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junipercreeps · 7 months

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🔖 Day Eight - Dark Days

When I woke up, I initially didn't know why I was staring directly at a sparkling river. After a few seconds, I realized what had happened last night.

The painkiller had eventually made me so tired that I must have fallen asleep in the middle of my conversation with Alaric. I felt his warmth behind me – not overly close, but still noticeably nearby.

Slowly, I turned around. He had rolled up his blanket and placed it between us, a small barrier of modesty. That touched me for a moment. However, in the next, I wondered if he was doing it to be respectful or if he didn't want to get too close to my body to avoid creating a false impression.

He had comforted me after I had processed the initial shock of the coven and the fact that we were descended from witches. The idea that someone in my family should possess magic seemed absurd. But Alaric showed me. He placed his hands on mine, and I saw all the things that had been hidden from me for nearly two decades.

How he grew up and felt that he was different. The same feeling, I had experienced when I was his age. He explained that during puberty, our magic and our body's hormones fought each other – humans against witchcraft. And he also told me that people subconsciously sensed it. They avoided us, even though there was no logical explanation for them. The natural instinct of humans had been trained for many centuries to see witches as a threat, that magic was not intended by nature.

And nobody in my family had seen fit to tell me. When I cried myself to sleep at night because my friends conspired against me, when my teacher, who always supported me, suddenly no longer wanted to see me, and didn't give me any of her homemade oatmeal cookies.

My parents remained silent.

And I fell asleep with a single question on my lips and woke up this morning:

Why?

Why did they leave me in the dark?

Alaric was still asleep. I watched him lying there with one arm over his head and the other bent on his stomach.

His shirt had shifted slightly upward, and the piece of skin between his waistband and the hem of his shirt already made me turn my head away. I had never touched another person intimately. Sam had tried with me, but we never went beyond innocent kisses or holding hands – how could we when his body sensed that we didn't belong together?

I looked at the Cherwell River. A few ducks swam peacefully from left to right, dipping their heads underwater every few inches. As quietly as I could, I freed myself from the second blanket that Alaric had left for me and gently placed it over his legs. Then, I stood up carefully and walked to the window to observe the mist and the nature in Oxford.

Somewhere among the small turrets and rooftops was my dormitory. My phone was there. I couldn't wait to call my parents and ask them why they hadn't told me the truth about our family heritage.

"June?"

Alaric had awakened and stretched.

"Hi, sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

But he shook his head. "You didn't. I didn't even notice that you got up. How are you?"

I shrugged and replied, "I don't know. And you?"

He smiled. "I'm fine. I'm glad you came to me yesterday."

I furrowed my brow. "Yes? Why's that?"

Ophelia's words came back to me.

Alarics new toy?

I wasn't anyone's toy.

"Because I wanted to get to know you. I mean, you caught Corbin and Audrey making out in the library and didn't tell anyone. Nowadays, it's rare to find people who can keep a secret. Human beings who are loyal."

"I'm apparently not a human being." I said with a bitter tone in my voice.

He approached me, stood beside me, and we gazed into each other's eyes for what felt like an eternity.

"Are they really siblings?" I asked at some point, and he nodded. It all seemed so surreal to me.

"Maybe they should see a therapist," I commented, and Alaric laughed.

"I don't find it funny. Corbin has a girlfriend, right? That's not fair," I said, looking at Alaric again. I wanted to know what he thought. How he reacted.

"Ophelia and Corbin have known each other for a long time. Her family is very influential, but they don't belong to us. Corbin is trying to win her over for us, but she's kind of special. I think that's the only reason he got together with her. He has always truly loved Audrey. And she loved him."

I furrowed my brow and briefly thought about what Alaric had told me. Ophelia's words also echoed in my mind. She said something about how Samuin wasn't the only one with answers.

"Does she belong to another coven?" I asked.

He nodded. "Samuin is fighting for something. Our families want to strengthen and support each other. Ophelia's coven is trying to keep us down. They're afraid we're superior to them."

"Sounds strange," I remarked, and Alaric said, "I know. But the more you get to know everyone, the faster everything falls into place."

So, we stood in silence next to each other. I thought about Corbin and Audrey. I had never seen two people so into each other.

"Can I borrow your clothes? I'd like to go back to the dormitory, and I'm sure I'd attract some attention in a bathrobe and sneakers."

I looked like a child wearing oversized clothes from my siblings, but it was better than going back in a bathrobe and sneakers.

"Sure. I'll pick them up later if you like."

I thought for a moment but then nodded. After putting on my shoes and looking at each other with Alaric, I took a deep breath and walked toward him.

I hugged him. Surprise was clearly visible on his face, but he joined in the hug. He hugged me lightly, and I thanked him softly—for the answers, for the pill, for making me feel less alone.

"Anytime, June."

"See you later," I said and left his apartment.

Outside, it was just as cold as the night before. I held my crumpled bathrobe close to me and walked from Sinister House back toward the dormitory. I encountered a few joggers and an elderly couple with two greyhounds.

Shortly after re-entering the official campus, I spotted Ophelia. She sat opposite the entrance of my dormitory on a bench. Next to her was a bag from the bakery and a cup of coffee in her hand. Although I only saw the back of her head, I recognized the trench coat and those beautiful, shiny black hair.

"Hey. Are you waiting for me?"

She turned around and looked surprised at my clothes. The bathrobe in my arms.

"Had a wild night?" she asked, ignoring my words.

"No. And you?"

She sighed in response and took a sip from her cup. I wasn't sure if I should sit down or rather if I wanted to sit down.

"What did you want to tell me yesterday before your friend interrupted us?" I asked.

She was pointing to the empty seat beside her, but I remained standing.

She raised one of her perfect black eyebrows and mumbled, "Okay, then." She took another sip and seemed to contemplate how to start.

"In essence, it's quite simple, June. There are covens that want to promote coexistence with humans, and there are covens working to restore a long-forgotten order."

"Good and evil, you mean?" I asked, and she responded with a muffled, "Hmm mmm."

Did that mean Samuin were the bad ones?

"None of you visited me when I needed it." I stated plainly.

Nowadays, it's rare to find people who can keep a secret. Human beings who are loyal.

Alaric had said that. And now, I was supposed to betray him not twenty minutes later?

"What do you mean? We can't just visit you and recruit you for our coven when you're still under the influence of your parents. They've been part of Samuin for decades. Your whole family."

Ophelia sounded partly amused, partly confused. She couldn't know that I had only found out a few hours ago who I was.

Who my family was.

"If you want to inspire someone for your cause, you shouldn't show up only after others have done the groundwork." I said.

She furrowed her brow. "Groundwork? You mean because Alaric told you a few stories? I'm already on the edge just by talking to you, June. You have no idea what's been going on here for centuries. You don't know who Samuin is, do you? Who Beltane is? Who I am?"

She had stood up and studied me.

"Did you see anything after the initiation? The Jaga tree perhaps?" she asked softly. Her dark eyes sparkled curiously, just like Alaric's had last night.

But I shook my head and said, "I saw the Mother of the Night."

We looked at each other. I observed her struggling with herself.

"If I would ask you to come with me, to a place where we can talk undisturbed, would you say yes?"

Alaric's face appeared in my mind. Corbin and Audrey. How they loved each other – that unconditional love. Alaric had almost asked me if I was okay with it during the ritual.

The answer shattered one part of me and awakened another.

Samuin would be my home.

"No. I'll stay right here." I replied to Ophelia, and after a moment of disappointment that showed on her face, she said quietly:

"These are dark days for Beltane. Dark days for humanity."

#angstober #angstober 2023 #writing challenge #dark academia #inktober #writing prompt #dark aesthetic #writing

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verbo-s-e · 10 months

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june 21, 2023 12:08 am

i spoke too soon. on the check mate. maybe. jokes on me. maybe.

it’s after midnight and honestly— i’m afraid to fall asleep. i woke up with remnants of you lingering in my subconscious like static in the wind. there, but not quite able to pinpoint where. it’s annoying more than anything, but makes it difficult to sleep. i just really want to fucking sleep.

sadly, my efforts of a full eternal sunshine are thwarted due to lack of technology like at lacuna. though i suppose if i wack myself over the head hard enough maybe i’ll forget you, but that just mostly seems unnecessary. but i’ll keep it on the table, just in case. right next to the rusty philips screwdriver for the at-home lobotomy kit. just in case.

jokes aside, i can only physically do so much to scrub your presence clean in my life. and honestly? HONESTLY. i did so with fucking ease. it’s incredible. i feel lighter already and the leaps and bounds of freedom i feel in each strand of my hair as i drive, windows down and music up is second to none, baby. part of me is kicking myself for not doing this sooner. i feel high without any drug in my system. how long will i last before the withdrawals kick in? i don’t want to know so i push the thought out of my head. if i don’t think it, it doesn’t exist. if it doesn’t exist, it can’t be a problem. right?

the witching hour of bedtime, whenever that may be, is a painful reminder that i am a precious white silk blouse with a massive fucking red wine stain on it. my endless labor of scrubbing without ruining the silk feels like wasted efforts. there has to be a way. a magic potion to get this out. something. all of this feels too metaphorical and deep and familiar and cyclical in its own way. something to unpack in the sunlight hours. each night i put it - the blouse - in the washing machine on delicate, along with my brain - thankyouverymuch - to hopefully over the mercy of time to get rid of the stain.

i don’t feel confident in this habitual act but do so anyway. just in case.

——-

june 21, 2023 5:07 pm

your birthday is around the corner and i don’t know how i feel about that. finally summiting the middle of your 30s, i feel like this - how all this has been handled - should all be different. we’re grown ups. you’re a GROWN UP grown up on the slow decent into 40 now. why does this all feel so silly and childish?

this was so much more than a school girl crush. i hope you know. my pain stemming from feeling like a burden or an imposition to your life. a giant fucking question mark. always guessing. never knowing. so yeah, i took matters into my own hands! what else was i supposed to do. (no question mark there because it is, *rhetorical*.) i wasn’t going to beg for your attention. and i wasn’t going to play the role of emotional girlfriend to you any longer. because that’s what this was. so i had to exercise you from my life like some sort of ghost inhabiting my body.

i’d be lying if i said it didn’t hurt you didn’t choose me. but honestly, i’m used to it. and not just with you. i was talking with a friend yesterday, a mutual one at that and she said i’m going to be breaking a lot of hearts with my decision to move cross country. that shocked me a little. i’m not known to be someone who’s loved by many. definitely not someone to break hearts. am i though? someone capable of breaking hearts? did i break yours? i don’t know. i don’t think i care to know.

i feel some kind of feeling gnawing at the door i so pointedly closed. this is supposed to be a period, not a question mark. is it you? is it my guilt? do i even feel guilty? what is it? i don’t want to open the door. i closed it for a reason, afterall. i’m not opening the door.

there. decision made.

#fine line instrumental #verbo-s-e blog #verbo-S-e

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rwprincess · 3 years

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Head Over Feet (Brian Johnson x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Word Count: 4.8k

Synopsis: What’s that sound? It’s another anachronistic Brian Johnson songfic! (Based on Alanis Morissette’s Head Over Feet) You’re one of Bender’s trash-punk friends and things change drastically when he brings the scrawny brain from detention with him to meet you all. Set up in snippets, your relationship develops with Brian, even if you weren’t really looking for a relationship.

CW: Teenage smoking (including reader), swearing, parental abuse (being being kicked out), sexism, angst and fluff

“This is Johnson,” Bender indicated the boy he brought along to your group’s spot under the bleachers.

“Brian, please.” The kid corrected. You eyed the gangly youth from top to bottom; in his sweater over a crisply-ironed collared shirt and khakis, he definitely didn’t fit in here with you all. You’d be called grungy punks at best. You didn’t think any of you even owned an iron and crisp definitely wasn’t your style. You blew out a puff of smoke, exhaling the nicotine from your lungs and shifted your gaze to Bender, wondering what he was at with this. He wasn’t the best guy, but pranking this preppy little nerd by bringing him down to your hangout? That seemed beneath him.

“You, uh, running some kinda charity here, Bender? We’re not exactly Make-A-Wish material, kid.” Scorch told the blonde dweeb and you snorted at the thought.

“Shut the fuck up,” was all Bender said in response. The rest of the twenty minutes of Brian Johnson standing there was of course, incredibly awkward and it was clear to everyone that he didn’t fit in. But that didn’t stop him from coming back a week later. And again a few days after that. And again and again until, well, that dork had grown on the lot of you. While he didn’t partake in cigarette smoking like most of you, he did take Bender up on his weed on several occasions and was actually really funny while high. He did weirdly spot-on impressions and had a sense of humor that none of your group had anticipated.

And, as much as you would vehemently deny it, you liked him when he was sober, too. He was incredibly smart and helpful and while his jokes were different without marijuana in his system, he could be amusing. That first awkward encounter was back in March, maybe April. But now you spent time with him without the convenience of school pulling you together. Now it was June and you sought to spend time with him, even without the group. Tonight, you were laying in a field not far from the high school, just the two of you. You liked to listen to him ramble on about the constellations and the myths about why they were named as they were. You remembered liking that as a kid, but you didn’t remember most of the stories. You knew you could ask him questions about the actual stars, too. Like, the science of it, and he would know. But you’d rather let him ramble and tackle one subject at a time. Even though he focused more on science and math, he was a pretty good storyteller, and right now that provided you with more of an escape than talking about the chemical composition of a star. When he finished his retelling of Ursa Minor’s story, however, he remained silent and didn’t start up a new piece of lore. After a moment, you looked at him to see what the hold up was, but you just caught his eye as his gaze was already fixed on you. Your heart started pounding in your chest because you knew what was coming.

“You know, we could go on an actual date some time.” Brian suggested, breaking the silence. You closed your eyes, almost wincing at the words. He was generally more subtle than this, but the same idea had been brought up before. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Brian. In general, you did, and in the honest depths of your soul, it was as more than a friend. But, every time it came down to this subject, you panicked. You had never been serious with anyone and the thought of dating was completely foreign to you. You had messed around with some guys before but you never had feelings for them. You didn’t know how to depend on another person, to have an actual relationship with them.

I had no choice but to hear you

You stated your case time and again

I thought about it

You sighed, your eyes still closed. You didn’t know what to tell him. Before, he always left it as more of a hint and it was easier to dodge. Now he was just coming out and saying it. Basically asking you out, so you would actually have to turn him down this time. The terrible thing was, you didn’t really want to. The conscious side of you wanted to agree and go out with him, on a proper date. But your subconscious kicked you into fight or flight mode and if you weren’t in the middle of a field, you might have picked flight and walked away. But that didn’t seem to be an option.

“Look, Johnson. It’s not that easy. Just...don’t waste your time on me.”

“I’m already wasting my time on you.” He pointed out, but when you took a peek at him, he didn’t seem upset about it. He was actually grinning about it. “We’re already wasting our time out here. Or at the library, or under the bleachers… So why not like, a movie theater or dinner, or my house?”

“Oh yeah, your mom would love having me around.” You joked, humorlessly. The smattering of times you had met Brian’s mother hadn’t gone swimmingly. You could read the derision in her voice and knew she did not approve of her good little baby hanging out with a ne’er-do-well like you.

“She’d come around. You’re different once someone actually gets to know you.” He meant it as a compliment, but you took it as your out.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You leapt up, indignantly and he just gaped at you like a fish out of water.

“I didn’t mean anything bad by it, I swear!” He put his hands up defensively as you looked down at him. “Forget it, I’m sorry.” You had victory, he dropped the subject and your friendship could last another night and you could try to pretend like he wasn’t right, that you two weren’t meant to be something more.

*~~~~*

You treat me like I'm a princess

I'm not used to liking that

You ask how my day was

For the most part, working at Bert’s auto shop felt worthwhile and valuable. Other days, it chewed you up and spit you out. It was hard being in such a masculine environment and not fitting into that type. Customers (mostly men, but even the women too) thought that you were less knowledgeable and handy than your cohorts. Bender’s teasing didn’t help that image, either.

Now you slid into the booth at Gino’s pizzeria utterly deflated and defeated. Of course, Brian took notice right away. “Rough day?” He inquired, pushing a menu towards you even though he knew you ordered the same thing every time.

“That’s not even the half of it. Why does Bender hafta be such a dick all the time?!” You asked, incredulously but sincerely, diving right into your problem.

“I don’t know. I think he thinks it’s part of his charm? Maybe it is. I mean, we’re still friends with him.” You nodded at his point, but clenched your fists just the same.

“I just wish he knew when to back off sometimes. Like, he never realizes he’s taking it too far and digging you further into a shithole.”

“What did he do this time?” Brian’s gaze on you was unbroken; it made you feel important, like your opinion, your story, was the only thing that mattered.

“So we got this old guy in the shop today. Beautiful car, so of course he was hesitant with me touching it.” You began and his eyebrows furrowed, already not liking the direction this was going. “And I’m trying to prove myself worthy to work on this car, even though I would just be doing an oil change, which isn’t like a big deal anyway, right? Simple stuff.” You looked to him to get acknowledgement to move forward.

“I mean, I guess. I don’t really know about oil changes or anything about cars. But I know you do.”

“Right, so Bender has to go and make a crack to the old guy about how they won’t let me near it and I’m just the secretary for the shop or whatever. Just a total dick move. But of course the guy believed him and laughed with him and sent me to go get him a cup of coffee? I mean, what the hell is that?”

“That’s not right. And you wear a mechanic’s uniform at work, why would he think--?”

“Because macho man Bender told him I was! He was more believable than me.” You sank back and put a hand up to brace your forehead as the waitress approached the table. You prepared to order your drink when she set down exactly what you would have ordered in front of you and walked away, promising to come back in a few minutes. You blinked at the cup as if it magically had appeared.

“I uh, figured you’d get the usual and you’d need it when you got here, so I ordered for you. I hope that’s okay.” Brian said and then looked away, suddenly embarrassed by the idea. Since he wasn’t looking at you anyway, you allowed your lips to twitch up into a smile threatening to break out on your face...but only for a moment.

“Yeah, whatever. So anyway, Bender…” you carried on, pretending nothing happened, but secretly cataloguing his gesture in your memory.

*~~~~*

The only thing worse than arguing with Brian or him pissing you off was him making you laugh. There were times that you would go home with sore sides and itchy eyes from the tears that formed while laughing so hard. Then you would always, always reflect on the hours you just spent together, feeling the warmth and butterflies tickle your insides and a nervous heat would prickle your skin as you thought about how happy Brian made you. He never pushed you to do anything; he liked you the way you were. Sure, he would drop hints here and there about how you should stop smoking or give you advice when you had a particularly bad argument with one of your friends, but overall, he just accepted you. And you knew how hard that was to find.

You had never been popular and when junior high rolled around, you accepted that you never would be. You found your own little group of outcasts who understood what it was like to be kicked down time and again, and now he had somehow joined that group too. You knew he understood how it felt. Even though he looked different and came from a very different social circle, he had been looked down upon by his peers all his life. You were guilty of judging him the same way when you first met him, but now you couldn’t imagine life without him. He was cut of the same cloth and you could see yourself in him, which is why you just clicked. And he was so kind and so patient with you. You tried to push him away dozens of times, to put up the barriers and the walls that worked so well for everyone that came before him; you couldn’t be hurt if you never got attached. Where most people gave up and only saw the cold, distant bitch you gave them, Brian always saw something more. He didn’t give up in breaking down those walls, and even accepted just being your friend. That made you love him even more.

Shit, wait. Did you just think about loving Brian? A crush is one thing. Having a buddy to fool around with is one thing. Being in love was quite another.

You've already won me over in spite of me

Don't be alarmed if I fall head over feet

Don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are

I couldn't help it

It's all your fault

*~~~~*

Mercedes Johnson was all about keeping up appearances, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t hear her arguing with Brian on the other side of the door, about you. Again. You had known from the second you met her that she didn’t like you. She was instantly worried about the influence you’d have on her son; it was a common reaction from parents based on the way you looked and the company you kept. You would think you’d be used to it by now.

However, it truthfully bothered you more because this was Brian’s mother. You were hoping that she would be different and see the person underneath like her son had, or at the very least, that she would eventually warm up to you. You had no luck with either.

“I’m not comfortable with having her over at the house right now.” You could hear her tell Brian.

“She’s my friend, ma. Of course she’s going to come over--”

“I’m aware of that but you know I wish she weren’t. I would prefer that you keep the company of other friends.” The formality of her sentences while she was still cruelly putting you both down made you cringe.

“You don’t know her because you won’t give her a chance. She’s not that different from my other friends.”

“You have friends in the Physics Club, from Knowledge Bowl, Honor Students. You don’t need the association with a hoodlum like that or John Bender and I don’t know why you keep insisting on bringing them into my home when I have repeatedly told you no. I don’t want them around your sister, or even you!”

“Fine. Then we’ll leave.” You heard the door swing open harshly and Brian was motioning for you to follow him out of the house.

“Brian Ralph Johnson!” You heard his mother cry after the two of you. Brian held open the front door for you and you looked at him cautiously before rushing out. You knew you weren’t wanted there, but you were worried that he wouldn’t come with you. You were even more worried that he would. “You are not leaving this house.” Mercedes put on the most intimidating tone you had witnessed her use.

“No, I am. We are. I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t bother coming back tonight if you walk out of this house!” She was now pink-faced and losing all of the reserved, polished look you had seen her have. She had never been so...uncomposed.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.” Brian said and grabbed you by the elbow as he escorted you down the driveway to your car. He immediately got into the passenger seat and as you sunk behind the steering wheel, you glanced at him.

“Brian, this is stupid. You don’t have to---you shouldn’t do this.” The whole situation reminded you of the many times you had been kicked out of your house. This was just another home you weren’t welcome in.

He clenched his jaw in response. “Let’s just go. I’ll figure it out later. Please, just drive.”

Your love is thick and it swallowed me whole

You're so much braver than I gave you credit for

That's not lip service

“Your mom gave you a choice, you know. It’s not like she told you to get out. She actually told you not to leave.” You said as you both sat on the trunk of your car, looking out across the field that was slowly turning to a golden hue, both from the afternoon sun and the change into autumn. Neither of your houses were really an option to go to, so you just chose the empty field that you would look at stars in during the summer.

“It’s not like it was really a choice though, was it? I’m tired of her trying to control every part of my life. I need to start thinking for myself, doing things for myself. She needs to understand that I’m going to do what I want, and like who I want to like.” He looked at you meaningfully for a moment, but you looked away quickly. It was too heavy for you to process right now.

“That’s a big step. I’m really impressed with you for standing up for yourself.” You told him, and he gave you an appreciative, heart-stopping smile in return that caused your cheeks to flush. Your parents had shouted at you to leave so many times before, any time you were ‘inconvenient’ for them, that it was hard to relate to someone who chose not to stay. But you wanted to support him and you did feel proud of him today. You thought back to the most recent event in which you had been dismissed from your family, and how you had tried to take it out on Brian:

You slammed your locker and watched him almost jump out of his skin. “I don’t want to talk about this.” You growled at Brian.

“I understand that, but you need to. You can’t just--”

“Just what?”

“You can’t just act like nothing happened or run away from it...run away from here.” You had been disciplined at school yet again and your parents had had enough. You had a big fight with them the night prior and did not sleep in your own bed. The tiredness racked your body today and you were stiff from sleeping in your car. If it weren’t for the social aspect, you wouldn’t have bothered coming to school. But you quickly realized you weren’t in the mood to talk to anyone, and you were only making the situation worse.

