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punkshort · 9 months

Text

Chapter warnings: smut (m masturbation), language

Chapter Three

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, pre-outbreak and post outbreak

AU (the only thing I kept was the outbreak, Joel, and Tommy's characters. Joel's backstory is different, and the way he finds Jackson is different. I may include Ellie one day, I just haven't planned that far)

Fic Summary: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. The outbreak happens, and you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Fic tags: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Smut, Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is 10 years younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, trauma, SA referencing later but I will put a big warning on those chapters

You were nervous about the office dynamic once you broke up with Justin. That following Monday, you walked into the department and risked a glance over to his desk. He was hunched over his keyboard, burying himself in some report, looking mildly panicked. You frowned as you made your way to your chair and slunk down, punching in your password while you waited for your computer to boot up.

Colleen popped up quietly behind you.

"Sooooo? How was camping?” she whispered with a huge grin on her face. "Tell me all the details!”

She propped herself against the edge of your desk, trying not to draw Justin’s attention.

“I broke up with him,” you whispered back, eyes wide. You needed to tell someone, your nerves were on fire. You knew you shouldn’t have told the queen of gossip, but people would have figured it out soon enough. Colleen’s jaw dropped.

"What?! Why?” she whispered back, but louder than the first time. You put a finger up to your lips, indicating she was being too loud.

"I don’t know, I just don’t feel the same way he does. He’s a sweet guy, but there’s no spark. I didn’t want to lead him on,” you told her, and turned back to your computer, opening your email program.

“Well, your timing couldn’t have been more perfect. I don’t think he’s got the time to be upset over it. He came in this morning to an email from Joel, with Heather cc’d, wanting a full breakdown on the 401K contributions for the past 6 months. Apparently, he caught some discrepancy, and he wants answers first thing this morning,” she said, raising her head a few inches to glance over the top of your cubical wall in his direction. “He must be shitting his pants; Joel never contacts any of us directly. I don’t think he even knows most of our names.”

You felt guilty as relief flooded through you. At least there was a distraction from the elephant in the room.

About an hour later, Heather came to collect Justin. He followed her out of the room with a folder tucked under his arm and nervously running a hand through his hair. As he walked by your desk, he gave you a tight-lipped smile, which you returned. At least he wasn’t the type of guy to be an asshole about being dumped.

It had been three hours since Justin and Heather left for their meeting. At this point, his absence was painfully obvious to the whole room, and everybody had given up on trying to be discreet.

The whole department had rolled their desk chairs out to the openings of their respective cubes so they could all see one another as they gossiped and speculated wildly. All except for you. You tried your best to stay out of it, but you kept overhearing everyone’s chatter, and it was incredibly distracting.

“They couldn’t possibly still be talking about a minor discrepancy, could they?” one person asked.

“No way, something happened by now. Oh my God, what if he was stealing from our 401Ks? I read a newspaper article about someone doing that last week!”

“Oh come on, Justin wouldn’t do that,” Colleen chimed in. “I bet they finished up their meeting a long time ago, and he and Heather are in her office doing a deeper dive into the numbers together.”

Everyone went quiet for half a second when the electronic beeping of the door keypad caught the attention of the room. Chairs were hurriedly being pushed back up against desks, and fingers furiously typed, trying to log back into computers that had been long asleep during the gossip.

Heather walked into the hushed room with an empty banker’s box in her hands and headed straight for Justin’s desk. She set it down on his chair and turned to address the room openly.

"Hey guys, I’m sorry I didn’t have the time to call a formal meeting, but I wanted to tell you all personally before the email from HR comes out... Justin quit this morning.” She paused when a couple of people quietly gasped and exchanged looks. “Now I know we are going to have some big shoes to fill, I may call upon some of you to help and do some overtime until we can find a suitable candidate to take his position. As always, if any of you want to recommend anyone you know, my door is always open. But for now, we will just have to make do. Does anyone have any questions? You know I like to be transparent with you.”

Heather glanced around the room of stunned faces. Everyone was wondering the same question, but nobody had the nerve to ask it, until Debbie spoke up from behind you.

"Why did he quit? Was it Joel?” She was standing outside her cube, frowning with her arms crossed, no doubt feeling some residual anger from when Cheryl quit just a few short months ago. Your boss sighed, and slowly nodded.

"Yes. Well, yes and no. Joel really grilled him in that meeting this morning, it went a full hour. I did everything I could to take some of the heat, but Joel was just dialed in on Justin today, I don’t know what got into him. He had a million questions, one after another, and it eventually got to a point where he was outright questioning Justin’s job performance and skillset. It finally got to be too much for him, and Justin announced he was quitting.” Heather paused for a moment and looked around the room at the team. She turned and pulled Justin’s chair from his desk, moving the empty box to the floor. She sat down, looking as if she was exhausted from just recounting the events from the meeting. She rubbed her pointer and middle fingers against her temples for a moment, and then continued.

“Joel didn’t say anything wrong; this is his company, and he has every right to ask those questions… he just has such a harsh way of addressing things. It is a lot to handle. I managed to grab Justin at the elevators and took him back to my office for a while. I tried to convince him to stay but he just wouldn’t hear it, he had his mind made up. I’m sorry guys, I really tried. I know this will put a burden on some of you, I will do my best to fill the position as soon as I can.”

The keypad that operated the door started chiming, and in walked Mike from the mailroom. He had his head down, looking at the pile of mail in his cart, bopping along to the music feeding through his CD player and into his headphones, oblivious to the awkwardness in the room. He stopped at your desk like usual and dropped a big stack of envelopes in your inbox, gave you a quick smile, and turned to leave.

Heather quietly began filling the box with Justin’s personal effects, looking like she desperately needed a cigarette or a coffee break. Or both.

You exchanged a quick glance with Colleen, one that said ‘we are definitely going to talk more about this when she leaves’. Then you noticed the envelope at the very top of your mail pile: Sullivan Agency, LLC.

Your heart thudded in your chest. It was a strange feeling – your body was waging a war within you: relief vs fear. Relief that you didn’t have to pay Mr. Sullivan’s balance out of your paycheck, but fear that you would now have to go to Joel’s office as he requested and tell him about the check.

You shakily opened the envelope and sure enough, as promised, was a check for the full balance due on his account.

You stood up, feeling slightly lightheaded as you made your way over to Heather. She jumped slightly when you quietly said her name.

"I just got the check from Mr. Sullivan. What should I do? Should I just email Joel and tell him it came, or do we really have to go to his office?”

You prayed she would tell you to just email him, but unfortunately, she said “We should tell him in person, I don’t want to make him even more mad.” She stopped organizing Justin’s picture frames and buried her face in her hands for a moment, trying to collect herself. She raised her head up, clasped her hands in front of her mouth in thought, then turned in the chair towards you.

“I really hate to ask you this… do you mind going up to his office by yourself? He’s had enough of me today, and quite frankly I’ve had enough of him, too. He seemed to take a liking to you, it won’t be that bad, it'll be quick.”

She looked at you hopefully, desperately, eyes begging, but followed up with “If you are really uncomfortable, I can go with you, it’s just...” her gaze drifted back to Justin’s desk, and the enormity of just how much work this put on her plate was likely hitting home. Updating a job description, meeting with HR, creating the job posting, screening applicants… the list went on.

You shook your head, always the people pleaser you said, “I got it, don’t worry, I will go up there right now and just get it over with."

You gave her a small smile as relief flooded her face. Heather asked if you were sure, and you promised her you were. Before your resolve broke, you turned on your heel and left, heading towards the elevator.

The moment the elevator opened and you stepped out onto the 10th floor, your heart lept into your throat. The nerves were finally catching up with you. You looked up and saw a small desk situated between two closed doors. Behind the desk sat a kindly looking older woman. She had hair so grey that it looked almost blue, and it was woven on top of her head into a conical shape. She looked up at you through her plastic pink framed glasses, which were adorned with a chain that wrapped around the back of her neck so she wouldn’t lose them. She smiled at you warmly, her bright pink lipstick somewhat smudged on her front tooth and beckoned you over. Your eyes flicked to her name plate - Ruby Potter - as you returned her smile and walked over.

“Hi there, dear, who are you here to see?”

“I’m here to see Mr. Miller," you said without thinking. Ruby chuckled.

"Dear, they are both ‘Mr. Miller’. Which one?”

"J-Joel, I’m here to see Joel. I have a check for him," you stuttered, your cheeks warming from embarrassment.

She picked up her phone and punched one of the buttons on her speed dial, lazily lifting the headset to her ear.

"You have an accountant here to see you,” she said. She had forgotten to ask your name. You tried to mouth it to her, but she waved you away, as if she did this all the time. You couldn’t hear the words on the other end of the phone, but you could hear the tone – it was sharp and aggravated. Ruby seemed unphased. Once the other end of the line went silent, Ruby said “So do you want me to send her in, or not?” She nodded with whatever Joel said in response and hung up the phone.

“Go right on in, dear. His office is that one.” She languidly pointed to her right, your left, and then turned her attention back to her computer. You took a moment to appreciate the elderly woman’s ease. She clearly dealt with Joel’s wrath countless times, yet she was completely collected. In fact, she sat before you, well past her retirement years, working directly for the man himself without a care in the world.

That gave you a small confidence boost. If Ruby could handle Joel, so could you. Afterall, it’s just words. You had a job to do, you did nothing wrong, you are here because he requested it.

You approached Joel’s office door and gently gave it three quiet knocks. You waited until you heard his acknowledgement to enter. You twisted the doorknob, opened the door just enough so you could squeeze through, and shut it behind you.

Shit, maybe you should have left it cracked. Too late now.

Your eyes locked onto the back of his tall, broad frame as he stood facing away from you, one of his arms resting above his head against the window. He was overlooking the city through the floor length windows as he finished up a call on his cell phone.

You had no idea what he said on the phone, you were far more distracted with how large and strong his shoulders looked in his white button-down shirt. Your gaze slowly traveled down, taking in his dark grey dress pants and noticing how generously they hugged his backside. You only wished he had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows like before - you wanted to see his muscles twitching under that tanned skin again. You watched in a daze as he lifted his arm from the window and ran his long fingers through his dark curls, wrapping up the phone call.

Get it together, what is wrong with you??

He pushed a button on his cell and began speaking without even turning around.

"What do you need now? I already told you-“ Joel swiveled around to see you standing before him, eyes wide, nervously clutching the envelope in your hands from Mr. Sullivan. He stopped short when he realized you weren’t Heather, and his expression softened a fraction. You must have surprised him, because before he could catch himself, he was raking his eyes up and down your entire frame, sending a shiver up the back of your spine. You were grateful you happened to wear your most flattering light blue sundress today. You thought this morning when you put it on that it would give you the confidence to get through seeing Justin at work for the first time since your break up. You never thought you would need that confidence for this moment.

You meekly cleared your throat.

"I’m sorry, Mr. Miller. You wanted me to tell you when Mr. Sullivan’s check came…” you trailed off, your cheeks feeling warm under his intense gaze. You needed to look somewhere else. You glanced down at the now crumpled envelope in your hand and stretched out your arm to eagerly show him your prize. You were at least 10 feet away from him, barely inside his office at all. It looked ridiculous; he obviously couldn’t take it from you at this range.

He nodded, pursing his lips, and then showed mercy on you when he finally looked away to take the few short strides back to his desk chair. He sat down, glancing back up at you expectantly from across the room.

"Sit.” he ordered, motioning towards one of the two chairs placed in front of his desk.

You responded to his command quickly, and you thought you saw a twitch at the corner of his mouth, but it disappeared too fast for you to be sure. You sat down in one of the chairs, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as you waited while he scrolled through his emails, looking bored. Looking down at the envelope in your hands, you gently fingered the edges in order to focus your energy somewhere. Why did he want you to sit? This should have been a quick conversation.

Joel cleared his throat, and keeping his eyes on the computer monitor, he began to unbutton the cuffs of his dress shirt. First the left sleeve, then the right, taking his time. He began to methodically roll his left sleeve up, up, up all the way to his elbow, before he leisurely did the same to the right sleeve. You didn’t realize your eyes had snapped up when you saw him begin to uncuff his sleeves, so by the time he finished, you had barely blinked and your lips were slightly parted, breath ever so slightly quickening as he finished his task. You didn’t notice your reaction, but out of the corner of his eye, Joel certainly did. He fought to contain the confident smirk that threatened to spill across his face.

He was right, you had been checking him out in that meeting.

“Give it to me,” he said, turning his probing gaze towards you once again. You looked into his dark, beautiful eyes for a moment, not sure what he meant. Then it came to you. The check.

Wordlessly, you outstretched your hand once again to hand him the envelope. Without breaking eye contact, Joel reached out and took the envelope from your grasp, but in the process grazed two long fingers gently against the back of your hand, sending sparks through your entire body at the contact. You gasped softly, and clamped your mouth shut. You dropped your gaze, embarrassed, while you waited for him to open the envelope and hopefully dismiss you. The tension was too intense, you needed this to end.

Joel didn’t seem to mind the tension in the room, or even notice it for that matter. He slowly opened the envelope and pulled out the check within. He took note of the amount as a small yellow post-it fell out. You hadn’t seen that before in your rush to get up to his office, you had no idea what it said.

Joel picked it up and read it thoughtfully to himself. When he didn’t say anything after a minute, you finally spoke.

"What does it say?” you asked, your voice almost a whisper.

He swallowed before bringing his heated gaze back up to you.

"It says: Thank you for showing me such kindness during my time of need. I’m sorry for the late payment. It won’t happen again.”

You glanced down at your hands in your lap, a small smile threatening to tug at your lips.

“You were right this time, but don’t be naïve. Not everyone is always tellin’ you the truth,” he warned, sliding the check and post-it note back into the envelope. You nodded in agreement, still sheepishly looking down at your hands.

Joel gazed at the top of your head as you stared at your lap. He didn't want the conversation to end.

"You’re doin’ a good job," he told you, pausing to reflect for a moment. "Thank you for making that connection with my client. I’m not good at all that. Talkin’ about their personal stuff. That’s more Tommy’s side of things.” He reached across his desk and held out the envelope for you to take back.

You looked up at his outstretched hand, and careful to avoid touching him again, took it.

"Thank you, Mr. Miller,” you replied softly, and stood up from your seat.

You gave Joel a quick smile and turned to head towards the door. Halfway to the exit, you stopped and turned back around, finding Joel’s eyes had yet to leave your body.

“I bet you would be good at it," you said, then your eyes widened as you realized how that sounded. “I-I mean, talking to the clients, learning about them, their personal lives…” you rambled as heat spread across your cheeks.

He stared at you for an awkward moment, considering your words.

“Well, I should be getting back to work,” you said, hitching your thumb to the door behind you, but before you could turn away, Joel stopped you.

"Thanks, sweetheart, maybe I’ll try it sometime,” he said, his expression softer.

You nodded and forced yourself to look away from the uncharacteristically relaxed features on his face. You turned to leave the room, but the door suddenly swung open. You nearly lost your balance, but a strong arm shot out to catch you.

“Jesus, Tommy, would ya watch it?” Joel growled from behind his desk, his expression leaving no traces of the softness you had just witnessed.

“Sorry darlin’, didn’t know my brother had anyone in here.” Tommy eyed you up appreciatively and grinned. “I don’t believe we formally met, I’m Tommy,” he stuck out his hand, which you quickly shook and gave him a polite smile, telling him your name.

You hastily made your exit, squeaking out an excuse about work, and shut the door.

“Do ya ever knock?” Joel seethed, but Tommy was too busy staring at the closed door, still thinking about the way your ass looked in your blue dress.

“I’m happy for you, Joel,” Tommy said, ignoring his question, and strolled over to a small cluster of framed pictures on the wall that haven’t been updated since they started the business. He leaned in to examine them more closely. “You need to be gettin’ back out there. I won't even give you any shit for dippin’ your pen in the company ink, like you did to me.”

“The hell you on about?” Joel replied, taking the opportunity to adjust himself under his desk while Tommy’s back was still turned. The way you were blushing and squirming in his office had a bigger effect on him than he thought. And you hadn’t even been trying. Not like him, rolling up his sleeves on purpose to see your reaction. He shuddered to think what it would be like if you actually tried to seduce him. He would be a puddle on the floor.

“Nothin’ was goin’ on, she just brought me a check.” Joel stood and walked around the front of his desk, leaning up against the edge of it, arms crossed and surveying the back of Tommy’s head.

Tommy chuckled, still examining the photos.

“Yeah, right. She was blushin’ like a whore in church when she left. Ya know, you should really get some new pictures in here. Did ya know you still got this old picture of the bunch of us at that rodeo? It’s got Amy in it.”

Joel sucked in air through his clenched teeth, the rest of his hard on instantly disappearing at the mention of her name.

“Sorry, Joel. It’s been so long, we still ain’t allowed to talk about it?” Tommy walked over behind Joel’s desk and flopped down in his chair, which made Joel have to turn around and sit in the same chair you had just occupied moments before.

“What’s there left to talk about?” Joel sighed, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Do you still talk to her? Keep in touch?” Tommy asked, fiddling with a pen on the desk.

“No.” Joel responded harshly. “Why would I? Last I heard, she’s been shacked up with that prick somewhere in the Midwest.”

“It’s been five years, and I still haven’t seen ya go out on a date, coffee, nothin’. Why are you doin’ this to yourself?”

Joel shook his head and stood up, already missing the warmth your body left in the chair.

“I’m just busy, Tommy. Haven’t met anyone worth chasin’," he replied, grabbing a pen and pad of paper from his desk.

“Well, that little lady that just left is well worth chasin’, if you ask me.” Tommy stood up too, and joined Joel as they headed out of the office to the conference room for their next meeting.

“Nobody was askin’, just drop it.” Joel couldn’t have Tommy egging him on, it was already difficult enough to keep his mind off you.

Joel hardly heard a word all throughout their meeting with the Marketing department. He vaguely remembered the head of the department nervously working through a technical error on his presentation, which made IT have to get involved. But Joel barely noticed. All he could think about was you.

You: in that thin, blue dress. He remembered how your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and how you bit down on your lower lip when you tried to hold back a smile. He thought about how soft your skin felt when he gently grazed it with his fingers. How your knees pressed together as you squirmed in your seat, waiting for him to turn his attention to you. But you had no idea that his attention was always on you, even when you weren’t around. It was all consuming, at times overwhelming, the way he constantly recalled images of you in his mind.

Joel was relieved when the IT department could not fix the technical error, and the meeting had to be rescheduled. Everyone in the room held their breath, Tommy included, for Joel’s inevitable outburst, but surprisingly none came.

“Check with Ruby and put it on my schedule,” Joel said, collecting his things and leaving the room.

Tommy stayed behind to chat with the head of Marketing while Joel made a beeline for his office. He shut the door quickly behind him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he leaned his head back on the door.

What was going on with him? Why couldn’t he get you out of his head?

This was Tommy’s fault, had to be. He kept bringing you up and forcing these thoughts into his head.

But it wasn’t Tommy’s fault when his cock jumped after he touched your hand and heard you gasp.

Fuck. This had to stop. He rubbed his hands over his face roughly, then something Tommy said came back to him. It had been a long time since he was with Amy. Tommy was right, he hadn’t been on any dates, he was just sexually frustrated. It was building up, and he needed a release. That would clear his head.

Joel turned and headed towards his private bathroom, which was just a small pocket door in the wall, hardly visible when you first walked in. He went in and locked the door behind him. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock, already throbbing from the past hour of torture his thoughts have led him on.

Joel gripped the base firmly in his fist, and he squeezed his eyes shut, dreaming of you wearing that dress in his office. This time, when you squeezed your knees together, he imagined you were trying to create some friction to relieve the wet heat between your legs. You were just as turned on as he was in his fantasy. Joel lazily ran his hand up and down his cock, as his imagination kept carrying him away.

He wondered what kind of panties you were wearing under that dress. Maybe they were lace, or a thong. Maybe you weren’t wearing any at all. There we go.

He started running his hand up and down his shaft faster, his breath quickening as his fantasy took hold.

Now he was bunching your dress up around your hips, hitching your leg around his waist as he grabbed onto the back of your neck, bringing you closer so he could suck on the pulse point in your throat, making you moan his name. He pushed you on top of his desk, and you let yourself fall backwards, recklessly shoving papers and files off his desk.

He could feel his release bubbling to the surface now, as his movements became more frantic, and his other hand grasped the towel bar next to the sink for leverage.

Now Joel saw you bouncing on his cock, still wearing that pretty little dress, but your tits were spilled over the top. He pulled one nipple into his mouth, making you cry out and bounce faster, while his fingers brushed gently against the other one. You grabbed the sides of his face and dragged his mouth up to yours, hovering over each other’s mouths, gasping, but still not touching, as you bounced faster, faster, faster…

Joel groaned and desperately reached out to grab a tissue from the box next to the sink, right in time to catch his thick ropes of come. His hips gently thrusted forward as he came down from his high, breathing heavily, eyes squeezed shut.

He opened his eyes as his breathing returned to normal, glancing around the room to steady himself. He looked down, grateful he didn’t make a mess on his dress pants. He cleaned himself up, flushed the tissue down the toilet, tucked himself back into his pants and went to wash his hands.

He cupped some water from the sink and rinsed his face. Drying himself with the towel, he looked up at the mirror and saw a dirty, old man, who had just jerked off to the thoughts of a much younger employee. The shame was setting in now.

I hope you enjoyed it, you dirty fuck. She would never give you the real thing.

Joel dried his hands, and left the bathroom, feeling guilty, but couldn’t deny he had a much clearer head.

He didn’t see you for at least a full week. That whole week, he felt like himself again. He could see clearly; his thoughts weren’t all jumbled up and he was back to barking orders to his teams on jobsites.

He just needed to jerk off. That’s all it was. No big deal.

Early one morning before most of the employees started their work day, he made his way down to Heather’s office on the 6th floor. She had left him a voicemail saying that the company was being audited, and she needed to speak with him right away. This would require a lot of work from her department, and she needed him to approve the overtime, especially since he scared off your pretty little boyfriend, the department remained shorthanded. He walked off the elevator with his hands shoved in his pockets, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. It was quickly becoming his new look, just in case he ran into you.

He turned the corner towards Heather’s office but stopped short when he heard you laughing. He peered around a corner and saw you with some co-workers in the break room.

He was frozen to the ground, taking in your beautiful smile and laugh as you tried not to spill the coffee in your hand. You were wearing a knee-length flowy black skirt, with a V-neck light purple blouse. When you bent over to laugh again, he saw a glimpse of your tits bouncing under your shirt. He held his breath for a moment, trying to will himself forward, when you suddenly looked over and met his gaze.

Your friends didn’t notice him standing there, and you didn’t say anything. You just ran your eyes up and down his body, pausing on his exposed forearms. You gave him a shy smile and a little wave. Before he realized it, he was slowly lifting his hand up in return.

He was fucked.

Chapter Four

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller series #joel x reader #joel x reader smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff

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morimakesfanart · 1 year

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Is your house big enough for 10 people 🫠 I can feel myself melting away thinking about the problems you will face 😮‍💨 but having anime people in your house how cool is that 😎

We can make it work. Due to financial and legal reason, my sibling and I have been unable to move out of our parents' home. Here's a preview from what I have written so far that explains how all of them will fit:

When I was 4 1/2 years old, we had to move because my mom's job changed locations. At that same time she was pregnant with my younger sibling, so we also moved into a bigger home. My parents were sold a house they couldn't afford the upkeep on, but they wouldn't understand that for several years. And because of the crashing housing bubble, job markets, and person taste, my parents out right denied the idea of selling the house to get a smaller place we could actually properly take care of. Our roof has poorly patch, holes, and our siding is rotting -to name some of the growing problems. However, it did have a few more rooms than the average house. Both of my parents were hoarders and 7 years after my mom's death, we were still clearing out her things, and fighting my father from adding to the problem. Luckily, in the past few years we had managed to mostly clear out the 2 rooms that had once been a dining room(now "the back room"), and home office (now "the den"). It would be cramped, but we would be able to fit all 9 of them. Both the living room and the den each have a sofa with a pullout queen mattress, and since my dad was a literal hoarder that wouldn't let us throw things out, we have another old queen mattress in our basement, and a king mattress blocking the coat closet. The two old mattresses could be laid on the floor in the back room next to the den. All 4 of those would be enough to fit 9 people ....even with Hina being a giant. I decided to leave the end decisions for who would sleep where to our guests. If they could run a country, they could figure out who was going to sleep where on their own.

Since I was little, my parents pulled out of their pensions and 401Ks multiple times to keep us afloat, so we wouldn't have to move :( We've only been surviving since my mom died, because of me working, and my mom leaving a bunch in savings that my dad uses to pay utilities and most of the food bill. My dad can't work, so I have been the one paying the mortgage, insurance, and taxes for the house too. There are still a few more years left before it will be payed off. Since the house is falling apart it's an eyesore, so we are being charged higher taxes then our neighbors. (This is a common tactic to kick out "problem" families instead of helping them.) Once the house is paid off, I can start putting money aside to be able to try fixing the house, and hopefully get our taxes lowered.

In the fanfic, I plan to have Sin and the Generals work enough to help us, so it won't focus on our struggles. I am planning on having one chapter as set up, and then any other requests for things to happen in the reverse isekai AU will be chapters after that. :D

Me and my younger sibling, Lyly, have discussed reverse isekai for a ton of series before, so we already have some plans for how it could work, and what we would do. Since I started working on this in June of '22, I have talked to my family about what we would do, and how we might make it work. The excerpt I put above is something I talked to them about earlier today, actually XD We talked for over an hour about the different characters and how they might be able to help us too. My whole household knows Magi because I live here and they can't get me to shut up about it XD They've both seen the full anime for Magi and Adventures; Lyly has read a bit of both manga but didn't finish. Everyone in this house agrees that Ja'far is a lot like Lyly, so my dad said he'd be comfortable with Ja'far helping him with paperwork stuff. He also wants to know more about Hina after learning that he's also a widower and over 50 y/o. So it's going to be fun writing how all of them help us get out of the red :3

For all the people that have dm'd me asking if Lyly will ever isekai into Sindria's Prophet after reading my diary comic, "Mori the Webcomic," the answer is: probably not because I don't want to ever misrepresent them. I will write some one shots where it happens for fun, and they will be in this reverse iskekai AU. Lyly is taking a semi active roll with the writing for any chapter that they appear in.

#mori answered #reverse isekai au #Adventures of Simpbad

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writtenonreceipts · 4 years

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four thousand words later and another random fic is done.

A companion to this fic. Can be read separately but some stuff might make more sense if you read the other first. Based on characters from the “Throne of Glass” World.

The Boys are Back in Town

Modern AU In which Rowan and Lorcan are up to their hijinks and where Lorcan ponders murder, his feelings, and food allergies. Warnings: None, just slight language.

“I made a mistake.” Elide leaned against the kitchen counter--nose scrunched and fingers knit together beneath her chin.

Lorcan narrowed his eyes confused. Elide Lochan rarely, if ever, made mistakes. Lowering his cup of coffee from his lips he shook his head.

“I find that hard to believe,” he said. He sat across the counter from her on one of the absurdly uncomfortable stools. Lorcan suspected the only reason Elide and Aelin had bought it was because it was on sale.

Elide’s lips puckered into a pout. “It’s true and you are going to hate me.”

That was impossible, but Lorcan didn’t say that. He’d only just barely managed to tell Elide that he really, really liked her. In reality, he was head over heels in love with her, but telling her that meant actually saying the words and admitting the feelings. Not to mention the storm Aelin Galathynius would rain down on him after Elide was sure to tell her.

“Lorcan,” Elide said again. She slipped around the counter until she came to his side. She leaned into him until her chin rested on his shoulder and her lips nearly grazed his cheek.

It would be so easy to take her mouth with his. So easy to let his hands trail over her body, through her hair. Aelin wasn’t home so they had the apartment to themselves for a long while.

“Elide,” he said, his voice low. He turned his face and their noses grazed. He found her dark eyes bright with humor boring into his.

“Aelin and I are having girls night,” Elide said. Her mouth quirked to one side. “She went to pick up Lysandra and Manon.”

And just like that, Lorcan’s mood went to hell. Sighing, he looked away from his girlfriend and stood.

