thought it was weird.”
“And the dress and the shoes? Did they um,” you blink up at MJ but avert your eyes just as quickly, “They didn’t fit, did they?”
There’s silence from Peter. You can almost see him, standing there in the middle of the college campus with a dumbfounded look on his face— his fingers threading through his hair, his mouth hanging open, eyes wide, “No,” he answers after a slow minute or two, “They were too small.” He goes quiet again before he says, “How did you know that?”
The feeling that’s been gnawing at you all week. You’ve felt like someone’s been looking for you. There’s been this… pull— somewhere deep inside of you— like someone is calling for you.
What scares you is that you want to answer.
“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting,” MJ recites slowly.
“Dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before,” you finish for her, “I used to read that to you when you were a kid.”
“He’s your favorite.”
“My absolute favorite,” you laugh nervously, “I wrote my thesis on Al Aaraaf when I was in school.” You fall back into your chair, “That dress fit me like a glove, MJ—  the shoes too.”
She shakes her head quickly, her eyes closed as she slowly comes to the realization that you are. She runs her thin fingers through her wavy hair before she rests her hands on her shoulders, squeezing to comfort herself, “Do you think it’s—”
You shrug, “It could be.”
MJ drops her eyes from yours.
“What’s happening?” Peter’s voice sounds again, “What— what do you mean? Who do you think it is?”
“I’m adopted,” you say slowly, a soft smile on your face as you keep your eyes on MJ, “I was two, maybe three when they took me from my mom. I was placed with our parents, MJ’s biological parents, really quickly— I don’t remember a whole lot, but I remember someone reading Edgar Allan Poe to me, specifically Tamerlane.”
“Fuck,” Peter breathes, “You think it’s her? Your mom?”
You glance towards the floor, a small card catching your eye. You pick it up gingerly and turn it over, your eyes scanning over the handwritten note.
For passionate love is still divine
I lov’d her as an angel might
With ray of the all living light
Which blazes upon Edis’ shrine
See you tomorrow, love — H.R.D.
You drag your eyes back up to MJ’s as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, “It’s definitely someone that knows her.”
FRIDAY
You don’t go into work.
Peter and MJ have been at your apartment all day, helping you piece this crazy story all together. Liz’s sister, Shuri’s sister— they were all you. Same age, all of you born within days of each other. All born at the same hospital. All adopted around the same age.
Someone is looking for you; and has been for years.
You and MJ are now on opposite sides about this party than you were at the beginning of the week. You want to go. You need to; especially if it’ll lead you to your mother. MJ voiced her newfound concerns, to the point where she shed a few tears— but, being the big sister you are, you brushed them away and explained it as best you could. You just need to know if she’s out there—  what these people, S.R.G., J.B.B., A.S.B., H.R.D. know about her.
So, she helps you get ready. She curls your hair and pins it up. She paints your nails and helps you into the dress before she leans against the door jam of the bathroom, watching you do your makeup— just like she used to when you were a teenager. Peter knocks on the bedroom door before he barely opens it and shoves his arm inside, an envelope hanging off his finger tips.
“Hey guys,” he says softly, “This just came.”
“You want me to read it?” MJ asks, tapping it against her fingers. When you nod, she tears the flap and slides out the card, “A chariot will await you at 7:30 sharp… but please take your time. S.T.W.”
“What time is it?”
She glances at her phone, “7:25.”
You let out a shaky breath. You lean into the mirror and dab at your lips, removing any excess lipstick before you push back again and drag your eyes down your reflection.
“You know,” you start, keeping your eyes on your painted nails, “I don’t remember my mom at all. Not her face, not her voice, but I remember a man— my dad, I guess.” You blink back towards your reflection, squinting your eyes as the gears turn in your head, “I just remember blonde hair and a deep voice reading those poems to me. I remember feeling safe when he held me.”
MJ drops her eyes and nods slowly as she rakes her fingernails up and down her forearm, “I get why you wanna go. I do.”
“I just need to make these fragments make sense, you know? I remember these other guys too— which,” you shrug, “Would make sense since mom said that my real mom lived in a commune, but,” your words drift off.
“Remember when you thought Steve Rogers was your dad?”
You laugh wholeheartedly, “I do! I just always felt like I knew him, I don’t know why.”
You still do— feel like you know him.
“So, yeah. I get it, I really do. It’s gotta be hard not knowing where you come from— thinking that every stranger you meet, or every person you see could possibly be someone you used to know.” MJ sighs as she meets your gaze through the mirror, “You look great. You always look great.”
“Thanks, sissy.” You bunch your dress in your hand and lift it gently as you step towards her, “I’ll be fine.”
She nods quickly, pursing her lips as she cuts her eyes away from yours, “I know that.”
You smile and tilt your head towards her gaze to grab her attention again, “I’m your big sister, you know. I can handle myself.”
“I know you can, I just—” she shrugs, “I don’t want you to forget me.”
“MJ,” you start, grabbing her elbow when her chin quivers, “This has nothing to do with you or mom or dad. I love you guys, you’re my family, that will never change. I promise you, okay?” you pull her into a tight hug, rubbing her back, “You will always be my sister— no one will ever take that away from us.”
“Guys,” Peter calls, “A red Audi just pulled up out front, like, an expensive one.”
“Your chariot awaits.” MJ laughs as she pulls away from you, wiping the wetness on her cheeks away.
You thread your fingers with hers and walk out into the living room where Peter smiles softly. You hug him too— he’s the best thing that could have ever happened to your sister.
“You guys are staying here for the night, right?” you ask, grabbing your clutch.
“We’re not leaving until you come back.” MJ answers.
“Okay. I’ll um, I’ll stay in touch throughout the night, okay?”
MJ nods, “We’ll stay by our phones.”
You head for the front door, opening it quickly before you step out into the hallway, “Don’t have sex in my bed,” you say suddenly, whipping back around to face the couple, “Please.”
“Oh my god,” Peter scoffs, rolling his eyes as a red tint flushes through his face, “We won’t.”
“Yeah, we’ll have sex on the couch.” Your shoulders slump as you squint at MJ, her laughter rolling off her tongue, “Just joking. Have fun, please text us.”
“I will. I love you.”
“I love you too. Be careful.”
You have to turn away from them abruptly or you’d never leave. Grasping your phone and the small clutch you borrowed from MJ, and your crystal mask in your hands, you head for the elevator. It’s a slow ride down to the main floor— silent too. Nothing but the sound of your racing thoughts bouncing back and forth in your mind. The metal box slows to a stop, a soft ding fills the air, and then the world slides back into view— a sleek, red Audi visible through the glass front doors.
A man steps out of the driver seat as you walk towards the door and push through, tightening your grip on your dress. He moves around the car, stopping just at the back door. You notice his eyes dip to your chest and you can’t help but follow his gaze. The flower shaped brooch catches the artificial light of the street lights and each little diamond starts to glint and gleam, even the pearls taking on a new shine.
The driver smiles softly, “The invitation you received was handwritten in an Old English font. The initials at the bottom?”
A test.
“Oh, um, S.G.R.”
“Those flowers you received on Tuesday were beautiful—  white carnations, right?”
You shake your head, “Pink roses.”
“I read a poem the other day, I can’t remember what it was called though. It went something like ‘know thou the secret of a spirit bow’d from its wild pride into shame’…”
“O! Yearning heart! I did inherit thy withering portion with the fame, the searing glory which hath shone amid the Jewels of my throne, Halo of Hell! And with a pain not hell shall make me fear again— o craving heart, for the lost flowers and sunshine of my summer hours,” you smile gently, “Tamerlane— the name of the poem.”
He opens the door and holds out his white, gloved hand to you.
-
1543 Asher Lane is lit up like Rockefeller Center during Christmas. Your mouth drops open as you pull up out front, every window glowing with a warm light. The front doors are thrown open with seemingly hundreds of people moving about inside. The driver opens your door and holds out his hand for you, prompting you to slide your palm into his. He keeps a firm grip on your fingers as you step out, and then helps you up the long front steps.
He only releases your hand when you reach the front door, bowing gently before he skips back down the stairs and towards the car. Your heart drums in your ears as you place your crystal, half face mask on your face and adjust it gently before you drop your hand to the necklace nestled in your cleavage. You play with the large yellow diamond as you step inside, your eyes going wide as the lively noise of a full blown party suddenly fills your ears.
An orchestra plays in the middle of the large, open foyer, the sounds bouncing off the walls and rising up into the tall ceiling. Twenty or thirty couples dance to the upbeat tune and you’d swear you’d just stepped into the 1800s. All the men that move about are dressed in black tuxedos, the only distinction between them all being their different masks. The women twirl in their Venetian ball gowns, their jewelry and intricate, flamboyant masks glinting underneath the light.
There’s double staircases winding up walls, leading up to the second floor, more people laughing and talking intimately on them. Waiters in white suits, black ties and white gloves move seamlessly about, slipping in between the bodies with plates of champagne and finger foods— each one bending forward politely and placing their free hand behind their back as party goers pluck the goodies off their silver serving plates.  
The floors are made of marble. A large, ornate chandelier hangs from the high ceiling, spilling a warm, almost golden light over everything and everyone.
“Champagne, ma’am?”
You snap your head towards the voice as it breaks you from your trance, “Thank you,” you smile as you take the thin champagne flute from his tray.
Just as quickly as he arrived, the waiter is gone again, leaving you to admire the scene before you. You take a sip of the bubbly liquid and pull out your phone, taking a quick picture and sending it to MJ with a short message. You’ve barely tucked it away when another voice sounds at your side.
“Would you care to dance?”
You turn towards the calm, deep voice, your lips parting as your eyes bounce between two crystal blue eyes. Blonde hair is swept back neatly, a strong, smooth chin and jawline visible underneath his silver, laser cut Venetian mask. He’s tall— towering almost, his chest and shoulders wide and broad. You’re taken by him almost immediately. You nod quickly, blinking a few times as he takes your champagne flute from you and hands it to a nearby server before he takes your hand and leads you into the middle of the floor.
You gasp as he sweeps you up in his arms, resting his large hand on the small of your back and pulls you into his hard body. You can’t help but stare up at him as he starts to twirl you around the floor, taking complete control of your steps. A laugh bubbles up from your chest as he spins you away from him, extending his long arm until just your fingertips are touching, and then pulls you back into his chest.
He’s a confident man— you can tell by the way he spins you around the dance floor. Even as the tempo of the music changes, from upbeat and fun, to slow and somewhat sad, he stays right in rhythm. You’ve always been a sucker for a man that can dance.
A slow smile creeps onto your face as your eyes bounce back and forth between his while the orchestra plays, “What is this song?” you ask suddenly, breaking the ice between the two of you.
“Sicilienne in E flat major, do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful.” You laugh a little, turning your head to watch the young cellist, “He’s so young, is he local?”
“He isn’t, no. That’s Sheku Kanneh-Mason of Britain, you may—”
You snap your head back towards him, “He played at the Royal Wedding! Oh my god!”
He chuckles as he gently tightens his hold around your waist, “The very one.”
You turn your head to watch the young man as he plays, completely in awe of his raw talent and bask in it, knowing you’ll never be in such company again, “My God, this is incredible. I have no idea what I’m doing here.” You laugh.
“Well, you were invited, yes?”
“Yeah but I—” you stop yourself, shaking your head gently before you smile again, “I had a crazy thought about this party. I thought someone from my past was trying to reach out to me.” He tilts his head a little, his eyes scanning your face. You laugh again, “Don’t mind me, I’m just imagining things apparently.”
“Someone from your past?” He nudges gently.
You’re not sure if it's the champagne you’ve been sipping all evening, or just because for some reason you feel like you’ve known this man your whole life, but you start to spill your guts, “I thought, God, this is going to sound stupid. I thought my mom, or someone who knew my mom was trying to reach out to me through this party, which sounds insane now that I think about it. I was adopted, so,” you shrug, “I dunno, I was kinda hoping that she’d be here or that someone could get me in touch with her. Sounds crazy, right?”
He spins you again, this time slow, his eyes dragging down your body. He pulls you back into him and you rest your hand on his chest as you watch the orchestra, a soft smile on your face, “You are young yet, my friend, but the time will arrive when you will learn to judge for yourself of what is going on in the world, without trusting to the gossip of others,” you recite, “Believe nothing you hear and only one half that you see.”
His steps hitch ever so lightly.
You turn back to face him, blinking up at him as another smile spreads on your lips, “I didn’t catch your name?”
He blinks at you, something new in his eyes— something like relief? You can’t tell. His lips part and he takes a breath, trying but failing to get his mouth to move, “I’m sorry,” he finally says, laughing gently as he shakes his head, “Um, I’m Steven— Steve. Um, Edgar Allan Poe?”
“Yeah, sorry,” you laugh, “He’s one of my favorite poets. That last line just kind of describes my thoughts over the past few days is all.”
“It’s strange for a young girl like yourself to be an Edgar Allan Poe aficionado.”
You shrug again, nodding, “I know. I just, I’ve always had an affinity for him, it’s one of the few memories of my father that I have. He used to read Poe’s poems to me as a child.”
He stops dancing abruptly, “May you excuse me? I’m sorry, I have to um, I have to go see someone very quickly. I’ll be right back.”
Before you can even answer, he brushes past you, dipping in and out of the people still filling the dance floor. You blink in confusion, watching as he jogs up the stairs and stops at the very top step, leaning into a dark haired man. They both turn in your direction after a few minutes, catching your eye before they turn back to one another, the dark haired man grabbing Steven’s arm in… surprise, maybe?
They break apart seconds later, Steven jogging back down the stairs, the dark haired man walking briskly along the long catwalk, stopping only to tap three other men on the back before they too follow quickly behind him and disappear. You grab another champagne glass from a waiter and take a gulp as heat flushes through you— nerves suddenly racking your body.
You keep your eyes on Steve as he pushes through the people again, making a line straight towards you. Tilting your head back, you finish off the rest of your glass as he approaches you again, “I’m sorry,” he smiles, “That was rude of me.”
“Oh, it’s, it’s no problem,” you laugh nervously, clearing your throat as you glance around the crowded room.
He holds out his hand to you, “Would you come with me? Please?”
You shake your head as fear strikes you, “Oh, you know, I actually have to get going, I—”
“I know your mother,” your eyes widen at his words, stopping you dead in your tracks, “And your father. Please, come with me.”
You aren’t crazy.
Someone is really trying to contact you.
You grab his hand and let him pull you through the crowd and towards the stairs. He steps aside and lets you lead, placing his hands on your waist as the two of you move up the long staircase. Once you reach the top, he grabs your hand again and pulls you along the catwalk until you disappear down the hallway. You pass by a series of doors before you stop at the last one, Steve stopping to knock.
The door pops open seconds later and Steve steps aside again, dropping your hand to hold his out towards the door. You remove your mask and sweep your hair out of your face as your mouth falls open, your eyes wide as you stare at Steve.
“It’s okay,” he reassures, his voice soft and calm.
You take a step, and then another, your heart beating hard and fast, goosebumps popping up on your skin. You step into the room but stop dead in your tracks as the air is sucked right out of your body. Four men sit at a long, antique, baroque style table. Their hands are placed flat on the dark marble top, heads bowed. The room is dark except for the flickering candles that sit in their ornate holders in the middle of the table, the light accentuating the mens’ black and gold scaramouche masks.
Fear rolls through you in waves, your breaths shaky and heavy as it falls from your lips. The door clicks behind you and you feel a hand on the small of your back again, another one on your elbow, “It’s alright darling,” he whispers in your ear, “I’ll help you to your seat, okay?”
“Steve,” your voice trembling, “I don’t, I don’t understand, I—”
“It’s alright, I promise you. We are not going to hurt you. That goes against everything we stand for. Come.”
You blink wildly at the men at the table as Steve pushes you past them slowly. They don’t flinch— no one makes a move to glance up at you or even breathe harder than what they already are. You were so busy staring at the men occupying four of the five chairs at the table, that you didn’t even notice the hand carved chair sitting against the wall at the back of the room.
The frame is golden, the upholstery teal in color and covered with floral embroidery, the back designed with a diamond tuft. It sits up a little higher than the table— propped up on a small, hand built stage with three steps leading up to it. Steve helps you up the small steps, keeping your hand in his until you’re seated.
As soon as you're settled, the four seated men pull a candle from the center of the table and place it right in front of them. The golden flames dance at the tips of the long, white candles, casting shadows over the dark walls.
“You may begin.”
You snap your head towards Steve as he speaks, your mouth hanging open, your eyes wide, breath shaky. The dark haired man that Steve first spoke to stands, his chair scuffing against the floor as he pushes away from the table. He grasps the candle holder in both hands as he approaches you slowly, his eyes cast down towards the floor.
Your breath quickens as he nears you. You squeeze Steve’s hand as you push back into the chair, starting to draw your feet up as he kneels before you, “Wait, wait, wait, wait! What are you—”
“It’s okay, darling.” Steve purrs, his thumb sweeping over the back of your hands, “It’s okay. He’s not going to hurt you. Just relax.”
A hot tear streaks down your cheek as your whimper, your chin trembling as you push a hard, focused breath out of your mouth. The man in front of you mumbles something— in French you think, but you aren’t sure— before he reaches into his pocket. Your breath hitches in your throat as he starts to sprinkle rose petals at your feet, chanting as he does.
You feel his fingers brush over your exposed toes before he lifts your right foot and slips off your gold shoe— tracing a cross with the tip of his finger on the top of your foot. He repeats his actions to the left and stands, keeping his head down as he makes a cross over his face and chest and then turns and returns to his seat.
The next man stands, a thick beard covering his chin, his candle in hand as he approaches you, never making eye contact. Instead of rose petals, he lays money at your feet— a single dollar bill— before he traces the cross into your skin while he speaks in French.
The third man is clean shaven, like Steve, but his hair dark— some falling over his mask and onto his forehead. He leaves a handful of herbs and one white egg at your feet before sweeping his fingertips over your toes and branding each foot with an imaginary cross.
The fourth man that kneels before you repeats everything to a T. He’s tall, his skin a deep, smooth walnut brown. He leaves behind a handful of wheat grain and what looks like raw sugarcane before he blesses your feet and rises again. He taps his forehead and chest before each shoulder and moves away, retaking his seat at the table.
Tears still trickle down your cheeks as you blink furiously— your stomach churning, your palms clammy. You snap your eyes towards Steve as he finally releases your hand and grabs a bowl from the small table tucked into the corner of the room. He steps in front of you and kneels, setting the hand painted bowl at your feet. He lifts your feet gently, placing them in the bowl with care, massaging your ankles and lower calves to calm you.
It works— your voice trembles as you push out a gentle hum, focusing on his hands on your skin. He starts to speak in French, his voice low and calm, much like most of the evening. He pulls a small flask out of his jacket pocket and pops the lid before he pours the unusually cool liquid over your feet. You flinch instinctively but focus again on his soft hands, kneading your feet as he washes them.
Steve pulls the white silk pocket square from his suit jacket and dabs at your feet, wiping away the moisture. He traces a cross on the tops of your feet before standing again and cups your face with his hands. You’re drawn into him— resting your forehead to his as he continues to chant, his lips so close they brush against yours as he speaks.
“Bless this missing child,” he whispers, the only part of his chant in english, “She is home at last.”
As soon as the words leave his lips, every burning candle is suddenly extinguished by some force now filling the room. You blink in the darkness, your breath quickening as you grab Steve’s forearms.
“Shhh, shhh, shhhh,” he coos, stroking your bottom lip with his thumbs, “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”
The room is full— so full of energy; power. It whips around you, electrifying your skin and blood, rattling your bones. It’s foreign— anomalous— but yet feels so comforting and warm. Like love. Like you're surrounded by family. You loosen your grip on Steve’s forearms as the fear drains from your body, a voice— a soft whisper in your ears. A voice you’ve never heard before but have somehow heard your whole life. It’s a language you don’t understand, but yet you know exactly what it’s saying.
Your eyes pop open suddenly and the room is washed in a warm light as the candles are suddenly lit again. Steve smiles at you softly as your eyes, now full of wonder and a new sacred knowledge, bounce back and forth between his deep blues. There’s a new electricity between the two of you, something unspoken, but written in the stars all the same.
The blood in your veins rushes hard, the sound of your thumping heart beating in your ears as goosebumps pop up over your skin again. Your stomach tightens as the molten of your ardor starts to pool and spread through your body, blazing a quick path. Steve’s thumbs still sweep over your lips, underneath your eyes, over your nose as you hold loosely onto his wrists. You grab your bottom lip between your teeth and let your eyes fall to his mouth before you inhale sharply— soft and pink, his lips.
His large palms spread warmth through your face, his thumbs still circling— still pushing along your smooth skin. Blue eyes dart around your face, continually meeting your deep brown eyes before dipping to your expectant lips. He pushes closer— so close that his pillowy lips rest against yours, but he doesn’t rush it— doesn’t press any harder.