“Like hell I can’t.” You stated, quickly turning to walk away.

“Y/N, don’t. Come on, talk to me. Tell me what happened. We can figure it out together.”

“There’s nothing to figure out, bucko. I’ll be fine. I’ll do this on my own. I’m used to that anyway.”

“But you don’t have to be alone, Y/N. That’s what I’m saying! That’s my whole point: I’m here for you!”

“I didn’t ask you to be, Brian.”

“No, because friends don’t have to ask.” His words scared you. Nobody had so adamantly offered to be a safety net to you before.

“Yeah,” you scoffed, “we’re great friends. We’ve bonded so much in the, what, four months you’ve known me?” You rolled your eyes, trying to make him feel uncomfortable, to drive a wedge between you. You only knew how to put up walls, how to run.

“You know we are.”

“Yeah, sure, right. Friends. Not like you want to sleep with me or anything.” You tried to drive another knife into him, to play it off like he was following you only because he had a crush on you, one you tried to pretend wasn’t reciprocated. “It’s not going to happen, Brian. So just accept that we’re not friends.”

He let you get about three steps away before you heard him say, “No. I know what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work. Sure, part of me wants something more, but...I care about you, Y/N. And if we can just be friends, I am happy with that, I swear. But don’t do this to me. Don’t try to shut me out or walk away or act like you’re fine. I know you well enough to know you’re not.” When you turned around, you could see that he had tears rimming his eyes, threatening to fall, which made your own tears spring up as well. “I am your friend. I’m not going to just let you go and do something stupid. You are going to talk about this. If not to me, then someone else. But you can’t just run away or sleep in your car or, or…”

“Okay.” You said, softly.

“Okay?”

“Fine, let’s talk about it. I screwed up again and my parents kicked me out. So what do I do?”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I...we’ll think of something.” He began to tell you, but you bit your lip and drowned him out in your own sobs. Everything crashed in on you at once; you hadn’t escaped in time. You slid down your locker wall and sat on the floor. Brian joined you and put his arm around you tentatively.

You are the bearer of unconditional things

You held your breath and the door for me

Thanks for your patience

After that day, you knew he wouldn’t let you go. You tried your best to brush him off, to hurt him, to land irreparable blows. But it was all in vain; he stuck by you. You admired how he stood up for you, for your relationship, whatever that meant. He didn’t back down, even though you knew he genuinely cared what you thought. He was willing to put everything on the line just to be with you, in whatever capacity you would allot him. And today, he had chosen you again. He had picked a fight with his mother and chosen you. He placed you above being safe and comfortable and at home right now.

“I’m sorry, this must seem so stupid to be complaining about. I know I don’t have it that bad, it’s just that--”

“No, your problems are valid, too. Your mom sucks.” You told him and he laughed, “But I would be lying if I said it wasn’t...weird to have someone be given the choice to stay instead of being yelled at to get out and that you’re worthless and---I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make this about me.” You said softly, looking down at your hands.

“No, I get it. It’s gotta be on your mind a lot, the uncertainty. Plus, I don’t mind talking about you.” He nudged your shoulder with his own, trying to be playful but you knew he meant that. He always put you first. You couldn’t help your next impulse as your hand shot up to cup his face and you leaned in and kissed him roughly. You weren’t entirely sure why you had done it. It would probably change everything and you couldn’t tell if you were doing it selfishly to feel like someone cared or to keep him around or because you truly wanted to. Of course, he kissed you back, and the feeling it gave you pushed a lot of those doubts from your mind.

You're the best listener that I've ever met

You're my best friend

Best friend with benefits

What took me so long?

*~~~~*

The kiss in the field still didn’t mean you were “together.” Realistically, it complicated things for a while. You avoided Brian for a couple of days and didn’t discuss it when you finally caved in to your desire to see him. He didn’t bring it up either, even though there were many times he would look at your lips like he wanted to make a move again, but you never talked about it. Things began to look “normal” after about two weeks. You spent time at the record shop, or under the bleachers with your friends or in the library with his friends. He nagged you about giving up smoking and you finally listened, much to his surprise.

“What made you finally decide to quit?” He asked, looking at the nicotine patch on your arm. You shrugged, not wanting to tell him the truth.

“I guess I just finally got tired of you being a broken record, mother hen.” You teased him, but he just smiled because he was happy with your choice. The truth of the matter was, you had done it for him. While you weren’t with him, you wanted to be. You didn’t want to keep doing something that bothered him so much, but you also knew that eventually, your habit of smoking would cost time with him and you didn’t want that. You lied to yourself that you didn’t want a relationship and weren’t thinking about a future with Brian, but you were. Every time he helped you study or encouraged you to do your best, the time your parents were out of town so he had made you his “specialty” of spaghetti in your kitchen, when you drove him around singing songs together on the radio...you thought about doing those things with him forever and instead of the fear you used to feel at such a thought, you felt happiness. You anticipated a future with him, something to look forward to.

I've never felt this healthy before

I've never wanted something rational

I am aware now

*~~~~*

“It’s kind of weird, yeah. But they’re cute together, I guess.” You had just returned from a movie with Bender and Claire. You were surprised at how long their relationship had lasted, especially since you had hated Claire at first. You assumed she was dating Bender as a statement, but it had been over six months and they were still together and it just seemed to work.

“It must be nice to have someone like that. Even if they don’t make sense, they care about each other. It just must be a nice thing to have a relationship like that.” Brian looked at you for a moment before backpedaling, realizing he must have made it sound like he was guilt-tripping you. “Don’t worry, I won’t ask you out again. I really just was complimenting them--”

“Well, maybe you should.” You cut him off.

You realized how rare a find like Brian truly was. He always put you before himself; he listened to all of your problems and knew when to offer solutions and when to just listen. He was endlessly supportive, and kind. He kept taking giant risks just to be with you, to show you that you mattered to him. You knew, without him saying it, that he loved you. Why else would someone go to the lengths he did, just to make you happy? You had tried everything to shake him, to get rid of him so neither one of you would be in too deep to get hurt. But he stayed, and now, you wouldn’t want him to go anyway. It was too late; you were both already in too deep.

He just blinked at you, sure he had heard incorrectly. “Wh-what?”

“I said, maybe you should. Ask me out again.”

“Y/N, do you want to go out with me?” He asked, unsure. It felt like a setup, but he knew you wouldn’t do something so cruel to him.

“Yes.” You replied, softly.

“Why?” He asked with furrowed eyebrows.

“I don’t know. I guess you won me over.” You chuckled, but he failed to see the humor in it, so you changed to a more serious tone. “Brian, I thought that these feelings would go away, that you would go away. Lord knows how hard I’ve tried to push you. But...you didn’t and the feelings didn’t. I-I love you. And I’m pretty sure I’m going to keep loving you, I don’t want to waste my time with anyone else. And...And I think that you love me.”

“I do.” He breathed quietly, with zero hesitation.

“So, why fight it any more? I was afraid that I would hurt you, but I think I’ve already done that and you’ve stuck around.” He nodded in confirmation of that fact. “And I was scared that I would get hurt but...but I’ve realized that you won’t do that to me, either.”

You've already won me over in spite of me

Don't be alarmed if I fall head over feet

And don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are

I couldn't help it

It's all your fault

He took your hands in his, “You’re serious? You really want this? Because, you know how I feel. How I’ve always felt.” You nodded in response, tears quickly filling your eyes, which was a rarity for you. He leaned in towards you to kiss you, for the first time since your conversation in the field over a month ago. He waited for you to be ready in every aspect of your relationship and you had never known so much love and respect before. It took some adjusting to, but he had pulled you in and made you fall for him again and again.

Just gonna tag my buddy...

@90sinequity

#brian johnson x reader #brian x reader #breakfast club #the breakfast club #reader insert #reader-insert #romance #mild angst #angst with a happy ending

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ingek73 · 3 years

Text

Juneteenth

STORY by Team at Archewell

Jun. 16, 2021

YOUNG POETS OF GET LIT SHARE POWERFUL WORDS TO COMMEMORATE THE DAY

In honor of Juneteenth, we, at Archewell, connected with our friends at Get Lit and asked them to share poetry to honor this important day. We hope their poignant words allow you to reflect on the significance of this newly declared federal holiday in the United States and its impact across this country and around the world.

AND HOLD, AND HOLD

CORTUNAY MINOR AND TAMIA JACKSON

youtube

WHY THEY WROTE THIS POEM:

“When I wrote this poem, just a few weeks before June 15th, Juneteenth wasn’t yet a federal or national holiday. It wasn’t something I’d given much thought to, but when I had recognized that fact, it wasn’t information, it was confirmation. At first, I was upset about it. My immediate thoughts were along the lines of, ‘Where are our fireworks? Where’s our three-day weekend?’ But in reflection, I realized that this was demonstrating continued deference to a supposedly superior entity. Juneteenth isn’t the ‘Black Independence Day,’ it’s the only Independence Day. To have that nationally recognized feels amazing. But whether or not the date is printed in every calendar does not validate this holiday. We do.”

WHY SHE ANIMATED THIS PIECE:

“This poem, especially for Juneteenth, really inspired me. The color palette expresses the somber yet hopeful emotions that happen when black freedom is discussed, and what it means to be a Black individual in America. This poem as well as the visuals really emphasizes the impact that Black people have by simply existing, and the importance of our breath. We know that as long as we’re still breathing there can and will be change, and ultimately full freedom.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Cortunay Minor (she/they) is a performing artist who specializes in Stage Acting and Spoken Word Poetry. They are currently pursuing a bachelor’s degree in Theater from the UCLA School of Theater, Film, and Television. The theme and goal that Minor tries to hold in the heart of their artistry is liberation, be that emotional, intellectual, or otherwise. Expression and education are two of the most fruitful paths Minor has found that achieve that liberation, and she is immensely grateful to be able to participate in a craft that allows their simultaneous occurrence.

ABOUT THE ANIMATOR:

Tamia Jackson (animator) is a rising senior at the Rhode Island School of Design, receiving her BFA in Film/Animation/Video with a minor in Literary Arts and Studies. She has always been passionate in art, animation, and storytelling. She loves bringing stories of lesser voices, such as BIPOC, low income, female, etc., into a visual and cared-for light. Though not all of her stories or animations revolve around such identities, it is important that she shows diversity so that many people can relate and find comfort in the characters or art piece. Not only does Jackson enjoy spreading her own voice, but she also loves bringing others’ stories to life.

AND HOLD, AND HOLD

‘Holiday’ meaning ‘Holy Day’ meaning:

every second is sacred/every hour hibernates

within the spirit, huddled beneath the bosom.

To breathe is to commemorate:

inhale – exhale – cradle the thought – hold – and repeat.

When daybreak demotes breath to subconscious action,

the diaphragm still submits in reverence, still remembers that

This is Divine. This

is where jubilation begins:

in the suspension of

breathe in – breathe out – take maybe – and

forever hold the moment,

where the deferred dream stopped shriveling,

wavered in anticipation, remembered that expansion

can be soft,

recognized that it didn’t want soft

expansion.

Bodies were policied out of possession, but

the Black individual liberated their own being,

hollered themself out of state-sanctioned silence.

Words ignite, but presence sustains; this intake/expel maintains us

here

the dream explodes. The spirit absorbs the remnants and outpours,

‘holiday’ meaning ‘Holy Day’ meaning:

I hold this day as sovereign. Meaning:

I hope this day knows its home is in these lungs,

is in this breath, is in the repetition of:

inspire – expire – immortalize the memory – and hold – and hold – and release

POPLAR TREES

CYRUS ROBERTS

youtube

WHY HE WROTE AND DIRECTED THIS POEM:

“It’s easy to say “slavery was an atrocity and we need to do better” but it’s much more difficult to say “slave masters ripped babies from their mothers and used them as crocodile bait for sport.” In the average American lexicon, phrases like ‘Never Forget’ are commonplace but are rarely attributed to periods of fundamental, ongoing violence of a racial nature for the simple fact that our pain makes the people who benefitted from that pain uncomfortable. For me Juneteenth is a day of mourning; the Confederate holidays still celebrated today seem like a gruesome counterbalance. So this is my eulogy to both the country and my own being that could have been.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Cyrus Roberts (he/him) writes, acts, and directs across poetry, theater, and film. While his work has been commissioned by organizations like Toms Shoes, Adidas, and March For Our Lives, he also enjoys working on cool independent projects, whether he’s self-publishing poetry compilations, creating movies with friends, or acting in his own plays. Roberts is currently a senior in UC Santa Barbara’s BFA Acting program. Look for him in the upcoming film Summertime, directed by Carlos Lopez Estrada. His assistant director on the project was Mattie Kranz.

POPLAR TREES

Before you there was me. But before me there was (Nina Simone audio: “black bodies swinging”). And that was the gentler time period. Everything base within you, reflected in your actions. Please don’t censor me when I mention how you wrangled our teeth from our mouths and used them to seduce your own illnesses into submission. Or how you took an interest in the skin that had a monopoly on sunlight and then took what you wanted underneath the moon. Or how you used our babies as crocodile bait and our skin as shoe leather. Look right into the eyes of our demise and try to say those times are past, that I’m being rash, that I’m being bad and so full of woe and I should be glad I’m writing this on my MacBook Pro. Yeah? Who am I to complain about slavery? Because it ended, right? On June 19, 1865, Union Army general Gordon Granger made his way to Texas and proclaimed slavery’s supposed fall and us colored folk supposed to have a ball? I mean it was two and a half years after Lincoln already announced it, but we needed a white man to tell other white men what another white man already said. I mean that is until that white man found himself dead and Reconstruction found itself at a head and chain gangs, sharecropping, Jim Crow, private prison options, perc popping, bodies dropping, cops still stopping, guns cocking to ensure that (Nina Simone audio: “black bodies swinging”). Every 19th of June we celebrate the end of chattel slavery and every 20th we’re back to fighting its descendants. Private prisons / a cop’s knee is a modern lynching / it ain’t my decision to get busy dyin’ or busy living / I paid attention, to all the digitized depictions / all the people packing up pensions while we’re backed up by the system. Put your back into the system, this is wack how mother’s missing their babies kisses and I’m supposed to be celebrating? I’m sorry. Will you forgive me, I’m jaded. My grandmother looks at me and says confidently that I made it. That she can’t possibly imagine the life that I’m living, I owe a debt to her generation, and I hope that I pay it. I just get so angry, hazy laughter at the thought of thoughts and prayers ending enslavement. So after you hear me, I’ll forgive you if you’re jaded. But you still need to know the history to have an appreciation. It’s no mystery why it’s a mystery present in our education, presently the gatekeepers keep us from it and it’s heinous. On Juneteenth, Americans across the nation eat red foods in honor of the blood spilled before and during emancipation, we celebrate the secondary, pushed-to-the-side independence day, but you don’t have to know our proclamations of jubilation for us to be heard. We will be heard in our voices screaming thanks that we are not treated as herd. We dance and we sing hymns of freedom. Freedom: absence of subjection to foreign domination or despotic government. Are my brothers and sisters in jail cells free? When there’s a glaring loophole in the 13th amendment smiling from cheek to cheek I’d imagine there’d be some incentive to ensure our purity is never free. And how can I be free when I can’t sleep because my dreams keep whispering I can’t breathe. Regardless of that fact, progress is still being made. But I fear progress is just an exchange of chains for other chains. Same way they changed our names for other names, I rest a bouquet on the graves of enslaved, singing regardless this day. In the hopes that I never again have to see (Nina Simone audio: “black bodies swinging”).

UNTITLED

SIERRA LEONE ANDERSON

youtube

WHY SHE WROTE THIS POEM:

“When writing this poem, I really made an effort to think back to my ancestors. What was their impact? Who did they inspire? How did they carve the path for the road I now choose to take? This poem is about legacy. I am calling back to the ancestors before me to give me the strength and courage to be the ancestor I want to be to future generations.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Sierra Leone Anderson (poet) is a youth activist and professional spoken word artist from Los Angeles. Rooted in liberatory joy and armed with ancestral truth, Sierra Leone aims to bring light to the power of language, empowering Los Angeles youth of color to recognize the quantifiable influence of their voice. She has placed both second and first in Get Lit’s annual middle and high school Classic Slam respectively, co-wrote an article for the political column of USA Today, and has shared space with several influential changemakers including Dr. Melina Abdullah (co-founder of BLM-LA) and Cecily Myart-Cruz (president of UTLA). Her other organizing work includes collaborating with Students Deserve LA to make Black Lives Matter in and beyond schools. She is currently a ninth grade student at Girls Academic Leadership Academy and an avid lover of trashy teenage dramedies.

Her director and editor is Lukas Lane, an award-winning filmmaker and founding member of Literary Riot (started in his junior year of high school), and he is currently attending UC Berkeley.

UNTITLED

Every generation, the world gives birth to a new fleet of freedom fighters.

I am one of them.

I stand on the shoulders of tired women.

I dance in the footsteps of Pan-African poets, liberation fighters, and Black writers

who grew fires from a pit hungrier than a stomach. They call my name and I call theirs.

Malcolm X. Phyllis Wheatley. Maya Angelou. Sojourner Truth. Audre Lorde. Ida B. Wells.

Your resilience rivers through me. You are my founding fathers. The blueprint to a world we need to be brave enough to see, to seek.

Let us imagine a world in which we know each other’s palms

and never the fist. Not unless needed. Not unless united together.

Let us be the drum and not the war.

Let us know each other’s names and not the languages we cry in.

Let us be, let all us be more than a slave’s wildest dream

Let us beam past blueprints and what-ifs and start becoming the now we want to see, the now we want to be

Trees growing so far past the Earth, Allah would mistake our bodies for angels.

When I die, I want to ripple through lifetimes. I want my name to graffiti the mouths of the next 10 generations.

I don’t want to be forgotten. Or remembered for the way my feet wouldn’t stop running.

I wanna grow roots in this soil, in this American skin. Join the forest of my ancestors. Let my grandkids climb up my branches and tell stories of school.

And before the first pulse of morning, I want them to drip from their homes and gather at my roots.

I want to tell them my name before I forget it.

I want to tell them that morning is coming. And will always come. And will never wait for when you are ready.

I want to tell them that there is a point far beyond this tree, this forest, this temporary point in time, their bodies, their fears, their fathers, their memories. Where the sun is eternal and smiling. Where freedom rings and is never silent, never out of reach. It is called horizon. And it is right there.

#juneteenth #archewell #sierra leone anderson #cyrus roberts #cortunay minor #tamia jackson #get lit #poetry #poets #Youtube

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elsanna-shenanigans · 3 years

Text

June Contest Submission #4: Flash Point

Words: ca. 5,500 Setting: mAU Lemon: yes CW: swearing, alcohol consumption, mentions of hunting, weed, tobacco

Why was it so damn hot?

The Sun bore down with unusual cruelty, and the air was so heavy it felt damp against her skin, too thick to breathe, and if the dog at the other end of the leash she was holding’s panting was anything to go by, Anna was not alone in her feeling. They hadn’t even gone far, yet the Vizsla was pulling towards a shaded patch of grass and plopping down with a little whine.

“I’m not carrying you home, so you better hurry before it gets really hot,” she grumbled. On the other hand she couldn’t exactly blame him. She’d spent the last five years studying abroad, two years in Oslo and three at Uppsala University. The Scandinavian Summers were comparatively cool and mild when contrasted to the hot, humid Summers so typical of the Eastern part of the North American continent. Her dog was born in Europe, and at the ripe old age of 3, had quite literally never known such high temperatures.

“Tűz, fot!”

The dog lifted his head to look at her then let out a noise of complaint before he got up and very slowly made his way to a heel position, looking forlorn. She chuckled a little at how dramatic he was being and gave him a gentle pat.

“Duktig hund!“

A crown of dew formed around her temples and coated her shoulders and her neck. Given it was only 8:30 am, she dreaded to think what the rest of the day would be like. At least, she figured, her parents and the rest of her family likely wouldn’t want to leave the cool respite of the central AC.

She quickened her step at the prospect, hurrying back to the modest house her sister had began renting sometime after Anna had left for Europe. As much as she adored her parents, she’d been overjoyed when Elsa asked her to stay with her, and she’d been eager to make up for lost time. Of all the things she’d missed while studying, her older sister was what she’d missed most, leading her to question whether it was possible to be homesick for a person.

As she walked through the door, she found Elsa in the kitchen, frantically shoving a granola bar into her bag, along with a sandwich and some gatorade. Without looking up, she reached for her car keys and brushed passed Anna, only pausing briefly to kiss her forehead and mumble “good morning” which immediately drew a smile on Anna’s lips.

“Got everything?”

“Yeah I think I left most of Tűz’s stuff in the car.”

“Alright, let’s go.”

-x.x.x-

The drive to their parents place was a little over 20 minutes, but fortunately brought Elsa a little closer to the work errands she had ro run that day. Anna was a little bummed she wouldn’t be spending most of the day with her, but took comfort in the fact she’d come join them as soon as possible. Her eyes studied the edges of Elsa’s cheekbones, admiring her chiseled features, and the way the stray strands of blond escaping from her messy braid framed her face. Anna hoped that she had thought of applying sunscreen before leaving, though she somehow doubted it, given how hectic she’d been just before they’d left.

“Is it okay if I don’t take you all the way down?”

Pulled out of her reverie, it took her a moment to process the meaning of the question, until she remembered her older sister was referring to the downhill driveway that led to their parent’s house.

“Oh sure! I forgot how tricky it is to turn around and come back up from there.”

“How could you forget you very nearly wrecked the paint job on dad’s brand spanking new car?”

Anna cringed with embarrassment at the memory, but a reassuring ruffling of her hair cued her in on the affectionate nature of the teasing. The car stopped and Elsa turned to face her with a soft smile.

“I’ll try to be quick ok? I’ll text you as soon as I know when I can come meet you.”

“Okay, I’m pretty sure we aren’t going very far in this weather anyhow.”

The car’s thermometer indicated an outside temperature of 37°C at the moment and she had a sense the felt temperature would only get worse. She grimaced, until Elsa reached over to hug her. She twisted in her seat, reaching to embrace her, leaning in to give her a quick peck on the cheek, only to find they were both leaning in the same direction with the same idea. She readjusted, and so did Elsa, so they both course corrected once more, this time fully confident that she’d accomplish her task at hand. In their hurry to affectionately see each other off, the momentum they’d gained was too strong to brake, and somehow they both landed smack dab in the middle, their lips colliding in a soft peck.

Anna felt a little spark and let out a giggle, shared by Elsa who immediately looked up at the ceiling of her car, mortified, but unable to shake the wry smile of amusement.

“Nothing like a little accidental incest to get your day going huh?”

She shook her head and reached up to tuck a strand of hair back behind Elsa’s ear, shrugging nonchalantly, genuinely amused because what else could you do at such a ridiculous situation? An accidental kiss, with her older sister warranted laughs, and she was sure the rest of the family would find it hilarious when she’d tell them.

“It’s just like that Folgers commercial: the best part of wakin’ up, is incest in your cup.”

There was a glint of mischievous amusement in her eye, in spite of the sheepish grin, almost apologetic for what she had just said (rather than what she had done).

“Dear lord, Anna, just take your dog and go. At the very least this day can only improve as I’ve just hit rock bottom.”