It had been a while since the two of them had had time alone together. Between her going to school and his job--he felt like they were ships in the night that kept passing by with little more than dim lights acknowledging the other’s existence.

“Hey,” Elide said, she snatched a hand out and cupped his cheek bringing his attention back to her. Her expression softened. “I know. I know what you’re thinking. But if you want someone to blame, blame Rowan.”

“Rowan?” Lorcan scowled. “Why?”

“He said you all needed a boys night.” Now Elide was full out grinning. She chuckled as Lorcan’s confusion and small bit of anger. Slipping onto her toes she brushed her lips against his and sighed. “He sounded desperate. Aelin’s been giving Fleetfoot more attention than him. I think he’s jealous.”

As if summoned, the demon puppy flopped into the kitchen whining softly. Elide laughed and stepped away from Lorcan to dote on the dog. He frowned at the creature. While Aelin was the one who ended up getting the dog and not Elide, Lorcan knew it was only a matter of time before Elide made goot on her promise and got an animal of some sort.

Just then the front door burst open.

“Y’all better be fully clothed,” Aelin announced as she marched into the apartment. Behind her came Lysandra and Manon. None of the women looked ready for a girls night. In fact, everyone was in their pajamas.

“That was one time,” Elide said. She glared at her roommate, hands on her hips. “And we weren’t even doing anything.”

Aelin shook a single finger in Lorcan’s direction. “Mm-hmm.”

Lorcan held his hands up in a silent surrender, not wanting to say anything that would make him the topic of discussion for girls night.

Rowan waited outside the apartment, leaning against the door jam. “Let’s go Salvaterre. Dorian and Aedion are meeting us at the bar.”

“Have fun!” Elide said. She reached up to give Lorcan another sift kiss before she exclaimed the need to find her pajamas.

Lorcan shook his head and grabbed his jacket hanging over the side of the couch. He, for once, offered a small wave to Manon and Lysandra. The latter was the only one to acknowledge him.

One outside and away from the door, Lorcan punched Rowan. “This was my first Friday off in weeks and I was planning on spending it with my girlfriend.”

Rowan ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I made a mistake.”

Unlike Elide, Lorcan was fully convinced Rowan was quite capable of making mistakes.

It had only been a month ago when he and Rowan were running for their lives through an impound lot. Giant dobermans had been very close to eating them and Lorcan had decided then and there that he would never get into another one of Rowan’s antics. Granted, that night he’d also been helping Elide by reducing a pair of Manon’s shoes from an impounded car...but still. It was Rowan’s fault because it had been Aelin who first insisted on needed help.

It was a convoluted mess.

Now, Lorcan had been hoping that night was long gone and would only be a distant memory that Rowan and Lorcan would never, ever, bring up to anyone.

Oh what a fool he had been.

“No,” Lorcan said.

“Lorcan,” Rowan began.

“No.”

“But.”

“Hell Rowan, after last time?”

“This will be nothing like last time.”

“I don’t believe you. Nor do I trust you.” Loran ran a hand through his hair, loosely contained in a low bun. He’d been meaning to cut his hair for a while now, but Elide had insisted he keep it long. So he had.

“It won’t be that bad,” Rowan insisted.

They stood in the alleyway behind Rowan’s apartment staring at the sickly green dumpster where tenants put anything, and everything. It stank like ten different somethings had died back here and had ten different somethings growing on them. Not to mention it was the prime of summer and the nights stayed unbearably hot more often than not.

“I’m not dumpster diving,” Lorcan said.

“The bag shouldn’t be down that far,” Rowan said. “I had to hide something from Aelin, so I put it in the trash. How was I supposed to know she’d take the bag out while I was in the shower?”

“What kind of boyfriend hides stuff from his girlfriend?” Lorcan shot back.

“A stupid one.”

“Obviously.”

Lorcan ran a hand down his face. “Where are Aedion and Dorian? We can just chuck them in the dumpster for us.”

“Ah, well, they are maintaining our cover at the bar,” Rowan said.

Yes. It was official. Lorcan hated Rowan. And Aelin. Of course she was behind this.

Cursing, Lorcan sighed. “You could have at least warned me.” He gestured down to his clothes, nice jeans and an expensive button up Elide had gifted him for their two-month anniversary.

Rowan brightened. “Oh, I actually came prepared.”

Not five minutes later Rowan was throwing a thick blue jumpsuit at him, complete with rubber gloves.

“Fenrys might have committed a felony to help me out,” Rowan explained.

Lorcan zipped up his jumpsuit over his clothes and sighed. He really didn’t want to do this. He glanced to the dumpster then at Rowan.

“You know I’m allergic to peanuts, right? What happens if someone just left a giant tub of peanut butter in there? My throat closes up and everything.”

Rowan rolled his eyes and muttered a few curses under his breath, completely ignoring Lorcan.

“Do you want to give me mouth to mouth in that sort of situation?” Lorcan added. “Hell no.”

“Lorcan,” Rowan said.

“Hell no,” Lorcan repeated.

“Get in the dumpster or I tell Elide how you really feel about her.”

Several vicious curses flew out of Lorcan’s mouth. “Mother-loving blackmail. Dammit Whitethorn.”

“Get in the dumpster lover boy.”

“It had better be one impressive ring,” Lorcan muttered and he approached the dumpster. Sending prayers up to whatever gods were listening, he launched himself into the trash pile.

It was worse than he’d imagined.

At least Rowan had also had the foresight to bring back up shoes. But Lorcan could have lived without feeling his socks getting soaked by some mystery liquid.

“Oh I hate you,” Lorcan muttered. He tossed another garbage sack out of the way. They all looked the same and Rowan had no idea what brand of garbage sacks he used.

The cheap ones, he’d said.

Sure, because having a 401k and benefits meant you had to skimp on things like decent garbage bags.

“It’s not like you can get the plastic embroidered with your name,” Rowan added as they still had no luck finding the right bag.

“What kind of stuff are we looking for?” Lorcan asked.

“Mail,” Rowan shrugged. He tore open a black bag and gagged. “This was not my smartest idea.”

“No? Really?” Lorcan snorted in derision.

Of all the things he’d done, Lorcan was sure this was the most disgusting. Even worse than trudging through a pig farm with his foster brother while trying to run away from home when they were ten.

“What were you even hiding from Aelin anyways?” Lorcan finally asked.

Rowan tucked his nose in the collar of his shirt a moment and looked way. If Lorcan wasn’t mistaken he was sure he saw a flush rise on his friends cheeks.

“Rowan?”

“It..I...you wouldn’t understand,” Rowan finally said.

Lorcan’s brows shot up. “I wouldn’t understand? Then why am I out here digging through trash with you? Why not bring Aedion or Dorian and leave me at the bar?”

“That’s not,” Rowan began. He paused. It was the first time in a very long time that Lorcan had seen the silver haired man flustered. “I got a ring.”

A banana peel smooshed in Lorcan’s grasp. He shook it off with a curse and stared at Rowan. “You got a what?”

“A ring,” Rowan repeated. “I got Aelin an engagement ring.”

“You don’t even live together,” Lorcan said.

“We practically do,” Rowan said. “Seriously. My closet is full of more of her close than mine. Not to mention how often I find her underwear lying around.”

“Stop,” Lorcan demanded. He was tempted to find the moldy cup-noodle he’d just passed over and toss it at Rowan’s face.

The two stilled. Distant sounds of the city passed around them. Occasionally a siren shrilled or voices shouted back and forth. A car backfired.

Lorcan finally found what he wanted to say. “You’re serious? You guys have only been dating a year.”

“I love her.” Rowan’s words were so genuine and sincere that Lorcan found himself sneering.

Love. What did any of them know about it?

Rowan could tease him about being in love with Elide all he wanted, but was he? Really? Lorcan had no idea. Every time he thought he was he found himself doubting everything.

His only experience with love had been an elusive relationship spanning four hundred miles and eight months with Essar. They’d met every other weekend spending barely a day together with phone calls few and far between. And Lorcan had thought...well he had thought that had been pretty damn great until Essar had called it off saying she found someone in her neighborhood. Two months later she was engaged.

Not that Lorcan was mad or hung up about it. Not really. Because, he supposed, he’d only had surface feelings about Essar. But with Elide...there was nothing surface or superficial about the way he felt about her.

But was it love? Lorcan had no idea.

“Come on,” Rowan said after Lorcan had remained quiet for too long. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel the same way about Elide.”

Lorcan shrugged. “We’ve been together five months.”

“And?”

“And what, Whitethorn?” Lorcan held a bag of trash in either hand. “How am I supposed to feel? It’s Elide. You know her. You know what she’s been through. And you know me. I’m the worst possible person for her. Hell, for anyone.”

Rowan nodded silently along, pursing his lips. “You’re an idiot.”

“A bigger idiot than the man who threw out an engagement ring?”

“I wanted it to be romantic,” Rowan said defensively. He opened his mouth to speak again when he stilled. “Oh hell.”

Lorcan glared. “If I hear a single dog start barking, I am going to murder you.”

“It’s Aelin,” Rowan hissed. He flapped a hand trying to get Lorcan to shut up.

“How could you possibly know that?” Lorcan asked, but then he heard the very definite sound of Aelin’s laughter.

The two men looked at each other for a split second before dropping down into the piles of trash.

“Rowan, I swear,” Lorcan snarled.

“Shut up.”

The two stilled and listened as Aelin’s voice came closer.

“I can’t believe you left your laptop here.” Lysandra, by the sounds of it, was not pleased. “Do you really need it?”

“Yes,” Aelin replied. “And I can’t have Rowan bring it, after what happened with my car at the impound lot.”

“Did you ever get the full story about that?” Lysandra asked. “It sounds like some weird stuff happened.”

“Apparently Rowan and Lorcan have a secret society,” Aelin said.

Their voices disappeared. Neither man moved for several moments.

“What do we do?” Lorcan asked. His face was pressed entirely too close to some old chinese food.

“I’m not leaving without that ring,” Rowan said.

“I’m telling Aelin you threw her ring in the dumpster, just so you know,” Lorcan said.

Rowan grunted. He was probably just grateful Lorcan had stopped calling Aeling “fire-breathing bitch queen.”

They hurriedly began sifting through more trash.

“I think I found it,” Rowan practically yelled. He hauled up a white trash bag and grinned at it.

“Well find the damned ring and--” Lorcan began, but he cut himself off when Lysandra’s voice rang out.

Cursing, the men dropped back into the trash.

“I’m telling you, you’re reading too much into it,” Lysandra said.

“He’s been acting so weird,” Aelin replied. “It’s the second weekend in a row he’s been busy or made plans or whatever that haven’t been date night.”

“Aelin,” Lysandra groaned. They came to a stop just beside the dumpster. “You literally sound just like Elide, I’m going to slap you.”

“I’m serious,” Aelin said. “He only got like this when he gave me a key to his place. And then when he got that new job. He’s going to break-up with me.”

“No he’s not,” Lysandra nearly shouted. “Just breath. Every couple has their off weeks.”

Aelin let out a sigh.

“Come on,” Lysandra said, “or else Elide and Manon will have drunk all the margaritas without us.”

Silence again.

“You’re an idiot Rowan,” Lorcan said.

“Shut up.”

They found the ring.

Which was a good thing because Lorcan had also found an abandoned wrench at the bottom of the dumpster that would make a very good weapon of mass destruction to use against Rowan, if necessary.

After hauling themself out of the trash, they sat next to the dumpster for a long while. They’d long become accustomed to the stench that would likely be a perpetual stain on their skin.

“Why would Aelin think I’m going to break-up with her?” Rowan asked suddenly.

“What?” Lorcan glanced over at his friend. “What are you talking about?”

“You heard her and Lys talking, she thinks I’m breaking up with her,” Rowan said. “Why would she think that unless it’s something already in her head.”

Lorcan groaned. He did not want to deal with this. This was Aedion territory. Dorian territory. Hell even Chaol had gotten good at this sort of advice giving crap.

“Lorcan I’m serious.”

“Man,” Lorcan said. He banged his head against the dumpster once. “How the hell should I know? You both love each other right? You spend every waking hour around each other.”

“We don’t live together,” Rowan said. “What if this is moving too fast. She’s been through a lot in the boyfriend arena.”

“Rowan,” Lorcan said, reaching out to punch his friend roughly in the shoulder. “You’ve been happier in the last year with Aelin than I have ever seen you been before. You said it yourself, she makes you want to do better and be better. Or whatever Hallmark crap it was you spat out.”

Rowan snorted, shaking his head. “I see why Elide keeps you around.”

The night continued around them. Cars on the street passed by in a flurry despite the late hour. Lorcan barely paid it any attention, grateful they were tucked back in the alley.

“I think Aelin is just scared of losing you,” Lorcan said quietly. Rowan shifted giving Lorcan an incredulous look. “I'm serious. They way she looks at you, man. The both of you are happier around each other and losing that happiness would terrify anyone.”

“And here I was thinking you were hoping she and I would break up.”

Lorcan rolled his eyes. Maybe a part of him had wanted that, in the early days. Bit that was back when life had been screwing him over time and time again. Back when he'd known Aelin as the competitive piano player, the girl who never took no for an answer, who seemingly had no soul when it came to dealing with problems.

Lorcan was convinced all of those things we're still true and forever would be, but he'd also seen how Aelin used those personality traits to help others. Elide in particular.

“Yeah well,” Lorcan finally said, “Aelin owes me fifty bucks from poker last week so until she pays me back she can stick around.”

Rowan’s phone gave a buzz and he reached over to look at it. He swore lightly. “Aedion and Dorian are wasted.”

After Rowan lent Lorcan a change of clothes, they went to pick up Dorian and Aedion from the bar. The two were indeed wasted.

“Just so you know,” Rowan said as they drove back to Elide and Aelin’s, “you should tell Elide how you feel.”

“Why do you guys smell like you spent the night in a dumpster?” Dorian complained. He rolled down the window of Rowan’s car and stuck his head out.

Aedion muttered something incomprehensible as he flopped over into Dorians lap.

The two sober men ignored them.

“I’ve decided to never take advice from you,” Lorcan told Rowan. “And this is the last time I help you with anything.”

“I’m going to need help setting up how I’m going to ask Aelin,” Rowan said. He glanced in the back to see that Dorian and Aedion were completely passed out.

“No dogs and no dumpsters,” Lorcan said. “You’ll be fine.”

Rowan barked out a laugh and shook his head. Grinning, Lorcan shot Elide a text telling her they were on their way, two drunk men in tow.

As they passed through the city, Lorcan pondered what would happen if he did admit how deep his feelings for Elide ran. Maybe he would turn out like Rowan--giddy and happy to the point he was literally walking on water. Lorcan wouldn’t mind feeling like that all the time.

So as he glanced at the ring box Rowan tucked in the drink holder between the front seats he decided that both he and Elide deserved to be disgustingly in love. Even if it meant Elide would insist on getting a dog.

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cecilspeaks · 4 years

Text

164 - The Faceless Old Woman (Live)

[applause]

Jeffrey Cranor: I’m really excited, we wrote this script recently coming up in this last performance for tonight. And I got real excited for writing it, cause we haven’t written like a, to do a live show full length in a new voice. And it was a lot of fun to do.

Joseph Fink: Yeah so tonight we are presenting the first Welcome to Night Vale show that is entirely from the point of view of someone who is not Cecil, this is the time when the Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home gets to step out from her secret.. place in your home. [laughter] And tell you a little bit about herself.

Jeffrey: One of my favorite things about writing the Faceless Old Woman stuff is cause the way Joseph and I work is that we’ll write episodes or write parts of episodes and pass it to the other and that person will, sometimes have questions but oftentimes just maybe like add something to it. So a lot of times it’s either, when I get stuff back from Joseph and I dunno if he feels the same way getting stuff back form me, with the Faceless Old Woman script it was always either something really hilarious for something really upsetting. [laughter] And I really love that a lot.

Joseph: This is maybe the most upsetting thing we’ve ever written, I hope you guys enjoy it. [laughter]

Jeffrey: Have fun, good night! [applause]

Joseph: I guess we should start that show we talked about.

Jeffrey: Let’s do it. You guys, let’s welcome to the stage your friend and ours, Mara Wilson!

[applause] [long silence]

Mara Wilson: I am the Faceless Old Woman who secretly lives in your home. Hello. You don’t know me, but I know you. I know you very well. I’ve been going through your medicine cabinet. You take too much Advil. Do you realize how hard that is on your digestion? I know a couple gelcaps and a glass of water before bed can alleviate a morning hangover, but it also puts you in a bad mood, because you don’t get good sleep with all that extra stress you put on your guts. You know what’s a better hangover cure? Not drinking like it’s the last day of community college. I replaced your vodka with clear Windex, and your Advil with Ipecac. This won’t help your hangovers, but it certainly will be more entertaining for me. I don’t sleep, so I need better late night entertainment than Netflix. I’ve already watched every episode of “Money Heist” and “Criminal Man” and “Planet documentary”, I have to spice it up a little bit.

Which reminds me, sorry about the tarantula incident last week. And here I’m speaking specifically to you, Tony. Yes you, in the shirt. The one hoping I’m not talking about you. I’m not sorry you woke up with a tarantula covering your face, nor that it bit you, causing your eyelids to swell up like Kinder eggs filled with purulent discharge instead of toys. I am sorry that I forgot to turn the flash off of my camera, which alarmed both you and the spider, and I never got a good photo. I’ve been building up my portfolio for an art exhibit I call “Gross Things on a Sleeping Tony”. It’s going up June 1, exclusively in your living room. I’ve already gotten “Open-mouthed Centipede Bouquet” framed. You’re gonna find this show absolutely terrific. Wait no, not terrific, what’s the word? Terrifying.

Tony, you’re one of my favorites in Night Vale. I know you hate your direct marketing job selling high interest credit cards to twenty-somethings, but the benefits are great. You have health care, a 401k, and you get to take advantage of people less fortunate than you. Everything is its own reward. But I’ve read your poetry, you love poetry. To be fair, there isn’t a big job market for poets, but you need to explore what makes you happy. I tattooed one of my favorite lines of poetry on you last month. It’s by Mary Oliver. “Instructions for living a life. Close your eyes. Be scared. Good luck.” And then I drew a little butterfly next to the words. I’m not the best artists, though, so it kind of looks like a radish or a sarcoma. Doesn’t matter, you still haven’t noticed. It’s just right below your right shoulder blade, don’t try to find it now, it’s still healing and given that I used the metal rod from that fondue set in your closet as the needle, it’s possible it’s infected. Better to leave it alone.

Tony, look at me. Imagine where my eyes would be. You have a lot to work through. I’m here to help you, I really am. I’ll prove it by giving you some advice. If a venomous arthropod is on your face, don’t scream.

Anyway, it’s not you Tony who’s bothering me, it’s the new people. They are elderly, like me, and they just moved into a house in the center of Night Vale. Or maybe this is decades from now, time is a little hazy for me. I’ve never been in this house nor noticed it before they moved in. it’s a one bedroom and there are three of them. I thought polyamory, but they have three separate beds and they never speak to each other, rarely look at each other, and never leave the home. The first night I secretly lived in their home, I realized they never slept either. They brushed their teeth, put on pajamas and get into bed. But they all lie there, eyes open, through silent hours of darkness.

I tried whispering to them but got no response. Usually when I reveal myself in the dark, I get the thrill of witnessing horror dawn across a person’s distorted mouth and bulging eyes as they see my faceless face pressed up against their own. One of the best parts of visiting new residents. But not these three. For once, I’m the frightened one.

Speaking of frightening, did you get your taxes (-) [0:08:20] on time Alex? You, you’re Alex. You with the shoes. I had to file for an extension. I don’t owe any money because I have no income, but I’m over 200 years old, never got a social security number, have no permanent address and I wasn’t born in this country, it’s a lot of paperwork. And Alex, you know your Wi-Fi is terrible and I was having a hard time downloading the forms I needed, so I just wrote my name on some yellowish-black Boston lettuce you’ve left in the crisper for the last three weeks. But the leaves kept falling apart, I think more like melting. After about 20 minutes, I got frustrated and just made myself a salad. Also, I used the last of your parmesan cheese, but don’t worry, I replaced it with dried skin I’ve been collecting from your bed sheets. Don’t be grossed out, Alex. Same texture and nutritional value, you won’t know the difference. I got the idea from a Food Network’s “Beat Bobby Flay”, where this one winner tied up Bobby and ran a (micro-) [0:09:17] across his forehead to make a chimichurri sauce.

I love that show, but I’m a bigger fan of HGTV’s “House Hunters”, the desert dystopian version. That’s where I met you, Addie. Yes you, with the face. You were shopping for a new home here in Night Vale. You told the realtor - who was inside of a living deer, its belly horrifically distended and quivering with every one of the agent’s words and gesticulation – that you wanted three bedrooms, a back yard, and something close to an outdoor community space. The first home, the yard was not in good shape, lots of (- remains) [0:09:55] and the lawn was glowing, perhaps from underground radiation testing. It was well under your budget, but you would have had to spend your savings on fixing it up. Also, in the bathroom mirror you saw, crawling across the ceiling, a faceless old woman devouring what looked like a rat. You didn’t need to worry about a rat infestation, Addie. It was a chipmunk. The second home was a condo right in the heart of the arts district. You loved the design: a simple large black cube, no doors, no windows, no interior. A true closed floor plan, so popular these days. But you weren’t sure there was enough room for entertaining, or anything else at all. The house you selected was perfect. Three bedrooms, a Jacuzzi en suite, and a large patio backyard. Plus it was right in the middle of town next to a community dog park. Although you would be disappointed later to learn that your dog had been arrested for domestic espionage after peeing inside the park’s forbidden walls. I think you made the right choice, Addie, but I can’t help wondering every time I watch “House Hunters”, who is this person running away from? You left Queens to move to Night Vale. Queens is where your family lives, where your best friend lives, and your girlfriend of two years. Are you afraid of stasis, Addie? Of being loved, of commitment? You might be afraid of that pinkish ooze coming out of your ear, might wanna see an ENT about that. Or if not an ENT, an entomologist.

Speaking of putting woodboring beetles inside orifices, I tried a similar thing with the elderly room mates who recently moved to town, or will move to town many years from now, again time is strange to me. But these room mates are also so strange. When I went to put a beetle into one of their ears, I noticed a lot of scar tissue there, making the hole too small. In my haste, the beetle scurried away and I got kind of desperate and just made a bunch of spooky moans and hisses like this: [moans, hisses] but not one of the three responded to me. They continued their meaningless pantomime of sleeping, and in the morning they got up and each went quietly about their days. One of them made coffee, but did not drink it. They then went to the window and waved at their neighbor, Susan Willman, who was on her porch stretching before her morning run. Susan looked at the figure in the window next to her and froze. She stared in terror, then darted back into her home and locked the door. Susan has always been unfriendly. I ran her bed sheets through her office shredder as a reminder to be more open and loving toward the world.

The other two room mates climbed into the shower at the same time. I’m not one to get off on others’ sexual activities, I just thought I might see something new, something human here. But no, they stood side by side, cleaning their cold gravity-defeated bodies, not once looking at each other let alone speaking. A squelch and a squish and grey water falling around yellow toenails. They toweled off, but when they hung the towels up, those towels were completely dry.

I’m used to being the one who does inexplicable and disturbing things. Last year during the community players’ production of “Romeo and Juliet”, I decided it would be more fun if they used actual poison. But it was a last minute idea, so the only poison I could find was Borax. Which just gave the two kids playing the leads several unhappy hours in the bathroom on the night after the show ended, so I don’t know. I could have made a stronger directorial choice. But so could the actual director, I get that Shakespeare plays are long, but he cut out all the best parts like the train robbery, and also Tybalt winning his bowling league. Although I did appreciate that they left in Juliet’s famous line: “Good night, good night, your blood and guts and marrow, which worms shall eat inside your grave so narrow.” It’s a classic story. Kids these days just don’t try to fake their own deaths anymore.

Oh. And Morgan. Yes Morgan, I’m talking to you, you with the fingernail sand the teeth. I need to explain something to you. You tip 20 per cent. You can afford it, stop using it as a measure of how much you approve of the restaurant service. A 20 per cent tip is not bonus, it’s a fee. Restaurant owners don’t pay their staffs, instead they make the diners pay their employees through this idiotic notion of capitalist meritocracy. I don’t care how bad the service, tip them. You have money, Morgan. I would also tell you to stop asking to speak to a manager every time your Long Island Ice Tea is a bit like, but I got out your tongue last month, so they wouldn’t understand you anymore anyway. Do you know what a cut human tongue tastes like, Morgan? Yes you do. You just don’t know that you do. Remember Applebee’s last week? You ordered soup. It was a beef base with little onions and little perfectly sautéed flecks of your own tongue that you had used to lash out at a manager the last time you ate there. You could blame them for poorly expediting your orders, but really the onus is on you for going to Applebee’s. Which serves neither of the items its name promises. It’s false advertising. It’s like an egg cream soda, or Taco Bell.

Speaking of eating, the elderly room mates made lunch together, but not for each other. They were all in the kitchen at the same time making separate meals in silence. They sat around the dining room table together and ate. They carved and stabbed and pushed foods quickly into their mouths, but their eyes were empty. One of them began to spit out their food. No one seemed to care or notice. They all began to vomit, but not with muscular heaves of shoulders and necks, the vomit spurted out like water from a hand pump, their torsos and heads perfectly still. After each bodily rejection of food, they would start shoveling it back to their mouths, repeating the same process. Eventually one of them stood up and threw their plate into the kitchen window, glass bursting everywhere. That person leaned into the hole and began punching the jagged shards out with their clenched fists as blood poured out of their forearms and wrists. They screamed mournfully into the suburban street. Neighbors and passers-by passed only briefly, as if they had barely heard the sad howls spreading across the valley. Susan’s lemon tree next door died instantly and all the lemons fell with wet plops to the ground. The fruit pealed open and inside of each was a fleshy crimson pulp, like meat that has been ground for too long. The other two room mates kept eating and vomiting, not even noticing the shattered glass being subsumed by the growing pool of blood on the floor.

You know, I wasn’t always like this, faceless or old. Secretly living anywhere. Once I was born upon warm water. The smell I remember is sharp citrus and the peppery sting of grass. The salt funk of ocean. I was once a child. I grieved once. I smelled blood. Once I was a thief. I lived among thieves, I saw empires rise and fall, centuries cast themselves upon infinity as fruitlessly as waves upon cliffs. Once I was a recluse. I lived amongst bandits and farmers, I spoke a different language then. I’ve spoken many languages.

Once I was under the sea. That was a quiet time. I lived amongst the coral and dead-eyed fish. Once I was a wanderer. I’ve seen the (head) [0:18:14] waters of the Mississippi and I’ve seen the cobbled streets of Paris and I’ve seen the empty arches of Franchia. But I’ve never seen anything like those three room mates. Of all the things I've been – child, thief, recluse, wandered, faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home, I’ll tell you this: I’ve never been more scared.

Fear is in the unknowing and the mystery. Fear is seeing everything about an old woman except her face. Fear is the uncertainty of her secretly living in your home. Fear is not the spider you see on the wall. It’s the spider you no longer see on the wall when you look back again.

In the unnerving din of shattered glass and mournful howls of that house, I found the loose thread that unraveled this mystery. The room mate who screamed had no tongue. And one of the others had an ear swollen shut from a previous surgery. And the other had a red mark, like a radish or sarcoma adorned with poetry drawn upon their shoulder blade. I realized I knew these three strange room mates. They are you, Tony, the special tattoo I gave you. And they are you, Addie, with your oral scar tissue from the beetle I jammed in there. And you, Morgan, with your tongue removed and digested. The three of you do not exactly live together in that home, not at the same time. You are living three different lifetimes in that same space. You do not speak or respond, because you are dead. Each of you alone in that house together, or you will be, time is confusing for me. Decades from now after you die, your souls will be trapped in the house, because something in this world is unresolved for you. You know this, paranormal neuroscience is required for all high school freshmen. But what they don’t teach you is how to resolve it. I know how and when each one of you die. I wrote it down on the back pages of your journals. Iv’e done this for everybody, but nobody ever reads it, because while people always think they’ll write every day, after a few pages they fall off the wagon and never see the lsat pages of their journals. Except Jonathan Franzen. He didn’t seem bothered by what he read. But he did cross out all my adverbs and added some Oxford commas. In case you’re wondering how Jonathan Franzen dies, here’s the answer: he doesn’t.