He leaves it all up to you.
The energy is back in the room, swirling, filling you up with the power and presence with each breath you take. You press your lips to his as the sweet sirens start to whisper to you again. A moan slips from your mouth and into Steve’s, where he gobbles it up, exchanging a deep, pleased groan of his own.  
His lips start to travel, moving down to your chin and jaw. He nuzzles into the soft, warm crook of your neck where he sucks lightly— his velvet tongue sneaking out and slipping along your skin. You push your chest into his as your back straightens, a gasp filling your lungs with the sweet air that surrounds you.
The emotion takes over in the heat of the moment— the fire of his lips and hands setting you a flame. Your leg hooks around his waist as you curl your fingers over his broad shoulders, digging your black painted nails into his shoulder blades. His teeth nip at your taut flesh and you lurch forward, your head tilting towards the ceiling as a choked moan strains in your throat.
You feel his deft fingertips on your naked calf, slipping along the length— over and around your knee, up your thigh— where he kneads and gropes, pulling heavier, louder sounds from you as his lips caress your flesh. A shiver rolls down your spine when his thick digits brush over your sticky panties. He doesn’t shy away, he sweeps the pads of his fingers over you again and again, finding a sweet little rhythm as he applies a gentle pressure.
Hips roll. Chests swell. Grips tighten as your head rolls back. Your mouth falls open as you drag in a breath, pushing it out with a husky groan. Your teeth grab your bottom lip again as you slide your hand around his wide back, hooking your arm around his neck. Humming, you open your eyes, blinking slowly back at four sets of hungry eyes trained on you and Steve. You inhale again, letting your lips part as you link eyes with each man at the table.
The men sit stark still— not moving a muscle as the flame from the candles light your bodies. Shadows dance across their masked faces as they watch in silence, but you can feel each and every one of them. Each energy is slightly different but acutely masculine, acutely tuned into you.
You don’t mind them watching. The scene salacious— vulgar.
Wrapped up in two large, muscly arms, you’re hoisted from the chair as Steve grabs your lips again with his own. He walks you to the table and sits you on the edge, right between two of the four men occupying it. The marble top is cool to the touch as he helps you up onto your feet, holding the tips of your fingers with his hand. He leads you into the center of the table, five heads all tilted up towards you as you stand there, the bottom of your dress dragging behind you as you move.
You feel like a princess with all of their eyes on you, hanging on to your every move, drinking in every inch of you. You twirl— a giggle falling from your lips before you sink down to your knees, peeking over your shoulder at the only brown eyed man in the room. You place your thin fingers over your lips, playing with them gently as you bat your eyes at him and sweep your hair over your shoulder— exposing the zipper of your dress.
He obliges without hesitation. Standing to his feet, he reaches for you— a warm hand on your bare shoulder, another grasping the zipper. You nuzzle your chin and cheek against his long fingers before brushing your lips over them quickly. His warm brown skin melts into yours as he pulls on your zipper, exposing more and more of your naked back as he goes.
The soft smile on your face grows wider as he centers his large palm in the middle of your back. Warm skin to warm skin. His eyes are ablaze— dark, blown pupils against a lighter brown iris— set dead on you as his lips part, showing off a distinctive gap in his teeth as his fingers whisk across your back and shoulder.
You turn to face him, still kneeling in the center of the table, and reach for his mask— pulling gently on the black tie until the bow falls away. He lets you remove it from him, a soft smile playing on his lips as you reveal the handsome face underneath.
“Samuel Thomas Wilson,” Steve offers softly.
Samuel tips his head towards you as you run the tips of your fingers along his softly bearded jaw, “S.T.W.” you say easy, recalling the last of your calling cards, “Hi Sam.”
You lean forward and place your lips on his— one gentle, chaste kiss before you break away from him with a soft smack.
You follow Steve with your eyes as he moves to the man seated next to Sam. Steve places his hand on his shoulder, “Andrew Stephen Barber.”
You bat your eyes at Andrew as he stands and takes your hand, bringing the backs of your fingers to his lips, “Andy.” He supplies as he removes his mask and sits it gently on the table.
“A.S.B., thank you for the dress.”
His presence is calm— gentle, matching the softness of his beard and dark hair. You press your free hand into the halter top of your dress to keep it from falling, but all the modesty you once had is evaporating quickly. You feel like you’ve known them all forever.
The next pair of blue eyes bring a forceful energy, one of entitlement and defiance. Before Steve can get his name out, he’s standing, his mask in his hand revealing his boyish, clean face, “Hugh Ransom Drysdale.” He winks at you suggestively, “Ransom.”
He wraps his long arm around your waist and pulls you close, crashing his lips to yours in a fury. You giggle against him before accepting his velvety tongue into your mouth, letting it sweep along your bottom lip and then slide along yours. Steve taps his shoulder and after a beat… or two, Ransom releases you from his grip, a smirk on his face, a twinkle in his eye.
You turn to the fourth man— the dark haired man that Steve initially spoke to on the stairs. He’s standing, with Steve behind him, the tips of his fingers resting on the edge of the long table. He’s the only one wearing gloves. His breathing is controlled, his eyes set on you as you inch towards him, sitting up on your knees in front of him.
You walk your fingers up his chest seductively, your teeth digging into your bottom lip as you smile at him, “You must be J.B.B.”
He tilts his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “I could be S.G.R.”
“While the guy named Steven stands behind you?” you squint playfully, reaching for his mask.
He grabs your wrist with his left hand, making you gasp. It’s a firm grip, but it excites something deep in you. You drop your hands into your lap, flattening them on your thighs as you take a deep breath and push it out of your nose. He glances over his shoulder at Steve, who nods just once before he turns back to face you and starts to pull at the fingers of his gloves. He removes the right hand first, tucking the black glove into his pocket before he starts on the left, pulling slowly— finger by finger.
Your mouth drops open as he pulls the nylon material away, your eyes going wide as he stretches out his digits, the candle light glinting off of the dark metal. The breath in your throat hitches as you watch him reach for his mask and untie it, pulling it away from his face to reveal a familiar one.
J.B.B.
James Buchanan Barnes.
So that means—
You blink towards Steve, whose mask is now off and sitting on the table. He rests his hand on Bucky’s shoulder as he exhales deeply, “James Buchanan Barnes,” he then points at himself, “Steven Grant Rogers.”
You blink rapidly— completely dumbfounded as the two super soldiers stand before you. Bucky takes your hand, brushing his lips over your fingers before he pops them into his mouth, sucking gently on your digits as he flicks his eyes back up to yours. Your stomach tightens. A hum accompanies the breath that vibrates through your chest as he drags his left hand up and down your arm.
Steve cups your cheek and turns your head towards him before he traces your jaw and chin with his index finger, “We’re gonna take care of you baby girl,” he whispers as he places his fingertips on your forehead and brushes them down your face, “We’ve searched for you for so long.”
You believe him— you don’t know what he’s talking about, but you believe every word.
You push in and kiss Bucky, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck and squeeze gently before you turn towards Steve, pulling him into another deep kiss, “Get this dress off of me.” You whisper.
Hands— so many hands, each pair distinctively different, are on your body within seconds, tugging and pulling at the heavy dress until you’re free of it. The only piece of clothing left on you is your thin thong as you lay back on the table, your hands over your bare breasts, covering them. You gaze up at the five men peering at you, their eyes wide and hungry.
Steve slips his hand down your sternum, the pads of his fingers sliding down your stomach to your hips, where he traces the thin band of your underwear— his touch making you raise your hips from the table. Sam drags his thumb along your chin and bottom lip before he pushes the tip just inside your all too eager mouth. You suck gently, running your tongue the length of his digit as Ransom pries your hands away from your breasts.
You moan softly, arching your back into Ransom’s hands as he starts to tweak your taut nipples, rolling them both between his fingers before he leans down and sucks your right breast into his mouth. Hands grab your thighs, kneading your flesh and pull them apart as Andy licks into your mouth, his tongue massaging the roof as he holds your chin.
The energy is back in the room— the power swirling as the men start to devour you. There’s tongues over your toes, hands on your tight nipples and abundant breasts, lips on your shoulders and neck. Fingernails scrape against your skin as they slink underneath the band of your panties, pulling them down your thighs and calves before they slide over your ankle and are discarded to the floor.
You feel the warm metal and flesh hand of Bucky around your ankles, drawing your legs up so they’re bent at the knee. He crawls onto the table, his heavy blue eyes drinking you in as he lets his metal fingers dance up and down the inside of your thigh. You start to shiver at his touch— your back arching away from the table as you gasp and hiss from the hands and mouths and tongues all over you.
Bucky sinks down— low, onto his belly— his eyes still trained on yours as he wraps his arms around your thighs. He starts to blow warm air against your sticky, hot sex, his eyes finally dipping away from yours and to your lower half as your hips jerk and whine. His metal fingers push through your folds gently, rubbing the sensitive nub at the center of you, then teasing your slit and opening.
Steve presses his balmy lips right in the valley of your breasts and peppers kisses along your jiggling flesh. The tip of his tongue circles your nipples before his teeth nip and bite. You gasp loud as a metal finger, and then a second push into your cunt— a thumb pressing against your clit. Your hips jut upward as you mewl, the sound quickly being covered up by Sam’s mouth as he kisses you hard.
Bucky blinks up at you as he withdrawals his fingers and waits— waits for you to make eye contact with him before he sucks them into his mouth, wiping them clean of your slick. He moans— heavy and hard as he closes his eyes, savoring your taste.
Your hips start to roll into his hand as he dips his fingers back into you, his breath washing over your quivering thighs. Ransom tickles your right knee, then skips his hand down the inside of your thigh, where he cups your sex around Bucky’s pushing fingers. Ransom starts to rub your clit, pressing firm circles into your wet flesh as Bucky curls his fingers to massage your muscles.
Andy sinks his teeth into your side before his tongue glances out over your stomach, circling your belly button before he sucks on your skin. He presses his hand into your lower stomach to add some pressure— Sam and Steve each taking a breast into their wet mouths, their tongues swishing and swirling.
You dig a hand into Steve’s hair and cup Sam’s head as they tease your nipples, a sharp yelp bursting through your lips as Sam bites down gently. Ransom spreads your folds with his index and middle fingers and suddenly, there’s a tongue— a warm, velvety tongue flattening against your clit. You push your head up to watch as Bucky sucks on your nub, his eyes searing into yours as he releases you with a smack, and then dives back in, the tip of his tongue flirting with your opening, his fingers still pumping.
Your head and hips roll as unrestrained groans rumble through your chest and fill the room, mingling with the deep moans and growls of the five men pleasing you. The sound of a zipper bounces off the walls— your hand then grabbed and pulled to your left. You gasp at the heavy warmth that fills your palm as your fingers wrap around Sam’s length. You roll your head towards him, biting your bottom lip as you watch your hand slide up and down his impressive girth.
You grab Steve’s hip with your free hand, digging your fingers into him as you lean up, beckoning him to come closer. You kiss him hard once he’s within distance, smacking your lips against his before you sound into his mouth as Ransom slaps your pussy, the gold band around his ring finger adding a heaviness to the strikes.
Bucky kisses up your thigh, sinking his teeth into your flesh every now and again until he reaches your ankle and foot. He thumbs at your black painted nails before he pulls your toes into his mouth as he massages your calf, “These are cute, these toes.” He murmurs, a light chuckle vibrating through him.
A chorus of zips start to sound, one right after the other. Their jackets soon hit the floor, the crisp, white sleeves of their button downs are rolled up their forearms before they all descend on you again. You’re lifted from the table into Andy’s arms as Sam slides into the space you once occupied on the table, his pants riding low on his hips. Andy kisses you deeply before placing you back on your feet on the top of the table, keeping a hold of your hand as you traipse along Sam’s side.
You throw your leg over Sam’s body and sit slowly, wiggling your hips as you position yourself on his lower stomach. You reach back, dragging your fingers through the curly patch of hair covering his lower half, tickling his skin. You slip your fingers into his unzipped pants and pull him free, stroking and squeezing him slowly before you swipe your fingers over his wet tip.
Two strong hands grip your waist— Ransom— as you slip your hand down to Sam’s base and lift upward, guiding him towards your entrance. Ransom holds you steady as you sit down on Sam, your cunt swallowing every delicious inch of Sam’s cock until he’s completely disappeared. You lean forward, splaying your fingers out on his wide, thick chest as he grabs hold of your thighs. You pull up, hissing as his cock slides out of the tight grasp of your pussy and then sit back down, moaning as he fills you again.
Ransom slips his hand up your spine and wraps his fingers over your shoulder as you start a slow rhythm, up and down, up and down, up and down. Your hips roll as Sam starts to buck his hips up into you, each stroke a little harder, a little sharper than the one before it. There’s a chest to your back and then teeth nibbling at your earlobe as you lean back into the body and rest your head on a shoulder. Ransom’s mouth then covers yours as he wraps his arm around your waist, holding you tight as you ride Sam, your nails digging into his rich brown skin.
You gasp as a tongue teases your thick nipple, and then a hand closes over your left breast, squeezing and kneading gently. You slide your hand into Ransom’s hair as you watch Steve flick the tip of his tongue against your nipple before he sucks your breast into his mouth, moaning as his tongue swirls.
Andy slips his hand down your stomach and starts to work your clit, grabbing your chin with his free hand and tilting your head towards his. His head is tilted upwards, his eyes hooded as he peers down at you through his long, thick eye lashes. You whine as Sam’s pace quickens, fucking up into you hard as he grips your hips so tight you’re sure he’ll leave marks behind. Andy snarls his lip as he watches you struggle to keep your eyes open, as your hips falter, as you get louder and less restrained. He licks into your mouth before he lays a filthy kiss on you— demanding and sloppy.
Ransom squeezes your shoulder before he pushes you forward with his other hand, nearly crushing you against Sam’s chest. You shiver when you feel his cock slide through your ass cheeks, leaving a wetness behind. He pulls back and the backs of his fingers glance over your ass, deep hisses and a grunt coming from him as he strokes his cock— a drop of his cum dribbling onto your skin.
He suddenly pushes his fingers into your mouth— index, middle, and ring— wetting them with your saliva before he drags them back through your ass, the tips circling your hole. There’s a tangy taste left in your mouth, some of you, some of him, as he slaps his dick against your ass and then spreads you apart. Sam slows beneath you and then stops as he drags his large hands up and down your forearms, grabbing your hand and sucking your fingers into his warm mouth.
You slam your eyes closed, tensing as Ransom starts to push the head of his cock against your asshole. He places his hand against the center of your back, Bucky cups your face in his palms, sweeping his thumbs over your cheeks as he pecks your lips with his, singing gentle praise to help relax you.
“You can do it baby,” Bucky whispers, rubbing his nose against yours, smiling softly, “You can take him baby, I know you can. Can’t she Steve?”
Steve sinks his teeth into your shoulder, humming as he drags his red, swollen lips down your arm, “This pretty girl sure can,” he reassures, his voice smooth and low, “And it’s gonna feel so good, baby. You’re gonna feel so full, so stretched.”
You whimper loudly. You grab Bucky’s shoulder as Ransom’s dick finally breaks through your threshold. Ransom lets out a breath, the warm splashing over your back as he stills, a shuddering groan vibrating through his chest. Ransom squeezes your shoulder again, leaning forward to place sloppy kisses on your back, “More?”
Steve kisses your temple before he nuzzles into the side of your face, “You can do it sweet girl. You can take him all.”
Bucky kisses your lips again. Sam nibbles on the tips of your fingers as he nudges his hips into yours, burying deeper into you. You nod quickly— you do want more. More, more, more.
Ransom starts to push again, spreading your tight muscles as he forges, filling you right up. He doesn’t stop until he bottoms out— his stomach now pressing into your ass as he wraps his hand around the back of your neck.
“Such a good girl,” Bucky purrs as he reaches between you and Sam’s bodies, starting to play with your nub, “Such a sweet, pretty girl.”
Sam is the first to move, pressing up into you before he withdrawals slowly. Ransom counters his actions, pulling out when Sam pushes in, delving in when Sam drags out. It’s hypnotizing— the rhythm, the push and pull. Your mouth goes slack as Steve rolls your nipples in his hands, his tongue and teeth nipping and licking at your damp skin. You roll your hips, pushing back into Ransom as Sam fucks up into you as electricity flows through your veins.
“That’s it baby girl,” Bucky praises through impassioned kisses, his tongue slipping along your lips and the roof of your mouth, “Stuffed full, aren’t you sweetie?”
Your stomach tightens at the words, your heart beat pounding against your chest and in your ears as a tingle rushing up your spine. There’s a pull deep in your belly, a molten heat and the raw emotions spreading through you as your body tightens hard.  Your hips jerk as a sudden current strikes you— your cunt closing around Sam. He shudders and you feel it, feel it rumble through his chest as his own hips get desperate.
Ransom fucks your ass with fluid motions, his enormous hands and long fingers digging into the supple flesh of your waist. He grunts, hard and grainy as the warmth of your insides caress his cock. Ransom gets loud, Sam gets loud, you get whimpery— needy, almost to the point of tears as the waves roll harder and faster through you. Each stroke, each thrust, each plow of their hips driving you closer and closer to your demise.
A moan chokes in your throat as your orgasm blooms across your skin, but soon the sounds are pouring out of you. Loud, desperate, relieved as the waves finally crash. Bucky bites his bottom lip hard as his fingers slap against your jumping clit. Steve pinches your nipples as he rests his forehead against the side of your face, his hot breath sticking to your skin.
Sam drives his hips into yours once more and digs his thumbs into the creases of your thighs as his cock starts to spit, over and over again, spilling into you. Ransom fucks through it all, keeping a firm grip on your shoulder until he too comes undone in your ass. He pushes deep, deep, deep inside as he spurts, watching as your hole spasms around him.
Ransom pulls out of you as soon as he’s milked and you feel his cum bubble out of you, slipping down the inside of your thigh. You’re lifted off of Sam— brought to the edge of the table, on your hands and knees, your feet hanging over the end. A massive hand presses between your shoulder blades, forcing your chest and head down onto the cool surface as you try and catch your breath. You jump when a pair of warm lips connect where your ass ends and your thigh begins, a soft beard brushing against your skin.
Andy drags his finger up the inside of your thigh, collecting the cum that’s spilled from you and pushes two fingers into your hot cunt— your muscles still quaking, still constricting. He fingers you slowly, skimming his fingertips up and down your thigh as he pushes his digits, cramming Sam and Ransom’s cum deep.
You hum with each stroke, lunging forward softly, your nipples grazing over the marble table top as you move. You blink slowly as you lift your head, watching as Bucky climbs onto the table, spreading his legs as they slide around you. He slides his flesh hand into his pants and starts to stroke his cock— long, languid pulls as his metal fingers pull on his tight balls. You wrap your hands around his thighs, the excitement bubbling up in your chest once more as you watch him.
Andy replaces his fingers with his dick in one fell swoop. You mewl, your tits bouncing as he starts a brisk pace. The sound of his skin slapping against yours bouncing off the walls as Ransom, Sam, and Steve watch on, chests rising and falling hard as they tug their hands up and down their cocks at the sight.
You rock forward, your face inches from Bucky’s cock as he jerks himself, peering down his long body at you. Keeping your eyes on his, you push your tongue out from behind your teeth and lick at his shaft quickly before puckering your lips to kiss the thick vein running the length of him. You push your hands over his hips and up over his abs as your mouth slides over his wet, red mushroom tip.
Bucky moans deep, his back arching from the table as he pushes his hips up into your mouth, sending his cock right to the back of your throat. You pull upward as his hips sink back to the table, releasing him with a pop and smiling as his cock sways back and forth. You wrap your fingers around the base of his dick, wiggling him a little before you lower your mouth over his tip, sucking lightly as you swirl your tongue over his slit.
Your plump lips go slack around Bucky as Andy presses into a spot— sending a jolt right to your heart. Andy lets his hands roam along your back and sides as he fucks you, gripping and squeezing, groping and kneading your thick, soft flesh. He’ll push deep, and then just stay there for a few seconds, savoring the warmth, the tightness of your slick muscles before he wiggles his hips and withdrawals from you, just to plunge back in.
You release Bucky quickly to swallow the piquant spunk left on your tongue before you cram him back into your mouth. You suck on his cock head as you pump him up and down, twisting and turning your hand as you go. A muffled moan seeps from your mouth, vibrating around Bucky’s cock as you slam your eyes closed, feeling Andy’s strokes in your stomach.
The tingles are back— the pull in your belly. Your pussy tightens as the electricity within you starts to bounce around, synapses firing. Andy feels it, Bucky too, their hips pushing harder and faster. Your nails scratch at Bucky’s skin, squeezing uncontrollably as your heart beats in your ears, heat flushing your face.
