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yoondoze · 5 years

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ultimatum | l.dh

donghyuck is a cute regular who has seen your spectacle reserved for rude customers a number of times and just can’t get enough of it.

pairing: donghyuck/reader

genre/au: fluff, coffee shop! au

word count: 2.2k

warnings: none

a/n: i kinda forgot that i had this in my drafts and decided to finish it! this was the mcdonalds au i once mentioned but thought that a coffee shop might work better. hope you enjoy <3 also, this was inspired by an incident from this post

When you’ve been working in fast food for long enough, your skin gets real thick.

There was just about nothing that could get to you, not even the wrath of a fifty-year-old man with a heavy southern accent calling you a whore because a barista accidentally gave him whipped cream when he didn’t ask for any - even claiming that whipped cream was emasculating! It wasn’t your fault and you knew it, even though he treated it like you killed his firstborn son. Still, you didn’t let it stress you out. You were tougher than nails - in fact, you were the type of person to throw nails into your mouth like sunflower seeds, chew them, and spit them out. When you were at work, anyway.

However, that didn’t mean you enjoyed dealing with it. Sometimes, you couldn’t get customers to leave you alone - Jesus Christ lady, I already gave you a refund and a coupon if you ever want to come back (please don’t), what more do you want? And you had a perfect way to get rid of it.

It was just a thing. Your coworkers laughed til their ribs hurt every time you pulled it and it was undeniably hilarious. You knew you weren’t supposed to anymore and perhaps it was a bit manipulative, but in your book, they deserved it.

And here we go again.

“There are no straws left,” she said abruptly. Her horribly cut side bangs swept to the right of her face screamed that this would be more troublesome than you were willing to put up with. When you looked over, she was correct. There were no more straws left in the basket on the counter. Big whoop.

“I’m sorry ma’am,” you replied in your most polite, high pitched voice, “I’ll be right on it in a moment.”

You continued taking the current customer’s order, hoping a coworker mulling around might have heard it and would get her the damn straw. No one stepped up though, leading you to believe that they almost wanted it to escalate, especially when Jisung - who was “busy” making a drink - gave you a look. Nothing had happened all day and everyone was bored out of their minds.

“Alright, your total will be-”

“Excuse me?” Her eye twitched as she interrupted you.

“One moment please ma’am, I’ll be right with you.”

“...Are you kidding me?” She scoffed. “All I need is a damn straw, and you kids are just going to ignore me?”

In the blink of an eye, you were wearing an anxious expression like a mask and your voice was faltering with worry. The customer who was right in front of you, who was actually quite pleasant, was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the woman leaning into his bubble just to get in your face.

“Ma’am, I’m dealing with another customer-”

“And you were dealing with me first!” she yelled, bringing up a poorly manicured finger to point at you. “This place is horrendous. I cannot believe how low the bar is for the service I am receiving right now. You are one lazy little girl, and let me tell you, not one member of your generation is fit for the workforce right now. Always in your phones, not even able to refill the straws! When I get home, I am going to leave a Yelp review that will bring this place to the ground!”

You had to stifle a laugh in your throat.

It was dead silent. Conversations came to a halt, food was left half-chewed in people’s mouths as they focused on the ordeal up at the register. Some people in the place had seen you do it once or twice, if they came here regularly when you were working. Those people met your eyes and watched with excitement. One who you were familiar with, Donghyuck, looked up from his phone and raised his eyebrow at you from a corner booth, anticipating your next move.

The first time viewers were in for a treat.

Cue the waterworks. Your eyes filled to the brim with glassy tears, something you learned to do on command since you started working here, and brought your hands to your face. It was just natural at this point.

In a choked voice, you stumbled over your words, “I, I’m so sorry ma’am, it’s just that I… It’s my first day today and…”

You watched as her anger melted away and guilt began to take place. “I’m so sorry for messing up, I just got overwhelmed and…”

“No, no, no darling, I am sorry for yelling at you and I shouldn’t have. You’re new and it was my fault…” Her cheeks were incredibly red at this point, eyes wide and absolutely astonished. While you kept crying, sobs comparable to those in an afternoon soap opera, she had no clue what to do. Everyone in the store was looking at her with judgemental eyes, even her kids sitting at the booth. You spared a quick glance to Donghyuck, who gave you a concealed thumbs up as he tried not to laugh.

Instead of finishing the conversation, she simply hurried away back to her table, embarrassed, putting on her jacket and quickly pushing her family out. Trying to hold in your laughter, you ran to the back and let another watching worker take your place.

