#we all have moments where we just drink milk straight out of the carton box | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

itsstrange · 3 years

Text

Quirky Ways

Relationship: Karl Urban x Reader

A/N: The reason I wrote this small fic was because it’s based on true events and the way it played reminded me of Laz Alonso’s ocd, LOL. So..whatever you are about to read is something that actually happened to me a few days ago. No Joke.

And Yes! It was still safe to eat. Mom.

Summary: Reader is in a convention promoting The Boys with the cast, when she does something that surprises a co-star but also makes Karl remember why exactly he fell for her.

Words: 1.8K

Warnings: (None) Fluff, cute, humor, germ phobia, ocd mentioned,

————

Enjoy!! ✨💕

————

“The Boys ladies and gentlemen!” The host yells into the microphone, the crowd cheers as you all climbed off the stage,

Once back stage, everybody took a group photo before heading off to take individual photos. Once that was out of the way everyone began doing short interviews before heading off to their next destination, which was either more interviews or in your case, finally meeting fans. After a long day of multiple interviews with multiple reporters, and multiple photo shoots, you were finally getting to the end of the day. It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy it, hell, you wouldn’t be who you are right now if it wasn’t for your amazing fans, but there are times where it can be exhausting. You’ve been doing conventions for a few years now, but even then, your energy will be consumed by the end of the day. Leaving you passed out on your hotel room with drool, possibly, falling out of your mouth.

Although on the bright side, you will admit; feeling completely drained out will give you the best nights sleep of all time.

You, along with Karl and Laz, made your way down the hallway where you would be doing auto ops. You were excited, just like any other day when it comes to meeting your fans. As you were walking side by side with your handler, Karl and Laz were right behind you, talking amongst themselves about god knows what. Most likely making plans for later on in the evening and trying to figure out which bar would be best to go to for drinks. You could have cared less, considering they always know which bar has the best service with the best drinks. As long as they have a joint picked by the end of the day, then your all settled.

While walking down the hall, your handler goes on about having to answer a few fan questions after the auto session before calling it a day. You nod your head and continue to walk down the hall, however, as you were about to walk through a door you recognized a nearby trash can by the wall. It was filled to the brim, but right on top was the familiar medium size carton box of Oreos. Just as you were about to go through the door, you reach out for the box, slightly bumping into Laz from your sudden movement.

“What are you doing?” The man asks, switching his gaze from you to the trash bin,

Quicker than lightening, Laz’s face turns to disgust when he sees you picking the box from the trash.

“No, do not!” Laz says in disgust as he tries shoving you away from the trash bin,

“I put them there,” You argue back and quickly grip the box of cookies before walking through the door,

“That’s disgusting!”

“I put them there!”

“Doesn’t matter if you put them there! They were in the trash!” A small smile tugs on your lips as you walk down the room,

“I had just put them there, besides they are in a box,” You glance at him from your shoulder as you open the carton,

Laz shakes his head, disgust still written on his face. Karl however, was only watching the two of you bicker with a smile on his face and slightly shaking his head. It was nothing new he hadn’t known from you, when you did surprise him however, he would only stare at you with a small smile slowing appearing on his lips until he tugs you closer towards his chest and plants a loving kiss on your head.

“Kid,” Laz warns you when he hears you opening the wrapper next,

A soft chuckle escapes from you. You just love messing around with Laz, he was like your older brother. He loved you and always made sure you were doing okay, and when you weren’t having the best days he would make sure to brighten your day as much as he can and as much as you allowed him to. What you loved the most about the man was he had the same humor as you, both of you enjoyed pranking one another or your co-stars. Like the time you and him teamed up on Jack, filling the poor guys trailer with glue traps all over the floor. He was honestly the best partner in crime you could have asked for.

“Y/n don’t-,” His words die in his mouth when you turn around, looking at him straight in the eyes you shove a full Oreo cookie in your mouth,

Laz’s face twists into a sour expression, making you grin around the cookie. He covers his mouth with a fist, still staring at you with such disgust and disbelief. In all his three years that he has known you, he has never been truly surprised by your weirdness, until now. Before turning back around you look over at Karl who was only staring at you with such amusement and a small smile. You grin at him, teeth full of chocolate and earning a soft scoff along with a shake of his head.

“Ma man, control your girl please,” Laz darts his gaze to his friend as he pats his shoulder,

Karl only shakes his head again, “You and I both know not to mess with her and her cookies mate,”

You softly chuckle at both men as you continue to stuff your mouth, grinning wider when you hear Alonso’s comments about how unsanitary the trash is and how he didn’t know you were dumpster diver. However, Laz’s ridiculous comments wasn’t the only reason why you had a wide smile on your face. The second reason was due to what Laz had said not too long ago.

‘Your girl.’

What made your heart flip in your chest was how Karl didn’t even deny the label. It has only been four months into your relationship and the thought of you being his girl was honestly the best feeling you and any other girl out there can possibly have. It’s close to saying the words, but without mentioning, at least that’s how you felt and saw it. Not that you haven’t said those three words yet.

You two have been friends for a few years now, but those feelings grew as time passed and only got stronger. Neither of you had told one another, too afraid about what the other would say or feel about it, so the both of you kept amongst yourselves. Until one day at a wrap party, where you both had a few drinks in your system and feeling bold enough to finally reveal to each other. Which then resulted in you both waking up in each other’s arms, nude.

“Okay, we have another 30 minutes before you all have to start,” Julie, your handler says as she checks her phone,

“Perfect!” Laz claps his hands together, “Gonna hit the can real quick,”

With that, Laz begins to walk down the opposite side of the hallway towards the men’s restroom. His own handler and bodyguard following right behind him. Leaning against the wall as you wait for him to come back, you continue to eat you cookies.

“Hey Julie, you think you can find me some milk around here?” You ask just as you shove another Oreo into your mouth,

She nods her head as she looks down at her phone, “Once your settled out there I’ll make a quick run,”

You nod at her with a smile, reaching into your carton for another cookie just as a firm hand settles on your hip. A small peck on your cheek makes your smile widen, along with a small wave of goosebumps to run down your cheek and the side of your neck. Looking over your shoulder you immediately lock eyes with Hazel ones.

“Cookie?” You ask around a mouthful and shaking the small carton in your hand,

Karl only smiles at you as he kindly declines the offer. You look back down at the carton to pull out another cookie, but the feeling of eyes lingering makes you glance over your shoulder once again.

“What?” You ask when you see Karl looking at you with a small smile,

He shakes his head and places a strand of hair behind your ear, “Just remembering why exactly I fell for you,”

You smile with a blush and turn around to face him.

“Oh yeah? And what was the reason?” You wrap an arm around his neck while he wraps both arms around your waist,

“You and all your quirky ways,” A chuckle escapes from you,

“You can still back out if it get too weird for you,”

“Trust me darling, I wouldn’t want it any other way. You’re perfect the way you are,”

And he meant it. He honest to god meant it. Your entire personality, humor and heart of gold was unique. The moment you shared your true side with him, he right away knew you two would become great friends, but as the years passed his feelings for you only developed along the way. Till the point where he wasn’t able to hold them in anymore and just had to let you know. He wasn’t going to lie, if it wasn’t for the alcohol in his system he would have never thought of telling you how he truly felt. So till his day, he thanks Heinz for taking the wheel.

You stare into his Hazel eyes with a smile forming on your lips. With your free hand, you gently guide him down until your lips latch.

“I love you too,” You say once you breaking the kiss,

Karl smile softly at you, gently rubbing his thumb on your cheek before bending down to peck your lips once again.

“Alright, Grungie, Oskie ya ready?” Laz’s voice coming down the hallway makes you both to look up,

The random, yet odd, name makes Karl raise his brow. Giving the other man the famous Bones McCoy stare.

You furrow your brows at the nickname, smile tugging at your lips, “Did you just call me Grungie?”

“Yep. Fits you well from what I just witnessed,” You chuckle at him,

“And Oskie?” You question the name as you nod your head towards Karl, who still had an arm wrapped around you,

“Well he is your partner, only makes sense for him to be Oskie,” Laz defends himself as he walks away from you two,

Both you and Karl look at each other before softly chuckling.

“Guess where Sesame Street characters now,” You say as you toss the empty carton into a nearby trash bin,

Karl shrugs, “At least he paired us with the appropriate characters. Besides, if I can handle your weirdness in the real world, I’m sure I’ll be able to in the cartoon verse,”

You smirk at him, “Sure about that Oskie?”

He smiles at you and reaches out towards your hip, bringing you against his chest.

“Absolutely,” With that he bends down towards your lips, pecking them softly before pulling away from you and letting go through the door first,

While in the process of signing fan art, and other amazing things, your handler places a small bottle of milk in front of you with a miniature Grundgetta hugging the neck of the bottle and a small note written in black ink that read:

To: My Grungie

From: Your Oskie

————

- Hope you enjoyed this!! Because I enjoyed writing it! 💙💙✨

- If you have any questions or request lmk!! My inbox is Aways Open! 📨

-Turn on post Notifications 🔔for more updates!!

————

#karl urban #karl urban x reader #the boys #billy butcher #billy butcher x reader #bones mccoy #fluff #star trek #cute #marvel #kissing

139 notes · View notes

swan-of-sunrise · 3 years

Text

The Winter Soldier (Chapter Five)

Summary: (Y/N) and Sam are visited by Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff, and the novelist makes a life-altering decision.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings/Disclaimers: Brief discussion of PTSD

A/N: Hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Five (Previous Chapter)

Yawning loudly into her hand, (Y/N) poured some milk into her bowl of chocolate Cheerios, grabbed a spoon and sat on a stool at the kitchen counter. She turned on her laptop and began reading through the day’s top news headlines while she ate her breakfast; thankfully, it appeared that the manhunt for Captain America was still going on, which meant that S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn’t yet apprehended him.

The backdoor of the house opened and Sam entered, breathing heavily and covered in a layer of perspiration; a smile brightened his face once he noticed her presence. “’Morning, Booksmart!”

“Hey Sam, you have a good run today?”

“Yeah, it was okay.” Sam wiped his brow with his sleeve, his expression suddenly sheepish. “Um…thanks again for last night, (Y/N). It really meant a lot to me.”

The night before, Sam had another intense nightmare about the last Air Force mission he’d flown with his partner, Riley. (Y/N) was woken up by his loud moaning and thrashing from the room across the hall, so she quickly threw on her bathrobe and went to him. As she’d done countless times over the past year, she’d carefully wrapped her arms around him and spoke soothing words until his eyes had eventually fluttered open, and as his face filled with pain, Sam flung his arms around her and they fell asleep in each other’s embrace. It hadn’t been the first time she’d helped him through one of his nightmares, and she doubted that it would be the last.

“I’m your best friend, Birdbrain, it’s in my job description. That, and annoying you whenever I think you deserve some annoying.” Her soft smile turned into a frown as Sam opened the refrigerator and pulled out the carton of orange juice. “I swear to God, Sam, if you drink straight from that carton I’m gonna have to kill you. That’s disgusting!”

Sam’s loud laugh was cut short by a knock on the backdoor. They exchanged matching looks of confusion before Sam headed for the door, (Y/N) following closely behind. He raised the blinds and opened the door to reveal Steve Rogers and Black Widow standing on their back porch, both covered head-to-toe in grime and looking completely worn-out. “…Hey, man.”

Steve’s weary eyes glanced between the two of them. “I’m sorry about this. We need a place to lay low.”

Black Widow’s smile was apologetic as she elaborated, “Everyone we know is trying to kill us.”

(Y/N) and Sam exchanged a look before he opened the door wider and said, “Not everyone.” With looks of gratitude, the pair hurried into the house and Sam closed the door behind them, careful to close the blinds and lock the deadbolt.

“We haven’t been properly introduced; I’m Natasha Romanoff.”

(Y/N) smiled politely and shook Natasha’s outstretched hand. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N).” After Sam introduced himself to her, (Y/N) gestured to the hallway and continued. “You guys are welcome to use our shower if you wanted to clean up a little; I think I may even have some spare clothes somewhere…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After showing Steve and Natasha the bathroom down the hall and letting them use Sam’s bedroom for some extra privacy, (Y/N) dug through her closet until she found the clothes that her brother and girlfriend had accidentally left when they’d visited last; she’d been meaning to send them back, but it would seem that the two fugitives they were harboring had more use for them. Pausing a moment in front of the closed bedroom door, she placed the box on the floor and hurried back to her room to get dressed before going back to the kitchen. When she got there, Sam was in the middle of scrambling eggs so she quietly began buttering some toast.

“They didn’t look too good, Sam. What do you think happened to them out there?”

“Not sure, but it must’ve been pretty serious for them to come here of all places for help. You mind finishing up the eggs while I go change out of these workout clothes and tell them the food’s ready?”

(Y/N) gave him a small smile and took the spatula from him. “’Course not.” Sam patted her shoulder and left the kitchen, and to distract herself from her worries, she began absentmindedly humming to herself while she finished scrambling the eggs.

“Hey, a tune I actually recognize.” (Y/N) glanced away from the stove to see Steve standing near the refrigerator. “You really enjoy music, don’t you?” When she tilted her head in confusion, he elaborated, “I took a wrong turn in the hall and caught a glimpse of your room. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many records and CD’s in my life.”

(Y/N) shrugged noncommittally. “Yeah, I guess I do. There’s something comforting about music to me…it makes me feel like no matter what happens in my life, good or bad, music will always be there for me.” She cringed at how cheesy her words sounded out loud and quickly added, “That probably doesn’t make much sense, though, just forget it…”

Steve’s mouth curved into a small smile. “I think I understand a little…thanks for the clothes, by the way.”

Switching off the burner, (Y/N) took the pan of scrambled eggs and began dishing the food onto two plates. “They fit all right? My brother and his girlfriend visited a while back and forgot some of their things here, they’re about your guys’ size…”

“Yeah, they fit great.” He adjusted the hem of his dark grey shirt before glancing back up at her. “So, were you humming ‘Pistol Packin’ Mama’ just now ‘cause something good’s happening or something bad?”

(Y/N) thought for a moment before answering. “Both, I guess. You guys are both safe, which is obviously good, but something’s going on. Something that must be pretty bad for you to come to the two of us for help.”

Steve stared at her with curious eyes for a few seconds before giving her a brief nod and accepting the plate of food she handed him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, Hydra’s been infiltrating S.H.I.E.L.D. this whole time…” Sam said, his eyes trained on his clasped hands. After they had eaten, Steve and Natasha had explained everything that had happened, from their mission on the Lemurian Star to the missile strike at Camp Lehigh where they discovered that the terrorist organization had been growing and thriving within S.H.I.E.L.D. for seventy years. “And they’ve been using this Winter Soldier guy to silence anyone unlucky enough to uncover their existence…”

“And they’re planning something big so they can try to take control of the world. Again.” (Y/N) finished, glancing away from Sam and across the table at Steve, who nodded mutely.

Natasha paced beside the table with her arms crossed over her chest. “So, the question is: who in S.H.I.E.L.D. could launch a domestic missile strike?”

“Pierce.”

“Who happens to be sitting on the top of the most secure building in the world,” (Y/N) pointed out, rubbing her forehead as a headache began to form and wishing that she could play some of her music to calm herself down.

Steve frowned, and she could practically see the wheels turning in his head. “But he’s not working alone, Zola’s algorithm was on the Lemurian Star.”

“So was Jasper Sitwell.”

Natasha’s comment made Steve sigh. “So, the real question is: how do the two most wanted people in Washington kidnap a S.H.I.E.L.D. officer in broad daylight?”

“The answer is: you don’t.” (Y/N) hadn’t noticed that Sam had stood until he dropped a familiar file onto the table in front of Steve. When the super-soldier picked up the file and shot him a questioning glance, Sam added, “Call it a resume.”

“Sam…” (Y/N) jumped to her feet and stood in front of her friend as Steve and Natasha glanced through the file. “Are you sure?”

Sam gave her a comforting smile and nod as Natasha spoke. “Is this Bakhmala? The Khandil Khandil mission, that was you?” She glanced at Steve with an impressed smile. “You didn’t say he was para-rescue.”

“Is this Riley?”

(Y/N) gently took Sam’s hand as he nodded, knowing how difficult his decision was for him. He wouldn’t be getting back into all this if he didn’t believe that it was the right thing to do, she thought grimly, his hand tightening slightly around hers as the others continued to read over the file.

Natasha flicked through the pages of the file, looking up at Sam with a furrowed brow. “I heard they couldn’t bring in the choppers because of the RPG’s. What did you use, a stealth chute?”

“I’d check the next page if I were you.” (Y/N) couldn’t help but smile, remembering when Sam had told her about his military service and shown her the pictures of the EXO-7 Falcon pack. That’s when she began calling him ‘Birdbrain’ in retaliation to his awful nickname for her, but her plan backfired when he ended up taking the insult as a term of endearment.

Steve and Natasha flipped the pages of the file and the super-soldier’s eyebrows raised in surprise as he looked up at them. “I thought you said you were a pilot.”

“I never said pilot.” Despite the serious situation, Sam couldn’t keep the smirk off his face as he spoke and (Y/N) rolled her eyes in amusement.

“I can’t ask you to do this, Sam. You got out for a good reason-”

Sam cut off Steve with a wave of his hand. “Dude, Captain America needs my help. There’s no better reason to get back in.”

“…Where can we get our hands on one of these things?”

“The last one’s at Fort Meade, behind three guard gates and a twelve-inch steel wall.”

Natasha shrugged when Steve glanced at her. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

(Y/N) frowned as the three of them began collecting the files and standing, suddenly getting the feeling that they were preparing to leave without her. In that moment, she knew that she had a decision to make; if she stayed, then her life and career would continue normally as long as all three of them managed to stop Hydra, but she knew she’d feel guilt for not doing her part to help and if they couldn’t stop Hydra, then the organization would succeed in taking over the world and countless lives would be destroyed. But if she left with them, she would become a target; her life, her family, her career…it would all be at risk if Hydra put out a warrant for her arrest; if it meant helping save the world and everyone in it, though, then there was really only one right answer…

“I’m coming with you guys.”

“Um…” All three of them stopped and looked at her, and Natasha was the first to break the silence as she glanced over at Steve. “I thought you said she was a writer.”

“Yes, I am a writer, but I’m still coming with you.”

Steve shook his head, his jaw set with determination. “(Y/N), it’s bad enough that Sam’s being dragged into all this but at least he knows what we’re up against. You’d be putting your life at risk by coming, not to mention your career.”

“You’re right, Steve.” (Y/N) squared her shoulders and stared down the super-soldier, her back straight and her arms crossed. “I’m not a soldier, or a spy or even a goddamn Avenger, I’m just a civilian who wants to help save the world that I live in. You three are about to risk everything to stop Hydra, and I’ve got no right to do any less than you, no matter what my occupation is. It’s true that the price of freedom’s a high one, but it’s a price I’m willing to pay. Besides,” She couldn’t keep the smug tone out of her voice as she spoke. “I already know how to abduct Sitwell in broad daylight without alerting Hydra.”

Steve kept his eyes on hers for a moment before turning to Natasha, who had an impressed look on her face as she shrugged. “I like her, and we could always use another person on our side, Steve.”

“I’ve known (Y/N) for over a year now; if she says she can help, then she can help.” Sam gave her a small wink, and (Y/N) felt a rush of gratitude for her best friend. “I’ll keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn’t get into trouble.”

Steve sighed and turned back to her; she only raised her eyebrows in expectation as she waited for his response. After a moment, he finally gave her a nod, the corner of his mouth lifting into a small smile. “You’re in. Now, you said you had an idea about getting Sitwell…?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4BenknAqQQnOWY8NmSa23V

Tagging: @mrs-obrien @lahoete @awkward117 @cminr @momc95 @awkwardnesshabitat @marinettepotterandplagg @khuang3 @supersouthy @benakenalove @brooke0297 @hufflepeople @becausewelie @outoftheregular @supreme-tantrum

Chapter Six

“The Winter Soldier” Masterlist

#steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers #sam wilson #falcon #natasha romanoff #black widow #captain america fic #captain america the winter soldier

102 notes · View notes

diegosclownshoes · 4 years

Text

more s2 progress! the agent and elliott talk and five brings back diego and lila. this part’s around 3.3k since I wanted to really get the ball rolling on the storyline, and I also really wanted to finally bring in diego, who’s my absolute fav lol

The agent turns away from Elliott and looks back at the spot where the boy had just stood. She puffs out her cheeks before pushing out a loud breath of air in exasperation. Elliott speaks up first.

“So I take it he’s... also from the future?”

The agent sighs. Honestly, she hadn’t thought this far ahead, about what would happen once her mission actually began. If she’s being completely honest with herself, a part of her believed it would never happen.When she’d told Elliott the truth about herself, that she was one of multiple children all spontaneously born on the same day, with superpowers, sent from the year 2007 on an unknown mission, she’d been more concerned with whether or not he would believe her. He’d accepted the explanation easily enough, and it hadn’t come up again after that.

“I think,” she begins slowly, “I think he, and the rest of what, his family? He called them that. I think it’s safe to say that they’re all from the future. But I have no idea what year. And I have no idea what they’re here for either. Because telling me would have been far too much.” She feels herself getting more and more angry as the words leave her mouth. “The only thing I know is that I was supposed to wait for them here, and then once he shows up, keep him safe. I don’t even know from what and I don’t know why. Hell I didn’t even know he’d turn up three years later.”