Andy fucks into you good, hard and deep, sending you right over the edge once more. Your release spreads through you, warming every inch of flesh, every pore, every follicle. Andy thumbs your clit as he continues to pump his hips, fucking your right through your orgasm until your contracting muscles and slick coax his climax. Bucky erupts at nearly the same time— long, hot ribbons of his cum shooting from him, splattering on his stomach and dribbling down his cock.
There’s movement out of the corner of your eye, Steve standing from one of the chairs to grab your chin, pushing your head and face up towards him. He kisses you hard— sloppy, sucking on your bottom lip before he tongues the roof of your mouth. He pulls away, cupping your face in his hands gently as he rubs his thumbs along your cheeks, a soft smile on his lips, eyes full of affection.
“Such a good girl.” he whispers.
He pulls you into another kiss, but this time it’s softer— sweeter. Slower.
Andy pulls out of you, his hands still sweeping over your back and ass and thighs. He presses another kiss right into the creases of each cheek before he falls into a chair next to Sam. Bucky slides off of the table and sits next to Ransom, resting his head on the back of the chair and lets his mouth go slack as he lets out a breath.
Steve crawls onto the table as the four other men drag their chairs to the edges of the table, sitting up straighter once they get situated. Steve grabs your lips with his, a soft hum wavering in his throat. He separates from you but doesn’t go far— resting his forehead on yours as he nuzzles into you, rubbing the tip of his nose along the bridge of yours. He starts to guide you back, his hand behind your head, as he lays you down flat on the table, your knees drawn up, your feet flat against the cool surface.
You sweep your hands up and down your thighs in anticipation as you watch him unbutton his shirt slowly, his blue eyes wandering the length of your body as his fingers move. You push up onto your elbows, tilting your head as you blink at him when he pulls the material away from his buff torso.
Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you dip your eyes to his broad chest, his skin tanned and tight. There are faint scars littered along his skin— a few tiger stripes on his biceps and sides. His stomach is firm and flat, six perfect abs carved out, and the cutest belly button you think you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing. You sit up, placing your hand in the middle of his chest, right in the middle of those hard pecs and watch your hand move with each breath he takes. Your fingers fall, down his sternum, over those abs, and slightly into the dark blonde patch of hair that peeks out of his open pants.
You draw your bottom lip into your mouth and send your eyes up to his as your hand digs deeper— your dainty fingers wrapping around his hard, hot cock. His chest tightens at your touch. You inch your body closer to his, throwing your legs open and around either side of his body as you start to pump him slowly. You draw your hand up his shaft, sweeping your palm over his sensitive, weeping tip before you push back down, squeezing him gently— feeling him.
His breathing gets deeper, his chest and stomach constricting, his lips parting and quivering ever so lightly as you massage him. All five pairs of eyes are on you— unwavering, barely blinking as they consume you and only you. The power swells in your chest. You feel like a goddamn queen. Captivating. Strong.
You pull him free of his dark slacks and have to take a breath at the sight of him. He’s gorgeous. Thick and long, his tip shiny and wet and red— eager— his dick jumping every now and again as cum dribbles out of his slit. You sweep the pads of your fingers over the tip again, collecting the warm, cloudy spunk and push it down his shaft, along the thick vein that runs down him, wetting every inch of him.
He pulls you into his lap in one swift move, like you’re absolutely weightless. His cock settles against your pussy and clit, resting against your stomach as he wraps his arm around your back and waist. You instantly start to roll your hips, sliding your skin along his dick— coping a feel— letting it radiate through you.
The current in the room picks up. The flames of the candles start to flicker as if there’s a strong breeze that threatens to extinguish them. You push up with the help of Steve’s strength, your mouth hanging open as you guide him towards your entrance. You push his flesh through your folds, teasing yourself a little before you align him with you, starting to sink your hips down.
You dig your fingertips into his shoulders, let your head fall back as he opens you up inch by inch. A growl scratches at the back of your throat when you feel his hot lips on your neck, peppering kisses, tongue lapping, teeth nipping as you take him. The candles flicker hard as Steve bottoms out in you— hip to hip; flesh to flesh.
Throwing an arm around his neck, you really start to move, pulling up on that towering dick before sinking back down on it. Your tits bounce as your hips roll, a delicious burn starting to spread through your thighs. Steve’s hips fuck into yours, meeting you halfway as you crash down. There’s hands on you again— on your shoulders and arms, on your thighs, wrapping around your ankles— Andy, Ransom, Sam, and Bucky— grabbing, kneading, gripping, groping.
The electricity in the room bounces off the walls, energizing you, drawing you into Steve more and more with each passing second. The wind even kicks up outside, slamming against the sprawling house, shaking the lush trees. The warm moonlight cascades into the room and over your bodies as you fuck Steve unmercifully on top of the old table. You gasp and moan and pant— the sounds bitten off, choked, and heavy as your pussy constricts around him.
He appeases each whim of your hips, driving into you deep and hard, taking control when your hips jerk and shudder. He encourages you— they all do— sweet, tiny whispers, filthy, low declamations. Their voices rattle your brain and your bones as the candle light trembles again.
You’re slamming into each other, Steve bottoming out with each thrust. Your stomach is tight, your body warm and prickly, your clit stinging as another orgasm looms in the distance. Steve’s hips are rolling and pushing, his fingernails scratching your skin as he rakes them down your naked back. There’s teeth on your shoulders and neck, lips over your nipples, fingers prodding against your clit until you come undone, shouting and pleading to every God you know.
A sudden burst of warmth explodes inside of you— Steve’s strangled groans growing loud as he comes. Your face breaks with passion, tears threatening to spill as ungodly, high-pitched sounds spill from your lips. You’re all shrouded in darkness. The candle light whipped away, suddenly extinguished by the invisible forces in the room.
The candles relight again out of nowhere as you collapse against Steve as your body finally gives out after the thorough fuck session. You’re heavy and limp, air rushing out of your mouth, sticking to his damp, humid skin. You can’t even keep your eyes open. You hum intermittently as their hands brush over your skin before they pull you away from him, laying you back down on the table.
Their voices ring out, all in sink, chanting again in French. Sam sprinkles your body with the flask, from your head to your toes— Steve traces a cross on your chest. They all flatten your hands on you as their chorus finishes, and you hear the soft voices again. They’re warm and happy, the feminine voices, as the love— the familial undercurrent— fills the room again.
You’re lifted into arms, pressed against a chest before one of their discarded jackets is thrown over your shoulders. Your head is foggy, thoughts slow as someone carries you out of the room. You feel their protection, the fierce safeguard of you as suddenly you’re the center of attention. It feels as if hundreds of eyes are on you— because there are as they walk you right through the center of the party.
“Our missing child is home.” Steve announces, smiling softly down on you, sweeping his large hand over your forehead, “The family is complete once more.”
An exuberant applause erupts.
You’re moving again, slowly the eyes on you disappearing as the fivesome moves you through the house. A door clicks, the sound of the bottom of it sweeping across the carpet filling your ears. A warmth surrounds you as you’re laid down onto a bed, a large, full comforter covering your naked body. You squirm, your head rolling against the pillow as you murmur and whimper.
“Shh shh shh, little one,” Sam purrs, stroking your face with his thick fingers, “You’re safe.”
“We’re all here sweet girl. Just rest.” Andy says calmly, brushing his lips over the backs of your fingers.
Naked bodies surround you— cram you right in the middle of them. Arms and legs are thrown over you, fingers thread with yours, lips and beards glance over your skin as they whisper and blether. You roll into a body, you’re not even sure who’s, and you hold onto them tight, letting the sleep seep in, letting it pull you away into the deep.
SATURDAY
There’s an intrusive light burning into your face. You shift, rolling your head away from it before rolling your entire body over onto your side. You stretch your arms out and sigh slowly, wanting nothing more than to melt back into the soft, deep slumber that had been disturbed— but your brain has other plans. It slowly starts to awaken, the fog lifting, memories and visions of the night before playing before your eyes. Hands on your skin, lips locked on yours, eyes following your every move.
You spring upwards.
Your eyes pop open as you inhale sharply. You snap your head to the right and then the left before you scan the room, finding it completely empty. You turn back towards the windows, squinting and blinking as the sun belts into the room, the light spilling over the floor and bed. Voices float towards you— warm, male laughter— before it dies away again and all you hear are the random chirps of birds and the soft swish of the breeze against the trees and house.
That’s when the soreness seeps in. You roll your shoulders as you recognize the subtle pain, roll your neck before stretching your arms above your head. There’s laughter again, the clatter of pans and dishes and you blink at the closed bedroom door. Questions start to populate and swarm, pushing away the rest of the sleepy fog in your mind.
You throw your legs over the side of the bed and stand, but throw your hands back on the mattress as you stumble, having to steady yourself. Your legs are jelly. A hum vibrates in your chest and throat as you take a step after a few sobering seconds. The muscles of your sex scream at you— achy and tight— used. It’s sharp but also dull, nagging and deep— the soreness. It feels good. Feels right.
Spotting an egg shaped floor length mirror leaning up against the far wall, you pad towards it, squinting and hissing as pangs of the delicious pain prickle along your skin and muscles. You peer at your body, twisting and turning. You’re marked beyond belief— suck marks on your neck and shoulders, red raised welts on your sides and thighs, deep bruises and teeth marks scattered along your body like a map.
A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.
You spot a small bench in front of the bed, a pink satin tank top and matching shorts tossed over it. You slip the tank top over your arms to cover your bare torso and pull the shorts up your legs, your ample behind poking out of the bottom of them. You start for the door and move into a long hallway, following the laughter and voices emanating from deep in the house.
This is a really big house. It takes a while, well, you’re nosey so you peek into each room you pass and stop to eye the paintings on the wall, but you finally find the source of all the noise. You turn into the vast kitchen, finding five men placed throughout it. Sam is over the stove, cracking eggs and flipping potatoes and fresh vegetables. Andy sits at the bar, his nose buried in the Saturday paper as he sips on a black coffee. Bucky and Steve sit at the table, talking hushly over some old papers, and Ransom leans against the fridge, thumbing through his phone.
Bucky’s the first to notice you. He greets you with a wide, bright smile, his eyes crinkling at the sides, his nose scrunching, “Good morning beautiful.”
The rest of the men all blink at you and a warmth flushes through your face as you play with your fingers. Before you can respond, Ransom sweeps you off your feet and into his arms, kissing you hard and deep before he sits you back down and swats your behind, “Mornin’ doll.”
“Don’t be so rough with her,” Andy chides the slightly younger man. He grabs your wrist, bringing the back of your hand to his lips, “Sleep well, baby?”
“I did, thank you.” You smile, nervous but flattered by the attention.
“Hope you’re hungry sweetie,” Sam says, leaning into you to peck your lips as you move towards him.
“I’m starving.”
“I bet. You slept hard last night.” He winks, nudging you with his shoulder, “Ransom, plates.”
“I’m not the help, Wilson.”
“Well you are to-fuckin-day. Get the plates, trust fund baby.”
You laugh as you move towards the table, getting swept up into another breathless kiss by Bucky before Steve pulls you into his lap, brushing his nose over the back of your shoulder. Ransom and Sam hand out the plates one by one, taking drink orders and handing them out before they take their seats at the long table. You stay in Steve’s lap as you eat, listening as they all chat and cut up a little, teasing the youngest of them, Ransom, and listening intently as Andy talks about his latest case.
“I bet baby girl over here has some questions, hmm?” Bucky says after a while, cutting into his sausage and popping a small piece into his mouth.
You nod as you chew and swallow, before your eyes go wide, “Oh shit! My sister MJ! I bet she’s—”
Ransom slides your phone towards you, “I texted her for you last night and again this morning. Convinced her not to call the cops— she’s a feisty one.”
“Oh God, thank you.” You sigh, glancing over the texts.
“You can call her if you’d like. We can step out.” Steve offers, peering at you over your shoulder.
“No, no. She seems to be pacified for the moment. I’ll call her in a little while. So,” you lead in, “How, um, what is all of this? How do you guys know me, or my mom, to be more specific?”
Steve wraps his arm around your waist, holding you to him before he takes a breath, “This is going to sound really strange and it’s a really long story.”
“I got time,” you laugh, “It’s the only reason I came last night. Didn’t expect to get fucked by five dudes, but, you know,” you giggle, “Shit happens.”
“Steve and I,” Bucky starts, “We knew your great-grandmother, Marie-Angelie Paris Laveau of New Orleans. Steve was… sickly.” You nod quickly, having read everything there is to know about the great Steve Rogers, “I had heard that there was this new religion, down south. A woman that claimed to be a healer and Steve was my best friend, so, we decided to check it out in the early forties— wanted to see if she could help him.”
“When we finally got to Louisiana and tracked Marie-Angelie down, it was nothing that Bucky and I had ever seen before.” Steve chuckles, “Your great-grandmother was a beautiful woman, had thousands of followers, just like her mother, and her mother before her.”
“Followers?” You ask, furrowing your brow.
Bucky shifts his eyes to Steve before they land back on you, “You’re a direct descendant of Marie Laveau, the voodoo queen of the French quarter.”
Your eyes widen at the words.
“The elder Marie was a very powerful woman, passed down her knowledge and her gift to her daughters who kept her spirit and her craft alive. Marie-Angelie took one look at Steve and knew she could help. So,” Bucky takes a breath, holding it in his chest for a second before he pushes it out, “We made our offerings, appeased the spirits and we had Steve stay with her for the night.”
“She prayed over me all night. Chanted, offered the spirits many gifts, had me drink this potion that she’d made,” Steve says slowly, “I’m not too sure what happened. I just remember waking up and looking like this. It came with conditions of course, one of which she told us about, the other she didn’t.”
“What were they?” you breathe, engrossed in the story.
“The condition we knew about was that Bucky and I had to join the society.” You raise your eyebrows, prompting Steve to smile, “The elder Marie, your great-great-great-great grandmother entered into a pact with Sam’s great-great-great-great grandfather.”
“He was a farmer,” Sam says after he takes a sip of his coffee, taking over the story, “My great-great-great-great granddaddy went to Marie for a little advice and to have her pray for his crops. He was flat broke, about to lose the farm, Louisiana was going through a terrible drought— he offered Marie the last dollar he had in his pocket. His crop came in more bountiful than ever, in fact, it was the only farm that yielded that season. Made him a millionaire overnight. So, in exchange for her prayers, he offered her and her offspring protection. As long as there's a Laveau bloodline, the Wilson’s will watch over them.”
Silence falls over the room as you blink back at Sam, unable to speak. Bucky leans forward, placing his flesh hand over yours and rubs gently as concern fills his blue eyes, “You okay, honey?”
You nod, closing your eyes as you swallow, “Yeah, I, um, so… okay, so Sam, Steve and you are bound to protect me? Because of this society that was formed?”
“Us too,” Andy adds, “My great-great-great-great grandfather, Reginald Barber was a politician, went to Marie for some help around the same time as Sam’s granddad did, and when she fulfilled his request, he also joined.”
“My grandad is a writer, he too ended up joining the society in the early sixties with your grandmother when his first novel blew up.” Ransom says, “Harland Thrombey.”
“Harland Thrombey, the mystery writer, right? I thought he had a daughter?”
“That’s my mom. When I was born, I took her place in the order.”
You lift your eyebrows, nodding your head, “Wow.” you laugh a little, “So, what exactly do you guys do for me?”
“We just keep you safe. Watch over you, try to fulfill all of your… needs.” Sam answers with a smirk on his face and a glint in his eye, “Keep the bloodline going, if need be.”
You squint suddenly as the wheels and gears in your brain turn, “Wait so, this is passed down? From generation to generation?”
“Yes.” Andy answers simply.
“So, that means that all of your fathers, had sex with my mother? Am I.. oh my god,” your hands fly to your face, “Am I related to you one you?”
“No, oh my god!” Ransom recoils, his face screwed up in disgust, “The fuck do you think we are, weirdos? No.”
Steve laughs, rubbing your stomach with his large hand, “Your father is James Rhodes. He’s part of the congregation, the followers of your grandmothers. He was chosen for your mother, just like your partner will be chosen for you.”
You blink, your mind empty, “Chosen?”
“It will be someone either in the society— one of us— or someone in the congregation.” Steve nods, “Either way, your partner will be someone who will understand our debt to you and your family. If your partner is indeed someone in the society, that person is then removed, so there’s no impropriety, and someone in the congregation will take his place to keep the society full. Once you’re paired with whoever, we all then have a duty to reproduce so our children can take care of yours— again, with women in the congregation who understand our duty, and so on and so forth.”
You fall back against Steve’s chest, slumping a little at all of the information, “It’s a lot,” Sam reassures, “I know, I’m sorry.”
Insane is what it is, you think, rubbing your forehead with your manicured fingers. Somehow though, it all just kind of makes sense, “You said there was another condition? After you and Bucky went to Louisiana? What was it?”
“Me.” Bucky smiles, leaning back into his seat as his eyes fall into his lap.
You glance back at Steve, “I don’t understand.”
“In order for me to achieve this,” Steve motions towards his body, “Something had to be sacrificed, “The spirits chose Bucky. Some years later, after we joined the army—”
You gasp, covering your mouth again, “When he fell from the train.” You finish for him.
Steve just nods, “I put two and two together after a while. I went back to Marie and told her I was done— I wanted out and I didn’t care what happened to me for it. So I ended up just kind of floating through life. Threw myself into my work and saving the world. I didn’t know at the time that some of my blood had gotten into the hands of the Germans during the war. They studied it— noticed that my enzymes were nearly indestructible. They created the super soldier serum to replicate my strength and healing abilities.”
“Hydra, is what they were called. They found me and started experimenting.” A sad smile covers Bucky’s face. You lean forward, cupping his cheek in your hand and rub your thumb just under his eye. His smile turns upward as he nuzzles into your warm palm, “I’m alright.”
“I got wind of Bucky in the eighties, he had assassinated this researcher, they actually got a picture of him. I had to bring him home,” Steve shrugs, “But he was tricky— elusive. I tracked him for a few years but I couldn’t ever get close, and I knew I only had one option at that point.” Steve rests his lips against your shoulder, brushing them back and forth slowly against your warm skin, “I tracked down your grandmother and your mom for help.”
You feel him smile against you and you turn, throwing your arms around his neck as he continues his story, “You were barely walking when I met you the first time. You were so cute, so little. Even though I was still pissed, you stole my heart as soon as I saw you. You were the only innocence in this craziness.”
A tear slips down your cheek. He wipes it away with his fingers, smiling softly at you as you’re overcome with emotion, “Did you used to read to me?” you ask with a shaky voice, the early, fragmented memories you have of a blonde, blue eyed man suddenly making sense.
“Tamerlane by Edgar Allan Poe was your favorite.” he smiles, “That’s how I knew it was you last night. Poe was your favorite, even back then.”
You hug him tightly and feel hands on your back and shoulders, a pair of lips on the top of your head and the side of your face as Andy, Bucky, Ransom, and Sam crowd around you, “We brought you home now.” Sam voices gently, “We’ll take care of you baby. From now until the end of days.”
You let them soothe you. Let them stroke your hair and whisper their sweet nothings. Let them kiss your skin and wipe away the tears as the sun cutting into the room through the windows washes you in warmth. You lean back after what seems like forever, sniffling gently as Steve brushes those fingers underneath your eyes, “I want to meet my mom.”
“Of course. We’ll take you to her whenever you’re ready. She was supposed to be here but, she couldn’t deal with the heartbreak again if it wasn’t you. She’s been looking for you for so long— they both have.”
You exhale deeply, closing your eyes as you rest your head against Steve’s chest, nuzzling into him, “Why was I taken?”
“Somebody sent a tip to the police that your mother was living in a commune—” you feel him tense, his tone going harsh, “Just a nosey ass woman who didn’t have anything better to do with her time. Made up some shit about drug trafficking coming out of the house. It was raided while I was in Europe— they took you, put you up for adoption. I should have been there. I should have protected you.”
“You're protecting me now. That’s all that matters.” You whisper, “But,” your voice drops away as you open your eyes, blinking slowly.
Ransom’s massive hand runs up and down your back, “What is it, honey?”
“My sister. My mom and my dad— the people that raised me. I love them.”
“We are not going to take you away from them,” Bucky answers quickly, “They’re a part of you. We understand that.”
“Can’t wait to meet that sister of yours,” Ransom adds, “She seems fun.”
You laugh through the fresh wave of tears that have wetted your face, “She is fun. She has a boyfriend named Peter, he loves you two,” you smile, gesturing towards Steve and Bucky, “He’s gonna shit his pants.”
You close your eyes again, your head starting to pound from all of the information that’s been placed at your feet. Your stomach churns and you shiver, causing Steve to tighten his grip, “Let’s lay you down, huh? That was a lot to take in.”
They all follow you and Steve back into the bedroom where you first woke up that morning. You’re stripped naked again, crowded in the middle of their hulky bodies. They let you cry. They let you talk aimlessly. They let you get angry, and then sad, and then content as you work through your sordid history. One by one, their lips are on yours again. Hands dig into your sides and grip your thighs. Languid thrusts, hot breaths, short whimpers, and long cries fill the room as they make love to you over and over.