I am the faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home. You might find this ambiguous, after all the word “home” is singular. So whose home is it that I secretly live in? Listen, some things in this tangled world are simple. I live in your home, and your home, and your home, I live in all of your homes simultaneously. I am many. [echo] I am many. I am one. [echo] I am one. You all live such different lives, teeming, that’s what you are: teeming. And I am there watching you.

You, Tony, you dream of being a poet. Resolve the unresolved. The worst that can happen is crushing disappointment and public mockery, and eviction when you can’t pay your rent. Many more awful things after that, get to it!

And you, Addie, you fled your previous city to escape a murder charge. Strangely, you didn’t commit the murder you were charged with, but you have committed murder. Weird choice to go on “House Hunters” as a wanted fugitive, but maybe it was a good first step to healing your soul.

And you, Morgan. You have an idea that could save us all, an epic defining idea, one of the greats, but you don’t know which one. You have so many ideas. I can tell you this: most of them are not important. One of them is vitally important. Good luck. Also, tip 20 per cent.

And you, I forgot your name, you tweet too much. We all tweet too much, but that doesn’t let you off the hook. That’s why I ate your phone. You can thank me later. You can all thank me later. Because you all will be seeing me soon. I think that tonight is the night to let slip my secret. You’ll soon see me fumbling wet and gray from out of the bathroom mirror, or folded up strangely loose skin and mashed bones in the bottom drawer of your dresser. Or you will see me scuttle on your walls, the hair hanging down from my faceless face. Or you will look out your kitchen window and there will be someone standing in your driveway, and it will be me, and there will be no one in the driveway and instead, I will be next to you in the kitchen. Faceless and so very very old. Won’t that be nice?

I’m the Faceless Old Woman who secretly lives in your home. And your home. And your home. And every home. And I will be seeing you very, very soon.

[music, applause]

Today’s proverb: Never judge a book by its cover. Judge it by the title page instead.

#welcome to night vale #wtnv transcripts #episode 164 #the faceless old woman #the faceless old woman live #finally #thanks for your patience #there might be more mistakes bc there were many big words

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jamielea81 · 5 years

Text

Back to School

Chapter 1

Pairing: Professor Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Some cursing

Description: After taking years off of school, you finally decide to go back and finish up that degree.

Word Count: Approximately 1,800

A/N: Welcome to my new series Back to School! This is a professor AU with a twist. This series will be on the shorter side (no more than 10 chapters) and will be updated weekly. I’ve tagged those that have asked to be tagged before, if you would like to be removed just let me know.

*Italics are internal thoughts.

Sticking out like a sore thumb wasn’t your idea of a good first day back to school. It was like high school all over again, but instead of wearing cheap clothes from the clearance rack while the other girls in school wore designer jeans, you wore business attire. Black pencil skirt, blouse, heels, makeup done up, that was your staple most days at the office. Students hanging around campus and in your first class were dressed in pajama pants, jeans, gym shorts and t-shirts. You were vastly over dressed, but it wasn’t your fault, you had to go back to work after your second class.

You had taken a few years off of school. Who were you kidding? You took 13 years off. It was always your intention to go back to college and finish up that degree, but life got in the way.

During senior year, you had gotten sick. It started out simple enough with pains in your stomach, but no amount of pain killers and rest could cure it. Once it was apparent you weren’t getting better, you made numerous trips to the health center on campus. They in turn referred you to the regional hospital that diagnosed you with an ovarian cyst. It was already quite large and your doctor recommended surgery as soon as possible. Two weeks later, you had the surgery to remove it. Because of the recovery time and the days you missed being ill, you had no choice but to take incompletes for all your classes that semester. Your job on campus was also terminated because you were no longer enrolled in classes.

Life back at home with your parents wasn’t a breeze. After being away for nearly four years, it was quite the adjustment living under their roof once again. They encouraged you to take classes at the nearby University which you did, but you struggled. Driving into the city was a pain and finding parking was even harder. You stuck with one of the two classes you enrolled in and managed to finish it leaving eight credits to go.

You found a job fairly quickly after a friend working in a call center gave you the heads up about an opening. It started as a fulltime position that summer, and you planned on going part time in the fall so that you could take a couple of classes to complete your degree. You ended up moving in with said friend at the end of summer. The money was rolling in as you turned out to be quite the sales woman. Deciding to take one more semester off to put some money in the bank, turned into a year off. Student loan bills started to arrive in your mailbox since you weren’t enrolled in classes. That one year turned into two. You moved out on your own. Took a new sales job with great benefits and a 401K. Two years turned into five. A job in middle management became available and you took it. Even though you were great at sales, you didn’t particular love it. Motivating others and knowing how to manage a team was more your forte. At that point you were doing quite well for yourself that school went on the back burner. Before you knew it, you were in your mid 30s worrying about a fifteen-page paper due at the end of the semester.

The campus is nice, as far as colleges go. It was also conveniently located thirty minutes from your home and office. Lush green lawns, loads of maple trees, benches and tables scattered along the wide walk ways. There’s a coffee shop in the student union, but you found a coffee cart located outside near a row of benches that faced a large water fountain in the center of the campus.

You acquired yourself a cup with two shots of vanilla. Grabbing a few capsules of cream and adding them to your cup, you planted yourself on an empty bench. You reached into your briefcase to grab out the syllabus from your first class, Economics in the Modern Age. There was no point in acquiring a backpack when you had only two classes and you had to get to work right after your second one. An hour between classes was more than enough time to look over your notes and get a cup of coffee.

“Can’t believe classes have started up again.” A deep voice in front of you said.

Looking up, the sun partially blinds your view. You put your hand up to shield the sun to get a better look at him.

“Sorry.” He says, moving about a foot to the right to block the brightness from your view.

And what a new view it was. Broad shoulders, dark blonde hair, nicely groomed beard, and those eyes. A poet could write several books about those eyes. He looked to be about your age, which was refreshing. Dressed in dark blue jeans, buttoned down checkered shirt and a brown sport coat over it. You were starring. Once you realized it, you looked down and quickly took a sip from your cup and nodded.

He stuck out his hand and you quickly set your cup down next to you on the bench. “Steve Rogers. History.”

“Ah, um, Y/N Y/L/N. Business administration.” You said, shaking his hand. His fingers fit nicely against yours. You really hoped he didn’t notice the blush.

“Do you mind?” He asked, gesturing toward the empty space beside you.

“Not at all.”

Be cool Y/L/N. Just because the hot guy wants to sit next to you, it does not mean he’s interested.

Going slow was never easy for you, which is why you were single. Your mind had a hard time differentiating between guys who were being friendly and guys who were interested. One would think with age and time, those kinds of problems would be sorted.

“Beautiful day.” You offered. Not really knowing what to say.

He hummed in response. “I’m looking forward to the cooler weather. I hate always feeling over dressed this time of year.”

You nodded. Giving him a small smile. “Same.” You said, gesturing to your long-sleeved blouse. At least you had opted to go bare legged. “It’s not so bad in the shade.”

This small talk is killing me.

Steve nodded his head. “How’s your schedule this semester?” He asked.

“Only two courses. Think I’ll manage.”

“Nice. I’ve got four, but two are twice a week.”

“Ouch. I’ve always hated those.” You replied.

He smiled. Eyes crinkly as he looked at you. “Why haven’t I seen you before?”

“I’m new here.” You said, shrugging one shoulder.

“Well, you can count me as your official welcoming party.”

You laughed. “I give you my thanks then.”

A small alarm sounded in your briefcase. Reaching in you pulled out your phone seeing you had twenty minutes until your next class. Not knowing where all the buildings were, you wanted to give yourself plenty of time to get there and hopefully find a seat in the back.

“I better get going.” You said, standing up and grabbing your bag. “It was nice to meet you Steve Rogers, History.”

He stood up as well, laughing hard, throwing his head back slightly. “You as well Y/N. I hope to see you around campus more.”

Your face flushed and you hoped he didn’t notice. “Hopefully.”

You quickly turned your back to him heading in any direction to get away from the handsome man. Not that you really wanted to run away, but you didn’t want to ruin something that hadn’t even started by saying something stupid.

After walking aimlessly for ten minutes, you consulted the campus map on your phone and started walking in the correct direction. You reached the History building with a few minutes to spare. The room wasn’t far down the hall and all rooms were numbered legibly. Finding the door was still open, you felt relieved. The room was a large lecture hall with stadium seating. Stepping inside you felt a small wave of panic as most seats were occupied with only a few open ones in the front rows and a couple single seats scattered in the middle.

Next week I am so getting here a half hour earlier.

You begrudgingly walked down the staircase, dodging careless backpacks left in your path. Sure, you wore heels daily to the office, but that was mainly at your desk or in a conference room, not down a large staircase with legs stretched out, ready to catch a victim not paying attention.

As you made your way down the steps to the mostly open first row, you couldn’t help but notice eyes on you. Instantly you felt self-conscious, thinking perhaps you had something on your face or coffee down your blouse. You took your seat and the eyes drifted away, back to their phones or conversations with the people they were sitting with.

They thought I was the teacher. That’s it, I’m changing at the office from now on.

You dug out a notebook and pen. Blue ink, not black of course. We all have our habits. You scribbled “History Beyond the Walls” on the front cover of the notebook. You picked the course randomly as you only needed a 200 level history class to complete the requirement for your degree.

The door in the back closed with a loud bang. A muttered sorry was heard and you, much like everyone else, turned around to see what caused the disturbance.

Whoa. Steve’s in this class.

You silently prayed that he’d take the seat next to you. Just for the camaraderie of adults going back to school, nothing more. Right? You continued to watch him descend the staircase hoping he’d see you. You subtly move your eyes to his left hand to check for a ring since you didn’t do so earlier. It’s naked which makes you smile. I suppose he could have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend.

Shaking your head slightly to get out of your own mind, you go back to the intense eye contact that pays off as Steve sees you. His face is a mix of surprise and confusion. A small smile graces his face but it quickly fades. His eyes crinkle and small lines appear on his forehead. Head tilting to the side you hear a muttered “Y/N?” You give him a slight wave as he walks completely past you, setting his bag on the desk at the front of the classroom. Now it’s your turn to be confused.

Steve turns around and looks at you briefly before scanning the rest of the room.

“I’m Professor Rogers. Welcome to History Beyond the Walls.”

Well, shit.

Tagging: @thefanficfaerie @humandasaster @violetadefebrero @estillion14 @xxloki81xx @lookwhatyoumademequeue @thefandomzoneisdangerous @tanelle83 @symonlyjen5 @niaese @lilypalmer1987 @unlcvings @linkingdolans @imissyoualittlemoreeveryday @allaboutthebooz @joannie95 @chita0027

#College AU #professor!steve rogers #Steve Rogers x reader #Steve Rogers #Marvel AU #Back to School #University #College Trope #Steve Rogers x you #Steve Rogers x Y/N #Steve x you

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theangriestpea · 4 years

Text

In the Shadows : Eight

Summary: Jughead Jones, resident werewolf, just wants to protect his family and his pack from the incoming doom of The Red Circle. Sweet Pea and Lily join him to help keep the Southside safe from human tyranny. Meanwhile a demon princess named Myra and succubus named Lavender had a plan to bring on the apocalypse. <ao3> <masterlist> <playlist>

Rating: Mature // Explicit

Pairings: Jughead Jones x OC, Sweet Pea x OC, Kurtz x OC

Warnings: None for this chapter

Word Count: 5k+

A/N: This is like my least favorite chapter that I've written thus far and I really apologize for that. It just didn't come out the way that I had hoped, so hopefully it is still enjoyable. I've got a paid writing gig that I'm going to have to divide my time with so updates may slow down a tad (only by a day or so). I'm getting back to requests after this.

Chapter Eight: Soul Bound

The purple haired succubus was sitting on the old couch in the small cottage within the mystical forest. The knowledge of withholding the information of her child's paternal parent was eating at her more and more. Lily had been nothing but kind to her since she realized that the demon could be trusted. Presently she was fixing her a special tea blend to help with her terrible morning sickness. It was getting progressively worse as the days went by.

“Lily, I have a confession to make.” Lav said, her voice not sounding nearly as confident as she had wanted it to. “About...the father of the baby.” She twirled her hair around her finger, needing something to do with her hands while she waited.

The witch was at the kitchen counter, measuring out tea into disposable tea bags for her new friend. She hummed back a nonverbal response for the demon to continue as she concentrated.

“I lied before.” Lav admitted, “and it’s killing me not to tell you the truth. What is really going on. Sweet Pea has this fantasy that he can fix things but I don’t think it is nearly that simple.”

Lily glanced up at her and their eyes caught one another. They held the stare, Lily a bit confused as Lav’s looked sorrowful and sympathetic. “He’s the father. What I said about being forced was true. Myra, she said it had to be him and I had no choice in the matter. I didn’t even want to have a child to begin with but now...Now that I’m pregnant, I can’t lose her. I know you understand as a mother, and even though I’m a demon….I’m human too.”

She went back to measuring carefully. This wasn’t really a surprise. She had a suspicion that Sweet Pea was more involved than he let on. Plus she could sense very strong, very dark magical energy from the child already. Energy that nearly matched her baby daddy’s. “Tell me everything.” Lily said, her voice calm and careful. “I’m not upset. I know how he has no idea what condoms are and besides you mentioned before she gave you a potion to make you conceive. It’s not like you knew him before all of this. I’m just glad you didn’t kill him.”

Lav relaxed against the couch, glad that Sweet Pea was out doing an odd job to get them some extra money. It was hard to be around him when he was off limits. “There is a prophecy.” She continued, “and through decades of decoding it, Asmodeus discovered that the birth of a certain child would be a catalyst in bringing on the apocalypse.”

Lily stopped what she was doing. Her eyes widened as she looked at Lavender again. Was she really talking about the end of the world? This world? The mortal realm on Earth?

“Myra enslaved me by taking my mortal soul when I was in a bad car accident. My neck snapped, I was dead, but my demon half simply took over. I didn’t even know what I was until then. The mother of the child would be a hybrid without a soul. A succubus to be exact. The father would be a purely dark witch, also without a soul. This is a really dumbed down version of this, I don’t know how else to explain it.” Lav said, her heart racing in her chest now from anxiety on how Lily would react.

“Lavender.” Lily said, wanting clarification, “she bred you to bring on the end of the world? With Sweet Pea? Your daughter is going to bring the apocalypse?”

Her voice wasn’t angry, resentful, or hateful. The demon relaxed only slightly at how calm Lily was at this news. “Yes. Myra will take her the second the cord is cut and will unleash hell on Earth. I will never see her again. And Lily, there are very specific reasons why I do not want all of hell’s demons to roam the Earth and most of them are entirely selfish.”

Lily looked back at the tea leaves, taking a deep breathe to calm her hammering heart. “Most of them?” She asked, wondering why they weren’t all entirely selfish.

“I happen to like Earth the way it is.” Lavender said, “And I just want the mortals in my life to be happy. I want Daisy to grow up with both parents. I want you and Sweet Pea to continue to live by her side. I want Sweet Pea to get his soul back because he’s only going to get worse.”

“What did he do to you the other week? When you had to heal yourself.” Lily questioned, needing to know. “Why did you let him?”

Lavender crossed her legs to try and hide her discomfort at the question. “We had sex. It got a little rough, that’s it.”

“So rough that you had to heal yourself? You’re pregnant, Lavender, you can’t let him-”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Lav quickly interjected. “He has no soul, Lily. I understand you don’t know how people are without one. They’re terrible. It’s frightening, honestly, what a man can do without any real conscience to hold him back. He will only get worse which is why it’s imperative for you to get it back if you want him to be any kind of father to Daisy in the future, you must.”

Lily finished up the last tea bag, sealing it and putting them all into a glass jar. “I know. He’s just getting darker. I expect him to come home covered in blood half the time. His anger was always bad but never like this. I’ll get his soul back and I’ll get yours back too.”

Lav was silent as Lily handed her the jar. The demon dared to look up at her, "I know a way to break the contract." She said in a soft voice, praying that Myra wasn't hiding in some nearby shadow.

Lily smiled faintly, "she can't hear you. I have the house warded. Tell me what you have in mind."

"The vargulf is dying. He only has a few weeks left, tops. I think...I think she's in love with him. Only white magic can heal him. Only you can bring him back from the brink. Cut a deal with her. Heal him in exchange for my freedom and my mortal soul." Lav said, eyes never leaving Lily's face. "It will not protect my child, but she can no longer hurt me without repercussion."

Lily sat down next to her on the couch as Daisy toddled in, having just woken up from her nap. Her eyes lit up at the sight of the demon, "Lavie!" She giggled, running up and holding onto her legs. Lav smiled and placed a gentle hand on her head.

"Would you oppose Sweet Pea staying with you for protection? After I do this?" Lily asked, the sight of her daughter hugging the succubus warmed her heart. Daisy needed more interaction with people that weren't her parents. "He is an asshole but he is a powerful witch. Myra is stronger than you, is she not?"

Lav went quiet once more as she picked up the little girl and set her in her lap. Daisy loved to play with her purple hair, finding it memorizing. "Only if he has his soul back. He's insufferable right now. Her strength is in her age and lineage. My magic would be stronger if I had my soul, but it’s been gone for decades now. There’s not telling what state it is even in. I don’t know where she has been keeping it.”

“I plan on retrieving his soul in a few days. I need to devise a good offering to my matrons before and probably spend another night with Jug...for good measure.” Lily said, a light blush crossing the tops of her cheeks. While Lavender was the one who set them up, it was still a bit embarrassing to talk about.

The demon smirked at her, “try not to get knocked up again.” She teased as Daisy pulled at her hair. She ignored the pain, tolerating it as Daisy twisted it around her fingers in an attempt to braid it, but really she was only knotting it up. “Although you would be stron-”

The witch held up a hand to keep her quiet, “don’t even go there. I’ll only have another one when things are stable and the end of the world isn’t imminent.”

“That’s fair.” Lavender said, shrugging. “Think you can stop it?”

“I won’t know for sure until you get something for me.” Lily said, her tone becoming serious. “It might be easier for you to get a hold of than me. With your limitless access to mortal currency.”

Lav cocked her head to the side, curious. “If you need money, Lily, I can get it for you. I’ve charmed many men out of their 401ks. Do you know how many life insurances I’ve stolen away? It’s easier than it sounds.”

“What does a demon need money for anyway?” Lily asked, a bit exasperated. Money was always an issue for them. Neither could afford childcare and thus only one of them could really keep a steady job. They had decided it would be Sweet Pea but his temper got him fired more often than not. The longest he ever lasted in one place was six weeks.

“I may be a demon but I still live here on Earth so I have to abide by some mortal constructs. Before I knew what I was, when I thought I was just an ordinary human, I loved in a trailer park much like Sunnyside without the rampant flea problem. My father made enough to get by and that was about it. I always dreamed of living in a huge house with a nice car and clothes that weren’t second-hand. Not having to get food from a church pantry because we had to sell our food stamps to pay the light bill. When I learned how to control my power, I used it for my own personal gain until Myra needed me to target some poor sod for whatever reason. Someone owed a debt and their soul needed collecting or whatnot.” She let out a small sigh. “I live where I live because that’s where Myra insists that I stay. I don’t have a choice in what I can really do with the wealth I’ve amassed.”

She glanced at Lily out of the corner of her eye, “Maybe it would be better suited to just...give it to you.”

Lily bit the inside of her cheek, not wanting to even think about suddenly not having to worry about money. “Keep your money, we’re doing fine. Sweet Pea is out making us some money right now.”

Lav shrugged, “If you say so. What is it that you need me to get?”

“This prophecy should be in some kind of book, somewhere on Earth. All good prophecies are. An oracle somewhere has to know about this and they are bound to have written it down. Get me this book, Lavender, and we can find out how to end this for good.” Lily said, confident in her plan.

“A book? I think I can manage that.” She mumbled, mostly to herself. “Give me a week. I’ll see what I can do.” Her eyes moved to look at the little girl, “Alright, Daze, I better go before your jerkoff father gets home.”

Daisy giggled and crawled over onto her mother’s lap. “Bye, bye, Lavie!” She said happily and Lav smiled back as she stood.

“Bye, bye, Daisy.” She patted her on the head once more playfully. “And thanks for the tea, Lily. My stomach will appreciate it in the morning.”

“No problem, let me know if you need anything else.” Lily said as she hugged her daughter. Lav waved as she exited the cottage, glad to have avoided Sweet Pea for the time being.

Or so she thought. The asshole in question was walking up to the door as she was leaving, scowl on his face. “What are you doing here?” He practically hissed at her.

Lav rolled her eyes at him, “Just leaving, troll.” She said as she walked passed him, he reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her close.

“What did you tell her?” He asked, voice low and angry with an edge of hate.

“The truth. Now let me go or I’ll have Myra smite you where you stand.” Lav said threateningly, though she would never actually do it. Sweet Pea instantly released her and recoiled with a scowl. She watched as he turned and made his way back into the house, noticing that something else was off about him but choosing not to look too far into it.

Three days later, the day after Lily had spent a riveting night with her soulmate, she was ready to perform the spell to get Sweet Pea his soul back. Jughead was there, with Daisy, in the event that something went wrong. The warlock had begun to lash out at the wolf more and more, wishing he’d just stay away but deep down knowing why he couldn’t.

Lavender had not been around since she told Lily the truth about what was going on. Lily had kept it to herself thus far and had been going out of her way to ignore Sweet Pea as it was the easiest way to deal with his meltdowns. He had come home that day with only half the money he was supposed to get. What happened to the other half, she couldn’t get it out of him and was furious.

The oddest thing was when she tried to call the electric company, they informed her that her bill was paid in full. She knew she hadn’t paid it this month and was increasingly worried that there was an error and once they figured it out, they would shut their power off. Unfortunately she didn’t have time to dwell on her growing anxiety over money as there were bigger issues at play. The main one being Sweet Pea’s lack of soul.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Jughead asked, looking between the two witches sitting on the floor. “You’re just going to reach into hell and grab it?”

Lily smiled at him reassuringly. “It’s a little more complicated than that, but yes. I’ve already located it so it won’t be very hard. It will just take a lot of energy. It would have helped if Lavender was here to give me some of hers but...she’s not answering my calls.”

Jughead shifted uneasily, watching Sweet Pea’s eyes darken at what Lily had said. “You haven’t heard from her?” He asked, sounding more annoyed than worried. He didn’t want to let on that he cared at all about the demon. In truth, he didn’t care so much about her right now as he cared about the child growing inside of her.

“She’s fine.” Jughead said, “I checked on her yesterday. Her morning sickness is just getting bad and it’s taking all of her energy just to hunt right now. I guess demon pregnancy is rough.”

“All pregnancy is rough, Jug.” Lily corrected, glancing at Daisy who was playing with her runed blocks on the other side of the room. “Trust me. I’ll go check on her after this. She was supposed to look into something for me.”

Jughead nodded, “alright. Will it be safe to just leave him here?” He asked, motioning to Sweet Pea who was glowering at the two of them for talking as if he wasn’t sitting right there.

Lily turned her head back to look ahead at Sweet Pea, “He’ll be asleep for a while. A day or two, give or take. His soul has been down there for a long time. It’ll take time for it to resettle back into his body. Are you ready, Sweet Pea?” She asked, holding out her hands for him to take.

His large calloused hands grasped hers lightly and they both closed their eyes. Lily was muttering the spell under her breath, barely audible to anyone without supernatural hearing. Jughead didn’t understand Latin so he had no idea what she was saying.

The energy in the room grew so palpable that it was almost unbearable. Daisy stopped playing with her blocks and stared at her mother, somehow acting as if she knew what she was doing despite being so young. Jughead watched her instead of Lily, more interested in her reaction than what his girlfriend was doing.

The five white candles surrounding the two suddenly burst into flame as the temperature in the room climbed to an uncomfortable level. Sweat trailed down Lily’s spine as she brought the blackened soul closer and closer. Her grip on Sweet Pea’s hands were tight and borderline painful. The male witch winced as her nails dug into his flesh.

And then it was over. Sweet Pea’s body went slack and he crumpled forward in a state of unconsciousness. Lily was breathing heavily, feeling dizzy and nauseous all at once. Daisy walked over to her and placed a hand on the side of her face, a faint glow causing the ill sensations to dissipate.

Lily kissed her on the forehead. “Thanks baby.” She said before looking back at Jughead. “Can you help me get him into the bed?”

“Did it work?” Jughead asked, blinking at her. “His soul is back?”

She stood up with his help and rubbed the back of her neck to try and remove the sweat that had collected there. “It’s back but...it’s not in good shape. It’ll take time to heal. He’ll need something I can’t give him.”

Jughead moved around behind Sweet Pea and hoisted the man up awkwardly. Lily helped the best she could in her weakened state to get him into her bedroom. Once there Daisy walked in with a doll that Lily had never seen before.

“Daisy, where did you get that?” She asked, looking at the purple haired doll that had some kind of relaxation charm on it, similar to the one she put on the little girl’s stuffed cat.

“Lavie!” Daisy said as she climbed onto the bed. “Can I nap with daddy?”

Lily’s brow furrowed, unsure when the demon could have given Daisy a gift but appreciating it all the same. “Of course, just don’t wake him up. He’s very tired.”

“I know.” Daisy said as she curled up next to her father, the doll between them.

Jug turned and led Lily out. “If you want to check on Lav, I’ll stay and make sure Daisy is okay.”

A sigh left the witch’s lips as she collapsed on the couch. “I should rest first.” She admitted. “That took way more out of me than I thought it would. I will check on her in the morning. I’ll even take Daze to visit. They seem to enjoy each other’s company.”

Jughead laid down on the couch with his head in her lap so she could play with his hair, knowing it was one of her favorite things to do. “So what was she looking into?” He questioned, closing his eyes as her fingers softly threaded through his thick locks.

“There’s something much bigger going on and I think the four of us are the only ones that can stop it. There’s a book of prophecy she is getting for me. It’ll help us figure a way out of all of this.” Lily said softly, looking down at him with a sad expression that he did not see. Sweet Pea’s soul had been in worse shape than she had imagined it would be. She wasn’t sure what he would be like when he woke up.

The next day, Lavender finally returned the white witch’s phone call to inform her that the book was on its way to her. When asked how she got it, Lav laughed and answered honestly. This book in particular was an original, hand written, very old text that she found on eBay. It’s authenticity was confirmed through a very intensive set of magnified images. Lily wanted to know the price but Lavender refused to tell her, saying it would probably make her faint.

It arrived two days later and before Lavender took it to the cottage in the woods, where the father of her unborn child was finally starting to stir, she decided to take a look at the script herself. What could it hurt? Certainly not much.

Most of it was muddled garbage that made very little sense after the first few paragraphs which outlined her own conception. She finally got to the part about her ill-fated interaction with Sweet Pea and how her daughter was conceived. It aligned almost perfectly with what had happened but there was one line that made her blood run cold. Her heart thumped heavily in her chest as she reread it dozens of times. There was no possible way this could be true. It had to be a mistake. There was no way that Sweet Pea was….he was…

She closed the book and resisted the urge to throw it out of her bedroom window. Instead it sat silently by her side as she sat with her face in her hands, wondering what on earth she was going to do about this. It had been a dream to be free of him once this was over. To disappear somewhere with her daughter, never to have to look upon his handsome face again. If what was written was true, then that would be impossible.

Her phone buzzed and she heard the chirp of a new notification. Lav picked up her phone and saw it was Lily, telling her that it was a good time for her to come over. Sweet Pea was awake and Jughead was on his way. The demon typed back a quick reply that she’d be there in ten.

She slid off the bed slowly, grabbing the book without much care to its delicate condition and left for the cottage.

When she arrived she sat in her car for a moment, weighing her options. She needed Lily’s help but she didn’t want Lily to find out the truth . The truth that Lav wished she didn’t know. She saw Lily’s face appear between the parted curtains of the window. Now that she was caught, Lav had no choice but to go inside.

She exited the car and walked up to the door, Lily opening it before she could even knock. “Did you get it?!” She asked, voice perfectly portraying her excitement.

Lavender swallowed her anxiety thickly. “Yea. Here.” She handed it over, wishing she had blacked that sentence out or done something to alter it. Maybe if no one else knew, then it wouldn’t be real. It was too late for that.