She knows she hadn’t exactly been The Handler’s favorite, and doesn’t blame her for it completely. Maybe it’s because she can still remember her parents, still remembers her mother’s voice as she sang softly to her each night, the amber of her perfume enveloping her as she drifted to sleep. Maybe it’s because she could never truly see The Handler as a parental figure; if anything she was more of a teacher, especially given the hours of training that made up the majority of the extent of their relationship. And while Lila happily called her mum, the agent, even as a child, would call her The Handler in a quick, clipped tone. She feels an odd mix of guilt in her stomach when she remembers the times The Handler would pull both her and Lila close, saying how proud she was of her daughters, regardless of the agent’s own coolness towards her.

Still, she thinks, abandoning her in a completely different time, stressing the importance of this mission, and then not giving her any direction, leaving her to wait in a constant state of anticipation eating at her is a little much. She hadn’t even gotten the chance to say goodbye to Lila, who no matter the peculiarity of their relationship, was still a sister to her. The Handler had insisted that Lila would join her on the mission soon, before she was sent through time with nothing but the clothes on her back and the photograph in her hand.

The agent’s pulled out of her reverie when Elliott speaks again. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, stepping closer and placing a warm, sturdy hand on her shoulder. “I know we’ve been pulling up empty, for years, but hey, this is a major step forward. This means it’s actually something. You don’t have to wait anymore, this is actually going to begin. And I’ll be right here too.”

The agent swallows hard. The emotions she’s been forcing down the past few years have caught up, and between the feelings of disorientation, anger, and insignificance that now bubble up in her chest, combined with Elliott’s reassurance, she doesn’t know what to say and doesn’t dare try. She blinks away the heat at her eyes and gives him a silent nod, and she’s grateful when he doesn’t try to nudge her into speaking. Instead, he gives her shoulder an extra squeeze in understanding before letting go.

“I’ll make us some coffee, and then we can discuss this when you’re ready.”

The agent sits across from Elliott at the kitchen table, fingers clasped around a mug of steaming coffee, and feels a sense of déja vu. That first night three years ago had them in the same arrangement, though instead of the distrust and trepidation she’d felt as she’d eyed Elliott back then, this time she feels a wave of gratitude. She gives the mug a squeeze, lets her palms feel the burn of the scalding coffee for just a moment before she lets go with a sigh.

“So.

“So.”

Well he’ll be back sooner or later, so we need to get our story straight,” says the agent, feeling much more in control of herself than she had before. “We already know he has powers, and it’s safe to assume the rest of his family does as well. Strange how he didn’t make any attempt to hide it though. He just zoomed around the place, pretty casually too.”

Well,” says Elliot, “He did also mention saving the world. Maybe whatever happens is worth letting a couple strangers in on his not-so-secret-powers.” The agent nods in agreement. “We definitely need to ask him about that too, he said he only has ten days? How does he know that?”

“I think being from the future kinda gave him a clue,” the agent replies drily. “Hm, but if it’s only ten days away he can’t have been born at the same time I was. That was 1989.” She frowns.” Wait, if the world ends in 1963 then how was I born?” Her eyes widen. “Do you think something from the future accidentally got sent back here? Whatever it is that’s gonna end the world? Like a Godzilla egg that got smuggled over or something?”

Elliott’s brows shoot up as he leans forwards across the table. “Could be. Do you think that’s why he was saying all that stuff about Area 51? Because it’s actually relevant to this end of the world business? Shit, there probably is some weird alien creature that’s going to doom us all. Think we bought enough groceries? Should we go stock up on some more?” He asks almost frantically.

“No,” the agent says quickly, “No, hold on, we don’t know for sure what it is yet. I think for now we should wait for him to come back, and then we’ll give him the rest of the info that we have on his family. At least then we can get an explanation out of them.” Elliot nods firmly.

“Agreed. I’ll get everything together in the meanwhile. And hey, we’re not going to bring up your own little skill now either are we?“ The agent quickly shakes her head.

“No, not until we know what the rest of them can do, and not until they actually tell us just what the hell is going on. We don’t even know what they’re here for yet either.”

”Well then, let’s get to work.”

They don’t see the boy again until the next morning. The agent finds herself awake earlier than usual, and a look out the window tells her it’s before sunrise. Groaning, she pulls herself up, splashes some cold water on her face, slowly gets dressed, and makes her way into the kitchen. She and Elliott have yet to splurge on an espresso machine, but they have a battered little Moka pot which works well enough for now. She’s just set it up on the stove top and is about to run down to grab the day’s paper in the few minutes it’ll take for the coffee to brew, when she sees a shadow flit across the wall behind the stove. She turns around with a startle and upon spotting the boy from the day before, lets out a sigh that’s somewhere between relief and annoyance.

“You know you’re gonna have to either learn to use the door like a normal person or make some noise when you’re lurking around in here like a little creep.” She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes, scowling as he, in turn, looks the least bit bothered.

“Well, this way’s just faster, wouldn’t you agree?” He eyes her for a moment before catching sight of the pot on the stove. The agent follows his line of sight before turning back to pull the coffee off the stove. She has a feeling she’s going to need it extra more than usual today. Wordlessly, she pours out two cups and means to carry them out to the table when he once again blinks over to right in front of her, takes a mug from her hand and lifts it up slightly in a silent (and what she feels is also mildly sarcastic) thank you. She scowls when she sees he’s once again taken her mug, but doesn’t have the energy to fight him on it.

Instead she says, “That’ll stunt your growth, you know. Can’t have that, now can we.”

“Speaking from experience?” He shoots back. The agent rolls her and takes herself over to the open area of their study-cum-living room, before perching on the arm of the sofa, the only clear place to sit on it as it’s still covered in piles of papers and cardboard boxes from Elliott’s search yesterday.

Speaking of Elliott, the man himself walks in right at the moment already dressed for the day. He spots the boy drinking coffee, leaning up against the arched entryway, and, as if this were nothing out of the ordinary, and schoolboys stealing their coffee is regular occurrence, pulls a carton of milk out of the fridge before pouring himself a bowl of cereal. The agent can’t lie, it’s not the strangest morning she’s had.

She watches as the boy pushes himself off the wall and slowly walks over to inspect the room. He stops and looks over one of the cork boards they have set up, photographs and video stills pinned to every available inch of its surface. Elliott trails after him, eating his cereal as he walks.

“Elliott, did you develop these photos yourself?”

“Of course. Can't exactly drop that stuff off at the neighborhood Fotomat. Government's got eyes everywhere." He takes another spoonful of cereal.

"I didn't see a darkroom."

"We converted the hallway closet,” the agent explains. She watches the boy pull a small yellow film box out of his pocket, then frowns when she sees him grab a pen off one of the tables and scribble something over the back of the box.

“Can you develop this?” He asks Elliott, but before the man has a chance to respond the agent’s on her feet and snatching the box out of his hand. She frowns.

“Why’d you scratch over the date?”

“The date’s irrelevant,” he shoots back shortly.

“Okay, well, if it’s so irrelevant why don’t you want us to know what it is?” She quickly pulls the box behind her back when he makes a grab for it. She quirks a brow, but before she can say anything the box is pulled out of her grip.

“Hey!” she protests and whips around to see the boy holding the box. “If you don’t stop doing that we’re gonna have a problem.” She glares.

“Oh, I think we already have a problem,” he scoffs, before Elliott plucks the box out his hand and flips it around, munching thoughtfully.

“‘Frankel Footage,’” he reads. “Friends of yours?”

The boy sighs. “Look, can you do it or not?”

“Sure I can.”

“How long?”

“Well, I mean, I’m running low on acetic acid. Beeker’s Camera’s is open today, but it’s two miles away. I mean, I’d have to take the bu-”

“It’s five hours, give or take,” the agent says, cutting him short. She knows when Elliott’s going to go off on a tangent annoyingly well by now. She’s about to again ask him why he’s hiding the date on the footage from them, before a crackling on the (stolen) police scanner interrupts.

“Attention all units, we have a code 3-15 at the Holbrook Sanitarium,” a man's voice says over the radio.

“The hell is a code 3-15?”

“Fugitives on the run,” Elliott explains.

The radio man's voice continues. "Twenty five patients still at large.” The trio make their way closer to the radio, the agent reaching over to quickly fiddle with it until the voice comes across more clearly “Many are considered armed and dangerous."

“Oh, Diego,” the boy whispers.

“You said that name yesterday, too,” the agent points out. “Who is he?”

“Imagine Batman,” he puts his hand out flat, then lowers it considerably, “Then aim lower.” The agent snorts, quickly covering it with a cough.

The indistinct radio chatter continues as the boy continues. “You get started on that film, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Before either of them can ask just where he’s going, he’s once again gone with a blip.

“Is it too soon to be getting sick of that already?”

The agent sits in the middle of a pile of newspapers. Elliott was finishing up on the Frankel Footage, and she’d spent that morning trying to piece together just where the rest of the strangers in the alley were now located. Diego, the only one whose name she was now familiar with, was arrested and placed in the Holbrook Sanitorium, the same place with the mass fugitive escape that morning. The next two were easy to pin down; the first was one Allison Chestnut, a prominent civil rights activist, and the second was simply known as Klaus, leader of one of the largest cults that she’d heard of. The last two, the insanely huge man, and the small woman in white, were much harder to track down. In fact, she couldn’t even find anything on the woman, but the man was a bouncer at a nightclub owned by Jack Ruby. That couldn’t be good.

She’s just finished writing down the relevant information on a slip of paper when she hears the door click open as Elliott enters. She watches as he begins to set up the now-developed film. He catches her gaze and beckons her over before heading over to close the curtains

“Now let’s see what we’ve got here,” he says. The agent nods, and then the footage rolls to a start.

It opens to an elderly couple struggling to determine whether or not their camera is on before it begins to make some sense.

“I'm Dan Frankel, and-"

"I'm Edna Frankel."

"Edna Frankel. We are in Dallas, Texas to see the president. Today's date is November 22, 1963"

"That’s six days from now!” Elliot says incredulously.

“Shit,” says the agent, as realization dawns on her. “Shit, I know what this is.” Elliott gives her a puzzled look.

“What? What is it?” Before she has a chance to reply, the sound of gunshots and screams break out through the film. Dan Frankel’s voice can be heard exclaiming, oh my God! The president!

Elliott’s face pales and he immediately turns to look at the agent. “What the hell was that? What the hell was that?” He gets up in a panic and as the agent rises to meet him he takes a stumbled step backwards. “You knew about this? You said you knew that what, that the president is going to be assassinated in six days?”

“Elliott, listen to me.” She holds her hands up placatingly. '' Yes, the president was- or, is going to be, assassinated and I knew that it happens but you’ve gotta understand. I mean just consider the years of history that happen afterwards. That was nearly 45 years ago in history for me! You can’t expect me to have remembered that And okay, I know about, so then what? What are we supposed to do about it? If we tell someone, the cops, anyone, they’ll think we’re threatening them. And even if we do something about this, and we manage to stop it, then are we just supposed to try to stop every single bad world event that we can? What happens then?” She finds herself out of breath as her words stumble to a stop and breathes in sharply.

“I-,” Elliott opens his mouth, then closes it. Then opens it again. “Look, I know you’re not a bad person, or a spy or anything like that, but you can’t expect me to not be a little skeptical at the moment!”

The agent sighs. “I know. I know, and I’m sorry, But it happens, and it’s not our fault. As bad as it sounds it’s a known historical event that just happens. I know what you’re thinking, but neither I nor that guy and his family are involved in it. It happened before I was born and sent back here, and it looks like it’s going to happen again now. As for the footage, I have no idea how he got that but again, none of us are involved.”

Elliott, still looking conflicted, though less so than moments before, sighs before taking a seat, dropping his head in his hands. “I-” He swallows before looking back up. “I believe you. You’ve been here for what, three years now, and you know how much I know too. You could have killed me for knowing any time. I just. It’s just a big shock.”

“Of course,” she replies immediately. “Of course, I know this is just ridiculous to hear. But I’m on your side here, and once that kid gets back we’ll ask him everything.” Elliott nods wordlessly. “Come one, I’ll make you a cup of coffee.”

It’s half an hour later when the sound of the front door of the shop opening catches their attention. Not a minute later there’s footsteps coming up the stairs and the agent heads over to check on who’s come. She’s unsurprised to see the boy, next to him a tall man with long, scraggly hair and an unkept beard (she assumes this is Diego, the escaped felon), but the sight of the next person her eyes land on makes her stop dead in her tracks. Lila.

Surprise flits across the agent’s face for only a split second before she schools her expression back into one of neutrality, maybe mild confusion. Lila, who looks considerably older since she’d last seen her, (nearly ten years older if she had to guess) looks unsurprised as well, and doesn’t say anything to her, though she does give her a cursory look

“Who’s this, five?” The man she figures is Diego asks. She scowls.

“Well I’m not sure how good your eyesight is but even then anyone can tell that I’m clearly not five. I’m twenty one, the same as what I’m going to assume your IQ is.”

While Diego looks annoyed, Lila bursts out a laugh and automatically holds up a hand for a high-five. The agent smiles softly and slaps her hand, hoping the gesture didn’t look as familiar as it felt.

The boy gives her an amused look, shaking his head before he says, “Five would be me. Though you’re right about my brother being less than intelligent.” The boy, Five (which, the agent thinks, is a pretty weird name), pointedly ignores Diego’s hey! Of protest. “And come to think of it, you still haven’t introduced yourself either.” He gives her an expectant look.

“Alright then, if you’re Five, you can call me Apeiron.” The smug feeling only lasts a second before Five, without missing a beat, replies.

“Huh. Well, while I can appreciate the use of ancient Greek, the language itself is actually derived from Sanskrit. If you want a truer version of Apeiron, I’d recommend Ananta.” He gives her an infuriatingly smarmy grin.

“From Final Fantasy?” Diego cuts in, confused.

“Final what?” Asks Elliott, then frowns. “Actually never mind, that’s not important. What is important, is just what the hell exactly it is that we saw on that footage and why you had it.”

#five hargreeves x reader #number five x reader #five hargreeves imagine #not me once again copping out of giving the agent a proper name

20 notes · View notes

bubbleteaa · 4 years

Text

the letters I never sent you; kageyama tobio x reader

m a s t e r l i s t

I. APRIL’S SKY IS AS BLUE AS YOUR EYES

On a bright and beautiful day, you feel blue. You feel your fingers numb because of the cold water on the vacuum flask you hold, your lips are curved on a straight line while you look for a lonely spot near the gym.

It's selfish to feel like that when everyone wants to be happy. It's almost a way of asking for help. Was it obvious for someone? You were new, well, everyone was new. You let those feelings burn in your chest, falling inside your core, whispering so softly that was aggressive at nights. At those careful sleepless nights.

The bags around your e/c eyes were part of your daily basis suffering. White nights that whispered at your ears how lonely you were, some tears help them out, some claws digging in your head trying so hard to stop thinking.

After a sleepless night, what's better that you stay alone at your secret spot?

Today is the same story, in life, or the noisy hallways of Karasuno High.

You feel blue because of that. The same thing that yesterday, the same spot that last week, the same lonely feeling encroaching your skin without a reason.

The only difference is that someone else is in your spot. You know him. He's in your class. His cold and intimidating gaze travel around you, from head to toe. You don't mind and you sit at his side. You can feel his deep blue eyes over you.

You feel it.

He is blue, he doesn't feel good.

He can feel that you are blue, too.

"It's weird if you keep staring at someone when they are about to eat" you start opening your bento box. You hear how he makes a little sound, something so silent that is noisy.

He is flustered.

"Your name is L/N, right?" then he speaks, you don't even see him. You can hear that he's drinking something "We are in the same class"

Ah, yes. Same class, really close to each other sits. The only problem was that both of them had weird social skills. Kageyama didn't talk to anyone and Y/N didn't know how to approach someone.

That's why she was blue.

"I can tell, Kageyama-san" that's the first time you see him at the eyes "Where's your lunch?"

"I already drank milk"

"Uhm, so you don't eat anything and only drink milk" you huffed "I can share mine with you, I don't eat a lot, anyway"

He looks confused at the moment, after staring at her for seconds, large and quiet seconds, he answered with a simple "What do you have?"

♡ ╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

Miyagi, Japan, April 8th

Dear Tobio,

There is no art in art if you don't know fire. It is the same thing that hurts when we do not say anything, but what we keep quiet. We don't see each other, we see the artist, the athlete, the liar.

Does that make sense? We live based on lies because it is almost impossible to live with honesty in a world built on fallacies. We are poor idiots, after all. We complain about what happens to us, but we created good and evil, didn’t we?

It is too early to be too late.

After a week in silence, today I heard how your voice sounded.

And I still don't understand why behind what your vocal cords articulated, I could feel a pain that made me want to cry. Do you also soak the pillow late at night? Doesn't it seem illogical to feel bad about anything or something that happened a long time ago? I lose control and only think about disconnecting from others and my life to stopping crying.

I am writing to you because the silence on your side is intoxicatingly comfortable. If I said it out loud, the words would be blown away by the wind; maybe re-reading this later I can understand how I feel.

I will never send you my letters, why would I?

I don't know why I'm writing this to you.

Goodnight,

Y/N

╚══════════════════════════════════════════╝

♡　

╔═════════════════════════════════════════╗

Miyagi, Japan. April 18th

Dear Tobio,

I've noticed two things about you since we first met: one of them is that you don't do your homework, and if you do most of the things you have written are wrong. The second is that you are very observant and it is difficult not to perceive your eyes above my figure when we are in class.

Stop staring and pay attention, please.

I think we are friends, at least that's how I feel. Before, I thought you did not belong to any club, and neither did you have friends. Now I know that you play volleyball and that if you don't buy a carton of milk for lunch, you buy yogurt.

The silences we spend together during lunch are still comfortable, sometimes you accept the food I offer you, sometimes not.

Taking away the fact that you are not as applied in class, I can say that you are in volleyball. I noticed that you love that shine in your eyes every time you approach the gym it is impossible not to observe.

It's very beautiful, you know, to have something that you're passionate about in that way.

For my part, I am still looking for a club that has nothing to do with mental overwork, I already have enough when I’m trying to explain what you do not understand minutes before starting classes.

It would be easier if you studied.

I have noticed that when it gets dark, April's sky is as blue as your eyes.

I think I like you.

I mean, your eyes.

I think.

Goodnight,

Y / N.

╚════════��═════════════════════════════════╝

♡　

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

Miyagi, Japan, April 20th

Dear Tobio,

Have you ever thought about what our life would be like outside of what we know? Sometimes when I see the rays of the sun sneak out the window in the middle of modern literature class, I can only think of the journey that our pupils go from the first day to our grave.

We see so many things, so many people, so many gestures; we see fire, we see clouds, we see tears of the sky landing on umbrellas. We know combustion and freezing, chaos becoming order.

I'm digressing.

But don't you think about it? That beyond our existence there are millions of orbits, that our life rocks under the sun and the moon, trying to worship something before it disappears, like millions of souls who are afraid and hide.

After all, we will not be remembered by anyone; or at least me, you have clear goals, dreams. I always wonder what to strive for, what things are for, what their purpose is. I suppose it is part of my egocentrism, before I know it I fall into the typical human vainglory, ignoring that I can plunge into the abyss.

Again, I am rambling.

I like this class, on the other hand, you don't seem to understand it. I have already told you several times that you must read to understand, not everything is memorizing. Either way, I already told you that if you needed help, you could write to me. Yes, I also can't believe I gave you my number.

It's just to text me if you need help!

Although it would be nice if ... we talked more, get to know each other better.

What am I saying?

Goodnight,

Y / N.

╚══════════════════════════════════════════╝

♡　

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

Miyagi, Japan, April 23rd

Dear Tobio,

Now, this is funny. You don't have a bad temper at all, just bad conversational skills. And also to express yourself without looking like you're going to kill someone.

Okay, we'll work on that too, Tobio. After all, we are partners, right?

Teammates.

As a friend without really being one. Well, I consider you as a friend.

Yes.

We are just partners.

Either way, I haven't decided which club to join yet. It's also not like I have many options, I just have to join one and ... suffer.

Being in a club is exhausting, how do you do it? You practice and practice without rest and you still see yourself as calm as every day.

Amazing.

Oh, by the way, stop staring. If you need to ask me something you just have to tell me, it scares me that when I turn to see you you are looking at me without blinking.

Your blue eyes scare me. It is as if they are trying to break down barriers that I dare not open.

Stop doing it.

But, lowkey I enjoy seeing your face all nervous when I tell you to stop doing it.

Why am I saying this nonsense?

Goodnight,

Y / N

╚══════════════════════════════════════════╝

♡　

"It's the third time this week, Kageyama" you frowned looking at him disapprovingly "You have to start doing your homework" you shake your head and looked at him. His blue eyes looked at you, almost begging.

"I was at practice and get carried away"

"I know, practice" then you laugh, and he gets flustered. He doesn't like to ask you for the homework, but he knows that he'll fail if he doesn't "This is the last time I borrow you my notes and homework. It would be easier if we study together" you gave him your notebook and you felt his touch. Rough, warmth, trembling. You smiled at him.

"Thank you"

You look at him. He doesn't curl his lips on a smile but you know that he tries.

He tries it for you.

I don't feel anything for you. You are just my friend. I don't fell in love, I don't need those feelings. I don't like you.

Guilt spits on her mouth for a moment. A knot starts forming on her throat, why? She was having second thoughts again. She was thinking about him in that certain way.

She tried so hard to not looked at him for the rest of the classes.

"I'm going home, Kageyama," you said, he nodded his head "Good luck on practice"

"Actually" his voice was smooth. So sweet, so intoxicating "We don't have practice today"

"Oh, then... see you tomorrow..."

"Uhm..." you can see a little blush on his cheeks. His pale skin looked tenderhearted "I... was thinking in..."

He can't talk after that.

The knot grew more and more.