Your bones are liquid. Your body, your cunt stretched and used— so sore you’re not even sure your limbs are connected anymore. You come, time and time again, from their mouths, their fingers, their wet, hard cocks. You take it all— two of them stuffing you full while a third occupies your mouth, the other two not-so-patiently waiting for their turn at you.
Sleep tugs at you from every angle after a while and you fade in and out as the day drags on. Women come to you in your dreams— the women of your family. They whisper to you, the great secrets of your long lineage. They smile and lay their hands on you, filling you with their spirits, their love.
You’re suddenly at a large body of water—  Bayou St. John. A woman perches by the bank, her hand swishing back and forth in the cool water. You traipse towards her through the tall grass, your feet sinking into the wet ground. You kneel next to her as she sings a native song. She’s wrapped in a red, white, and blue shawl, her eyes sparkling as she turns towards you. She cups your face, running her hand down your cheek and jaw before she reaches into the water and pulls out a large, multicolored fish.
You spring forward, gasping hard and deep as you wake from the vivid dream. You cover your face with your hands as a chill runs down your spine, your forehead covered in a cold sweat. Without thinking, you splay your hand over your stomach as your heart stills. There’s movement behind you— Steve slinks his hand around your middle, settling his hand over your much smaller one.
You peek over your shoulder and he’s staring at you, his lips parted slightly, his blue eyes wide and full of knowing. His words from earlier coming back to you. Your partner will be chosen for you. It will be someone either in the society— one of us— or someone in the congregation. You lay back down, curling into him, tracing his nose and jaw, his chin and eyes with your fingers as he blinks back at you.
“Did you see her too?” You breathe. Great-great-great-great grandmother Marie Laveau.
He nods, “I’ll take care of you,” he whispers as Sam, Andy, Ransom, and Bucky all sprawl out around the two of you, “I promise.”
You nod, smiling slowly, “I know.”
You mean it. You know he will— that they all will.
967 notes · View notes
starrystarrytrouble · 3 years
Text
Four Valentines (Ethan x MC)
Four years of Ethan hating Valentine’s Day.
For CFWC love stories event day 14: I hate couples and Choices Feb Challenge day 14: valentine
Words and rating: 2.5k, general
Author’s note: He really, really hates Valentine’s Day. And we’re about to make him suffer in four different ways. Grumpy Ethan is my favourite Ethan. Hope you enjoy reading.
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Intern year
The laughter coming from the supply closet was unmistakeable.
First, her giggle, familiar and catastrophic, but then a second voice that widened his eyes.
It wasn’t unusual for Ethan to find interns making out or worse in supply closets. He’d been caught in them plenty of times himself.
But it wasn’t normal for him to feel such white hot rage.
He opened the door with force.
“What the hell is going on here?”
Eve froze in complete shock as Lahela rubbed the back of his neck, with a sheepish grin.
Ethan raised his eyebrows in cold hard warning. Jaw tight, eyes blazing, it was clear that answering wasn’t optional.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” she mumbled, holding his gaze.
She fumbled behind her in the dark space and pulled out a bag while Lahela tried to explain.
“Oh shit, look we were just…”
He stopped speaking as he noticed the attending hadn’t taken his eyes off Eve. Whatever this conversation was, Bryce wasn’t part of it.
Eve held up a candy bar and then another, and another.
“We’re packing these to give out to the kids in paeds during our break,” she said, and then almost reading the question on Ethan’s mind added, “Because it’s Valentine’s day.”
Blue eyes shifted to the pink tutu and fairy wings on her shoulders.
“And we thought we’d dress up too. To cheer them up.”
“Right,” the word left Ethan’s mouth firmly but for a second, something vaguely resembling relief softened his features.
Bryce had never seen two people hold a conversation with so few words. And Eve’s next words, uttered in a tender whisper, explained why.
“We weren’t doing anything else. I wouldn’t…”
“I’m only interested in your jobs, doctors. So I suggest you hurry up.”
Ethan swept away, his face betraying no further emotion.
Eve flopped against the wall, curling over, hugging her chest with a big sigh, her breathing still erratic.
“What?” she said, at Bryce’s quizzical look.
“He’s gone. He was fine with it.”
She nodded and carried on arranging the candy into paper bags.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yep, I’m great,” she said with a plastic smile that Bryce saw straight through.
“Eve, I’ve been caught in supply closets with girls, and not one of them looked as scared as you do and we weren’t even doing anything fun.”
She shook her head and threw a Hershey bar into a bag.
“Wow, Ramsey must’ve got you good,” he said with a final grin.
“What?”
She stared back at him, doe-eyed and petrified. A flush was creeping up her cheek as she bit down hard on her bottom lip.
Bryce understood immediately.
She wouldn’t be the first intern to have a hopeless crush on Ramsey. But that’s all it was, hopeless. She had to know that, right?
She glanced at him again nervously, her sudden shyness a side to his friend that he’d never seen before.
This crush had to be serious but it wasn’t his place to pry. With a flash of his usual winning smile, he picked up another chocolate bar.
She’d tell him about it when she was ready.
“I mean, he must be a real hardass to get you so scared.”
Relief washed over her, not unlike the glint he’d seen in Ramsey’s face earlier.
“Right, yeah he is. Total hardass.”
When they stepped back into the corridor, Bryce had his best smile ready to dazzle the kids. He didn’t notice the lingering glance Eve gave across the hall to her attending.
And he didn’t see the longing look Ethan gave her back.
Second year
She had all the jokes ready. Puns by the hour.
Valentine’s Day. Eve Valentine’s Day.
Her day. A day dedicated to his love for her.
But it was already 7pm, the sun was dangerously close to setting, and Ethan was not playing ball.
He hadn’t acknowledged the day at all.
Which was okay in principal, she knew he wasn’t a hearts and flowers man, but now that they were dating, or together or whatever the hell it was, she wanted a small mention of 14 February.
Just so she could use the puns.
For some reason, he seemed to be ignoring her and that she wasn’t expecting.
When Baz gave her a heart shaped lollipop, wishing her ‘Happy Eve Day’ with a cute swoop, she couldn’t help but giggle. And all the time, Ethan was standing right there with them, suddenly very interested in his coffee maker. At least Baz appreciated romance.
Then as Sammie, their 8 year old clinic patient laughed herself silly when she heard Eve’s full name, Ethan buried his head in his notes. And when she asked him if they could grab a drink after work, head buried in a mountain of paperwork, he’d only glanced up briefly and nodded.
If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was planning a surprise. But she called Elijah at home and there were no flowers or packages waiting for her.
It just didn’t seem fair. The hospital was closing, she was exhausted, they barely had time for each other, and now all she wanted was her boyfriend to give her 5 minutes of attention on Valentine’s Day. It wasn’t unreasonable.
She stared at her dinner options in the vending machine. Dim magnolia moonlight wisped in through the window.
The hand at her shoulder warmed her heart.
“Still nothing?” Sienna’s voice was gentle but her eyes were tinged with sympathy.
“Nada.”
“He’ll have something secret planned, Ethan’s that type. Some romantic gesture straight out of a rom-com that’ll make you swoon like you’re Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. What time do you finish tonight?”
“10pm. That’s kinda late for grand gestures.”
“Yeah,” Sienna looked sad again, “I’m sorry, this sucks. Come on, let’s get some air.”
They walked up to the Edenbrook roof silently, the cool Boston night rustling life back into Eve. It wasn’t so bad. This was just one day and they had plenty of others to come. Maybe she’d win him over next year.
Sienna jerked backwards suddenly and shook her head.
“Oh, no, I’ve just been paged, give me 2 mins and I’ll be right back.”
Before Eve could answer Sienna was running towards the stairs.
And then, there it was.
From the doorway she flashed Eve a look.
It was utterly wicked.
Pieces of a puzzle she didn’t know she was solving started to fit together. Her pulse quickened with each step as she turned the corner, she knew a welcome face would be there to greet her.
And he was.
It was so simple, but maybe that’s what made it romantic. Champagne in plastic cups and a single red rose. The curve of the sun dipping below the lavender sky, and the full moon shifting up to meet blazing stars. A warm fresh breeze that filled her lungs with the thrill of it. Darkened blue eyes, daring her to try to stay away from him.
But it was the knowing smile he wore, the secret one he saved just for her, the one that he must’ve had since he was a little boy, the smile that probably got him out of trouble all through his life, that really made her heart skip.
She bit the inside of her cheek and grinned.
“You could’ve said something earlier you know?”
“And let you make terrible puns about your name all day?” he said without missing a beat.
She rolled her eyes and shifted closer to him, running a finger over the thin fabric of his shirt.
“Sure you don’t want to ask me to be your valentine?”
Ethan wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her against him.
“I do not.”
The kiss was soft and longing, Eve pressed her palms against his chest as he nipped along her jaw lightly.
“You didn’t have to do this you know,” she whispered.
“Actually I did.”
His lips found her throat and she moaned softly.
“It is your day after all.”
Third year
It was supposed to be a 10 minute interview.
One journalist, one quote, and then he was free to enjoy the opera in peace.
That’s what the Director of the Boston Opera House promised him and Ethan owed her a favour. A big one after he and Eve were caught enjoying his opera box extremely creatively.
So it was agreed. Ethan was sponsoring the Valentine’s Day performance this year and a journalist from the Boston Globe would ask him a few questions about his love of the arts.
Except the reporter was fresh out of college with bouncy brown hair. The type who’d worn jeans and a flowery shirt with his sleeve rolled up to a goddamn opera. And the interview wasn’t about opera, oh no.
It was all about Ethan’s least favourite day of the year.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, a middle-aged cliché in front of this hipster hack who was typing so fast on his iPad, that he made Ethan dizzy.
“So Dr Ramsey, are you just a romantic at heart?”
Ethan’s clenched his jaw.
This went on and on.
“What’s your favourite thing about La Traviata, is it the love story?”
He could swear the journalist smirked with that last question. He knew Ethan hated this and the bold asshole was actually enjoying it.
The other guests were pouring in, filling the red velvet seats, and all the while Ethan hoped he could escape his box. He’d rather be back at that Taylor Swift person’s concert with Sienna and Eve than trapped with this idiot.  
“It’s the day of love, do you have plans?”
The question might have sent him over the edge, but then he saw her. Entering the box in a golden floor length gown with a soft smile that made his breath catch in his throat.
She looked gilded.
More beautiful than the building and every single soul who’d ever walked within it.
He caught her eye and like the snap of elastic, that was it. Even after a year of dating, they were locked in, the only two people in the opera house, the only two people in the whole damn city for all he cared.
He felt every muscle in his body contract and then relax, as she drew in breath gently and not breaking eye contact, stepped closer to him.
The journalist followed his gaze.
Eve had been watching Ethan’s interrogation from the hallway secretly, trying to stifle her giggle at the way he’d reacted to question after question about love and romance. The journalist had found his sore spot and was enjoying every second of making him squirm. It was adorable.
She knew that he did the asshole attending routine at work, but it hadn’t taken long for her to find the softness he kept hidden away. And watching him roll his eyes dismissively at the smirking reporter reminded her that it was a privilege to know the real Ethan Ramsey.
And to love him. Ethan wasn’t the only one who could be commanding. Her entry was the journalist’s queue to wrap up, and he knew it.
“Last question Dr Ramsey, what made you sponsor the Valentine’s Day production?” he asked with a thousand megawatt smile.
Ethan sighed.
“As I said earlier, I believe in the power of the arts. Today’s occasion is mere coincidence. The arts need support 365 days a year.”
The journalist nodded, not quite content with the answer.
“Any final thoughts on Valentine’s Day?”
“None.”
“Right, and one more for the road, can I get the name of your companion for tonight? For the society pages?”
A wary look drifted on Ethan’s face, all too aware of what was about to happen as Eve reached forward to shake the journalist’s hand.
“Eve. Eve Valentine.”
“Valentine like… today?” he grinned widely with a knowing look.
Ethan groaned.
Fourth year
Bryce scanned the glittering room. Edenbrook had really gone all out on this book launch, there were pink and red roses at every table and twinkling lights at every turn. But then it wasn’t every day the great Ethan Ramsey published a second book.
And yet, despite all the people here, some of the best doctors in the entire country, Ethan was in the corner with Naveen.
“Hey, congrats,” Bryce smiled as he clapped Ethan on the back, “This is some party. But where’s your Valentine?”
Ethan rolled his eyes and spoke flatly, “You’re as bad as she is with those puns.”
“Actually I’m worse,” Bryce said with a proud smirk.
Naveen was still chuckling after the young surgeon had gone.
“The famous Dr Ramsey can’t possibly hate Valentine’s Day, not now.”
Ethan followed Naveen’s eyes to Eve. She was huddled with two of her old UCLA professors, champagne glass in hand, commanding the conversation with her usual ease. And she looked divine. Her dark hair floating down one side and her sparkling eyes as enchanting as the night he’d first kissed her.
“I’m impressed you wrote another book, Ethan. I imagine you have less time on your hands now.”
Naveen surveyed his mentee with a small smile.
“But then again, I imagine it’s easier to focus now that you’re together and not so distracted…”
Ethan said nothing.
“…And not pining.”
Without taking eyes off Eve, Ethan scoffed.
“I have never pined, Naveen.”
The Chief’s eyebrow raise and mischievous grin were enough to force Ethan to break into a crooked smile.
“I have never pined…much.”
The two of them laughed softly as Naveen tugged him into a small hug.
Eve approached them with a wicked look, placing both hands on Ethan’s shoulder and resting her face on her fingers as he wrapped his arm around her waist and stroked her side tenderly.
Naveen looked at her warmly.
“Eve, I must apologise on my mentee’s behalf. I did tell him not to hold his book launch on Valentine’s Day. He seemed to think people would show up anyway. Turns out he was rather correct.”
She glanced at Ethan with a gentle blush.
“I don’t mind, Naveen. Actually he picked today as part of my present. Didn’t he tell you?”
Ethan shook his head with a smirk that made her heart skip.
“I’m sure he’ll find out for himself.”
Naveen looked at them curiously and Eve couldn’t help but explain.
“My Valentine’s gift, it’s on page 1,” she said, pointing at the copy of Ethan’s new book that Naveen was holding.
He rustled over the pages, watching the couple from the corner of his eye.
Eve whispered something in Ethan’s ear and he laughed. A full candid laugh, eyes rich and blue. Years disappearing off his face with each breath as Naveen saw him again as the young man who’d sauntered into his office years ago, full of promise and ambition.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and Ethan drew her tighter, mouthing three words against her forehead softly that brought an incandescent smile to her rosy lips.
Naveen looked back to the volume in his hands. He flicked the book to the first page and felt joy press at his chest.
On fresh white paper were two words:
For Eve.
Notes
The intern year section is set on the same day as my ‘Be Mine’ fic. The journalist is loosely based on Robin Tora from RT who is wasted in that book. Sienna is a Swiftie, change my mind.
Thank you so much for supporting my indulgent, often downright dumb fics since OH2 ended.
You guys are the best and I’m so grateful your love.  
Cant wait for OH3.
328 notes · View notes
sunaswife · 3 years
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Summary: It’s been five years since you’ve seen your ex, Rin. He’s still not over you and you’re not over him. When he finds out you have children he thought he didn’t have a chance. Then he finds out they’re his? All of a sudden you’re teaching Suna how to be a single dad.
🔪: Y’all my heart 🥺 ngl I kinda cried as I wrote this
Warnings: Fluff, angst I guess, drama, and cuteness twin overload
Previously Up Next Masterlist
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Chapter Twelve
“Hi hi are you our grandma?” Rini said with wide eyes, you, Rin and Kauru were outside grabbing the last of the groceries and talking. It was like his mother was frozen in time, they looked exactly like her son when he was a kid, when she was still learning how to raise a tiny human.
She finally realized she was a grandmother because the looks were uncanny. “Yes I’m your grandma.” She replied and she kids ran and hugged her legs. “It’s nice to meet you, we’ve never had a grandma before but we promise to be good grandkids for you.” Rini said and Akira nodded. “What do you mean you never had a grandma before?” She asked the twins, they didn’t see the glint in her eyes. She needs all the information she can get to show her son that she’s not a good mother and he can fight for custody.
“Momma doesn’t talk to her parents. They’re mean and think she’s a dispointment.” Akira chimed in. Obviously the kid met disappointment which made sense. If Rin was a girl she’d probably do the same thing.
“Hey guys guess what grandma got!” Rin walked in, his hands full of groceries. He placed them down and pulled out the pack of the frozen Chuupets. The kids eyes widened and they ran to their dad to hand them a chuupet. “You are only getting one because you haven’t eaten dinner yet.” He said and the kids nodded. After he handed them the chuupet, they ran off. “How’s everything mom.” He looks down to see the shorter woman. “Could be better without your dog and your ex.” She answered and Suna frowned.
“At least try to get along with her? Please. She’s the mother of your grandkids and hopefully we can be together again.” He said hopefully and her eyes widened. “You wanna get back together with her.” She said almost disgusted and Rin sighed. “Yeah mom.” He replied. “You’re gonna regret it.” She hummed and Rin rolled his eyes.
“Excuse me..um...Mrs.Suna..?” You peered from behind the wall you somewhat heard their conversation but that’s a talk for another time, “What.” She raised a brow and Rin facepalmed. “When was the last time you checked the oil of your car? And your brakes?” You asked. “I don’t know. Usually we take it to a mechanic, but we’ve been busy raising someone else’s dog.” She said and eyed her son. “Mechanic? Rin nor Kauru don’t know how to do that?” You asked. “I have a sports car, no way in hell I’m fucking it up.” Rin replied.
“Is it okay for me to change the oil and the brakes? I would hate for you to get into an accident.” You asked. “Accident? You’d probably tinker with my car so I’d crash the next time I use it.” She crossed her arms over her chest. You were beyond confused, “Mom, stop.” Rin scolded and she rolled her eyes.
You left the car as is but made a mental note to ask Kauru for permission to add more oil and fix her brakes.
Other than that conversation you haven’t spoken to her the rest of the day. What bothered you was that she didn’t try to get close to the kids. You sat on the small picnic table in the backyard while Rin was throwing a chew toy across the backyard while his dog, Chewy chased it eagarly. When Rin came to the back yard he whistled causing the dog to turn its head, it stayed frozen as if not believing his owner was truly there. But eventually Rin called him and his ears perked up and he began running and whining at the same time. He tackled Rin and he fell back. Chewy licked his face and Rin was giggling with a big stupid smile on his face, you smiled lightly at the scene and Akira tugged onto your leggings to tell you that Rin was crying.
Your eyebrows scrunched in confusion and turned again to see Rin and then you saw it. The way he held on to his dog and a small tear streamed down. “Who’s a good boy? Are you a good boy?” He talked and Chewy’s tail wagged. “Alright bud, sit.” He commanded and he sat obediently. You could hear a tapping noise but it was because Chewy was so excited to see his owner. “Chewy meet your brother and sister.” Rin introduced and you started laughing. “What do you mean he’s our brother? He’s a dog.” Rini pointed out, “Same difference.” Rin shrugged and you covered your mouth to stop yourself from snorting.
“Okay get close and tell him to shake. Then shake his hand.” He instructed, Rini was first and gasped when Chewy obeyed. Earlier they got around to playing but they didn’t know their dads dog—I mean brother was trained. Akira did the same thing and she giggled. “Alrighty, Chewy. Meet your new mom.” He introduced you and you stepped back. “Nope, not my son.” You waved off, “Are you really gonna leave him motherless.” Rin pressed, “Yeah mama, he’s our brother you can’t be like that.” Akira whined.
“I just never really liked dogs.” You admitted, “Me neither but he’s my best friend.” Rin said softly. You looked down at the brown dog with curly hair. His tail wagged as his tongue sticker out so adorably. Now you understood why Rin named him Chewy, he looks like Chewbacca. “Nice to meet you, Chewy.” You reached your hand out to pet his head but he jump and rested his paws on your stomach, causing you to lose you balance and fall back. Before you could fall and die from embarrassment, No one other than Rin was there to catch you. “I’m sorry he doesn’t really do that. He’s just too excited.” He said from behind and helped you up. “No it’s fine.” You said and you both stayed quiet.
“So are you gonna continue holding on to my waist or..?”
“Fuck..sorry.” He apologized with flushed cheeks and let go. The kids began scolding their dad’s potty mouth and you hated that feeling in your stomach from when he pulled away.
Rin’s mom looked from the kitchen window and gritted her teeth while scrubbing the pan a little too hard. “Good job, Chewy.” Rini and Akira quietly praised and continued to play with their new brother.