Doing as she was told, she got out of the car, retrieving her dog from the back seat along with their belongings before she turned to Elsa, offering her a bright smile, the hint of a smirk still lingering in amusement.

“Bye, I love you, drive safely!”

“I love you too, see you later.”

She watched as the car pulled back up to the top of the hill, waiting for it to disappear, just long enough to feel the weight of the heat begin to crush her, Sun searing her skin with eager malice. Anna turned to look downwards, recognizing the solar panels on either side of the roof, and the glass roof of the integrated green house. It felt so familiar to her, and as she walked towards it, it gave her a sense of comfort even if it no longer really was home.

Subconsciously she reached up with her fingertips tracing her lower lip where the ghostly sensation of the peck crackled with electricity, forcing a little quirk of her mouth as the thought of it tickled her. How funny, she pondered, that she’d felt more from an accidental kiss with her sister than she’d had the last time she’d kissed someone. If that wasn’t the most obvious indicator of lack of chemistry, she didn’t know what was!

Knocking on the door she couldn’t wait to catch her parents up on this, tell them about the mishap, and couldn’t wait to see who amongst their relatives would have joined them for Anna’s welcoming home party.

However, when her mother opened the door and embraced her tight, prompting excited tail wags and jumping from her dog, and asking her how she was, Anna found herself unable to speak it, suddenly second-guessing whether Elsa would appreciate her telling them, and wondering if it would come across as weird after all, rather than strictly funny. She couldn’t shake the feeling, and wasn’t sure why.

A while later, the moment had passed with relentless overthinking on her part and even still as she drank coffee and ate croissants with her mother, father, her uncle and her cousin, the sensation of the spark lingered on her lips, leaving her flustered with butterflies at the thought of her older sister’s mouth.

That thought was soon cast aside however as her dog tried climbing into her lap which prompted her uncle to ask her about him.

“What kind of dog is that?”

Though the breed was becoming more prevalent in North America and increasingly popular with hunters it wasn’t quite as well spread in Canada as it was in the USA.

“Tűz is a Vizsla.”

“Gesundheit.”

She rolled her eyes, wanting to correct

“It’s a Hungarian Pointer breed. Pretty ancient, excellent and versatile gun dogs. I had him evaluated by a trainer in Sweden who said he was a natural bird dog. His name means ‘fire’, in Hungarian.”

Even as she was listing out her boy’s illustrious origins she figured it likely sounded just the slightest bit improbable to her uncle Frederic, given how said majestic hunter was currently curled up in her lap with his front paws on her shoulders.

“Huh. Y’know nothing beats a good Lab in my opinion but he sure is cute. He even looks like you, redhead and all!”

“Y’hear that? Uncle Fred thinks you’re cute! Don’t tell him you could outrun his lab in upland hunting any day.”

She turned to give her dog a little kiss on the cheek, but her mind immediately went back to the tingling she felt there, which seemed to amplify as she replayed the earlier moment with Elsa in her head, from start to finish. Her kopfkino was overshadowed with a much more pressing sense of dread however, when she heard her father’s warm voice cheerfully ask:

“Alright, who’s ready to rock and roll?”

-x.x.x-

Though Anna had been distinctly less than thrilled at the prospect of going back out into the the fiery pits of hell her hometown had become, she took some consolation in the fact they were headed to her favourite, fully air conditioned lake front eatery. To sweeten the deal, Tűz had been so charming and well behaved, the staff didn’t question his coming in, and he immediately laid down under the table as he had been taught to do.

The plan had been to eat first then head out to the beach for a swim. Of course no one had informed her prior so she hadn’t brought along a swimsuit, and she did her best to eat her lunch as slowly as possible. She’d failed to do the same with her drink though, the thirst was real and the long island iced tea was sweet. It had taken everything in her power not to text Elsa so as not to bother her (and avoid looking like the clingy younger sister she’d always worried she came across as).

Trying to ignore her phone as she shared anecdotes and tidbits of her time spent overseas, she almost missed the notification from her older sister.

Hey, I’m close to finishing up here. Where did you guys end up going?

Mid-sentence, Anna interrupted herself to focus on typing back a quick response.

We’re at The Captain’s Favourite, we’re almost done eating then we’re going swimming. Meet us at Faux Fjord Beach?

Awesome I’ll be there in about 15ish. Btw can you get me one of their Vodka Lemonade Slushies? Please and thank you! Can’t wait to get hammered on the beach and finally catch up with you ;* ( <- fully intentional, not accidental incest this time)

Anna blushed the slightest bit at the emoji, subconsciously biting her lip as it tingled again, and she giggled at the joke initially. At the very least, it was reassuring to know she hadn’t been the only one to think about their silly little incident this morning.

Omg I forgot this place did frozen cocktails, that’s an amazing fucking idea. Same tho, can’t wait! See you soon <3 (not sure that’s legal)

“So Anna, are you going to tell us about your boyfriend?”

Her eyes shot up from her phone to find her cousin Rapunzel with an eyebrow quirked and a knowing smirk, along with the rest of her family looking at her expectantly.

“My what?”

“Girlfriend? Whoever that was that just texted you! Clearly you’ve been holding out on us because dang girl, you’ve got it bad.”

Anna stifled the urge to grab her glass of water and toss it at her cousin’s face, force of habit from their youthful roughhousing days. The cycle of merciless teasing and correspondent indignation was just as part of being home as the rest.

“Chrissake no that was Elsa! I was laughing at one of her stupid jokes, she was asking where to meet us.”

Unimpressed green eyes looked at her with skepticism, unconvinced that Anna was telling the truth. Her first impulse was to show her the text exchange to prove it, but she then realized that the out of context inside joke would land with the current audience.

“C’mon, the girlish giggling? The lip biting? The blushing?”

Her ears felt hot and a flash of defensiveness flared up within her but she exerted just enough self-control not to throw herself into an argument about wrongful perception. Instead she pointedly ignored that line of questioning and relayed her older sister’s message to the rest of their family.

“She said she’d be here in 15 minutes, and I told her to meet us down by the beach.”

A familiar, warm, curious little head poked out from under the table, golden eyes round and hopeful.

“I said beach, not bitch.”

Laughter erupted around her and she let out a quiet sigh of relief under her breath, patting her dog softly as she leaned backwards sinking into the booth seat.

-x.x.x-

Anna was looking out at the water with a slightly forlorn expression, watching her dog swim out to her folks, then back to the shore on a loop of manic joy, wishing she could join them. Alas, with no bathing suit the best she could do was tie up her tank top, sitting in her daisy dukes under the sunshade, though she licked her wounds by sipping on the Bourbon Peach Lemonade Slushie she’d ordered.

When a pair of arms embraced her from behind, nonchalantly sliding over her shoulders she immediately perked up at the recognition of the familiar scent that accompanied them. Before she could say anything however, Elsa was kissing the side of her cheek (successfully this time), and her heart skipped a beat as she smiled in response.

“Hey, didn’t feel like swimming?”

Anna turned to look as her sister sat down beside her, scooting into the shade, though not before her eye had caught sight of the dew on her skin betraying the heat. It was a little nicer on the lake, a pleasant breeze kept it from feeling completely unbearable, but still it would have been so much better if she could’ve gone swimming.

“No one informed me either, remember? Didn’t bring my bathing suit.”

Reaching for Elsa’s drink which she managed to time almost perfectly before her arrival, she handed it over and took another sip from her own, her ears twitching slightly at the sound of the crushed ice compacting with the liquid.

“Thanks,” was the murmured acknowledgement.

“Guess that means you’re stuck drinking with me.”

Her sister reached up to ruffle her auburn hair affectionately and Anna raised her mason jar with a smug little smirk showing that she was already well under way.

“Way ahead of you, you’re gonna be playing catch up now.”

“Hm is that a challenge or a warning?”

Elsa’s tone sounded playful but her polarized aviator-style sunglasses hid the extent of her expression, making it somewhat unreadable. Anna shrugged, starting.

“Well if you aren’t a coward, it’s- ah!”

She shrieked as she felt sharp, cutting cold against her bared shoulder. Glancing over, she saw that Elsa had pressed her still perfectly icy lemonade against her skin, amusement curling her mouth as she took her first gulp through the bendy straw. Anna’s resent at the sudden cold melted like… well, snow in the sun as she noted the genuine mirth in her sister’s mischievous gesture and the way her perfect, bow-shaped lips wrapped around the straw.

“Don’t get cocky, getting hammered was my idea remember? I’m gonna see it through.”

Anna had scoffed but been unable to respond anything right away, instead distracted by the way the unruly strands of platinum that pried themselves loose from Elsa’s braid either floated softly, or stuck to the gentle sheen of her neck. Unable to resist the urge to try and tuck them back at times, it earned her an easy, quick smile whenever she did.

They’d remained mostly in comfortable silence, Anna stealing glances at Elsa’s exquisite face, trying to guess her expression behind the glasses she wore, studying how much she had changed, and it what was she was still identical to the way she remembered her. She wondered if her older sister was in any way aware of the stunning beauty she was.

If they spoke, it was with a mixture of familiarity and uncertainty, like they were both re-learning to speak each other’s language without having ever really left one another. In truth, even before she’d gone to study abroad, It hadn’t always been easy for Anna to read her older sister, penetrate through the wall of ice she guarded herself with. And yet, she had never felt like she was being treated with anything besides love and tenderness. She relished in the small touches, the tactile displays of adoration she had missed so dearly from her and marvelled at how ravishing and confident she managed to look with such a simple and laidback style. The ripped jeans, beater-boy tank top and the shades were achingly cool and suited her all too well.

She knew their parents were overly proud of her for getting a fancy degree overseas, and that they generally avoided discussing Elsa’s lack of direction in life. It didn’t matter one bit to Anna, she would always look up to and admire her older sister, maybe even more so because in spite of her struggles she’d managed to gain her independence.

A brush of the hand against her shoulder, a gentle stroke in the nook of her palm. Fingertips brushing her hair out into her back. Fuck, while she hadn’t been isolated the whole time she was away and had her share of memorable trysts, this kind of intimacy sent pleasant tingles down her spine, and she only just realized now how much she’d missed it. It made her own fingers twitch with the need to touch, to stroke, to hold but she kept her foot on the pedal, once again afraid of coming across as clingy.

When they had found the bottoms of their drinks, likely far too quickly for the amount of alcohol that were mixed in, Anna was resting her head on her older sister’s shoulder. Elsa had turned around to rummage through her bag, before handing Anna a bottle of spray-on sunscreen.

“Really? I’d like to remind you I tan m-more easily than you…”

Elsa laughed at that point and shook her head, reaching for Anna’s free hand with her own and giving it an affectionate little squeeze.

“That’s the point, I want you to put some on my back, you know I’m old and crunchy and cannot reach for shit.”

She snatched it out of her sister’s hand and scoffed.

“Firstly, shut up, you’re not old, you have a good two years of immortality left ahead of you.”

Popping off the lid she shook the bottle as per the instructions on the label before. It felt slippery with her palms so sweaty, matching the rest of her body’s glow. While the drink had been refreshing on the way down, she regretted the way the alcohol made her skin flush and feel hot at this point.

“Secondly, lie down, don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“Overheard in the town of Arundel. Out of context sisters.”

She felt like an idiot for laughing, but she couldn’t help that Elsa got her sense of humour so well and threw zinger after zinger about this since that very morning. Anna then waited for her to lay down on her stomach over the giant beach towel that had served as a makeshift picnic blanket.

Her heart felt suddenly a little more forceful as it beat faster in her chest when she looked down at the exposed shoulder blades and lower back revealed by the hiked up shirt. Her mouth felt strangely dry and she didn’t for a second question the notion of finding Elsa genuinely gorgeous as she began to spray the solar protection onto the pale, fair, just barely freckled skin.

Not wanting to hurt or surprise her, she very gingerly began rubbing to spread it more evenly. It soon became clear however that from this angle she wouldn’t be able to get the coverage the lotion needed in order to be effective. She swallowed quickly and subconsciously wet her lower lip with her tongue. Her head started racing as thoughts swirled in her head and she felt almost feverish. She knew she’d be better off straddling Elsa to apply the lotion properly, and she knew it was no big deal, yet still felt she should ask before doing so. On the other hand, asking might make it weird, and while they were enjoying their running gag from earlier this morning, this was a whole new level.

God. Was she really overthinking helping her sister to put on protective sun lotion? This was fucking ridiculous.

Buck up, or shut up.

Finally getting over herself, she swung her leg up, straddling Elsa’s thighs, trying to watch for any signs of discomfort as she went to work.

“Mh, do you mind pressing a little harder against my lower back? Cause that feels really nice.”

Elsa’s skin was already damp, but somehow mixing it with the sunscreen made it feel silky, rather than sticky to the touch and Anna obliged, hoping she wouldn’t lose track of where she’d already rubbed, or that the sweat beading at her own crown wouldn’t start dripping down on her sister because the thoughts and implications there were maybe a little bit much, even for her. Yet the more she spread out her touch, the more she thought about their earlier text exchange, suddenly fixating on the parenthesis and the emoji, and the accidental kiss and… truly the unbearably hot weather was getting to her head and she’d have half a brain cell to be convinced she had a fever.

“Leave some for yourself, in spite of what you think you still need to protect yourself too. I’ll even return the favour.”

Anna gulped, almost audibly.

Miles away clouds gathered hanging heavy and jealously holding the crushing humidity hostage, unbeknownst to them which in turn only cranked up the heat Anna was struggling with being subjected to. It created a restless tension within her, an unconscious anticipation.

-x.x.x-

The rest of the afternoon and evening Anna had been torn between the trepidation of going back to Elsa’s (their) place, and the secure comfort of her parents home. She’d avoided her cousin’s exacting questions about her European paramours and at dinner had been unable to focus on conversation as she’d felt Elsa’s occasional touch. The brush of her ankle against her leg, the innocent stroke of her hand on her side when she’d reach over for something on the table.

She’d told herself she was just exhausted from the heat and stimulation and simply wanted to get back to an environment where she could decompress.

And while it was true a huge part of her stress was lifted the moment they’d arrived back at Elsa’s (their) place, the excitement of being alone together crackled with an unfamiliar weight in the air. Tűz had gone immediately to plop down in the love seat closest to the AC unit and almost instantly had began to snore.

Elsa had dropped her keys on the kitchen counter, grabbing a pair of beers from the fridge, handing one to Anna before she’d walked towards the kitchen door leading to the patio.

“I packed a bowl this morning if you want. Just gonna have a quick smoke.”

Anna had nodded and gone to sit down on the couch, feeling weirdly tense, shaking a little as she’d reached for the glass pipe on the coffee table and the lighter next to it. She put a flame to it, igniting the smoke and breathing it in deeply, hoping it would help ease the knot in her stomach. The entire day had passed and yet, whenever she thought of the accidental kiss they’d shared this morning, the spark still felt vivid, like the simple thought was enough to reignite the sensation. She couldn’t remember sharing an intentional, yet alone an accidental kiss with anyone else that left the same imprint. She wanted to ask Elsa if it was the same for her, if the element of surprise was simply being mistaken by her mind and body for excitement.

After all, this was her sister. It couldn’t possibly mean anything else. The idea of it being anything more was preposterous and inconceivable. Right?

But when Elsa returned with the smell of tobacco mingling into her natural scent, and the woody notes of her perfume, mixed into a sweet, soothing and… attractive blend, Anna could only move towards her as she sat on the couch and looked up at her, a sleepy smile hiding the slight trembling in the rest of her body.

When she felt two hands cradle the sides of her face, her whole body went tense. Elsa’s icy gaze burned down into her eye and Anna’s breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it at the edge of her lips. She dared not twitch a muscle as the moment lingered and Elsa’s thumbs stroked her cheekbones with a heartbreaking gentleness.

A strike of lightning flashed outside, quickly succeeded by a crack of thunder.

Anna’s eyes closed as she felt soft, pink, perfect lips against her own, and her mouth parted invitingly on instinct as she leaned forward. The fever, the restlessness, the mania that had built up throughout the day exploded as torrential rains beat down against the window pain, and Anna pressed her upper body into Elsa, her hands finding the edges of her tank top, savouring the taste of her, especially as she suckled at the tip of her tongue.

Quiet gasps and sharp, shallow moans floated between them, and she hungrily kissed her back, nails scratching at the now exposed skin of her sacral area. She hooked her fingertips in the fabric of her shirt pushing it up with an urgency that was perhaps borne out of the clamour of the formidable display from the heavens outside. Though she’d have been lying to herself if she’d said it wasn’t also spurred on by the clenching she’d felt in her own lower belly any time she’d thought of her sister’s mouth against hers that day.

She broke the kiss, though not before she’d given Elsa a little nip of the teeth to her lower lip, and only long enough to hurriedly discard both of their shirts, giving her a coy, heavily lidded glance as she noticed her older sister’s gaze on her now exposed, freckled breasts and pert nipples. She’d not been wearing a bra because, well, it had been too hot, and she could in fact get away with it.

Confidently, Anna reached for the nape of Elsa’s neck giving it a littler squeeze to bring her back to herself immediately sliding her tongue between her lips. Her other hand caressed her side, the expanse of her stomach then travelling to the fabric of her bra. Meanwhile she produced little mewls of pleasure as she felt her sister’s hands cup her breasts hungrily and she shifted her position without missing a beat, pulling her down with her as she laid back on the couch, legs falling open, needing to feel the weight of her ribcage between her thighs.

The hand she’d held the back of Elsa’s neck with began flirting with the damp, soft skin and toying with the stray platinum coloured baby hairs. She felt Elsa shudder above her and felt her hand wrap around her wrist, pinning it above her head, which elicited a moan from Anna. Her hips rolled upwards and she felt instant frustration from the denim creating an unwelcome barrier between them and she wished it gone.

Her wish was apparently Elsa’s telepathic command.

Before she knew it they were squirming out of their respective skin tight denims with the clumsiness only eager urgency could bring. Her heart was thrumming to the relentless and unforgiving rhythm of the raging elements, and as her fingertips brushed against Elsa’s pulse, she knew hers was beating in time with them too. Chills went down her back at the thought of it and she left the harbour of her sister’s mouth to find that same point to the side of Elsa’s throat, kissing and nipping at it, causing their hips to connect frantically. One of her hands was still pinned above her head and her eyes burned with tantric desire as she looked up at Elsa, features magnified and deified each time the lightning flashed out of the living room window.

Anna let out a whine as she felt Elsa’s free hand slide between their two bodies, slick with sweat now and she knew she was blushing when she felt just how wet she was once her sister’s finger parted her folds, the heel of her palm teasing against the engorged bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex. Her hips bucked upwards with need, both in shock of the sensation and in desperation for more.

Eyes flew shut as Elsa now pressed her own hips against her hand, creating a firm inescapable pressure against Anna’s bud, and her finger pumping deep inside of her.

“Fuck!”

It was not so much exclaimed as it had been hissed as Anna’s entire body rocked into Elsa, fingertips now tugging more firmly at the blonde roots she’d been gripping, as if clearly communicating she wanted her right there, and no further, desperate to feel her as close as possible, feel their nipples brushing against one another, bodies ravenously hungry for each other.

They found a rhythm though it started off hot, frantic and messy and they found themselves pressed forehead against forehead, mouths slightly agape in the beatitude of sin, and the unbridled lusts of their animalistic pursuit. Thrust upon thrust, roll upon roll of the hips, caused electricity to spark and course through the burning of her lower stomach, tensing and clenching as she felt herself flutter against the welcomed intrusion of Elsa’s touch. Her nervous system pulsated it seemed with the same electricity that ravaged the outside world, protecting rather than threatening their unspeakable passions.

“Elsa,” she breathed almost pleadingly as she felt a storm building inside of her, one to rival the majesty of the the fierce Summer storm rattling the windows with a reckless force.

“Anna,” was the sultry, husky reply. And not that she had any way of knowing this prior to that particular moment, but she could tell that Elsa was on the edge, just as close as she was, possibly closer. Her thighs squeezed harder around her sister’s hips, ankles locking together to keep her even closer than what was thought possible until that point.

She could feel it tugging at her loins almost painfully now and she dug her nails into her own palm, the sting and bite of the pain cracking her closer.

They cried out in unison as their climaxes crested in synchronicity, but the sounds were drowned out by an emphatic strike of thunder, so loud they could’ve sworn the house shook were it not that their own bodies were sent into a shaking mess of trembling frenzy. Overwhelmed and needing to channel it somehow as lightning and fireworks exploded in her mind’s eye their lips met into another electric, full mouthed kiss.

Waves of pleasure crashed over them, unrelenting until they could take it no more, the tension evaporating as they fell limp, heart to heart breathing tickling each other’s ears, the sensation of which enough to titillate them into wanting to continue.

Exhausted, Anna buried her face in the nook of Elsa’s neck, breathing in her sent deeply. Though driven by post-coital bliss, at the back of her mind a dark cloud gathered, fear attempted to bubble up, trying to ruin the glow. She nuzzled Elsa softly, kissing the sweat covered skin, humming gently at the taste as she deliberately avoided thinking about the mess they had made.

They had a lifetime ahead of them for her to process the guilt and the shame. Or unpack the fact she did not feel any regret in the immediate aftermath of the unspeakable.

My God, what had they done?

#elsanna #submission #June 2021 contest #prompt: storm #lemon #cw: alcohol use #cw: substance abuse

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slash-em-up · 3 years

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Workin’ For The Money: A Logger Fic

The first meeting of a Final Girl and her Slasher.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

1954

Joanna Maren was nervous.

And that didn’t happen too damn often.

She sat, frozen but somehow still out of breath, in her brother’s car outside the Copper Street Bar.

This was ridiculous. She shouldn’t be this scared.

At 18 years old, freshly graduated from high school, there was no way something so mundane as asking for a job should be this intimidating… but there you go.

“Come on Jo. Just… do it. They have the sign up, they’re looking for help… you’re help!”

And god, she needed the money.

Without having officially asked or even applied to a college, Jo knew her parent would be tough sells. Why send your daughter to a university? Oh, I don’t know, so she can get an education and maybe achieve more than turning into her mother?

Again, beside the point.

She was going to be as little a burden on her parent as she could – and that’s where Copper Street came in.

But even so, she could hear her mother’s voice in her head - sneering condescendingly every single time the family passed the bar.

“Nothing but drunks and prostitutes in there.”

Her father would hum in agreement, although Jo knew he liked to stop in on occasion after work for a drink. It was easier to just let her mother speak her piece and then do exactly as you liked.

… But having her daughter work there... Might actually kill the older woman.

A loud crash from inside the building pulled the blonde from her contemplation.

Jo jumped in her seat as the front doors of the bar flew open, letting a couple of men stumble out onto the sidewalk.

The taller of the pair was manhandling the very obviously drunk and angry smaller man out the door with practiced ease.

“C’mon Ben! He started it!! Lemme get back in there!!”

The man thrashed, trying to dislodge the tall brunette, who held his arm in an immovable grip while looking supremely annoyed.

“I think you’re done for the night, Billy. Why don’t you go home and sleep it off?”

And there was Ben Sullivan.

She’s seen the bartender several times in passing around town; but hadn’t actually spoken to him.

Her eyes took stock of the man as he continued to argue with the drunk.

Tall - very tall - and hard-looking.

She didn’t think he was particularly old; but he looked like one of those people who’d had life beat the shit out of them and it showed.