"We can walk home together" you smiled so softly at him. He was enamored by your presence. So sweet, so unique, so his. His. Why he was thinking of it? You barely knew him.

"Then, we can get going"

He watches you taking your things. Your movements are in slow motion in his mind. How you took your bag, how you brushed some strands of your beautiful hair away of your face, how your hands seemed so tiny against his shoulder when you said to him that you were ready to go.

He never felt this for anyone before.

The way that you walk, so carefully without being slow. The way his eyes looked so beautiful as April's sky. The way he looked peacefully comfortable with you.

"Maybe we can study together"

"Uh..., yeah" the way his words sound. He doesn't like the idea.

"Only if you are okay with that. I know that sometimes I can be bothering-"

"You don't bother me!" your eyes are wide open when you heard him raised his voice "I-I m-mean, we can stu-study together..."

His voice sounds so angelic, his facial expressions are so sweet, so beautiful.

You look at him, you investigate his face. His cheeks are red, again, his pupils are floating everywhere, looking at everything but you. But you do look at him. The form of his eyes, the color of his irises, the shape of his jaw. His straight lips, his hair covering his forehead, the tiny dark eyelashes that protect his beautiful deep blue eyes.

You are handsome, Kageyama.

The words don't come out, but you smile at him.

"Okay"

Both blinked confused when they realize that the route to go home is the same. Your heart begins to beat rapidly as they turn the same corner, saying nothing to each other.

"Uhm ... do you live around here?" he is the one who decides to break the silence.

"Yes ... you do too"

"Well, my house is a few streets above"

"Ah, mine is right here"

Tobio stopped and looked at you, his eyes studying your face.

Why did you feel so hot on your cheeks?

"I guess here we say goodbye"

"Uhm, yes. Text me when you get home" you smiled lightly and Kageyama's heart gave a resounding jump, his cheeks turned completely red and he looked away with shame.

"Okay. See you tomorrow."

♡　

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

Miyagi, Japan, April 28th,

Dear Tobio,

I want to walk with you to go to school every day now.

Goodnight,

Y/N

P.D.: I think I know which club I’m going to join.

╚══════════════════════════════════════════╝

PART II

✩•̩̩͙*ೃ˚ ˡˡ ᵖʳᵒᵗᵉᶜᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ˚.*ೃ [t a g l i s t]: @softforshigi @trashys-things @clowninfortodoroki @lauraaflores09

you want to be on the tag list? send me an ask! <3

76 notes · View notes

almondharry · 5 years

Text

you look so good : two

you look so good [9.1k]

“Let’s get some pasta, green beans, kidney beans, and some lentils.”

Genevieve’s nose scrunched. “I don’t even know what to do with lentils.”

“I have a great recipe for a dal curry. I’ll teach you, it’ll be perfect. We can make a whole day out of it.”

A whole day? For lentils? Genevieve opened and closed her mouth shut, no words came out.

Arnold’s Singularity Theory

October 26, 2019

Her back was hunched over the wooden desk beside her bed. The high pitched ringing of her alarm snapped her eyes open at six in the morning. The sky was a navy blue; she could make out the few dog walkers on the street. It was her only day off, but the piled work on her table argued otherwise.

Genevieve was alone in her freezing apartment. The heating was broken and when she told Mr. Goldwin, her landlord, he didn’t have his hearing aid on. She had a routine for Sundays: Wake up. Do practice problems. Make a cup of tea. Sleep.

A dull ache prodded between her shoulder blades, her spine was sorely unaligned. Her face was all sunken cheeks and shades of grey. The sweater bought last month suddenly became a few sizes too big.

The sun created hues of orange and reds. The blue that slowly peeked out at the sides made it seem like a bowl of dirty paint water being stirred. The evening stillness in her flat was interrupted by the sudden roar of an engine. As she looked out the window, a car zoomed down the road with a blaring radio. An animated lightning bolt was left behind, its speed meant it was gone within a blink. An unsettling feeling made itself a home in the pit of her stomach. She pictured it as swirls, starting off as small slow circles, and eventually growing into sharp hurried edges.

It was probably nothing, maybe university kids having a laugh, but she didn’t have the time to mull over it because the swinging of her front door and jingling of a bundle of keys sounded loudly.

Meena opened the door to her refrigerator and the only thing there was a flickering light bulb and an empty box of orange juice. A high pitched shrill followed.

“Gen!”

Genevieve was out of milk, eggs, and cereal.

She wouldn’t have given it another thought and might’ve ordered take out or popped in at the Smalls’ to split a pizza with Jonah, the neighbour’s kid who she tutored every once in a while. He was the only child of a single dad who worked too many hours at the construction site to make rent. He wasn’t home often and they had a silent understanding of popping in every couple days to keep an eye on him, much like Meena liked to keep tabs on Genevieve. Except, Genevieve wasn’t a scrawny teenage boy who needed to be looked after, something which Meena would refute without a shadow of doubt. At the current state of Genevieve’s flat, the jury would easily side with Meena Ahmed.

Meena had a hand on her hip, her lips pressed in a firm line. She took a deep breath, pinching the carton between her thumb and index finger. “Gen-e-vieve!”

Meena put her foot down and opened the trash can only to find it overflowing. She held back a gag.

“Genevieve!”

After some rustling and movement on the other side of the wall, her feet stumbled out of her bedroom. An unimpressed snarl on her face, Genevieve’s body leaned against the doorway.

“I think by now everyone in this bloody building knows my name,” she said with a textbook in one hand and a pen in the other. She had not looked away from the pages. She hurriedly scratched an answer to her practice problems before it could float away from her brain. “That’s exactly the information they need to kick me out.”

Meena was in her work out clothes, a bright pink neon top with matching trainers. She looked straight out of a healthy living ad. She had glossy black hair, almond shaped eyes, and always smelled of fresh daisies. She had that all American smile and pearly whites that were blinding. She was into juicing, kale, and art history.

“What is this?”

“What’s what?” Genevieve inquired, her eyes glued on the next problem.

When a moment of silence went by and no response was given, her head shot up.

Her eyes flickered from the trash can—she thought she saw something move in there— to the open door of her empty refrigerator. Her lips fell into an O shape.

“When you told me you went to the shops on Tuesday, I didn’t know you were talking about two bloody weeks ago,” Meena huffed as she bent down to tie a knot on the black bag, her nose scrunched up. It was atypical to hear her accent try out British sayings, but amusing nonetheless. “Have you been eating?”

“Don’t be so dramatic. I do have instant noodles on the shelf. And I mainly eat at the diner.” Genevieve shrugged, her attention migrated back to her pages. What at first glance looked like to be ten simple problems turned out to be a mess of numbers and formulas that weren’t making any sense.

“That God awful place serves nothing but heart disease! It takes a whole stack of napkins to soak up that grease!” Meena scoffed as she replaced the bin with a fresh bag. On multiple occasions, she had cornered a frightened Walter to discuss his technique and may have even manipulated him to add a vegan alternative to his infamous pancakes. Thanks to Meena, Flo’s now served gluten-free, vegetarian, and no sugar added options. Genevieve firmly believed Walter did it out of fear, but he won’t admit it. “And instant noodles are not a meal, we have talked about this.”

“‘Course they are! An efficient one too.”

“What happened to ‘We’re gonna change things this year, Meena! Real changes! You won’t recognize me by the time I’m done’?”

If there was one thing Meena Ahmed took seriously, it was New Year’s resolutions. She kept every one ever since she was old enough to make them. She hadn’t missed a gym day for the past three years. When she said she would take on meditation, she actually did. When her mind became set on studying abroad in London, on January first, she was boarding a plane.

So when the following December 31st hit and Genevieve was one too many drinks in with Meena, she found herself making empty promises of eating better and taking care of herself. Little did Meena know that to Genevieve, resolutions were much like a two-week free trial. As soon as that time frame was up, you could up and go.

“I put in a solid effort for a week, and that’s what counts!”

“We need to go to the shops. You have nothing here. You need a list.” The pen between Genevieve’s fingers was swiped and the tearing of paper was quick from her notebook. She was also very much into being intrusive. “Let’s start off with the basics. Eggs, milk, bread. Do you want tea?”

“I can do my own groceries! I’m not a child, Meena!”

“Could’ve fooled me. By the looks of it, you’ve been living off frosted flakes. Do you even know where the closest store is?”

Genevieve scoffed and propped herself on the counter with the back of her elbows. “Of course I do, I am very much capable of taking care of myself.”

Meena paused. Her body turned towards Genevieve with her full, utmost attention. Her eyes scanned her from head to toe, Genevieve was being appraised.

She didn’t put effort to hide the worried crinkle forming between her brows. “Have you showered today? Changed your clothes?”

Genevieve wasn’t a slob, but she did let herself go at times. It was something that Meena, who religiously went to get fresh manicures every two weeks, couldn’t quite grasp.

“Oh, sod off! I was just about to run myself a bath before you came barreling in.”

She wasn’t, but Meena didn’t need to know that.

“Hm, what type of tea?” Meena asked after rolling her eyes dismissively.

“Green, please.”

“Let’s get some pasta, green beans, kidney beans, and some lentils.”

Genevieve’s nose scrunched. “I don’t even know what to do with lentils.”

“I have a great recipe for a dal curry. I’ll teach you, it’ll be perfect. We can make a whole day out of it.”

A whole day? For lentils? Genevieve opened and closed her mouth shut, no words came out. She sighed, getting Meena to budge was a faraway dream. She rubbed her strained eyes as Meena listed off something about the lack of vitamins in her diet. She was now on a tangent explaining how an increase in omega-3 and healthy fats in her diet could be beneficial when Genevieve's front door knob jiggled. There was a grunt and a strategic kick to the door, and it flew open.

“Gen!” he panted, his tongue slipped out unintentionally like a dog. His cheeks were flushed a cherry red, probably from the trek up the stairs. Jonah’s backpack was twice the size of him. He wore a shirt with his favourite comic book character, its armpits a shade darker than the rest of his shirt.

He had a ghost white face and his left eye twitched. “Hey, bud, you alright?” Genevieve raised a brow.

Little lungs took in a heavy breath, quite like pulling the handles of a bicycle air pump up.

“I don’t get the trigonometric equations! I have a test tomorrow! Mrs. Hansuld was going over the review in class and it looked like she was speaking Russian— and I know I should’ve been studying last week but they just released the new version of Triton Galaxy X and it was just so beyond cool, Gen. I am already on level twelve, and, well, now I have a test and I don’t know any of it. Nothing. Zero. I don’t think I can even add numbers anymore.”

Genevieve looked at Meena. Her mouth was parted from shock as she blinked at the frazzled boy in front of them. “You’re so tiny… but you, you speak so much and so fast.”

“Um, actually, you’re mistaken.” He raised an accusing finger. His height was a sensitive topic. He was at the stage where all his friends were getting growth spurts and growing like weeds, whereas he had yet to experience his own. “I am almost five foot and that is within the normal height range on WebMD, Docs4You and according to my pediatrician.”

Genevieve found it amusing that his voice reached a higher pitch the more defensive he got. He was a whistle by the end of his sentence. It also didn’t help that his last name was Smalls and kids in school could be cruel.

“‘Course, yeah, I’m sorry. My bad.” Meena nodded quickly. She knew she hit a nerve as she backed up slowly. She scratched the back of her neck. “Um, well, Gen and I were planning on picking up groceries, but I’ll go grab ‘em.”

“Great, I’ll go take my books out.” Jonah dragged his bag like a potato sack into the living room.

“You really don’t have to, Meena.”

“Gen, it’s no big deal,” she brushed off. “Anyway, I don’t think your pal wants me around much. I need an escape and maybe a magazine too.”

When Meena gulped uncomfortably, Genevieve shook her head. She pushed herself off the counter.

“Here take my card.” Genevieve shoved the plastic rectangle into Meena’s hand. A comforting squeeze was given. “If you get him one of those milk chocolate bars, he will forgive you in ten minutes tops.”

“Right,” Meena laughed. “I’ll be back in no time.”

***

October 27, 2019

There was a buzzing.

The room was swallowed in darkness, the crescent moon that hung behind the window didn’t provide enough light to warrant a quick search. It was enough of a reason for Genevieve to shut her half opened lids.

Except that the buzzing began again.

Genevieve groaned into her pillow until the nuisance came to a full stop. Whoever was beckoning her attention could do without it until the sun came up. There was an ache in her neck from the poor posture that her body folded in. To top it off, she had an 8:00 a.m. class. There were not enough hours in the night so she was clinging on to any thread of peace. She tossed and turned until she got the sheets pooled around her in just the right way.

Just when Genevieve was about to slip into the blissful state of unconsciousness, the aggravating buzz started once more. The less than pleased frown on her lips could surely make fresh flowers wilt. Her limbs were heavy with sleep as she moved her duvet to find the pesky device. Genevieve lived in a shithole. Labelling her room a shoe box would be bordering glamorous. Although, it did make it easier to find things.

It took a couple of shuffles and twists to hear the thud of a screen colliding against the floorboard. The damn thing was still ringing. The brightness on the unknown caller screen made her face glow blue and the back of her eyes burn; she shut them while blindly hitting the green circle.

“Hm?” Her voice croaked.

“You know the time I got you out of a thing?”

Their words were slurred and the glowing digits on her windowsill read 5:26 a.m. This meant one thing only. “No, sorry. Wrong number.”

Genevieve brought the phone away from her face, and just as her finger hovered over the red circle, a needy yelp cried out.

“Gen! Don’t hang up!”

Her eyes rolled with an aggravated sigh, fingers reluctantly pressing the device to the side of her head. There was sleep crusted in the corners of her eyes and she had to blink a couple of times to adjust to the darkness.“What do you want, Niall?”

“You see, I’m in this predicament… and I might need someone sober and with a car.”

“Then call a bloody Uber. Who do you think I am?”

“Look, I thought that. But—”

There was rustling on the other side. After some bickering, another voice spoke through the line.

“Gen, come get this tosser or else he will pass out on my floor. I swear, I’ll lock up with him inside.”

“How bad is he?” Genevieve was already pushing aside textbooks on her floor in search of a pair of trousers. With one leg inside and the receiver pressed between her cheek and shoulder, she hopped on her bedroom floor.

“Not good. He is a right mess.”

“I’ll be there in ten. Just keep giving him water, please? Thanks for the ring, Ted.” She knew Niall well enough to know that this wasn’t his bright and shiny idea. If it were up to him, he would pass out on a park bench.

“Got your number scratched on the wall for a reason.” The click sounded on the other side, then the line dropped afterwards.

It was true. If you looked hard enough you could make out the chicken scratched scribbles right under the faux payphone mounted inside The Cabinet, where the beers were cheap and Niall Horan was reachable at the slightest inconvenience that struck his life. Last week, it was because he had failed his mid-term. This week, the problem was blonde and walking across campus and shared one too many of his courses.

“No, Gen, she’s just too gorgeous, it’s unbelievable. I think I am in love.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it’s supposed to happen, but congrats.”

Ted adored Niall immensely when he was bringing more business to the pub and getting the word out, not when he was a blubbering mess on the sticky countertops. He sipped his drinks like water to the point that Ted would morph into a psychiatrist. This happened so often that it had become a ritual. The day Niall stopped burdening him with his problems was a day that failed to exist.

Much like her room, the small flat didn’t have the lights on. Genevieve didn’t need them to navigate her path, her fingers haphazardly pulled on her boots and plucked the bundle of keys from a mug.

Her car, a well-loved hand-me-down, was nothing lavish. It got her from point A to B without much resistance on good days. Her foot eased on the gas, with the route was well versed and memorized. After a couple of stop signs, her destination would be reached. The streets were empty and not one car was spotted at any intersections.

A light breeze roamed around and brought goosebumps to the surface of her skin. She should’ve brought a sweater, she thought, as her teeth began to chatter. Her dark hair was haphazardly twisted into a bun and rested on the top of her head. The car door shut behind her as she quickly jogged across the street to where the pub was located.

The street was lonely.

There were only a handful of people that would be up at this hour. This subgroup of people definitely did not include her. She thought she was still partly asleep when there was a familiar figure pacing down the sidewalk towards her. Maybe it was the dark, but even after she rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palms, the slope of the person remained familiar. As they got closer, the once blurred image sharpened, and she felt her stomach flip.

A slight panic arose in Genevieve’s eyes. He was too close of a distance for her to dash through the doors, and it would’ve been clear that she was making a run from him. She doesn’t recall when exactly their encounters began to turn dreadful. But the reality of the situation wasn’t how, it was the fact that they had. This was the second time he stood across from her. The rate of their reunions was at an all time high after years spent apart. It made a heavy weight rest on her chest, her own personal Sisyphus boulder.

Tiptoeing and maneuvering their way around each other was the hardest part. There wasn’t a book in the world that taught you how to stand across someone that you once spoke to every day. There was a time Genevieve could tell what each tilt, rise, and fall of Harry’s face meant. How do you go from sharing friends, laughter, a life, to becoming nothing short of hollow strangers? As they stood across from each other on an empty street, they only shared blank stares.

“Hi.” His breathing was a bit uneven, and Genevieve saw the beginnings of roses bloom on his cheek under the streetlights. His moose coloured hair was tucked under a beanie and there was a slight stubble on his chin.

“You are running?” Genevieve squinted at him. Navy gym shorts hung off his hips and a full sleeve athletic shirt was on top. “At five in the morning?”

Genevieve hated how Harry looked brand new. In the midst of a mountain worth of chaos and hurt, how he managed to look shiny, pre-packaged, and unopened was well beyond her. She had to hold herself together with her bare arms when her seems unravelled. Harry was happier before Genevieve and it was something she had to be okay with. There was no specific reason why. It was just how reality worked.

“By the time I’m done, it will be six. I’ll have to get up anyway.” His shoulders rose and fell in a mindless shrug. Genevieve brought her arms to fold across her chest, her fists cuddled under her armpits to trap heat.

“You’re insane.” Genevieve shook her head. The neon trainers he had on rivalled the brightness of the open sign hung on the doors of The Cabinet. When Genevieve thought she had made enough of an effort at a civil conversation, she turned around to push the heavy glass door. There was nothing else to say to him.

Conversation with Harry wasn’t always a chore. She was able to speak without having to think twice or second guess herself. Now, it seemed like every word led to a dead end of an inescapable maze.

Genevieve accepted that Harry was no longer the person she came to with her favourite songs, books and a cup of tea. She wondered if whatever reminiscent memoir she had in her memory of him served true till today. Her Harry was never the sober driver or the early bird runner. She did not expect him to stay the same. No, that would be cruel. But a small part of her wanted to know if she had known him at all.

Before her weight gave to the door, his voice chimed up.

“You’re drinking?”

“God no, I’m, um—No. I’m here for a friend.” Genevieve paused, a deep breath circled her lungs and helped her string some words together. “He’s gone a bit over the top.” She chuckled. It wasn’t soft and light, but rather felt like sandpaper.

“Oh, right. ‘Course.” Harry rubbed at the back of his neck with his fingers. He blinked to the ground, the cracked concrete suddenly became much more of an interest. “I wasn’t— it’s just, I run this route every morning and I never see you and maybe I thought—”

“It’s okay, Harry.” He began to run his fingers through his hair, the beanie scrunched in his left hand. “I really need to help my friend, yeah?”

“Right, I’ll see you around?”

Genevieve left his question hung in the air like forgotten laundry on a washing line. She thought it was better than saying I hope not. She didn’t want to mention that she tried to avoid him to the best of her ability. Genevieve knew his habits, his patterns. She had knowledge about places he went to, so, naturally, she didn’t. It was a triumph for her to go without months of seeing him. But there was only so much she could do. Juggling probabilities of his whereabouts would never assign her a one hundred percent assurance of erasing him, even with a ninety-nine percent confidence interval.

“Genny?” he called out again. The rational part of her wanted to pretend she didn’t hear him and walk through the door. Instead, she took a breath through her nose and turned around slowly. She wrapped her arms tighter together as the temperature dropped by the second. “Um, do you think we could talk sometime?”

There was a frailness to his voice. He was nervous. Genevieve knew this because he had made a mess of his hair with the number of times his fingers combed it back.

The next words off her tongue painted a sad smile on his raspberry chapped lips. He looked exhausted, the grey shadows under his eyes beckoned her to not beat around the bush.

“We are talking, Harry.”

Confrontation was a foreign concept to Genevieve. Brushing it under the rug and forgetting about it seemed the best way for her. If it is out of sight, it will be out of mind. But Harry had other plans. He wanted to strip the house down and uncover every corner Genevieve thought to be her hiding spot. It was an intrusion and she didn’t want him to come knocking down doors.

“No, I mean—”

“It was nice seeing you,” she said, her mouth set into a thin, straight line as she held eye contact. They were still the same deep green with golden flecks. She had seen them angry, hopeful, teary, but right now they were desperate.

The slight tilt to her head told Harry not to push it. To leave things as they were. He served as a walking reminder of loss and all the things she wanted to forget. Their situation did not have to go back to a normal distribution; their data was skewed, and the standard deviation was large enough to wedge a significant distance from their past to present.

Change was good, even if it was different. Over time, the further apart she was from him the better it was for her. And she hoped it was the same for him.

No one warned Genevieve that holding a grudge required discipline and so much energy. She felt drained, her bones became weak enough they could snap in half. There was no brochure that outlined the ins and out of the process. Your brain worked overtime to disguise clenched jaws and tight fists without any compensation.

On the surface, everything appeared smooth and stonelike. Beneath, lied the hot white anger. That type of anger was something no one wanted to intentionally claim; it was an orphan. It builds and builds and builds until you cannot see through it. You’re blinded, you’re revengeful.