****
“Finally we can talk.” Rin’s mom said and sat at the head of the table, you and Rin both gulped and Kauru sighed. He just wanted to nap. “Okay I can tell without a doubt that those children are Rintarou’s. And it’s nice that they don’t look like you.” Rin’s mom spoke up and you gasped. “If you’re here just to fight then don’t even open your mouth.” Kauru told his wife and she gave a glare. “Okay first of all. Why didn’t you tell my son you were pregnant.” She crossed her arms over your chest and you cuddled with your fingers. “Well Mrs.Suna...like I said over the phone. We had just broken up and I was hurt and afraid. I wasn’t sure if he would support me in keeping them—“ “Well how could you know if you didn’t speak up?” She interrupted but you ignored the jabs she threw. “I also wanted him to continue on with his career, stress free. I guess at the time I still loved him a lot that I didn’t want him to suffer with me. Or else I could have easily filed for child support.” You said and Rin frowned slightly.
“That’s not a good excuse. Rintarou has missed out on so much because you were selfish. You just wanted Rin to go pro for the money.” She accused with a pointed finger. “Mom—stop!” Rin immediately said and Kauru raised his finger to stop his son. “Karin do you know that for sure?” He asked his wife. “Yeah. All she does is party and drink. I think the kids are unsafe under her care. All of her money is wasted on her fake breasts.”
“Ma’am I can assure you that these are real. Ask your son.” You waved off and she gasped before she could open her mouth to utter more stupid shit you said. “With all due respect Mrs. Suna, you don’t know me. You don’t know how I raise my children, you don’t know what I do for a living and you don’t know what I’ve been through. Please before judging me, see how I treat my kids and how I treat your son. I have been nothing but respectful and the least you could do is treat me like a proper guest.” You argued back but she just ignored you and went through her iPad.
Why does she have an iPad? She flips the device over so you and the two Suna men could see and Rin almost spit out his drink. Karin told Kauru to look away and your mouth hung open as she swiped photo after photo of you in revealing lingerie. In some photos you’re wearing a gag and in others you’re chained up but it’s all modeling for Jamie and her line. You looked at your stomach and thighs and you could see those stretch marks.
Even though the world has seen these pictures, you can’t help but feel nervous when Rintarou is looking at them. You weren’t the same athletic girl from highschool, you gained weight, developed stretch marks, and you hate working out. You know you’re beautiful, that’s why you asked Jamie to not edit the photos of you she posted on the web. Your stretch marks and tummy were there for the world to see. But their comments or praise didn’t matter. The only person’s opinion that matters is Rintarou’s. Which is ridiculous to say but, some part of you still wants his approval and to be with him.
“Is this a good example to show your daughter? You want her modeling and showing off her body like a filthy wh—“ “Enough!” Rin smacked the table and stood up. You flinched as well as she did and you began to cry. “You make it seem like I should be ashamed of myself...”
“You should be.”
“Have you told them why we broke up?” You turned to Rin and he saw the tears streaming down. He wanted nothing more than to hold you in his arms and say that it’s okay. “No..” he shook his head and you sighed. “You won’t understand unless your son tells you what he did. Everything I did for myself and my children was for a reason. Now if you’d excuse me, I need to go, it’s time for their history lesson.” You wiped your eyes and left the table. Quickly you grabbed your bag with all their supplies and you met them outside. “Come on, time for school!” You called with a fake smile and red eyes. The kids understood to not argue and to just obey.
You sat on the picnic table with your two kids across from you and Chewy was laying on the bench right next to you, with his head on your thighs. “Mama...” Rini interrupted your thoughts, “Yes baby?” You asked and looked up from their lesson plan, “I love you, and you’re the best mom in the world.” He said with a small smile. “I love you more than Rini and you’re the bestest momma in the universe!” Akira chimes in and you chuckled. “I love you guys to infinity and beyond, forever and ever! It’s called unconditional love.” You said and their eyes widened. “Unconditional love...” akira hummed and you nodded.
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“Hi Kuroo-san is everything okay?” You asked as you made your way to the patio outside. It was already time for the kids bedtime. “Y/N I’m sorry for informing you last minute but one of the commentators for tomorrow’s game is in the hospital so we were wondering if you could fill in.” He spoke calmly. “I—oh gosh I’m all the way in Hyogo..when does the game start?” You asked.
After going back in forth for tomorrow’s game you hung up after respectfully telling him you weren’t interested in going out on a date. You rubbed your face and looked at the time. The trains have already closed for the day, so you’d have to take your car.
“You good?” Rin asked as soon as you walked back inside. “I need to go in to work tomorrow. Another commentator is in the hospital. Nobody else can fill in.” You said and his eyes widened since it’s a very long drive. “Oh how fantastic, leaving your young children overnight to go work—“
“I’m taking them.” You interrupted the witch and her eyes widened. “What do you mean you’re taking them.” She asked. “They’re my children and I don’t want to leave them with you. I’d rather take them and ask Jamie to watch over them and I’ll come back the day after tomorrow.”
“Y/N...” Suna snapped you out of your rambling and you turned your head to see him. “I’m here now, remember? You don’t have to do this alone anymore. I can take care of them and watch them. I’ve done it before.” He assured. “I’m sorry but I really don’t want them near your mom.” You explained your reasoning. “Tomorrow we’ll be at Kita’s farm all day. They’ll be fine.” He said and patted your head. Without even realizing, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around Suna’s torso, his face flushed and he wrapped his arms around your shoulders. “Thank you. It means a lot.” You mumbled in his chest.
“It’s my job, partner.” He chuckled and you pulled away. “Fist bump?” He asked and presented his closer fist, you giggled and nodded. “Fist bump.” You did the same and your knuckles met. Rin’s mother scoffed and rolled her eyes, walking away to her room.
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You took a deep breath as you crossed lanes on the freeway going back home. You wanted nothing more than to stay with your kids or take them with you, but you can’t control everything yourself anymore. You gonna trust Rin.
You made it home by five am since the drive was eight hours but you made it in seven by speeding and automatically fell asleep in Rin’s bed. You decided to take the pull out bed in your office when Rin moved in and he slept in your old master bedroom. But you were too tired to pull it out so you slept in your old bed. You couldn’t help but notice how the pillows smelled like Rin.
His scent definitely changed, he doesn’t use the old spice fragrance from highschool. He now uses something more expensive and more subtle yet manly at the same time. You definitely needed to know what the scent was so you could buy more for him on a birthday or something.
You woke up at around 13:30 to get ready and leave by 15:00. You showered, did your hair and wore the white button up with the green dress pants and a green blazer on top. You slipped on some hot pink heels and some subtle jewelry and made your way. You called your kids and they said they were having a blast, they really missed you and wished you and their grandma were there and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.
While Rin’s mom stayed home, her husband worked and Rin took the kids out, she began thinking about the day before.
“You won’t understand unless your son tells you what he did. Everything I did for myself and my children was for a reason.”
Rin’s mom was obviously confused and still annoyed at you. But then Rin sat her down after breakfast, the kids were outside and Kauru was already gone. He explained what he did with his friends and Karin couldn’t help but feel disgusted. If she would have been more involved in his teenage life then she could have prevented this. Prevented minors drinking, prevented her son getting sexually involved with you, and preventing an innocent girl getting hurt.
In reality you should have thrown a full can of coffee at Rin instead of an empty one. You should have cursed him and made him pay child support. That’s what she would do straight up. But you’re not her, and you explained why you did what you did. And she began to understand. “You have a lot of work to do in order to get back in her good grace.” She told her son. “I know I know..” he said softly. “That’s why we’re starting as friends. And eventually I wanna be with her romanticly and marry her. I want to be the man she can rely on and trust again.” He said and her mom smiled.
“I understand, I’ll make sure to apologize when she returns. And I’m rooting for you.” She said and Rin smiled. “Thanks mom.” She stood up and grabbed her bag, “I’m not in the mood to cook. How do burgers sound?” She asked Rin and he nodded. “There’s a place down the street that’s pretty good. I’ll be back in a few.”
Rin’s mother wanted to repent for her actions and she tried thinking of a proper way to apologize. She went into the restaurant to order and everywhere she saw, it explained that the food was made with peanut oil. But that’s what gave it the flavor. That’s why it’s so delicious. She happily payed for the food completely oblivious that her grandson was severely allergic to peanuts.
She arrived home and rounded up the kids. She gave them a kiss on the head and smiled as they showed her their drawings that she could keep. Rin’s mom passed around the burgers so Rin couldn’t see the bag that promoted the peanut oil being a main ingredient and the kids munched.
When Rini took the bite his eyes widened at the deliciousness. Bite after bite and his throat began to feel weird, as well as his stomach. He took a sip of the lemonade and he couldn’t swallow it properly. He began to cough and Rin patted his back confused and he face turned red.
“Rini are you choking?!” Akira asked scared and Rini shook her head. “My stomach hurts—“ he coughed and Rin’s eyes widened. “Oh shit.” He quickly ran upstairs to his old bedroom and looked through the bag with Rini’s inhaler and other vitamins. He saw the epipen and ran back out quickly unscrewing it. Rini’s face was turning purple and he continued to cough. Akira was crying and Karin didn’t know what to do. Rin fell to his knees and slammed the pen on his sons thigh. “Are you okay bud. Stay with me please.” Tears prickled his eyes. He seriously fucked up.
Rini’s chest heaved up in down as he tried to catch his breath. Rintarou instructed his mom to call 119 and an ambulance soon came and took Rini away with Rin in the ambulance. Akira was stuck with her grandma driving to the hospital.
Karin was so confused at the situation. And she was worried for her grandson. She tried her best calming the little girl who held the green pig plush and the fox plush in her arms. “Is Rini gonna die?” Akira pouted with watery eyes. “Of course not. Everything is gonna be alright.” She assured.
While all this was going down, you were talking and laughing as you talked about Sendai frogs and their intimating demeanor. You felt a weird feeling in your chest and felt like something was wrong. Your purse and phone was stuck in the lounge locker so you didn’t see the 20+ phone calls and messages you received from Rin.
He was afraid and didn’t know what to do. He really wished you were here by his side. He couldn’t do this alone and realized this is what it’s like being a single parent.
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kieranfm · 3 years
Text
𝟏𝟏𝐏𝐌  ,  𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋𝐄  𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌  ,  𝐁𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍  ;  𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴  𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵  𝘣𝘦  𝘩𝘰𝘸  𝘪𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴  ››   𝐊𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐍  +  𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐍 
it  was  one  of  their  bigger  shows  of  the  tour ; 1,200  people  ,  19,589  off  of  selling  out  madison  square  garden  .  so  why  didn’t  it  feel  like  it  ?  usually  there  was  a  high  crackling  in  his  veins  ,  alighting  him  from  the  inside  out  ,  as  he  left  behind  the  screaming  of  a  crowd  that  wanted  more  .  but  kieran  had  felt  more  when  they’d  stepped  off  stage  after  playing  to  520   ,  or  even  200  ,  than  he  did  coming  off  stage  of  the  royale  tonight  .  he  couldn’t  put  his  finger  on  it  .  the  reason  WHY  it  felt  like  he  hadn’t  just  done  what  he  did  every  other  night  before  .  the  reason  WHY  the  high  wasn’t  quite  so  bright  .  the  reason  WHY  he’d  caught  the  same  look  from  mikey  ; as  he’d  wished  him  good  luck  ,  &  conan  ; as  they’d  caught  eyes  during  the  opening  notes  of  cheer  up  baby  .  the  same  look  he  knew  all  too  well ;  as  if  they  were  waiting  for  him  to  tip  over  an  edge  he  hadn’t  walked  the  line  of  in  MONTHS  .  .  .  everything  was  good  .  wasn’t  it  ?  a  smile  pushed  its  way  onto  his  lips  as  his  feet   hit  solid  ground  &  one  crowd  turned  into  another  smaller  one  ,  full  of  congratulations  for  surviving  ANOTHER  show  .  but  just  like  the  congratulations  was  like  clockwork  ,  kieran  still  found  himself  looking  for  the  one  person  that  had  been  missing  from  the  start  .  the  one  person  that  only  came  in  the  form  of  words  lit  up  on  his  screen  .  words  that  seemed  to  come  few  & far  between  —  or  at  all  more  recently  .  maybe  that  was  why  everything  felt  OFF  ;  there  had  been  no  ‘  knock  ‘em  dead  ,  baby ’  to  send  him  out  on  stage  with  &  he  couldn’t  remember  the  last  time  he’d  gone  on  without  it  .  hell  ,  he  couldn’t  even  remember  the  last  time  he’d  gone  this  long  without  a  WORD  from  her  .  but  with  ruairi’s  hands  falling  heavily  upon  his  shoulders  ,   &  an  airy  voice  that  put  him  on  edge  filled  the  air  ,  he  let  himself  be  pulled  along  in  the  tide  .  clinging  onto  the  quiet  embers  that  popped &  crackled  away  in  his  veins  as  the  high  fought  its  way  through  the  haze  of  worry  .  she  was  busy  .  that’s  all  it  was  .  
so  why  did  it  feel  like  something  was  wrong  ?
it  was  enviable  though  .  the  way  in  which  kieran  ALWAYS  found  his  way  back  to  evan  ,  because  even  when  a  whole  ocean  separated  them  he  always  found  her  way  back  to  her  .  the  only  thing  was  ,  it  seemed  as  if  evan  wasn’t  finding  her  way  back  to  him  .  because  as  the  noise  of  the  dressing  room  died  away  ,  people  going  their  seperate  ways  to  either  begin  the  pack  up  for  a  day  on  the  road  tomorrow  or  to  take  their  celebrations  elsewhere  ,   he’d  slipped  his  phone  from  the  pocket  of  his  jacket  .  the  cool  surface  settling  in  his  palm  as  the  glow  of  his  screen  reflected  back  the  same  thing  it  had  done  earlier  when  he’d  given  up  waiting  &  tucked  it  away  for  safe  keeping  ;  NOTHING  .  there  was  absolutely  nothing  . his  top  teeth  gnawed  at  his  bottom  lip  as  he  pulled  up  the  bottom  of  his  screen  in  hopes  that  it  would  reveal  anything  other  than  his  own  texts  :
         21/07/21  8:43pm          📲 i  can  only  assume  you  didn’t  pick  up  my  call  earlier  bc  you               were  too  busy  making  saint   valentine  fall  in  love  with  you          📲  but  it’s  nearly  2am  for  you  and  i   ,  personally  ,  think  it’s  rude  i                  haven’t  heard  ANYTHING  about  how  it  went  yet
         22/07/21  4:02am          📲  alright  you          📲  it’s  9am  there  and  i  woke  up  to  nothing          📲  i’m  calling  you  the  minute  i  finish  this  morning  radio  shit
         22/07/21  9:05am          📲  i’m  the  one  that’s  mean  to  be  the  gd  enigma  , evan
         22/07/21  10:00am            📲  well  ,  call  me  whenever  you’re  free  bc  i  would  like  to  know  if                   saint  valentine  swiped  our  best  photographer  from  us  
         23/07/21  3:02pm          📲  we  just  wrapped  soundcheck  for  the  day  and  we  go  on  at  9:15                 tonight          📲  so  i  can  talk  if  you’re  free
         23/07/21  3:43pm          📲  the  lads  said  they  haven’t  heard  anything  from  you  either            📲  is  everything  okay  ?          📲  has  something  happened  ?
what  the  HELL  was  going  on  ? surely  if  something  had  happened  to  her  eloise  ,  or  isla  ,  would  have  called  him  .  .  .  no  —  no  ,  she  was  busy  ; caught  up  in  editing  photos  for  saint  valentine  .  he’d  seen  how  focused  she  could  get  on  her  work  sometimes  &  with  him  not  there  to  pull  away  physically  the  time  could  EASILY  get  away  from  her  .  but  that  did  nothing  to  settle  the  cloud  that  dampened  the  glowing  embers  that  were  a  sad  excuse  from  his  post-show  high  . the  bottom  of  his  phone  tapped  against  his  palm  as  his  eyes  lifted  to  focus  upon  the  wall  above  the  wooden  clothes  rack  his  jacket  hung  on  .  it  didn’t  make  sense though  .  .  . she’d  been  shooting  for  saint  valentine  .  she  would  have  called  after  that  .  she  SHOULD  have  called  after  that  .  where  the  hell  was  she  ? “  you  okay  ?  ”  conan’s  voice  forced  his  eyes  to  refocus  ,  bringing  him  back  down  to  reality  ,  &  turn  his  attention  towards  him  .   silence  passed  between  them  for  a  split  second  as  kieran  tried  to  place  the  look  hidden  within  conan’s  features  .  they’d  been  friends  all  their  lives  .  he  wasn’t  imagining  the  smothered  worry  hidden  within  his  eyes  ,  “  what  do  you  know  ?  ” “  what  ?  ” he  lifted  his  phone  towards  conan  ,  “  evan  — ” &  there  it  was  ,  the  flicker  of  worry  break  through  the  cracks  .  it  was  all  he  needed  . “  i  asked  you  earlier  if  you’d  heard  from  her  .  ” “  i  haven’t  .  ” “  but  you  know  why  she’s  not  answering  me  ,  don’t  you  ?  ” “  guys  —  yo  ,  what  t’e  fuck’s  going on  —  ” but  kieran  ignored  ruairi  as  he  watched  conan’s  jaw  work  from  side  to side ,  “  what  the  fuck  aren’t  you  telling  me  ,  conan  ?  ”   but  it  was  mikey’s  voice  that  answered  him  & kieran’s  eyes  snapped  instantly  towards  him  ,  “  it’s  not  his  fault  ,  kid  .  i  told  him  not  to  say  anything  until  after  the  show  .  ”  kieran’s  gaze  flickered  towards  conan  for  a  moment  ,  noting  the  apologetic  look  in  his  eye  ,  before  he  looked  back  at  mikey  .  “  i  ,  we  ,  needed  you  out  there  with  a  clear  mind  .  ” “  why  wouldn’t  my  mind  be  clear  ?  ”   mikey’s  hand  lifted  to  rub  at  his  jaw  before  he  pointed  towards  the  couch  in  the  middle  of  the  room  ,   “  come  sit  down  .  i  have  something  to  show  you  .  ”
the  nausea  had  set  in  the  minute  he’d  taken  a  step  towards  the  couch  .  but the  minute  mikey  had  handed  him  the  article  brought  up  on  his  ipad   &  begun  to  explain ,  kieran  felt  SICK  .  his  fingers  curled  around  the  edges  of  the  ipad  tight  enough  to  press  harshly  into  his  flesh  .  no  —  NO  .  this  wasn’t  happening  .  it  made  NO  fucking  sense  .  Bex  &  The  Found’s  Kieran  Walsh  Confirm  Rumors  are  True  .  .  .  speculated  to  be  growing  intimately  closer  .  .  .  make  it  known  outside  of  their  inner  circle  .  he  couldn’t  stop  reading  it  .  he  couldn’t  stop  starring  at  the  photos  .  hoping  that  any  moment  one  of  them  would  yell  gotcha  or  the  article  would  simply  vanished  .  but  no  matter  how  hard  he  tried  or  how  long  he  waited  ,  nothing  changed  .  the  words  were  still  there  ,  plain  as  day  &  painting  him  as  a  liar  .  the  photos  were  still  there  ,  plain  as  day  & painting  him  as  an  ASSHOLE  .  this  couldn’t  be  happening  .   “  why  didn’t  you  tell  me  .  ”  his  voice  was  low  ,  dangerously  so  . “  we  needed  you  to  have  a  —  ” “  a  clear  fucking  head  ,  i  know  .  but  T’IS  —  ”  he  tossed  the  ipad  onto  the  table  between  them  as  dark  eyed  focused  on  mikey  ,  “  you  should  have  fucking  told  me  as  soon  as  you  found  out  .  ” “  jani  only  called  me  this  morning  .” “  it’s  been  out  for  T’REE  fucking  days  ,  mikey  .  ”  his  hands  jutted  out  towards  the  discarded  ipad  ,  “  what  t’e  FUCK  has  she  been  doing  for  t’ree  days  t’en  ?  she’s  our  fucking  pr  manager  isn’t  she  ? isn’t  it  her  job  to  look  out  for  shit  like  t’is  ? ” “  kieran  —  ”  conan’s  voice  broke  through  the  haze  &  his  fingers  curled  into  a  fist  as  he  turned  towards  him  , “  what  ?  ”   “  take  a  breath  .  ” kieran’s  gaze  darted  frantically  over  conan’s  features  .  but  as  conan  held  his  gaze  ,  the  anger  within  him  teetered  &  his  breath  hitched  in  his  chest  .  evan  had  to  know  this  was  all  bullshit  .  she  HAD  to  .  .  .  but  the  timing  of  it  all  was  too  much  to  gloss  over  .  the  photo  had  come  out  on  the  21st  &  he  hadn’t  heard  a  SINGLE  thing  from  her  since  .  she  wasn’t  just  busy  .  she  believed  it  . his  voice  cracked  as  he  spoke  ,  “  this  is  evan  .  ” “  we  know  .  ” it  was  then  he  took  a  look  around  at  the  four  that  sat  along  side  him  .  features  sharpened  by  anger  softening  as  he  dragged  in  a  deep  ,  shaky  breath  ,  “  t’is  is  all  bullshit  .  ”   but  as  ruairi’s  features  broke  from  a  second  kieran’s  brow  arched  ,  “  is  it  ?  ”   “  i’m  sorry  ?  ” “  well  —  i  just  mean  ,  DID  somet’ing  happen  between  you  two ?  ” he  froze  for  a  moment  .  processing  ruairi’s  words  &  trying  to  figure  out  if  he’d  heard  them  right  .  but  before  he  could  even  form  a  reply  ,  a  pillow  was  thrown  directly  into  ruairi’s  face  with  a  heavy  thump from  conan’s  direction  . “  what  kind  of  fucking  question  is  t’a  ,  mate  ?  ”   “  okay  ,  okay  —  stupid  question  . ”  ruairi  fumbled  with  the  pillow  down  as  he  brought  it  down  his  lap  ,  kieran  rolling  his  eyes  as  he  let  out  a  breath  &  bring  a  hand  to  rub  at  his  forehead  .  if  it  was  ANYONE  else  ,  it  would  have  be  the  last  straw  .  but  as  ruairi’s  gaze  darting  between  four  faces  that  looked  at  him  expectantly  ,  kieran  couldn’t  be  mad  as  he  explained   “  but  look  .  i  told  you  i  t’ought  she  seemed  t’  be  weaselling  in  a  lot  of  places  that  are  usually  made  for  evan  &  she  seemed  to  cling  onto  you  so  —  i  t’ought  since  no  one  seemed  to  WANT  to  ask  it  ,  i'd  ask  it .  just  t’  be  sure  . ”kieran’s  hand  dropped  to  his  lap  as  he  shook  his  head  ,  exhaling  a  breath  ,   “  i’m  not  cheating  on  evan  wit’  bex  .  ”  he  paused  for  a  moment  as  his  fingers  linked  together  ,  eyes  darting  towards  the  screen  of  mikey’s  ipad  ,  “  you  all  were  t’ere  .  we  were  taking  her  back  t’  t’e  bloody  hotel  because  she  was  DRUNK  .  ” his  gaze  were  frantic  once  more  as  they  darted  between  conan  ,  ruairi  &  ,  adam  ,  before  settling  on  mikey  ,  “  we  know  ,  kid  .  but  we’re  not  the  ones  you  need  to  be  telling  that  to  right  now  .  ”  he  was  right  .  it  had  been  THREE  days  since  this  had  dropped  &  all  he’d  said  to  evan  was  things  about  her  god  damn  saint  valentine  job  .  he’d  kept  the  whole  walking  out  of  the  interview  from  her  to  stop  her  from  freaking  out  over  rumours  of  him  being  with  bex  .  but  now  here  it  was  plastered  across  a  website  for  all  to  see  .  he  didn’t  want  to  think  what  was  going  on  in  her  head  .  “  yeah  ,  yeah  ,  you’re  right  . ”  his  hands  were  shaky  as  he  reached  for  his  phone  jean  pockets  ,  so  much  so  that  it  took  a  few  attempts  to  be  able  to  press  her  name  on  his  list  of  recent  calls  before  he  brought  it  to  her  ear  .  one  ring  ,  two  rings  ,  three  rings  ,  four  rings .  .  .  voice  message  .  he  pulled  the  phone  from  his  ear  &  hung  up  .  “  fuck  .  ” “  it’s  early  in  the  morning  t’ere  ,  right  ?  she’s  probably  asleep  .  ”  adam  ,  always  the  voice  of  reason  . “  fuck  t’at  .  she  can  wake  up  .  ”  ruairi  ,  an  idiot  but  the  most  inline  with  the  thoughts  in  his  own  mind  .  she  did  make  him  promise  to  call  no  matter  the  time  .  “  try  again  .  ”&  he  did  as  took  in  a  breath  as  he  pressed  her  contact  again  ,  lighting  his  phone  up  before  he  brought  it  to  his  ear  . &  he  tried  again &  again  &  again  .  he  tried  until  finally  ,  the  line  on  the  other  end  broke  .  he  sat  up  straighter  ,  forcing  everyone  around  him  to  tense  .  nothing  .  no  voice  message  .  he  took  the  phone  away  from  his  ear  for  a  moment  to  see  the  time  ticking  over  .   “  what’s  going  —  ”  but  kieran  waved  ruairi  away  as  he  brought  the  phone  back  to  his  ear  .  hesitating  for  one  more  second  before  he  finally  spoke  ,  “  evan  ?  ”  another  pause  ,  “  don’t  hang  up  .  please  .  ”  he  shifted  to  the  edge  of  the  couch  ,  “  i  can  explain  everyt’ing  .  ”
6 notes · View notes
bpdstevenuniverse · 2 years
Text
i never thought i could be neurodivergent but i literally could never stay still and actually pay attention to class. i was a “good” student in academic and behavioral terms but like i needed to do something else while the teacher explained something
another list of random shit i would do in the middle of class:
playing with my hands. a LOT.