Yet, despite the roughness of his face, his hair and beard were tidy, and his clothes were neatly pressed - although the man he was tussling with was starting to do a number on his shirt.

A few more forceful words and a shove later had the drunken man stumbling down the sidewalk, away from the bar - leaving Mr. Sullivan to catch his breath in the warm June night.

Jo ducked down in her seat as the man’s head jerked up to look in her direction.

She didn’t think he’d actually seen her, but the fact that he’d felt her gaze on him anyway was alarming.

The man glanced around the quiet street once more before turning on his heel and re-entering the bar.

Well, nothing for it now.

Taking a deep breath, Jo opened the car door and jogged across the sidewalk - pausing momentarily to adjust her skirt and smooth her hair before entering the building.

The first thing that she noted was how loud the room was.

It seemed filled to the brim with tables and a long line of tall stools in front of a dark wood bar - each occupied by a man - Jo even recognized a few of her father’s coworkers from City Hall amongst them; but the majority looked like workers from the logging camps that peppered the woods outside of town.

She paused just inside the door to watch the flurry of movement as a pair of women walked quickly from table to table taking orders on small notepads before yelling over to the pair of bartenders behind the wood divider, who yelled back in confirmation before spinning around to take orders from the men seated on the stools.

It looked chaotic, and Jo wasn’t sure she’d even be noticed as she took a seat near the end of the bar.

“Nah, nah, nah, nah! Hey! Girly! You look like you’re twelve years old, get outta here!”

The other bartender was glaring as he walked over, planting himself in front of Jo as she subconsciously straightened her spine, sitting up taller.

“We don’t serve minors - git!”

Jo tried to keep her face neutral as the bartender lambasted her; but she was pretty sure she could feel her placid look slipping by the second.

“I’m not here for a drink, I’m here for a job!” she shouted over the din.

The man rolled his eyes.

“Oh for - Ben! BEN! Some middle-schooler wants to work here!”

“I’m NOT - “

“What’s going on, Davy?”

Davy and Jo paused as Ben walked over, moving behind the other man to quickly ring up a tab at the register - barely glancing at Jo before he moved next to Davy, handing a customer his change.

“Blondie here wants the waitress job.”

“Aren’t you Ed Maren’s girl? Jane?”

“Jo…”

“Ah, yeah, Jo…”

Davy scoffed, bringing Ben and Jo’s attention back to him as Ben started pulling bottles and glasses onto the under-bar workstation, mixing drinks as he listened.

“You ever wait tables before?”

“No, but…”

“Ever even been in a place like this?”

“I - “

“Yeah, Ben; I don’t think Shirley Temple here is the kind of help we need.”

“DAVY! Where’s my cocktails for table three?”

The shorter bartender swung around, stomping back over to the other side of the bar to deal with an angry, frazzled-looking woman in a black dress.

Jo sighed, pursing her lips as she glanced back at Ben - surprised to see his eyes on her as he speedily poured half a dozen cocktails from a glass mixer.

“Yeah, maybe I don’t have any experience - and maybe I’ve never been in a bar before; but I can learn and… I want this job.”

Ben said nothing.

Jo crossed her arms over her chest, meeting his stare head-on.

“I’m not gonna leave until you at least give me a chance.”

“BEN! I need those drinks!”

The blonde held the tall man’s gaze as the noises of the bar continued to rage around them.

Jo cocked a single brow at the bartender.

The tall brunette’s expression slipped into a small grin.

“Alright, Jo. Let’s give this a shot - MARY!” he shouted across the room to a red-headed woman carrying a tray.

The other woman approached, looking exhausted as she threw Ben a questioning glance.

“Mary, this is Jo - Jo, Mary. Follow her around and help out where you can - we’ll talk more after closing.”

Jo’s face lit up in a wide smile as she was handed an apron.

“You won’t regret it, Mr. Sullivan!”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The remainder of the night was a blur of lights and noises as Jo had followed Mary around the bar, trying to listen to her shouted instructions as they moved from table to table.

By the time the evening was over and the door locked behind the last patron, Jo was ready to collapse.

She plopped down at one of the tables with a groan, gingerly lifting one of her legs up to massage her ankle.

The heels she’d come in with weren’t tall at all; but her feet still ached like she’d been stepping on glass by the end of the third hour. There were definitely blisters under her socks.

Someone had spilled a beer over her dress about half-way through the night. She felt sticky.

But even so, Jo had a euphoric sense of accomplishment, and couldn’t help but grin widely as Ben sat down in a chair next to her.

The tall bartender chuckled at her expression, faint smile lines around his green eyes crinkling as he leaned back in his seat, stretching his long legs out beneath the table.

“So?”

“So what?”

“Looked like you were gettin’ the hang of things pretty well by the end of the night - even yelled at me once if memory serves.”

Jo blushed. Yeah, she may have gotten a little too caught up in the hubbub and energy of the room.

“Sorry…”

“Don’t be - you’ll probably be doin’ a lot more of it pretty soon.”

The young blonde perked up at his words.

“Does that mean I got the job?”

Ben’s grin grew into a wide smile at the woman’s enthusiasm.

“You had it about four hours ago, this is just a formality.”

Jo laughed and clasped her hands in front of her, smiling like a fool and not caring one bit.

“Thank you, Mr. Sullivan! You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Ben’s expression shifted into a vaguely distasteful look at her words.

“You’re welcome; but do me a favor and cut the ‘Mr. Sullivan’ nonsense.”

The pair eyed each other silently for a moment as Jo mulled his statement over.

“Sorry, Ben. And really. Thanks.”

“My pleasure, Jo.”

#jessica writes #The Logger #ben sullivan #joanna maren #final girl oc #slasher oc

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i-dont-want-your-hysteria · 4 years

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Imagine: Joe realizing he’s falling in love with you, but quickly finds himself in serious denial...

(NOTE: This takes place in the same universe as my Valentine’s Day, 1983 fic ((AKA- this story takes place 3 years after that)). I recommend reading that before or after you read this, it doesn’t really matter when.)

Internal conflict, anyone...?

-----

(June, 1986)

A hot evening in Paris met you both once your afternoon together came to an end. You and Joe had spent the day at each other's sides (being as you both really wanted to go out and about, but neither of you wanted to do it alone), and were now about to get settled into the hotel room you rented at the last second. Yes, you were staying with Steve and Phil in their apartments for a weekend visit, but after careful consideration, the impulsive decision to stay on the opposite side of the city for the night prevailed. Since you knew you could, you decided you would. Besides, 6pm and trying to fight your way across Paris seemed like a bad idea.

"It's like an exclusive sleepover," you teased as you trotted through the door into the lightly colored room, "Ooh, and it's so nice in here too! There's a great view of the pool down below, so that's definitely exclusive."

"Exclusive?" Joe laughed as he entered with all the shopping bags the two of you acquired throughout the day, "Yeah, I can get behind that- 'a luxurious and exclusive sleepover'. 'Specially with all the loot we've gathered.”

He held up the bags with a grin and set them down against the wall. "'Specially with the sense of fashion we've gathered," you turned the new, ribboned sunhat you were wearing.

He pointed and nagged, "You mean the sense of fashion I gathered for you?" "Oh please- I found the hat." "But I paid for it!" You made your way to the balcony doors and opened them, letting a cooled breeze blow your long, thin shawl forward, "And I thank you immensely for that, but you didn't have to! You were just being nice!" Joe slid onto the closest bed and warned, "It was calling out your name, Y/N. I couldn't just let you walk out of there without it! It probably would've followed us out of there if we didn't get it." "Now you see why I suggested you get those knee-highs?" you sat on the other bed with a bounce, "I thought the leopard print was only fitting for Leppard's lead singer." "And the stitched-in glitter? Was that 'only fitting' too?" An inhale sounded from you, but you passed it off with a huff of laughter, "Yes- of course it was! Tacky is totally you." Joe flopped onto his back and laughed out loud; it was all he could think to do. For the whole day, he felt different around you, like there was some sort of strange tension between you both. He didn't think of it as a negative feeling, but more of an awkward feeling than anything. He felt almost like a kid trying to act cool around a role model. And while you didn't notice it, Joe knew he had trouble forming correct sentences whenever you were around that day, and also felt the invisible pressure of your presence. He didn't know what to think of it; this feeling was out of his control. If he didn't know any better, he'd say he was trying to impress you. Whatever part of his subconscious was making him feel strange around you, he didn't want. He just did his best to ignore it. "I just like colour, and so do you," came his defense (along with a pair of fanned-out hands), "Tacky or not, colour's just my way to go." You got up with a scoff, and made your way over to the shopping bags. As you pulled out a new tape player you recently bought, you requested, "Just shut up and pick a tape. A nice room needs some nice tunes- and there's no way for you to be tacky with that." "Don't test me." he warned with an evil smirk. Next, you pulled out a small stack of tapes you bought, "C'mon, dude, I've always trusted you with the music picks- don't blow it! Now, I think I might have a mix or two in my purse, but you've got mainly these to choose from." Joe rolled over onto his stomach and gazed down at the array of tapes you scattered on the floor. He scrunched up his face in playful thought and concluded, "Well, these are all brand new- but I don't think you should break in a new player with a new tape. You gotta go old-fashioned, so I say pop in whatever mix you find first." With an approving nod, you took off your hat, plopped it on the floor, and ran a hand through your hair to fluff it out a bit. You reached for your purse to drag it over and let your fingers scan around the inside until you came across the tape in question. "What's this one called?" he asked once the tape was in sight. " 'Same Old Tunes', since it's just the same songs I always wanna hear- but just a warning, you might hear yourself on this." He wanted to look annoyed, but came off looking flattered instead. After you got the batteries and the tape inside the player, you pressed play and let the solid beat flow from the new speakers. Joe's eyes lit up upon hearing the song, "Eddie Money? I expected no less from you." "Please, the Money Man always seems to find his way on there somehow," you pointed at the player. Not a second later, what sounded like two loud, separate, but consistent knocks sounded off from the other side of the room's door.

"Come in?" both you and Joe answered confusedly.

The door swung open, and Steve and Phil burst inside. Both ecstatic, they immediately started rambling off to you. "Y/N we need you!" Phil sputtered first. "We need you downstairs right now!" Steve urged next. You turned to them, still sitting on your knees, and put your hands up, "Woah, woah, hold on- what are you two doing here?" Joe didn't even move a muscle, as if he were used to this kind of thing. He added onto your interrogation, "Yeah, and how did you know we were here? We were just about to call you and-" "Oh we got out and about; you two are easy to spot and follow," Phil shrugged, pushing the dilemma aside, "Now Y/N, we need you to do us a favor right now-" "Why though?" Steve butted in, "And we need you to do this for us with no questions asked. Alright? It's for a bet, we'll tell you that much, but there needs to be no questions from you. What we need you to do is we need you to walk downstairs with us, go out to the pool, and just jump in without a word." Phil cut him off and held up a finger, "And we need you to pretend you don't know us." Now utterly perplexed, you turned around and exchanged a look with Joe on the bed. He had nothing to say, but he did raise his eyebrows, pout, and shrug; the traditional expression and gesture of "might as well". You looked back at the Twins and sighed, "Guess this outfit's safe to dunk... okay, okay, let's go." They both quietly cheered as you stood up, and as Joe broke down laughing, rolling onto his back. "Don't move until I get back!" is what you laughed at him as you threw all your change out of your pockets. You slipped your shawl off your shoulders, bunched it up, and threw it at Joe (who caught it with one hand). "I'll be watching!" he called out just before the door shut. Just like that, he was alone- and alone with the music, no less. "Got so high we had to pull to the side, we did some shakin' 'til the middle of the night!" He sat himself up, sitting cross-legged, and gazed down at your shawl which he held in both of his hands. At this point, he realized his heart was pounding. The feeling of it confused him; it was the same sensation he experienced all day around you- the same sensation he felt when you took off your hat and ruffled up your hair, and the same sensation he felt when you took off your shawl and threw it at him. Again, though, he tried to ignore it, and stood up to watch you fulfill the dare Steve and Phil put you up to. He took slow steps outside onto the balcony, walking among the hat and the tapes you left on the floor. "I got a little nervous..." That's what this feeling was- nervousness. Why was he feeling so damn nervous around you all of a sudden? "She took her coat off..." The image of you taking your shawl off came to him suddenly, then it turned into the image of you taking your hat off as well. He saw the tan and white woven stripes being lifted up, the red ribbon flopping, your hair falling down as the pre-sunset sunlight beamed on you in an almost heavenly way, and your hand going up and messing up your locks just the right amount; it was all he could see. In his eyes, the sight of you was something like an earworm he couldn't tune out. "She looked so pretty..." Then, you were throwing your shawl at him again, and his mind repeated the song's line without thinking twice. "She looked so pretty..." Immediately, he caught himself, and time slowed down. "Wait, wait, did I just call Y/N pretty?" his conscience nagged him. "I'm always talkin', baby, talkin' too much-" Joe looked out at the city bathed in the sunset. Everything was so slowed down and still for the first time that day, and his mind was now vulnerable. Right then and there, his thoughts started to tangle him in their own sort of intrusive web, and he tried to get out of it like his life depended on it. "That's why you bought her the hat," one voice said, "You thought she looked so pretty in it." It wasn't what he wanted to hear, but it persisted. He questioned it and tried to reason with it. "Do I think Y/N's pretty? Is that why I'm nervous around her?" Another voice in his head droned on, "Duh, of course she's pretty, but it's just a platonic feeling. She is good-looking; gorgeous, even-" His heart dropped into his stomach at the word "gorgeous"- it also wasn't what he wanted to hear. He was only making it worse. So then why was he thinking it to begin with? Again, though, Joe shook away the feeling altogether; he spotted Steve and Phil out on the pool patio several floors below, and they met up with two other guys he'd never seen before. The singer smiled to himself, wanting to see if all went according to plan. Sure enough, a few seconds later, he saw you walk outside, pick up speed, and then jump right into the water without hesitation.

Joe let himself laugh as the Terror Twins cheered, and as you popped to the surface of the water. You looked up at him from far below and waved, sporting a big grin. Joe waved back as well, almost in a daze, then got sucked back into the web. "See, that right there; why are you so fucking nervous around her all of a sudden? It's not like we've got any romantic tension with each other!" Down below, Steve and Phil pulled you out of the pool, and you each gave them a sopping wet hug. Your laughter and their cheers of triumph echoed up to the balcony, and the acoustics of it all prickled a latent memory of Joe's. It was a memory of a different hotel, also in France, but with a certain song playing in the distance. The faint memory gave him the heart-pounding feeling as well; it had to be associated with you. He gasped to himself, and suddenly the full memory flooded back to him. "We kissed-!" he thought. "Valentine's Day, three years ago, we KISSED- how the hell could I forget something like that?!" The fact reached his mouth, and he very quietly repeated it to himself out loud, in denial, "I kissed Y/N..." He couldn't believe himself, but he liked the sound of the sentence. He hated that he liked the sound of it. It was almost like a sudden dream come true. "Kissing Y/N was never a dream of mine though, was it? No, no, it couldnt've been..." But then again, he recalled enjoying the kiss. He thought about it a lot the next day, and the next day after that. After the next next day, however, he just let it go. Why make trouble over something that would just ruin a good friendship? There was no use being hung up on it if he didn't have any feelings for you. "I love that little girl, and I just can't get enough." Again, his mind repeated the song without thinking twice. "I love that little girl, and I just can't get enough." Finally, his mind delivered the killing blow. He froze, and let it hit him. "Wait, am I in love with Y/N...?" For that second- that very long second- reality was put on hold. Joe remained frozen, and gazed off at the sight of Paris before him. The evening wind blew his hair back as it picked up some speed, and he shivered in the heat. If he thought that same thing at any other time that day, he would've dismissed it immediately. However, it seemed to hit him rather hard right then and there. He just couldn't understand why. It was only making the web pull him in more. "Is that what I was feeling all day...?" At that moment, Joe realized that the only way out of this web was to consult the others for advice. However, he knew he couldn't. Yes, they were closer than brothers to him, but you were also practically one of those brothers. Whatever he was feeling, he knew he shouldn't be feeling it about a fellow brother. This was the last thing he could tell anyone, and he knew it instantly. It was nothing but a mistake in the making. Despite that, he still tried to picture what everyone else would say to him. Maybe doing so, he liked to think, would help himself get untangled. Suddenly, Rick appeared next to him, and he asked, "Why are you thinking about Y/N so much right now?" "I'm not trying to!" Joe pictured himself being defensive right off the bat, "I did spend the whole day with her..." The vision of the drummer scoffed at him, "Hate to break it to you, mate, but you spend almost every day with her. Why is today the day that you're all tongue-tied?" "The hell if I know, but it's not like she's the only thing on my mind..." And with that, you were suddenly taking off your hat and ruffling your hair again, and then you were throwing your shawl at him and trotting out the door, and then you were sitting with all the tapes, and the sun was shining on you from the balcony. You were the only thing on his mind. "You want to be what's on her mind, though," Sav suddenly chimed in, taking a seat on the bed, "Because you just can't spend enough time with her. You're always looking forward to being with her." Rick pointed out, "And oh boy, did you soak up all the Y/N time today." Sav leaned back and chuckled at the comment, "You really did, yeah." As Joe looked between both of them, he didn't know what to say. Instead, he let his eyes drift over to the television. He blinked, and suddenly it was on, and you were on its screen, going through a stack of tapes you might buy. Rick walked over to it, changed the channel, now making it display you looking out at the Seine. He pressed it again, and then you were taking a picture of the singer at a crosswalk. Again, and you were trying on the red-ribboned hat in the accessories shop. "Every moment from today that you're remembering," the bassist went on, softer this time, "Is a moment where you thought she looked pretty, right? Those were times where you just wanted to look at her. You do realize you could've looked at her all day, right?" "Yeah... but I did..." And he did. He couldn't deny. "It takes a lonely night with nowhere to go..." Joe turned back to the outside, and Steve was next to him on the balcony now. He beckoned him to watch the scene on the patio more, "And look at her down there, making a good time happen with us. Times like these always happen when she's around, right? Don't you want times like these to last? You know that's only possible if she sticks around- and I mean for a long time." "Just call Rosanna, it's a hell of a show!" "Yeah... yeah, that's true..." Joe sighed. Steve leaned on the railing, teasing him, "So you admit you want her around all the time?" Joe scoffed at the guitarist who wasn't there, "Well, yeah, of course I do- she's wonderful! You like her too! We all do! It's not like I'm totally engrossed by her." When he turned around and began to walk inside, he looked up, and Phil was suddenly in front of him. "Then why are you still holding her shawl?" Joe looked down at the garment in his grasp, and his heart sped up again- as if he were holding part you in his hands. He hadn't been aware that he was still holding it, but he couldn't let it go. He was stuck, and didn't know what to do with it. He looked up, desperate for more advice, but his band mates were gone. "Shit," he breathed, fixing his gaze on the bunched-up fabric.

He slowly returned to the bed, and laid himself back down. His fingers were still tangled in your shawl, and he stared blankly ahead at the ceiling. Now, he was at a loss. Sav appeared out of thin air again, and looked down at him, "Calm down, mate. You've just got a crush- it's nothing big!" "If it's just a crush..." Joe tried to tell him, hating the word of choice, "Then why is it so... paralyzing?" Sav straightened himself up and bit his lip, "Oh, that is a good point..." Then Sav was gone, and a new song was playing. "I do recall, those were the best times most of all..." Rick was back as well. "It's just a phase- you won't feel like this next week. Just wait it out, you know?" "I've been feeling like this for weeks, Rick," Joe spoke up to the ceiling, "Maybe even months. I never knew it until now but- this nervousness, or whatever it is, it's been sticking around for a while. How long until it passes?" "In the heat with a blue jean girl, burning love comes once in a lifetime..." The drummer sighed and stood up, "Oh god, I can't tell you that..." Then Rick was gone, and Steve and Phil were on either side of the bed. Steve talked to him first, "If you're this paranoid of being in love with her-" "Don't say that, mate!" Phil playfully barked at him, then leaned in close to whisper, "Joe doesn't like that word-!" "What- 'love'? Well he better get used to it, because that's what it's looking like to me." Joe covered his face with a hand, and kept the other on your shawl. Steve went on, "Anyway, if you're this paranoid, how the hell are you gonna survive the night with her here?" Phil made a small gasping noise, and looked down at Joe, "Oh my god, is that why you suggested getting a hotel for the night? You thought that that Valentine's Day kiss would have a part two?" "No! No- I agreed with her- I wasn't the one who suggested it!" "Then that's why you agreed. It was just an opportunity to spend more time with her," Phil reasoned. "Okay, look," Joe sat up, and turned to Steve, "Maybe you were right in saying I want her around more often, and maybe I do think about her a lot, but I don't care about any of that right now. All I want is to define this feeling as something that's not serious. I just wanna hear that it's not real, and I want to believe that. I want to be satisfied with that. Okay?" The Terror Twins fell silent and exchanged looks with each other. They really had no other choice but to tell him. Steve patted Joe's shoulder and said, "But we're you, and we've told you a bunch of times that it's not real. You're still not satisfied. Maybe you better listen to that." Then the younger of the two guitarists was gone. Joe stared at the empty space in front of him, and laid back down with a sigh of resignation. At this point, Phil got up and stood at the foot of the bed. "I think you're gonna have to be on your own for this one, mate." "Yeah, thanks for that." He attempted to get through to the singer, "But why is the thought of this scaring you so much if it's not true?" Joe didn't want to answer anymore; he'd had just about enough and was ready to accept defeat. His silence didn't stop his friend's voice from continuing, however. "Oh... you're scared that it's becoming true..." Joe met him with more silence. "And you know that you can't love her, cos she's part of the crew. You think you shouldn't love her, cos' it's 'not right'..." A breeze blew through the room again as Joe continued to stare at the mirage of the guitarist with quiet annoyance. "You and Y/N have just been 'a little bit more than work pals' for a few years- and you're afraid anything else would just be... wrong..." Joe's head tilted towards Phil, eyes creating a dark, fed-up expression, "Laying out the facts for me isn't helping at all." "Well, then... I've got a proposal," Phil clapped his hands and pointed at him. He took a few slow steps towards the bed, and sat on the end of it. "You do?" Joe sat up, looking hopeful, as if he might finally have a way out of this mess. "I don't think you're in love with Y/N." Joe's eyes lit up, and he gaped at his friend's sudden conclusion, "You don't?" "No, no, of course not," Phil shook his head, "Too rushed." "Oh, thank god. What a relief..." Joe closed his eyes and laid back down. Just like that, the web was gone, and he could go on with life normally as if this had never happened. Those words were all he needed to hear. "'Too rushed'-" Joe thought to himself, "How simple a phrase, yet the relief it provides is overwhelming. Can't believe I didn't think of that sooner!" Just when he thought he was in the clear, he realized Phil was still there, staring at him. "You're not off the hook so easy, Joe." he frowned. Joe scoffed at him, "Why not? You gave me what I needed- you can pop away now!" Phil gave him a smile of sympathy- the slight smile someone puts on before telling bad news. That was all it took to make Joe's heart leap again. "You aren't in love with her, but wow- are you falling pretty hard." Then Phil was gone, and Joe was alone with the music again. "Those summer nights are callin', stone in love..." Then that was it. That was his death sentence: not in love, but falling pretty hard. Somehow, that was even worse than being fully in love with you. Joe was still laying motionless on the bed with your shawl long after Phil had disappeared. His own words kept repeating themselves over and over again in his mind. Each thought was another seed that branched off and formed new interpretations of the same, fatal conclusion. "I'm falling in love..." was what it always came to, though. "I'm falling in love... with Y/N." He didn't want to be thinking this- he knew it wasn't right at all. Being a lover- your lover- wasn't supposed to sound comforting to him at all. Maybe it felt inevitable, but it also felt wrong in some way. He knew he shouldn't let things come to this- but he couldn't help it. If he was falling, that didn't necessarily mean he was going to land. That's what made it scarier. How long would he be stuck like this for? He'd rather bury it deep in his mind and just forget he ever thought of any of it. And yet, it was all he could see when he closed his eyes; the thought of being with you. It drove him mad. "She looked so pretty..." one corner of his mind said freely again, now that all the damage was done and he could think with ease. It kept replaying over and over again in his head; all of it- all of the moments from that day that he loved. It started with you smiling at him, you taking your hat off, you ruffling up your hair as the curtains blew behind you, you looking out at the city, you smiling, you taking your hat off, you ruffling up your hair as the curtains blew behind you, you smiling- And then the door to the room suddenly opened, and Joe was brought back to reality. Time sped up to its normal speed again, and his eyes snapped out of their closed state. You were now in the doorway, and soaking wet with a towel around your shoulders. Joe sat up without even thinking, dropping your shawl on the floor in the process. Just like that, all was back to normal. "Well that was unexpected!" you laughed, walking over to him with excitement, "But it did us a lot of good-!" He watched as you revealed a bottle of wine (very expensive wine- if that) from underneath your towel, and held it out for him to take. Joe, still not having said a word, took the bottle, his jaw dropping as he stared at it. "How the hell did you-?" "It was part of the bet that those two idiots made- they gave me part of their share," you told him, smiling proudly. "What kind of bet involved you- specifically you- jumping into the pool fully clothed?" "Oh, I'll tell you in a bit- I'd rather get dried first," you began to dry off your hair and walk into the bathroom, "They ran the story by me real quick as we walked down there. It involves two idiots that aren't Steve or Phil, a golf ball, a lot of alcohol, and ten strangers." "Sounds like a normal day for them if you ask me." You laughed, "Oh, believe me, it's not the worst thing they've ever done. And they're not gonna skin us alive for flaking out on them for the night- so I call that a win." Joe glanced at the bottle in his hands again and chuckled, "So now what do we do with this?" "We drink?" came your reply. "Sounds good enough to me- but what are those two doing now? Are we gonna run into them at all or...?" You walked back out, holding a hair dryer in your hands, "I don't think so, but we may have to bail them out of jail tonight. I already told them we've never seen them before in our lives." "Good call- but I still wanna hear this bet story-!" You rolled your eyes, put the hair dryer down, and grabbed a towel from the bathroom. You threw it on your own bed and sat down, ready to tell him the tale as your tape kept playing on. "Golden girl, I'll keep you forever..." "So earlier today, those two went to a bar, and a golf ball bounced up and landed in Phil's drink..." As you started off with the recounting of events, Joe took in the entire sight of you. He paid attention to every detail of your face, your voice, your hair- everything. As he did so, he could still hear the words he imagined Phil taunting him with: "But wow- are you falling pretty hard..." And maybe he was, but with you in front of him right then and there, he felt perfectly content with that. If that was the case, he figured he had no choice but to ride it out and watch it happen. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing after all. You seemed happy with the way things were, so things could only get better, right? Either way, Joe was falling in love, and he knew he'd let himself fall until he hit rock bottom. "Can't help myself, I'm falling stone in love."