“Yeah.” Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. He teetered on the balls of his feet and toes with his bottom lip caged between his teeth. He was debating on what to say next, and Genevieve wished it would be something short and quick. She wanted him to say a casual goodbye that was heard between strangers in a coffee shop or book store. Something that didn’t make her want to burst into a river of tears. “One more thing.”

“Hm?”

“Nice shirt.” There was a quirk to one side of his mouth where a dimple had coined itself on his cheek. It was an innocent compliment. Something a friend might say to another. Before she could give a reply, he had turned around and broken into a light jog.

Genevieve watched his figure become muddy until the darkness hid him completely. It was an odd thing to say, her appearance was something she could give less of a shit about at five in the morning. She had literally gotten out in the clothes she slept in.

Genevieve brushed his words off. She wanted a dry goodbye and he delivered. It was nothing more.

Without thinking twice, she pushed the doors open and warmth from inside greeted her. The pub remained looking the same since she had walked in with her two best mates three years before. It was a hole in the wall, fixed in between a thrifting and convenience store. It littered with mismatched chairs and alcohol stains, a pool table and dart boards lined the further corner, and a random sports channel glowed on the box TV. Niall’s blond hair was easily spotted; it laid on the century old cherry wood bar. The posture his back was slumped on the stool insured neck cramps.

The doors behind the bar came swinging open as the bells above chimed of her entrance. A rag rested on his shoulder and he wore a well loved band shirt from his touring days. For someone who was found frowning on most days, Ted beamed a smile at Genevieve.

“Good! You’re here!” His shoulders dropped in relief as she made her way closer to her friend. “He’s been miserable.”

“Gen? Is that you?” Niall grumbled from his position. “Oh, shut it, Ted. You’re giving me no option but to take my money elsewhere,” Niall slurred as he lifted his head off the wood. There were lines indented on his cheek from his possible snooze.

“Those are empty words.” Ted rolled his eyes easily and used his rag to clean up the surface that Niall previously occupied.

“You know what else is empty, Theodore? This glass!” It rattled against the countertop when Niall dramatically set it down.

Ted’s shoulders shook as he chuckled, crinkles lining the corners of his eyes. “I’m not pouring you another drop, mate.”

“Who said it was for me? Have you seen Gen? She looks proper in need of a few.”

With a deep sigh, Genevieve took the stool beside Niall. Her head slowly turned to scan the pub. A place that was the heart of loud laughter and cheers was dimmed down since they were the only ones. With her elbows propped up on the counter, she pressed her index fingers to her temples.

“You do look a bit poorly. Under the weather?”

“No, not at the moment,” she sighed.

“Well, you look like shit,” Niall blurted.

“Thanks, Niall, really.” Genevieve glared with a frown. “Remind me to never do a kind thing for you ever again. Sorry I wasn’t in full glam when you called at ass crack of dawn.”

“Did you see a ghost or something? You look sick.” Niall squinted his eyes and pinched her cheek between his thumb and index finger. It was rather quickly slapped away with a snarl. “Ouch!”

“Nothing a pint can’t cure.” A tall glass slid in front of Genevieve. Condensation dripped and pooled on the counter. The frothy foam rested on top and sat at the rim without tipping over. “On the house.”

A Stella didn’t sound like a bad idea to Genevieve. She felt like she deserved one. After all, two encounters with the person she disliked the most was beginning to become exhausting. The car keys weighed down in her pocket, her bones ached and her temples pulsed. A tired yawn stretched her face as the drink laid rested on the cherry wood.

Niall scoffed as Genevieve stared at the drink for a moment too long. “If you don’t take it, I will!”

His fingers crept to grasp the glass, and Genevieve batted his greedy hands away. “Paws off, Niall.”

A cold drink couldn’t hurt, she decided. The first sip eased the tense muscles in her shoulders. Niall found a basket of chips to pick at in the meantime. He probably ordered them to soak up his alcohol intake.

Genevieve could hear Ted in the kitchen. The shifting of pots and pans meant that he was officially closing up for the night. She thought the least she could do was flip the remaining barstools on the counter.

In the two seconds that she had abandoned her glass, she had turned to see Niall gulping like fish.

“No more!” He made a strangled sound as the rim was pulled from his lips. “Don’t need your puke in my car.”

Genevieve threw back what was left of the drink. “You could just pull the window down and I’ll mind me business.”

Genevieve squinted her eyes to catch a better look at Niall and she noticed he was turning a few shades greener. He had on a dopey grin and his eyes were almost shut. Niall became whiny when he got sick, and if Genevieve were to let that happen in the pub there would be no chance of him leaving.

“How about we get you to an actual sink, yeah?”

With an arm thrown over her shoulder and Niall almost near collapsing on her, she yelled a farewell to Ted. He was more preoccupied with rubbing the stove clean but he got the message, yelling muffled goodbye of his own.

The car parked across the street never felt further away. Niall was in his own world, mumbling some drunk words into her hair. Genevieve caught some that thanked her for taking care of him. She took each step slowly.

Getting Niall into the passenger seat was a process, one she thought she had got down pat. She had done everything as planned, put his head to the right, made sure he had enough room to stretch his legs and of course, double checked to see if he had his phone and wallet on him. Apparently, this was taking too long and Niall reached over to slam the door shut.

Genevieve had jumped back just in time that no fingers were caught between doors. She sighed in relief before shooting a glare at Niall. He looked at the fabric that stretched from her stomach. “Oops?”

Genevieve rolled her eyes at Niall, who burst into giggles because it turned out everything was more hilarious at 5:00 a.m. She tugged at the material.

It was old and ratty. It was two sizes too big and hung off her frame, there were stains, holes, some she never remembered putting in herself. It took her a moment, with the fabric bunched between her digits, the gears in her brain set into place. The sharp intake of breath hit the back of her throat and the air on the street suddenly froze.

***

October 27, 2019

“It’s stupid, Gen.” The clicking of a game controller didn’t halt. The animated character on the screen ran towards a glowing torch. Jonah adjusted the headpiece he had on over his ears, probably muting himself so the other kids wouldn’t hear Genevieve lecture him. Beside him sat a bowl of finished popcorn on the sofa, like his player two, and unpopped kernels rattled every time he enthusiastically surged towards the TV screen.

“This is due in two days, Jonah,” Genevieve emphasized. She had unzipped his backpack. His agenda was hard to read, his chicken scratch writing almost made Genevieve mistake a significant date for scribbles. It was for his English class, something that he had yet to mention, which Genevieve found odd because he always told her about his school work. Okay, it was more like Genevieve made sure he told her, but same thing regardless. “How are you planning on starting and editing and finishing it?”

She knew better than to talk to boys in the middle of a game. There was no use. Her experience regarding it only went one way, everything went in one ear and out the other. It was fascinating, really; their eyes would glaze over and for a short ten minutes the real world wouldn’t exist. They would become so immersed in whatever universe was in front of them. It had been once explained to Genevieve as almost the same thing as reading a good book, but with the exception that the player was put in charge of the main character’s decisions.

His tongue poked out at the side and the Playstation keys were innocent victims to his quick jabs. His shoulders deflated when the message on the screen informed him of the scoreboard. He grumbled something under his breath before his miniature joystick highlighted the option to opt for another round. “I’ll edit it while I’m writing it.” He shrugged mindlessly.

“I’m being serious.”

“I am too.”

“What’s up with you? You usually love finishing your assignments for Mrs. Yu’s class.”

“Look how stupid the prompt is,” Jonah grumbled. Genevieve’s fingers were already pulling out a crumpled rubric and pressing it flat so it stayed without folding in on itself. Eyes scanned the short blurb of instructions which Jonah soon summarized. “Pick a month and personify it. What type of pretentious—”

“I think it’s very neat. Creative. Have you selected a month yet?”

“Sure.” His flat tone said otherwise.

Genevieve rolled her eyes at his antics. “If you don’t spend enough time on this, she will give you an easy fifty. That will bring down your average and universities look at that. What will you do then?”

She reached over to the table to take a sip from her water bottle.

The Smalls residence was the same layout when compared to her flat, so it didn’t take long to get familiar to it. Granted, it was more furnished and had Jonah’s gaming consoles already hooked up to use. The latter being the deciding factor of Jonah’s executive decision to procrastinate his work for another week. Usually, Jonah would pop in after school to Genevieve’s, but she had just returned from a shift at the diner and his door was cracked ajar.

Like many days, his father left for the construction site and wouldn’t be back until after dinner, and the only appliance Jonah knew how to use was a microwave. Genevieve had some food which Walter packed for her and it was more than enough to share with a growing boy. His diet was worse than hers. He could go weeks on Pop Tarts and Twizzlers from his cafeteria vending machine. Plus, he wasn’t bad company to have around.

“Easy. Play the dead mum card. Works like a charm.”

Genevieve spluttered the water out, coughing since it had gone down the wrong tube.

“Jonah!”

Her jaw went slack and her eyes widened, a slight worry arose. She wasn’t well versed on the ins and outs of parenting—she preferred to see him as a younger sibling— or child trauma, but even she had a hunch that there was something troubling and incredibly off about the way he had referred to the passing of his mother so nonchalantly.

“What?” Jonah asked, dumbfounded.

“You can’t just say stuff like that!”

“‘Course I can. You have no idea the amount of pity and sympathy they throw at your feet. At first, I despised it, because obviously I wasn’t a knocked over puppy like they were making me out to be.” His character on the screen jumped to deflect an obstacle. A triumph smile was the direct result. “But then, I was like what the hell, you know? Like if it’s there already, why not play my cards right and score some sort of advantage from it?”

Genevieve blinked. She tilted her head to attempt understanding his analogy.

“Well, that sure is one way to look at it,” she said after a short pause. “But I am not gonna let you do that to Mrs. Yu. Something tells me you’ve already done it one too many times.”

He paused his game and finally turned to her, giving her more than his side profile at last. A hellish grin split his face. “How else do you think I got a month extension on that book report and a perfect score on our last quiz?”

“I don’t know… I had assumed hard work and honesty?”

“Wake up, Gen! This is the real world and the rules are different in this game!”

“Alright, bud, you’re cut off from this game.” Genevieve pushed the power button on the TV remote that laid limply to her right. The screen became black with a click. Jonah’s back hit the backrest of the sofa, the bouncy cushion slightly propelled him further before absorbing his weight. “Let’s at least get started on a rough copy, how does that sound?”

He groaned with his head tilted back and eyes shut. “Excruciating, torturous, maybe illegal.”

“I’m asking you to get a start on your project, not abducting you.” His pace to grab the rest of his belongings from the table two meters away from him could rival a snail. “Now, do you have a month in mind?”

“I was thinking maybe like February, December, or even October.” He opened an empty page in his notebook and clicked the top of his mechanical pencil to give away some lead. “Because, like, it will be easy to build a character off them because they all have some sort of festive holiday thing to them.”

“That’s a great start. But don’t you think it’s a bit expected? It is a creative piece, so let’s maybe brainstorm something out of the box. Try picking a month that doesn’t have a holiday attached to it.”

He sighed deeply through his nose. The thought of putting in a smidge bit of effort was like pulling teeth.

Jonah had started to doodle in the margins. He drew three tallies, evenly spread, and added another row of them. He then connected them in a way which Genevieve recognizes to be the symbol on a superhero’s chest.

“August?”

Genevieve swallowed a bug.

“Why did you pick that? What significance does it have to you?” Genevieve doesn’t miss a beat, it aided to mask her surprise.

“Well, I don’t know!” He throws his hands up exasperatedly. “You said pick one, so I did.” He pointed out, his tone reminded Genevieve of how a middle schooler says “duh”.

“Come on. Think a bit.”

“It’s like... sort of like the last month of summer and it brings in fall. Which is the season where we witness life slip away, but barely because it happens so slowly.”

Genevieve’s heart swells for two reasons. Jonah was a bright kid, well beyond his age. It was something he hid and purposefully tried his utmost best not to let shine through. Genevieve had guessed the reason behind his reluctance was mainly because Jonah was at that age where he just wanted to fit in and not stand out like a sore thumb. But every once in a blue moon, he would slip up. When he allowed himself to think out loud, his ideas lined in a way where it wasn’t just the tip of the iceberg anymore. The depth gave away his brilliance.

The first time Genevieve was left speechless by him was when he analyzed one of his favourite comic book characters with an intensity that put the burning sun to shame. Then again when he asked her to edit his essay on a world issue. And once more when he asked her how to approach a girl in his science class that he clearly fancied. Genevieve tried to define this tendency of his as a recurring variable in Jonah’s equation.

In many more ways than one, August held an importance like no other to Genevieve. It was a month that was easily overlooked because it was caught in a war for attention between the summer months and upcoming winter holidays. Its propinquity to strong competition was something that made it easy to forget. If it was a person, she was sure it would be a quiet boy around her age. Probably with a penchant for befriending girls and breaking hearts so slowly that you don’t even know it’s happening.

Genevieve hummed in agreement with Jonah.

“Go on.”

“Let’s say if I were to go with this month, I wouldn’t focus on death because that would be something colder, like December or January or like the first snowfall.” His pencil sounded against his notebook. A string of notes were effortlessly coming together as Jonah continued. He suddenly stopped writing and his face scrunched in thought as he stared at the blank TV screen with as much focus that could convince you it was on. “I think August is knowing you’re losing someone or something without the assurance of finding them again... and letting it deliberately happen.”

“Isn’t that almost death?” Genevieve raised a brow.

“Almost, but not quite.” He tapped his pencil to the metal like coils that ran down the side. “August is loss, parting away. You know, something along the lines of donating old clothes, a friend becoming a stranger, even placing car keys somewhere different.”

Genevieve knew exactly what he was talking about. She couldn’t really describe the feeling of losing a friend in words with sharp precision. It was the same as repeating a word again and again until it came to the point you deluded yourself into thinking it belongs to another language completely.

Jonah peered up, awaiting a response or another prompt to further his development. Instead, Genevieve smiled sadly and shakes her head.

“What?!”

“Nothing.” She laughed softly, a bit winded.

There was just something about him that was light years ahead. Something so pure and good and applaudable that made you think about the character that so many adults lacked and how it was sitting in front of you in a corked up bottle of a preteen boy. He had lost his mother, his father wasn’t around, he didn’t have many friends at school, and he picked the month of August. He had hit the nail on what it was so eloquently that Genevieve could burst into tears. But she refrained, instead opted to narrow her eyes jokingly his way.

“You’re just too smart for your own good, is all.”

That night she went to sleep thinking about August.

How he probably wore wrinkled shirts so effortlessly, with his hair in a gentle disarray. People would make a note to comment on his ridiculously long eyelashes, but she favoured his eyes. They were round and shiny and reminded her of a cloudy marble, the colour of slate. He was charming but had an air of coyness about him that was inviting and deliberate. With skin the colour of oat and a smile like rain, it came or it didn't, he was a knockout. She hypothesized the variable that contributed to his allure had less to do with his looks and more with how he made you feel.

He made you feel wanted, he made you feel like you were someone.

***

October 31, 2016

It didn’t take long for Genevieve to spot him, his back was slouched against the red brick wall of a tall building. A pair of old wayfarers sat on the bridge of his nose and his arms pretzeled over his chest easily. His jaw went slack then tight, this pattern repeated like clockwork until Genevieve got close enough to notice he was working a piece of gum lazily. With his head tilted to the sky and one leg crossed over the other, he was imitating textbook boredom.

“Do you have it?” Dried leaves crunched beneath the sole of his boots as he unravelled his legs and stood up straighter than before as Genevieve’s figure approached near. She could tell he was raising his brows, but they didn’t make an appearance, still hidden behind his frames.

“Yeah.” Genevieve dipped her index finger and thumb to the front right side pocket of her jeans. It took some wiggling to pluck out a piece of metal, smooth on one side and teeth jagged on the other. The metal was warm when dropped into his open palm. “Why the sudden need for it? Have you finally taken up my advice on actually locking your doors yet?”

It was natural for him to give Genevieve a spare key, a strategy that had served him well on multiple occasions. He had lost his more than once within the span of the first two months of getting his flat. This habit had come to a point that recovery was not an option; he preferred to keep his door unlocked anyway. Genevieve pointed out it was a safety hazard, but he liked to call it being efficient. In between locking himself out or forgetting his own key, Genevieve was a dependable solution.

“Not quite, don’t get too ahead of yourself.” She had seen his long black eyelashes hit the inside of his sunglasses, a clear indicator of him rolling his eyes. “I need it for a friend. He doesn’t have a place to stay for a while, and I offered the couch. Are you done with your lectures for the day?”

“I’m afraid not. Got one more and I’m free,” Genevieve sighed defeatedly. She shifted her bag from her right shoulder to the left. Today, she only had her laptop and one textbook, but the strap of her bag still created red dents on her shoulders from the weight. “Did you end up going to your tutorial?”

He gave her a look that was enough of an answer. His glasses rose on his face as a result of him scrunching his nose up in disgust. The tips of his mouth pulled downwards as sourness glazed his features.

“If it’s before noon, I’m not going; you know this, Genny.” He rubbed his nose with the back of his finger. “Can I tempt you to skip by offering the first round at The Cabinet?”

“It’s like…” Genevieve glanced at her wrist watch. “One.”

“I’m not hearing a no.” He grinned, a smile pressed deeply into his face. “Come on, Gen! You’ll get to meet my pal too. I think you’ll get along really well. And Ted is offering half off today. It’s a win-win. What could be more important than good company?”

“Dynamic Systems Differential Equations, unfortunately.” The course name was a mouthful and her dull tone was enough insight into what it was like.

“That sounds like a migraine.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” She laughed sans humour already picturing the formulas needed for her practice problems. “Speaking of migraines, what are we doing as costumes for Hannah Morton’s party?”

He squinted his eyes and paused for a moment. Migraine Morton was a nickname that stuck onto the bottom of your sneaker like chewing gum. “Is that tonight?”

“Well it is the thirty-first of October.” Her arms stretched to gesture towards the building she had exited from. “Do the carved pumpkins and the stick on ghost figures not make that obvious enough?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” He winced in reply to her previous question. A fingernail scratched at the corner of his forehead. “I was thinking of piggybacking off whatever you’re dressed as.”

Genevieve’s brows creased and her head tilted. “What do you mean?”

“If you’re Frankenstein, I’ll be the doctor.” He pointed to Genevieve and then to himself. “Bonnie, Clyde. Sherlock, Watson.”

“You want to go coordinating? Isn’t that a bit…”

“What?” He prompted with a laugh spluttering from his lips. It was fresh and bright, and Genevieve didn’t know exactly when it would stop sounding like this. He had amusement glittering in his gaze, there was a youthfulness about him that was so prominent and bold. He leaned closer. “Are you too cool to go coordinating now? Don’t tell me you can’t sit beside me at the lunch table too.”

It was ironic because they both knew Genevieve had always chose him to split her fruit roll-up candy since pre-school. In return, he would never pick up the red smarties whenever they shared a pack because those were her favourite, despite the number of times you told her the colour doesn’t affect the taste.

“I don’t know, a bit coupley? I mean, it worked well when we were eight. Would you think Hannah would mind?”

To this, he scoffed.

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous. Why would she?”

“She’s clearly into you, like a lot, and I don’t want to get in the middle of that. And I hear she’s going around saying that she’s your girlfriend.”

He closed his eyes gently and breathes out a sigh. “She’s not my—”

“I know that! You know that! But does she?”

His phone buzzed and the question hung in the air until his fingers stopped their dance on the screen. He looked over her shoulder as if waiting for someone.

“Doesn’t matter, she will soon enough.” He shrugged, his voice was distracted and far away. And that was one thing about him that Genevieve couldn’t shake off no matter how hard she tried. He broke hearts knowingly, and did it anyway. “What time do you want me to come pick you up?”

“I’m done with class at five. I’ll have to stop by Party City at six, then do my modules so that will take me till nine, then I—” Rolling tires sounded loudly against the pavement as they approached behind her. The closer they got, the less time she had to finish her train of thought. The radio was a few notches down from its max setting.

“Be ready at nine. No later.” He gripped her shoulders with both hands, brought her close and pressed a messy kiss against her hair. He smelled of cigarettes and toothpaste and beer.

“No, I won’t be, I have to do my laundry and—”

“Great. Sounds good. I’ll see you then.”

And he was gone. He opened and shut the passenger side of the beat up Honda Civic in two seconds. The driver was familiar to Genevieve, it was another blonde, not Hannah, with thick eyeliner. She was a regular turn up at every monotonous party thrown each weekend. She had seen her get too close to him on more than one instance. He convinced Genevieve to poke in at a few, but the scene was like a broken record and her lack of interest dwindled in them too quickly.

It once even prompted her to bring her textbook to do practice problems to keep her from falling asleep as drunk students lit up a joint around her. Every once in a while he would trap grey smoke in his cheeks and blow it directly on her face to elicit a scowl, something he found beyond hilarious when his inhibitions weren’t intact.

The girl’s hair was knotted and she had a less than pleased demeanour, probably nursing a hangover of her own. She stomped her foot down on the gas. He didn’t even have his seatbelt done before their bodies lurched backwards and the car zoomed out from the parking lot of the mathematical sciences department building. The radio became only a faint sound away the longer Genevieve stood there.

By the time she got to Party City, the student working behind the counter gave her an apologetic look. All the decent costumes were sold out. He led her to the back of the store where the remaining costumes were kept. Being a university student meant she couldn’t break the bank for something so trivial. In the plastic bin lied a pair of fangs and a deflated witches hat that had a tear near the rim. There were masks, but she would be better off by taking a paintbrush to her face.

She sighed deeply, her lips pursing in thought. It was obvious her plans of coordinating were a dream far away. That was until she turned around.