playing with my school material. i would play with my eraser and my pencil and the sharpener and the pen, and would create a whole story. some teachers got pissed at me for that even though i wasn’t really loud about it tbh
playing with my water bottle. i wouldn’t even bother drinking from it
shaking my legs back and forth
biting my fingers and nails. especially if i was hungry
doodling shit on my school notes. they were completely filled with doodles. that’s why i couldn’t donate my material idhgjdhgkjfdk
drawing comics. would you believe me if i told you i drew 120 comic pages all in the middle of classes. AND I NEVER HAD BAD GRADES IN THE FIRST YEAR??? WAS NEVER PUNISHED FOR IT??? well thank god bc teachers could be really cruel to me
writing fanfiction or some really dumb poetry
reading books. percy jackson was really entertaining in math class, haha. sometimes i’d read books that were going to be on tests, if i was too desperate or truly entertained. or both
love notes i would never give to my crush
planning my whole week and when i would do homework and draw and stuff. yeah right in the middle of physics class
doing homework for the thing being taught right at the moment. yeah i would already get my english exercises done. my teacher never let me be free when everyone else worked though :( she was a pain in the ass lmao
in extra classes i would take selfies of myself. one of my (UK) english teachers got so mad about it. like she ranted at me for five minutes fildgifuhfdkglf that rlly gets me to this day though
if i actually could use my phone then yeah. i actually read fanfiction when we owned ipads. one day my geography teacher expelled like half of my class and no he didn’t expel me. i just.... casually put my ipad in my backpack. maybe that was a warning
whisper comments and complaints to myself. sometimes it got laughs out of my class or the ppl who sat next to me. most of the time ppl probably thought i was crazy bc i talked to myself all the time
there’s probably more i’ll add but how could i think i was neurotypical bro
5 notes · View notes
lawandorderimagines · 3 years
Text
SVU Squad With a Detective Who Has a Soft Girl Aesthetic (fem reader)
@infiniteoddball   @storiesofsvu 
“Hey guys, I’m going on a food run. Anyone want anything?” You offered to pick up Chinese food from the place down the street and you wrote the orders down on a piece of purple notebook paper and grabbed your coat and bag before getting on the elevator. Once the elevator doors closed, Amanda collapsed into her chair; it was a surprisingly slow day at Special Victims Unit and all anyone had to do were mountains of paperwork. “Well, she seems... nice,” the blond detective offered. You had only been at SVU for only a few weeks after transferring out of Vice and Olivia had you partner up with Amanda, and while she thought you were nice, she also felt that there was something off about you.
And apparently, Olivia and Fin felt the same way. Fin was the first to break the awkward silence. “Are we sure this is one of the best officers in Vice? She doesn’t look like a cop. She’s too... soft.” “C’mon guys, she’s young, just give her time to mature a little bit. Her captain back in Vice said she’s young, but shows a lot of potential. And you gotta admit, she’s one hell of a runner,” Olivia responded in your defense. Truthfully, the Captain loved your presence at SVU and thought you were a breath of fresh air, even if you are a little unconventional in your ways.
“I’m just sayin’, I ain’t ever seen a rookie write notes in glitter gel pens or have pink and purple office supplies,” replied Fin. Amanda looked over at your desk and indeed, there were pastel colored office supplies. There was lavender desk calendar that took up a good amount of space on your desk with important dates scribbled on, a baby pink cup that held pens, pencils and markers in various colors, and finally, the sky blue tray that held papers and a confetti stapler. Amanda knew that in the drawers there would be pastel mini notepads and notebooks. She thought it suited you, not that she was gonna say that out loud.
Meanwhile, you sat at a table waiting for your number to be called. You passed the time by coordinating plans with your mom and younger sister for the holidays that were coming up; the two of you would be spending them in France with your dad and new stepmother. When your number was called, you paid with a fifty dollar bill and smiled in thanks to the woman who handed you the brown paper bag. Winter was clearly in full effect in New York as you gripped your jacket tighter with your free hand. Riding up in the elevator, you checked the messages you might have missed from your walk back to the precinct; your flight confirmations for you and your sister, your sister dropping subtle “hints” about her presents, and your mom complaining about grandma’s new beau which you just rolled your eyes at.
When the elevator dinged open, you expected to see the squad still sitting at their desks flipping between paperwork but they were gone. Did a call come through? You saw that the blinds to Liv’s office were down, maybe you’d peek your head in just to make sure, but then you heard voices. “I know Y/N isn’t what we’re used to but she’s doing a great job so far. And besides, we need all the help we can get,” Olivia said, and she sounded tired. They’re talking about you.
You felt bad for listening in on their conversation, but at the same time, you were curious as to what everyone thought about you, that is until it was Fin’s turn to talk. “She seems like she’ll be better suited for a kindergarten classroom.” You automatically knew he was referring to your desk and wardrobe choices and you looked down to examine your outfit: a white striped turtleneck, a pair of jeans, and the diamond half moon shaped necklace. Seemed innocent enough. Then you heard your partner laugh. 
“She dresses like an off duty Disney princess.” You felt your eyes prick with tears and willed them back; Disney princesses were pretty badass in your book. You decided you heard enough and knocked a little too loudly on the door, it would be better if you acted as if you hadn’t heard anything. “I’m back! Come and get it!” You pulled your container of egg drop soup and brought it to your desk and got a bottle of tea with some of the change in your pocket. For the next twenty minutes, you switched in between the family group chat and writing off paperwork. You didn’t speak to anyone either as the classical ballet music flowed from your headphones to your ears.
After three hours, Olivia declared that it was getting late and she had to get home to Noah, so now it was just you, Amanda and Fin. You were finally on the last page and you were just about to fill in the blank spaces when someone cleared their throat. You didn’t care about anything except finished your work so you could get home; you had already missed dinner, pizza night, and your mom texted you that she saved two slices for you. “Y/N, you got a minute?” It was Fin, and he and Amanda were standing at your desk; you quickly paused the music that was playing and yanked the earbuds out.
“Sure. What about?” There was only one last section and it wouldn’t even take you long to complete, plus you were tired and wanted to get home, wash the day off, get into your favorite pair of pjs and watch the late night Golden Girls marathon on the Hallmark Channel. “About what you heard earlier... we didn’t mean anything by it.” You snorted; isn’t that what they all say when they get caught? A part of you was telling you to let it go, keep the peace, but another part was telling you to choose violence, and you decided to go with the latter.
“Of course you did, you just didn’t mean for me to hear any of it. It’s fine. I look like an off duty princess, like I belong in a kindergarten classroom. Nothing I haven’t heard before. Anything else?” You said all of this in a bored voice, like your parents were lecturing you for staying out all night without calling. You knew that you weren’t a typical New York detective and you took pride in that. You liked writing your notes down in colored gel pens (the pink and purple pens are your favorites) in your pastel mini notepads because you think they look pretty and nice, and the items on your desk are mostly pastel colors. With all the shit you’ve seen in just your first week at SVU, you wanted to look at pretty things and thought the victims might too after the horrific stuff they experienced, and anyway, Olivia didn’t have a problem with you writing in glitter gel pens as long as they weren’t official documents.
You always dressed in light colors because it meant that perps wouldn’t suspect you as a cop while undercover, something you learned during your time in Vice. Plus, it made you feel good so you kept on doing it. The criminals felt they could trust you. “Look, we’re gonna be working together for a long time so we might as well be honest with each other, right?” They both nodded and you stapled the pages together and put them in the tray. “Great! Now if you’ll excuse me, I have two slices of pizza and a Golden Girls marathon on Hallmark Channel with my name on it. See you Monday!” 
You grabbed your coat and started packing your tablet/iPad and putting it in your backpack then reached for your wallet for your metro card; your train would arrive in fifteen minutes, and it was a short walk to the subway station. “Do you want me to give you a ride home? It’s a little too cold to be waiting for the subway,” Amanda offered. “Are you sure? I live a far ways out.” More like twenty minutes away, way too far from Amanda’s apartment. It usually takes you forty five minutes to get home every night; thirty five minute ride plus ten minutes of walking to your building.
“Sure. I have to be in that area anyway,” she answered. You decided to take her up on the offer, after all you just saved over two dollars, money you can put towards moving out of your mom’s place. Turns out, Amanda was better than any Uber driver and she had a better selection of music: lots of 90s and Y2K pop hits and you were in your neighborhood in no time when you realized she was pulling up to your building. “Thanks again Amanda, I really appreciate it.”
“No problem. And Y/N? I really am sorry about the way I behaved earlier. We’re adults, it was wrong of me, and I never should’ve said that stuff. Can you forgive me?” Amanda sounded sincere, and you could see it in her eyes that she really was sorry. “Of course. See you Monday?” She smiled, and with that, you shuffled quickly into the brightly lit lobby of you building. You hoped that this would be the start of a new page.
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parkeraul · 5 years
Note
Tom accidentally exposing your relationship would be hella cute and fluffy
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do you also notice? — t.h.
author’s note — hi, my dudes. this is my 1st tom imagine. please, feel free to request me more tholland things.
warnings — fluff.
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“i am, actually,” tom says as he reads the questions popping up crazily. “i am going to new york soon and then i’m flying to atlanta before i go back to london.” 
it’s been ten minutes since he decided to set up his ipad for an instagram live to chat with his fans, making an improvised tripod with the cushions of the caramel sofa he’s sitting on right now. y/n says nothing, knowing that she’s gotta let tom be sometimes because he somehow trusts his improvising skills blindly. instead, she scrolls through her own phone to keep up with their food delivery status. 
“how is it, darlin’?” he asks y/n unworriedly, because the fans are already aware that tom’s taken. as she needs to be silent — because her identity hasn’t been revealed yet — she grimaces and gestures, silently warning that it’s not that close to arrive yet. “what have i ordered?” he reads a question out loud, running his fingers through his messy damp curls. “i ordered good fish n’ chips and she’s gettin’ burger with fries,” looking at y/n, tom answers and takes a sip of his beer before returning to the questions. “i know, i gotta bring her to the english side of the force.” he chuckles, puppy brown eyes squinting as his smile grows. 
in between questions and answers, he’s taken by the way y/n’s frame walks throughout the living room. her feet dance around with her favourite pair of fluffy socks, ending up at the end of her shins and beginning of her knees. her thighs are bare, getting slightly covered by her red gym shorts and her torso wears proudly the old jersey of his football team — that she doesn’t really is a fan of, but wears it anyways just to see him weakening at the sight. her hair flies from side to side softly as she quietly performs the songs playing on her (his) airpods, making him laugh randomly and go divided between paying attention to the live or get up and twirl her body all around. 
“which holland does she like the most? harry, sam, paddy or me?” tom reads as he frowns. “what kind of question is this? ‘course it’s me,” rolling his eyes, he feels practically attacked. “it’s me, right?” he asks looking at y/n through his lashes, worried smirk adorning his features. when y/n retreats a little, tom’s jaw falls dramatically and his nervous grin grows more. “come on! i’m the one who gets you heart–shaped chocolates!” 
y/n can’t help but cover her mouth to hold her laughs. tom watches her with a poker face, smile frozen and he can’t believe his eyes. how ridiculous, he thinks. after breakfast in bed today with her favourite stuff while watching her favourite series, she dares not to agree right at first just to tease him.
“then who it is?” in disbelief, buying her scene 100%, he gets his phone from his pocket. “no, now you tell me who. it. is!” tom laughs, unlocking his screen. “send me on our chat, let’s fuckin’ see!”
she types, eyes watering from how much she’s been giggling and promptly presses the ‘send’ button. 
“oh, really?” he reacts, reading the notification on his screen. “look!” 
tom shoves the phone in front of the ipad’s camera, the contact name saying my luv 💘 & text saying “tomharrysampaddy” as the label stands right below the time. 
“it’s late, tom, go to sleeeeeep! sleepy emoji, sleepy emoji, sleepy emoji,” he reads while he brings his phone back. “i’ll go after the food arrives. i really am starvin’,“ he sighs and y/n wears her slippers, going to the door. “is it here already? it’s here!” tom informs when y/n confirms, cheering like a 5–year–old as she makes her way to the elevator, leaving him alone with the fans.
tom holds the bottle with his right hand and drinks his beer once more, keeping his phone on his left hand as he eyes the new questions coming up on his ipad. 
“what’s your wallpaper?” he reads, inching closer and then back to look at the phone. “this is my wallpaper. can y’all see?” tom cleans his notifications and stretches his arm, showing the screen one more time while he tilts his head to the side to get the view of the tablet’s screen. 
a picture of him and y/n scrunching their rosy noses to the camera, winter cascading on them and their cheeks are strongly clinging together. their eyes are screaming happiness with a shiny glow, his curls escaping his grey cap and her head is covered by a spider–man cap, thick scarfs swallowing their cheeks and nearly hiding their smiles. looking closely, it’s slightly perceptible that they’re sharing the airpods: he keeps one and she keeps another one. that was y/n’s first day touring london with tom and the scrunchy noses are actually an internal joke — because he said randomly in the middle of the date ‘do you also notice that, if you scrunch your nose on a cold day, it takes a while for it to return to the normal state? watch!’ and spent good 3 minutes scrunching and relaxing his nose muscles to her, as if it was even clear to see. although she shares the feeling, she chose to use it as an eternal teasing. everytime y/n’s got an observation, she lifts her forefinger up in the air and scrunches her nose, starting her phrases with ‘do you also notice that…?’. 
“that day was sick, never felt my buttcheeks so cold,” he emphasizes, caressing his own chin as per usual as he remembers about that day and lifting his eyebrows, looking at the picture before locking the phone. “maybe because i was nervous as fuck! i had these reservations at—”
the door opens, y/n walking in with the bags filled with their dinner. 
“shit!” tom hisses, hiding his lips with his palm. “damn!” 
“what?” she mouths, confused and placing the food on the counter. 
“i think i might’ve done something… wrong…” his voice is muffled by his hand and his glance at her is dripping worry. 
“what?” she repeats, tone raising just a bit. 
tom uncovers his lips, keeping the tip of his forefinger on top of them. it’s too late though, because people know y/n and instantly the messages appearing grow from ‘tom, go to sleep’ to ‘OMG I CAN’T BELIEVE IT’S Y/N!’. he lifts his finger, clearing his throat and scrunching his damn nose.
“do you also notice how bad i am at keeping secrets?”
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sickly-qt · 4 years
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Oooh, how about something where Julian or Mila cook a nice dinner for Remy, forgetting that he's lactose intolerant? (Bonus points if he's got important/business guests so he has to try and cover up his discomfort!!)
pillowsickfics said:
Idea: Jules wants to be nice and makes Remy dinner one day, but he either doesn’t know or forgot about Remy’s lactose intolerance, and Remy doesn’t notice the dairy until he’s puking in the sink and Jules feels SO bad?
I kind of hate this, but I tried writing it like a million different times and couldn’t get it to come out just right, this is the closest to right I could get it. I really liked these prompts though and I’m sorry I couldn’t do them more justice. I hope you like it nonetheless!
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“Remy, can you get Leah ready and Jules, could you finish making this so I can get a shower? It’s basically finished and the recipe is right here, you literally can’t screw it up.”
“Sure.” Julian said and walked over to the stove, “We’re at the simmer for 15 minutes, stirring occasionally step?”
“Yes, and then you just need to add everything for the sauce at the end, can you handle that?”
“Yes, I got this.” Julian said with mock confidence.
“I’m trusting you Paxton, I’ll be back down soon.” Mila said, going upstairs.
~~
“It’s done!” Julian called from where he was sitting on the chair in the living room.
“Awesome.” Mila said, walking over to the stove and lifting the lid to look in the pan. “Thanks, It looks great.”
“No problem. I’m going to go get dressed.” Julians said, passing Remy on the stairs.
“Hurry up, dinner is starting soon.” Remy said, putting Leah down when he got to the bottom of the stairs
As if on cue the doorbell rang. 