“Are you okay? You look pale.” Lily asked as she led the demon inside of her home. Lav chose not to look through the open bedroom door, knowing that Sweet Pea was laying on the bed. She didn’t think she could stomach looking at him right now, the need to vomit growing in the pit of her stomach.

“Just morning sickness.” She lied. It was three in the afternoon. She was done throwing up for the day. Though morning sickness could be any time of the day, hers typically lasted from early morning to early afternoon. By two she was usually fine enough to go try and collect some food.

Lily ignored the lie, figuring if Lav wanted to tell her what was really bothering her then she would. Jughead walked through the door a second later and her face lit up with a smile. “Juggie, you’re late.”

Jughead smiled, rubbing the back of his head. “My dad had to lecture me about bringing stray cats into the house.” He said, giving Lily a knowing look. “Something about his allergies are bothering him.”

The witch giggled. She often took her feline form when visiting Jughead as it was a safer way for her to travel at night. “Come sit, she brought the book.” She plopped down on the couch and opened it, starting from the beginning.

“Good luck deciphering half of that crap.” Lav said, choose to sit on the floor. “Where is Daisy?”

“She’s trying to heal Sweet Pea.” Lily said quietly. “I don’t have the heart to tell her that her kind of magic isn’t what he needs right now.”

The demon chewed on her lower lip, wanting to ask what the matter was but not wanting to out herself as having any kind of feelings towards him.

Jughead looked between the two, not really understanding the expression Lavender had on her face. “What kind of magic does he need?”

“It’s complicated Jug. Souls can only be healed by their soulmates. We don’t know who his is. If we could find them then this could all be over.” Lily said as she dragged her finger down the spine of the book. “Let’s not worry about that now. Let’s try to see if we can figure this out.”

The three were silent as Lily read the old book aloud. Lav’s teeth drew blood as they dug into her flesh harder and harder. Jughead smelled it and was staring at her, wondering what had her so on edge.

Lily stopped just before the dreaded part. “Does all of this sound right so far? Has all of this happened already?” She looked at Lavender who was staring at the bedroom doorway, distracted.

“Lavender?” She probed. “What is going on?”

“Keep reading.” She mumbled. “You’ll see, just keep reading.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, her gaze sorrowful.

The witch looked back down at the book and went back to reading. “The child shall be born of soulless soulmates. Lost in darkness, two empty halves will be bound to destroy one another once the chosen child is lost to the prince of Hell.” She read, stopping abruptly once the sentence had passed her lips.

A look of realization crossed both Jughead and Lily’s faces as they looked at the demon. Nothing was said for several minutes. The silence was heavy and foreboding.

Lily set the book aside and stood. She approached the demon and crouched down to her level. “We can change this.” She said, “Prophecy is not written in stone. It’s more of a warning of consequence. We’ve already changed the course by getting Pea his soul back. Once we have yours, then the outcome written will be wrong.”

“And, if we keep the baby from getting taken to Hell, then that’ll change too.” Jughead added, trying to help ease the worry.

“I don’t care about my own destruction, that’s more than what I deserve.” Lavender said, her voice soft. “That is not the part bothering me.”

Lily glanced at Jughead before sighing. “He has his soul back now, things will be different. I won’t say that he won’t hurt you again because...he’s an asshole even with a soul. But he won’t do it on purpose. Just give him a chance.”

Lavender huffed, crossing her arms. “Why should I? Do you have any idea how much he’s antagonized me since that night?”

Lily reached out and brushed her hair out of her face. “Yes. I do. This is the man that cheated on me days after I gave birth to his daughter. I understand completely.”

“And that’s another thing! As soon as I have our child he’ll just be out putting his dick in who knows!” Lavender said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “I don’t want to be a notch on his stupid bedpost.”

“Couchpost. He doesn’t have a bed.” Jughead said in an attempt to lighten the mood. Both women shot him a glare and he quickly shut up.

“He did that to me because we weren’t meant to be. One chance, that’s all I’m asking.” Lily said gently, trying to get her to come to reason. “If you don’t then the world could end and I know you don’t want that.”

At the reminder of the impending apocalypse, Lavender sighed in defeat. “Fine. But there’s still the issue of Myra.”

Lily stood up straight again and grinned, “Don’t worry. As soon as Sweet Pea is back on his feet, then we can tackle solving your little enslavement problem. For now, I’m banishing him to your home until this all blows over.”

“For a white witch, you sure come up with some evil plans” Lav grumbled to her. “Being stuck with him might be worse than hell on Earth.”

A devious look crossed Lily’s face, “just throw up next to him. He won’t be able to stand it and he’ll start puking in solidarity. It’s the perfect way to get back at him. He hates it.”

The demon tried not to laugh, “are you sure you’re a white witch?”

“Trust me, I’m sure.” Lily stretched her arms above her head, cracking several vertebrae in her back. “So, who wants to tell him?”

“Is he actually awake?” Lavender asked, looking back at the doorway to the darkened room.

Lily smiled knowingly, “Yes. He’s being a baby and won’t get out of bed. But I’m about to kick him out so he’s going to have to leave sometime.”

Lavender groaned as she stood up from the floor. “You tell him. He’ll just call me a whore or something along those lines and yell until I leave.”

Lily rolled her eyes as she walked into the bedroom and flicked the light on, earning herself a hiss of anger from Sweet Pea. “Get up, we need money and you’re done laying in bed.”

Sweet Pea opened his eyes to look at her, Daisy playing on the bed next to him with the same doll as before. This time she was making it kiss her stuffed cat, much to both Lily and Lav’s amusement.

“And by the way,” Lily added, turning to walk out of the room, “I’m kicking you out. You have a week.”

“You’re what?!” He shouted as both women left the room, only one stealing a glance back at him before disappearing from view..

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deanscherrypie1967 · 4 years

Text

Not a 401k Life

Sam x Reader

Warnings: kidnapping, light torture, fluff, smut

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

Cold metal cuffs encased your wrists, the smell of mold and a hint of sulfur filled your nose. Demons. You tried to open your eyes but nothing came. They must’ve blindfolded you. You focused on slowing your heart rate and breathing, better they think you were still unconscious. Just as you calmed down footsteps approached; two sets.

“I was hoping she’d be up by now. I wanted to have some fun before Tweetle-dee and Tweetle-dumb showed up.” A male voice spoke

“I don’t know” another male voice sounded, seemingly getting closer “I think she’s up.” He finished as he inhaled deeply against your neck. You couldn’t help but jump.

“Morning sunshine!” The first voice spoke, ripping off your blindfold. You blinked several times, desperate to get your sight.

“We were beginning to think you’d miss all the fun!” The second voice chimed in. The first man was seemingly Italian, at least his meat suit was. He had this awful glint in his eye when he smiled. The second was a ginger, slightly bigger than the first. There was a third in the corner that you didn’t hear come in. He was probably supposed to keep an eye on you. He hadn’t said a word, and didn’t look like he was going to—making him all the more sinister.

“Come on, me? Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You smiled. Your response was a hard blow to your jaw, you could taste the blood in your mouth as it gushed from the inside of your cheek.

“Alright, that smarts a little not gonna lie.” You laughed a bit, showing your blood coated teeth.

“If I’d known that Tweetle-dee didn’t just have his massive hands all over you less than 24 hours ago that might even be attractive.” The Italian man spoke

“What’re you, jealous?” You laughed, earning another blow, this time to your cheekbone. It shuddered under the impact and you let out a moan of pain.

“Aww, did you hear that?” He spoke, inciting rage to run through your veins

“Almost, do it again.” The ginger smiled and you braced yourself for another hit, keeping your eyes locked on the silver dagger tucked into his jeans.

**************************

“She’s gotta be with these guys Sam, come on we both saw the sulfur. This is the only spot in miles that has any sign of demonic omens. And look how remote it is. She’s here, Sam.” Dean tried to calm him

“Yeah Dean but what if they.. I mean they’ve had her for hours. And I know she’s not cooperating.” Sam said, hope void from his voice

“Come on Sam, get pissed! She’s not dead, if she was they’d know not to stick around. They know we’re coming. This is almost certainly a trap and you gotta be on your A game if we’re gonna get Y/N out alive.” Dean said, trying to get him motivated.

“Yeah alright, you’re right.” Sam said, “I swear to god if they touched her...I’ll kill every last one of them.” he promised. He let his mind wander and imagined the sight of Y/N tied up and bloody. “You have to go faster Dean.”

Baby’s engine revved and they sped down the desolate road until finally reaching the dilapidated shack. The car rolled to a stop and Sam was all but jumping out of the moving car.

As Y/N let out a scream of pain Sam saw red and ran empty handed into the shack.

************************

“Sam!” You heard Dean’s voice yell. Relief flooded your system. They were finally here.

“It’s showtime babydoll.” The Italian smiled as he taped your mouth shut. They retreated into the shadows and you could do nothing but wait for them.

“Y/N!” Sam sighed in relief. You tried to scream for him to watch out as the Italian emerged from the shadows, but it was to no avail. He wrapped his arm around Sam’s throat, but the angle was awkward given his height and Sam was able to wriggle free.

As they struggled you were hyperventilating, and the tape on your mouth wasn’t helping. You weren’t getting enough air. Panicking now, you thrashed in the chair, trying to break the shabby thing.

“Dean!” Sam yelled as the Italian managed to get him to the ground, delivering punch after punch to Sam’s face, you were breathing so hard your vision was blacking around the edges. A second later Dean grunted and the man glowed orange for a second, then slumped to the ground.

Just as Dean picked Sam off the floor the ginger and silent man appeared.

“Come and get it you son of a bitch.” Sam spat blood into the silent man's face. You braced yourself and stopped thrashing. You spoke to yourself harshly, drilling into your brain that these were the Winchesters, some pissant demons weren’t capable of doing any real damage.

The ginger immediately lunged at Dean, he was unsuccessful as received a right hook to the jaw and staggered back. Dean threw an angel blade at Sam and you breathed a sigh of relief. At least one of them brought their head with them.

The silent man hadn’t moved yet. Your heart raced in anticipation. Just as you thought he may not do anything at all he flicked his wrist and threw Sam across the room. You screamed in rage.

In all the thrashing you’d managed to get your left hand loose from the rope that tied them to the chair. Silently, you worked furiously at untying your restraints, desperate to help in some way.

As the silent man stalked over to Sam you silently stood up and grabbed the angel blade that had been knocked from Sam’s hand. You quietly crept behind him and just as you were within striking distance the floorboard squeaked, giving you away. The man spun around and wrapped his hand around your throat, lifting and slamming you against a wall. Your vision went out for a second but quickly came back to stare into the eyes of evil.

You lifted your leg and kicked him in the stomach with all you had left. His grip released on your throat and you fell to the ground coughing violently.

You couldn’t recover fast enough and he grabbed you by your hair, lifting you up to meet him again.

“Sam!” You screamed as loud as you could. The man held a finger to his lips and raised his arm back. In the moonlight coming from the solitary window you saw the glint of a knife. You tried to scream but nothing came out.

You suddenly fell to the ground, and heard an unfamiliar scream; it must be the silent man. You couldn’t find the energy to bring yourself off the floor, so you just laid there.

A second later a hand touched your head and you flinched back violently.

“It’s me baby, it’s Sam.” The voice crooned. You picked your head up and flung yourself into his arms, sobbing into his chest. He wrapped his arms under your legs and back and you felt yourself being lifted.

“She okay?” Dean asked, concerned

“No Dean, I’d say she’s not okay.” Sam huffed

“Right, stupid question.” He agreed as they stepped over the crumpled bodies of your captors.

***********************

A hand steadily smoothed your hair, slowly waking you up. You opened your eyes and found yourself nuzzled into Sam’s side. Slowly lifting your head you slung an arm over his chest.

“Ouch.” You groaned as your ribs screamed in protest at the movement.

“What’s wrong?” Sam sat up a bit, immediately concerned

“I think they cracked a couple ribs,” you laughed breathlessly “bastards.”

“I’m so sorry Y/N, I don’t—“ Sam started, you could hear the guilt in his voice. You sat up, wincing in pain.

“Hey hey hey, I’m a big girl, shit happens sometimes. We don’t exactly live 401k life Sammy.” You smiled at him, but he couldn’t meet your eyes.

“Sam, look at me.” You said, pausing a second before grabbing his chin and forcing him to. “The important thing is you found me. I’m still here baby.” You crooned

“You’re...” he paused, looking for the right word “everything.” He finished.

“When we came back and you were gone, it was like all the air left my lungs. And I couldn’t—“ he paused “I couldn’t stop thinking it would be like Jess all over again. I couldn’t stop thinking we wouldn’t get there in time, that it would be my fault—again.” He said as a solitary tear slid down his cheek.

Your heart broke just a little bit. “Not to be insensitive or anything, but I’m not Jess baby. I know all about this life and I can protect myself most of the time. It’s gonna take a lot more than stunt demon #1, #2 and #3 to get rid of me, okay?” You soothed him. “I’m not going anywhere, not now, not ever. I mean I gotta look out for you two, I don’t know how you lived without me.” You laughed, laying down as your ribs were still sore.

“I don’t know either.” He responded as he hovered over you. He pressed his lips to yours and you threaded your fingers through his hair. After a second he pulled away.

“I love you Y/N. So much. I need you, we need you. Promise me you’ll stay.” He whispered the last sentence against your lips.

“I love you Sam, where am I gonna go?” You responded, pulling him to you.

You pressed your lips against his harder than before. Hooking a leg around his back you opened your lips and played with his tongue for a moment before grabbing a hold of his bottom lip and pulling.

“Baby, I don’t want to hurt you.” He whined, referring to your ribs, and well everything else.

“I think if we stay like this I’ll be fine. See?” You leaned up and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it off in one swift movement. “No pain.”

You ran your hands along his muscled torso and back, letting out little moans as he moved to your neck.

He grabbed the hem of your shirt and you followed, wiggling out of your shirt slowly. He pressed light kisses to the exposed top of your boob, snaking his hand around your back you arched as much as you could while he unsnapped your bra.

You pulled him back up to you and found his lips, slipping your tongue in his mouth. He pushed his against yours and you pulled at his hair slightly, eliciting a moan from him. Finally you broke away for air, trying not to take too much in at once, not wanting to expand your rib cage.

As you winced and tried to slow your breathing he snaked down and sucked a nipple into his mouth. You moaned and tightened your legs around him while his tongue flicked around you.

“Fuck Sam.” You moaned

“I love hearing you.” He smiled up at you. Reaching between you all, you unbuttoned his jeans and stuck your hand directly where he needed. You rubbed your thumb along the slit a few times until a loud moan slipped from his lips.

“Just as much as I love hearing you.” You smiled back.

“I need you Sam, I need you inside me.” You whined, pressing your nails into his back. With that he sat up and peeled your jeans off you. As you looked down at yourself you noticed the nice shade of purple your left side had turned. As your jeans came off you could see rope marks bruising around your ankles and a nasty bruise coming on your right thigh.

“Y/N....” Sam whispered, seeming to just notice your bruises. A haunted look began to set behind Sam’s eyes and you knew you needed to get him back fast.

“Sam Winchester, I. Am. Fine. Nothing worse than that what that werewolf in Minnesota gave me.” You shuddered internally thinking of the wet snap of your own bones. “And I swear to god if you don’t get down here and finish what you started I’m gonna do it myself.” You threatened as you slipped your own hand between your legs

He shook his head slightly and shed his own jeans before hovering back over you. “I love you Y/N.”

“I love you, Sam.” He smiled back and grabbed himself, rubbing along your slit, causing little whimpers to spill from your mouth.

“Sam-“ you started but he cut you off by pushing himself all the way in. “Fuck!” You shouted as he filled you.

“You okay?” He asked

“I will be if you keep going.” He then pulled himself all the way out before pushing back in. Creating an agonizingly slow rhythm. You tightened around him and he faltered a bit and groaned in your ear.

“Faster Sam. “ You moaned. Finally speeding up you threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling him down to press a kiss to his lips. After a few thrusts he snaked his hands under your ass cheeks and lifted slightly, allowing a new angle.

“Oh fuck!” You all but screamed as this angle allowed him to go deeper.

“God your mouth.” He breathlessly laughed. The way he was fucking you sounded like a porno was being made. The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping skin and your loud moans of encouragement.

“You’re so sexy, making all these filthy noises under me.” He said as his fingers began to toy with your nipples. The stimulation was coaxing flames out of the slow burn in your belly.

“Sam, I’m getting close.” You warned, closing your eyes, lost in the pleasure. His fingers moved from your nipple down to your clit and you arched as he placed his thumb directly on it.

“Fuck!” You yelled, both out of pain from the movement and pleasure from him.

“I’m—I’m, god Sam!” You finished, raking your nails across his back.

“God, Y/N.” He groaned loudly as he spilled deeply inside you. After a few moments he pulled out and laid down and exhaled deeply.

“Thank you.” You smiled, feeling the events of that morning fading into oblivion.

“Mhmm.” He replied, closing his eyes and reaching to spoon you.

“Sam?” You waited

“Hm?”

“Gonna need a towel, and probably some ice.” You said as you felt him slowly seeping out of you.

“Shit, right. Towel, ice. Got it.” He sighed getting up, he delivered a quick kiss to your lips.

“Love you.” He winked, grabbing some jeans

“Love you more.” You replied

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knottylife · 5 years

Text

I’ve Gone Back and Forth For A While

I finally decided to sit down and write this. It’s been a difficult 4 months but I’ve been as positive and productive as possible. There’s probably not a day that goes by that I don’t think about you at least once. I wonder if you can say the same. I guess it doesn’t really matter these days and even if it did, it certainly wouldn’t be my business to know. I’ve deleted and rewrote this piece what feels like a million times. I finally decided that on my way to my seventh destination since we ended things, I’d take the time to write this. Come to think of it, this might be the first time I’ve actually had time to sit down and process all of it so that I could write about it.

I promised myself that I wouldn’t take you with me this time. I love you and I still miss you, but I can’t keep doing this to myself. I took you with me when I left for Vail. I didn’t intend to, but I saw your ghost everywhere. I showed you a destination you didn’t deserve to see. When you left me, you forfeited the opportunity we’d always talked about to see the country, at least with me. With my career I get to go places that most people spend a one week vacation at every year. I’m so blessed and you didn’t deserve to experience that with me.

When I left Vail, Colorado heading to Wisconsin I hadn’t seen your ghost in a few weeks, so I figured I had nothing to worry about. Then, after only a couple of weeks I saw you. You were standing on the shoreline waving as I guided a boat through Class 4 rapids in northern Wisconsin. I couldn’t believe it so I closed my eyes, shook my head and opened my eyes again. You had disappeared, almost as if into thin air.

Since you left me, I’ve just advanced my career even further. I’ve found myself with a company that actually takes care of employees. You know, insurance benefits, 401k, the whole nine yards. Isn’t that so exciting for the industry that we work in?! I’m working for Chefs who actually believe in me and the food I can produce. I’m not sure I’ve ever been fortunate enough to know that feeling in the 6 years I’ve spent in kitchens.

I started developing new hobbies and fine tuning my skills with old ones I never really participated in when we were together. I moved to Colorado in February with not the slightest clue how to ride a snowboard. By the time I left in April, I was hitting jumps and snowboarding down black diamond runs. I was so proud of the progress I’d made in only a couple of short months and I can’t wait to see what this coming winter brings.

I picked golfing back up. I bet you never saw me as a golfer, huh? I bet you didn’t even know I could swing a club. There’s a lot that you don’t know about me. I spent a couple of days last week golfing on the border of Wisconsin and the upper peninsula of Michigan. Next week, I’ll be golfing in some of the most majestic mountains this country has ever seen. I started fishing again. I bet you didn’t know I could fish either, huh? There’s so much more I could’ve shown you about me, about us.

That was then and this is now. I still wonder what you’re doing. I still think about you. That doesn’t mean that I’d ever go back. Not that I wouldn’t ever go back to us, but I could never go back to that apartment and I’m not sure I ever want to actually live in that city again. All I see in that apartment is our demons fighting with our angels, trying to figure out how this whole maddening thing that was us couldn’t work itself out.

It really is a shame that you have such a problem talking about your problems. I really think we could have made our relationship work. Maybe everything with your ex was just too fresh and it was something that you couldn’t stop thinking about. Maybe you were just too caught up in the emotion of your best friend’s father passing away. Maybe you just got frustrated in that vicious cycle you’ve gotten yourself wrapped into at that damn restaurant. Maybe I just wasn’t a good enough boyfriend to you. Maybe I didn’t show you how much I cared enough. Maybe I wasn’t there for you the way you needed me to be when your best friend’s dad passed away. Maybe you realized I could never be the boyfriend you needed, with the career path I’ve chose and the demanding hours, emotional stress, and physical labor. Speaking of which, my mom said you picked up a second job. I’m glad you could step up and do what needed to be done to make sure the bills stayed paid. For that, I commend and respect you.

I’m not sure if you’re missing me or thinking about me like you were the last time I wrote about you on here. Whether you are or not, just know that I still love you. I always will. However, that’s not to say that we can actually make this thing work. Maybe we’re just too damn toxic for each other. If we ever give it another shot, just know it’s going to be on my terms. I know that sounds harsh, but we both know that’s how it’s going to have to be. I’m 110% totally invested and head deep into my career. That means traveling....frequently, for the next 5 years at least. I’ll be spending my summer somewhere and my winter somewhere else. We could still make it work if we tried, but we probably wouldn’t see each other much. Maybe a month or two out of the year. Then again, maybe you could come with me. I mean, you’ve got enough restaurant experience that you could probably go to work at most of the same places as me. We could be the world’s biggest power couple. You could run the FOH and I could run the BOH. Think about it. Then again, maybe we couldn’t be that; for whatever reason, beyond our control. However, at least we’d know it existed in a parallel universe or another dimension. Isn’t that something we used to laugh about? I’m not laughing anymore, but I’ll be there one day. I always have and always will love you ADT, my Purple People Eater, my Bambi. Don’t ever be afraid to reach out, day or night. I’m always here for you. I hope you’re taking damn good care of Kona. She deserves someone like you who loves her just as much as me. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be today, tomorrow, or next month; but I still think we’ll find our way back to each other one day. I’m wishing your wildest dreams come true in front of you. Take care of yourself and promise me you’ll never settle for anything or anyone who isn’t the best for you. You deserve the moon, the sun, and everything else in this universe.

P.S. Did you tell your parents about the time we almost died in an elevator?

#personal #alexa danielle thomas #love #exes #adt #06/04/2019 #i know youre reading this #you said you would wait for it #so here it is

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jbuffyangel · 6 years

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Selfless: Arrow 6x23 Review (Life Sentence)

Arrow delivers an emotional, but unsurprising finale. There isn’t much we didn’t see coming, but thankfully Stephen Amell and Paul Blackthorne, in particular, brought their A games and made me feel all the feels.

And oh yes, you can bet your sweet bippy we’ll be discussing the whole Oliver-didn’t-tell-Felicity-he’s-going-to-prison-for-life situation.

Let’s dig in…

Preface

Arrow Season 6 is similar to Season 4 in the sense there were certain tent points the writers were trying to hit. It resulted in pushing the story a certain direction rather than letting it develop organically. For example, the Olicity break up was easily avoided just like Oliver going to prison is easily avoided.

However, if Olicity breaking up was the only possible outcome then lying was the lesser of storyline evils. We have to suspend logic for prison to become the only possible outcome like we did in Season 4. Does it make great writing? No. It doesn’t, but that’s the way the cookie crumbles with Arrow sometimes.

The primary issue with Season 6 is the Big Bad. Arrow lives and dies with their Big Bad, since 75% of the story is built around stopping this person. Ricardo Diaz is easily Arrow’s worst Big Bad ever. Supposedly, it’s impossible for Oliver to stop Diaz on his own because he’s always two steps ahead and has the city on lock.

Umm… no. There’s almost nothing in the way Arrow has built or presented Diaz that makes him a viable threat to Oliver or the city. He’s a poor imitation of a gangster who screams a lot. The only reason Diaz is a few steps ahead is because the other characters reacted illogically or stupidly to him. Oliver should have been able to take this guy down long before 6x23. Hell, Diggle should have taken him down in 6x06.

We have to believe Diaz’s is an unstoppable Big Bad, which requires Oliver to ask the FBI for help and make this deal.

Unfortunately, this is just not true. If this was Adrian Chase as Prometheus then we can absolutely understand why Oliver would go running to the FBI.

Diaz? Not so much.

The intent of this preface is to acknowledge I see the Grand Canyon sized plot holes.

Yes, prison is easily avoided. Yes, Ricardo Diaz is the worst and can easily be taken down without all this extra “help.” Or if “help” is required then get it from someone who doesn’t demand 25 to life.

Olicity

No beating around the bush. Let’s dive right in. Oliver has secured everyone immunity (Yeah!!!) and spends the better part of the episode casually dodging Felicity while he goes on a farewell tour with the other characters. Felicity picks up on it because 1) she’s Felicity and 2) Oliver is ridiculously obvious about it.

Felicity wants to know what Oliver gave Watson to secure immunity for everyone. Rather than patiently wait for Oliver to fess up like she normally does, Felicity offers a guesses - Oliver agreed to give up the Green Arrow. This guess conveniently gives Oliver the opportunity to lie without really lying. He sidesteps the truth by answering, “Sort of.”

Sure, giving up the Green Arrow is all part of life in prison, my forever gumdrop. Anything else you’d like to know? Of course, Oliver should have fessed up immediately. Lies of omission are still lies and we danced this dance all of Season 4 and Season 5 Oliver Jonas Queen! Learn fool!

Felicity’s reaction to Oliver giving up the hood is something we should make note of.

Source: @callistawolf

We can insert this gif for every stupid decision Oliver has ever made.

What irritates me about this scene is an argument snowballs on false pretenses. Oliver doesn’t tell Felicity what they are really fighting about. He is giving up being Green Arrow because HE IS GOING TO PRISON. Oliver no longer believes in becoming his best self because HE IS GOING TO PRISON. Watson isn’t stopping Oliver from being who he is because it was OLIVER’S IDEA TO GO TO PRISON.

This is like picking a fight over laundry when you are really arguing about money. Stop talking about detergent when you’re really throwing down over the 401k. I’m also having trouble wrapping my head around prison being Oliver’s idea,

but of course it was because 1) Oliver is the stupidest to ever stupid and 2) he is that selfless.

We are led to believe Oliver is just about to tell Felicity the truth, but they are interrupted by Curtis because he insists on annoying me every single episode.

Watson officially arrests Oliver while he waits in the hospital for news on Quentin with the rest of the team.

He explains to everyone (primarily Felicity) he’s sorry he hasn’t explained what’s going on, but there just wasn’t any time. Umm… how about those few minutes you’ve been sitting in a waiting room with your wife, Oliver? Seems to me there was plenty of time to fess up.

Me: Yup, that’s right. Look away in shame you big, dumb, guilty oak tree!

Also me: My poor-honorable-yet-misguided-selfless-cupcake-in-perfectly-accentuated-leather-pants.

Oliver didn’t confess because he didn’t want to confess. Telling Felicity makes it real. Telling Felicity means Oliver has to face everything he has given up. He’s kept it together as he hunted down Diaz and said his goodbyes to Diggle, Quentin, Rene and Dinah. But now it’s just Oliver and Felicity in a room. He has to tell his wife goodbye and Oliver can’t keep it together anymore.

Felicity is ready. She has a plan and promises Oliver she will break him out of prison with Diggle’s help. Oliver explains he’s being transferred to a supermax. A breakout is impossible.

Source: oliverfelicitygifs

Felicity argues Oliver kept his identity secret because he wanted a life beyond the Green Arrow. This confession, this agreement, sacrifices that dream. It sacrifices a life he was so close to living. Oliver understands that.

He wanted to save the city more. He wanted to protect Felicity and William more. Without them there is no dream. There is no life. He would have nothing. Oliver would sacrifice anything to keep his wife and son safe, including his freedom.

Source: oliverfelicitygifs

Marc Guggenheim explained in an interview the reason why Oliver did not tell Felicity about the deal he made with Watson is because she would talk him out of it. I agree this is true. I cannot imagine any circumstances in which Felicity Smoak would agree to her husband spending life in prison. Can you?