A long hat cowered in the corner. It had thick red and white stripes, she pictured it with eyeliner drawn whiskers and a cat ear headband from last year. Maybe even a red bow around her neck. What really sealed the deal for her was the red shirt hung on a hanger right above it. It had a white circle right in the dead centre. The font within the circle was a recognizable outfit from a famous children’s book character. Bonnie and Clyde, Sherlock and Watson, and now Cat in the Hat and Thing 1.

The relief that came along with not trying to maneuver creating an outfit at home was enough to get Genevieve to run to the till. Arts and crafts were not her strongest suits.

The same guy’s eyebrows shot up, surprised at her quick decision making. He shut his latest issue of Men’s Healthy Living and leaned his weight off his elbow. He scanned the items and Genevieve handed him the crisp bill. Before he could finalize the sale, Genevieve thought back to the couch friend that would be accompanying them tonight. Did he have a costume? Inferring from the fact that he didn’t have a roof of his own, a lousy Halloween costume was the least of his worries. But Genevieve found her feet trailing back towards the shop and grabbing the shirt that said Thing 2. The guy added it to her final bill and packed her belongings in a black plastic bag.

He was late and Genevieve was thankful that her laundry was dry and folded neatly.

---

Okay, I think I’m done introducing the main characters. We have quite the cast list, don’t we?

Let me know what u think! I’d love to hear your favourite parts and predictions!

Thank you eriza @booksncoffee for the banner!

Thank you so much to my wonderful betas @adoremp3 @haaaaaaarrry @drivingmekiwi @at-least-im-1 Ayesha and Hamna! Without them, this would be a jumble of fucked up grammar bc I write at 3am. If you want to beta, shoot me a message!

Tag list: @infinitiae @sortaanonymous @sydneysuit @wonderonrepeat @confusedkiwifan @mylifeisatoilet @awomanindeniall @guccikingstyles @verorax @stylesfics-xx @stylishmuser @at-least-im-1 @mellamolayla @thursday-iminlove @kizsyou @brassharry @kizsyou @thursday-iminlove @blue-eyes-freckles-and-a-smile @Hollydays @la-peonia

#1dff #1dff au #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x ofc #harry styles fanfiction #writing #ylsg2 #pls lmk what yall thought of this??

109 notes · View notes

official-mermaid · 5 years

Note

............ can I request some sick!queliot fluff in these trying times?

You can indeed, my love.

not to me, not if it’s you (on AO3)

Eliot was in the kitchen, drinking his morning coffee veryslowly as he sat at the counter. It was his day off—he’d managed to sign up forclasses in such a way that Mondays were free, which was truly his saving gracefor the week. He could recover from the weekend enough to make it to classes, atleast.

Well. Make it to as many classes as he usually madeit to. His attendance was not perfect.

He was enjoying the luxury of a slow morning, using a simplecharm to keep his coffee at just the right temperature and the steamed milk withjust the right amount of foam. Because it was late morning on a Monday, most ofthe people living at the Cottage were either asleep or out.

It was a nice little routine for Eliot. He appreciated thebits of time he managed to find for himself.

It was somewhat startling when Quentin shambled in, lookinglike a zombie.

He didn’t seem to register Eliot’s presence, going straightto the fridge and pulling out the orange juice, immediately chugging itstraight from the carton.

Eliot watched for a few moments, his head tilting to theside.

“Quentin,” he said casually, “are you aware that we do, infact, have glasses here?”

Quentin jumped, spilling a bit of juice on his shirt.

“Fuck,” he muttered. He turned to Eliot. “I, uh, I didn’tsee you there.”

Eliot nodded sagely. “Hm. Do you make a habit of drinkingstraight from the carton when you believe you’re alone?”

Quentin shot him a sour look. “No,” he said. “But even if Idid, it’s my orange juice, so like. The only people who would care are thepeople who’ve been stealing my groceries.”

“Glossing over youraccusatory tone,” Eliot replied with a wry smile. “Why do you look like youcrawled out of your grave?”

“Woke up with a fever,” Quentin said, putting the juice backand closing the fridge.

Eliot looked him over. He did look rather pale. And tired. “Isyour solution to hope that orange juice, in all its magical healing properties,will cure you?”

As if to prove the flaws in that logic, Quentin startedcoughing. “Um. Maybe,” he said when he caught his breath again, his voicescratchy.

Eliot feigned horror, getting to his feet. “Quentin MiddleName Coldwater. Honestly. You should be in bed, with tea, andsoup. I am shocked by how poorly you’re handling this.”

Quentin blinked. “How poorly I’m handling this? Uh. Okay.I’m, like, the one who’s sick, you get that, right?”

“Yes, and you are being entirely too cavalier about thewhole thing.” Eliot walked over, putting his hands on Quentin’s shoulders. “Thisis unreasonable, Q. You should be complaining theatrically and fainting like adelicate Victorian lady. Where is your lace fan? Where is the wet washclothmeant to be draped over your forehead?”

“We can’t all be you.”

“I’m mildly offended.”

“Yeah, well, I have a headache.”

“Unacceptable. I am officially taking care of you.”

“Uh, I have to get to class—”

“Class?” Eliot said, putting all the shock and disapprovalhe could into his tone. “You can’t go to class.”

“But I—”

“Class is absolutely not worth it.”

“I mean, I, um, I don’t wanna, like, miss anything—”

“What are you going to miss, Q? Professor Sunderland goingover the chapter you already read for homework?” Eliot waved his handdismissively. “Trust me, I’ve missed enough classes to know. You’ll be fine. It’sjust one day.”

“But, like, I don’t wanna get behind or anything. I mean,uh, I just—like, I’m not that sick, it’s fine.”

“You have to go back to bed, and you have to whine.”Eliot shook his head. “It’s like you’ve never been sick before. Don’t youknow the rules?”

Quentin groaned. “God, El, it’s not that big of a deal.”

Eliot put a hand over his heart. “How dare you. You are ill,you are dying, it is important that I solve this at once.”

Quentin rolled his eyes. “I’m not dying. You’remelodramatic.”

“I won’t argue with that, but honestly, Quentin, do youreally think you can win this one?”

They stood like that for a few moments, staring at oneanother. Seeing who would blink first. They were pretty easily matched instubbornness, but to be fair—

Eliot had the advantage of not being sick.

Quentin rolled his eyes again. He started to turn to thestairs. “Okay, whatever. Yeah, I get it, you win. I’ll, like, lie down orsomething.”

Eliot raised an eyebrow. “Oh, no, Quentin. You think this isover?”

Quentin hesitated, glancing back, his brow furrowed. “Um.”

“Darling, little Q. Lucky for you, I happen to have theentire day free.” Eliot gestured to the stairs. “Now, hurry on up, I’ll be therein little bit.”

“I’m locking the door.”

Eliot grinned. “No, you’re not.”

Quentin sighed. “Whatever,” he replied. Eliot caught aslight smile on his face as he walked up the stairs.

Eliot prided himself on his cooking, but really, feverscalled for simplicity. That didn’t mean he had to shirk on presentation,though.

He made a cup of mint tea and two pieces of buttered toast,arranging it on a breakfast-in-bed type tray. He also added a glass of waterand a glass of orange juice, as well as a small box of tissues. It’s possiblehe also put a small vase with a single daisy on the tray. Presentation, itwas important.

It didn’t take all that long. He carried the tray upcarefully. He didn’t really need to be all that careful, because he wastelekinetically holding everything in place, but force of habit.

He got to Quentin’s room, placing the tray on the bedsidetable.

“Now, I’ve charmed the tea so it stays the righttemperature, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

He looked over, feeling a jolt of real sympathy. Quentin washuddled in the covers, looking truly, truly miserable.

“Oh, Q,” Eliot said, sitting down at the edge of the bed. Hepressed his palm to Quentin’s forehead, feeling the heat.

“You really don’t have to do this,” Quentin mumbled, leaninginto Eliot’s hand, seemingly on instinct.

Eliot couldn’t help the warm, earnest smile that grew. “Iwant to,” he replied.

Quentin looked up at him, frowning a little. “I mean, you,um… You’ve gotta have something better to do.”

Eliot shook his head decisively. “Absolutely not. I am exactlywhere I should be.”

There was a moment of quiet, and Eliot felt a stab ofanxiety that he’d revealed too much, that he should deflect, say something self-aggrandizing,or make a sardonic, selfish comment, but—

“Oh,” Quentin said softly. “Um. Thanks.”

Eliot smiled. Unguarded for the time being, at least. “Ofcourse, Q. Whenever you need it.”

And he meant it.

#<3 #trying times indeed #have some fluff #the magicians #my fic #lavender-riot-grrrl

16 notes · View notes

onewaywardwitch · 5 years

Text

Just A Typo (2/?)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Hacker!Reader

Summary: It was a simple challenge between a very competitive group of friends. A challenge that ended very differently than anticipated.

Warnings: Just a bit of language

Word Count: 2140

A/N: Ahhh the feedback on part 1 was amazing! Thank you all so much! Here’s part 2!

There are moments in your life when you know you’ve screwed up. Like when you decide to try the new Starbucks coffee, only to realise it’s as horrible as you predicted, and you’ve wasted €5. Or when you spend all night binge-watching some show on Netflix when you know you’ve got to get up early for work the next morning. Or when you agree to hack into one of the world’s best security systems to fuel your own ego and diminish your friend’s one. And while I've found myself in the first two situations many times, the third was a new one for me.

“I promise to visit you at least once a month when you get sent to Alcatraz,” Becca sang as she all but skipped into Angie’s apartment to join the rest of us. I laughed sarcastically.

“Sent to Alcatraz for hacking? Crime expectations must be low lately if they’re sending hackers there.”

“I’m sure Tony Stark has some pull in the government to get you put away there. You know, when you get caught,” she gloated. It was obvious she thought I was heading down the same route as Sophie. Her confidence only made me want to prove her wrong even more.

Angie ignored our seemingly never-ending banter and carried on setting up my laptop and other work necessities.

“I still don’t understand why you have to have a pack of Haribo with you every time you do something illegal,” she sighed, glaring at me as I stood with Becca.

“Well it’s just common sense, Angie. I can’t have chocolate, it’ll get all over my hands. Biscuits leave crumbs everywhere and hot chocolate is a recipe for disaster,” I replied, keeping my face as straight as I could.

“No, I don’t get why you need sweets at all!”

“That’s a stupid question. You always need sweets. We can’t all live off boiled vegetables and whole-grain everything.”

Angie just looked at Becca in defeat, who shrugged her shoulders.

“Hey, if I get the job done, who cares what I eat?” I strutted over to the table that had my laptop on it. Unfortunately, my confident walk did nothing to ease my nerves as my friends watched on eagerly.

~~~~~

“Becca, I swear to Thor if you breathe on my neck again, I’ll break yours,” I snapped. Becca and Angie shared a nervous glance while I typed furiously, the lines and lines of code beginning to make me dizzy.

“Y/N, you’ve proven your point. Your brilliant. A mastermind. A true gift to the hacking community. You can quit now, it’s alright.” Becca was beginning to regret ever provoking me when she saw how much more advanced Stark’s system was compared to the systems we would normally attack for a laugh.

I could sense Angie about to open her mouth when the screen suddenly went blank and the three of us froze where we were; Becca leaning over my shoulder, Angie holding her third cup of herbal tea, and me with jelly rings on each of my extremely tired fingers.

The screen flashed once, before several different boxes popped up. It took each of us about seven seconds to realise we were looking at the feed from the security cameras placed around Avengers Tower.

“Holy shit,” whispered Angie.

“I am the greatest and I’m completely unappreciated in my time,” I grinned, my eyes flickering from each small screen.

“IS THAT BLACK WIDOW?”

“Agh! Becs, inside voice please.” Becca refused to acknowledge my complaint. Her gaze was fixated on the image of the Natasha Romanoff eating what I guessed was-

“A poptart! I have those all the time, we’re practically soulmates!” Becca exclaimed.

As Angie tried to explain to Becca that her comment was only a bit unrealistic, I gazed at each of screens on my laptop. Who would have thought that the Falcon would be spending his day holding something shiny while running away from a very angry, one-armed Winter Soldier? Or that Hawkeye drinks milk straight from the carton and puts it back in the fridge when no one’s looking?

Just as Becca started to talk about the Black Widow’s hair (“I could never pull off the red like she does!”), the laptop flashed black, before more lines of code began popping up again.

“Oh shit, we’re busted. Angie, gummy bear, now,“ I demanded, quickly returning to my state of concentration (which was difficult after seeing Captain America lifting weights). Angie grabbed the bag and put one of the bears in my mouth, only for me to spit it out in disgust.

“Not a yellow one, a red! I'm not a monster,” I yelped before turning back to the task at hand. Nervously chewing on the nicest flavoured gummy bear, I attempted to keep up with Stark’s excellent security.

“Make sure you can’t be traced. Keep the IP address hidden and get out,” I heard Angie mutter behind me. After a couple of minutes, I felt myself relax, watching the screen change to my regular background of the Supernatural cast.

“We are out and I’m going to go down in history as the greatest hacker that ever existed.” I spun in my chair, grinning at the girls as my confidence rose again. “I just hacked into Avengers Tower, admired Captain America’s incredibly toned body for a bit, before successfully leaving without giving away my location or any way for them to trace me. How was that for you Becca?”

She looked at me, a small smile growing on her face. “I'm impressed, Y/N. Shame Sophie’s not here so you could gloat to her too, but that was pretty awesome.”

“I can’t believe you pulled that off,” Angie said admirably, her herbal tea long forgotten on the nearby countertop. I winked at her and held out the nearly empty bag of Haribos.

“Yellow gummy bear anyone?”

~~~~~

Tony Stark was busy doing nothing in his lab with Dr Banner when F.R.I.D.A.Y. announced that someone was hacking into their system.

“Well what are you waiting for F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Flush ‘em out. And get their location.”

“Sir, they’ve already broke down our firewalls and accessed our cameras.”

That caught Tony’s attention. He looked at Bruce confusedly before again telling F.R.I.D.A.Y. to get whoever it was out of their system using whatever means necessary. As the A.I. was occupied with that, he called all the Avengers to the briefing room.

~~~~~

“Barnes, if you could stop murdering Wilson with your eyes for just five minutes so we can start?”

Bucky turned and aimed his glare at Tony instead, still scowling that Sam had somehow managed to steal his arm for nearly half an hour. That man knew all the best hiding places in this tower.

Tony rolled his eyes and clapped his hands together, deciding to get straight to the point. “Nothing to worry about, but someone hacked into the tower and accessed all of the cameras. We don’t know who or why, but F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s nearly got a location, I think.”

The uproar was immediate.

“I thought your security was the best there is!”

“How long have they been watching us?”

“What else have they hacked into?”

Tony grimaced as all the voices overlapped and became louder. His embarrassment that some computer nerd cracked his online defences was obvious from the lack of his usual playful tone and he wasn’t in the mood for messing about now. He opened his mouth but before he could speak, F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice rang through the room, effectively shutting everyone up.

“Sir, I believe I have the location of the hacker. It appears they made a slight typing error when concealing their IP address.”

“A typo? Rookie mistake,” Sam mumbled.

“That ‘rookie’ managed to hack into all our cameras pretty quickly,” Bruce stated, looking at Sam pointedly.

“Okay, Cap, take your brooding boyfriend in the corner and bring in whoever it is. It's nowhere near any known HYDRA bases, so my guess? A group of boys hiding out in one of their mom’s basements. Shouldn’t be too difficult.” Steve nodded at Tony and made his way over to Bucky while everyone else left the room, still discussing the infiltrator who was able to beat the great Tony Stark.

~~~~~

Steve looked around the apartment in surprise. This was definitely not what they were expecting. The place was clean and lacked any personal touches. That is, if he weren’t including the many Funko Pop figures that were scattered seemingly at random throughout the apartment. He moved towards the laptop that was laying carelessly on the kitchen table.

“Just talked to the landlady,” Bucky said, gesturing towards the front door where a woman in her mid-fifties stood excitedly, trying to catch a glimpse of the great Captain America. Bucky waved his flesh hand at her, hoping she’d get the message to leave them alone. Fortunately for him, one of the neighbours came out and started complaining to her about the thin walls. That made her run off quickly.

“Apartment is owned by a woman in her late twenties, early thirties. She asked to be kept off the books, and your admirer back there had no problem with that because she always paid her rent on time and by cash.”

“Does she have any idea where she could be now?” Steve asked, closing over the front door again so they wouldn’t raise any suspicions.

“She said she left around three hours ago, hopefully to get some food. Her fridge is empty. Except for a tub of ice-cream,” Bucky snorted.

They both stopped talking when they heard the rustling of keys just outside the door. Bucky went to stand beside Steve, who was back beside the laptop. He placed a hand over the gun he always carried in his trousers as the door opened. But he felt himself relax a bit when he heard a familiar tune.

“Is that… Queen?” Steve whispered as the woman began humming to herself. Natasha had taken it upon herself to educate the two veterans on all the music they had missed out on in the past seventy years, including Queen, Michael Jackson, and Adele. This was one of the few songs they actually recognised.