---- “Shakin” by Eddie Money “Stone In Love” by Journey (x)

#def leppard #def leppard fanfic #def leppard x reader #joe elliott x reader #original content #i wrote this last summer (2019) and decided it was finally time it saw the light of day #i wrote this before the valentine's day thing rpgmotmrtrhw #i just had a vague concept of that story and wrote it like 2 months after i finished this #this was at least 80% inspired by the song Shakin #I'm proud of this one bc I don't normally write something that has the whole plot as an internal conflict #but this was fun to write- especially all the visions of the guys #yes I drew that illustration at the very very very end #I once had someone actually buy a print of that from me uwu

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jdeowrites · 3 years

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Baby’s First Book Deal

Sooo… about that YA contemporary I’ve been working on.

(x)

As a young teen, I devoured countless books, TV shows and movies where girls living in fantasy worlds were forced into skin-revealing dresses; where girls in dystopias and apocalypses shed clothes for romantic scenes; where girls in contemporary settings changed into swimsuits for an impromptu swim, all without any warning beforehand. And I couldn’t help but wonder, didn’t they ever worry about their body hair showing? Did they get waxed in between chapters and it just wasn’t worth mentioning by the author? Or was this something that didn’t matter to most people? Or did these girls just not have body hair? I remember reading The Hunger Games and thinking it was a breath of fresh air when Katniss was waxed and plucked to be deemed pretty for the Capitol. Finally it was on the page. So maybe it wasn’t all in my head after all.

But I knew it wasn’t just in my head, because the only other time I saw body hair on femme people was when it was played off for laughs. Understandably, this all really screwed with me growing up. So maybe it’s no surprise that eventually I would decide to write a book about it.

Fast forward to early 2019: I emailed my agent with a couple of new book ideas including: “high school debaters (I used to be on the debate team and there's so much potential drama!) and body hair beauty standards for girls. Possibly both in the same book?”

I held my breath when I sent that. I needn’t have worried; she was really into the idea. I started writing it in June 2019. Which was also the start of what I suspected was going to be a very challenging school year (I was right about that for more reasons than I knew at the time). I did this on purpose because I thought it would be a light, fun book to escape into. I was partially right. It was really fun to write all the high school drama, debating, and romance. It did help me through some hard times. But it was also unexpectedly painful.

Because it was so personal. In order to confront the issue of body hair, I had to confront the shame and stigma and subconscious biases drilled into me my whole life. I had to analyze my own concept of what beauty is, and its significance to a person’s self-worth, their worth in the eyes of others, and how those things overlap. And digging so deep into my own trauma was excruciating. I had to force myself to do it sometimes… and to write it without a filter. There were times that I’d re-read a passage and think, "This is too much. I should tone it down a bit." But those were the times it was most important to me to keep going.

It was March 2020, the early days of the pandemic, when I had a draft I had run by betas and felt good about sending to my agent. I was so nervous. Was the subject matter too cringey? Would it be too unrelatable for most people? Was it even marketable?

Well, my agent loved it a lot. She said it made her cry. Which made me cry. It was just such a relief to know that someone else could identify with this book I had been so honest in, that I had poured some of the most personal parts of my soul into.

We went on submission that summer (for the uninitiated, that means your agent submits your book to editors at publishing houses. AND THEN YOU WAIT.). I had a good feeling about it, but as always I tried to manage my expectations. That didn’t stop me checking my email every 5 seconds but, you know. An effort was made.

We were nearly two months into sub when It Happened. I won’t bore you with the details of my life, but I was in the middle of a 26 hour shift when I got an email from my agent: “Call me!” Is all she said (oh the suspense). I sort of knew at that point. I stared at that email for quite a while, debating whether to wait until the next day when I was off work to get in touch, because as it was I knew I could become busy at any moment. But I couldn’t wait, of course. Patience? I don’t know her. Anyway, I called my agent.

She told me we had an offer, and proceeded to read it out loud. Cue me crying silently in a tiny windowless room. Literal happy tears dripping down my chin as she talked, which has never happened to me before. I didn’t know how to process it. It was a surreal night after that.

Then we let other people who had the manuscript know, and suddenly there were more editors from different houses who wanted to talk! The next week was… a lot. Along with having a series of calls with a bunch of editors, all of whom I loved to pieces, I was also dealing with a 50+ hour work week, prepping for an exam, writing the exam (in the middle of which a preempt offer came in), an 11 hour road trip, and moving to a new city. I’ll probably remember that week for the rest of my life for the utter chaos it was… but hey, it all worked out. (also, funny thing: my deal announcement came out in the middle of a cross-country road trip. publishing stuff only happens when I’m busy, apparently!).

And now I get to say words I’ve only dreamed of: My debut novel will be published in summer 2022 by Viking, an imprint of Penguin Random House! Although it’s been a long time since I received this news, every so often I remember that it’s HAPPENING—that I get to go on this journey of publication, of being a debut author—and it feels brand-new and exciting all over again. There’s so much to look forward to! And I have so many more stories I’m excited to tell.

But I’m glad this book will be my debut. Somewhere along my process of research, writing, learning, and discussing with others, this story changed the way I viewed myself. I had not thought that would happen—I set out to write this story for other people, not for me. But it happened anyway.

My singular hope for my debut novel is that it can do that for someone else. If just one hairy girl picks up this book and understands there was nothing ever wrong with them, everything was worth it. Everything. I hope that happens.

And if not, well, this book has already changed one person’s life: mine.

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ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa · 4 years

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Heavy in Your Arms

Prologue

Summary/Author’s Note: Back from the service and hell bent on drinking his way through Southern California, Tig Trager is a rambler. He's alone, he's lost, and he likes it that way. He stumbles into Charming, a quiet town with a large presence in the form of the motorcycle club. Here he finds more than he bargained for, and something else he never thought he would deserve.

I got a message about this story awhile back and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. This is the story Tig fans begged S*tter for and he never delivered. I have really been missing Tig lately so I edited this from its original form that I posted seven years ago. I originally posted this as an OC under the pen name thatlassiegotglassed - Which was my original AO3 back when I was foolishly ashamed of my fic. Now I don’t give a fuck.

Pairing: Tig Trager x Reader Word Count: 1624 Rating/Warnings: Language, death, violence, blood, typical SOA stuff, eventual smut

[Masterlist] [One Shots/Drabbles]

"Yeah, I dumped an FXR on the I-5 and the poor bitch slid right in front of oncoming traffic...Found out she was pregnant. Really loved that one..."

June 21st, 1993

The roar of the big trucks and the swishing of the smaller cars blazing down the freeway filled his ears and would have been calming, but they were out of place. He had been asleep, safe in his own bed, the cars from the road had never been this loud. He shifted slightly and instead of cool sheets under his hand, he felt the grit of the blacktop and the wet clumps of side-road sand, rough against his skin. He did what he did every morning and slid his hand down, looking for you. You would hum contently as he wrapped his big hand around your hip and pulled you back against him so he could smell your hair, nose you awake--but he wasn’t in bed.

He had had a dream, a wonderful dream, that he had been riding. His hands had gripped the handles as the sun played hide and seek with the oncoming rain clouds. The crisp smell of the spring air had tickled his nose and filled his lungs as trees and the tall grasses of the fields outside the city whipped passed him. You were a comforting weight at his back, and every time you squeezed your arms around his middle it brought a smile to his face.

The weight on his head let him know he was still wearing his helmet. With slow movements, he reached up and unclipped it, shoving it off and letting it bounce against the road.

Everything hurt. Fuck. He coughed, the movement pressing his cheek back to the cool blacktop, the air from his mouth blew dust particles up and made him shut his eyes.

Except this was no dream. And you weren’t next to him.

Shit.

He had been riding and it started to rain, and the semi cut him off and--

“Doll?” he said, his voice feeling like razor blades down his throat. He repeated but with your real name, hoping it would get your attention more than any of his terms of endearment.

When you didn't answer, he knew something was wrong. A silence had fallen around him, all he could hear was the ringing in his ears, as he saw your body laying twenty feet from him. Your helmet had fallen off, hair spilled to the side, blood flecked your temples and down your cheeks.

He started crawling, using his forearms to drag himself closer to you as other cars came to a halt and people started yelling. If he got to you, if he reached you--everything would be okay. You would be okay.

You had to be.

January 1st, 1991. Somewhere in Southern California

He had met you on a Friday. A pretty calm day, where the world was relaxed in a way that he was not. How could he be? Alexander 'Tig' Trager was, how did they say, 'fresh off the boat', back from his service, he had made it. But, he wasn't concerned with doing it ever again.

The whiskey burned his throat. It was cheap but it was plentiful and he had no plans on stopping. He would take that pathetic government check and he would put it in the pocket of the first shitty dive bar he found.

“Hey, doll!” he said, raising his empty glass at a leggy blonde standing by the bar and shaking it slightly.

She gave him a scowl, turned her nose up and quickly walked back over to a different table to sit down with her small group of friends. Apparently, she didn't work here. Shit. He almost felt like an ass. Almost. The feeling quickly went away and he contemplated getting up for a refill.

“Hey, if you're not using it, then get off.” A gruff voice said from behind him.

Tig looked over his sun glasses at a large man. The man was obviously referring to the fact that he was sitting on the pool table. With a neck that seemed to thick for his face, and large, ape-like arms that dangled worthlessly at his sides, Tig knew if it came to blows, this asshole was toast. He hadn't had a good fight in awhile and just one look told him that this could be the itch he needed to scratch.

He put a cigarette between his lips and took his time lighting it. With a lazy hand, he pushed his glasses into his short, black hair. “But I am using it, man.”

“Move.”

“Nah--”

“Listen, pretty boy--”

“Pretty boy?” Tig said. His blue eyes flashed and he smiled. The second was one of his true talents, he could twist his lips and flash his teeth, in a way that made men run for the hills and made women fall out of their skirts...or so he had been told. “I've been called lots of things, brother. But that?”

“Just move your ass, okay?” the ape-man said as he jerked a thumb back towards the bar.

Tig didn't like being told what to do. It was one of his weaknesses according to his higher-ups in uniform. They had tried to break him, get him to bend and take one in the ass for Uncle Sam, but he refused. He wasn't about to do it for some low life in some shitty, middle-of-no-where bar.

He took a long drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke over his shoulder. His pulse evened out, his breathing stayed calm, his subconscious entered that special place right before he spilled someone's blood on the pavement.

“Alright, one,” the guy started to count.

“Oh, you’re counting, now?”

“Two.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Two and a half.”

“Three,” Tig finished for him and pressed the lit end of his smoke into the man's forehead. He may have looked like an ape, but the bastard squealed like a pig. He brought his elbow down in the middle of the man's back as he doubled over and clutched his face. Tig shoved him to the side as one of his friends came at him at a run.

“Fucker!” the second man yelled and managed to land a solid right hook to Tig's cheek.

The prick was wearing rings and Tig knew there would be blood without even looking. As he fell back against the pool table, it screeched across the hardwood floor and a few patrons jumped out of the way. His hand landed in a puddle of beer as he knocked a glass over on the felt and his brief moment of mourning was cut short by another blow to his face. That did it.

With a growl, he headbutted the other man. Skull connected with skull and he gripped his shirt, jerking him towards him before he could fall and sunk his teeth into the man's ear. Tig dug his hands into his hair and shoulder, kept his neck at a ninety degree angle and didn't stop till he felt the skin split between his teeth.

“Fucking psycho!” the man stumbled back and the ape man was back on his feet, yelling, arms stretched out and headed for Tig's neck.

Tig met him head on, bringing a firm right hook into his gut and bringing his knee up to collide with his face as the man doubled over in pain. He reached back and grabbed one of the pool balls, twisting around until it connected with the ape-man's temple. The sound was sickening and he dropped like a brick.

Tig raised up and could feel the first drop of blood slide down his cheek. He reached for his beer and pulled up an empty bottle. Dammit. What a waste. He flung it lazily over his shoulder and grit his teeth when it smashed against the wall.

“You owe me a beer,” he said, giving the man on the ground a kick. He didn't move. The fucker was out cold. He looked at the other man, still holding his bleeding ear and looking at Tig like he was about to start foaming at the mouth. “You gonna pay for it?”

The man just stood there, mouth open like a fish. Tig stooped and dug around in ape-man's pocket until he found his wallet and snatched a twenty-dollar bill from the main compartment. It'd have to do.

He heard the distinct sound of a shotgun being cocked and he looked up just as the bartender and apparent owner of the place was pointing the barrel at his chest.

“Get out, Mister,” he said, firmly. “I'll call the cops.”

“They started it,” Tig said, stuffing the money in his back pocket.

“Well, I'll finish it,” the owner answered, jerking the end of the gun towards the door. “Get out.”

“Gladly,” Tig said, grabbing his leather jacket off the end of the pool table. “This place is a fuckin' dump, anyway, man.”

The man with the ear, or well, lack thereof now, gave him a wide birth as he pushed through the double doors and onto the dark street. He pulled his packet of cigarettes from the pocket of his jacket, only to flip the top open and find it empty.

“God dammit,” he cursed, tossing the box across the lot. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. It looked like he'd have to make a stop on the way home.

He threw his leg over his motorcycle and turned on the headlight. A deep glow lit up a small section of the dark parking lot as he kicked it to life and left the pathetic excuse for a pub in the dust.

Tell me if you wanna be tagged. I didn’t tag my Perm Tag List because I know you guys are all here for my Pedro Pascal character Fics so---I was not sure if anyone would wanna be tagged in Sons stuff.

#sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fanfic #tig trager #alex trager #alexander trager #tig trager x reader #tig trager x you #tig x reader #tig x you #tig trager fanfic #kim coates #kim coates x reader #kim coates x you #kim coates fanfic #heavy in your arms #HIYA

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our-time-is-now · 3 years

Text

June 5, 2019: Today, 11:00 CEST. Here.

(previous play)

You can find more information about the authors, translators, content warning and additional information about the plays in the pinned post on our blog.

Wednesday, 9:15 am:

David: *was the first one to wake up today, has made some coffee and has packed everything that he has planned for today into his backpack while being in the kitchen* *has brought back two mugs filled with coffee to his room and has put them down on his nightstand* *with some cuddling and a promise of coffee was able to convince Matteo to wake up and to stay awake and they are now lazing on his bed scrolling on their phones* *is a little nervous because he doesn’t know if Matteo will find his plan totally dumb and silly but then simply goes ahead and sends Matteo a text via WhatsApp* Today, 11:00 CEST. Here. 52.508256, 13.334642 *peeks over at Matteo and anxiously waits for his reaction*

Matteo: *is half awake and happy to have coffee* *scrolls through Instagram and slightly rolls his eyes at Hanna and Jonas' posts who have to share their happiness with the whole world* *but is actually really happy for them* *then sees the WhatsApp notification pop up and laughs when he sees David's name* *opens the message and grins over to him* *but doesn't say anything and instead answers* I'm having a deja vu... does that mean you'll disappear in a minute so that I have to find my way there on my own?

David: *sees Matteo’s grin and automatically has to grin as well* *sees that he writes something back and waits* *feels his phone vibrate and opens the message* *texts back* For a real deja vu I should do that... but if you prefer my company and local knowledge we can also go there together ;-) *sends the text and reaches for his mug to take a sip of coffee*

Matteo: *sees David typing and waits for the answer* *grins and sends a kiss-emoji* *then leans over and gives him a real kiss* I always prefer your company! *laughs* Did you really plan a date? *grabs his phone again to see where the coordinates lead to*

David: *grins when he sees the kiss-emoji and then gets a real kiss from Matteo* *after he hears his words murmurs* That's good, then... *grins again and shrugs* You wanted one, after all... *laughs quietly* Of course we could simply have spent a nice day outside, but THIS way you get your official date... *sees that Matteo grabs his phone, probably to check the coordinates* *puts his mug down on the nightstand and lies back down again* *somehow is still in comfortable-mode and too lazy to get up* *turns to his side to look at Matteo and hopes that he can still remember their conversation about giraffes and stuffed rabbits*

Matteo: *grins when Google Maps tells him where they're going* *puts the phone aside and looks down at David* We're going to the zoo? *scoots down a bit so that he can lay down next to David* Admit it, you were so flashed by my absolutely interesting fact about giraffes that you simply have to see the things for yourself, am I right?

David: *still isn't sure that Matteo won't find the zoo thing a little silly, but then has to grin at his words* Exactly! I even packed an infrasonic device so that we can talk to them. *laughs and turns on his back* The stuffed rabbit is a little pissed that he isn't allowed to come along but you explicitly said that we should go without fathers and stuffed rabbits...

Matteo: *laughs and shakes his head* I mean, I just don't know if we can risk it... I'm only thinking about the well-being of the stuffed rabbit... do you think he would survive another negligence from you? *grins and then nudges him a little* You know that you don’t have to do this, right? When I sent you these voice messages, I simply talked just to say something... and the thing about the date... I wasn’t really serious about that... you don't have to woo me or anything... *doesn’t want David to think that he expects him to constantly plan things like that*

David: *grins when Matteo talks about the rabbit's welfare* Hey, I'm a lot more careful now than I was at five. But if you're worried about him, you can ask him yourself - he's over there in the shelve... *points his finger to the shelf on the wall and laughs quietly* *looks back at Matteo when he nudges him* *at first doesn't know what he's talking about, but then realizes it and looks at him lovingly* I know... *turns to his side again and (unsuccessfully) pushes Matteo's hair out of his face* ...but you were right about the date... there was something standing between us and I was constantly thinking about it... it was really great being at the Spree with you, but why shouldn't we have at least one date that we can both enjoy without any baggage... *smiles and briefly pinches Matteo's nose* But if you don't want to go on a date, then we'll simply go to the zoo together... we... and the stuffed rabbit! *peeks over to the shelf and then at Matteo* I think he's excited!

Matteo: *looks over to the shelve and really sees the stuffed rabbit sitting there* *is briefly tempted to get up and get it but is too lazy* Hey, rabbit, does David treat you well? *briefly pretends to listen and then nods* Okay, then you can come with us! *grins and looks back at David* *nods at his words* *complains when David pinches him* Hey, I want a date! I just wanted to make sure you don't think that you have to or anything like that... *grins to the stuffed rabbit* And especially excited about the giraffes!

David: *sees Matteo look to the rabbit and then hears him talking to it* *grins* Mister Rabbit, if you please! There’s got to be time for that... *then nods satisfied when Mister Rabbit seems to have told Matteo that he is treated well and laughs quietly when Matteo says that Mister Rabbit is especially excited about the giraffes* And he doesn't even understand them... well, we'll see... maybe we'll let him use our infrasonic device... *but then gets serious again and nods* *looks back from the rabbit to Matteo and says* I know that I don't have to... but I want to... first to the zoo... and then we'll see how much energy we have left...

Matteo: *holds his hands up in defense* Mister Rabbit, excuse me! *laughs slightly* How do you know that? Maybe your Mister Rabbit has some special powers or something like that? Could be? *looks at David when he realizes that he's looking at him* *nods* Yes, sounds good... first to the zoo... and then maybe find a restaurant? Because the food in the zoo is always super expensive... we could grab something and then sit down somewhere by the water.

David: *laughs when Matteo imputes special powers to Mister Rabbit* Who knows!? We'll see... but that's definitely one more reason to take him along... *shakes his head slightly when he thinks about the fact that he hasn't really paid attention to Mister Rabbit in years and that they are only talking about him because Matteo and he have shared some childhood memories a few weeks ago* *is really happy about the fact that he can do that with Matteo and that they can joke about the old stuffed animal together* *nods at Matteo's words and hums in agreement* Yes... I'd love that... well... I have prepared some provisions for when we are at the zoo... the backpack's already packed. But afterwards, I'd love to... the Landwehr-channel is close to the zoo, isn't it? *grins slightly* As I know you, you're probably gonna be hungry more than once over the course of the day...