Look at her reaction when she thought Oliver was only giving up the hood. Felicity almost had Oliver convinced then and she didn’t even know what they were really arguing about.

Felicity would have convinced Oliver to forego this lunacy because he doesn’t want to make this sacrifice. Oliver wants to go home, make dinner for his family, play a video game with his son, put William to bed, and then make love to his wife. Oliver doesn’t want to go to prison. He’s holding on by a tether. One slight push in the other direction and his will would break. It’s not difficult for Felicity to change Oliver’s mind because he wants her to change his mind.

That doesn’t make what Oliver did okay. He absolutely should have discussed his plan with Felicity prior to making a deal with Watson. Felicity would have argued passionately against it and Oliver would have either listened to her (likely) or did it anyway (less likely, but he can be a stubborn mule, so possible).

However, my husband doesn’t get a free pass to lie to me simply because he knows I am going to disagree. That’s not how marriage works. This is Felicity’s life too and Oliver made a monumental decision for her rather than with her. I simply understand why Oliver did it. Both things can be true at once.

I suppose my Buffy/Angel history is coloring my opinion.

Angel became human once, but chose to become a vampire again by the end of the episode. I’m still mad at him over it and it’s been 20 years.

Angel sacrificed the one thing he always wanted, a happy and human life with Buffy, to save her life and the lives of other.

Unfortunately, Angel didn’t discuss the decision with Buffy beforehand. He made a life altering choice for her rather than with her. Why? Because Angel knew Buffy would change his mind. Where Whedon succeeds is where Guggenheim fails. ANGEL TELLS BUFFY THAT.

“I couldn’t do it if I woke up with you one more morning.” (Angel, “I Will Remember You”)

See? It’s so simple.

One line explaining a character’s thinking rather than relying on an interview post airing to explain it. It doesn’t mean Buffy shouldn’t have a say, but it made Angel’s choices a lot clearer. At the very least, Oliver needed to explain why he didn’t discuss prison with her. Oliver needed to say he feared Felicity would change his mind. We needed a line like, “I couldn’t do it if I woke up with you one more morning.” Hell, just plagiarizes it.

Despite Stephen’s assertions this was the most emotional scene ever between Oliver and Felicity, I didn’t feel it.

Maybe it was the way the scene was shot. Felicity kneeling, rather than sitting across the table and holding Oliver’s hand, felt awkward. Stephen Amell tends to like the scenes where he’s allowed to emote more. The airplane scene in 3x20 is a great example of this. I thought Emily and Stephen’s acting was wonderful, but something took me out of it. My issue was probably with the dialogue – not with what was said, but what wasn’t.

My frustration with Marc and Wendy’s writing is there’s often things left unsaid. We are so close to the characters saying what needs to be said, but ultimately they fall short. I needed Oliver and Felicity to have their “I Will Remember You” fight, but the scene didn’t even come close.

Maybe they will pick up this fight/discussion when Arrow premieres in Season 7, but I believe the time for Felicity to voice her anger over Oliver’s decision was in 6x23. Arrow is constantly putting Olicity discussions on hold because of storyline carryover/cliffhanger shenanigans and it gets frustrating. It seems odd for Felicity to say six months later, “Hey remember that time you made a life altering decision for me, went to prison for life, and left me alone to raise our son? That sucked.” But that’s Arrow for you.

I don’t view this lie in the same lens as the lie about William.

I know I know, but I have reasons. Samantha gave Oliver an ultimatum and I wouldn’t have much respect for the man if he walked out on his child.

However, there was something selfish in Oliver’s lie to Felicity. He was able to spend time with his son and maintain his relationship with his fiancé without dealing with any consequences. The lie allowed Oliver to have his cake and eat it too.

There is no cake here. There isn’t even a can of frosting.

Source: olivergifs

Oliver is giving up everything and everyone he’s ever loved. The very definition of selfless is putting the needs and wishes of other’s above one’s own. The William lie exposed trust issues, Oliver’s guilt over Robert Queen’s death, his never ending need to self destruct, and a refusal to let Felicity all the way in. I don’t see any of that present now. This is good because it would unravel all the hard work Oliver did in Season 5, particularly 5x20.

This isn’t about trust, or being afraid of the darkest parts of himself, or self destruction, or refusing to let Felicity all the way in, or unworthiness. This decision is 100% about falling on the sword and protecting those he loves. Okay, let’s agree it’s 90% about falling on the sword and protecting others. The other 10% is Oliver “Everything Is Always My Fault Even Though It Really Isn’t” Queen. Guilt is absolutely playing a role in Oliver’s decision.

Oliver: I had to look at the way I’ve been doing things. It’s not working. I lost my city. I lost my team. There’s a penance for that.

What’s so sad is Oliver truly did nothing wrong. What happened with the city and the team was mostly out of his control. His team abandoned Oliver primarily because they all regressed to a toddler like state and threw a never ending tantrum. Oliver offered apologies long ago that were refused. The newbies, and Diggle, chose to leave and that choice was outside Oliver’s control.

But Oliver always looks inward rather than place the blame on others. He’s much more comfortable holding himself accountable than he is holding others to the same standard. This is why Oliver is more than a hero. He’s a martyr.

I do not believe Oliver is hitting another self destruct button on his life like when he slept with Sara and brought her on the Queen’s Gambit or when he lied to Felicity about William. The darker parts of Oliver’s soul are not driving his decision - his light is. Oliver’s protectiveness, self sacrificing, and honor led him here. He’s not running from who he is. Oliver is being the very best version of himself. This is what a hero looks like.

Source: arrowdaily

But that doesn’t make it any easier on Felicity.

Source: oliverfelicitygifs

I went back and reread some of my 5x20 review and landed on this:

If Felicity gave it time, if she let things continue the way they were, then she’d fall right back into his arms. It’s so easy to love him. It’s so easy to lose herself in him. Felicity couldn’t do that because she didn’t want to wake up twenty years later, with her marriage crumbling around her, because Oliver Queen abandoned her again to another lie or another choice that didn’t include her. Felicity doesn’t want to become a ghost in her own life.

But isn’t that exactly what happened? Didn’t Oliver abandon Felicity to another lie, another choice, that didn’t include her? Didn’t he leave Felicity on an island all over again?

Yes, that’s exactly what happened. I expect Felicity will express some anger towards Oliver when Season 7 premieres. She sure as hell is entitled to it.

However, it won’t be a deal breaker like it was in Season 4. Felicity isn’t walking away this time because she knows exactly what she walked into with this marriage. We already know Felicity’s stance because she told us or, that is, she told William in 6x11.

This is probably the most important monologue of Season 6. Even though Felicity is talking about Oliver the scene isn’t really about him. This scene is about how Felicity views loving Oliver, marriage, and making peace with the life they’ve chosen.

Felicity knows, without equivocation, what it means to be married to a hero. The fear of losing Oliver is what kept Felicity from marrying him.

She thought if they could just keep the status quo and not rock the boat then she would never have to face losing him again. And Felicity has discovered there’s many ways to lose Oliver Queen.

However, she remembered life is precious.

Felicity would rather live knowing everything can be taken from her in an instant, while holding on to Oliver, rather than live life without him.

But Felicity recognizes Oliver’s imperfections.

He’s made many mistakes that have torn their relationship apart. Oliver swore he would never lie to Felicity again and yet… here we are.

Felicity predicted this day in her break up with Oliver and Felicity Smoak is never wrong. Back then it was a knowledge Felicity couldn’t live with. It’s the reason she walked. She couldn’t be married to a man who at any point would leave her on an island. She couldn’t be married to a man who would exclude her from decisions. She couldn’t be married to a man who would lie to her.

Or can she?

The truth is we all have pieces of ourselves that are hardwired a certain way. We all have imperfections that creep up no matter how hard we work on them. Those imperfections rear their ugly heads in our relationships and, for better or worse, we argue again and again over them with our partners. There is no perfect human being. Love is about dealing with the bad in our partner as much as it is about loving our partner for all the good.

For all of Oliver’s faults, and there are many, what remains hardwired is his protectiveness. Oliver Queen loves deeply and there are no limits to the lengths he will go to protect those he loves. Oliver will make sure that he is the one to fall on the sword because there have been too many times he’s watched loved ones fall before him.

I joked in my 6x22 review it was almost as if Oliver and Felicity were competing over who gets to die for who. This is a competition Oliver will always win. He will lie, cheat, beg, borrow, steal and, yes, even kill to ensure Felicity’s safety. There is no line Oliver won’t cross.

Felicity danced with her darkness in Season 5, but she still didn’t come close to Oliver and that’s the way he’s determined to keep it. He will sacrifice his light to save hers. The only thing more unbearable than going to prison is Felicity going to prison. Oliver doesn’t fear his own death, but the deaths of those he loves. This is what will always drive him. There is no changing this. This is simply who Oliver Queen is.

What happened just before Oliver went to Agent Watson? Felicity almost suffocated from smoke inhalation. Oliver was carrying her lifeless body in his arms. She was prepared to die to stop Diaz and almost did. So, there are no limits to what Oliver had to do to make sure that didn’t happen again. And yes that includes lying.

Does it make lying okay? NO OF COURSE NOT.

I’m saying this is an imperfection in Oliver. He has a God complex. All heroes do.

Felicity told Oliver post coital in 5x20 if she could understand why he lied then maybe she could find her way back to him. Felicity understands why Oliver lied then and she understands why Oliver lied now.

He is imperfect, but it comes from a pure place. His choices are not always good, but his intentions are. Oliver Queen is an imperfect heart trying to love perfectly.

Source: oliverfelicitygifs

Felicity knew there would come a day where Oliver would sacrifice it all for the greater good because that’s what this life requires. That’s what it means to be married to a hero. Oliver Queen is selfless.

Source: oliverfelicitygifs

That selflessness means sacrifice for Felicity too. It means there will be times she is alone on an island. Felicity said I do anyway because an imperfect life with Oliver Queen is better than a life without him. Oliver’s selflessness is what Felicity loves most about her husband… and what she hates most.

Derek: I promised that I’d love you –

Meredith: Even when you hate me.

Derek: Even when I hate you. (Grey’s Anatomy, 8x03)

Felicity allows her husband to be who he is. She loves Oliver for who he is and in spite of who he is. She shares this man with the city he’s sworn to protect. Felicity understands Oliver will never entirely belong to her or the life they’ve built together as long as he’s Green Arrow. The mission will always come first.

But Felicity chose this life and Oliver Queen. She will go into witness protection, with her son, and face this island. She won’t be entirely alone. Felicity will have William and he will have her, but that’s a cold comfort to what lays before her – a life without Oliver.

Source: oliverfelicitygifs

This will be a long, dark, lonely and painful journey for Felicity. A journey she wasn’t given a say in. As angry as Felicity will be at Oliver, and she should let him have it, she will also understand why because she would do the same. Felicity would do anything to protect her family and city. Her sacrifices are equally selfless as Oliver’s. It’s why they are a perfect match. They are both heroes.

Source: gothsmoak and olivergifs

Quentin Lance, Black Siren and Oliver Queen

Quentin finally dies for his fake daughter due to his overwhelming guilt over his real daughter’s death. A few therapy visits would have helped immensely and would have been far less costly Q, but go off I guess.

Arrow failed to write any meaningful storylines post L*urel’s death for Quentin. I had hope when he dated Mama Smoak, but that went nowhere. He was reduced to a prop for Bl*ck S*ren this season and I’d rather see him gone than used like that.

Arrow keeps flip flopping back and forth between Bl*ck S*ren being Quentin’s daughter to Bl*ck S*ren not being Quentin’s daughter so much I have to take migraine pills.

Sadly, the flip flop is all they have with the character. This push/pull with the redemption arc is all Bl*ck S*ren has going for her. If they settle on evil then it renders Quentin’s sacrifice pointless. If they settle on good then the writers are back in their LL writing box and I firmly believe they’d rather eat their young than go back there.

So we flip flop. Sometimes Bl*ck S*ren is acknowledged as Quentin’s daughter. Sometimes the other characters go out of their way to point out Bl*ck S*ren is NOT his daughter. Sigh. I just don’t care anymore.

Let’s be clear that BS is an absolute waste of character space regardless.

Source: katie-mcgraths

The entire reason Felicity and William are going into witness protection is because she decided to use her Canary Cry against Diaz for the first time all season and at exactly the wrong moment.

Did BS really believe the fall off the roof would kill Diaz? It looked like she pushed him off a waterslide. I guess we can add stupid to the long list of unpleasant characteristics.

The only upside of that scene was seeing Oliver’s crazy angry eyes. I’m gonna abuse this gif.

Source: katie-mcgraths

He wanted to throw her off the building right along with Diaz. Have at it, big boy. God bless.

Before Quentin runs off to save Evil L*urel, he and Oliver reminisces about how long they’ve known each other and how far their relationship has come. Yup, we get it Arrow. Quentin is going to die. No need to hang a neon sign.

Quentin not so casually mentions his pacemaker to Oliver (Ha! Remember that 2x23-3x01 plot line that was never spoken of again until now?!), so Felicity is able to track Quentin’s and thereby zero in on Diaz. It’s one of the few times Quentin’s crazy actually made sense and proved useful. Way to out on a high note Captain.

Unfortunately, he’s a moron because he jumps in front of the bullet meant for Evil L*urel. He just stayed put and BS moved a little to the right we would have a mortal wound. A girl can dream.

Quentin’s willingness to put it all on the line for his fake daughter leads to a very nice goodbye scene with Oliver.

Source: @olivergifs

Both Stephen Amell and Paul Blackthorne brought their A game. Oliver tells Quentin he’s like a father to him and it made me feel all the things. Yup, I was a sobbing mess.

See? Oliver didn’t need to marry LL for this father/son relationship to develop between these two men.

That road began in 1x23 when Felicity defended The Hood to Quentin and he began to see the vigilante in a different light. Oliver and Quentin managed to carve out a relationship that had absolutely nothing to do with L*urel and it’s one of the series best arcs.

All Oliver Queen ever wanted was to earn Quentin’s forgiveness and respect. It was a long, difficult and painful road, but they eventually arrived at a place Oliver never dreamed possible.

Not only did Quentin forgive and respect Oliver, he loved him like a son.

It’s easy to forget Oliver Queen is an orphan. Quentin was Oliver’s foster father in more ways than one. Everything Oliver said to Quentin was true. One of the primary reasons Oliver is a good father to William is because he had Quentin Lance as an example. One of the reasons Oliver is the man he is today is because Quentin Lance was in his life.

So this is goodbye Quentin.

I believe it was time to let the character go, but I will miss his snarky yet on point remarks about the ridiculousness of Arrow and his sage wisdom.

I’m sorry Arrow didn’t give Paul Blackthorne more to do because he is an acting rock star who had the power to make me cry whenever he felt like it. We’ll miss you Paul, but I am excited to see what he does next.

Source: sirenfrost

One thing I am super ticked off about is Sara didn’t get a goodbye scene with her father, ya know, his ACTUAL DAUGHTER. The real one who is alive and standing in the hallway!!!!!

What was the point of having Caity Lotz on the show if she didn’t get a scene with Paul Blackthorne? I’m a big Sara/LL fan, but that little chat with BS in the hallway could happen anytime. Rene rated a goodbye scene with Lance, but nope, not his daughter. Honestly, this show makes absolutely no sense sometimes.

John Diggle

Oliver makes up a second Green Arrow suit (I want to know who makes those. I feel like this is an important character we are not meeting) and offers it to Diggle during his farewell tour. Diggle turns it down because their “disagreement was never about the uniform.”

This is true. It was about Diggle’s mid life crisis.

Diggle: I really thought I wanted this mantle. It means something. You’ve made it mean something. When our city looks at it – it gives them hope Oliver. It would be diminished if there was more than one.

So now Diggle doesn’t want to be Green Arrow? Or he wants to be Green Arrow if he’s the only one? My head hurts. Can we just move on from this ridiculous storyline?

Put on the Spartan suit Diggle and come home. As far as the Green Arrow giving hope to the city – we are talking about the same city prosecuting Oliver right? The sentiment is nice, but Diggle doesn’t exactly have his finger on the pulse on the will of the people.

Oliver became almost everything Diggle ever asked him to be. He was a husband, father, mayor and vigilante all at once. Oliver becoming the best version of himself caused Diggle to spiral. If John is not counseling Oliver on how to beat back his demons then where does that leave him? John Diggle’s mission was Oliver Queen, but the student became the teacher this season and John couldn’t handle it. Diggle lost his way when Oliver found his. He no longer knew what his purpose was. Diggle couldn’t see that even though Oliver may need him differently it doesn’t mean he needs John any less.

Hopefully, Oliver selflessly going to prison for everyone on the team and securing them immunity, will remind Diggle who Oliver Queen is. He is a man worthy of John’s respect, admiration, friendship and love. Prison will present a huge emotional challenge to Oliver and he’ll need Diggle’s guidance more than ever.

However, when Oliver emerges from the darkness of prison and finds his way back to the light of heroism, I hope John emerges from dark as well. Hopefully, John is able to move past his mid life crisis and find a purpose beyond Oliver Queen. Maybe Diggle will realize being Spartan is plenty of purpose. Maybe he’ll discover something new like Felicity did with her company. I want Diggle to find whatever he’s searching for because Oliver Queen casts a long shadow. Oliver’s light should illuminate the man Diggle helped mold rather than blind him. Diggle will see Oliver clearly again when he sees himself clearly again.

The Newbies

Does anyone understand why Oliver is apologizing so much? What in the sweet mother of freaking Moses did he do that requires this much apologizing?

Source:olivergifs

Dinah and Rene finally cough up a sort of apology and admit to admiring Oliver, but only after he apologies to them for what feels like the tenth time. Why did it take so long to get here? The simple answer is a 23 episode season and there couldn’t be “peace” until the final episode. But there is very little difference between Oliver’s apology in 6x10 to his apology now.

The newbies acted like entitled, whiny and violent brats for the better part of the season. Suddenly flipping the off switch to their petulant behavior and offering Oliver a couple measly compliments doesn’t get it done for me.

There wasn’t even a conversation with Curtis, which can be viewed one of two ways. 1) He’s not a blip on Oliver Queen’s radar screen and the character doesn’t rate a conversation or 2) The writers are blind to Curtis’ abhorrent behavior and think he has nothing to apologize for which is INSANITY.

These people do not deserve Oliver Queen’s selflessness, but he didn’t do it because they deserved it. Oliver did it because the newbies needed protection. It says far more about Oliver’s character than it does theirs.

My sincerest hope is they feel an extreme amount of guilt and realize what jackasses they are. Their finger pointing, fits, and fighting all contributed to Oliver ending up in jail. Rene’s betrayal is the primary reason the FBI zeroed in on Oliver in the first place. The newbies have a massive uphill climb to redemption and I remain skeptical the damage done to the characters can be repaired. Time will tell.

Stray Thoughts

Oliver giving up his happy life with Felicity and William, a life without the mask, just sets up his endgame even more (or what I think will be his endgame).

I’m hoping there’s more to this “deal” Oliver made with Watson. Maybe some undercover work like my buddy @callistawolf suggested.

Anatoly’s excuse for missing the raid is Big Belly Burger. That is all kinds of awesome. Never change Anatoly.

Longbow hunters mention! Hello Season 7 villains!

Quentin should list L*urel as “Evil L*urel” in his phone to help him tell the difference BECAUSE THERE IS A FREAKING DIFFERENCE.

“Or L*urel dies a second time.” YOU CAN ONLY DIE ONCE YOU TWATWAFFLES. THIS WOULD BE THE FIRST DEATH FOR THIS L*UREL BECAUSE SHE IS A DIFFERENT L*UREL.

“I gotta say they are a lot easier to operate when they aren’t being hacked.” I love this perfect cup of fruit salad.

Rene did make me cry with that goodbye call to his kid.

How stupid are you FBI agent? You don’t stand there and look at the fire as it comes blazing toward you. WE CALLED THESE GUYS FOR HELP? WHY????

“From what Oliver tells me she’s not even your daughter.” Don’t you love how on Oliver’s “I was wrong about everything” tour he sticks to “BS is not L*urel and she is evil.” Awesomesauce.

“Would you be taking this risk with our L*urel or was this the kind of risk that got her killed in the first place?” Quentin needs to rewatch Season 4 because it was time for LL to go.

Oliver stops Diaz with a few measly punches and IT SHOULD HAVE HAPPENED WEEKS AGO.

The FBI didn’t help very much. Oliver and Felicity figured out a way to get the list of all Diaz’s city officials. Watson brought some man power to the raid on the precinct, which Oliver could have gotten from the many superhero shows he’s launched. Furthermore, I thought the whole point to expanding the team was so that Oliver had help. So, why are these dingbat newbies around if they can’t take down a couple cops?

Sara & BS scene only bolstered my belief that BS belongs on Legends of Tomorrow.

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megaphonemonday · 6 years

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my worst enemy

romanceisreal: Neither of them can get the baby to sleep so they start enlisting team mates to come over and help

Did I steal at least the inspiration for this premise from The Office? Definitely. Am I proud of that? Eh.

read on ao3

It was entirely possible that at the grand old age of 41, before he’d even managed to make it onto the ballot for the Baseball Hall of Fame or master the art of the one-handed diaper change, Mike Lawson had finally lost his mind.

Sleep-deprivation-induced insanity was a thing, right? They—and he didn’t know who exactly, but he was willing to bet someone out there believed this—said that too many nights without hitting a REM cycle could do that. Mike had to have left that particular benchmark in the dust at least a week ago.

He’d either lost his mind or he’d actually crashed the car on his way home from the grocery store and this was some hallucination courtesy of a concussion and an infusion of the good shit at the hospital. Because he definitely hadn’t stumbled his way through laying up his haul, probably stowing boxes of spaghetti in the freezer and the Eggos in the pantry, in his fatigue and eagerness to get upstairs for Ruby’s bedtime only to be confronted by... this.

Because this could not be real. Not unless some very serious brain damage was at play.

It was the only way to explain what Mike was witnessing in the nursery. It had to be his eyes playing tricks on him. His exhausted brain had finally given up the charade and melted into a puddle of goo that’d come dribbling out his ears any minute.

That, after all, was just as plausible as the scene he’d just walked out on: Ruby Baker-Lawson for once sound asleep at her designated bedtime.

Of course, that wasn’t what made him turn on his heel and go in search of her mother. That, if anything, was a dream come true. Had he mentioned how goddamn long it had been since he’d had a good night’s sleep?

(If he were less tired, he’d remember that he’d started keeping track on the calendar on his phone. As it was, Mike was just relatively sure it’d been too fucking long.)

The problem was who, exactly, had finally, miraculously, gotten her down for the count.

It wasn’t Ruby’s mother or father; their kid had proven over and over again that she had little respect for his or Ginny’s authority.

(Or their begging and pleading, for that matter.)

It wasn’t Al, who’d been more than happy to adopt yet another grandchild, in spite of the fact he already had a horde of his own.

It wasn’t even Blip or Evelyn, which would’ve probably stung a little. In the interest of reintroducing his daughter to something even approaching a regular sleep schedule, though, he’d learn to get over it.

He was less sure he’d get over this.

Mike wasn’t sure how to even begin wrapping his brain around the sight of Livan fucking Duarte in the nursery— settled as comfortably into the rocking chair as if he’d been the one to spend hours cursing over the incomprehensible instructions just to construct the damn thing—a sleeping Ruby nestled into the crook of his arm.

Was it too late to ask for that total mental breakdown?

“Ginny!” Mike hissed, probably too loud considering his daughter was soundly asleep for the first time in what felt like weeks just a room away. He wanted answers. Right fucking now.

Which, okay. If it was possible that Mike had actually lost his mind, it was more than possible that he was overreacting.

He knew this. Somewhere in the last reasonable part of his mind—the part that wasn’t operating solely on day-old coffee, adrenaline, and three hours of dozing, one ear always cocked for fussing from his baby girl—was fully aware that this was not the hill he wanted to die on.

(If he had to pick, he’d definitely go with something more important. Like the superiority of Empire Strikes Back over Return of the Jedi. Or implementing Pants-less Thursdays in the Baker-Lawson household like he’d tried before Ginny got pregnant.

At least as long as Ruby was too little to notice. How else was she going to get a younger sibling?

Well, given his track record, in a multitude of ways, but this would definitely up the odds, right?)

Problem was: that part, that utterly reasonable part of him that he wanted so desperately to listen to? It was weak. Defenseless. Beaten down by weeks of failure to get his daughter to do one of the four things all babies were constitutionally designed to excel at: sleep.

So much so that every other part of him—the ones that had turned a little ruthless in the face of too little rest and too much stress—had no problem squashing it like a bug.

Poor thing. It never even stood a chance.

His wife, as relentlessly productive as usual, though she had to be operating in the same thick fog of fatigue as him, stuck her head out of the laundry room but stepped into the hall when she caught sight of his thunderous expression. She padded along the plush runner, wafting the soothing scent of dryer sheets and warm linen as she approached.

Mike didn’t let himself be lulled out of his anger in spite of the way she smelled exactly the way he’d always imagined home would and looked even better. (It was always something of a marvel that Ginny’d actually agreed to hitch her wagon to his, not least because she still managed to look like a goddamn supermodel with bags under her eyes and dried spit up on her shirt.) He steeled himself, didn’t let the indignation sputter and die, instead stoking it to a crackling roar.

How could she have called him? Of all the people who would’ve dropped what they were doing to help them out—and Mike could even admit that they probably needed it—it had to be Livan?

“Seriously?” he demanded, unwilling or unable to translate his—God, there was no word for it but—betrayal into more something more eloquent.

He didn’t really need to, though. They knew each other too well—which was almost always a good thing, even if something ugly was stirring in the pit of Mike’s stomach now—for there to be any question of what he meant.

Her jaw squared, shoulders drawing back as she braced for his response to her answer: “He’s babysitting. So we can get some sleep.”

Mike snorted, even if the thought of actually getting to sleep with Ginny in the same bed at the same time nearly made him tear up in desperation. It’d been too fucking long since he’d had that and goddamn it, he missed it.

Livan Duarte, hotheaded hotshot still tearing up the NL West and coaxing Ginny through her starts, had lowered himself to babysit? And Mike was supposed to just go to sleep with him in his house? Jesus, what had the world come to?

Theoretically, it wasn’t such a bad idea. It was pretty brilliant, actually. Mike would just chalk it up to sleep deprivation that he hadn’t come up with it himself.

It was the reality of it all that bothered him. Livan had already taken one job from Mike. He couldn’t have this one too.

If Mike were just a little less exhausted, he was pretty sure he could put up a better fight. Then again, if Mike, or Ginny for that matter, were a little less exhausted, there’d be nothing to fight over.

He’d been tired before, but this was something else. Worse than any burnout from a playoff push, worse than back to back doubleheaders in the depths of July, worse than his bouts of insomnia during his separation from Rachel. Worse because there was no end in sight; he and Ginny were responsible for this mess—under ordinary circumstances Mike would never refer to his six-month-old daughter as a “mess” unless she’d managed to blow out yet another diaper, but he figured it might be allowed in this particular instance. Ruby was theirs to raise and love unconditionally and, yeah, at the moment, grit their teeth and deal with until she eventually grew up and moved out.

Which, to be clear, Mike still wanted to come only after she’d graduated or maybe turned at least 35. Still, it was a little hard to remember that sometimes.

Because for what seemed like the past eternity—but could only have been a month tops or they’d already be dead instead of just dead on their feet—little Ruby Baker-Lawson had been running her parents ragged. His own progeny.

Spawn seemed more accurate lately.

God knew Mike loved Ruby more than life itself—remember: no moving out until after she had her own 401K and maybe not even then—but would it really kill her to cut them a break? To go the fuck to sleep and stay asleep for more than an hour or three at a time?

Given Ruby’s continued refusal to do so—even in the face of her parents’ increasingly desperate tactics: swaddling, long car rides, the rock n’ play she was rapidly outgrowing, sprawling her bare-skinned and squirming against Mike’s chest to be lulled by his breathing, endless circuits of the house as Ginny bounced and rocked her into drowsiness—Mike suspected that it just might.

As soon as they thought they had her down, settled into her crib, white noise machine whirring, and began to sneak out of the room, the baby would begin to wail, upset at finding herself left alone.