The woman stumbled into the kitchen, struggling to carry all the shopping bags she had tried to carry up in one trip. Her headphones were blaring Bohemian Rhapsody loud enough for the two men to hear clearly. They shared a look of surprise as she still hadn’t noticed them standing a few feet behind her.

~~~~~

“But now I’ve gone and thrown it all away,” I sang quietly to myself as I restocked my fridge. I was still on a high from my incredible success with Becca and Angie only a few hours ago. We were going to celebrate with Angie’s cheap champagne, before Becca realised she was about two hours late for work. I left shortly after her to buy more ice-cream, which quickly turned into buying half the grocery store.

“Mama, oooo- OH WHAT THE FUCK!” My dramatic spin while singing didn’t end as well as I had planned. I wasn’t exactly prepared for the two super soldiers who stood by my table, watching me with humour. I tugged my headphones out of my ears and stared at them dumbstruck.

“Captain America… wow such an honour… you’re very… wow. And the Winter Barnes! Oh god, there’s a ‘soldier’ in there somewhere, isn’t there? Very, very… broad.” My voice died off towards the end as the word came out of my mouth too quickly for me to recognise them. The Captain’s eyes sparkled in amusement, while the Winter Soldier was looking at me with interest. He failed to see how this woman caused Stark so much concern.

Captain America opened his mouth to speak, but at that exact moment I coped why two Avengers were standing in my apartment.

“Oh, this is about the whole Avengers Tower thing, isn’t it? The camera, the hacking… I'm not evil! I wasn’t planning on accessing any confidential information and selling it! I don’t do that, I was just messing with friends, I swear!” Apparently, I had lost all control over my own mouth and I confessed to everything without either of the men saying a word. They glanced at each other before Captain Rogers turned back to me.

“You understand we need to bring you in anyway. We have questions you need answer back at the tower.”

I nodded nervously at the pair as they escorted me downstairs to where a car was waiting outside, the Soldier bringing my laptop with him.

“This explains why Nora was in such a good mood when I passed her on the stairs earlier,” I thought to myself. “She never smiles when I pay her my rent, but one visit from America’s golden boy has her skipping to her door!”

218 notes · View notes

leiascully · 6 years

Note

if you're taking fic requests (sorry if you're not) could you write a post-revival fic where william is staying with mulder and scully in the unremarkable house and mulder wakes up in the middle of the night hearing william wandering around downstairs having gotten up to let daggoo out and also he couldn't sleep and he and mulder talk

Timeline: Post Season 11Rating: PGCharacters: Jackson, Mulder, DaggooA/N: Better late than never?

The floor creaks and Mulder is awake instantly. Scully just mumbles and turns over as he eases out of bed. He doesn’t know how she sleeps through these things. Maybe she’s just more righteous than he is, or maybe it’s his lifetime of insomnia still nudging him out of his dreams. Maybe it’s the pregnancy. She has seemed exhausted lately. He picks up his weapon from the bedside table and pulls a clip out of the drawer. Better safe than sorry, he thinks as he slots it in. They’ve had more than a few unwelcome visitors the past few years. He slides his feet into his slippers and pads down the hallway. At least he wasn’t sleeping in the nude tonight.

There’s definitely someone in the house. There’s a light on in the kitchen and Mulder can see a shadow. Daggoo is barking quietly, these little excited sounds. He doesn’t sound upset. Mulder creeps down the stairs one at a time, sliding the clip into his weapon.

“It’s just me,” Jackson says as Mulder comes down the stairs. ��Mulder knocks the clip back out of his weapon and tucks the weapon and the clip in separate pockets of his pajamas. Jackson stands in the doorway to the kitchen, Daggoo’s leash in his hand. Daggoo prances beside him, and Jackson stoops to pick up the little dog. Daggoo licks at his face and whines.

“I didn’t know you were here,” Mulder tells him.

Jackson shrugs. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, buddy,” Mulder says. “But text next time. Send a psychic message. Postcard. Skywriting. Whatever.”

“I see why she likes you,” Jackson says. “The dog needed to go out.”

“Daggoo,” Mulder says.

“Excuse me?” Jackson says. It’s hard to think of him that way. It’s hard not to call him William, especially when Mulder can see himself in that face. Mulder wishes he could sling his arm around his boy, ruffle his hair, all that dad shit. He didn’t know what he was giving up when he left.

“Daggoo,” Mulder repeats. “The dog. Daggoo. It’s a Moby Dick thing.”

“Call me Ishmael.” Jackson nods. “On an insane quest to reclaim your manhood. I get it.”

“Scully named it,” Mulder says. “Her dad - your grandfather - he was in the Navy. It was their thing. He called her Starbuck.”

“Like the coffee?” Jackson asks.

“Like the first mate in Moby Dick,” Mulder says. “I take it you never actually read it.”

“Not even the Spark Notes,” Jackson says. “I’m going to take this little guy outside.”

Mulder nods. “I’m going to make some cocoa. It helps me sleep. I think it’s part of getting old. You want some?”

“Okay,” Jackson says. “It’s like eighty degrees outside, but why not.”

“That’s the spirit,” Mulder says. He turns his back deliberately on Jackson as a sign of trust and gets the milk out of the fridge. Instead of powdered packets, he reaches for a box of Abuelita and unwraps the tablet. It clanks into the pan. He’s learned to let it melt first, so he doesn’t aggravate his shoulder trying to whisk it into submission. Growing older is ridiculous. He expected he wouldn’t be able to fling himself after suspects the way he used to when he and Scully met, but he didn’t think making hot chocolate would potentially incapacitate him. He pours in the milk and puts the carton back in the fridge. Domestic life is much easier when all parties agree on where things are supposed to be. At least the milk has never been a struggle. Depending on how long Jackson stays, it might become one, but that’s a small price to pay for the opportunity to get to know his son. Their son. The Van de Kamps’ son.

He’s still whisking when Jackson returns, Daggoo panting beside him.

“If you’ve got any smoking to do,” Mulder says without turning, “keep it on the porch. It’s been a dry summer. Nobody wants any fires.”

Jackson unclips Daggoo’s leash. “Noted.” He settles into a chair. Daggoo prances on his hind legs, trying to get into Jackson’s lap, and Jackson scratches behind his ears. “That’s pretty chill for a professional narc.”

“You’re not in my jurisdiction,” Mulder says, whipping up a froth on the top of the cocoa. He turns off the burner. “I save my narc powers for breaking up global conspiracies that threaten all of humanity.”

“Respect,” says Jackson. Mulder pours the cocoa from the pan into two mugs and sets one in front of Jackson. He puts the pan in the sink and runs water into it before he pulls up a chair for himself. He thinks about telling Jackson that Scully used to smoke, just to shock him, but he’ll save that moment for her. It would be easy to be overzealous, trying to catch up on all the years he’s missed. His son isn’t a baby; he’s a young adult, and he’s been on his own. He has to meet Jackson where he is, on Jackson’s terms, or he’ll probably vanish into the night like a heartbreaking vision.

“It seems like it’s a little late to pull the dad act anyway,” Mulder says. “Look at you. All grown up and manipulating minds.”

Jackson shrugs and sips at his cocoa. He makes a face as it burns his tongue. “It’s a living.”

“You know you’re going to have a sibling?” Mulder asks.

“Yeah,” Jackson says. “Congrats, I guess.”

“We don’t have to do family stuff,” Mulder says. He picks up his cocoa. “You did show up here, though. My psychology degree was a long time ago, but that seems to suggest you have some kind of interest.”

Jackson sighs. “It’s not like this is easy, man.”

“I get it,” Mulder says. “The last time I saw you, you were less than a week old. I mean, the last time I saw you before your life of crime began. I don’t have a lot of practice being a dad, and I was a shitty son myself.” He takes a swallow of cocoa. “Not that you’re a shitty son.”

“I am, though,” Jackson says. “My parents are dead.”

“You didn’t kill them,” Mulder says.

“I didn’t save them,” Jackson counters.

“I know how that feels,” Mulder says. “Believe it or not.”

“I can’t hear you,” Jackson says. “Not like I can hear her.”

“My dad was shot by my former partner,” Mulder tells him. “Not Scully. A rat named Krycek, who was part of the whole global conspiracy that I kept pushing up against. My mom killed herself. I never called her back the last time she wanted to talk. I don’t know if that would have changed anything. Oh, and I shot my biological father for killing you, or so I thought at the time. Glad I was wrong. Also glad I shot him.”

“Fuck, man,” Jackson says, and pauses, as if he’s waiting for Mulder to scold him. Mulder just gazes levelly at his son, trying to take in every detail.

“You didn’t kill your parents,” he says.

“Guess not,” Jackson says. He wraps his hands around his mug even though it’s warmish in the kitchen. “You gonna ask me why I’m here?”

“I figured you’d get to that,” Mulder says.

“You gonna wake her up?” Jackson asks.

“She doesn’t need to know you were here if you’re not planning on staying,” Mulder says, looking straight into Jackson’s eyes. They’re shaped a little like his own. It’s uncanny, after all those years of clones.

“You protect her,” Jackson says.

“We protect each other,” Mulder corrects. “Twenty-five years and counting. It goes both ways.”

“I don’t know why I’m here,” Jackson says. “There wasn’t anywhere else to go.”

“We’ve got a spare room,” Mulder says. “You’re always welcome.”

“Even if there’s a warrant out on me?” Jackson asks.

Mulder shrugs. “I haven’t seen one. It’s not like those DoD types haven’t come knocking before.”

“I guess,” Jackson says.

“I’m not trying to whip out my credentials here,” Mulder says, “but you ever seen one shot and faked your own death using his corpse? And that was how far we were willing to go before we had kids. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you if I can help it.”

“That’s hard core,” Jackson says.

“You didn’t get it all from your momma,” Mulder says. “Or your other parents.”

“If I stay, do I have to talk about it?” Jackson asks.

“The fact we thought you were dead?” Mulder asks. “Not yet.”

“That’s fair,” Jackson says after a moment.

“She’s going to be so happy to see you,” Mulder says. “She cries at everything right now, by the way, so don’t take it personally. I saw her get weepy at a commercial for paper towels the other day.”

“I’ll be happy to see her too,” Jackson says. “Uh, thanks, I guess. For not shooting me when I showed up at your house with no notice in the middle of the night, and, uh, picked your lock.”

“A skill every growing boy needs,” Mulder says. “Trust me, kiddo, I’ve had a lifetime of stuff weirder than you to deal with.”

“That’s probably good,” Jackson says. “I mean, you’re prepared, right?”

“As prepared as anyone can be for parenthood,” Mulder says with a wink. He takes a long drink of cocoa. It really is soothing. “You ready for bed? You got stuff?”

Jackson jerks his head toward a ratty backpack in the corner of the kitchen. “Just that. I might stay up for a while. Not really tired.”

“TV remote’s in the basket,” Mulder says. “Not too loud, okay? Your mom needs her sleep, with the baby.”

“You sure you haven’t been practicing this dad stuff?” Jackson asks, with a lopsided grin Mulder recognizes.

Mulder smiles. “Only in my head,” he says. He finishes his cocoa and puts his mug in the sink. “Let me show you your room.”

They cleaned out his old study together, when Scully moved back in. It’s a lot less cluttered now. His clippings are in a filing cabinet and his books are on shelves. There was enough room for a pull-out sofa bed, one of those IKEA creations that looks a little too modern for the space. It’s pretty comfortable, though, or it was when they stretched out on it in the store. Mulder pulls out the mattress and take the sheets out of the storage compartment. He flips out the sheet, nodding to Jackson to take the other edge, and they make up the bed together.

“Bathroom’s around the corner,” Mulder says. “Extra pillows on the couch if you need ‘em.”

“Thanks,” Jackson says.

“You’re welcome,” Mulder says. “I mean it. You’re welcome whenever.” He turns. “This old man is going back to bed. See you in the morning.”

“Mulder?” Jackson says, and Mulder looks over his shoulder at him. He can see the delicacy of Scully’s bone structure in Jackson’s face, and something of her graceful precision in the way Jackson moves. “You’re not a shitty dad.”

“I’ll try to keep that streak going,” Mulder says. “Good night, buddy.”

“Good night,” Jackson says.

#squaddigest #xfiles fic #xf fic #xfiles fanfic #jackson van de kamp #my fic #tw: suicide mention #tw: murder #Anonymous

318 notes · View notes

chloemill · 5 years

Text

On what I’ve been up to the last nine years

I have always been obsessed with food. It seems silly, honestly, to be obsessed with something that’s a basic human necessity. Food, water, shelter. Too bad there aren’t water disorders or I’d be all over that. Alcoholism, I guess, is a liquid-based disorder? This is getting dark quickly but I guess we should all know what we’re getting into with this one, shouldn’t we.

So, yeah, I’ve always been obsessed with food. I have alarmingly clear memories of food from childhood, and the sad(dest) part is most of it’s not even real fucking food, it’s like, cartoon food. I could probably describe every illustration from the Berenstain Bears installment where the dad bear and the kid bears randomly decide to go balls to the fucking wall and just mainline junk food until the mom bear is like “what the fuck is going on here” and gives them all apples or some shit and then everyone chills the fuck out. The pizza in A Goofy Movie when Goofy and Max randomly stop at a themed motel and the kids eat pizza while Goofy and Pete share what I remember to be a vaguely sexual moment in the hot tub? (There was definitely at LEAST a questionable power dynamic at play.) The kid at school whose weird helicopter mom came at lunch and hand-delivered her McDonald’s nuggets to the playground. Bake sales in the second grade - the cookies and brownies and “nachos” that were just round Tostitos with that terrifying and delicious fake cheese sauce that still honestly casts a spell twenty years later. It wasn’t quite normal, but as a kid, I didn’t think twice. When your parents are feeding you and your brain is the size of a baseball, you just kind of roll with the punches and settle for buying as much crap as possible at the bake sale with the two bucks your mom gave you. Shortly after I finished elementary school, actually, I think they stopped having bake sales as fundraisers because the school was trying to promote healthy eating. Go figure.

In high school we were allowed to go off campus for lunch and once or twice a week my sainted mother would give me money to buy lunch. It very rapidly became the bi-weekly Let’s See How Much Shit We Can Stuff In Our Body For Ten Dollars Challenge, but that’s not at all uncommon for high schoolers. At home we ate healthily, and I have a pretty fast metabolism thanks to my Slenderman of a father so I was more or less the size of a pencil for first few years of school. We’re talking, like, size double zero at Hollister. I actually used to peel the 00 size stickers off my low rise (!!!) jeans whenever I’d get a new pair and stick them on the side of my desk in my bedroom, which, as I became a normal-sized adult with not-normal-sized body image problems, morphed into a very creative form of self-inflicted psychological torment. I have some journal entries from the first few years of high school with “diet and workout plans”, but in teenage girl fashion, most of them were quickly forgotten about or amended with “forgot and ate mac and cheese today - whoops!” Stupid teenage shit. It’s actually kind of hilarious reading it back now until I remember how spectacularly fucked up everything got. ANYWAY!

My first real memory of hating my body was on a school trip to Scotland my junior year. I was fully indoctrinated into the cult of high school musical theatre and we were performing at the Fringe Festival in Edinburgh, which was an incredibly cool experience that I absolutely did NOT take full advantage of and instead did shit like drink way too much rum (fucking RUM because apparently I was a character in Disney’s Pirates of the Caribbean franchise), try to climb out the window of the dorms we were staying in to go see my boyfriend in his building, quickly remember I was on like the fucking fourth floor, throw up all over the carpet of my room and then pass out. My room smelled like puke the rest of the trip but that, though tragic in its own right, is not the point of this anecdote. Being both across the pond and left to my own devices, I was eating nothing but beige-colored fried food to the point that I’m certain ketchup and fruit juice used solely as a mixer for alcohol were the only things saving me from full-blown scurvy. My clothes felt tight, and not in the 2010s way that everything was tight, but bad tight. My stomach poked out of my jeans in a way that my stomach wasn’t supposed to poke out of my jeans. Keep in mind - I was probably a size 0 instead of 00 at this point, and most of this change was just a product of being sixteen instead of fourteen and growing, but to me it felt ominous in a way I didn’t know how to explain. During a group trip to some Scottish landmark or another (see how much attention I paid to this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity my parents spent their hard-earned money to give me?) I remember sitting next to my close friend on the bus as we pulled over to stop for food. I was having relationship trouble with the aforementioned boyfriend, one of the first of many Musical Theatre Straight Boys™ that I would lose my fucking mind over, and I was getting emotional - more emotional than I expected. I realized something else was bothering me, and I turned to her and said “On top of everything else, I just feel… fat. I know I’m not fat, but I’m fat, like, for me.”

Two things here: first and foremost, yes, for that I know I am now the recipient of the Most Annoying Sentence Ever Spoken Aloud award and will provide the mailing address for my trophy at a later date. Second, I said that over ten years ago, and I remember it so clearly that I’m entirely sure that’s exactly what I said, verbatim. We got off the bus, and I walked into the restaurant and, after scanning the menu desperately trying to convince myself I should order something “healthy”, I ordered large steak fries and got back on the bus. I think this was the first time I ever really, consciously used food as a coping mechanism - the first time something small but powerful snapped in my head that told me fuck it - who the fuck cares? You’ve done enough damage already, what’s the point of stopping now?

High school ended, I graduated and we sang “Journey On” from Ragtime at the ceremony (baffling choice but the school was doing Ragtime next year and wanted to squeeze a promo out), I got into several of my top-choice musical theatre colleges and was so excited to go to the one I picked, which, you’ll be charmed to hear, was the absolute worst choice I could’ve made. I was 18 and a little bigger now, firmly in size 0/2 instead of 00 territory, had maybe graduated to a 32B bra instead of A, but still very thin by most standards. This was my first summer as a Very Online Person - I would stay up tlil probably 3 or 4 AM most nights blogging and watching Harry Potter movies for the umpteenth time. Because the rest of my family was, how do I put it, fucking normal, they’d go to bed at 11 or whenever and I’d be up alone for hours on the computer. This is when I started bingeing. We didn’t really keep junk food in my house, nothing legit like Cheetos or Ben and Jerry’s or whatever, but we did have sugar cereal and reduced-fat Oreos and cheese and the occasional box of Triscuts. It became a nightly ritual for me - I’d wait for everyone to go to bed, then tiptoe in to the kitchen and, though I’d eaten dinner hours earlier, start eating again. Stacks of Oreos, multiple bowls of cereal, shredded cheese out of the bag. After a while my mom heard me banging around in the kitchen and told me (in so many words) to shut the fuck up, so my methods changed. I’d bring the box of cereal - Rice Krispies or Cocoa Puffs or whatever - a bowl, and a carton of milk into the bathroom with me. I’d run the sink and open the box and pour the cereal with the water running so no one would hear, and then I’d creep back out to the couch and eat it. Box of Oreos into the bathroom, water on, peel open the plastic, take out the biggest stack I thought I could with no one noticing, eat. Three or four granola bars into the bathroom, water on, wrappers off and hidden behind my bed or the couch or wherever, eat. Rinse and repeat.

I didn’t really know what binge eating was at this point, and some tiny, dark part of my brain buried way in the back told me that this wasn’t normal and it wasn’t good, but I pushed it away because of course I did. I did a few Google searches about it and came across the term “binge eating disorder” but was convinced that could never be me. This was just a thing, just a thing I was doing, and it would go away at the end of the summer when I went away to college because that’s when life was actually starting and it was going to be awesome and I wasn’t going to let this - whatever this was - fuck that up.

But I did, in fact, fuck it up. I fucked it up fast and hard (that’s what she said, ok back to being depressing) and college was not awesome, it was difficult and painful and I was drowning in something I had absolutely no chance of controlling on my own. I accepted very quickly that this thing I was doing had a name, and it was binge eating disorder, and I was all in. I gained weight - not a ton, maybe twenty pounds, and I was never actually overweight, but to me that didn’t matter. I hated how I looked. I overdrew my bank account spending money my mom gave me for groceries on binge food. I spent hours alone in the dining hall eating till I felt physically ill and sometimes threw up involuntarily because my body couldn’t handle what I was doing. One time I stood in the bathroom of my dorm and drank mustard mixed with warm water because I read online that makes you puke and I was so full I wanted to die (it didn’t work, please for the love of GOD don’t drink mustard water or, for that matter, anything else for the express purpose of making yourself vomit). I cancelled plans with friends and skipped classes to stay in and binge, or because I’d binged already that day and could barely move. I stole food from roommates, convincing myself no one would notice, even though of course they fucking noticed. I hid food and packaging and wrappers under my bed, in my closet, in my backpack, wherever I could because I didn’t want anyone to catch on. Lied about why I needed money so my parents would send me some and I could buy more shit. I ate stale food, food from the trash, once I literally ate straight up chocolate sauce (mustard water and chocolate sauce: 10 out of 10 doctors recommend!) because I had nothing else. Waking up for 8 AM ballet classes and seeing my body in a leotard under fluorescent lighting felt like a form of torture Dick Cheney might think was a little too harsh. I saw a therapist over the summers and ate with my parents at home, and things got better, and then I’d go back to school and everything would unravel again. I’m still kind of shocked I made it through.

I’ve been done with school and living in the city for five years now, and I can honestly say that things are better. I mean, not “better”, in the sense that this chapter of the book is still pretty fucking open. But I’m better at dealing with it. The majority of the time now, I eat normally. I still binge, sometimes a lot and sometimes a little, but I carry on and try again the next day. I don’t really restrict to make up for binges anymore. I can eat some foods now that used to send me straight into Eatin’ Town USA, like cheese and bread and maybe even Oreos sometimes. I started enjoying working out, not just logging time on the treadmill as a punishment and feeling like Jean Valjean in the opening number of Les Mis (look down look down you’RE HERE UNTIL YOU DI-IE).

To be honest, I think I’m writing this mostly because the last couple months have been hard. I’ve fallen into some old stupid shitty habits, and I’ve been plugging along like normal and trying to claw myself out. But it’s not quite working like it normally does, and I don’t know why. I know I’ll make it through, because I always have, and what other option is there? But some days lately, I feel like twenty-year-old me, sobbing (very theatrically, natch) on the floor of my apartment because I should be over this by now - how am I not over this by now? This is my ninth year as a binge eater. Almost a decade! Far and away my longest and most committed relationship. When I hit 10 years strong, I should take myself out to a fancy restaurant or something but I don’t know what I’d order.

When I tell people this, I usually get some kind of “I had no idea”/“I’m sorry I didn’t notice”/“I would’ve never guessed” and the truth is that I didn’t, and still don’t, want anyone to notice. Of course I don’t. You don’t hide candy wrappers and empty pizza boxes in your closet with your winter boots because you want people to notice. It’s a very strange and secretive brand of shame that binge eating disorder brings and no one really get it unless they get it, and that’s not something I’d wish on anyone. (Okay, honestly, I’d wish it on some people, like it’s hard as hell but some people suck ass and probably deserve it? Anyway.) As I’ve grown up, I’ve started talking about this more and more. The first time I went public with all of this shit - I think I made a dramatic Instagram post a few years ago whilst day drunk during National Eating Disorder Awareness Week (absolutely incredible and Very Me start to a sentence) - I was shocked at how many people reached out to me privately and were like, hey, me too, and thank you for saying something. I’m still ashamed, but I’m trying not to be, and the more I talk about it the less alone I feel. “There are dozens of us! DOZENS!”