Matteo: *laughs and nods* I think Mister Rabbit will surprise us... *looks at him with heart-eyes when he says that he has prepared provisions* You've prepared provisions? You really are the best! *laughs slightly* But yes, it might definitely happen that I'm hungry more than once... but we'll manage, somehow... if we can't find anything, we'll go back to my place and I'll cook something for us. Okay?

David: *shrugs a little embarrassed when Matteo asks about the provisions again and grins slightly when he says that he's the best* Well, food is somehow part of a date, isn't it? *hums a little indecisively at his suggestion to cook something in case they can't find anything and scoots a little closer to Matteo* *puts his head on his shoulder and wraps his arm around his middle* When /I/ invite you on a date, you shouldn't have to cook... *grins again and looks up at him* We're in Berlin, after all... there's food everywhere, isn't there? *subconsciously starts to draw small circles on Matteo's hip and asks* Have you been to the Berlin zoo often? Do you think those are the same giraffes as back then?

Matteo: *shrugs one shoulder* I don't really know... does it? Well, I think it's good... *laughs slightly and wraps his arm around David, as well* But I don't mind... well, just in case we don't find anything. *buries his nose in David's hair* No, not that often, we were there again with school, but that's it... and I don't know, maybe? I think they get pretty old, so it could be possible. *presses a kiss to his head* But it doesn’t really matter, does it?

David: *has to smile a little when Matteo asks about food at a date* That's what I've heard... I don't really have much experience with it... *hums hesitantly but agrees* Okay... but only then... *smiles when Matteo buries his face in his hair and presses him a little closer while he listens to him* *nods to what Matteo tells him and about the fact that it doesn't really matter* True... *briefly kisses his shoulder and then looks up at him* *grins slightly and asks* And now? 5 more minutes of making out and then let's get up, get ready and get going? Or do you need a little more time to wake up? *slightly pricks him in the side*

Matteo: *grins slightly* I've heard that as well... and like I said, I don't mind. *smiles slightly when he agrees* *but thinks that they'll find something* *but also wonders how dainty David is when it's about an official date or if he would also be okay with going to a Döner-restaurant in a pinch* *grins down at him when he kisses his shoulder* *grins even more when he hears his plan* *pricks him back slightly* Making out is always a great method to wake up... *laughs slightly and then turns into a more comfortable position to make out*

(next play)

#druck #davenzi #matteo florenzi #david schreibner #davenzi plays

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 4 years

Text

Lethobenthos || Mike Hanlon x Reader

⊳ Ch. 2: The Butcher's Daughter⊲

A/n: on the off chance that y'all know about butcher shops and meat or whatever, im so sorry cause even though i did a bunch of research, I know it's still pretty inaccurate so please don't come for me 😂 EDIT: I am crying cause I have 950 followers 🥺🥺🥺 I love each and every one of you guys, thank you so much babes 💞

Warnings: Alv*n Marsh being Alv*n Marsh. He briefly leers at reader. There's no comment, but it still needs a warning i feel. Also, long ass chapter. I truly don't know how to write short chapters, yall. Brief mention of animal death (natural causes) and signs of a PTSD attack. Marker for PTSD attack will be labeled [●●●]. Safe reading loves

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

- 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟗 -

ℕ𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥 of Costello Avenue Market, sandwiched between Terry's Barber Shop and one of the finer footwear retailers in town, was Derry's very own, Quality Meats. A quaint little shop - as quaint as butcher shops come, that is - right smack in the middle of the street, just across the road from the Capitol Theater. It was always a treat for Y/n L/n when the annual fourth of July parade was in full swing, she always had the best seat in the house from her bedroom window. It sat just above the shop, and truly had the best view overlooking the street. But the parade was weeks away, and it couldn't come soon enough.

For now, she was stuck in her daily routine at her father's butchery. Every morning it was her job to prep the shop before it opened, check the stock, and assure that everything was in order. Her father oversaw the shop but most of his time was devoted to preparing and tending to the meat in the back. This also left the task of receiving, inspecting, and storing meat upon delivery to her.

Her favorite part of the week. Because it meant seeing her favorite person, Mike Hanlon. He was the delivery boy who supplied some of their best selections, straight from the famous Hanlon Homestead. But this was not what thrilled her, what thrilled her was the company of the thoughtful boy. They had met the previous year when her father had hired him for deliveries, Mike had just taken up work at his grandparent's farm and the two quickly hit it off.

Mike was her saving grace. She never had the stomach for her father's work, and despite their weekly heated arguments on the matter, she'd get stuck with the tasks. At the very least, he didn't force her to work in the back in the meat locker. Not anymore. He had learned that lesson the hard way when he dragged her in despite her kicking and squirming - he figured she was just being dramatic, throwing a fit. But low and behold, it all ended with him clearing out the locker for sterilization when she got sick.

Now the only times she ever stepped foot inside was to get to the back door, which is something she didn't do - something she couldn't do - without plugging her nose and blocking out her peripheral vision as she slipped through the back door to greet her best friend.

An occasion, she feared, that she faced as she glanced impatiently at the clock on the wall for the fourth time on this hot June day. Mike was usually pulling up outside the store by now, hell, she clocked out at four to spend time with Mike and it was already three forty-five. Well, three forty-eight according to the shop's clock which one could always rely to be just three minutes fast no matter how much you reset it.

From her spot behind the counter, she had a limited view of the sidewalk outside. A variety of people passed, but none of them were Mike, the person she most wanted to see. And it certainly didn't help that a crowd of people were bunching up near the door, blocking her view of the window.

Three sharp notes from the counters bell broke her from her trance, throwing her harshly back to reality. A rather intimidating man stood on the other side of the counter, he was quite tall and everything about him put Y/n on edge.

"Sorry sir," Y/n mumbled, not feeling very sorry at all. "How can I help you, today?"

The man seemed to rethink his anger, though she would have preferred it over the new look on his leathery face. A wry smile stretched his lips and Y/n did not fail to notice his wandering gaze, only proving her first impressions to be correct. She felt her skin crawl and she did not fight the disgusted look cementing on her face.

"Just don't let it happen again, sweetheart. Now listen up, I'm in a hurry," Christ, she thought, even his voice is unnerving. "I need a pound and a half of the ground round beef."

"Right away, sir," she says, through gritted teeth. "One moment,"

Y/n hated when people ordered when her father was in the back, even though it happened often. Not just because she despised such tasks as grinding the meat and preparing it, but talking to the customers was never a favorite of hers. This was a fine example why.

Instead, she slipped into the back where they kept their stock that wasn't on display and began preparing the meat with a wrinkled nose.

"Fucking creep," she mumbled.

She wished she could say this was the first time something like this had happened, but unfortunately, Derry was filled with scummy people. Something did seem familiar about him though, she might have seen him here before. It'd make sense, Quality Meats was the only butchers around for miles.

Deciding she didn't want to dwell on it any longer, her mind began to wander. Anything that wasn't the man waiting out front really, thankfully that was easy enough. Hopefully, the rest of her workday would go by much quicker so she could meet with Mike. He said he had a surprise for her, and she had been wondering about it all day. The very thought fills her stomach with butterflies. Well, Mike did that all on his own, anyway. He always brought out that side of her. A bubbly, giddy side of her that always seemed to lose any sense of time around him.

Just ten more minutes, she thought. Just power through.

With the order all prepared, she returns to the front counter to find the man leaning against the counter in boredom. Great, now I have to redo the counters, too. When he spotted her, he straightened up and gave her a disapproving once over.

"What took you so long? I'm in a hurry. Fixing your hair couldn't wait, or something?"

Oh, a sexist fucking creep, she mentally corrected herself.

A snarl curled its way onto her face, but before she could make a bitter remark her dad's voice boomed across the shop.

"Well, if it ain't Alvin Marsh," The man in question moved his attention to Y/n's father, and remarkably enough, a somewhat friendly smile appeared on his face. "Good to see ya,"

"You too, always a pleasure,"

Y/n watched the exchange with shocked uncertainty. It frankly appalled her that this man was capable of being friendly, and even in such limited time in his presence. More importantly, she wondered, how could her father know this man? Why would her father know this man? Everything about this Alvin Marsh guy set her teeth on edge, and the only word coming to her mind for how to describe him was... slimy.

"So," the butcher asked, gesturing around the shop. "is there anything I might be able to help you with? Or has my daughter taken care of you, already?"

Y/n watched with great disdain as the man returned to her with another pointed look, glancing down at the packaged meat ready to go. He looks as if he's mulling it over, and finally, he clicks his tongue.

"Sure," he nods, looking back to her father, chuckling dryly with one elbow back on the counter. "when she found the time,"

"Ah, I see," He nods, sending a disapproving look to his daughter.

"Y/n," he sighs, nodding in the direction of the back of the shop, still a stern look upon his face. "Go wash up and clock in early, I'll take care of Mr. Marsh, and the rest."

Her mouth parted, ready to argue - not out of disappointment, for there was none, but to defend herself - when her father cut her off with a warning look.

"Now?"

She sighed heavily, her head rolling with her eyes as her arms snaked around to her back to untie her apron. At least she didn't have to pretend to care anymore now that she was technically off the clock. Her feet dragged across the ground subconsciously showing her frustration. As she made her way to the back when she heard that godawful grating voice again.

"Unbelievable, isn't it? There's just no respect anymore."

Y/n rolls her eyes when she hears her father chuckle. She sighs as turns the corner and hangs her apron up.

"Yeah, I got one of my own at home. Gorgeous little one, feisty too. But one hell of a mouth. Real bitch sometimes,"

Wide-eyed, and seeing red, Y/n is unable to take any more and heads farther back, slamming the door behind her, not caring if she took the fall for it later. Hell, she just might take the meat locker over that. She's shaking with rage, and his words echo in her skull still as she washes her hands. Her hands begin to sting and she realizes she had lost herself in thought and was just about to wear her skin down under the water as she scrubbed. Y/n shook her head, killing the water and drying her hands when her mind finally manages to break away from the creep when she thinks of the time.

Fuck, it's already five!

Quickly, she heads for the door to the meat locker, her nose already plugged when she pushes it open. Luckily, these trips were always fairly quick given the back door to the ally was just a few steps away, but what she saw when she stepped inside completely threw her through a loop.

The back door was wide open.

Upon first glance, she figured her father had opened it, and even though that was the most logical explanation, it didn't make sense. He never left it open. Not when he wasn't there. He was a stickler about that. Her head whips around the locker, but she was the only one. Fighting the urge to take an anxious deep breath, she creeps forward and peers around the corner, not knowing what to expect.

Her E/C eyes widen happily and relieved when she realizes it was only Mike. But her happiness vanished just as soon as it had come when she saw the state he was in, nevermind the fact he was laying in the heap of recycling!

"Mike!"

He jumped as she stepped out into the light, the entrance to the meat locker was quite dark from where he sat. And before he knew it was her, all he had seen was something moving in the shadows towards him. Y/n felt her heart tighten at the sight, something clearly must have happened, and it must have been bad for him to be startled by her.

Not unlike herself, though, he seemed to calm significantly when he realized who he was in company with. And yet, he still wasn't speaking. His eyes just bore into the darkness of the entrance, still panting heavily. Thick beads of sweat slid down his face.

"Mike," she knelt beside him, subtly checking for any signs of injury. "what happened?"

"I..." he gulps, finally breaking his gaze away and looking at her. "don't know."

Her eyebrows raise a bit higher in question, and curiously she searches his eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Despite the comfort of her gaze, he breaks himself away from it to look back into the dark abyss, fearing It would come back. Whatever It was. And as he does so, he swears he can still hear the rattling of the chains and the bleating of a goat, and the very very very back of his skull was the chilling sound of a clowns laugh.

"Mike?"

He realizes he hasn't answered her yet, and quickly he shakes his head 'no'.

"Here, let me help you," she rises to her feet, extending her hand.

He gladly takes it, and despite his lingering fear from his encounters, she still manages to send a spark through his skin just with her touch. Little did he know, she felt the same way. Y/n pulls him to his feet, and already, his attention is centering away from the locker and towards her. She's watching him carefully, and only now does he fully process the intensity of the worry held in her eyes.

"I-I think I'm okay," he stammers, chest still heaving with his labored breathing. "really."

Y/n nods after a moment, concluding he must be telling the truth. Over time she had picked up on Mike's body language, including all of his tells. For instance, she could usually tell when he was hiding something. He'd always tug or scratch at his ear. Or when he was lying, the ends of his lips would twitch up. Almost as if subconsciously offering a guilty smile before quickly suppressing it. But Y/n found no such thing, and she felt the muscles in her shoulders relax.

"Good," she sighs with a weak smile, her eyes falling to the ground. "Here,"

Her hand leaves his and immediately, they both miss each other's touch but say nothing of it. She steps around him and begins picking up the many packages of meat that had spilled out of the basket. He joins her, just as soon.

"Oh," he steals a glance at her, a small smile creeping up on him. "thanks."

It goes away just as fast, his heart still aches from how hard it had been beating. Y/n does not fail to notice his darting glances over her shoulder at the meat locker. They both rise to their feet, and Y/n casts a confused glance over her shoulder before turning back to him.

"Are you sure you're good, Mike? You don't seem yourself,"

He sighs, not entirely sure himself. His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug, and his lips part to speak but the words die in his throat when he hears the sudden and obnoxious revving of an engine nearby. He flinches, head jerking in the direction of the sound.

A ghostly expression washes over Y/n, and her anger visibly rises in seconds.

"Was it Bowers, again?" She scoffs, just enraged at the thought of him and she even begins to stammer as she grasps for an insult, anger clouding her brain."That-That bigoted fucking... dickhole!"

She stomps her foot and huffs, unable to properly deal with the overwhelming amount of anger and exhaustion building up in her. Mike looks at her with the tiniest hint of a bemused expression. His brow shot up and he almost felt a chuckle come out. Almost.

"Dickhole?"

"I know, I know," She chuckles dryly, the ends of her lips twitching up. "Shut up,"

The chuckle in his chest breaks loose and he feels as if another piece of stress has been chipped away. A long process in the making, but it was better now that she was here. Mike had yet to find out, the same went for Y/n. Mike placed the packages he had collected thus far back into his basket and Y/n popped her head back inside to grab a small bin by the door. She brought the small container over, placing the few packs of meat she carried inside and the two filled it in a matter of seconds. Any trace of a smile has fallen off her face as she looks back up at her best friend, shrugging.

"Well, he is," she defends. "All of them are. They're wrong in the head, Mike,"

"Can't argue with that," He shrugs, sending a grimace down the alleyway where the Bowers gang had just disappeared. "Need any help?"

"Nah, I got it. Thanks though," she grabs the bin, holding it against her frame and sends him a short smile. "Be right back,"

He answers with a curt nod, his sweaty palms unknowingly rubbing against his jeans out of nervous habit. She disappears back into the darkness, and Mike immediately feels the weight her absence leaves. The guard she had coaxed down had returned, plaguing his mind as several scenarios spiral out in his brain.

He couldn't tell her about the clown, he'd sound crazy! Hell, maybe he was. At least that's a what small voice told him in the back of his head, but deep down he knew what he saw was real. Real to him. Shaking that terrifying image from his brain would be harder than he thought.

Don't forget the turtle.

Mike shook his head, bewildered at the intrusive reminder his brain sent him. It was a strange sensation like the thought was not his own. It was a gentle voice speaking directly to his subconscious like a radio with interference. And yet, it didn't frighten Mike. Not at all like the dark, intrusive thoughts that had been occurring lately. This was soothing and gentle. Nonetheless, the message sent his hand flying for his pockets.

Relief swept over him when he felt the small lump in his right pocket where the gift resided. He smiled to himself at the thought of giving it to Y/ n. He had been working on it all year, a small wooden turtle he had carved himself in the many free moments he had stolen on his grandparent's farm. Mike couldn't quite pinpoint the exact moment he had decided to make a turtle, or that it would come to be such a big secret he would keep until he could give it to her. He had just sat down one day and started carving as if something had compelled him to do so.

And now here he was, ready to give her the small carved necklace. Mike was quite proud of it, not only was it his first carving but he had managed to secure it nicely in a thin - but sturdy - string of twine. Mike takes the time to spare a glance at the darkened doorway where his best friend disappeared, before his hand descends into his pocket, his heart hammering against his chest. His hand fishes amongst the pocket of denim and lint where his fingers find the cool touch of wood and twine. He pulls out the necklace and it dangles in the air as he carefully inspects it.

Was the twine fastened tight enough? Was the belly of the shell smooth enough where it would rest comfortably on her chest without splintering? Most importantly... Would she like it?

He sure hoped she would, given her connection to the reptile. She spoke often of it, the turtle that visited her dreams. Y/n never thought much of it, it had become merely a topic of conversation meant only for small lulls but she did find it funny the reoccurring figure. She described it as being the same turtle somehow, and it was never a threatening presence but a calm one. Like a guardian almost. It was a small and silly feeling that abandoned her by the time she was up and awake but little did she - or Mike - know just how deep the connection ran.

These were all thoughts that flooded Mike's mind but he quickly has to put them and himself at ease. The hiss of the airlock to the meat locker and the backroom reached his ears and quickly he stuffed the necklace back into his pockets. When Y/n returns, looking far less than relaxed do all of his previous worries evaporate into the humid summer air. His hardened stare never leaves her troubled frown as she locks up the side door, all the while he grabs his bike.

The pair falls into a comfortable silence as they head for the back of the alley where Y/n's bike was hidden. All that hung in the air was her defeated sigh that had accumulated after a long and stressful day, and the buzzing of cars as they passed by on the main road behind them. His worries now gone in the wake of her newfound stress he pulls up a curious brow as he walks his bike alongside her.

"Rough day?"

Y/n laughs dryly, nodding to her best friend as they round the corner and picks up her bike. "You could say that."

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

The town of Derry was quaint and rather cozy upon first glance. Quite a charming spot on the map with its snug downtown streets filled with local businesses such as Quality Meats. And one couldn't help but admire the long and beautiful running waters of the Kenduskeag stream that bled out from the Penobscot River, under the town and out into the Barrens stretching past the old train yard. The Barrens were the stretch of woods just outside of town.

And it was precisely these woods that the pair had found solace in the cruel and evil world they called their home. Months after their meeting, they had both explored the Barrens and to their luck, they had stumbled upon the Fort. The Fort was what Y/n and Mike called the large pit they had discovered past the train yard and just over the stream. You had to swing across an old rope swing they had found, but that made journey all the more fun. They almost hadn't seen the Fort behind the fallen trees walled around and piled over the top.

The way the trees had fallen it had created a rather spacious room just below the earth. When inside, one could see through the branches slats and out into the rest of the Barrens without being easily spotted. It made the perfect hideout from those who wished to see them harmed, and it also made a wonderful makeshift amphitheater. It was often they would look up from their conversations and see the wildlife walking around just feet away, still unaware of their presence.

This is where they found themselves now, deep amongst the thickets, far away from their everyday troubles. It wasn't until they had abandoned their bikes at the stream to cross and venture deeper inside did they finally feel the effects of the change in scenery. At long last, the weight that settled on their hearts and troubled minds began to evaporate slowly as they inhaled the fresh and pleasantly overwhelming aroma of pine and fresh dirt. It blended perfectly with the dewy oak that hung in the air after the past week's summer storm, as did the gentle breeze that managed to reach them after a long journey through the trees.

The sight of the Fort puts the last of their darkest thoughts to bed - for now. The crunching of twigs is the only sound that reaches their ears as they approach their haven. It is then that it occurs to Y/n, the birds have stopped singing. Come to think of it, she hadn't heard any birds in weeks. It was quite unusual considering these woods of all places were where their song carried the loudest. It was as if they were all... hiding.

She realized even the atmosphere felt different, and not just in the Barrens. It had been a thought blooming in the back of her mind for the past few months; that the town had been cast into a dark shadow. While Y/n had lived in Derry all her life, it had always felt mysterious to her. But this was different, it was darker. Like a cloudless storm had rolled into Derry, with no intention of leaving.

Mike brought her from her trance, pulling her gaze back down to earth from where it was previously fixed on the treetops.

"I feel it, too."

"What do you think it is?" Y/n asks finally.

Mike's lips crease into a flat shrug, eyes flitting to the ground as his shoulders briefly rise.

"I don't know," he sighs, his gaze trailing up to where hers laid in the treetops as if expecting to see this so-called storm with his very eyes. "But it's nothing good,"

Her hardened frown turns back to the forest floor, blinking several times as she reached for a thought that was fast asleep in the farthest corner of her brain. It almost didn't even feel like a thought so much as a part of her brain itself. But it quickly dissipates as calm washes over her, taking with it any budding anxieties. She could almost laugh, none of this made sense. Y/n had been waiting all day to be here with Mike, and now she was.

Y/n wasn't going to let anything ruin that. Or so she hoped.

A coy smile plays at her lips as she picks up her pace towards the Fort, and swiftly she navigates through their hidden entrance. Her hopeful attitude is just infectious enough that it takes to Mike, and warmth blooms in his stomach as he quickly follows her. His feet bring him to the entrance of the Fort, and through the slats, he can see Y/n settling in.

The sight of her relaxing brought a small smile to Mike's face, and quickly he joined her inside. The welcoming effect of the Fort just as soon touched him as it had her, and never had he been more relieved to see the sight around him.

Soft light from the gas lantern bathed the small dome inside the earth, illuminating the many mossy branches perched above their heads. Several discarded wooden boards lay tucked into the dirt beneath their feet, creating makeshift wooden floors that had long been covered in several spare blankets they had brought. While the dome was just that, it was not a perfect circle. It was a bit uneven but this gave the pair the advantage of a single corner. This is where they kept the single beanbag they had managed to get their hands on.

It was just as they had left it, a warm and cozy corner of the world that belonged just to them. It smelled just as the forest around them, only more intensified in their close courters.

[●●●●]

Y/n stumbled away from the bean bag suddenly with a horrified shriek, her band coming to rest shakily over her mouth as she backed into the dirt wall behind her. Mike jumped to her side, eyes wide and fearful as his mind conjured every horrible possibility. The fear from the alley returned.

"What? What's wrong?"

A heavy sob was building in the far back of her throat, her wide e/c irises were beginning to dilate and her limbs trembled. Mike recognized within moments what had caused her such distress, having recognized an attack of hers like this only twice before. But the pain of seeing her so distraught was burned in his brain so he might never forget. His hand that had come to rest on her shoulder now brought her into his embrace. As she stumbled numbly into his arms he saw her eyelids screw shut, and several heavy tears were squeezed free.

"Hey," he whispered soothingly, his hand rubbing circles in her back. "Hey, it'll be okay. You're not there anymore, you're not there. You're not there..."

Slowly but surely her breathing becomes less ragged, and he can feel her head nodding into the crook of his neck as she takes in his words. Y/n's sniffles are loud in his ear but he couldn't care less. Mike just wanted her to be okay. He only now realizes he was still muttering sweet nothings into her ear as he feels his mouth grow dry.

"We're okay, Y/n. You're safe."

She takes a long and trembling breath that he can feel in the crook of his neck. Her breath brings out goosebumps on his skin but he quickly banishes the thought away in her troubled state. When she speaks, her voice is barely audible, even from beside his ear.

"Thanks, Mike,"

All he can find himself doing is pressing a flat smile to his lips, his eyes glazing over sadly at the limp pigeon in the corner behind the beanbag. The sight brings a strong and forceful wave of sadness that washes over him, but he knows it is not quite the same kind of sadness as she is experiencing. Finally, after almost twenty minutes have passed, she breaks away, sniffling.