On darker days, Mike found himself wondering from which parent she’d inherited her clear terror of abandonment.

It wasn’t that Mike would rather endure his daughter’s sobs, his heart broke every time her little lip so much as wobbled, but did it really have to be—

“Him?” he hissed, not bothering to keep his voice down. So what if Ruby had been quiet the whole time he’d been home and this woke her up again? Apparently, they’d hired a goddamn Cuban manny without Mike even realizing. God, how long had he been at the grocery store? “Ginny, Jesus! You called him? To our house? Where we live?”

"Neither of us are gonna be living here much longer if we can’t get Ruby to sleep through the night! We’re gonna lose our minds, Lawson,” she hissed right back, albeit at a far more reasonable volume. Any louder, though, and Mike was sure she might’ve just given in and yelled. Clearly, neither of them were at their best tonight.

Well, at least he wasn’t the only one entertaining that possibility. Maybe going crazy wouldn’t be so bad if Ginny was in it with him. It sent a funny wave of warmth rushing through him; he really did love this woman. Wouldn’t trade her or her ability to understand him for anything, not even a solid eight hours.

“Besides,” Ginny continued, apparently oblivious to the rush of affection she’d just inspired in her husband, or she wouldn’t ask, “who else should I have called?”

“Anyone!” Mike was aware there was a distinct whine to his voice, but he didn’t really care.

Out of all the people she could have asked to come lend a hand, (Blip and Ev, Salvi, Al and, weirdly because he had no kids of his own, Omar all had pretty good track records with Ruby, even if only for short periods. They were better than what Ginny and Mike were currently managing. Some other time, when Mike’s brain wasn’t shrouded in a haze of sleep deprivation, he would feel worse about the fact that his baby only went to sleep for men who weren’t him.) she had to pick the smirking asshole who’d taken his job.

After he retired on his own terms, of course, but it still fucking rankled.

She rolled her eyes. “You never complain when Omar babysits.”

Which was—

Well, absolutely true. But for good reasons!

For one, Omar had never set himself up as the Baby Whisperer, easily getting Ruby to cooperate and fall asleep where neither of her parents could. Omar definitely hadn’t looked up at Mike’s entrance into the nursery, baby cradled peacefully in his arms, smirked, and said, “Heard you needed my help, old man.”

Because for two, Mike actually scared Omar.

That’d never been true of Livan.

Of course, now Livan had even less reason to be afraid. He had an ace in the hole.

The kid loved him. She loved lots of things—strained carrots and her stuffed turtle, Ginny’s dimples and his beard—but there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she loved Livan Duarte.

It was a bit of a sore point.

Even before this latest bout of sleeplessness, Ruby always lit up whenever the Cuban catcher happened to walk by when Mike took her to Petco to visit Ginny. Livan, in turn, was slightly less obnoxious while interacting with Ruby; he grinned rather than smirked and it didn’t matter if he spoke to her in crooning Spanish because it wasn’t like she really understood him anyway.

If it were anyone else, Mike would’ve been happy to admit Ruby babbling in excitement as she was danced around the Padres’ clubhouse was pretty fucking cute.

Except it was Livan and, seriously, fuck that guy.

Still, Mike didn’t really have much interest in delving into his lingering resentment and jealousy of the guy who’d taken his job.

So, he replied, “Because Omar’s not gonna teach our kid Spanish pickup lines before she can even walk.”

Ginny laughed, a short, almost hysterical sound that immediately had Mike catching hold of her hands to draw her in close. She took the invitation gratefully, but didn’t collapse against him the way he really wanted. She held herself up, looking him straight in the eye as she asked, “What did you want me to do? Neither of us have slept for more than an hour at a time all week.”

“She’s just reverse cycling,” he tried, feeble and well aware of it.

Sensing the flicker in his resolve, Ginny shifted her grip and twined their fingers together. The cool, platinum band of her wedding ring against his skin flicked a switch somewhere deep in his gut. Immediately, his hammering heart rate dropped, the flood of anger and desperation leaking away. She looked up at him, big, brown eyes weighted down by heavy shadows. Mike doubted his were much better.

“I’m this close to losing it, Lawson,” she said, honesty and a little shame coating her words. Automatically, he squeezed her hand, bringing a flicker of a smile to her face. Still, Ginny shook her head. “Livan’s the only one to reliably get her to stay down for more than an hour or two at a time, and she’s so little. She needs to sleep. If that means he has more opportunity to push your buttons, I’m willing to put up with it.”

“Because it’s not your buttons he’s pushing,” he muttered.

“Mike,” she pleaded, pressing her forehead into his shoulder and otherwise sagging against him. His arm wrapped around her waist, support and comfort all at once. He marveled, not for the first time, that in six months she’d already worked off all the baby weight. He didn’t necessarily miss the extra softness, though it’d been nice while it was there. Honestly, he loved Ginny any way he could have her. Besides. Her rack? Still phenomenal. A fact he could appreciate all the better with her pressed to him. He did manage to drag his thoughts out of the gutter to listen to the rest of her request. “I need to sleep. We need to sleep.”

She sounded so exhausted, so close to throwing in the towel in a way he wasn’t used to, not from Ginny fucking Baker, that he immediately caved.

“I know,” he murmured, rubbing soothing circles up and down her back. Ginny sighed, and Mike was sure that if he kept it up, they’d fall asleep standing right there in the hall, mere steps from their bedroom. When her arms came up to wrap around his waist, and she snuggled in, warm and close and perfect, he thought he might not even mind.

Except, that was the moment Livan chose to emerge from the nursery, cradling their sleeping baby—the love of Mike’s life right alongside her mother—and smirking that insufferable smirk of his. He raised a brow at the position he found them in, but otherwise managed to keep his thoughts to himself.

“Mami,” he murmured, low and concerned enough that Mike felt a stab of affection rush through him; anyone who cared about Ginny that much couldn’t be all terrible, “I thought I was here to babysit. Let you and the old man get some sleep. What are you still doing up?”

Ginny pulled away and any charitable thoughts Mike might have harbored went up like so much smoke.

“We’re going, we’re going,” she replied, tugging on Mike’s hand, to lead him to their room. He followed along, only a little grudging.

“You sure it had to be him?” he muttered, low enough to seem like he didn’t mean for Livan to hear it while still making absolutely sure he did.

Ginny just squeezed his hand. Livan, though, hadn’t quite learned when to keep his trap shut.

“Don’t be mad, Lawson,” he said, that god damn smirk somehow audible. “Your girl’s just got good taste.”

Whether he meant Ruby or her mother was up for debate. Neither option left Mike feeling warm or fuzzy, though.

He glared but still allowed Ginny to pull him away, into their dark bedroom. Which was made only darker when she shut the door, cutting off the hall light and any more snark from their babysitter.

Smart move.

In the dark with just his wife to worry about—for all his faults, Livan could handle a sleeping baby on his own—the world seemed to slow down. Mike wasn’t quite so aware of the way his pulse rushed in his ears, became more attuned to Ginny’s quiet breaths filling the space, the warmth of her hand still clasped in his.

At the foot of the bed, she turned back to him. Her hands skated up his arms, over his shoulders, fingers finally lacing behind his neck to hold him just where she wanted.

Mike waited.

Not for long.

In the weak light filtering in through the windows, she leaned up to press a less than chaste kiss against his mouth. It didn’t take much convincing for MIke to sink into it, even with a cocky Cuban somewhere outside their door.

It didn’t matter that he couldn’t quite remember the last time he’d done more than swig mouthwash; Ginny’s tongue was curled around his, sweet as the first time he’d ever kissed her. For the first time in weeks, Mike was at his leisure to reciprocate, working a hand into his wife’s—God, he was never gonna get tired of that; Ginny Baker was his goddamn wife—hair and drawing her in close. She came eagerly, leaning against him the way she had in the hall, though there was nothing weary about her now. She licked eagerly into him, rising on her tiptoes to get her own taste.

For once, nothing interrupted the moment.

For once, Mike got to languidly undress Ginny, fingertips skimming over miles of smooth, brown skin, and enjoy her hands against his arms and chest and thighs as she did the same for him.

And, yeah, once they made it into bed, they were too fucking tired to do much more than curl together and lazily kiss until their eyes and lips grew too heavy to do anything other than give in to the heady call of sleep. But Mike wasn’t going to complain.

Sure, it was Livan playing babysitter to his daughter, but there were worse things in the world. Especially since it meant Mike was going to wake up after a full night’s sleep with Ginny Baker in his arms. Maybe, come morning, they’d even be able to finish what they started. A little morning sex would more than cancel out putting up with a smirking Cuban in his house.

Plus, once he was properly rested, Mike could start coming up with some appropriate payback. Livan could joke about Ginny’s, or Ruby’s as yet unproven, taste in men all he wanted.

Just like Mike could bribe his former teammates to replace all of Livan’s expensive hair products with glitter-infused knockoffs.

He chuckled in spite of himself.

From her place draped over his chest, Ginny let out a sleepy sigh, nuzzling her cheek over his heart as she settled more firmly against him. Mike didn’t bother reining in his beaming smile as he dropped one last kiss on her forehead and closed his eyes, arms tightening around the love of his life.

Didn’t matter how satisfying it would eventually be; payback could wait. He had something much better to focus on now.

#bawson #bawson fic #pitch #pitch fic #i wrote something #i am 95% sure #all of my kidfic #takes place in the same time line #i haven't gone back to check #re: continuity #but from now on #that's what i'm thinking

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wack-ashimself · 2 years

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I have been fired for refusing to sign contracts and/or trying to 'unionize' 3 times now...

#1-Worked in radio (citadel). 1 year contract. 1 year up, I wanted a raise. 'Absolutely not. Unheard of. NO ONE does that.' I did that. Refused to sign. Over the course of 8 months, they slowly fired me. First took my on air job, then my editing job. I was 'on call' but they admitted they'd never call. Thankfully, karma. I cashed out my 401k, which was invested in them, and a year later they went bankrupt, fired 1/3 of the staff, and massive pay cuts to the remaining staff.

#2-the WORST JOB I EVER WORKED IN MY LIFE. Universal printing in bay city, mi. Paid just above minimum wage (that's how they trick you. They promise you not minimum wage, then pay 30 cents above it. WHOA! Calm your checkbook), on your feet, in 100 degree+ temps ALL YEAR, packing and lifting heavy fragile boxes. They were SO CHEAP the only fans they had were pointed on the hot machines, they had NO railings for the boards we moved the product on (constant tips), and they had a skeleton crew to do it all. 3 days in, I was saying we should have been paid double. Again-worst job I EVER worked. Why wouldn't I say that? Day 4. I am called to the office. 'Dd you say we should pay you 16/hr?' Yeah, but that's for almost every job now. Cost of living and stuff. 'We're letting you go for unionizing.' Then they went into this whole sob story of how running a business is hard and how they already once declared bankruptcy. I bit my tongue, but to this day I wish I would have said 'then clearly you don't know how to run a fucking business, now do ya?' They also are still struggling to keep employees.

#3-the SHADIEST WAY I ever have been fired in my life. Big lots. 5 years of my life. I (when we had them) got the most customer/worker compliment cards more than people that were there decades. I was one of their hardest workers; I was TOLD that by management. I was never written up for anything outside calling in sick too many times in 90 days (dumb ass rule). 2 weeks after I started I was furniture manager cuz the guy just walked out. And I was furniture manager, on and off, for most of 5 years (they hired people who quit. Average time there till they quit? 3 months. Shortest? 3 days lol). In those 5 years, I ran furniture more than anyone. Guess what happened? 2 million dollar store to a 4.5 million dollar store when I left. I was one of the BEST EMPLOYEES that store, let alone corporation, ever had. Why was I let go? The ENTIRE 5 years I was there, I made direct and indirect complaints to management and corporate about safety and health standards. Nothing almost EVER changed from my complaints, but I wanted to at least say I tried. i was the guy everybody could trust to vent their frustrations to and, if need be, anonymously complain to corporate for them. I loved my coworkers, and they me. We WERE a family, if only cuz we had to have each other's backs cuz corporate wouldn't. Flashforward mid oct 2021. I had recently made my largest complaint yet. A 20 point list of some real issues we had, some I had never made a complaint about, some for the ENTIRE duration I was there. Like our bathrooms that had flooded consistently for 5 years. There was 100% something growing in the walls and floors, but they would not permanently fix it. Why? They would have to close the store to get the right repairs done, and they would NEVER EVER DO THAT. Anyways, some issues I had they DID fix. Why? Turns out they were BREAKING THE FUCKING LAW AND EVEN I DID NOT KNOW IT! Tons of fire safety issues. However, this time was different. They called me. HR called me. HR NEVER called me in FIVE YEARS OF COMPLAINTS. I didn't want to talk to them; everything they fixed was to save their asses, not make it better for my coworkers and I. They were, like usual, not going to fix anything important, so why talk to them? I avoided them. Then, while at work, I was forced by management to answer a call from HR. It didn't go well. #1 line I have heard from EVERYONE I complained to? 'If you don't like it, there's others jobs hiring....' ALWAYS pushing me to quit. NEVER pushing to make the job worth staying for. 3 minutes in and they're going 'you're going to have to quit being unprofessional.' And so I called them out. In which way? Was I being aggressive? Insulting? Cursing? How was I being unprofessional (I have a loud voice, and people assume that I am yelling. Nope. Just a loud MF)? I assumed it was my loud voice, cuz they would NOT answer me. They blew me off when I called them out. I KNEW it was going to go nowhere when I said 'big lots pays the minimum wage' and like a news reporter waiting for the person interviewing to screw up goes 'no no no no no. NONE of our stores pay the minimum wage.' To which I said paying just above it is nothing to brag about. Eventually, he let me go cuz 'I was being unprofessional' tho he would not clarify in which way, and I was happy to let him go being I never wanted to talk to him in the first place. Flash forward 1 week. Another call at work from hr. At work. Forced. New person. They seem a little bit more understanding, but then again, goes into this routine of 'ignore what I said, stick up for the store, and offer no resolutions.' WHY talk to me if nothing is going to change? And that's when it hit me. This was entrapment. They were looking for ANY reason to fire me cuz, they thought, with my complaints and issues that I was trying to unionize! (I mean, I did get them in almost trouble for breaking fire code laws) What!? No. I just wanted better treatment and safety standards for my coworkers and I. We deserve the bare minimum of safety, right? I finished up the call as soon as I could. I wasn't giving them more

ammo. Then...the slowest week I reflected on in years happened. Cuz...everyone above me (looking back) knew I was getting fired. There were signs. I even think they knew before the second phone call. Cuz they were being WAY too nice to me, WHILE avoiding me, WHILE not over working me. They wouldn't even look me in the eyes most of my final days. Looking back, I should have known but...I gave 1/6 of my life to this place. I thought they would try to have my back. But when it comes down to it, it was me or me and them. So I get it...A week after the 2nd call. My boss's boss's boss was in. He's never in. I knew something was up. Called into the office. 'We are letting you go immediately.' I was genuinely confused. I didn't think they had any ground to stand on. Why was I being fired? 'Aggression against a coworker.' WHAT!? WHO?! WHERE!? WHY!? WHEN!? (again, remember, NEVER written up for ANYTHING like this EVER). The guy firing me SINCERELY looked like he was told to fire me, get me out, and that was it cuz he had a deer in headlights look when I asked. He said 'call corporate, this is not a discussion.' WHAT!? HOW!? I was escorted off the grounds, terminated, told I was NEVER allowed on the property again (that was my first hint of unionizing threats at the time. Cuz not a single person I ever worked with in that building would say I was aggressive with them.) NONE OF THIS MADE SENSE. NONE! I live in low income housing, they needed to validate I didn't have a job, and they were given the run around too. According to big lots, I wasn't fired yet (3 weeks later). WHAT!? WHY!? Again, there are SO many shady variables that...I am equal parts confused but intrigued. I also was the ONLY ONE who didn't sign an arbitration agreement (which ONLY helps the store, so why would I? If you don't know what those are-they are agreements that if you feel the need to go to court in any way against the corporation, you go thru a 3rd party which 100% is trying to benefit the company). I feel like I am in a spy movie. Ran into a coworker, told him why I was fired, he laughed earnestly and goes 'no, but seriously, why?' Cuz even the IDEA of me being aggressive was funny to him. Cuz that's not me. Sure-I'll be aggressive online/in person if you are spreading hate; that shit needs to be shut down. But..that's not at all what was happening. Right to work just means right to fire. And they fired me cuz of my complaints being...too costly to the store, and too inspiring to my employees. Fuck-this is how bad it was. Somebody actually THANKED ME for my huge 20 point complaint list cuz some of the fixes they had been waiting on for years!!! But corporate refused to hear them. They ignore them. Not me. But they fired me. Not them. Go figure.

The only thing that makes me truly happy is I went out in full force style. There's NO WAY they can get away with what they were getting away with, at least on the scale they were. So hopefully it will be a little bit better for my coworkers....hopefully.

side note-complained to OSHA the day I was fired about the bathrooms. (I did not complain before cuz I didn't want to get fired, but now I had nothing to lose). Know what those fuckers did? Said cuz I made complaint on the day I was fired, I was no longer an employee, so they wouldn't look into my complaint. HOWEVER, they STRONGLY hinted I tell an excoworker to file an OSHA complaint over it. Yeah. I'll get more people fired, you jackasses.

So I filed a complaint with the better business bureau. It's in processing ;)

#mi #michigan #big lots #biglots #right to work #right to fire #universal printing #bay city #job #jobs #employer #citadel #radio #bbb #osha #retail

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likexporcelain · 6 years

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A Crack in Everything (Chapter 7/8) - Jonerys

Summary: Six years after their high school romance ended in emotional ruin, Daenerys Targaryen runs into Jon Snow by chance on Valentine's Day, forcing old memories to resurface. This sudden reunion could be cathartic, but it could also deepen the cracks already in their hearts. The question Daenerys grapples with is, will this all be worth it in the end?

Rating: Explicit

First 7 chapters up on Ao3 -- find more tags/warnings/notes there

The paper where my fingers pinched the check became damp with sweat despite the chilly room temperature. A tear had slipped from my cheek to land on the memo line where Robb had scribbled “Take care of yourself cuz.” I couldn't even allow myself a chuckle at the irony. I lowered the checks back into the kitchen drawer and pushed it shut. When my water glass was empty, I set it by the sink and padded across the hall to the bathroom, larger than mine but more old fashioned with tile instead of linoleum floors, a porcelain pedestal sink instead of a cheap plywood vanity, and a rusted claw-foot tub surrounded by a blue shower curtain instead of a skinny shower stall with a glass door. A little window above the toilet gave the room some morning light. I peed, then washed my hands and looked for mouth wash or maybe even an unopened toothbrush.

In the medicine cabinet, the first thing I saw were pill bottles. Lots of them. I couldn't help myself. I turned the bottles one by one so I could see each label. Heavy duty pain killers, not yet finished, but the bottles hadn't been refilled in months. An empty bottle of antibiotics. Klonopin, unfinished, recently refilled.

“Hey.”

With a start, I flipped around. Jon stood in the doorway in only his boxers, rubbing an eye with the back of his hand.

“Hi,” I replied softly. “Sorry. I was snooping a little.”

“It's okay.” He stepped into the bathroom and put his arms around me. I returned the embrace with my cheek against his shoulder, breathing in his stale morning scent like it was a newly bloomed rose.

“We take the same anxiety meds.”

He chuckled against my hair. “It's almost like we're related or something.”

Leaning back, I gave him a pointed look, though my mouth was smiling. “So we're making jokes about it now? I suppose that's progress.”

“Sorry.”

“Don't be.” I pulled Jon close again, hands splayed across his back. “We should be able to talk about it with each other. I don't like it, but I don't want to pretend with you either. We can't change who we are.”

My face turned warm as I stood against him, feeling my eyes begin to water again. His hand smoothed down my hair behind my head in slow strokes.

“What are you thinking about?”

“My family.” I sniffled, but that couldn't keep the first tear from falling. “My mom. My dad. Rhaegar. Do you think he really loved your mother?”

A stretch of silence was Jon's response and I wanted to take back the question. I leaned back against the sink and brought my arms around myself instead, but Jon's hand never left my hair, sliding down to twist the ends around his fingers.

“I don't know,” he eventually said. “I don't think my mom would have loved someone who didn't deserve it, though.”

“I hope you're right. I know he did bad things, but I don't want to believe he was a bad person. He must have been a little bit good, right?”

Jon nodded, but seemed unsure. I suppose we'd never be sure.

To break the solemn mood I'd started the day off with, I offered a small smile and said “I found your money drawer.”

His cheeks pinked as his head shook. “Robb. . . worries about me. And you know, in the Stark family, when you worry about someone, you send them money. He doesn't like me living on my own.”

“Has it been hard?”

“No. It's been nice being alone actually. Too nice. I think I want to be done with that now.”

Stepping forward, I brought my mouth to his, but before our lips could touch, I leaned back. “Do you have an extra toothbrush?”

He left the bathroom and managed to bring me back a brand new one, still in the package, from the closet of the tiny bedroom. We brushed our teeth side by side, and as mundane as the act was, it felt oddly intimate. A glimpse into what life would be like if I finally got to live with Jon Snow. Then we showered together – just showering, aside from the occasional open-mouthed kiss under the spray of water. I turned my back to Jon and he washed my hair. I wondered how long it would take to grow to the length it was in high school. Jon wouldn't say it, but I knew he preferred it long, and so did I.

After toweling off and throwing on a t-shirt and track pants, Jon told me he was going downstairs to smoke. I nodded and kissed him before he went, then began to dress myself, putting on my same khaki pants from yesterday but stealing one of Jon's black hoodies instead of wearing my Martell's yellow polo shirt. I had work again at noon, but I made the executive decision to call in sick. I wasn't sure if Daario believed me or not on the phone, but I didn't really care. Normally, fake-calling in sick would have given me a panic attack, but this time I was as calm as could be, because I knew that once I hung up, I would get to spend the rest of the day, and night, with Jon.

After sliding my phone into my pocket and slipping on my sneakers, I decided to get some air myself and left the apartment, heading down the stairs and through the secondary front door that lead out to the stoop in front of the building. Jon was sitting at the top of the steps, flicking ashes into a Folgers can. When I shut the door behind me, he turned and offered me a smile.

“You're so beautiful,” he told me as I sat down beside him. My arm went around his and I rested my cheek on the curve of his shoulder.

“Hush.”

After Jon put out his cigarette, we remained on the stoop, sitting together in comfortable silence. A man in pajamas was walking his dog across the street. A couple of joggers were on their way toward the nearest path to the beach. Light Sunday morning traffic interrupted the songs of birds perched in trees along the sidewalk. A few minutes went by before Jon said “I've been thinking about something.”

“That's a good sign,” I gently teased.

“I've been thinking that we should get married. If we get married, I can transfer my G. I. Bill to you and you can go back to school for free.”

And that was how Jon Snow proposed to me. Sitting on the steps outside his apartment, eyes watching the world in front of us with his hand holding mine. I lifted my head and blinked at him, wondering if he had taken some of those pain pills without me noticing, but he looked calm and when he turned to me, his eyes were clear and unwavering.

“Jon. . .” My heart did a flip in my chest. “I don't need you to pay for me to go to school. That's not what I want. I don't want anything from you except you.”

“If we're going to be together, you're going to get things from me, Daenerys. That's just how it works.”

“I don't have anything to give you.”

“That's a joke, right?” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to my temple. “When you're making bank as a world famous whatever it is you want to be, I'll finally get to fulfill my lifelong dream of being the world's sexiest domesticated househusband.”

I snorted a laugh, grinning ear to ear.

“Besides,” Jon continued, voice turning serious again, “I wouldn't be paying for it. The Army would be paying for it. I almost died for those assholes. I had to watch friends die for them, and watch them die all over again almost every fucking night while I sleep. The least they can do is pay for you to go to school. You were always supposed to go to school.”

I slid my hand out of his so that I could put my arm around his back. “That money is supposed to be for you, Jon. You deserve it more than I do.”

“That's not true. And either way, I'm not going to college. I don't want to go to college. I never did.” A corner of his mouth lifted as he said “I'm an Assistant Team Leader at Whole Foods. Full-time. Twenty whole dollars an hour. I've got a 401k account and health insurance. Not to brag or anything, but I'm doing alright for myself, even without a degree. . . If you don't want to marry me, though, I would understand.”

“I've wanted to marry you since high school,” I said softly. “We can't, though. We never can. It. . . It isn't legal.”

“Who would know?”

“Your uncle. Robb. Whoever else they told. Sam, if you told him.”

“They would never tell anyone. And I never told Sam. I never told anyone. Not even those psychiatrists I had to see while I was in the hospital.”

“What about the DNA test?” I asked, my voice barely audible.

* * * * *

I hadn't even known about a DNA test until days after that evening at the Stark residence. It was a Saturday and I had spent the whole morning pacing around my apartment, trying to find anything I could sell that would earn me some decent money. Unfortunately, the only thing I owned of real value was my laptop, which I needed to complete my final class projects and also as a method of finding quick jobs. I had posted ads for everything from babysitting to dog walking to house cleaning. Anything that would give me an immediate paycheck.

There was a knock on my door and it startled me because no one ever knocked on my door unless I was expecting a maintenance guy. Of course, I usually scheduled those visits for when I wouldn't be home, leaving a key under the 'Welcome' mat, preferring the possibility of being robbed to the possibility of something worse happening while alone in my apartment with a stranger. When I opened the door, however, it wasn't a middle aged man standing in the hallway. It was Jon.

This was the first time I'd seen him since we sat at Ned Stark's table. He hadn't been at school and I knew it was because he didn't want to see me. Despite my nerves, I had asked Sam if he'd heard from Jon, worrying beyond worry that Jon had told his friend what had happened.

“Some sort of family crisis,” Sam had replied, and his expression suggested that he wasn't lying for my benefit. “He didn't really elaborate, but I don't think he's coming back. I'm surprised he didn't tell you.”

“I think that we broke up,” I replied before quickly leaving the conversation to find a private place to cry.

Family emergency indeed. It was emergent that he stay away from me, his family member, less he be reminded of all the things we had done together – all those things once viewed as signs of affection between young lovers, now warped into something sinister and taboo. Our relationship was now a character flaw. I was the perverted aunt, and he the molested nephew. Did it not matter that we were ignorant? Were we not redeemable? Was I a monster for loving him still, for wanting to be with him regardless? Was my attraction to him romantically and physically supposed to vanquish just like that? Apparently, his had.

But then he came to my door that Saturday and he looked sad and nervous and like he hadn't slept in days, and the optimistic part of me wondered if he had come to apologize and take me in his arms, to tell me it was okay and that we would figure this out together.

The first words out of his mouth after I let him inside, though, were “Apparently my uncle had a DNA test done just after I was born.”

I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say in response to that, so I replied with a change of subject. “You haven't been at school.”

“No, I'm taking all of my finals independently. My uncle set it up. I've decided to actually try, though, so I'm pretty sure I'll be able to graduate at least. Which is good, because you have to have a high school diploma to enlist in the Army.”

“What?”

“I'm going to join the Army. As soon as I have my diploma.”

I had been so shocked I barely understood the words the first time he spoke them, but after the second time, it felt like the room was spinning. This was the opposite of what I had planned for us. We were supposed to stay together. Me at Caltech, him working or starting at a city college, us spending every weekend together until we could afford to get a nice apartment of our own. I knew that Jon was horrified by what we'd learned the other day, but I hadn't thought he was so disgusted by me that he needed to join an organization that would take him to another side of the planet for however many years.

“Don't,” was all my voice could get out.

“I have to.”

“No, you don't.”

“I do, Daenerys. I can't be here anymore. I need to be somewhere else, away from everyone.”

“Away from me.”

I wanted him to say no, even if it was a lie, but Jon had never lied to me. “Yes,” he confirmed.

Quickly, I turned around, hand covering my mouth as tears began to fall. That was when I realized that this would be the last time I'd ever see Jon. I had fallen in love, and now it was ending. I thought back to that popular saying about how experiencing a true love was worth all the pain. In that moment, I disagreed. I wished I had never met Jon. Because now I was ruined, doomed to love a man who couldn't even stand to live on the same continent as me.

Facing the wall, I said “You don't have to go. You hate me now, and that's okay. I won't call you or text you, and if I ever see you I'll turn and walk the other way. You don't have to go.”