“Shit, he’s early.” He mumbled, buttoning his sleeves and walking over to answer the door.
“Calm down, you’ll do fine.” Mila said softly, picking up Leah.
Everything was doing fine until about an hour into the dinner. Julian and Leah had moved out into the living room after dinner when the business talk started. Mila wished that she could also sit in the living room on her phone, public relations talk was not her forte and she was bored out of her mind, she was lucky that they had opened a bottle of wine during dinner that made this more tolerable. She had basically zoned out when Remy got up and excused himself, leaving Mila alone with this stuffy PR guy. There was an awkward conversation about kids before Mila used Leah’s bedtime as an excuse to go upstairs as well. She tucked the little girl in bed and set her up with an ipad to keep her quiet until she could read her a story after their guest left, then swung into the bedroom to see what was keeping Remy.
“What’s going on?” She asked, finding Remy sitting on the bed with his head in his hands.
“This isn’t good M, we have to wrap this up.” He mumbled, looking up at her pitifully.
“Why, what’s wrong?” Usually Mila wouldn’t argue, but something was clearly going on.
“I don’t know, I’m bloated and my stomach is cramping. I feel like I’m going to be sick.” He whined, wrapping an arm around his middle. “It feels like I ate an entire ice cream cone, was there dairy in dinner?”
Mila shook her head, “I didn’t put any- shit.” Mila rubbed her face, “I asked Julian to make the sauce so I could get ready, he probably didn’t use your milk.”
Remy groaned, closing his eyes as a cramp tore through his stomach.
“Can you handle a couple more minutes so we can usher him out of here?” Mila asked, walking over to rub his back.
“I can try, I haven’t felt this bad for a long time.” He whined.
“Yeah, well the recipe did call for about 2 cups of milk.” She added.
“Oh my god, this is going to hit me hard.” 
Mila cringed, “I’m sorry baby, let’s just get this over with.” 
Remy went back downstairs and convinced his potential business partner to continue their negotiations at the office later in the week. Mila kept a close eye on Remy, noting every tensed muscle and burp muffled into his fist. He did great and kept up his facade until the door closed behind him.
“Oh my god, that sucked so bad.” Remy mumbled, burping into his hand.
“I know, sweets. I’m sorry, I should’ve told him.” Mila said, rubbing her hand up and down his back.
“There’s nothing we can do about it now.” He said, running his hands through his hair.
“What happened?” Julian asked from the living room, their conversation catching his attention.
“Remy’s sick. It’s nothing for you to worry about.” Mila said.
“Is he okay?” He asked.
“He will be. He just feels really rough right now.” 
A burp rumbled up from Remy’s stomach, acid splashing the back of his tongue. He was going to be sick.
“Remy, are you okay?” Mila asked, as she watched his face turn white as a sheet.
Remy didn’t answer, instead rushing to the nearest receptacle to be sick into, which happened to be the sink. He gagged and a huge rush of sick poured into the sink.
“Ew Remy, the sink?” Mila whined instinctually, walking over to him and patting his back. “Sorry, it’s just gross.”
He coughed harshly and gagged again, bringing up another wave of dinner, “I’m never eating again.” He groaned.
“You’re being just a bit dramatic now,” Mila said quietly.
“It was the food?” Julian asked, appearing behind Mila. “I screwed something up didn’t I?”
“No, Jules. This is my fault, I didn’t tell you to use the lactose free milk.” Mila said, trying to calm him down.
“Oh my god, I poisoned you. I’m so sorry.” Julian apologized, playing with the hem on his shirt nervously. He panicked even more when Remy didn’t respond right away, “He’s mad right?” He asked Mila.
“No, he’s puking.” Mila responded.
“This is all my fault, I did this.” Julian started pacing.
“Julian, I literally just said that it wasn’t. Calm down.” Mila was torn between taking care of Remy and trying to prevent Julian from entering full panic mode.
Remy coughed and turned on the water, Mila watched gratefully as the puke washed easily down the drain.
“I’m not mad at anyone Jules, and I’m going to be fine. You didn’t poison me, mistakes happen.” Remy filled a cup with water from the tap and took a sip. “Why don’t you go upstairs and relax, I’m already starting to feel better after getting some of it out of my system.”
Julian nodded, and headed for the stairs, “I really am sorry.” he mumbled.
“No more apologizing.” Remy called after him.
“Are you really starting to feel better?” Mila asked after Jules disappeared upstairs.
Remy shook his head and took another sip of water, “I feel like shit, I just wanted him to stop freaking out.”
Mila rubbed her hand across his shoulders and sighed, “Yeah, I figured. Let’s head up to bed Mr. Lactose intolerant.”
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gelana78 · 3 years
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Wow just found my go back and grab shit note from when the massive wildfire complex hit my literal neck of the woods and I was evacuated out of the area.
So apropos of nothing it’s AuntieG wildfire trauma story time.
At the time the heat was unbearable, a week of 100-110F degree heat, I had driven 2.5 hours each way on that Friday to get my rescue cat neutered for free. Temps didn’t drop more than a few degrees that night so I didn’t sleep Friday night. (Take this timeline with a grain of salt.) Saturday night the massive lightning storm blasted through the neighborhood downing trees and knocking out power lines and sparking fires everywhere. (An upper portion of a neighbors redwood tree crashed down onto an uninhabited building 30 feet away from my cottage and leveled the corner of it.) I listened to the fire departments radio transmissions to make sure my immediate area was ok, and didn’t sleep at all that night. Sunday was a hot sticky exhausted recovery day. Monday I spent working and anxious that the wind would kick up more and fires would reach my house when I was at work. Tuesday I think we closed the school because air quality. And Tuesday night word came through that the scope of the lightning sparked fires was massive and they were planning on rolling out evacuation warnings and orders as a precaution. Then my fucking well intentioned and thoughtless property mates invited three households worth of friends who had to immediately evacuate to come camp out at our place while they all figured out what to do when the order hit our area. Instead of respecting the neighborhood, and the fact that it was midweek and people had to fucking work, they had a full blown party, literally ten feet outside my window. Drinking, laughing, shout-singing, whooping, until 3am. Complete with acoustic guitar and fire pit (wtf the mountains are tinder), and neighbors screaming at them to shut up that they had to work the next day. When I told them about it the next day they laughed, said they hadn’t heard it, and would have told them to fuck off if they had. That’s my property mates, well intentioned, but thoughtless and inconsiderate as fuck when it comes to neighbors and everyone but themselves and their buddies. The evacuation orders came the next day so no sleep Friday, Saturday, or Sunday, a little Tuesday, and then it was time to evacuate. I could barely spell my own name let alone think what to grab. I did the best I could. Essentially, I got the criticals, paperwork, pink slip to my car, passport, meds, my blankets, the cats and their supplies, my work computer, and all my dirty clothes (I was overdue doing laundry so that was pretty much all the clothes I owned.) of course once I got to my mom’s house and had a chance to crash out and sleep in air conditioned peace, I realized the scope of things I hadn’t thought to grab or didn’t have space for. After a night or two I decided that I was going to try to sneak back over to get stuff. The hard lock down wasn’t in place quite yet (it actually happened the next day). I did it in the middle of the night to be able to see if there was fire anywhere nearby, and so that my mom was asleep and couldn’t overprotective-freakout on me, and give me a rash of shit for being irresponsible and selfish. The two wildest things I saw included the fire on the eastern foothills side of Silicon Valley (opposite side of the valley, I was headed west into the Coastal mountains), and it was absolutely out of a volcano style nightmare, blackness and red orange flames. And then as I pulled into one of the mountain towns on the way to my place, I was driving through one of the main streets and there were dozens of fire trucked stretching easily a mile along both sides of the road. It was so humbling and moving. Firefighters are an incredible breed of person. The trucks were from all over the state and some neighboring states - we even had trucks roll up later from across the country. New Jersey, I remember specifically, being on the news that a truck was on its way (volunteering to drive a week cross country to help, fuck the police but god bless firefighters). That still chokes me up.
Did a recon drive by of my friend and cousins house to be able to tell them that they were still standing. (Both were freaking out pretty hard and closer to the danger than my house.)
The propertymate’s dad was apparently sleeping in his van parked in the driveway, and I know the man hunts and has guns and was there to protect the place so I ended up not trying to grab half of what was on the list for fear of waking him up and having to explain to a half asleep mountain man with a rifle exactly who I was and what I was doing.
My list is so sad and weird. It’s a combination of practical shit I had either just bought or would be expensive to replace, sentimental shit, and heart plants that were from my dead grandparents house.
The original list is as follows.
“If I Go Back Tonight.” (Dood how fucking sad is that.)
Ipad and computer(I got the one owned by my work and fully left my own. Wtf?!)
Wooden closet carving (this lovely 3D carving of a household scene, no idea how old, that was my grandparents.)
Makeup basket (bitch I don’t wear it but I spent some cash on those palettes)
Oslo (my dead cat’s box of ashes)
Mugs teaspoons (I have Starbucks mugs from vacations I have taken, I can’t replace them by ordering them online because they wouldn’t be the same as the ones that I shlepped back from England and Hawaii. I earned those. The tiny teaspoons were my grandmas some from travel, and I use them to stir my coffee and they spark joy.)
Kira bear (I have a cute hand made teddy bear I bought at a Star Trek convention that was dressed like Kira Nerys from DS9 and it’s signed by Nana Visitor, who I got to meet and chat with at a different con. Bizarre but irreplaceable.)
Dried goods wine (I have dietary restrictions, and had a ton of gluten free and corn free dried goods. Who wants to waste good wine? Not this gal.)
2bells (my Nana collected bells these two are my favorite’s of hers that I inherited.)
nana basket (beautiful small antique Chinese basket)
Chinese bell (my other favorite antique bell of hers it’s like a mini Chinese-style archway with a tiny bell dangling from the middle that you ding with a tiny little metal mallet that hangs on the edge. It is charming af and I have adored it since I started forming memories.)
Nano & nana jar (I have a keepsake glass jar with a cute photo of the two of them and a bunch of bits and bobs from their house.) (noticing a theme? Can you tell I fucking miss my grandparents?)
Toaster (literally just bought the fucker!)
Towels (vintage with three dimensional pattern, bomb af, you guessed it, that belonged to my nana.)
Toothbrush (it was rechargeable! Those fuckers cost.)
Dutch ovens (again, I ain’t got money to replace that shit. $50 & $150 on sale respectively)
Treasure bins (I have about three plastic bins full of mementos, crystals, favorite rocks, art from high school, what’s left of my various Star Trek collections etc.)
Wire wrapping tools (not using them, but should I want to they would be kind of expensive to replace)
Chairs (i fucking JUST bought my first upholstered chair and couch. Couldn’t fit the couch in my car, was hoping to squeeze that chair in. I ended up not grabbing it because of rifle toting mountain man.)
Plant priorities
tin tub with pepper plant in it (this cracks me up, I have no recollection what it is referring too?! Oh shit now I remember. It’s a galvanized metal tub with handles that is probably 30 gallons? And it has this ornamental pepper plant -the peppers are spheres not cone or bell shaped - that just sprouted at my Nana’s house in a random corner and it’s perennial, and she nurtured the hell out of it, so it was one that I dug up when we sold their house after she died.)
Tools (specifically gardening tools because those fuckers are expensive and I have a collection!)
Nana’s orchid (obvious reasons - it too was from her house)
monstera as many as possible (my Nano’s buddy from the golf course he worked at gave him a pot of baby monsteras twenty years ago. I have been nurturing them for ten.)
Small cactus (this one was from a cutting off of my Nana’s Christmas cactus that originally belonged to her mother.)
———
Going back and reading through that sure makes me feel some sort of way. I was not thinking straight at all when I wrote it, but my priorities are pretty clear. My grandparents were one of the highlights of my life. They were wonderful people and while obviously they traumatized my own mom (she had to learn her dysfunction somewhere), they were the one place I could go where I felt peace and safety and unconditional love. And there was nowhere near the same level of screaming and yelling as at my parents house. Meanwhile my Nana was the only human on the planet who pretended my shit didn’t stink. It’s really hard losing that person, and having the only parent figure left in my life be the one who traumatized me the most. I was in such a bad place during the evacuation because there was nowhere for me to go should my house burn down, the last thing in the universe I want is to have to live at my mother’s house. And with the cost of living and my low wages, I would have had to leave the state or live with her.
Rough goddamn times. But thank god everything is ok, our neighborhood was untouched by the fires and now is was not on the list of areas needing to evacuate for fear of debris flow during the recent atmospheric river event. And the time back at my moms house really showed me some of her quieter dysfunctions that led me to feel badly about myself when I was younger. (Complete inability to discuss mental health or wellness stuff. She ignored how I was a walking zombie, pretended everything was fine. I needed someone to look at me and say you look like you are having a hard time, do you want to talk about it? And then just listen. Instead she talked at me constantly about everything else and her life, ignoring the mental breakdown happening in front of her. Like my entire preteen life on.)
It was a shit show, but a journey. At least I can look back on it & roll my eyes, and see how I survived, and that I grew from it and am doing much better now. Whew. Sorry, but thanks. Apparently I needed to process that a bit.
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eyeslikefoxglove · 4 years
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Episode 11 - The Yunmeng Sibs have shitty parents & *Screams in Doctor*
Hello hello! Long time no talk, who’d thought finishing med school wound not free my schedule up? Not me that’s for sure. Btw I have an iPad case (where I’m watching and writing) that can turn into a stand so the screen is upright. HOWEVER the lower flaps that hold the iPad in the case broke so it just keeps sliding down and giving me heart attacks, you’ll hear me screaming about it further down I’m sure. So enjoy my pain.
This farewell scene is fucking me up tho. Why do you want tears so early in the episode screenwriters? Why? (Also, MY STILL HAS NOT HAD TREATMENT FOR THAT STAB WOUND)
Aw my One Braincell Trio worries about MY is adorable tho (yet another missed opportunity for him to make actual friends who care about him and not end up as JGY)
I’m sorry for the thirst but HOLLY SHIT WANG ZHUOCHENG’S BONE STRUCTURE.
That’s it. I’m going to stop the tv series here when they’re in Lotus Pier and everything is fiiiiine. Btw watching that servant girl run through the place has convinced me that I 100% would trip taking a corner and end up in the lake.
YUNMENG SIIIIIBS
Ok, pause to say: I do think Madame Yu is a BAMF. I also think that’s literally her only redeeming quality. I don’t like Mme Yu and I don’t like JFM and y’all are gonna have to endure my ranting.
This woman is just spoiling for a fight isn’t she?
Ok, the first time I saw this, I was willing to be on her side. My mum does the same thing where she rants when she’s worried and my dad is more phlegmatic (until he snaps then they just scream at each other and I eat popcorn). The instant I decided that she could go hang was when she started being an asshole to her kids. And they just take it, so it is clearly not the first time she’s called her daughter a mildness follower and her son idiot and useless fuuuuck her.
And of course JFM goes and pulls the “man from way back when” misogynistic bullshit and tells her to go rest. Why would he either try to not have this conversation in from of their children or stand up for all of them.
Ok. How did LWJ not get a massive footprint on his PALE BLUE clothes from WZL’s kick?
Also, let me go down the clothes, or rather footwear, rabbit hole for a second. Those fucking boots can’t be comfortable. I know that’s the shape they had and whatever but they don’t move when you walk. My god, I own 12 pairs of Doctor Martens, I did pointe in my ballet class for years, I know a lot about unyielding shoes and I can tell you, that walking without being able to flex you foot is horrendous. How. Why. Am I missing something that’s common knowledge about those boots by virtue of not being Chinese? (And having almost zero knowledge of traditional Chinese clothing)
Alright, back to the show LWJ about to throw hands at WC (not with, WC is too much of a coward).
Yay the butterflies!
My one track mind: *takes note of the fakeness of the fake blood*
Xichen bb noooooo.
Wait wait wait. Assuming the Cloud Recesses siege and the conversation when JFM tells our boys they’re leaving for Nightless City in three days are happening simultaneously that means LWJ fucked off to indoctrination ON A BROKEN LEG. And he got there only a bit before the people from Yunmeng, however Cloud Recesses is further away than Lotus Pier, so he was fucking rushing, ON A BROKEN LEG. Please tell me he was at least wearing plaster under his clothes (no he wasn’t, at least not in the Murder Turtle cave) *Screams in Doctor*
(But FR, don’t pull that kind of bullshit, walking around on a fracture can cause the bone fragments to shift, compress the blood supply to your foot and you can loose it)
Look, this idiot is back. Again, if you see random bouts of screaming is just me not wanting to listen to Su She.
Ok, ok I’ve got a bone to pick here. I’ve seen some people say that Su She cracking and telling the Wens how to get in is less about him being an asshole and more about he not wanting to die. Fair enough, wanting to survive is natural. HOWEVER, my problem with this situation in particular is that, as long as he saved his own skin, he didn’t give a fuck about all the people who were going to get murdered. That’s a dick move.
And before anyone can tell me that’s not how regular people work, my building caught on fire about a year ago, my first instinct after putting my cat in his carrier by a fresh air source was to leave my flame-free flat to go check on my neighbours. I don’t know my neighbours, hell, our relationship consists on them letting their kids scream until past midnight and me blasting death metal at 6am the day after in retaliation. (They were gone for the weekend and both me and the cat were fine, thank fuck for skylights). I know it isn’t the same stakes as being held at swordpoint but, my dude, human decency is human decency.
Su She: people like LWJ look down on us outer disciples.
LWJ: *literally gets his leg broken bc he saved Su She’s life*
My one track mind: where’s the arterial spray?
Every time I seen Yunmeng disciples shooting kites I start hearing Kill Bill sirens.
Speaking of shooting kites. I don’t think JC has ever actually been jealous of WWX like sometimes I’ve seen mentioned. He clearly encourages him to best his shot in front of all the disciples knowing he’ll make it. He’s had his mother’s poison and his father’s indifference poured in his ear since he was a child, if this really was a Thor-Loki/Scar-Mufasa/Cain-Abel brother dynamic those tiny little gestures wouldn’t exist. JC could not give less of a fuck that WWX is “better” than him, it has been, however, used to hurt both of them; and that’s what pisses him off. Not that he’s compared to his brother, but that whoever is doing that comparison explicitly seeks to hurt. Also, knowing that you baby brother (I don’t care WWX is older that JC, he’s the baby in this relationship) is a prodigy, and yet he’s in such deep shit he probably won’t be able to get out, and what can you, not a prodigy, do to help him out? Nothing. That’s terrible, that’s painful and as we all know JC only emotes in anger.
SOMEONE HUG NHS PLEASE HE LOOKS SO SAD.
Oh I’m living for Peacock’s facial expressions.
Ok, listen, listen. That whole scene where WWX turns around, LWJ is looking gorgeous dressed in white, flanked by the two Wen soldiers walking down the aisle to joint the front of the queue reads too much like a Western wedding for my poor heart to not make the connection. Also, LWJ (in white) is walking towards WWX (in black) which is usually the positions and colour schemes of an heterosexual version of those weddings and as much as I say fuck gendering WangXian (ppl calling WWX mother or wife makes me homicidal) you will pry those parallels from my cold dead hands.
I can’t even make fun of the *Bichen grip* because my taciturn bb is so hurt right now.
Thanks for reading!
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rebelrecovery · 4 years
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Book Notes:
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This one is one of the better quit lit books I’ve read - Belle writes with blunt honesty, and I love the way she envisions the alcoholic voice in her head as a big bad wolf rather than a wine witch.  
Below are the parts that were most helpful for me... 
I thought, I can’t start drinking now, there isn’t enough. Not enough for what? To fade out. To be numb. Because despite what I may have said, I never wanted one glass of wine with dinner. I wanted three glasses. What’s the point in one glass? And despite what I may have said, I never drank because I liked the taste. [...] I drank to get fuzzy. I wanted to be slightly numb, to take the edge off. I spent a lot of time taking the edge off and then trying to maintain the edge taken off, but I usually ran into problems of sobering up too quickly, or drinking too much. There was no magic formula for edge-off-ness. I tried to find it. I tried having beer before wine, I tried eating first, I tried drinking on an empty stomach. There may have been a four-minute window of edge-off-ness and then I spent the rest of the night trying to find the four-minute window again.
I never want to do this again. I never want to wake up in the middle of the night both wishing I was dead and hoping I’m not dying. Let me not vomit, please, and I promise I will cut back on the drinking. I never want to feel this bad, feel so hopeless, alone, scared, dark. I am definitely drinking too much. I should face that. I should stop drinking for a week, take a break. I’ll start tomorrow. After the work party. After vacation. Next week. After the birthday. The first of the month. On a Monday. I promise. 