Mike feels the weight on his heart triple in size when she pulls away to reveal her puffy eyelids. The whites of her eyes are laced with red veins, and her trembling lips let loose a few shaky breaths. Immediately, she does all she can to wipe away the tears, but the evidence of her sadness remains. She shakes her head, disappointed in letting herself show this side and chuckles bitterly as she clutches her aching chest.

[●●●●]

"I'm sorry,"

"No," he says, shaking his head. "Don't do that, okay? You should never apologize for this. For feeling anything. You have your own baggage, just like everyone else."

She chews the inside of her lip in a nervous habit, heat creeping up in her neck.

"Sor-"

He eyes her warningly, and she bites back a sheepish smile and clears her throat. "Okay."

He studies her for a moment, not aware he is even doing so as her swollen eyes trail sadly across the room where the pigeon lays. He can hear a mournful whine building in her throat before he cleared his own with a somber expression.

"It's okay, I'll take care of 'em."

A weak, thankful smile flickers across her face and she watches thoughtfully as he rises and crosses the fort to the pigeon. He grabs one of the spare towels they kept around - sometimes the old rags they spread across the wooden grates would need a quick replacement, as they discovered the hard way - and knelt before the limp bird. Y/n finally rises to her feet decidedly and slips past Mike and outside the Fort without a word, a rusty trowel now in hand.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

The pair now stood before a small lump in the dirt, their heads pulled down with gravity as they stare at their feet. After Y/n had dug a small grave, Mike had buried the old pigeon, and the two had managed a small eulogy. Hosting a small funeral for a pigeon is certainly not what the two had envisioned their day would look like, but oddly enough, it was cathartic for both of them.

Mike was hardly old enough to remember his parent's funeral. The same could be said for Y/n, and like Mike, she hadn't exactly been emotionally or mentally present for her mother's funeral, for when the time came she had still been in quite the state of trauma. Y/n didn't like to talk about it, and in their year of friendship Mike had only recently found out, but she had been the one to find her mother's body as a very young child. So it was no surprise the familiar sight of the limp body brought her such distress.

As her glassy eyes stare numbly at the mound in the dirt she feels a soft yet somehow calloused hand slip into her own, giving her palm a light squeeze. Her head feels heavier than normal in her crestfallen state, she notices, as she picks her stare up off the ground to look at Mike. He wears a small and gentle smile for her and gestures past her head towards the Fort that lies beyond only a few feet.

"C'mon. We should settle in before it gets too much later."

Her thumb flitters across his skin in response, and she nods. The two of them make their way back to their hideaway, the sounds of the earth beneath their feet filling the pensive silence once more. When they enter, her eyes flicker to the seat she was previously ready to occupy. A small shudder passes through her and she instead chooses the pile of blankets across the cramped room.

Mike settles in beside her, his hands flying back to his pockets again to ensure the turtle remained on his person. Sure enough, the small wooden necklace could be felt floating amongst his things inside his pocket. He breathed a silent sigh of relief, one she would have caught had she not distracted herself with the task of fishing out their stored away activities. A deck of cards was pulled from the small and rusty tin lunchbox they kept there for storage, soon to follow was an equally rusty - and rather dusty - silver spoon. Y/n shrugs with the spoon in hand.

"We could play Spoons or something?" Y/n suggested half-heartedly, her eyebrows falling into a curious frown. "Or was there something else you wanted to play?"

He gulps nervously though he doesn't quite understand why he was even nervous in the first place, it was Y/n! Then again, all the more reason for his heart to be aflutter... It was Y/n.

His sweaty palms return to his jeans and he wipes them anxiously hoping to keep his hands dry, and he sends her a weak and nervous smile.

"I um," he cleared his throat, and she emptied her hands, curiously turning all her attention to him. "I uh, wanted to show you something I made?"

"Oh," she says, a bit taken aback. "Yeah, okay. What is it?"

Any and all responses he had gone over previously in his mind vanished into thin air, leaving him speechless. All he could do at that moment was fish into his pockets, his fingers lacing around the string as he pulled out the necklace. It dangles in the air, the soft golden light from the lamp beside them illuminated the many grooves engraved into the wood that created the illusion. It sways back and forth before their eyes, but his gaze is set not on the turtle but her.

Her eyes had widened in reverence, and he could feel his heart swell with pride. She shakes her head in disbelief, the ends of her lips tugging up in a smile.

"This is incredible, Mike!"

He can feel a heat in his cheeks and the tips of his ears that could rival the summer sun. His grin widens bashfully.

"Thanks," he says, gesturing towards her with the necklace, inwardly cursing at himself for this moment not going as smoothly as he had hoped. "It's, uh. It's yours. I made it for you. This was the surprise I was telling you about."

Her attention is on him now, and he can feel his heart skip a beat. He notices that the swelling in her eyes has gone down a little, but the smallest of beads pool in her eyes. She was welling up a bit.

"Mike," she breathes. "Thank you. I... Don't know what to say, I feel like "thank you" isn't enough."

He shrugs as she takes the necklace into her hands to examine it more closely, her thumb tracing the shell of the wooden reptile as she gapes fondly at it. Unbeknownst to Mike, her stomach won't stop its series of flips. Finally, she looks back up at him, and he's happy to see the first genuine spark of glee in her eyes he had been longing to see all day. The pride in his chest grows even bigger knowing he had been the one to make her feel better, even if it was only a little.

"I love it." She says finally.

Y/n takes the necklace by the twine, parting it in two as she brings it to her neck. Her eyes are travel across the fort as her tongue pokes out from between her lips thoughtfully as she attempts to secure the necklace in place. She struggles for several moments, muttering a few frustrations to herself as she fumbles to tie the knot properly without it slipping from her fingers first. Seeing this, his own stomach doing a flip, Mike scoots himself closer and gestures to her neck.

"Here, let me," he offers.

A heat rages up from her neck and to her cheeks and ears, not unlike Mike had moments ago but she complies and turns herself so he can reach the back of her neck. He takes the twine from her hands, their fingertips grazing briefly creating a matching storm of butterflies in their stomach. And as Mike sets to work on the knot, neither of them can see the brilliant grins stretching across their faces that they wished to hide from the other.

"There you go," he mutters shakily, praying she can't hear his voice wavering.

She does, but it only sends her heart racing faster. She mumbles a 'thanks' as she turns back around, and sends him another thankful smile as she simpers down at the turtle that now hung from her neck. Already her fingers had snuck up to her neck to fiddle with the turtle, and a warmth washes over her.

Y/n does not know whether it was her nearly intoxicating feelings for Mike, his kindness, the reassuring presence of the turtle, or perhaps all of the above, but she now felt a great deal better. It was as if a great weight had been taken off of her shoulders, the banishing of great unease as she wore the necklace now. Perhaps it was all in her mind, but Y/n rather enjoyed the strength the gesture had brought her.

And maybe, just maybe, Y/n could take on whatever the future might throw at her.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Black Lives Matter m resources, what you can do to help. Link in the comments below, can be accessed on any computer.

Support black owned businesses! There's this great app shared by @lovechlmt on Twitter, which I found on a post from Tumblr but either way I downloaded the app and it is a great way to find black owned businesses in your area! Please download and use if you can! It is called Black Nation

As I've heard, there is a wonderful website that provides therapy specifically for black and other poc, so you can speak to someone who shares your experiences and can truly get you the help you so deserve. Particularly black women. Its a simple url: therapyforblackgirls.com

Here's the description provided from @ madamblack on tumblr for the info:

"This reminds me, if y'all haven’t heard of therapyforblackgirls.com please visit if you need a therapist. You can search by mental health need, location/distance, insurance, etc. I believe there are some that provide a sliding scale payment method for those without insurance.

If you’re not quite ready to make the jump, there is a podcast you can listen to as well as articles and links to help answer some of your questions about mental health and/or therapy.

The purpose, as I understand it, is to provide a place where black women can go to find culturally sensitive therapy. Some specialize in family/couples as well.

Take a look."

[Link]

I'd also like to provide additional resources that were added on to this source, this being a collection of free therapy resources found by @ ntbx on tumblr:

[Link]

As well as Black Minds Matter UK resource from @ girthcobain on the very same post.

[Link]

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Taglist:

@loversclwb @bibliophilesquared

Let me know if you would like to be added!

#lethobenthos #mike hanlon x reader #mike hanlon x you #chapter two the butcher's daughter #mike hanlon rewrite #MH rewrite #it reader insert #it reader rewrite #mike hanlon #chosen jacobs #derry maine #you'll float queue

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sincerelyreidburke · 4 years

Text

Okay, here’s a little ficlet for you guys!! We’ve brought Quinn’s summer in Arizona into the discussion; now let’s see it in action. This is also now posted as the newest chapter in my ao3 cricket ficlet collection.

In which: Quinn takes Nando’s little sister on a costuming supply run. And wholesome content ensues.

(Sorry, this got so long. Actually, I regret nothing, but I’m still sorry because this is a weird medium to post something that’s long.)

junior-senior summer | june

Quinn has a special relationship with Joann Fabrics.

For him, being let loose in one is sort of like being a chicken nugget fiend of a young child and finding out your parent is going to stop and get you a Happy Meal on the way home from school. It evokes borderline euphoria in his subconscious, a youthful eagerness that he’s quite sure he’ll never shake. The thing is that those places are just… boundless potential, everything crafty that he loves all under one roof. He could quite literally lose an entire day just walking around the store, without buying anything at all.

So… you can imagine his excitement when, on the third day of production on The Wizard of Oz , the director of the Tempe Community Children’s Theatre hands him an envelope of cash. “Here’s half of your costume budget,” she tells him. “Let me know when you want the other half. There’s a Joann’s ten minutes away from here, if that’s helpful for you to know.”

“Oh, my goodness!” Quinn looks into the envelope— there’s plenty here to accomplish what he wants with it; he’s used to costuming on the Grand Rapids Summer Players budget, which, if you must know, stretched him very thin most seasons. “Thank you so much, Erica. That is immensely helpful for me to know. Is it okay if I go tomorrow?”

Erica is tall, tan, middle-aged, and constantly wearing a shawl as part of her outfit. A lot of people on the tech team are scared of her, but Quinn isn’t in the slightest. “You can go whenever your heart desires,” she replies, with a smile. “Keep me updated with what you’re putting together.”

“Thank you.” Quinn nods his head a little, clasping the envelope behind his back with both hands. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She waves. “See you, Quinn.”

That’s the key with directors. You have to kiss up a little, and then you’re on their good side, and life is easy.

Rosa and Gabriella are both waiting for him by the bench outside the auditorium. The program operates out of Tempe’s high school, whose theatre is better than the one back in Michigan but nothing near Kiersey's Beckett Center.

“Ready?” he asks the two girls. They jump off the bench in near unison.

“Ready!” Gabriella affirms, and Rosa just nods.

They’re identical twins, but it’s not hard to tell them apart. Gabriella’s hair is always braided, and Rosa wears glasses. Not to mention their personalities are entirely different. They each look so much like Sebastián, and their mama, too. Quinn has been in Arizona for three weeks, almost four, but the resemblance still strikes him every time he looks at them.

Quinn picks up the canvas bag that holds the girls’ stuff; right now, it’s not much, except Gabriella’s ballet shoes and some snacks, but closer to the actual production, they’ll be bringing more back and forth.

Gabriella skips over the linoleum floor, landing only on the blue parts in its multicolored pattern, like the rest of it is lava. “Good news, Rosa,” he says, as they start for the door. Rosa looks up at him, sticking close by his leg. He tells her, “We get to go to Joann’s tomorrow,” and her face lights up.

“Who’s Joann?” Gabriella asks.

“It’s a store , dummy,” Rosa replies. “You know, with arts and crafts?”

She leaps to a new blue square. “Like pom-poms?”

Rosa nods. “And sequins.”

“Why do you need to go there?”

“To buy supplies to make the costumes,” Quinn tells her. She wobbles on one foot as she hunts for another blue patch. “So you’ll look pretty onstage!”

“Ooh!” This seems to pique Gabriella’s interest. “Can you buy me a crown?”

“You’re a Munchkin ,” Rosa says. “Munchkins don’t wear crowns.”

“Well, maybe I’m a Munchkin princess!”

“Those don’t exist.”

“Yes, they do.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh.”

“Nuh- uh .”

“Quinn?” Gabriella stops at the double glass doors to look back at him. “Do Munchkin princesses exist?”

They each survey him intensely, and Quinn, by principle, is scared of absolutely no one, but being selected as the judge for their debate is intimidating. “I… am not sure,” he settles for, “but maybe we can do some research in the real Wizard of Oz book and find out.”

“Yay!” Gabriella cries, and Rosa doesn’t look disappointed— Quinn knows she’s a book fan, so this seems to satisfy her, too.

It’s the little things.

The next morning, although they haven’t yet figured out if Munchkin princesses exists, Quinn is dialed in and on a mission. He has a rather lengthy shopping list for the Joann run, and he packs some of his own money, too, into the side of his bag, just in case something in there strikes his fancy. Which… it definitely will. He’s incapable of going in, even for a costume-related trip, without emerging with something for himself.

“For the road, mi amor ,” says Sebastián, pressing a travel mug with a teabag in it into his hands. “I’ll finish the cleanup.”

Quinn glances beyond him, to the small stack of dishes next to the sink, and winces a little. “Are you sure?” he asks. “I can stay another few minutes.”

“No, no— go; I don’t want you to be late.” They’ve handled breakfast, as they do most mornings, for themselves and the girls; Mrs. Hernandez is working a weirdly timed shift at the hospital. Sebastián has work today, too, at his tio’s restaurant, but it’s not until later; he’s still in his sweats. “I don’t mind,” he adds.

Quinn smiles up at him. He still has some curly bedhead, and the facial hair he shaved after his playoffs in the spring is coming in again. Mornings with him in his childhood home are domestic in a way Quinn has never known. “Thank you,” he says, wrapping both hands around the tea. “And breakfast was delicious.”

Sebastián beams. “Of course, baby.” He takes him by the shoulders for a quick kiss, and it’s no more than three seconds long, but right then, from out of nowhere, the ten-year-old relationship police descend upon them.

“Sebastián, yuck !” Gabriella is walking across the kitchen, fresh from the go ahead and put on your shoes, then we’ll go to rehearsal mission that Quinn sent her on two minutes ago. “No kissing in the kitchen.”

Sebastián rolls his eyes at his sister, still grinning lopsidedly. “Who said that’s a rule?”

“I did.” Gabriella huffs, then grabs Quinn’s shirt on the way by. “C’mon, Quinn, we’re going.”

Quinn laughs, as she pulls him toward the front door, and Sebastián raises his eyebrows. “Well, you sure told me, huh,” he says. Rosa, fresh from upstairs, crosses the kitchen without fanfare, and joins them at the door.

“He doesn’t have time for you; you’re gross,” Gabriella says to Sebastián, like so there , and Quinn makes eye contact with him as he’s being wrangled to the door. Sebastián raises his eyebrows and mouths, She really showed me .

Quinn grabs the keys off the hook by the door, still laughing, and waves to him. “I’ll see you later, honey.”

“Bye!” he calls, leaning against the counter. “Have fun at Joann’s!”

Quinn has been thinking about this since yesterday, and yet the reminder makes him smile like he’s remembering it for the first time. “Oh, I will!”

Sebastián winks at him, which is just cause to smile further.

“My brother is gross,” Gabriella tells him, as they walk down the front path towards the car. “He’ll give you cooties.”

If that’s the case, it’s far too late. “I suppose so,” he replies. “But it’s a good thing he’s sweet, too.”

Gabriella makes a gagging noise. “Love is yucky ,” she says, and Quinn laughs.

Getting out of the house in the morning has been a feat since he got here. The twins are chaotic— well, Gabriella is chaotic; Rosa just adds another person into the mix— and it was a little easier when they were sending them off to school, but now that Quinn is bringing them to the theatre, he’s directly involved in the child-wrangling. Mrs. Hernandez is sometimes working and sometimes not in the mornings, but he and Sebastián have taken it upon themselves to do the morning routine so they can give her a break.

It… feels like home. Quinn could get very, very used to this.

At the high school, he drops Gabriella off with the other kids for stage rehearsal, and then rejoins Rosa in the lobby, where she’s waiting dutifully. “Are you ready?” he asks her, and she nods, with a big smile he’s not sure he’s ever seen from her.

“Let’s go to Joann’s,” she declares, and he smiles.

“Indeed,” he replies, and they start back for the car together. “Let’s go.”

He wonders, as they set off in the car, if Rosa will be shy. Although the past few days with starting out Oz have placed them in one-on-one contact, because Rosa is his wardrobe assistant for the summer, those are the first times he’s been alone with her, without her much more talkative sister or Sebastián or Mrs. Hernandez in the mix somewhere. He knows that Rosa is shy; he’s witnessed as much, since he arrived here. He’d love to get to know her.

But he doesn’t want to push her, either, and especially doesn’t want to do the grown-up thing (goodness, he’s a grown-up) where you accidentally make a kid uncomfortable because you ask too many questions. So as he listens to his phone navigate him in the direction of the store, he keeps mostly quiet, with the radio on low volume.

Then, about three minutes into their drive, her small voice breaks the silence. “My mama says you’re staying with us this summer because my brother loves you.” As he looks over to her, she pauses. Her eyes are on him, behind her purple-rimmed glasses. “Is that true?”

“Well… yes, that’s true,” he replies, because it’s the most watered-down version of the truth. You can’t really tell a ten-year-old that your grandparents kicked you out directly because you love said ten-year-old’s brother. And boys. As a concept. “I do love your brother very much,” he adds. “And I’m very grateful to be here with you this summer.”

Both these things are true. If it weren’t for Sebastián, he has no idea where he’d be staying right now. He has nowhere to go.

It was a big and awful truth when he first faced it. But that was months ago, and he’s all right now. There are people who love him, who support him— even if they’re not blood family.

Rosa nods, like she’s a lawyer, and he’s on the witness stand. In three hundred feet, continue onto East Broadway Road , says the GPS. She folds her arms, but not in a standoffish way, and asks, “Why didn’t your mama and papa want you to come home and see them?”

Oh. This one is harder to dodge. Quinn takes a second, smoothing the front of his hair, before he replies, “Well… I don’t see much of my parents, actually.”

“Are they dead?”

It’s so quick, it almost gives him whiplash. He forgets that Rosa and Gabriella lost a parent; they’re well familiar with death. “No,” he says, gently. “They just aren’t around.”

“Oh.” Rosa hangs her head. “Sorry.”

“Oh, goodness,” he says. “Don’t be sorry. You didn’t hurt my feelings or anything, I promise.”

“Okay.” At least she takes this at face value, and Quinn can relax again. In 2.3 miles, turn left onto South Dobson Road. He knows she’s still looking at him, and for some reason, he can tell she’s going to ask him another question before it comes. “Is it true you can’t hear without your headphones?”

Quinn smiles a little. He taps the hearing aid on her side and nods. “They aren’t headphones,” he says, “but yes, that’s true.”

She cranes her neck to look over the console. “Are they magic?”

He laughs. “In a way, I suppose. They let me do some things, but I’m just as much myself without them.”

“What kind of things?”

“Like listening to music.” He pauses. “And speaking English. It’s like your glasses help you see; these help me hear.”

She touches her purple frames again. “But when you did your play last summer,” she says, “some of the actors were deaf like you, right?”

“Right!” He smiles fondly. Tour seems like a lifetime ago, but he’s still in touch with some of the friends he made.

“So you used sign language,” Rosa says. “Instead of singing.”

“Combined with singing,” he replies. “It was really lovely.”

She frowns a little. “How come we couldn’t go see it?”

Oop . Gabriella has asked him this same question before. Sebastián wasn’t even sure about letting Mrs. Hernandez see the show, let alone his then-nine-year-old sisters. “Um… because it’s— well, it’s for grown-ups.”

Rosa huffs, but she doesn’t sound mad at him . Just frustrated. “That’s what Mama said.”

He’s glad she doesn’t stretch that topic any further, because he would have no idea how to explain Spring Awakening to a ten-year-old. Instead, she shifts gears. “Next time you do one, can it be for kids?”

He smiles at her. “I’ll be sure of it.”

For now, this ends Rosa’s interrogation, but she doesn’t get shy again. It’s pleasant, actually, to hear her say more than a few words at a time— from then to when they pull in at Joann, she talks about Oz , and doesn’t go quiet until they walk up to the automatic doors. Quinn grabs a carriage, because they’re definitely going to need one, and pulls the list out of his pocket.

The doors slide open, and he takes a long breath in.

It’s time.

“ Wow ,” Rosa says, from next to him, as she takes in the sight of the store in all its fabric and craft glory. “We could make, like, a million costumes in here!”

“It’s the greatest place.” Quinn might be crying a little. He leans down to her, list in-hand. “Are you ready to be my little helper?”

She actually jumps up-and-down at this. “Yeah!” she says, and it’s the most energy he’s ever seen out of her. “What should I do first?”

He brandishes the list. “Follow me.”

It’s an absolutely religious experience.

It takes two hours, and not a second if it is wasted time. Rosa is the greatest help, always asking what’s next for her to do, and he moves through the aisles on a mission. He is in his glory, and he regrets absolutely nothing.

They stock up on the basics— tulle, yarn, and cotton, plus sequins and gingham, a few different rolls of ribbon, buttons and thread. They fill the entire cart. Each moment spent inside the store is like free serotonin to last Quinn for months.

Checking out at half of the cash in the envelope, he marks it down as an extremely successful trip. “Great job!” he says to Rosa, as they walk back into the parking lot. It’s baking-hot outside, but the heat is dry, and it’s tolerable for now. “We got everything on our list.”

Rosa is smiling, ear to ear, and has been for most of the past two hours. “Wow,” she says. “I love that place.”

“We’ll definitely be back,” he says, with a glance over his shoulder at the storefront. “But this should get us started for now.”

“ Yes ,” Rosa says, and it sounds like it’s maybe just for herself, a quiet little celebration.

He puts the bags in the back of the truck, returns the carriage, and punches the directions back to the high school into his phone. As they’re pulling out of the parking lot (he looks both ways three times, because he, as a gay, really shouldn’t be driving at all), Rosa, still in good spirits, says, “That was fun.”

“That was very fun,” he says, then holds up his palm. “Give me a high-five?” She nods and smacks it eagerly. He smiles. “That was a good one.”

“That’s because teamwork,” Rosa says, very wisely, and he nods his agreement.

“I’m really glad to have you as my helper,” he tells her. “We’re going to have fun with these costumes. And then they’ll look very pretty on stage. Just you wait.”

Rosa nods. “I like costumes,” she says. “It’s like being a fashion designer.”

“Exactly!”

He is really glad she finally opened up a little. He considers this trip a success on a number of fronts.

“Quinn?”

He looks to her. She’s giving him the lawyer stare once again. “Yes?”

She takes a short breath, then asks, “Are you and Sebastián getting married?”

He isn’t adequately prepared for how sweet the question makes him, and he feels his face get warm, like he’s blushing at the mere thought. Which, on one hand, could be embarrassing, and he’d most certainly be getting chirped or fined if Ben or Remy were around— but it’s just him and Rosa, his maybe future sister-in-law, in the car, and she’s asking honestly, and gosh, if the idea of that doesn’t make him soft all over.