“I'm not leaving because I hate you. I'm leaving because I love you.”

Maybe the words should have eased my suffering, but they didn't. They made me confused and angry on top of all the sad. I turned to face him and met his eyes. They were red like mine, but he was doing a better job of keeping in his tears.

“If you love me, then stay. Stay with me.”

“Stay?” he asked. “Didn't you hear me? There's a DNA test. We're related. You're my aunt, Daenerys. My fucking aunt.”

“It doesn't matter!”

“How can it not fucking matter?!”

It was the first and only time I'd ever heard him yell, and it was to yell at me. I felt my body wilting, dying. Jon turned away from me this time, wiping at his face where his emotions had finally won over.

“Why did you even come here?” I asked, voice turning dull and quiet. “To hurt me?”

It took him a few moments to turn back to me. When he did, his hand slid from his pocket and out with it, came an envelope. I knew what it was the second the white paper came into view, but I decided to give Jon the benefit of the doubt, one last time. Maybe it wasn't what I knew it was. So, I let him hand it to me. But when I lifted the flap and pulled out the slip of paper inside, it may as well have been a Polaroid of him fucking another girl, because I felt just as betrayed, staring at a replica of the check I had refused to take from Robb. Just imagining the conversation that must have taken place after I left that evening made me sick to my stomach. Jon, Robb and Ned all sitting around the table discussing the sad case of Daenerys Targaryen – the pathetic little girl accidentally fucked her nephew if you can believe that, and now she's going to be homeless if we don't throw her a few bucks.

A tear slid from the apple of my cheek to stain a wet circle over the “five” in five-thousand just before I tore it up into little pieces. I heard Jon groan, no doubt thinking of how he would have to ask Ned for a fresh check.

“Daenerys, please,” he tried, exasperated, but I was done listening to him.

“Get the fuck out of here,” I told him, the little paper pieces falling from my hands to the carpet like confetti.

“Daenerys.” He took a step closer to me.

“I said, get the fuck out!” I demanded, shoving him away from me. “I don't want your fucking money! Get out of my apartment and don't come back! You're a fucking piece of shit like everyone else! All I wanted was you and you give me money! You said you needed me! You're a fucking liar!”

“I didn't lie. I do need you,” he said quickly, as I shoved him closer to the door. “That's why I have to go. I need to figure out how to stop needing you, Daenerys. I love you.”

“Well, I hate you!” I turned to my bed to where my Harvard sweatshirt was laid out, picked it up and shoved it against Jon's chest while I pushed him the rest of the way to the door. “You can have this back, too. You don't want me. Harvard doesn't want me. You can both fucking rot.”

I pulled the door open, and pushed Jon out of it.

“Daenerys --” he tried once more.

I interrupted him, shouting “Eat shit and die!” before slamming the door in his face. I fell to my knees, sobbing into my hands as quietly as I could, which wasn't quiet at all. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,” I whispered while I cried, but I wasn't saying it to Jon anymore. I was saying it to myself.

* * * * *

“There would be, like, a paper trail, or whatever, right?” I asked. “If there was a DNA test then that means that some lab somewhere has a record of analyzing our DNA.”

Jon shook his head. “Ned had it done discreetly. No names. Just samples. Mine and your brother's.”

While I was curious to know how Ned Stark had attained Rhaegar's DNA, it wasn't important enough to me to ask. Instead, I said “Ned would never let you marry me. He would tell someone if it meant keeping you away from me.”

“I'll talk to him.”

I laughed, genuine. “Remember what happened the last time you told me you'd talk to Ned?”

Smiling a bit bashfully, Jon nodded.

“We don't have to get married. We can still be together forever without getting married. I promise I'll go back to school. A state school and I'll apply for scholarships and aid.”

“My mom never got to marry the person she loved,” Jon then said. “I don't want us to be like them. I want us to be better. We deserve better. We never hurt anyone. My uncle will see that. I know he will.”

I wasn't sure why, after everything, but I believed him.

But then, like a divine intervention sent to destroy me once again, a black Lincoln pulled up in front of the building, causing Jon to mutter “This isn't good.”

When a man with a face I recognized, though older now, emerged from the driver's side door, I felt like I did sitting at that dining room table six years ago, like everything was about to come to an end. Jon stood and so did I, reflexively separating myself from my boyfriend – fiancee? – and shoving my hands into my hoodie pockets. Robb stopped at the bottom of the steps and looked up at his cousin, then at me. Even with surprise evident in his eyes and mouth as he took in the sight of me and Jon together again, Robb looked even more sophisticated and proper than the last time I saw him. I figured he'd be done with school by now and already started a fancy career, maybe following in his father's and grandfather's footsteps by becoming an attorney.

“Dany,” he said. “You cut your hair.”

Resisting the urge to bite a nail, I replied “Yes, but I'm growing it out again.”

He simply nodded, then turned his attention to Jon. “You haven't been answering my calls lately.”

“Yeah, I've been working a lot.”

“That's good. You're still not cashing the checks either.”

“I told you I wasn't going to.”

I had to try not to smile. It wasn't that I resented Robb – I never blamed him for anything – but it was nice to see Jon stand up for himself the way I had to.

Apprehensively, Robb climbed the steps, asking “Can we talk?”

Jon looked to me.

“I'll wait here. It's fine,” I told him. No matter what Robb had to say to Jon, I wasn't going to stand in the way of it happening. Like Jon said, we never hurt anyone. I would never try to turn Jon against his family the way Rhaegar seemed to do to Lyanna.

“We won't be long,” Robb assured without making eye contact.

Before Jon lead Robb up to his apartment, he put his hand on my hip and kiss me. Gentle, but lingering, loving, a kiss that could only be interpreted as romantic in nature. I wasn't sure if it was a show for Robb or an act of reassurance for me, but I was content either way, because either way, the kiss said that I was special to Jon and that nothing Robb would say to him upstairs would change anything between us. Still, though, I would be lying if I said I wasn't terrified the entire length of time I spent sitting on that stoop, watching the sun inch higher into the sky, checking Facebook on my phone for the first time in a year, wondering if any of my 43 “friends” would notice if I changed my status to 'In a Relationship.'

Fifteen minutes later, the outer front door to Jon's apartment opened once more. In my unease, I stood again, wrapping my arms around myself like the air was colder than it was.

“It was good seeing you again, Dany.” Robb managed a glance at me before descending the steps. Before he reached his car, though, I found my feet following him quickly.

“Robb,” I said after him.

Somewhat startled, he turned to face me. I noticed how much he looked like Ned now, but that didn't intimidate me.

“I'll make him answer your calls,” I said. “But, you don't have to worry so much. I'll take care of him for you.”

He smiled, even chuckled a bit, the awkward tension receding. “Alright. Well, good. He's my only cousin, you know. I thought you were going to ask me what I said to him.”

“I think I have an idea. I'm more interested to know what Jon said in response.”

“It was pretty much the same thing he told me last month. Something along the lines of – Whether I'm with her or not, she's the love of my life, and nothing will ever change that.”

My cheeks flushed pink and my nose scrunched as I smiled bashfully down at my feet. After a moment, I picked my head back up and asked “Last month?”

“Yeah, he called me at almost midnight on Valentine's Day, completely interrupting my wife and I during – you know – saying that he talked to you again. He wanted my advice, and I gave it, but obviously he went and did the opposite.”

The information made my smile widen. “I know you don't approve, but --”

“It's not that I don't approve,” he interrupted calmly. “I like you. I've never not liked you, even in high school when everyone seemed to not like you. Even being a Stark knowing you were a Targaryen. But. . . You know. . . You and Jon together, knowing what I know. . . It feels weird.”

“I know. But you should know that however weird it feels for you, it feels a thousand times more weird for us. So imagine how much we must love each other to be able to deal with it in order to be together. And then imagine how you might feel if you suddenly found out your wife was your aunt.”

Robb broke out in awkward laughter, bringing his hand to the back of his neck. “Yeah, I do not want to imagine that.”

“Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thanks. We actually have a baby now, too. Named after my father, but we all call him Eddie.”

“That's amazing,” I said wistfully, trying not to think about my own baby. “I wanted to ask you a favor actually. You probably tell your wife everything, as you should, but could you just not tell her that Jon and I are. . . you know? Could you not tell anyone?”

After a moment, Robb asked “Will you make Jon cash those checks?”

“You know I'm not going to do that.”

“Yeah, I know. I would never tell anyone anyway. It was never really any of my business. And even if I would, I suppose I owe you a favor.”

He didn't, but I nodded anyway.

After he had climbed back into his sleek sedan, I rejoined Jon at the top of the porch where he'd been waiting for me, partaking in another cigarette.

“Will you marry me if I quit smoking?” he asked once the smoke had left his parted lips.

I hugged him tight, breathing him in. I didn't mind the tobacco smell actually. I found it warm and quaint like a hearth in a log cabin or a grandfather's library while he lets you pick out any book you want, but I wasn't going to tell Jon that because I was going to need him to quit eventually, if he was going to live a long, happy life with me.

“I'll marry you if you buy me breakfast. Bonus points if it's waffles,” I answered, then pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth.

“What are the bonus points on top of marriage?”

I pursed my lips and averted my eyes to give off the impression of deep contemplation before replying “Lots of sex?”

Dropping his half-smoked cigarette into the Folgers can, Jon excitedly exclaimed “Waffles it is.”

#jonerys #jonerys fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #jon x dany #jon x daenerys #jonerys fanfic #jonerys fic #mine #my fic #a crack in everything #a crack in everything: chapter seven

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an-inbetween-place · 3 years

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12. Return

12:48 AM

Guess that didn’t last long, huh?

I was so close to deleting both blogs associated with this email address and starting with a clean slate. But despite the immense amounts of cringe I experienced from scrolling through this blog, I feel like it would be too much of a loss. To miss out on all those past posts/the memories they conjure up simply because of embarrassment.

So we’ll try this again, right? (I wholeheartedly understand that this reads like a bad fanfiction but I cannot stop myself 🤷🏻‍♀️good thing this isn’t my day job...)

At the risk of sounding like the first five minutes of a terrible romcom, so many things have changed.

As I type, I’m now 26 years old - a real adult, with a whole ass job and a 401K. We’re* even on the brink of purchasing real estate (and along with that a M O R T A G E - spelling it like that makes it less scary, right?).

SO, not like it’s anything that we don’t know but I graduated from NYU in 2016 (NOT with honors, thank you very much ... me) but with a major in computer science and a minor in web programming/applications (..so more computer science). We spent exactly 1 month job hunting (got our offer from bluewolf on the 1 month mark after graduation) and have spent the last four and a half years making money for the man. Halfway through that, the IBM acquisition went through and we went up in salary but went down in culture/coworkers/anything fun.

There weren’t only bad times though. We managed to squeeze in a free trip to Morocco (along with comp’ed flights to Barcelona + the Canary Islands) and have made some great friendships along the way (cue the sparks and melodic background music).

It makes me immensely sad at this moment to think about how one day, I may be scrolling through this blog and no longer in close communication with Mickey/Swati/other Bluewolf friends. I know that it’s probably going to happen (given the natural course things take - i.e. what’s happened with Leo, Mary, Shelby, Caitlin, Emily -- pps, this makes it sound like something terrible happened, which it did NOT, life just goes on) but I just wanted to note this brief moment of sadness.

In addition to that brief moment of sadness, I also regret not keeping up with this habit/not picking this up during.. let’s phrase them as ‘highlight’ moments of my life. If only I had a post - no matter how brief - during graduation, first day at work, first vacation, really good days, really bad days...

Since we don’t have that - here’s a quick rundown.

Graduation - 2016, super sunny, Yankee stadium did NOT have enough shade (I got sunburnt on my nose), super hectic afterwards, felt like something was happening in my mind/body but I couldn’t really tell what it was (like a feeling of something building up), hopped on a flight to Puerto Rico, first family vacation overseas!, June had to do something for work so everyone was tense, but it was a great week or so

Job Hunting - 2016, super nervous/scared, got really good at getting on the phone immediately after waking up from a nap, thought I crushed a interview - didn’t get it, got crushed by an interview - left the building in the elevator crying, and finally things fell into place

Working! Romas Regime - 2016, super scared of code review and being accepted by the rest of the devs, super scared about being able to complete the ask(s), learned so much, had a weird crush on K/L?

Working! Niki/Kate Regime - 201?-2018, had it under control, considered job hunting?, maybe this was the golden age...

Working! TD Regime - 2018-2019, big shift to full time/classic services client/traveling, DEF had a .. i’m not going to demean myself and say it was weird - crush on S (weirdly had a dream involving him the other night...my feelings did not get returned even in dream form.. that’s rough, buddy), got REAL close to mickey (yay :’) ), def had a lil blossoming crush on A (is it a crush if I just want to wrap him up in a blanket and keep him safe? mans is a sweetheart), learned my lesson about eating out all the time.. lol

Working! 2020 - pandemic vibes, we’ll definitely be getting into this more (in future posts? optimistic but I think I can carry that out), working from queens home is pretty sweet but that division between home + work has disappeared (a easy thing to give up in a hard year), no boss regime!, not good for career growth (aka me flip flopping between feeling guilty about this and not caring)

Just right now, figured out a hack in inserting bullet points since I was too lazy to look up the HTML for it... still got it

I knew this was going to blossom into a.. unsurmountable task once I started. I’ll have to go into more detail in future posts. HOWEVER, the reason I wanted to get back into writing posts today was because I was ~~~reminiscing~~~ about 2020.

Obviously it’s been a hard year. I can’t even begin to describe how it felt back in March -- how I woke up in a panic that grey and rainy Friday morning, fretting over buying groceries because that was the only thing I could control. The sheer defeat I felt when I got to TJs and the line was down the block. The ease and relaxation I felt when I finally got home that Saturday morning.. it felt like my entire chest was opening up.

But the sheer fact that what I’m describing is just around the fear of covid and not about loss or sickness or job security says a lot. And the fact that I felt like I had to say that on a personal blog that literally no one reads (and I’d like to keep it that way, thank you) says a lot about the guilt I feel with my privilege during this year (not that I’m trying NOT to feel guilty.. I am cool living with it).

But my conversations with Sharon lately/the posts I’ve been seeing online pushed me to write/reflect on this. A lot of good has happened for/to me this year! And I want to put it into words and celebrate it.

Here we go again with the bullets hack:

Weight Loss - I really never thought I’d be able to accomplish all the work I’ve done so far. We started in July 2019 at 174 pounds and today I weighed in at 135 pounds. Let’s cut ourselves a break and give us that last pound.. that’s 40 pounds!

Fitness - This basically goes hand in hand with the last point but I’m also .. shocked with where I’m at today. I can run a few miles, no problem. I feel good! during my run. I know even if I feel poorly, I’ll get back on the starting line and have the potential for a great run - and even if the next one isn’t, it’s still a run in the books! I know what a figure four stretch, a lateral squat, a romanian deadlift, a bear crawl, what all those things are now!

Family - I’ve spent a TON of time with my parents/family this year (it’s been my only social interaction really). It’s hard at times sure - I miss certain things from last year/pre-covid thats FOR SURE - but it’s nice to spend time with my parents as a ... ‘adult’. It’s nice for us to have this time together.. and for us to be able to make these memories.

It’s late now (lol that depends on your POV) so I’ll leave those bullets as summaries and go into further detail later on. I do want to say, I’m glad I’m doing this. As cringy as it will be to reread, I’m glad to have this down and appreciative of the reflection.

1:35 AM

*P.S. (the ROYAL) we are aware that we’re popping between the use of ‘I’ and ‘we’ here... it’s a thing we do now. It’ll make us cringe in the future, WE KNOW

#no posts will ever be revised #we live in the now #lol i said this is late but what i really meant was this is late for me to be using my brain

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meaniechan · 6 years

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lighten the cares of my sorrowful soul

This is probably way too out of character but I tried. Just imagine an early-Creatures era/present day Aleks and a much younger, present day Brett.

Paring: Brett/Aleks

It was Brett and Aleks’ six month anniversary a few days ago. Except, Brett got called into work and couldn’t get out of it. Cue: big, huge, enormous fight. A few days later, they make up.

your laughing lovely: that, I vow

makes the heart leap in my breast;

for watching you a moment, speech fails me,

my tongue is paralyzed, at once,

a light fire runs beneath my skin,

my eyes are blinded, and my ears drumming

the sweat pours down me, and I shake

all over, sallower than grass:

I feel as if I’m not far off from dying.

Brett shuts the door behind him.

“What do you want?” Aleks snaps, and from the sound of his voice, Brett knows he’s been crying.

Aleks is usually very careful with his appearance, but Brett understands that- with the circumstances- he probably doesn’t really give a shit about how he looks. His hair is messed up, eyes red, and his clothes are baggy: nothing that he’d wear outside of this house. He’s scowling, and usually, Aleks scowling was funny to Brett- he looked like an angry puppy. It’s not so funny, now, when his boyfriend looks vulnerable and small and defeated and... lost.

Every little, lingering bit of Brett’s anger has dissipated, in this moment, and their argument seems so unnecessary.

“I got your present.”

Aleks looks down. “Yeah, well… I don’t wanna take care of it.”

Brett crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed. Aleks pulls his legs in and wraps his arms around his knees protectively, purposely looking away from the older. The bed is, surprisingly, lacking a certain fluffy dog, who usually spent every moment she could in Aleks’ bed with him. His cat, however, is there, and she seems to get annoyed with all the movement, deciding to get up from her spot next to Aleks and jump down from the bed.

“I love it,” Brett tells him. “It’s really nice. Especially the poem. Did you write it?”

Aleks shakes his head. “Some Roman guy.”

“It’s very sweet.”

“Yeah, well, whatever.”

There’s a moment of silence, which is uncommon for Brett’s boyfriend. Aleks isn’t as socially awkward as his two best friends, but he still wasn’t great with the whole ‘socializing’ thing. Though the younger is primarily an extrovert, there are moments that even Aleks preferred to stay in the comfort of his room- far away from the main part of his family’s hillside mansion that- due to Aleks’ father and step mother’s busy jobs- was usually empty. Aleks filled it with friends- his classmates, James and Joe, and their friends, Trevor and Jakob and Asher and Anna- but his friends had lives of their own, and Aleks still spent a considerable amount of time on his own, with just Mishka and Celia to keep him company.

He thinks that’s why Aleks likes Lindsey and Brett’s shitty, two-bedroom apartment that they rent close to campus. Less space meant less to fill.

Brett clears his throat, ready to say something.

“I’m sorry,” Aleks whispers, at that moment, before Brett can speak. “I don’t know why I’m being such an asshole. Or why I got so mad about you having to work. I’m just… I don’t know. Everything was supposed to be perfect and then it just… wasn’t. I’m being stupid, I know.”

Brett stands, moves closer to Aleks, and sits beside him. “It’s okay. You were upset. Yelling at you didn’t help anything.”

Aleks unravels himself and looks up, revealing the tears streaking his cheeks. It pulls at Brett’s heart, and he reaches up to put both hands on either side on his boyfriend’s head, wiping at tears with his thumbs. It doesn’t help physically- Aleks lets out a hiccup of a sob and his face is wet again- but it mends things, Brett thinks, internally, and he leans forward to kiss Aleks’ forehead, his nose, both cheeks, and his chin, before finally kissing his lips.

Aleks hiccups a sob, again, but he kisses Brett back, hungrily, and they reposition themselves slowly so that Brett is more on the bed and Aleks is in his lap. Brett kisses him softly and Aleks takes each one like a pill and they stay there, for what could be seconds, what could be minutes. It’s not exactly making out, and it’s not sexy at all, but it’s what both of them need after the past few days and Brett takes it.

Eventually, Aleks mumbles something into Brett’s mouth that he doesn’t understand, and Brett pushes him away gently.

“What,” he asks, and Aleks blushes.

“Nothing,” his boyfriend answers, sheepishly. “Just… more stupid poetry.”

“By the same person?”

Aleks nods. “Yeah. Umm, I don’t know why, but I just started reading this poetry book and I… I thought you’d think it’d make me seem like, fuckin’, super grown up or something. So I kinda, just, like memorized a few.”

“Very romantic. I don’t know any- what was it, Roman poetry? Get this kid ready for college. Start saving for his 401K.”

Aleks giggles and Brett presses a quick kiss to his nose, which makes him giggle again.

“Fuck you,” he laughs, a lightness to his voice that makes Brett relax. “I know a few verses of a Roman poetry that I’ll forget by next month.”

“I won’t let you. You’re going to have to tell me them every day, so I know how grown up you are.”

Aleks pouts and pinches Brett’s arm, playfully.

“So, tell me,” Brett laughs. “What’s this magical poem that you decided was so important that it had to interrupt our hardcore, sexy make out session?”

Aleks grins, and he looks down at his lap. He picks at the hem of Brett’s shirt, for a moment, and normally, Brett would make a dumb comment about the lack of words coming from the younger’s mouth, but he keeps quiet himself. After about a minute, Aleks lets go of Brett’s shirt.

“‘Give me a thousand kisses,” Aleks says quietly- not quite whispering. “A hundred, another thousand, a second hundred, a thousand again, a hundred more, until we ourselves lose track of the score.’”

Brett smiles, leans forward slightly, and kisses Aleks’ neck softly and Aleks hums, softly. His boyfriend smells like something woodsy and an Old Spice deodorant that Brett doesn’t know the name of and it feels like home. Eight months ago, Brett never imagined he’d ever find someone that makes him feel at home, like Aleks does, and he never imagined it’d be in this eighteen year old, high school brat, with dumb emo hair, a green card, and a love for hardcore punk bass lines, dogs, and video games.

Hell, Brett might even love this kid.

“It’s very grown up,” he says instead, with a shitty impression of that one Vine meme.

Then, in his regular voice quieter. “And very pretty.”

“You’re pretty,” Aleks mumbles, and Brett doesn’t need to look at his boyfriend to know his face is bright red.

“So are you. Very pretty.”

Aleks pulls back, his face- indeed- very red. “What does… umm… fuck.”

“What?”

“Umm, fuck how does it go?”

A moment passes- in which Brett’s kinda confused- before Aleks looks up at Brett between his eyelashes. It sends a shiver down Brett’s body, and he doesn’t need context to know where Aleks is going.

“‘Be a sweetie, joy and charm personified, invite me to join your afternoon nap.’”

Brett grins. “Why, Mr. Marchant, are you trying to seduce me?”

“I might be.”

“I’m not just some harlot, sir.”

Aleks rolls his eyes. “Harlots fuck, asshole. They don’t make love.”

“First poetry, now this,” Brett teases. “How very grown up of you.”

“Don’t be an ass about it, Brett.”

“An ass? Me? No, I’m- what was it you said? ‘Joy and charm personified?’ Lucky for you, I fully intend to invite you to all my afternoon naps for a long time.”

Aleks laughs, and Brett kisses him, and they fall together.

The next day, when James and Trevor show up around noon, and Aleks is almost all the way in Brett’s lap, and his friends roll their eyes at him.

“I told you that shit would work,” James yells. “Am I good or am I good?”

“You didn’t do shit, James,” Aleks shoots back, though there is no malice in either of their voices.

“Excuse you, Aleksandr. I drove to a hornet’s nest and poked at it while you were listening to your shitty, emo music and crying.”

“Fuck off, I wasn’t crying.”

“Fuck you, you were!”

Despite it, Aleks and James laugh. Trevor laughs. Brett laughs.

It feels like home.

The first poem that is mentioned is actually, like, a copy of one that the Greek poet Sappho wrote something like, 600 years before and I like her version better than Catullus. I left out the part where Sappho/Catullus are super insane jealous of this guy hanging around their girls. I didn’t think that part really fit my vision.

Just in case you’re curious: title is from Catullus, 2.10. Included poems are Catullus, 5.7-10 and 32.1-3. All three are from the David Mulroy translation. The first mentioned poem is from Catullus 51, but the one I put in is the M.L. West translation of Sappho’s poem.

#hundarhd #everyone is under 22 and brett and lindsey are in college #the rest of them are little hs babes #aleks is 18 dont worry #also known as meanie reads poetry in class and gets an idea #its 11:30 and im on 4 hours of sleep #i still have latin homework to do #so lets see how this goes over #ahhhhhhhh

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Arplis - News: “Everybody knows that pestilences have a way of recurring in the world, yet somehow we find it hard to believe in ones that crash down on our heads from a blue sky