I guess one nice thing about this whole stupid nightmare is it’s kind of a reason why I am who I am. Not the only reason, but still. I started using jokes to cope with this while I was in school, and my sense of humor, whatever the fuck it is today, grew out of that. Except now I don’t joke about this stupid shit because I’m in denial, I do it because it’s real and I’m staring it in the face and it’s not going away, and the absurdity of something so excruciatingly difficult yet so entirely in my control gets fucking terrifying. I guess laughing at it makes it seem small.

3 notes · View notes

peachyvhope · 6 years

Text

Skinny Love | pt.1

;pairing — jimin x reader

;warnings — smut will be next chapter; till then... | very fluffy |

;summary — your roommate Jeon Jungkook has introduced a heartthrob of a crush into your life, and all you can do is sit by and watch with one-sided love.

;word count — about 4k

“Hey, did you want to come with me to see that new movie?”

Jungkook was stationed on the floor in front of you, iPhone pressed to his ear as he ran a hand through his dark hair. You knew he wasn’t talking to you, but it didn’t stop you from responding.

“Yes! Kookie, I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out!” Jungkook turned so fast you thought you would be the one to get whiplash. His glare was harsh, contrasting the light and airy tone in his words.

“Oh, no, that was my friend. She jokes around a lot… No, nothing! I’m asking you out after all, noona.” You rolled his eyes. Jungkook had a weird thing for girls older than him. Of course, it wasn’t really weird, but he just never once had any sort of attraction to someone younger than him. You wondered if there was something wrong with him. As soon as he realized a girl was younger than him, she never heard a word back from the guy. You stood from the couch and went to the kitchen, tuning out the rest of Jungkook’s conversation. When you find the orange juice sitting on the island counter, you yell out to your roommate.

“Hey! Jungkook, what did I tell you about leaving stuff out of the fridge?! And you’re always the first to complain when it’s all warm. Wait until you leave the milk out and it gets spoiled; I won’t buy another one!”

“I’m on the phone, woman!”

“I don’t care,” you yelled back. When Jungkook doesn’t respond, you hiss in frustration and uncap the orange juice, ready to drink straight from the carton. You hear the door open and assume it’s Jungkook leaving to do God knows what.

BZZT!

Your phone vibrates in your sweatpants’ pocket.

“Hey, I let myself in. I brought some stuff.” You jump at the new voice, almost dropping your phone, turning to see an all-too-familiar face.

“Oh, no, uh…” You trailed off, embarrassed at how you looked. It was a Saturday morning, which meant it was a lazy day. The invader wrapped his arms around you in a hug, and you breathed in his scent. When he leaned back to look at you, his eyebrows raised in worry, and you caught a reflection of yourself in his dark eyes. Your hands slapped to your cheeks, and when you turned around to hide from his view. You had gotten out of bed just a few hours ago and tied your hair into a bun, thrown on sweatpants, and decided to get on with your life. You knew you didn’t look one bit presentable; hell, you didn’t even have eyebrows!

“No?”

“I meant, no problem. You should have let me know you were coming, though!”

Park Jimin looked as good as ever. He looked imperfectly perfect, standing there in ordinary clothes, but he made it look like he’d just got off the fashion runway. Literally all he wore was a green crewneck and blue jeans. How? Ever since you met Jimin when he helped Jungkook move in two years ago, you’d developed a little crush. Something about the way he squinted when he smiled, or how his laugh was so contagious, his eyes, or his thighs. You didn’t know exactly, but as soon as you laid eyes on him, you were entranced. And when you got to know him, you began to fall for him. Hard.

“Y/N?” You’d started daydreaming about Jimin.

“Yeah?”

“I asked if I could put these in the fridge.”

“Oh, yeah! Of course! What’d you buy?”

“I bought some drinks; it’s game night, remember?”

“It is?” When Jimin gave you a pointed look, his eyelids shutting ever so slightly, you started nodding your head. “It is,” you said more certainly. “How could I ever forget?! We planned this…” You couldn’t remember when you had planned such a thing.

“Jungkook suggested it at dinner a few weeks ago. You’re so silly,” Jimin smiled that super cute smile of his, and you couldn’t help but smile with him.

“That he did. Did you get that one drink I like?”

“The one that you keep throwing back until you don’t even know your own name?” Jimin opened the door to your fridge and began to stock it with drinks of all kinds--all the guys were coming over and some of your friends, too. You noticed how, despite Jimin’s smaller frame, his shoulders still seemed broad.And his proportions were godly; you loved seeing him wear jeans. Especially jeans with tears in them.

“That’s the one,” you squealed excitedly, moving forward to see if he had bought it.

“No. I did not.” When he finished putting the alcohol in the fridge he turned and patted your head. He was just barely taller than you. “When you drink like that, you cause trouble for everyone. And we definitely do not need that today. What are we going to do when you starting yelling about the chicken nuggets Jungkook stole from you six months ago?”

“I have never once--” Jimin gave you another pointed look. “I hadn’t eaten all day,” you whined. Jimin chuckled that melodic chuckle and pushed you into the living room where Jungkook still sat, this time scrolling through Twitter posts.

“While you’re over there lurking, people are wondering if you’ve died or not, you coconut.” Jungkook slowly raised his middle finger in your direction as you took a seat in the arm chair.

“And while they’re worrying about me, no one gives a flying red fire truck about you, Y/N.”

“When did you become such an ass?” You scoffed in disbelief, glancing at Jimin who went to sit beside his best friend. They did a small handshake before Jimin whipped out his own phone and typed something out, eventually turning on the television and picking up the game controller.

“When you revealed your true colors as the devil herself.” Jungkook snickered to himself and you looked around for something to throw at the brat.

“Chill out, Kookie-ah. Let’s play some Overwatch.”

“Ah, yes!” Jungkook reached for a controller as well, leaning against the coach as he settled in. You wanted to move closer to observe their gameplay, but at that moment, the doorbell rang. Instead of taking the seat on the couch right behind the two guys, you walked over to the front door and opened it to reveal your friend Nara. She gleamed at you, giving you a short hug before walking into the kitchen. She had a bag in her hand, and before you knew it, she was putting her own groceries away. The only brightside to everyone dropping off food was that at the end of the night, the rest of it was yours. And Jungkook’s too, but you always got to them first. Usually.

“Game night, huh?”

“Yes, game night. Why is everyone showing up when it’s still…” you slipped your phone out your pocket, only to find that you hadn’t replied to Namjoon’s messages. You quickly checked the time, “It’s barely noon!”

god of destruction joon

[Sat, Oct 27, 11:32 AM]

hey, y/n

what should i bring? was thinking about alcohol but jm said hes got it.

You smirked at the message before typing out your reply.

Y/N

[Sat, Oct 27, 12:04 PM]

bring some snacks! gummies--lots of em. but also get the alcohol i really like. jimin forgot it.

Namjoon’s reply was quick. Nara glanced at you, surprised at the sudden buzz but continued to put things away. You could see she bought popcorn.

god of destruction joon

[Sat, Oct 27, 12:06 PM]

you do realize the ‘alcohol you really like’ is just smirnoff with lemonade we mix in, right?

You think about it. You’d always just seen the drink poured into a glass just for you, and you were just that eager to drink it.

Y/N

[Sat, Oct 27, 12:07 PM]

is it?

god of destruction joon

[Sat, Oct 27, 12:07 PM]

Yes. how about i mix something else tongiht? rather jin wants to mix it, he said it’ll be the best ever. he was gonna wait till we go drinking, but nows good a time as ever.

tonight*

Y/N

[Sat, Oct 27, 12:09 PM]

tell sir jin i’d be delighted. but don’t forget the gummy candy! I really like twin snakes, too!

You ended the conversation there, turning to see Nara had already retired into the living room. She was sat between the two guys on the floor, hands itching on her knees as she anxiously watched the gameplay. You didn’t know how, but you had never been too interested in mmorpg games. Even so, almost everyone you were surrounded by was deeply invested in them. You remembered helping Jungkook move boxes into his room and found stacks on stacks of similar games, and he cursed you when you dropped a single case. As if the CD was break from such a short fall.

“You play Widowmaker really well,” Nara compliments, eyes glued to the screen. Jungkook says nothing in return, his jaw slackened in focus. Your eyes find Jimin, who is awkwardly jamming the controls. His hair flops into his eyes slightly when he leans forward and he whips his head to try and get it out of his sight, but the strands don’t move. His teeth enclose his full bottom lip, making his lips just that much pinker.

Just then, Nara giggles out of nowhere, shaking you out of your reverie. You two make eye contact, and when you mouth ‘what’s funny’, Nara simply replies with something that involved ‘love’. The word alone brought blood rushing to your cheeks, and when the guys coincidentally finished their round and looked toward you, you slapped your hands to your cheeks.

“You okay over there, tomato?”

“Screw you, Jungkook. It’s hot.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I’m going to the bakery.” You turned on your heel and walked out the front door before realizing you were still dressed in stained sweats, a tank, and your hair was slicked into a bun away from your eyebrow-less greasy face. With a huff, you walked back inside in an effort to make yourself a bit more presentable to the outside world.

Ugh, and Jimin witnessed you like that.

When game night rolls around, so do the excuses. Jungkook was the first to go. The clock struck seven and he was all deuces, making you think back to when he was on the phone. Nara was the one who tried to force him to stay.

“Ya! You’re the one who made the plans!” She had said, but it was no use. Jungkook was convinced the noona he had been chatting up was the one.

And then came the texts. Yoongi was the first.

yoongers

[Sat, Oct 27, 7:07 PM]

Sleeping.

A sleepy bastard as always. And then there was Hoseok.

your hope

[Sat, Oct 27, 7:27 PM]

dance practice taking longer than expected. next time x

And it went on like that. The boys were making excuses left and right, and your friends, too! Jin suddenly had food poisoning from eating at some new restaurant and Namjoon had to nurse him back to health, and your friend JiHyun had an emergency because she chipped her tooth on a soda bottle. It was almost like they were avoiding you at this point.

“What am I supposed to do now?”

“What do you mean,” Nara looked up from her nails that she had been painting with the polish she snagged from your room. The color suited her better than it suited you, a light rose pink.

“No one’s coming. You’re the only one here.”

“You forgot about Jiminie,” Nara mumbled, and you suddenly remembered that Jimin had wandered off to Jungkook’s bedroom to catch up on some sleep hours earlier. If he was feeling so tired, he’d probably end up leaving, too.

“Ugh,” you groaned. “I already ordered the food.”

“Oh, honey--” A loud ringtone blared from Nara’s phone. Her eyes widened as she read the message. Interested, you attempted to lean over and catch a glimpse of what was happening but your best friend was too quick. She stood hurriedly and began to gather her belongings. “Something came up; I really need to get going.”

“What?! Not you too, Nara!”

“I am so sorry, Y/N. I’ll make it up to you,” she uttered in a rushed tone. “I’ll take some food with me, though. Sounds like they’re here.” Nara moved in the direction of the door, and like she said, the food had just arrived. Nara took out a card and spoke with the man briefly, taking one of the boxes of pizza you’d ordered before pointing in your direction. At least she paid for the food, so you were grateful. You waved goodbye as Nara put the box in the passenger seat of her car before offering the delivery guy to come in and place the food in the kitchen.

“As a tip, do you want any of the food? I’ll still pay a tip, too.” You pulled a small bill from your pocket and offered it.

“Then, the noodles,” he smiled. “Someone cancel on you?”

“That obvious?” The delivery guy smiled before nodding in thanks and heading out. You sighed, opening up a box of pizza and taking a slice.

You were on your third slice when you heard a door creak open. You looked up to see Jimin, his dark hair ruffled and his eyes tired. “Is it good?” You hummed, nodding your head to the box to silently offer him. “What happened? Did I miss the party?” Jimin chuckled innocently, and you wondered if he really thought that.

“They cancelled.”

“So it’s just me and you, huh?” Jimin bit into the pizza slice, and that was when it hit. You and Jimin. Jimin and you. Alone. If things when badly on Jungkook’s date, then he’d be back in a few hours, the latest. Why were you even thinking about that coconut head brat when Jimin was in front of you, you didn’t know. But what you did know was that you were getting more and more nervous at the thought of being all alone with the guy you liked.

“I, yeah,” you began to stutter. “Did you, sleep, uh, drive, I mean…” You couldn’t tell where even you yourself were going with this conversation. “Do you like tomatoes?”

Jimin’s expression was one of pure confusion, but after a moment, he burst out into laughter. His eyes squinted beautifully as he laughed with his whole body, lurching forward and grabbing onto the island counter with his free hand. You couldn’t help but begin to giggle along with him, feeling some of the nervousness evaporate in your body.

“Sorry, that was too funny.” Jimin swiped a tear from his eye and exhaled a deep breath. “Tomatoes are alright. What do you think?”

“They’re great. They’re fruity, you know.”

“You’re just making this more awkward than it needs to be, Y/N. You know that right?” Jimin stated the obvious, using his hands to elaborate on what he was saying. He moved his hand between the both of you, gesturing ‘this’.

“I, uh, sorry? Pardon?”

“God, you hang around Kookie-ah too much.” Jimin flipped his hair and ran his hand through it before leaning an elbow on the counter and resting his face in his hand. He peered up at you from beneath his long eyelashes. Suddenly he yawned, and his other fist covered his mouth. “What time is it?”

You lifted your phone to show him the time.

“I’ll get going, then.” Jimin stood from his seat and moved towards you, holding his arms out for a hug. If there was one thing you absolutely adored about Jimin, it was his hugs. You shyly took a step forward as he caged you to his body, and you breathed in his scent for the second time that day. Despite being stuck in Jungkook’s room all day, he still smelled of vanilla.

“Stop sniffing me, Y/N, you weirdo,” Jimin chuckled lightly in your ear, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“You just smell really good,” you mumble absentmindedly.

“Not as good as you.” You weren’t absolutely sure, but you could have sworn Jimin’s lips brushed against your ear. You started to feel more self-conscious. “I’ve always wondered, but what do I smell like?”

“I..You smell,” you paused. “Good?” Cue another chuckle. “Sweet, like marshmallows and vanilla.”

“You know what you smell like to me?” Jimin’s voice dropped to just barely a whisper, and there it was again. His lips undeniably brushed against your ear, and as he continued to speak, you could feel his lips hovering. “You smell...quite sexy.” Jimin pressed his lips lightly to your cheek and then to your jaw; light butterfly kisses. You began to feel yourself mentally melt; it was as if it was a dream.

“Like?” You urged him to continue.

“Like...I don’t know...just sexy.” Jimin’s arms moved lower. Rather than encircling you in a hug, his arms were wrapped around your waist and you were acutely aware of this.

“Jimin…” You didn’t know how to phrase this. Jimin was no ‘international playboy’ like Jungkook, but he is definitely a lady killer. You didn’t know what the was doing, or why he was doing what he was doing.

“Do you know what skinny love is?”

“What?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Again. What? Except you didn’t say it. You looked up at Jimin, searching his eyes to see if there was anything wrong with this scenario. Park Jimin just asked if he could kiss you. You. No way this was happening. Your hand moved of its own accord and you pinched your own cheek. Hard.

“Woah! Are you okay? Just say no!” Jimin backed away as if fire had scalded him, gingerly touching your red and aching cheek. “I’m sorry. Forget I said anything--I just---”

“I had to check if this was real.”

Jimin sighed and took a seat in the stool at the island counter again and took your hand in his. “Y/N, I have had a crush on you for three years now. Since Jungkook showed us his Halloween picture when he was Detective Conan and you were Haibara.”

“That’s kinda…”

“Creepy that I remember that? Yeah. I know… The point is, I’ve liked you for a while now. And I know you like me.”

“I thought I was pretty slick,” you mumble in disbelief.

“With your staring?” Jimin chuckled again. Unconsciously, you reached up and pressed your hands to Jimin’s cheeks.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry. You’re real. Wow.” You were so shocked, you began to zone out, rubbing Jimin’s red cheeks.

Without any warning, Jimin pulled your face close to his own and he pressed his full lips to yours. You almost immediately sighed, finally released from the excruciating mystery of what his lips would feel like. Jimin pulled your body closer, and you leaned into the kiss. His lips moved slowly, fluidly, and when you thought the feeling was as good as it was ever going to get, you felt his tongue slide over your bottom lip in an effort to coax a deeper kiss out of you.

His hands wander under your shirt, his cold fingertips causing you to shiver from his touch. You let out a shaky sigh, your hands finding their way to his hair.

“I really like you,” Jimin whispered against your lips, and your eyes fluttered open to see his own hooded eyes, filled with lust. “I really want to take you, right here…”

You hummed in agreement. You wouldn’t object to that—you’d been dreaming of it for months. It would be a dream come true, but you sensed a ‘but’. And sure enough it came. Your body went cold and Jimin’s forehead was pressed against your own, and you could see some kind of pain tinged in his eyes.

“Park Jimin,” you muttered in a hushed tone.

“You deserve better…” For a moment, your mind blanked out. Jimin does all this, just to leave you cold turkey.

CLICK!

The door slams open and you can hear bumbling laughter. “Y/N~”

Jungkook was back. Jimin separated himself from you and breathed heavily, watching as Jungkook finally entered the kitchen where you were. Jungkook stumbled around, clearly drunk.

“I thought you went to the movies,” you said, crossing your arms across his chest. Jimin gingerly touched your elbow before standing from his seat, clearly amused by the scene of Jungkook bursting into song, “I’m a born singer~”.

“I’ll help him get into bed.”

Jimin did just that. He took Jungkook into his room and you could hear him in the midst of all the ruckus cursing the younger man. Perplexed with whether or not you should stay out in the kitchen and wait for Jimin to come back or go into your own room and call it a night, you started to clear away the food and put them into the fridge.

You finished stacking the cartons of food atop the pizza in the fridge and closed the door just when Jimin walked back into the open kitchen. His sweater had become untucked and you wondered how much trouble drunk Jungkook was; you had never actually seen him so drunk. He’d always boasted about the high tolerance he had—at least now you had more reason to tease him.

Jimin crossed the empty space towards you, shaking you out of thought. His expression seemed tired. “Y/N…” He suddenly took hold of your hands. A long minute passed as he stared down at you. When you finally began to feel awkward, your hands growing more and more clammy with your heart beating out of your chest with each passing second, he finally spoke. “Let’s go on a date.” He stepped back, letting go of your hands and you don’t know if you imagined it, but a blush crept up his neck and tinged his ears a rose pink. “I’ll text you.” And he walked through the door.

Only a moment passed before he came back inside and wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug. “You mean the world to me, and you deserve the world.” Jimin pressed his plump lips to your forehead one last time, “Lock the door, okay?”

And then he was truly gone.

#shawty give me whip-whiplash #ft illejeon #jiminlies #bts scenarios #bts #bts jimin #jimin x reader #illejeon doing illegal things #jimin being a cutie #mochimchim #some fluff

105 notes · View notes

8bityeol · 7 years

Text

The Pest Across The Hall

Genre : Roomate!AU Summary : If there’s one thing you regret the most in life, it’s letting Sehun become your roomate. (It’s a repost, sue me)

It's not like you didn't like your new roommate…actually it was. He somehow knew how to push all your buttons. Every single one of them. His name was Sehun and when you’d gotten that email from [email protected] it’d never crossed your mind that by opening that email all the horrors of the world would be unleashed into the world. You called the modern pandora box.

There were many things you didn’t like about Sehun and everyday the list seemed to grow in length. You’d even resorted to calling Junmyeon and asking him to take the bugger back in. Obviously and to your dismay, he said no.

You could list many problems with Sehun but the longest and most trying one was the milk.

On Sunday mornings, at precisely 10 o’clock you rolled out of bed and hopped on straight to the kitchen. Although the air was chilly, and the tiles were frozen nothing could stop your bare feet from trodding towards the fridge. Sunday mornings were special for one reason only, cereal. In the normal week day you never had time for cereal due to work and all.

"Sehun!" You yelled. Your hands were shaking as you held the cold carton. “Get down here!”

You could hear the pit patter of feet coming down the stairs, down into the hall then stopping at the kitchen. He stood in the archway, face knitted with confusion. He was ever so oblivious, as always.

"What's wrong?" He asked, balancing his glasses on his nose.

You waved the carton around.

“What?” He asked and then it clicked,"Oh, the milk... I forgot."

You rolled your eyes, "You always forget, Sehun It's honestly not that hard to not put an empty carton in the bin. Did you think i’d drink any empty carton?"

"No...but I promise it won’t happen again," He says, “Should I run to the store?”

"Just- Nevermind, Just go...you’re gonna make me have blood pressure problems by the time I’m thirty,” You muttered as you threw the empty carton into the bin.

“How about I make us some waffles?” he suggests. “Chocolate sauce and whipped cream?”

Although you were impartial to waffles, especially with chocolate sauce and whipped cream, you couldn’t back down. The milk matter was an important one, one that should not be put aside. A cause that had to be fought for!

“Maybe some other day,” You say, before grabbing a pot of yorgurt.

“So today then?” He says. “I’ll call you down when they’re done.”

You grab a spoon and glare at him as he fetches flour out of the cupboard. “If that’s what you want.”

The milk you could forgive simply because he usually made up for it by waffles but, still it was a problem. A small problem but still, a problem. Onto more pressing matters. In the same way you were unable to resist the power of waffles with chocolate sauce, Sehun was unanimously impartial to women who had a disposition to linger longer than need be.

Second problem: the girls

You'd entered your homely abode to find a pair of heels laying haphazardly on the floor. White with clear diamantes? They were clearly not yours. Knowing what would probably be around the corner, you weren’t surprised to find Sehun’s pants decorating your potted plant and a blue mini dress somewhere on the couch. The best part of all, the pink Victoria Secret bra embellished with sparkles and black lace. It was one size too small, therefore clearly not yours.

It’s not that you were a prude, but was it not inappropriate to shed the clothes of your one night stand in a shared area? Especially if one knew their roommate was going to come home from a night shift.

“Good morning” Sehun said with a yawn as he emerged from his room. The strands of silver hairs of his were disheveled a contrast from his usual neat style. He’d gotten it styled last week. “How’s work?.”

“Same as everyday,” You sat down onto the couch, you automatically eyed the dress before flinging it at Sehun, “Keep the clothes in your room next time,” you said.

his eyes scanned the room, “Oh, i didn’t even notice.” without a strand of shame, he strolled over to your plant and grabbed his pants. “Things just happen in the moment.”

“Even if it’s the ‘moment’ you can still wait until you get to your room to start undressing!” You said, “Look, even her bra is here. I better not find a thong in the kitchen.”

He shrugged, “If you knew anything about being in the moment you’d know that sometimes you just can’t wait.” he said with a small smirk.

“Still, just keep your-”

Creak

You whipped around to find a girl draped in Sehun’s duvet, she stared with wide eyes at the both of you. “C-can i have my clothes?” She meekly asked.

She uttered a small thanks as you and Sehun awkwardly located pieces of her clothes dotted around the room. As soon as the door closed announcing her departure you turned back to Sehun with piercing stare.

“It won’t happen again.”

“As if we hadn’t heard that before.”