So he answers honestly. “Yes,” he says, because they’ve talked about it plenty. They may not know exactly what comes after graduation, which, mind you, is still a whole year away— but they know, without a doubt, that they’re doing it together. “Not just yet, but someday.”

Rosa smiles. She nods, and folds her arms again. She’s not looking at him when she replies, but the words touch Quinn all the same. “Good.” She pauses. “‘Cause I like you.”

Now he’s definitely red in the face. This little girl is the sweetest.

Gosh, Quinn wants to be a dad someday.

As he drives along— the roads in Arizona are all straight, and they line up like a grid, like a much more stretched-out New York filled with cacti and palm trees instead of skyscrapers. He keeps thinking, being here these past few weeks, that he could see himself living here.

At the edge of his vision a ways up the road, he spots the golden arches, a giant towering advertisement. And he gets a very good idea.

“Rosa,” he says, evenly. “Do you like chicken nuggets?”

“Um, yeah ?” She doesn’t seem to have spotted it yet, but she looks over at him like he’s asked the most obvious question in the world. “What kind of a person doesn’t like chicken nuggets?”

Quinn laughs. “Fair point,” he replies, then starts to signal. “Do you want a Happy Meal?”

#crickets #quindo #mini quinny #nandoooooooo #ficlet #ao3 link #quinn theatre hours #mel writes

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wicked-game-black-butler · 4 years

Text

The Heart of the Sea pt. 2

June 10, 1922

The lantern room was filled with the warm, golden glow of the late afternoon sun. It bore down on Bard’s face, tiny beads of sweat forming on his nose as he squinted, his attention darting between the brass encased gauges and his log while he recorded the invaluable data. Outside his glass and steel cage, a pair of seagulls bickered noisily over a piece of bread on the catwalk, a series of metallic scrapes and clangs of their skuffle echoing in the otherwise silent room. It set Bard’s teeth on edge.

He growled, ledger dwindling to an illegible scrawl in his haste to finish, before slamming the pencil beside the thick book and stomping over to the metal door. Groaning in objection underneath Bard’s merciless grip, it opened with a bang.

“Piss off!” he shouted, waving his arms exaggeratedly as he charged at the offending birds.

They squawked, immediately taking flight when he approached, and circled in the sky above him just to taunt him before setting off toward the sea.

“Stupid birds,” he mumbled, kicking the forgotten scrap of bread off the ledge.

Leaning back against one of the connecting steel beams, he plucked a cigarette from behind his ear and lit it with a flourish of his lighter. He closed it, the lid giving a ringing click before he slipped it back into the pocket of his uniform jacket. Billowing wisps of smoke poured from his mouth as he sighed, a mournful smile on his lips, light blue gaze trained on the glittering horizon. It was funny, he thought, taking another drag, he’d never intended on taking up the habit. Hadn’t been tempted by them in the past--before the war. His left shoulder ached in remembrance, though it was nothing compared to the gaping emptiness in his chest. Yes, there were a lot of things that happened which he hadn’t intended. War was funny like that.

He stood abruptly upright, coughing in a feeble attempt to seal off the swelling emotions that threatened to seep to the surface. He needed a distraction. Turning back toward the lantern room, he glanced down at his wristwatch, relief washing over him when he realized it was only half past seven. That was plenty of time. He had an hour before the lantern needed to be lit.

His hurried footsteps echoed off the brick walls of the spiraling staircase as he descended the great tower, only pausing when he snagged the stiff navy blue hat from the hook he had installed next to the entrance. He hated the thing, but he was a lighthouse keeper and people expected him to look the part.

Upon exiting, he took one last drag from his gasper, extinguishing the still smoking stub against the heel of his shoe before flicking it into an empty clay pot he kept by the entryway for that express purpose and ran his fingers through his hair before donning his cap. Deeply breathing in the sweet salt air, he closed his eyes, relishing in the slight relief it gave to the unsettling irritation that had ensconced itself in his gut. He sighed and opened his eyes before stepping out from the shade of the lighthouse, his feet subconsciously leading him to the one place that would ease his agitation--the beach.

He didn’t know what had gotten into him. He’d been out of sorts all week. Since that stormy night, to be exact. And, though he’d not heard the mysterious hum since, the urge it bore remained, clawing at his insides like a rusty hook. An all-consuming, persistent yearning.

Torturous as it was, Bard was secretly grateful for its presence. Otherwise, he would’ve thought he was going quite mad. There had been enough doubt that plagued his mind about that night. Even now, when he thought back on it, the memory was hazy and surreal, like a dream. Had it not been for the uncomfortable vestige the encounter had left with him, he would have chalked it all up to that, just a vivid nighttime vision. And the man he had met no more than a mere fantasy.

An image of the man flashed in Bard’s mind--brilliant eyes sparking, his plump lips curved in a smile while his soaked-through clothes sumptuously outlined his deliciously sculpted form--and he froze, heart fluttering at the memory. If he were fully honest with himself, the stranger was the reason he ventured down to the beach every day, combing miles of the shoreline. All for the ludicrous hope that he might catch a glimpse of the onyx-haired mystery. He had even asked around a few of the local hotels, thinking perhaps he might’ve been a tourist, but every time he left disappointed.

It was silly, someone his age chasing a spectre like he was some lovestruck schoolboy. But he couldn’t--no, wouldn’t stop. For too long he had been empty, a husk of a man, devoid of feeling and purpose. But this...this sparked something in him, rekindled the dying embers of his soul with the whispering promise that he might have a chance at being something more than how the war had left him. And he wasn’t willing to give that up.

The breeze was gentle, the rolling of the lulling tide rhythmic and peaceful when he stepped foot on the beach. Gulls flew overhead, crying as they glided just above the surface of the water, dodging the few kites they encountered along their way. Sandpipers darted this way and that, frantically pecking away at the wet sand for food before fleeing the next oncoming wave. Along the shore, the white sand was littered with groups of people, tourist and local alike, who had come to enjoy the remaining sunlight before returning home. Children laughed and squealed as they ran about while their parents sat underneath the shelter of an umbrella, content to watch from afar, most likely thankful for a moment to sit undisturbed. Young couples walked arm in arm, casting wary glances behind them, hoping no one would catch them while they attempted to inconspicuously slip away to the shelter of Lover’s Cove. Years of attentive care had allowed him to create a place of safety, of refuge for any who came here. And, on any other day, such a scene might have brought Bard some sense of satisfaction, but not today.

He gave a brief smile, waving in passing to Mr. and Mrs. Midford, who sat beneath a large parasol while their daughter, Lizzie, kept trying to get her friend, Sieglinde’s, attention so she could see the beautiful seashell necklace she had strung together. The other young woman paid her no mind, too consumed with a chemistry book to be bothered. Bard snorted, shaking his head as Lizzie dejectedly bemoaned something to the effect of ‘If I had known you were going to have your nose buried in books all day, I wouldn’t have invited you to stay with us,’ and set off toward what had quickly become a familiar haunt, where he had first seen him.

He nodded, tipping his cap to those who greeted him along the way, and muttered a hurried “hello” as he passed. He even paused long enough to give a visiting couple directions to the Noah’s Ark pub. And though none of those interactions took any time at all, they made him more anxious, more desperate to break free, like they were taking up time he didn’t have to give. Even his steps felt sluggish, like his shoes were weighed down with sand.

Cresting one of the rolling hills of the shore, a doubting voice nagged, not for the first time today, what are you doing? Did he really think this was going to change the reality of the way things were? Was he so deprived of real human connection that he was willing to scour the coastline to seek the company of a man he’d not even had a legitimate conversation with?

Growling to himself, Bard shoved those thoughts aside. Maybe he was right to doubt, to question the soundness of his thinking. But there was a stronger pull, as sure as instinct, which told him this time would be different. He had to give it a try, at least. Besides, it couldn’t hurt, could it?

He was so consumed by his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed it at first, the steady ebbing of the tension from his limbs, the slowing of the clawing. It wasn’t until his steps had stopped of their own accord that he looked up, heart thundering in his chest when his gaze rested on him.

He was a vision in white. The well-tailored cream suit fit his athletic frame like a glove, accentuating every angle, every curve in such a way that made Bard’s mouth water, the evening sunlight doing his visage more justice than lantern light could. His ivory skin glowed with the molten light as he looked over the glistening sea toward the approaching sunset, the same light gilding his onyx locks and catching entrancingly in his mahogany gaze.

“Why, hello.”

Bard froze, his brain short circuiting at the greeting, the man’s dulcet tone effectively erasing any coherent thought from his mind. Fuck! he thought, swallowing dryly, cotton-mouthed as the man turned to face him. Fuck! For all the time he had spent thinking back on their last encounter, Bard had never considered what he would say if he did see him again.

The man’s brows furrowed slightly at his silence and cocked his head in question, a subtly amused smile ghosting his lips. “You seem familiar. Have we met before?”

“Yeah,” Bard stammered once he found his voice and cleared his throat, doing his best to flash a confident smile, “I’m the bloke who saved you from gettin’ swept away last week. Don’t know why you thought it was a good idea to come down here in the middle of the storm.”

Bard wanted to slap himself. That was what he was opening with?

To his relief, the man didn’t seem put off by his blunt introduction. Rather, he chuckled, his smile widening before taking a step forward. “Ah, yes, I remember now,” he said, his tone light with recognition, voice dripping like honey, “I hoped I would see you again so I could thank you properly.”

Bard could only blink, his stomach clenching with anticipation at the promise of the stranger’s words.

The man glanced down, coming to stand within arm’s length of the lighthouse keeper, his cream-hued loafers tracing aimless shapes in the sand, while continuing, “You’ll have to forgive my foolish curiosity. My work keeps me confined to the open sea and its depths most days, so I was intrigued by the possibility of seeing a storm from land.”

“Well, I can’t say that I blame ya,” Bard answered, clapping a hand down on the man’s shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze when their gazes met, “It’s dangerous, but it’s quite a sight.”

A strange, knowing look flickered in the man’s eyes, simply answering, “Indeed.”

At that, Bard lowered his hand, trailing along the soft sleeve of the man’s suit jacket. His fingers twitched when his arm came to rest by his side once more, a yearning ache in his chest in the absence of contact.

“Actually,” the man continued, “I’m new to the area. Do you happen to have time to give me a little tour?”

Bard mustered all his self control to hold his tongue when the man flashed him a breathtaking grin. Everything in him screamed to accept. However, one glance down at his wristwatch had him swearing beneath his breath.

“Is something the matter?”

Bard looked up to find the man staring curiously down at his watch. “Uh, yeah. Sorry, but I’m actually late for my shift. I can ring a friend of mine to see if he could take you instead, if you’d like.”

The man cast his gaze toward the waves, pouting ever so slightly before turning to look at Bard again. Smiling now as if in apology, he took another step toward him, rapidly closing the distance between them.

“That won’t be necessary; I can wait. After all, it was your company I desired for that adventure.” He paused, gaze never leaving Bard’s as he reached out and brushed his fingers over the buttons of Bard’s jacket, his voice dipping an octave lower, the sound making Bard’s cock twitch. “Surely you can’t begrudge me for wanting to spend a few hours in the presence of such a handsome man.”

Bard’s cheeks warmed at the unexpected turn, his heart fluttering, his resolve quickly crumbling beneath the intensity of the stranger’s gaze and the luring temptation of his words.

“Um, I could show you round tomorrow,” he offered, “Town’s not that big, so it won’t take all that long. Meet here ‘bout five?”

“Sounds excellent. I look forward to it, Mister…?”

“Oh!” Bard gasped, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, extending the other to the man in belated greeting, “Name’s Baldroy, but you can call me Bard. Everyone else does.”

“Hmmm,” the man hummed, another smile lighting his face before clasping Bard’s offered hand, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bard.”

“No need for ‘mister.’ Bard’s just fine.”

“Very well, Bard.”

He sighed, the sound just short of a groan, cock growing firm as his name fell from those full lips a second time. Though it had been uttered in simple conversation, there was something about it that seemed forbidden. Sinful. Enticing. And he would do anything to hear it again.

If the man had noticed how utterly disarmed he was, it didn’t show. Instead he gave Bard’s hand a gentle squeeze with his long, slender fingers and added, “I am Sebastian.”

He cast a checking glace around them before drawing Bard’s hand up in a fluid motion. Bard gave a shuddering breath, skin tingling in the wake of the feeling of Sebastian’s soft, warm lips against the back of his hand. Mahogany met sky blue. The air thickened with tense promise, their hands remaining clasped as they lowered and he added a second time, “Sebastian Michaelis.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Part two of seven

Part one here

Another huge thank you to @plague-of-insomnia for beta-ing this chapter! You’re such a joy to work with and you’ve helped me learn so much.

#kuroshitsuji fanfiction #fanfiction #kuroshitsuji #black butler #sebastian michaelis #bard #sebard #the heart of the sea

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365days365movies · 3 years

Text

February 5, 2021: The Notebook (2004)(Part 1)

...Do I have to?

...The year was 2004. I was 13, my Mom was still into romance movies, and we had a Hollywood Video nearby. God, I miss Hollywood Video, you have NO idea. Anyway, I obviously didn’t watch this movie (or I wouldn’t be watching it now), but I do remember kissing in the rain...or was that just the DVD cover? Other than that, I got nothin’. Still, I like both Rachel McAdams and Ryan Gosling in other works, so I guess we’ll see.

I also can’t start this without acknowledging the fact that this is based upon a Nicholas Sparks book, and...I’m not into that. Sparks sucks, man. Sappy, overemotional, and constantly predictable folderol.

OK, Nicholas Sparks, let’s get this over with. SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap

We start with scenic shots of a boat rowing through a marsh, being visited by a flock of snow geese. As they fly off, an elderly woman (Gena Rowlands) looks out of a window over it. The woman is in an old-folks home, and is visited by Duke (James Garner), another resident. He’s here to read from a book, despite it not being a “good day,” according to the woman’s attendant.

The story in the book begins on June 6, 1940, at a carnival in South Carolina. There, Noah Calhoun (Ryan Gosling) sees Allie Hamilton (Rachel McAdams), and it’s infatuation at first sight. He’s a lumber yard worker, and she’s a rich heiress. He’s also EXTREMELY forward, and she’s EXTREMELY not interested. He approaches her for a dance (at a...carnival), and she says no, having literally never seen this guy before. He responds to this rejection by...butting into her date with another dude of a Ferris Wheel?

And when she once again rejects his offer for a date...he, uh...he threatens to kill himself off of the Ferris Wheel?

Um. Yeah, no. That’s a new level of manipulation. She pants him on the Ferris Wheel and humiliates him, but JESUS CHRIST, this dude is a lot. That’s compounded the next day, when he continues to pursue her, and she continues to be EXTREMELY not interested! DUDE. GET A GODDAMN CLUE HERE, she is NOT INTERESTED IN YOUR SHIT.

Is Noah the first simp? Because he’s really starting to seem like it. Anyway, Noah and his friend Fin (Kevin Connolly) basically set her up to go on a double date with Noah, and he continues to be overly forward. Maybe this is supposed to be romantic, but it definitely doesn’t feel like it to me.

We find out that Allie is a quite well-educated young woman, whose schedule is basically completely controlled by her parents, who want her to go to college as well. Noah questions why her life is so restrictive, nothing that she should be free, which she insists she is. He then lies down in the middle of the road, watching the street...lights…

Holy shit, he’s a manic pixie dream boy. HOLY SHIT HE’S A MANIC PIXIE DREAM SIMP. He does all these quirky things, and breaks the girl in the restrictive lifestyle out of said lifestyle. Even if his dumbass actions nearly get him and Allie killed. See, she lies down in the street with him, and they nearly get run over by a car. And this second near-death experience is apparently SO romantic, that Allie’s won over, and they...just dance in the middle of the street. Because Ryan Gosling has no idea where to dance, apparently.

Billie Holiday sings “I’ll Be Seeing You” in the background (which, yes, I love), and we cut back to Duke reading to the elderly woman, who correctly guesses that they fell in love. And yeah, they go head-over-heels, apparently. Which is symbolized by, just, the most graphic of PDAs over, lord.

Allie meets Noah’s father, Frank (Sam Shepard), a seemingly nice man and poetry fan (he’s a Tennyson man apparently). He asks her if she wants breakfast-for-dinner, and he’s my favorite character so far.

However, as if to set up the conflict to come, we’re reminded that this is a summer romance, and that they come from two different classes and worlds. Because of course they do, but whatever, moving on. That is when the following scene takes place.

youtube

...Look, I’m a bird guy by trade, and even I think that was weird.

We get more glimpses of their romance, including them dancing at a gathering with...a bunch of black peopNOPE. HOLD YOUR TONGUE, 365, WAIT FOR THE REVIEW TO TALK ABOUT THAT SHIT. At the end of this montage, we meet Allie’s father, the uppity and rich John Hamilton (David Thornton), and his GLORIOUS mustache (mustache).

He invites Noah to Sunday brunch, which is being attended by...black servaHOOOOOOLD. NOT NOW 365 NOT NOW. We also meet Allie’s controlling mother, Anne Hamilton (Joan Allen). When Noah tells them how much money he makes, they immediately look down on him and his poor, poor ways. Anne reveals that Allie is headed to Sarah Lawrence, an all-girl’s school in New York. Which is, uh...NOT close.

Anne very much disapproves of her relationship with Noah, seeing him as a low-born of little consequence. Not that it matters, because the two head to a DEFINITELY HAUNTED house in the woods one night, which overlooks the marshlands. The bats from the Scooby-Doo intro fly by as the two walk in to, again, AN ABSOLUTELY HAUNTED HOUSE. This is the 1772 Windsor Plantation, home to...the Swamp Fox? Huh. Didn’t expect a crossover with the Mel Gibson movie The Patriot, but OK then.

The two talk about their house in the future, and somewhere in the house, a painting’s eyes move mysteriously. Allie plays a tune on the piano, which 1) sounds AMAZINGLY creepy, and 2) I’m pretty sure is the opening song, which is a neat touch. Guess that’s the theme for the movie, or possibly Allie’s leitmotif.

Anyway, it seems that the ghostly wails of Old Man Marion have gotten them both all hot and bothered, and they prepare to make love, right there in the old haunted house. The two undress while social distancing, then approach, significantly raising their risks of contracting COVID-19. Allie is CLEARLY very nervous, and as they attempt to begin the dirty deed, Allie can’t stop rambling about the current situation. Which is clearly putting Noah off the mood, but the two still clearly care about each other. It’s weirdly sweet, considering the fact that there’re, like, 50 ghosts watching, and God knows how many of those are slaaaaaaaAAAANYWAY

Fin suddenly bursts in, as it would appear that Allie’s parents have every policeman in town looking for her. Her parents are clearly upset, and her mother demands that Allie stops seeing Noah, whom she literally describes as “trash.” Jesus. And they aren’t exactly quiet about it, as Noah hears the entire conversation. He understandably leaves, and is also clearly disheartened by the whole situation.

When Allie catches up to him, he says he has to think about this whole thing, including the fact that she’s going to Sarah Lawrence, and he’s staying behind. And I’m not gonna lie, he’s actually being realistic about this whole thing, and she’s acting FAR less rational. She actually breaks up with him right then and there, and as she’s literally physically assaulting him, I realize that SHE is actually the psychologically unstable one, HOLY SHIT. Emotionally compromised or not, Allie goes BONKERS here.

The next day, her folks decide that they’re leaving, that very day. Allie doesn’t want to leave without making amends with Noah, and she’s regretting her actions the previous night. She goes to Fin, and tells him to tell Noah that she loves him, and that she’s sorry. Noah shows up a little too late, and goes to return the comments, but Allie’s already gone.

Noah somehow gets her address, and writes her 365 letters, one letter every day. He never gets one in response, so he gives up and moves with Fin to Atlanta. Allie’s mom is seen getting the mail, so we know EXACTLY what happened to those letters. Meanwhile, it’s now 1941, and it’s time for World War II for the USA! Fin and Noah fight with Patton’s troops, and Fin doesn’t make it.

Allie, meanwhile, is in college, and works as a Nurse’s Aide for war veterans. She sees all of them as Noah,,,which is weird because she hasn’t gotten any of his letters, so she wouldn’t know that he went to war, but whatever. One of these injured men is Lon Hammond, Jr. (James Marsden). And...aw...AWWWWWWW. Did I just type James Marsden? GODDAMN IT HE’S GONNA GET CUCKED

James Marsden seems to have only one role in movies, and that’s to be overshadowed by another dude, even though in many instances, he’s a totally fine guy. The X-Men films, Superman Returns, Enchanted, the Westworld series in a way, TELL ME I AM GODDAMN WRONG. Dude’s always in movies where he plays the love interest to a girl, and that girl is pursued by another guy, and he ALWAYS LOSES TO THAT GUY. You could argue that Cyclops in the X-Men escaped that fate, but need I remind that first, Jean died, and then she came back AND KILLED HIM. STOP SCREWING OVER JASON MARSDEN’S LOVE LIFE, MOVIES!!!!

Seems like we’re once again headed down that path, though, as the very injured Lon asks Allie out on a date while in recovery, then takes her out once he’s healed. And, since he’s about as forward as Noah was, but less crazy when asking her out, she falls in love with him quickly. And it’s Duke that makes that assessment, not me. And, OF COURSE, he’s a rich Southern boy, meaning that her parents are going to approve.

At a dance club in the city with...black performDEAR GOD IT’S GETTING HARD TO HOLD ON BUT I GOTTA DO IT MOVING ON

He proposes to her, with her parents’ full permission (of course, because he’s rich and southern, gross), and she gladly accepts. He jumps on stage and announces to the entire club that they’re getting married. However, she’s still missing Noah subconsciously.

Speaking of, Noah comes home from war, presumably in 1945, and finds that his father sold him the house in order to buy the Windsor Plantation. Around the same time, Noah finds out that Allie’s moved on, and is with Lon. So, what does he do? The only logical thing: he restores the entire plantation by himself in order to win Allie back FUCKING REALLY?

Dude, you rebuilt an entire house on your own, your father died, and you could EASILY get rich off of selling the house and continuing to restore other derelict properties in the area! Upwards mobility, my man! You don’t even need to stay in town anymore! Hell, THAT’S a better plan to win both Allie’s AND her parents’ approval! STOP SIMPIN’, AND IF YOU’RE GONNA SIMP, DO IT RIGHT!!!

He’s also sleeping with a war widow, Martha Shaw (Jamie Brown), and STILL thinks only of Allie, and her sweet, sweeeeeeet bathwater, probably. Speaking of, Allie’s trying on a wedding dress, when she sees a photo of Noah in the paper in front of the plantation, which certainly shocks her. Confused, she goes to see Lon at his job as a stockbroker, and laments to him her lost romantic whimsy, brought up by seeing Ryan Gosling (AKA a natural response). She tells him that she’s going to Seabrook to “clear her head.” Lon asks if he should be worried. She says no. SHE LIIIIIIIIIIES.

Halfway mark, and this is a good place to cut! See you in Part 2!

#the notebook #nick cassavetes #ryan gosling #noah calhoun #rachel mcadams #allie hamilton #james garner #gena rowlands #james marsden #kevin connolly #romance february #user365 #365 movie challenge #365 movies 365 days #365 Days 365 Movies #365 movies a year #supernovass #sincerelygabby

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