I had tried to stop drinking plenty of times on my own, but never managed to quit for more than a couple of days. Usually I’d declare my sobriety in the morning and then open a bottle of wine by 6 p.m. that same night. Then I’d quit again the next morning. No wine for one day. For two days. Then the voice would start. Is it time yet? You can drink now. Celebrate sobriety with a glass or two. You’ve done well. You are going to break this non-drinking stretch anyway, so you might as well drink now. Drink tonight and quit later. What about now. Is it time to drink yet? Fuck it, I’m going to drink, this is ridiculous. I’ve already quit for a week. Let’s celebrate sobriety with some alcohol.
If alcohol was in the house, it spoke to me, then I drank it. Even if I didn’t really enjoy it. I was drinking because it was the thing I did. No enjoyment. No taste. No feeling except for exhaustion. Like a hammer banging on my head. Did you ever try buying a case of wine, thinking that if it was around all the time you’d feel less compulsive about it, and drink less? Ha. Really. Who was I kidding? With a case of wine in the house, I drank more. Of course I did. We never had a wine collection or a wine rack or a wine cellar or a liquor cabinet either. Alcohol didn’t last long enough to be collected or displayed or shared.]
I had lots of drinking rules and guidelines for myself, and over time, bit by bit, I broke all of my rules. I’m only going to drink on special occasions or when socializing. Only on weekends.” But of course, you and I both know that only drinking on weekends is tricky. Because what about Sunday night? Is Sunday part of the weekend? What about Thursday? Maybe the weekend is four days long. Maybe it is, in fact, most of the week. Controlled drinking is not very successful—you know this already because you’ve tried it. If we have to control our drinking, it means that our natural, default tendency is to have one, and then another, and then another. Any plan we make is very difficult, if not impossible, to adhere to. You tried moderation. You did. You maybe didn’t call it moderation. You tried making rules for yourself. When you realized that you were drinking more than you wanted to, before you ever saw this book, you did things like alternating every second glass with water, or switching from hard stuff to beer, or trying to skip days. You tried to drink only on weekends, or only have one, or only . . . or only . . . or only.
Normal drinkers measure their alcohol consumption like I measure my corn on the cob consumption—which is to say, not at all. Just like I have days without corn, normal drinkers have plenty of days without alcohol but they’re not keeping track. I don’t pay attention to whether you are getting more corn than me, and a normal drinker fills up glasses around her without worrying about who’s getting how much. And yes, it’s true that corn on the cob is my favourite of all summer things to eat, but I have never planned days around when I can eat it. I have never gone out at 11 p.m. to get more corn. I’ve never worried about running out of corn.
A ‘bottom’ in the sober world describes the point where you quit drinking. If you have a ‘high bottom’ then you quit when your problems were smaller. Poor concentration, missed deadlines, an inability to take advantage of new opportunities, procrastination, crappy sleep, many days of feeling ill. A ‘low bottom’ is where the micro problems have grown into larger holes, and might include health, relationship, money, or legal issues. My high bottom looks like this: drink with dinner, and after, plan to drink less, continue to drink the same amount, try to quit for a month and manage nine days, start again, not keep my promises to myself. Wonder what the hell is wrong with me. Suffer with crappy sleep, extra pounds, wasted money.
If alcohol is an elevator that only goes down, the goal is to step off, not to ride down any more. Stop drinking now. Start feeling better now. I stepped off early. But I’m not naive. I know where that elevator was going. If I stopped ‘before there was a problem’ then I was fucking lucky, plain and simple. Because even stopping where I did, it was hard to do. Really hard.
The “Drink Now” voice, which I call Wolfie, will say anything to get us to drink. Nothing is off-limits. Wolfie hits below the belt. Wolfie talks smack. Wolfie with a megaphone said to me: You’ve had a long, crazy day. Have a drink. You’ll just have one. It will take the edge off. You have blown this whole thing out of proportion. You need to cut back, not quit. A hundred fucking days? You’ll never make it anyway. 
I knew I had a very loud Wolfie “Drink Now” voice in my head that insisted that a glass of wine with dinner was normal. I also knew that there was another very quiet, very tiny mouse-like voice, that said: You have to stop. You know what this internal conflict is like. 
I felt moderately stable until something happened, like if I got frustrated, or mad, or sad, or bored, or if something good happened and I had to celebrate. I had completely maladaptive coping strategies. I didn’t have the skills to try anything else to feel better because—duh—I’d been using wine as my only coping mechanism. I’d overused wine as a feel-better tool for so long that I literally couldn’t remember one single thing I could do instead to ease my mood.
Booze isn’t a solution to a problem. It’s a very temporary pause button (manhole cover) with horrendous consequences. It’d be like turning to heroin. It isn’t the right solution for the problem. It gets between me and my life, between me and you, between me and serving, between me and fun. It affects my weight, my sleep, my enthusiasm. It blunts, fills, numbs, fills time, expands into the space allowed. Adds nothing, feels bad, sad, argumentative, irritated. Isn’t the real me. My life has so much MORE good stuff in it when the wine is gone. There’s nothing to escape from, it isn’t bad here, there’s joy and beauty and ease here. Don’t need to ‘go’ anywhere else. 
The voice that is YOU, when you’re 50 days sober, says “I know sometimes I feel like drinking but I’m not going to because I don’t want to have a new Day 1. I’ve done enough drinking in my past. I know that Day 1 is rotten.” The voice that is YOU says: “I want something different and better and I don’t know what that is yet, but I know I want to try this sober thing.” We end up in a place where even if bad shit happens, we do NOT think about drinking.
Picture booze like a Big Wolf With Black Eyes, he represents the voice in your head. Now you have to very calmly starve the wolf. Or better yet, you have to dehydrate him by not giving him anything to drink. At first he’ll be mad at you. “Where’s my drink?” You’ll say: I have all this free time now. I can’t talk to you, Wolfie. I’m running, baking, singing, reading, cleaning, spending time with my kids. I’m paying my taxes, cleaning off my desk, enjoying the weather. The wolf will taunt you. “Everyone else is drinking, why can’t you?” You’ll say: Sorry, Wolfie, can’t hear you. I’m too busy cranking up the volume on my new iPad that I bought with all the money I’ve saved.” The wolf will nearly be dehydrated. He’ll try a few more last-chance, desperate attempts. “You’re broken,” he’ll snarl. “You bitch, you can’t be fixed, you’ll always be a fuck-up, you suck at this, you might as well quit now.” And you’ll say: You want to fight? I’ll win. I’ve got so much more energy now that I’m sleeping through the night. I can outrun you Wolfie. I’m light on my feet now. I’ve got so much more spunk, clearer thinking. I’m planning to take over the world, Wolfie, me and my clear-headed genius. What is that? Sorry I can’t quite hear you. Your voice is so quiet, Wolfie. Are you nearly dehydrated? You’re going to dry up and turn to dust. Puts palm of hand up to lips and blows across the surface. Dust disperses, Wolfie is specks of grey in the air. And then gone.
Being sober is a relief. Quitting drinking is like putting down a backpack of rocks that you’ve been carrying around for a long time. It’s like a deep breath that fills your lungs. Being sober is feeling proud of yourself. Being sober is easier than drinking. Too much of our brain space is used trying to manage alcohol consumption. The “Drink Now” voice is exhausting. All of that time we spend planning to drink—thinking about drinking, wondering how much alcohol there is, trying to figure out how we’re going to get out of that work obligation because we’re hungover—all of that can stop. You have been drowning out who you really are. Literally. Banging yourself on the head with a bottle or two of wine. That’s not you. The real you is in there. Drinking is a way of hiding from who you really are. I can honestly say that being a non-drinker is unicorns and parades compared to drinking.
There is a point in each day when you will most feel like drinking. I call this the witching hours. Typically it’s around dinner time; for me it was 6:00 p.m. to 8:30 p.m. If you were to plot the duration of the witching hours on a graph, the period of time gets predictably shorter and less intense each day. Having a replacement drink is a good idea. Your brain is used to having something to drink at this time of day, so you can plan a lovely replacement drink. I have found that bitter drinks deal with cravings better than sweet drinks.
We are so used to using alcohol as our only treat, that we need to learn new treats. You can have bubble bath, trashy magazines, flowers, oven mitts, bad TV from Netflix, time alone, cheap earrings, or savoury pancakes. Perhaps you’ll plan to have steak every Friday for the first six weeks. And if you don’t eat steak, then substitute salmon or sushi or marinated tofu in that category. You spent money drinking, so you can invest some of those Wolfie dollars to support your sobriety. Here are some examples of things I’ve treated myself to: fuzzy blankets, silver jewelry, deluxe candles, essential oils, chocolate croissants, lovely beads, thrift shopping, craft supplies, gourmet ground coffee, a gorgeous teacup, a bouquet of flowers, a potted basil plant. The largest was a countertop dishwasher. The trick is to either find something that you want but don’t need, or to splurge on a more deluxe version of something you were going to buy anyway. Like shampoo or lipstick. I have always struggled with confidence and my inner critic is a real bitch. The concept of self-care is relatively new to me and these gifts remind me to treat myself kindly.
One of the reasons we drink is in search of an ‘off’ switch: to quiet our brains, to escape responsibilities, to have ‘me’ time. If there are coping strategies that are adaptive (make things better) versus maladaptive (make things worse), then drinking is maladaptive. While it may be an off-switch, it creates many other problems at the same time. 
We are not taught, explicitly, how to deal with uncomfortable feelings, or how to self-soothe. So we reach for available tools, however malformed. Did your parents ever sit you down and have a conversation with you about what you can do if you feel overwhelmed, exhausted, irritated, freaked out, lonely, or depressed? Did they give you strategies and tools to help you with Changing the Channel in Your Head? No. Mine neither. Did they model for you how they dealt with disappointment, their feelings of not fitting in, or how they coped with the occasional overwhelming sense of dread? If they did model for you, was it with something other than cigarettes, alcohol, drugs, or a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken? Did your parents have ‘self-care’ time where they made it clear that they needed to recharge batteries, to unwind. Did they lock themselves in the tub with big mounds of lavender bubble bath and candles? Did your father go for a run when he was feeling stressed, or to delineate the mark between ‘work’ and ‘home’ and did he tell you he was doing this, explicitly, so that you could learn to do the same? No? 
in your first months sober, you will get a crash course in adaptive self-care strategies, whether you want it or not. One of the most important things you will do is learn to strategically avoid ‘overwhelm’—I use this word as a noun, it’s a thing on the horizon, like fog. Your life is like a video game. You can see potential bombs, things advancing, that could blow up and throw you off course. Your job is to navigate them. You don’t walk right into a bomb and hope for the best. You don’t test yourself by repeatedly doing difficult or stressful things. Instead, you ask someone to carpool, you decline social activities, and you simplify meals. Your job is to reduce overwhelm. All around you, there are lists of things to do and when you first quit drinking you are going to take it easy. When you first quit drinking, you are going to remember that being overwhelmed is our number one trigger. You will instead do less. Learn to be slothful. Embrace the art of underachieving.
Here are my top three tools for overwhelm: exercise, tub, and bed. I probably use exercise four times a week, specifically to help with my mood. I’m in the tub anytime I’m feeling antsy, or as my reward at the end of a day of catering. And as far as sleep is concerned, I have been known to go to bed at 7:30 p.m. in early sobriety, because I had no other way of dealing with life. I knew I didn’t want to drink, and I had no idea what else to do except ‘hide’.
When we are drinking, we use alcohol to fix everything—or so we think—and we don’t develop any other self-soothing, comforting, or change-the-channel tools. Turns out—who knew—there are at least 578 other ways to shift how you feel. There are things you’ve done before, perhaps by accident, things that once you remember them, and try them, you think “OK, good, I feel better.” Like when you change the sheets on the bed you feel better. And when you have a nap you feel better. And when you snuggle on the couch with a fluffy blanket and braid your cats’ tails together you feel better. Especially if you add hot chocolate. A change of location works. If you’re at home, go out. If you’re out, go home :) If you’re alone, get with some people. If you’re overwhelmed in a group, hide in the bathroom and read sober blogs on your phone. Yes, really.
I made a list of the ways to change my state. It had 30+ things on it. They included: listen to loud music, play guitar, sing, talk on the phone, write a letter longhand, take a bath with candles, light candles anywhere in the house, clean my desk, clean anything, go for a run, make tea, plan meals, test a recipe, read a magazine, brainstorm with clients, design a new logo, read light fiction, read self-help, make a puzzle, go for a walk, take pictures, go swimming, watch a good movie, go to a concert, go to see a movie at the theatre with popcorn, listen to podcasts, do volunteer work, find an audience and do some kind of public speaking, write in my journal, play cards, explore a new part of the city, go to the art gallery, the museum, write a restaurant review.
If you’re an introvert, or if you’re a non-joiner like I am, then asking for any kind of support or encouragement seems hard. But here’s the truth. The simple act of reaching out might make you feel weak, but it’s actually a sign of strength.
When Wolfie says that being sober sucks and that it’s too much to give up, you can remind him that you are also giving up the following: •  feeling like death in the morning •  waking at 3 a.m. with guilt and dread and horror •  vomiting •  spending dumb money (like money spent in bars, expensive bottles of wine in restaurants, buying rounds for people, impulse shopping online) •  emailing and texting random people •  hooking up with random people •  falling down •  hiding bottles •  arguing with your partner •  alternating stores so they don’t get to know you •  cringing when it’s time to take out the recycling. 
And here are a few of the things that you can focus on instead, the things you GET by being sober: •  you sleep through the night •  your skin looks great •  your health improves •  your marriage improves •  your kids talk to you again •  your family will now take your calls after 6 p.m. •  you can drive the car in the evening •  you have the beginnings of a hobby •  you can read a book and remember it •  you can watch a movie and stay awake for it •  you can actually cook the food in your fridge instead of eating popcorn for dinner •  you lift your head, look around, and feel like things are ‘possible’ •  you feel proud of yourself. 
Keep a short journal of your own, particularly for the first 60 days. By keeping a daily record you can see the grass grow. And you can more clearly identify that some periods of time are shitty but that they don’t last, and they’re followed swiftly by easier days. You can start your journal with this entry. Start with a list of 10 things: 1. The way I drink has affected my ___ 2. And my ___ 3. And my ___ 4. It’s caused problems with ___ 5. And ___ 6. It’s made me feel ___ especially when ___ 7. I nearly had a disaster when ___ 8. And this was just about a disaster too: ___ 9. I’m tired of waking up feeling like ___ 10. People who will be relieved that I am sober:  ___
It’s entirely possible to have sober fun, of course it is :) Those of us who are longer-term sober have plenty of fun. There’s nothing better than waking up without a hangover, without regret, without shame. There’s nothing better than being on a beach and being sober and watching a sunset. There’s nothing better than coming home at the end of a long night, or dancing until 4 a.m., knowing that you had a fabulous time, that you rocked it all without a drink. To think that you need alcohol to have fun is Wolfie talking. You were fun when you were 12 years old. You’ve had hilarious pee-your-pants laughing with your best friend and it didn’t involve alcohol. Wolfie tells you that kind of shit to encourage you to drink, but it’s not true. Can you dance sober? Turns out you can. Who knew.
If you are in prelapse, then you will want to do things right away that might make you feel better. Even if you have to try things mechanically, one after the other. You’ll say “I got enough sleep that didn’t work, had a nap that didn’t work, went for a run that didn’t work.” Then you go on to the next thing. You have a treat, that didn’t work. You watch bad TV, that didn’t work. You read blogs, write in your journal, comment on blogs, listen to audios, email somebody, reach out, go to a meeting, listen to something inspirational—you go through the toolkit. And here’s something that will seem obvious when I say it: If the first tool doesn’t work, it does not mean that the whole thing is hopeless. It means that you go on to the next tool. 
You are more likely to be successful if you: •  Reach out for support. It’s hard. Do it anyway. •  Sign up to have a sober penpal. Email your penpal every day. •  Share real stuff, don’t exaggerate, and don’t leave things out. Be truly honest with at least one person in your life about your booze stuff. •  Reach out instead of drink, cry instead of drink, walk instead, email me frustrated instead (the people who don’t email are more likely to get alone in their head with Wolfie who will always say that drinking is a good idea). •  Remember that successful treaters do MUCH better. It’s shocking how much better they do. Once you figure out the self-care treat thing, you’ll find this whole sober experience to be much easier. If you resist treats, don’t understand them, don’t think they apply to you, then I worry about you (see below). •  Get enough support, load on a lot to begin and then ease off as time goes by and you feel stable. Be cautious. Don’t fuck with sober momentum. •  Tell on Wolfie—share when you’re having weird thoughts, externalize the voice, tell on your inner addict. •  Read stuff that supports you and turn away from what doesn’t. You don’t read about moderation, you don’t read blogs that get under your skin, you turn away from people who repeatedly relapse if that makes you feel wobbly. •  Protect your sobriety, avoid situations and people that may trigger you. Your sobriety is a like a little chick that can easily get squished in traffic.
Write in a journal every day for your first 30 days sober, no matter what (can be private, or anonymous on a blog, doesn’t matter).
Read sober blogs at least one hour a day, every day.
Rethink your evening routine
Have a bath/shower every evening, early, so that it sets the mood for the rest of the night.
Plan and purchase replacement drinks that you can have during the witching hours. Bitter is better.
Schedule something to coincide with Wolfie time
Get yourself daily treats for the first two weeks, and then something every two days thereafter.
Get as much sleep as humanly possible. Take naps. You will need a lot more sleep than you anticipate.
Go to bed every time you feel crappy, when you feel you’re about to drink, or when you are agitated and need a time-out. Bed is a good, safe place to hide.
Sober first. If you push yourself too hard, and load on too many goals at once, Wolfie comes in with “this is all too hard.”
Pretend, for a while, that you’re sick, that you have the flu, that you need to take good care of you—very, very good care.
Try to do some kind of physical exercise every day, even if it’s only for 10 minutes
Rent/stream new TV shows and movies as your sober treats, that you can watch only if sober.
Give up any ideas of a clean and tidy house for now.
Please know that crying is totally normal, required, and necessary.
Take pictures of things that you’re grateful for now that you’re sober. It can be simple things like a good cup of coffee, the view from the window, your girls playing dress-up. You can do a sober photo project.
Avoid overwhelm as much as possible. In fact, strive for “underwhelm” and engage in some truly slothful behaviours. It’s OK to be in your jammies watching a show on your iPad. You’re sober. Sometimes bed-snuggle time is required.
Pet your cat, dog, or horse. You know already that this makes you feel better.
Listen to sober audio and podcasts. Find specific topics or episodes that resonate with you. Listen to them on repeat.
Accept that sober motivation is like deodorant: it needs to be reapplied every day. Stop feeling like you should be able to do this if you ‘try harder’. You will need to ‘try different’.
Ask for help.
Accept help.
Ask for and listen to advice from other successfully sober people.
See irritating people as people with struggles. We were irritating too. We were dealing with stuff that other people couldn’t see. Drop your shoulders and see that woman as lonely, or hurt, or needy. She’s not trying intentionally to make you crazy.
Share the nonsensical things that Wolfie tells you—share with another sober person who will truly ‘get it’. Be shocked and then amused that we all hear virtually the same thing.
Find some small activities to do in the evenings to help occupy the empty time. It doesn’t take long for regular life to flow back into the spaces that alcohol consumed, but to begin it’s helpful to have some projects. Decluttering is helpful. It’s cleaning up, from the outside in.
Have something you can wear, some special piece of jewelry, that reminds you that you’re sober and that you’re special. Rub the jewelry. Bestow it with super powers.
Find ONE person that you can be 100% honest with about your drinking, about your thinking, your worries, your struggles, your excitement, and your joy. That might be a counsellor, sober mentor, a coach, sponsor, or a sober friend. You should have at least ONE person who truly gets what it’s like to be you.
Accept that the first time you do everything, it’s going to be a little weird.
When you are facing a shitty hard thing, or a weirdly tempting event (like a staff party), then plan a sober treat you’ll have AFTER you’re home again, safe and sober. Don’t skip this step. Wolfie likes to come in with “where’s my reward” after we do something hard. So you want to remember to have these treats pre-planned.
Be pretty darn proud of yourself.
You have to celebrate your successes. No one is coming in to do this for you. It’s you. It’s up to you.
Walk out of your office, cross the street, have a cry, get a take-out coffee and a pastry, call it a sober treat, email me that you’re doing OK, and then go back to work. Even if you remove yourself ‘briefly’ from whatever situation is making you feel crazy, you can give yourself some time to settle and feel better.
Find tools that work and keep using them. Don’t drift from your sober supports. You know how people stop taking their blood pressure medication as soon as they feel better? Whatever you’re doing is working, so keep doing it. 
Know that Wolfie wants to get us alone in our head, where he can say: “Drinking seems like a good idea. You can probably have one.” Resist this kind of wolfie-solo-nonsense-manipulation by reaching out, telling on your inner addict. Wolfie is a bully and hates it when we share.
What you’re doing is for YOU. Your partner is on their own road. You can do what’s best for you.
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