The girls can be forgiven although it was hard to but let’s clear one thing up, you weren’t attracted to Sehun in anyway what’s so ever. Although Sehun wasn’t the main issue his mingling little friends were, somehow their sticky little fingers couldn’t stop digging their hands into Your chocolate ice cream

Third problem: The Chocolate Ice cream

There were days when you just needed one thing, and today was one of those days you needed chocolate ice cream. It seemed to be the only thing that took your mind off cramps and other things of a similar and painful nature. He was eating up without shame as well!

Because of this incident and many others, you’d begun to hide the chocolate ice cream, precisely behind the stack of frozen vegetables. Sehun didn’t like vegetables, so it was the perfect place to hide it.

Fast word to today, you had found yourself crouched down in the freezer pulling the draws with haste and terror. The vegetable packets were missing and so where the ice cream.

Without wasting a breath, unlocked your phone and scrolled in your contacts until you reached Sehun. It rung a few times until you heard in infuriating voice through the receiver.

“Sehun...where’s my ice cream?” You asked.

“Uh....which ice cream?”

“You know the one.” You sighed into the phone.

There was a silence on the other end, “...the chocolate one?”

“...Noooooo, the strawberry one.”

“I thought you didn’t like str-”

“It was sarcasm and yes i mean the chocolate one” You cut in. “What the hell happened to it?”

“Don’t get angry-”

“I was already angry when i had to call you!”

He let out a loud breath before continuing, “Jongdae ate it- i told him not to though!”

You made a feeble attempt to suppress the shouting you wanted to unleash on Sehun, “Put him on the phone.”

You heard a rustle and the sound of a scuffle before Jongdae gave an apprehensive hello.

“Jongdae, did you eat my ice cream?” You questioned.

“It was an accident!” he frantically said, “Sehun didn’t tell me to stop.”

“I want the both of you to comeback to the house, two tubs of ice cream in hand and a packet of cheeto-”

“I didn’t eat any cheetos” he cut in. You could hear the sound of refusal in background.

You smiled, “It’s compensation for the stress you and noodle boy put me through.”

“Ok, we’ll bring those back.” He said.

You inwardly cheered, there was nothing more heavenly the combination of cheerios and ice cream, “Never eat my ice cream again- Thanks Jongdae, put noodle boy back on the phone.”

“I'm not bringing you cheetos back.”

“Do you want a bed to sleep in at night? Don’t forget you forgot your keys tonight.” You said before ending the call.

A/N

Hehe...I'm here once again, posting a fic that i've already posted on my old account...forgive me.

#sehun scenario #exo scenario #exo fluff #sehun #sehun oneshot #exo #sehun fanfic #exo fanfic #sehun scenarios

287 notes · View notes

fashiontrendin-blog · 6 years

Text

Thinking about going plastic-free? This eco warrior's daily diary is all the inspo you need

http://fashion-trendin.com/thinking-about-going-plastic-free-this-eco-warriors-daily-diary-is-all-the-inspo-you-need/

Thinking about going plastic-free? This eco warrior's daily diary is all the inspo you need

If you care about the planet but have no idea how to help, you’re not alone.

New research from SodaStream revealed that 95% of Brits now believe they can personally make a difference to the plight of the planet, compared to just 36% in March 2017. Despite this, 6.2 million still haven’t made any effort to reduce their single-use plastic intake.

Legal & General Investment Management’s ‘Own Your World’ campaign reveals an impressive nine out of ten (92%) of the 18 to 55 year-olds surveyed said that minimising their impact on the environment is important, with 27% of under 35s saying it is *very* important.

Over half have pledged to buy less plastic bottles than this time last year and one third carry a reusable water bottle daily – in a bid to reduce the 19.2 million disposable bottles dumped in landfill every day *gasps*. We’re not just bottling it, as 79% are cutting down on supermarket 5p bags and half are saying no to plastic straws.

This is why you need to get behind World Oceans Day – and what we discovered will shock you

So if you’re hoping to jump on the plastic-free bandwagon, we’ve enlisted eco campaigner and zero waste advocate, Kate Arnell, to share a day in her plastic-free life in the hope that it will inspire you to do the same.

Plastic Free Guide

9 am – I enjoy reading a chapter or two of a book with a cup of coffee in bed for an hour. I work from home so I’m lucky I can set my own schedule. I brush my teeth using my wooden toothbrush and use a sprinkle of bicarbonate of soda bought from bulk (loose!) instead of toothpaste.

9:15 am – Breakfast time! I either have a bowl of organic oats with full fat organic milk that is delivered by my milkman in returnable glass bottles, or two organic fried eggs on toast. And I love coffee, so I buy the beans loose and grind them in my blender and enjoy a french press. No wasteful coffee pods!

11am – Shower up. I know, I have a weird routine, but I like showering mid-morning! I use a bar of soap instead of shower gel, a reusable stainless steel safety razor to shave and a shampoo bar to wash my hair. I’m obsessed with Beauty Kubes at the moment – plastic-free shampoo “kubes” that are made in Cornwall and work so well! To condition my hair I rinse with diluted apple cider vinegar… I know it sounds really hippie and I never thought I’d be someone who uses vinegar on my hair, but it works.

I trialled an eco-friendly shampoo bar and here’s what happened…

For deodorant I pat on some bicarbonate of soda. Some people have a reaction to this, like my husband, so he uses a bicarb-free deodorant that we buy in a compostable cardboard tube by Meow Meow Tweet. I also use an organic body butter that comes in a compostable cardboard container. Some people love to DIY their own beauty products – I’ve tried but it’s not my skill set, so instead, I use a few simple kitchen cupboard swaps and buy the rest. Acalaonline.com is a new site selling plastic-free beauty, which I love.

Makeup was one of the hardest things to find low-waste or plastic-free. I started out by simplifying and considered what I truly need: foundation, mascara, eyeliner, lipstick and bronzer. I managed to find an eye kohl by Fat & The Moon that works as both a mascara and an eyeliner and comes in a recyclable metal tin. I love it when a product is multi-purpose! The foundation I use is non-toxic and comes in a metal tin and I use cocoa powder as a bronzer, which I buy from bulk. The only product that comes with a bit of plastic is the lipstick I use but so far, I can’t find an alternative and only use it when I’m filming or at events. I look for brands that use a lot of organic ingredients and minimal plastic-free packaging.

Your ultimate guide to the difference between vegan, natural, organic, clean and fair trade beauty

11:30am – At this point, I’ll either continue with some work at the computer or sit down to film a video for my YouTube channel. I used to work as a TV presenter but after 10 years, work was getting scarce and I had recently discovered the Zero Waste Lifestyle. I wanted to share my experience via YouTube, especially as there weren’t many people in the UK talking about it a few years ago.

1:30pm – Lunch time. I eat something at home most days, and usually rustle up a stir fry using leftover chicken and veggies or some other random concoction. If I’m out and about, I always carry a small reusable cloth bag with me and can easily find an unpackaged sandwich to go straight in from a bakery or deli. And yes, I eat meat. I was vegetarian for 13 years and it made me really ill. The more I read about meat, the more I appreciate the crucial role animals play in regenerating our environment, fighting climate change and nourishing our bodies. Not all meat is created equal, so I only buy local, organic meat, unpackaged!

Sometimes I’ll catch up with a friend for lunch and we’ll go to a nearby café. When eating out, I request no straw in my drink and return the unused paper napkin to the waiter to reuse – I don’t need it.

3pm – I shop for groceries once a week and then top up with store cupboard staples once every few weeks. If I’m doing the weekly shop, I take a few reusable metal tins with me and some cloth bags and an empty egg carton and walk 10 minutes to a local shop, where all of their produce is organic and loose. The butcher puts any meat straight into the containers (and deducts the weight of the container!), and I use cloth bags for bread and soft items like tomatoes and berries, but everything else just goes loose into the basket and then I carry it home in my larger reusable bags.

This incredible woman encouraged 100,000 people to join her in ending period product waste

If I’m stocking up on dry goods, I’ll visit one of the many bulk shops popping up across the country. London now has several locations to shop plastic-free (there’s a list on my blog!). I can also get beer, wine and oil refills, too. I simply weigh the containers and the shop deducts the weight at the checkout. Sounds odd, I know, but I’ve been grocery shopping this way for five years now and it feels totally normal.

My weekly grocery shop takes 30 minutes, including walking, but for those who are really stuck for time, there are now online stores now selling dry goods without plastic, try plasticfreepantry.co.uk or zero-waste-club.com and for veggies, the organicdeliverycompany.co.uk has a plastic-free veg box delivery.

4:30pm – Time for a cuppa! I make tea using loose leaf and a reusable metal tea ball strainer – a bit like a tea bag but reusable and no plastic. Yep, most teabags still contain plastic!

6:30pm – Let’s get cooking! Before adopting a Zero Waste Lifestyle, I wasn’t a fan of cooking. Now, I LOVE it. In the early days, it was difficult to find things like pasta from bulk, so I learned to make my own. Now it’s really easy to find, so I buy it loose, but I’m pleased I learned a new skill. I mostly buy British produce, so it’s seasonal and I just go with the flow in the kitchen. I rarely follow recipes, except when I’m making bread pudding (from leftover bread), homemade custard or homemade tortillas as I need a recipe for those.

We compost food scraps in our small worm bin on the balcony but some things like citrus peels, cooked meat and fats cannot go in there so for now, those get thrown away in a small paper bag. I’m constantly bothering my council to start offering a food waste collection service and they have just started to trial it in a small area. Fingers crossed it comes our way soon.

Celebrate World Environment Day with these eco-friendly sustainable beauty buys

7:30pm – My husband and I are real foodies and enjoy a good chat over our evening meal. To drink, we’ll either enjoy a bit of organic wine (from a refill) or a glass of sparkling water from my SodaStream Crystal, which comes with a glass bottle and turns tap water into sparkling in a few seconds. The gas canisters are returnable, too.

10pm – I’m definitely a night owl, and if I have a deadline, I will happily start working on it from 10pm until 2am. I’ve tried to fight it for years, but have come to realise I am most productive and efficient working at night. My husband is the complete opposite, so I try to go to bed early with him most nights. He’s been really great at embracing the Zero Waste Lifestyle, although his initial reaction was, “I’m going to fight you on this” when I tried to take away his beloved cleaning products and replace them with vinegar and reusable cloth rags! Since then, he’s seen the benefits: improved health and spending less (especially on cleaning products!) and he’s realised just how unnecessary and destructive plastic has become.

He’s now the first to start talking about it when people ask about zero waste and friends now send him pictures of their reusable coffee cups. If I had any advice for encouraging friends and family to start reducing plastic, it’s this: don’t preach and lead by example. Guilting people into doing something is the worst. Make it fun, laugh when things go wrong and leave perfection at the door. You do you, and hopefully others will feel inspired.

Ready to get started? Here are our picks of the best shampoo bars to get your ball rolling…

0 notes

kidsviral-blog · 6 years

Text

I'm Mending My Broken Relationship With Food

New Post has been published on https://kidsviral.info/im-mending-my-broken-relationship-with-food/

I'm Mending My Broken Relationship With Food

After a lifetime struggling with disordered eating, I’m still figuring out how to have a healthy relationship with my body and what I feed it.

View this image ›

Justine Zwiebel / BuzzFeed

It’s a late night in winter, and I am standing over my gas stove heating a metal spoon. I hold the handle gently in my fingers, carefully rotating the bowl over the tips of the indigo flames as the pale yellow pat of Smart Balance butter inside begins to liquefy. The sleeves of my oversized sweatshirt graze the middle of my palms and I step on the hem of my baggy sweatpants as, slowly, I pull the spoon away. A tiny drop of hot liquid falls on my toes as I tip its contents over the edge of a plain white bowl filled with sugar. I add flour, some milk, a few drops of vanilla, and a handful of chocolate chips. I stir. I taste.

I take the bowl to the couch, balance it precariously on the edge, and lie down on my side, my fingers the only utensil, pinching stray sugary flecks off the velvet dark gray fabric as The Real Housewives of New Jersey blares on the TV. It’s been nearly three years since a therapist told me I’m a disordered eater. Yet, after one personal trainer, over two years of therapy, three juice cleanses, four gym memberships, 20 pounds lost, 30 pounds gained back, and thousands of dollars spent on healthy groceries and high-end cookware, I am 24 years old and spending another night, like so many nights before, eating a bowl of last-minute, mediocre cookie dough alone in my apartment at 11 p.m. And I hate myself for it.

View this image ›

Justine Zwiebel / BuzzFeed

I’ve been overweight — or bordering on it — nearly my entire life, at least since my family moved to the U.S. when I was 4. When I was a child, a routine fight between my Hungarian mother and me was over how much I ate for dinner. Propping my elbows on our scratched dining table, I’d watch her petite, pale hands hovering above me, ladling spoon upon spoon of rice on my father’s plate. “NO FAIR, DAD GOT THE BIGGER ONE,” I’d cry out when my own would finally land, unable to grasp why a 5-foot-10-inch, 200-plus-pound Nigerian man would need to eat more than I did. Seconds, for me, were a must. Thirds weren’t unusual.

Growing up in a white, affluent neighborhood in Lubbock, Texas, I was the only Anita in a sea of Amandas, Brittanys, and Tiffanys. I was biracial, brown and round, with a puffy ball of hair that sat squarely banded in the middle in my head. The boys called it a “burnt marshmallow” and “tumor.” Isolated and othered, I began using food as a coping mechanism around middle school, when my parents began letting me walk home (across the street) alone. I’d spend the two hours until my mom got off work by myself. My best friends had “boyfriends” in the way suburban preteens can — notes, stuffed animals, dates at the roller rink on school skate night. I had a gallon of Edy’s chocolate chip waiting in the freezer for me each day.

Eventually, my mom realized I was sneaking food and she started hiding sweets in the kitchen in hopes of curbing my steady weight gain. Instead, I became an expert at climbing on countertops, calculating how much I could eat of something before she would notice, and burying wrappers in the trash. Often, I’d throw away the balanced, nutritious lunches she’d pack me — whole wheat wraps and sandwiches, fruits, veggies, hard-boiled eggs — in favor of pizza and curly fries. “You ate your lunch today, right?” she’d ask cautiously, waiting for the “yes” we both knew was a lie. She was careful not to tie my weight to my worth, but rather reminded me constantly that what I was doing wasn’t healthy. Looking back, I can’t blame her, but at the time I felt betrayed. Though I couldn’t articulate it then, taking those foods away from me was taking away the one thing that made me feel like I wasn’t alone. I was already the chubby black girl; I didn’t want to be the chubby black girl on a diet.

View this image ›

Justine Zwiebel / BuzzFeed

As I grew older, I prided myself on being good. I volunteered. I got straight A’s. I didn’t drink, smoke, have sex, or do drugs. But I ate.

What had begun as a way of burying my insecurities morphed into a way of self-medicating full-blown depression and anxiety. Food was my salve and my secret. By the time I was a high schooler in Arkansas, where we had moved when I was 14, I was regularly driving through the local Chinese restaurant, eating crab rangoon alone in my car in the parking lot of an abandoned strip mall. Overwhelmed by a laundry list of extracurriculars that I hoped would get me into the “right college” — student council, cheerleading, theatre, National Honor Society, Key Club, jazz, tap, ballet — I ate until I was too full to worry. When I was cast in my senior musical, I ran to my car after last bell and sped up the highway to Sonic to buy Cinnasnacks (think mini-cinnamon rolls, but more gross) and a cherry limeade in the half hour before first rehearsal. I realized what was happening wasn’t normal when I thought more about what I’d eat when I got to my friends’ houses than the time I’d spend with them.

At the time, I tried to figure out what was wrong with me the same way I tried to find solutions to all of my problems as a teen: magazines. Yet, in article upon article, all I saw were stock images of thin white girls with whom I seemed to have nothing in common. I was obviously not anorexic. I never could throw up after eating, though god knows I tried, so bulimia was out. And while my habits were definitely in line with bingeing, which wasn’t recognized as its own disorder until 2013, I never felt like I ate quite enough to qualify. I had a tendency to buy a lot of things on impulse, take a few bites, then throw them away. I once read somewhere that Lindsay Lohan poured water on her food after she was full so she’d stop eating; I’d subsequently watched many half-eaten tubs of ice cream swirl down the drain.

I hoped going to my dream college would somehow absolve me of my lack of self-worth and, with that, my eating habits. Instead, I spent much of my freshman and sophomore years at Brown feeling like a fraud and making full use of my unlimited meal plan by stuffing to-go containers and eating alone in my dorm room.

Eventually, I began seeing a therapist, who diagnosed me with dysthymia — a low-grade, chronic form of depression — and generalized anxiety disorder. I also began seeing a personal trainer. By senior year, my body finally felt like it fit my 5-foot-2-inch frame. I spoke in class like what I had to say actually mattered. Instead of ruminating alone and in doubt, I opened up to friends and socialized. I went on spring break in Florida and took pictures in a bikini for the first time ever. I felt more in control of my life than I ever thought I could. I was finally, finally, happy.

View this image ›

Justine Zwiebel / BuzzFeed

But, despite my progress, there was one hurdle for which I couldn’t shake my anxiety: finding a job. An aspiring journalist, I had carefully checked off all the necessary boxes — writing courses, writing and editing for campus publications, three internships — but was terrified of rejection. So instead, I joined Teach for America after graduating in 2012, rationalizing it as a necessary experience to one day write about social justice issues. After a few months teaching third grade at a charter school north of Providence, I was miserable. Inexperienced and ill-equipped to handle the needs of my students, I began yo-yoing between jars of baby food that I’d eat as meals and cartons of Chinese food and quickly gained back half the weight I’d previously lost.

So, I finally sought out a second therapist who specialized in weight and body issues.

“The only reason you felt happy your senior year is because you were thin,” she told me during one of our first sessions. It was then when I learned the name for what I’d been struggling with my entire life: disordered eating, in my case chronic enough that it was periodically a full-blown, though unspecified, eating disorder (the distinction between the two is the frequency and severity of patterns). My therapist coaxed me to recognize how my entire identity and self-esteem seemed dependent on what was on my plate at any given moment. She pointed out that even when I had felt my best, I was undercounting calories, considering a couple dozen spears of asparagus or a couple of eggs to be adequate dinners, despite running regular 5Ks at the time. Instead of becoming healthier during college, I had swung from one extreme to the other. Now I was bouncing back and forth between the two.

Yet, as thankful as I was to have a more concrete understanding of what was going on with me, I rejected her theory. After all, I thought, much more had changed that year than just my weight and diet. The real problem was my job. The real problem was Rhode Island. So, I quit and I left. And, like a bad movie on loop, within a few months in New York I was juice cleansing and takeout bingeing, with a job at a fashion magazine where I was thankful for a cubicle so that that no one could see me inhale the finest Midtown’s hot buffet delis had to offer. Then, for a host of reasons, I quit that job after half a year and spent my “funemployment” obsessively looking for another one, watching all of Breaking Bad, and ordering Seamless at midnight.

Pause. Play. Rewind. Repeat.

View this image ›

Justine Zwiebel / BuzzFeed

I’m now nearing the end of my second year in New York, and by and large my life has begun to stabilize. I’ve moved out of a claustrophobic apartment I shared with roommates when I first got to the city into one of my own, and have both a job and a boyfriend I love. I cook more and, overall, eat much better, often Instagramming the meals I’m most proud to have made.

And yet — two weekends ago, I visited my parents in Arkansas, and it went badly: My boyfriend and I were fighting, the flights were changed because of bad weather. Exhausted, I spent much of my airport layover on the way back to NYC agonizing over what to eat, wanting nothing more than to drown myself in a combo plate at the King Wah Express, yet ultimately settling on a sensible salad from the glaringly obvious sensible salad place (“green to greens…” “earth fresh…”). The canned salmon was too pale, the dressing too much like something out of a Kraft bottle, and I was too aware of being the overweight woman eating a salad. I pushed it over to the side and grabbed my wallet. After another lap around the food court, I was back in front of King Wah Express.

“How much is just a side of lo mein?” I asked the woman behind the counter.

“$4.99.”

It wasn’t a lot, but I was frustrated that I’d already spent $13 on something that was going in the trash. I changed course.

“I’ll take two crab rangoon, please.”

I sat back down and ate them my usual way: crispy corners first, then soft, squishy middle full of filling. As I dribbled duck sauce out of individual packets and wiped grease off my fingers, I wondered, like so many times before, if my eating habits will — can — ever really sustainably change. I pulled up the waistband of my leggings, aware of the strings already unraveling at the seams in the thigh and that I’d just bought them a little over a month ago. Packing for this trip was easy; I am at the heaviest I’ve ever been and most of my clothes didn’t fit anyway.

The last time I ate crab rangoon, it was 2013 and I was still living in Rhode Island. After failing to go to the YMCA that was across the street from my apartment, I had purchased a membership at a discount gym in a small town 10 minutes away because, somehow, that seemed like a better motivator than a building I could literally stare at out of my bedroom window. I can count the number of times I went to that gym on two hands and have few memories of it, but I do remember the Chinese buffet that was in the shopping center next door. I went to it twice: one time to eat inside, in a pleather booth near a couple and their annoying kids, the other to eat takeout, in a red plastic Ikea chair in my kitchen.

I can’t believe I am fucking here. Again. I thought, as I thumbed crumbs off the airport table.

But that was two weeks ago.

I’ve come to realize I eat the same way I hit my snooze button every morning: just a little bit more. Tired when I should feel energized, so empty despite being so full. Food is still the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before I go to bed. I still spend much of my time trying to hide just how much I eat it. After nine months in my own place, I’ve yet to buy my own microwave, hoping the lack of ease with which I can heat things will keep me from eating myself out of control. I’ve also yet to find a therapist in the city, an endeavor I’ve embarked on most weeks since I moved here and feel wholly overwhelmed by. However, I’m slowly, finally, acknowledging that my disordered eating — though inextricably intertwined with other issues — is also its own source of unhappiness, rather than a symptom of it.

And now I’m trying a new routine. Today was my fourth day starting my morning curled on my couch, sipping a cup of tea before I reach for the handle of the fridge. Before I leave my apartment, I pack lunch — a proper serving of “pad thai” made with spaghetti squash and shrimp, which I relished making earlier in the week, plus blueberries — in a plastic teal bento box with dorky handles. I feel equal parts embarrassed and ecstatic about carrying it on the subway and into my office, mindful of what my co-workers might think of such a marked departure from the spread of constant, countless snacks I’ve carted to my desk, but knowing after I’ve finished what’s inside, I’ll feel better somehow. This time, I won’t throw it away.

Resources

If you or someone you know is struggling with an eating disorder, here are some organizations that have trained support staff available by phone:

National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders Helpline: 1-630-577-1330

Binge Eating Disorder Association Helpline: 1-855-855-BEDA

National Eating Disorder Association Helpline: 1-800-931-2237

Read more: http://www.buzzfeed.com/anitabadejo/confessions-of-a-disordered-eater

#Body Image #eating disorder #essay

0 notes