There have been as many plagues as wars in history, yet always plagues and wars take people equally by surprise.” — Albert Camus, The Plague Time is cruelly elastic. When March began, Joe Biden was celebrating the resurgence of his presidential campaign after a win in the South Carolina primary. When March began, downtown Atlanta was packed with marathon runners, while the Hawks were, reliably, scraping the bottom of the Eastern conference. When March began, we were going to restaurants, and to school, and to soccer games and concerts and plays and funerals and weddings. When March began, we were going to work. When March began, dozens of Georgians were walking around with absolutely no idea that within a matter of days they would be dead from a virus that had traveled across the world only to alight on them. How many more of us will step into its crosshairs? Each day feels like a month. So much news is compressed into 24 hours—thousands more infected, ICUs at capacity, unemployment rates reaching heights not seen since the Great Depression, our 401ks decimated—that our brains seize up. Grocery store visits are planned with the precision of a wartime raid. Kids’ days are ostensibly scheduled—Reading! Enrichment! FaceTime with the teacher!—but how do you homeschool and telework at the same time? You don’t. The screens you once cursed are now free childcare. That’s, of course, if we even can work from home. Some of us can’t. Many of us have been laid off or furloughed as restaurants close their doors, as nonprofits’ funding dries up, as fitness studios go dark. Others of us who have been deemed “essential”—nurses, doctors, first responders, grocery-store workers, mail carriers, truck drivers, delivery people—come home late at night and shed our clothes outside so as not to bring the virus near our loved ones. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was guaranteed to happen. But to us? Now? We spoke with our neighbors about the world we’ve left behind, and the one that awaits. Interviews edited for length and clarity. Tap on each person’s name to read their full interview. • • • Dr. Michelle Au | anesthesiologist at Emory Saint Joseph’s Hospital I first started hearing about the virus after Christmas. But the news still felt like something distant. It was in China, so you’re watching with this detached interest. I am in the unusual position of being a Chinese American physician with a public-health degree who also happens to be running for office [Au is a Democratic candidate for the 48th state Senate district, which incorporates parts of Fulton and Gwinnett counties]. I was talking with voters in the Chinese community who said that I should be speaking out on the issue more. I probably should have paid more attention. I should have taken it more seriously. Dr. Meria Carstarphen | superintendent of Atlanta Public Schools Right after Valentine’s Day, one of my friends was going to Venice, Italy. While my friend was there, they shut down Carnival [due to coronavirus]. That was my reality check. I said to our team, “We need to prepare for the day when we have to shut down the district.” There were moments where I felt I was pushing a wet noodle up a mountain. As things started escalating, we had to make decisions. I said, “We have to prepare a contingency plan that starts with the worst-case scenario.” Devon Clinkscales | senior at Booker T. Washington High School This year was my senior season of high school baseball, my last year. I was really excited about going out strong and getting ready for travel ball. It was my best opportunity to get some scouting. Hugh Acheson | owner of Empire State South in Midtown and 5 & 10 in Athens and operator of By George in the Candler Hotel The real canary in the coal mine was [in early March], reading about restaurants in Shanghai. Shanghai to Wuhan [where the virus is said to have originated] is an immense amount of distance. [Restaurants in Shanghai] were saying that they didn’t know how long they could stay open. Their sales were down 80 to 90 percent, and it was just a ghost town. We’re not an industry with deep pockets. Everybody’s like, “Oh, Hugh, you’ve been on TV. You must be rich.” I’m like, “You have no idea how this works, do you?” Kathy Weeks Lowery | self-employed travel agent in Marietta [A client] was supposed to leave on March 28 out of Tokyo for a 12-day cruise. That was her son’s college graduation gift. Holland America held tight. They said if she cancels now, she’s losing 50 percent of her money. That was January 24. Travel insurance doesn’t cover a pandemic. Since then, they canceled the cruise and gave her the rest of the money. Cruise lines are offering as much as 225 percent of your refund toward a future booking. For me, it’s been everything. I had 117 kids going to D.C. for a field trip, 10 people going to the Grove Park Inn, a busload going to Mary Mac’s and Hamilton. All canceled. I only get paid after clients travel. I figure this year’s income will be 20 percent of last year’s. Amy Phuong | vice president of government relations for the Atlanta Hawks My wedding was set for March 28. We had everything planned. I even had a final walkthrough at the venue on March 4. We’d invited 200 people. Mike Gallagher | co-owner of Brick Store Pub and Leon’s Full Service in Decatur, Good Word Brewing in Duluth, and partial owner of Kimball House. Together, the four restaurants employ approximately 200 people. 2019 was a tough year. We had opened [Good Word Brewing]. The contractor had gone belly up when we opened. We lost our chef and sous-chef. We had a lot of money invested in Duluth. But 2020 was starting great. We’d put down a sizeable amount of money on a redo of Brick Store. On February 26, after seven years running the pop-up restaurant Eat Me Speak Me, Jarrett Stieber opened his first permanent restaurant. The build-out took months. Jarrett Stieber | chef-owner of Little Bear in Summerhill We had inspectors tell us we had to change things, and we covered the cost. So, like every restaurant, we ran way over budget. We opened with $285 in our checking account after buying products for the first week and just prayed that we were busy. We, thankfully, were. On March 2, five days after Little Bear opened, Governor Brian Kemp announced the first two confirmed cases of coronavirus in Georgia—two members of the same household in Fulton County. Nationwide, only 90 cases had been confirmed, six of whom were fatalities. “Georgians should remain calm,” Kemp said. Stieber We had one customer who said that she couldn’t believe that a place like Little Bear was here, that it reminded her of restaurants in San Francisco. That’s exactly what I had in my head when I planned this restaurant, that small-capacity hole-in-the-wall that basically is a neighborhood restaurant in terms of how it feels but has food as good as any high-end restaurant. We were hitting our stride. Jarrett Stieber: “My focus is keeping the business open any way I can.” Photograph by Audra Melton Clinkscales On March 2, we were evicted from our apartment, but they didn’t change the locks. If they’d changed the locks, we’d have nowhere to go. Our stuff would be out on the street. My dad and my mother had a couple of disagreements on how to maintain. I have an older sister who has an apartment in a project, so my mother, my other sister, and my niece all moved in with her. But I stayed with my dad. He didn’t finish high school. He needs someone. He doesn’t understand how things work. I love my dad, and I have to be with him. Belisa Urbina | founder/executive director of Ser Familia, a nonprofit that provides services to Latino families My husband’s family is from Spain, so we knew what was going on there. We knew what was going on in other places. I knew that if this was happening in all these other countries, it was going to happen to us because we are connected. Flights are coming in and out. People are moving around. Shawn Ware | owner of Vibe Ride cycle studios When the news about the coronavirus first came out, I was taking a break at home, between working at the Westside studio in the morning and Grant Park in the afternoon. I thought, Okay, well, this is just a flu. I’ve always been a gym rat, and I’ve always joked that I’ve been a germophobe since I was in the womb. I’m always washing my hands, using hand sanitizer. I thought, So, now you all are jumping on board for what I’ve been doing my whole life? But then, as the hours and days went on, I realized this was serious. On Friday, March 6, President Trump, wearing khakis, a windbreaker, and a Keep America Great baseball cap, visited the federal Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta for a photo op and press conference, where he referenced his “natural ability” at understanding the complexities of virology and addressed the sluggish pace of testing for the virus. What he said wasn’t even a complete sentence: “As of right now, and yesterday, anybody who needs a test—and that’s the important thing.” While other countries were ramping up their tests to include even those who were asymptomatic—results which indicate who is contagious and who is not—the United States was (and as of late March remained) unequipped to test any but those suffering the most extreme symptoms. By Monday, March 9, the number of Georgians who’d tested positive for the virus had climbed to six, with 11 more presumed positive. Kemp announced that space at Hard Labor Creek State Park in east Georgia would be outfitted to accept COVID-19 patients who needed to be isolated. Phuong Even that week [of March 9], I started out feeling like, Okay, our wedding is so soon there’s no way it’s going to be impacted. Even though Italy at that time had made a turn for the worse, [my fiance] Kerry’s family is from Spain, and we felt good because they weren’t impacted the way Italy was. Then, we got to Wednesday, and that��s when it dramatically switched. That’s when the Hawks had their final game. That was the same evening that Trump instituted the travel ban from Europe. Kerry’s family would not be able to make it. Carstarphen The day when I said to my fellow superintendents that I’m considering closing the district even though we don’t have any cases—that was a bit of a shock. Even to myself. I work with children. So, the idea that I would even put on the table this notion that they might not have a prom, they might not be able to play for the state championship, they might not be able to get closure after 12 years of public school, that their moment gets snatched away from them? It’s sobering how your decision can change the direction of people’s lives. Dock Hollingsworth | senior pastor at Second-Ponce de Leon Baptist Church Wednesday, March 11, was a turning point. We were here for the Wednesday night services. There was still a lot of levity. A 94-year-old man came up to me and said, “Boy, I was relieved that this is targeting people 60 to 80 since it’s been so long since I was 80.” By Thursday morning we were in a whole different mode. I was in a peer group with other Atlanta pastors. Everyone was asking, “What measures are you taking?” Keisha Lance Bottoms | mayor of Atlanta I went to Sam’s Club on Thursday. A woman asked me what I was doing there. “The same thing you’re doing.” I have four kids at home. My husband makes grocery runs on his way home from work. But I knew we needed to stock up with a family of six. I’m now cooking three meals a day. But my personal adjustment pales in comparison to what’s happening. People are dying. Urbina We provide services to about 4,500 people. The services that we provide are very difficult to find. To give you an idea, there are 700,000 Latinos in metro Atlanta but there are less than 70 counselors who are fully licensed that can speak Spanish. There are four psychologists in the state of Georgia who can speak Spanish, and there are five psychiatrists who can speak Spanish. Latino children have twice the chance of having anxiety and depression compared to other teens. Our Latina girls, almost 20 percent of them attempt suicide. Joey Camp | cook at Waffle House in Canton who also drives a party bus part-time I started getting pneumonia [in early March]. I felt like I was drowning. The chills had gotten so bad that I could not keep my teeth from chattering. If my teeth weren’t chattering, I was coughing. [On March 12,] I went to the emergency room. They did all these tests—a CT scan with contrast, x-rays, everything. They were like, You got really bad pneumonia. We’re going to put you in a room and monitor you for a few days. Well, I was in there for probably nine hours when they hung the isolation box on my door. Which is where they keep all these gloves, smocks, and masks that everybody has to put on before they’re allowed into the room. I got a little nervous. Photograph by Audra Melton Phuong It hit me Friday night. We’d been planning so long, and now, our wedding is not going to happen. It was emotional. Dr. Laurence Busse | medical director, critical care, Emory Johns Creek Hospital On March 13, it was profound the amount of people coming into the ER. That was a scary day, and we all finished that day thinking, What are we in for? Dr. Jessica Nave | hospital medicine, Emory University Hospital I was hoping that, by early April, we’d peak. But now, my projection is we’ll peak at the end of April. And that’s still optimistic. It’s just the numbers. If you look at Seattle and New York, they’re still going. We didn’t start getting cases until the second week of March. We have to have a solid month of getting hit really hard before we peak. Marshall Rancifer | homeless advocate and relief worker There are 4,000 homeless people out there on the streets. Youth and adults. Homeless people share everything: food, clothes, hygiene products, blunts, crack pipes, needles sometimes. I brought a bunch of crack pipes to them so they wouldn’t share pipes. Some don’t know there is a virus outbreak in the city. They don’t have access to social media or the news. If you’re not in a shelter, you’re walking around in suspended animation all day. I saw people starting to light cigarettes and pass them around. I knocked the cigarettes out of their hands. I said, “You can’t share cigarettes, can’t share food, don’t touch nobody, don’t shake nobody’s hand. Don’t hug nobody.” Had to explain to the mothers in a park on Proctor Street what they can and can’t do. We’re not just educating the homeless; we are educating poor people and marginalized folks. They just don’t know. The weekend of March 14-15 was surreal. Social media and television were talking about nothing else, and school districts across the state, including Atlanta Public Schools, were announcing or had just begun indefinite closures. But for many Atlantans, life went on as normal. Bars were full. Restaurants were open. The BeltLine was packed. At Brick Store in Decatur, the owners decided to go ahead with a planned St. Patrick’s Day celebration, which included a short parade to the bar, scheduled for Saturday. Their decision, announced on the bar’s Facebook page the day before, brought out the knives. “You are encouraging people to make a very selfish decision,” wrote one of the more restrained commenters. “Public health providers are telling us to behave AS IF WE HAVE THE VIRUS, because many of us likely do.” Gallagher Calling it a “parade” is a stretch, because there were about 15 to 25 people. There were more people congregated in front of retail stores than there were in the parade. But we did it, and we had our event. We removed some tables. We put some tables spread out outside. We removed some barstools. I think people were clustering with whom they felt safe, their own household member or a family member, and then they spread out otherwise. It wasn’t six feet apart in the whole place, for sure. But our staff was militant about sanitizing bartops, tabletops, stools, chairs, menus in between their reuse, faucets. I got a lot of feedback from staff and guests about how meaningful it was to them and how they viewed it as a beacon of hope in an otherwise bleak moment in time. So we certainly got a lot of great feedback. But the bashing on social media was unfortunate and unnecessary, quite frankly. Carstarphen I always believed we would be here at mitigation—not prevention, not containment. Mitigation was probably the only way we’d go given the spirit of our country, given we’re a democracy, given that people love their personal freedoms and their individual decision-making. Stieber This is the first time that social media and the general public have been able to kind of force people’s hands in a business sense, beyond just what is recommended from a health standpoint. We live in an era where people are so polarized and proselytizing of everything from behind their screens that whether you want to stay open right now, to fight for your business, you don’t really have much of a choice because of the stigma associated with doing so. As new restrictions kept restaurants from opening to guests, they pivoted to takeout operations. They started GoFundMe accounts for furloughed staff. At Brick Store, owners reduced their menu to soups and sandwiches. Donations to the “soup kitchen”—meant to compensate workers—were encouraged, but if you couldn’t pay, you could still grab a bag. Acheson My real worry is for all the people that I promised to provide for and can’t. That’s very hard, because I want on my tombstone to be remembered as a good employer, and a good human, and a good dad. The people who are going to get hit worst by this are undocumented. It’s not like we have a huge number of them on the payroll, but across the country, there are. They can’t get unemployment. They pay taxes through payrolls, but they don’t get taxes back. They are screwed. But we’re all screwed. Everybody’s like, Well, we’ll recover. No. Fifty percent of the restaurants that just shut down across this country will never reopen. Gallagher Most restaurants are lucky to have two full weeks’ worth of financial runway, and employees, probably even less. A lot of these guys are paycheck-to-paycheck. We are taking the money from the GoFundMe, the money from the gift cards, and any additional monies that have been given, and we’re divvying them up among staff on this upcoming payroll. We’re going to try to find an hourly threshold. For instance, if you worked 24 hours or less, you’ll get this pay rate. If you’re 25 or more, you’ll get that pay rate. We felt that was the most equitable, least cumbersome way to do it. I’ll be honest, it was tough. Do you pay more because they make more? Do you pay more because they need more? Do you pay more because they worked with you longer? Acheson I’m really happy that people are buying gift certificates. If we sell $2,000 of to-go food today, I’ll be impressed. That does not equate to being able to pay $16,000 in rent next month that Empire State owes and payroll costs of $44,000 every two weeks. Urbina Our community works in hospitality, restaurants, construction. Those are the first industries that are affected. We have already had clients who have lost their jobs. They know that they’re probably not going to be able to pay rent at the beginning of April. While most coronavirus infections don’t require hospitalization, roughly 15 percent do. Usually, though not always, the person needing hospitalization is elderly or immunocompromised. The infection ravages the lungs, leading often to pneumonia. Patients can’t get enough oxygen on their own. Some require a ventilator, a machine that augments the patient’s respiration through forced exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide. Busse I’m critical care. So, when patients get to me, they’re in dire straits. The typical thing that’s seen down in the emergency room is fever, some increased work of breathing, some hypoxia [low levels of oxygen in tissue], and some malaise or body aches. Those folks who have, let’s say, a little bit of increased work of breathing or need some oxygen would be admitted to have supportive care while they get through their illness. But if they have a higher degree of oxygen needs or they’re in septic shock or they’re in kidney failure, then they come to me. And those folks can be exquisitely ill, anywhere from just needing a few extra liters of oxygen to having multiorgan failure and needing a full bevy of life support. Dr. Laurence Busse: “When patients get to me, they’re in dire straits.” Photograph by Audra Melton Nave Sometimes illness is difficult to define by objective measures. We’ll get a call from the ER physician saying, “I think this patient needs to get admitted.” I’m looking at their chart and saying, “Well, they’re not hypoxic, they’re fine.” They’ll say, “Just come and lay your eyes on them.” So, I do, and it’s, “Oh yeah, this person is not going to do well.” They have a look about them. Their breathing pattern is abnormal. They’re using more accessory muscles. Au The act of intubating a COVID-19 patient is essentially the highest-risk procedure you can do. As you’re putting in that tube and they’re breathing out through this channel you’re putting in, it gives an opportunity for the virus to be in the air. Usually, it’s in droplets. Aerosolized virus can float around. It’s one of the most infectious potential procedures you can do on a COVID patient. The person who is best and most senior and experienced at doing intubations should do it. They take the least amount of time possible. Put in the tube, quick, hook up the ventilator, and minimize exposure to everyone. Nave Some of our sickest patients have been in their late 20s to late 30s and otherwise healthy. We don’t know why. Camp On Saturday [March 13], they tested me for COVID-19, and I got positive affirmation on Monday. How in the world did I get this? I have not been to Italy, I haven’t been to China, I haven’t been around people, to my knowledge, that have been to those places. I live a very boring life. When they finally told me on Monday, they also released me from the hospital to self-quarantine. The house I was living in had an infant in it. I didn’t want to take the chance of getting that infant sick. So, I was like, “I need options.” Camp was brought to Hard Labor Creek State Park and put in a camper to recuperate until he was no longer contagious. He was there for six days. Camp It had a nice bed in it. There were cookies. The state health officials were super helpful. I asked them to go on a grocery run because a diabetic cannot live on chips and cookies. And they went and got me some bananas, some apples, some cucumbers—all this stuff for me to snack on. I offered to pay for some of the stuff, and they wouldn’t have it. They paid for my medicine. They got me a new blood-sugar meter. The first few days were rough. The coughing was the worst part at that point. I had stopped having chills, I had stopped having a fever, but I was still coughing my brains out. It was like starting a car. Just whoop, whoop, whoop, just constant. And it just slowly went away. One day, I was coughing every three or four minutes; the next day, it was every half hour; the next day, it was every hour. And by the time I was done, I was only coughing very, very rarely, when I got a tickle in the back of my throat. It wasn’t even in my lungs anymore. Au We know that some of the sick are going to be our colleagues. We know that the more we are going to engage, the more people are going to be sick. Over the weekend, I started sleeping in the guest room in the basement because it’s separate from the rest of the house. I have my own bathroom because I don’t want to share a bathroom with anyone. I’m very meticulous about hygiene now—I mean, I always was because I work in the hospital—but now it’s like, shower and change into clean clothes before I leave the hospital. And then, I shower and change clothes again [once I’m home]. Rancifer I wasn’t scared before, but I’m scared now. My father and mother always taught me not to run away from trouble—run toward it, because you can be the person who can change something or save someone’s life. But once this gets out of hand, I’m not going to run toward someone that can kill me. I’m 63. I fall under the category of major at-risk. After I meet with big groups of folks, I skim down to my skivvies. I wear two pairs of gloves. When I get in the car I take my clothes off and throw them on the ground. I take the top pair of gloves off and put them in a disposable Ziploc bag. Then, I take the sanitized clothes out, get dressed, and then move on back home. Au Yesterday I cried talking to a high-school friend. When you’re at home, because the kids are there, you want to be like, Everything’s cool. It is so disruptive for them, so you put on the cheerful face. And at work, since I’m an attending physician, you want to put forth that “everything’s under control.” You get accustomed to trying to keep other people calm. But talking to someone that I’ve known before this, it was just an unguarded moment. What if I get sick? [My husband and I are] rewriting our wills right now. He’s a doctor, too. One of us has to stay well. Clinkscales My mom is worrying about what we’re going to do. She is part of a housecleaning business, but people haven’t been allowing them into their homes because of precautions. My dad works in building services for a hotel, and his income has been dropping. Because of the pandemic, baseball has been canceled, five games in. Colleges aren’t recruiting. Some schools aren’t even accepting students. Ware I spent most of the day today on the phone with our creditors and sending emails to landlords and to the people we lease bikes from, and they’re like, We get it. They’ve been extremely understanding, but it is a very, very scary time. One of our creditors said, We can defer for three months but we’ll still collect interest. Our largest creditor, Wells Fargo, is deferring payments with no late fees and no interest and no reporting to our credit bureau. But a community bank is going to charge us interest. They said, That’s just what we have to do. When we sent the email that we were going to suspend everyone’s membership, we had 35 to 40 people call and say, Don’t cancel. Don’t suspend our accounts. We want to continue to pay because we know you are hit hard, and this is our gym. We want to help and support you as much as we can. Some of these people have been members since the beginning. They’re not clients or strangers; they opened the doors with us. That has been so amazing. Shawn Ware: “I spent most of the day today on the phone with our creditors.” Photograph by Audra Melton Acheson I had $26 in my checking account last week, last week, before this all happened. I’m borrowing personal funds from people I know to pay payroll. Small business is being abandoned. It’s been abandoned for a long time in this country. Nobody has any inkling about how much hurt this is going to do. Lobbyists are on the Hill right now getting every meeting that they want to bail out Delta Air Lines yet again, and the auto industry is going to get bailed out. One in 10 people in the States work for the hospitality industry. Nobody’s bailing us out. We bail out all the wrong people in this country, consistently, over and over again. These are the same people who don’t want Medicare for All, yet they want a socialist handout when they make bad decisions in business, and they go broke. When the coronavirus closed Atlanta Public Schools, the district implemented a massive effort to continue offering free meals to its 52,416 students. Working with the Atlanta Community Food Bank, APS offers a bag of free groceries every Monday at four locations around town. The district hosts an additional giveaway on Tuesdays and is offering meal service at 10 sites around town, including delivery of meals via the school bus system. Carstarphen Our goal as of yesterday was to be at 40,000 meals on any given day in a school district. We let everyone eat. As food supplies diminish or are late, and as staff continue to self-quarantine and find other challenges trying to come to work every day, we’ll have staffing shortages. Bottoms I drove to my mother’s house, and she stood outside my car. I hadn’t seen my mother in a few weeks. Which isn’t normal. My grandmother would quote the Bible: “Be anxious for nothing.” You hear from people all the time, “This, too, shall pass.” I had to write that on the wall in the mayor’s office to remind myself. We’re going to be alright. When I need to take a breath and clear my mind, I’ll go and sort some shoes. This too shall pass. Camp I work in the service industry. Half of my income has been wiped out by this. The party bus industry is on hiatus because all the bars are shut down, proms were shut down, all of that. That’s killing my income. I still have bills. Part of me feels like the government shouldn’t be telling businesses to close their doors. I feel like that should be a case-by-case basis. Busse The preparation [by the federal government] has been poor, but I didn’t really expect it not to be. Do you plan for the worst-case scenario? Or do you put resources elsewhere? So, the response in general has not been great. And I think that’s sort of what I expected. And frankly, if I was in that position, I’m not sure I would’ve done it differently. I mean, it’s really hard to plan for something like this. I’ve never had this in my lifetime. And I’ve been here for Ebola, for H1N1 influenza, and I was here for the first SARS illness back in 2003. We’ve seen these things erupt on a regional level but never really become a global pandemic. This is new in our generation. Urbina My nightmare is that one of my employees gets sick, and I have to close my office, and our families have nowhere to go. At the moment, what we need most are donations or gift cards. One donor asked if she could bring baby formula, and I said yes, that would be fantastic. We have another person who asked if they could bring baskets of food. Yes, whatever you think you can do. We are very grateful. Busse When we run out of ventilators, that’s not something that we can just pull out of the closet. So, we’re relying on and hoping for support from the government to get more ventilators. We’re relying on and hoping for support from industry to get us more resources. We’re using what we have now, and once that’s it, once we’re out, we’re going to have to get creative. We don’t have enough N95 masks. We don’t have enough personal protective equipment. We’re using what we have, and we are hoping that we don’t get the virus. Nave We’ve started rationing our personal protective equipment. We’re trying to be very, very smart about when to use it and on which patients. It’s kept under lock and key because there’s panic even in the healthcare system when something like this hits. People start hoarding. Ware My husband is 60 and has heart disease, so we want to make sure he is extra-protected. I’m a breast-cancer survivor. We live in a condo downtown. We are in and out of the parking garage, touching that door all the time. Those are the things we have to be conscious about. We’re here, and we’re in the house more now, obviously. But it’s fine, it’s family time. We’ve got a puzzle. I got me some wine. Brad Levenberg | rabbi at Temple Sinai So many of us have relied on physical gatherings to provide comfort when we’re going through difficult times. When it’s joyous, we gather to celebrate. In the days after 9/11, we gathered in homes and apartments to watch the news. Now, this kind of support is all being challenged. We need to find other ways. Busse Right now we’re not seeing the normal volume of patients that show up needing care at the hospital. And is that because patients are being more careful and taking their medicine and having telehealth visits with their primary-care doctors? Are they no longer using the emergency room as a sort of a primary-care outlet? And it makes me think: Is this what healthcare could be if we were sort of using the system appropriately? Now, of course, the pessimist in me worries that when this is all said and done, we’re going to look at mortality and morbidity of people that were not infected with COVID-19 and we’re going to see that go up. Nave Italy had so many cases that all presented at once that it overwhelmed their entire system, and they’re having to choose who’s going to live and who’s going to die. They’re looking at two patients who are actively dying and there’s one ventilator, and they’re saying “You get it.” That’s probably the most horrific experience for a physician. I can’t even imagine. That’s what we don’t want. Hollingsworth We are in the holy season of Lent right now. It’s already designed to be a season of introspection and asking the big questions. So, in many ways, this makes the Lenten questions more real and more pressing because the ground is shaky under people. But personally the ground doesn’t feel that shaky to me. Because I have a different kind of existential hope. We may see people turning to the church to ask, Are there answers there that perhaps I’ve been making fun of for a long time? This is an opportunity to live inside a hope that is not built on markets or how many widgets you can sell. Carstarphen This is going to have a huge and disproportionate impact on black and brown and poor children. When you’re in a city that has the label of being the most unequal city in America when it comes to income disparity, and you’re working with people who are already fragile and incredibly strained in the healthiest of economies, this is crushing. If you’re wealthy, you can still get the access to the things you need for your family. Our kids weren’t getting that at the outset. It took a pandemic to wake up some people to know that we have to support our marginalized brothers and sisters. Clinkscales I don’t have money to pay for college on my own. Scholarships have been taken away. I’ve been thinking about starting a business. I have always wanted to own a sports bar. Now, I’m scared about what I’m going to do after I graduate. I was working hard, doing extracurricular activities, filling out scholarship applications, playing sports, trying to do something better for my family. And it all got taken away because of the virus. Devon Clinkscales: “I’m scared about what I’m going to do after I graduate.” Photograph by Audra Melton Urbina This pandemic has proved how connected we are. Nobody can say that they have not been touched by this. I am Latina, but if something is happening to my friends in the black community, it’s my problem. I have to do something about it because they’re my people. With everything that’s happening to the Asian community, I feel so sad that people have made them feel they are to blame for the situation, which, they’re not. We need everybody’s help so we can survive. There will be repercussions from this that we can’t even imagine right now. Do whatever you can, but just do something. Stieber My main focus is keeping the business open any way I possibly can, which right now means switching to a to-go–only format this week. But we have to do what we have to do, and I’m doing whatever I can to make sure I pay my staff and keep their jobs. If you have the ability to stay home and still get paid and you’re willing to share with the people who need it, then do so. Just stop posting the same memes—pony up and do something legitimate to help. Nave I don’t leave my house a lot [when I’m not at the hospital]. We have gone to the grocery store. We do not bring our children. I keep hand sanitizer in my purse. The second I get in my car, I sanitize my hands again. We bring all the groceries in, unload then, and immediately wipe every single food item down: boxes, milk jugs, whatever. Then, we take a wipe and retrace our entire steps from the time we entered the house—every doorknob, every baby gate, every counter. Levenberg This is a time when you don’t have to put your life on the line to be a hero. You’re a hero when you pay your yard people to not show up. When you pay your cleaning people to stay home. When you send a gift card to teachers who are learning new tools to teach your children. These are all heroic measures. Bottoms I’ve been thinking a lot about the Holocaust and the diary of Anne Frank, how people’s lives changed and they had to go in hiding. When I think about that, this is a minor inconvenience. There are people who live across the globe with disease and war. I’m in a house with AC and a backyard and two dogs who get to run around and play. It’s made me grateful just about the little things—going to a restaurant, getting your nails done, going to the store. These conveniences we take for granted our entire lives. It’s given me a perspective, another layer of empathy. Nave This is a different infectious agent than we have ever seen in most of our lifetimes. This truly is unprecedented. I was at Emory when we dealt with Ebola. Ebola’s mortality is way worse than this, and it’s very infectious—but not as infectious as this. This is crazy: You start with one city in China, and now, the whole world has it because we’re so interconnected. This is such an unprecedented infectious agent that we have to be more diligent and cautious, even at the cost of some of the economics of this country. Because how do you put value on a life? Hollingsworth If we have a death in our community, it’s our practice to come together as a community and tell stories. We can’t do that now. But an interment can’t wait. The staff here will do small graveside services, and we’ll encourage families to push a memorial service into the future. Gallagher [My wife and I have] had some difficult talks about the greater good. Is it being available as a soup kitchen, or selling food to raise money for our staff, or closing down and keeping the highest level of social distancing? This morning, she shared a dream she had where she was in the grocery store and there was too many people and she could see the hand sanitizer and she couldn’t get to it. Levenberg I hope we have a renewed understanding of those who are more marginalized than we are and of the privileges we claim by default. Maybe that sense will be awakened in people who are seeing that there are a lot of people who are worse off, who are seeing that they’ve milked the existing system for their families at the expense of others. Amy Phuong and Kerry O’Brate Photograph by Audra Melton Phuong We thought, What’s preventing us from still getting married? So, we went to the courthouse to get our marriage license the last day the court was open. We pulled up the weather app to look for a date when it wasn’t going to rain. Bill Bolling [the founder of Atlanta Community Food Bank, who was officiating] said, “Pick a pretty spot.” I thought, let’s just pick our neighborhood park, Cabbagetown Park. When Kerry and I first started dating, it was midway between our houses. My parents came, my sister. We had to keep it under 10. We had hand sanitizer. I picked up pastries from Alon’s that morning. We used Kerry’s Zoom account to do some livestreaming. We wanted to make sure family and friends got to be a part of it. On the virtual stream, somebody wore pearls, somebody put on a dress and makeup, someone wore a tuxedo T-shirt, one of the bridesmaids who couldn’t be there even wore her dress. There was a beautiful moment in the ceremony where Bill was addressing the virtual crowd. His remarks almost made the park feel like it was full. He did an affirmation: “Will you guys support this couple?” That was a beautiful moment, looking over at an iPhone on a tripod and hearing everyone say, “We will.” Expanded interviews: These Georgians had so much more to say than we had space to print. To read their full stories, click on the names below. Dr. Michelle Au | Dr. Meria Carstarphen | Devon Clinkscales | Hugh Acheson | Amy Phuong | Mike Gallagher | Jarrett Stieber | Belisa Urbina | Shawn Ware |Dock Hollingsworth | Keisha Lance Bottoms | Joey Camp | Dr. Laurence Busse | Dr. Jessica Nave | Marshall Rancifer | Brad Levenberg This article appears in our May 2020 issue. The post 21st Century Plague appeared first on Atlanta Magazine. #JarrettStieber #EmpireStateSouth #KeishaLanceBottoms #MichelleAu #Coronavirus

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