The others on break burst into laughter when you walk in and you couldn’t help but join them. It just felt good to see rude customers get what was coming to them, even if you had to lie a little. You wiped your eyes and patted your face dry with a towel as they complimented your performance. It was unbelievable that you weren’t being cast in movies instead of working a minimum wage barista job.

“Oh my god, Y/N, you’re so good at that!”

“It never gets old, I swear.”

“Just don’t let the manager find out you did it again.”

That was the one problem you had with the joke. Your manager, Doyoung, was strict and held way too much pride in his direction of the café. He maybe smiled at it the first time and then warned you not to pull the act again or there would be consequences. Since then, it always had to be something just between the employees. He was friendly but took his work in the fast casual business seriously and wouldn’t hesitate to let you go if you presented any problems, and unfortunately, you needed the money.

“Well, I’m not letting him know anytime soon, so you better not either. I’m your only source of entertainment around here, anyway,” you laughed, setting down your towel.

After it was safe to go out again, you received a few comments from customers who had witnessed it. Some were apologetic, clearly those who felt sympathetic for the new worker. Others were happy to praise your acting, and the shared laughter made you forget about the possibility of getting fired for it and wondering if it was worth the effort.

It was a little while later that you noticed that Donghyuck still sat in his corner booth. It surprised you, as the boy was typically only here for an hour max to do schoolwork before heading home. To be completely honest, you were always a bit disheartened when he left. You thought you worked better when there was eye candy present, encouraging you to do your best. Not like correctly making lattes would impress him, but you get the gist.

You memorized his order fairly quickly when he first started coming around and always tended to him with much more care than other customers. Your coworkers noticed it and teased you about it constantly - especially Jisung - but nonetheless let you have your fun.

Donghyuck was fairly talkative. Typically you would only listen half-heartedly when it came to customer conversations, but you paid full attention when he was speaking. He talked about his group of friends at school, his teachers, and sometimes you were even treated with a fun story of something that had happened recently. He was really kind and charming, not to mention that he was so cute that it made your heart hurt sometimes.

Occasionally you left a smiley face next to his name on the cup when you were feeling lucky, but not much came of it other than a small laugh, which you were still delighted to see anyway. Jisung suggested for you to write your number down a few times, but you wouldn’t be able to deal if he rejected you like that.

In other words, you had a big fat crush, and him staying later today gave you an ounce of sweet, sweet hope.

It was close to the end of your shift when he came up to the counter. Jisung had gone to the back to get his things since the place was pretty empty, so it was just you.

He looked like he was just going to leave, with his backpack slung on his shoulder and all, but he didn’t. You tilted your head to the side as he approached the pick-up counter rather than the registers. “Not ordering?” you asked.

“No, actually,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “I, uh, I just wanted to talk to you for a little.”

It was safe to say that your heart leaped from your chest. This had to be it!

“Oh, okay... well then what’s up?”

He sighed and then smiled. “That act you pulled earlier… I swear, I never get tired of it.”

You laughed in return. “Yeah, me neither… I don’t know, it’s pretty entertaining for me, too.”

“How do you do it?” he leaned in closer and lowered his voice for dramatics. “Like, you start crying on demand. It’s amazing!”

You could only shrug, trying to keep your cool as he talked. “I couldn’t tell you. I just make myself get really upset, like it’s actually my first day, and go from there. I’m no actor, but... I’d say it’s pretty convincing.”

“No, it’s definitely convincing. I think I’ve seen it happen about four times now, including today. It’s great, like you just flip a switch and boom! Oscar-winning performance.”

The two of you giggled over it, sending your heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings. You couldn’t see yourself in a mirror but were sure your face was flushed red. Eventually, as the energy started to die down, he began again.

“Anyway, so I think you kinda know that I’m not just here to talk - I, I mean I like talking I just had something else to say-”

“It’s fine,” you said, grin prickling at your lips, “Don’t worry.”

He sighed, fingers entangling themselves as they rested on the counter. Donghyuck cleared his throat and then he said quickly, “This is a bit awkward and probably not the best place to ask but since I don’t know when else I could do it… would you go on a date with me sometime?”

He waited for your response with wide eyes, chewing on his bottom lip. You were so shocked that you couldn’t get any words out. It was your dream come true, yet you were still screwing it up.

“Um, you know what, nevermind, it was stupid of me to ask and especially while you were at work-”

You waved your hand as you realized where he was going. “No, no, it’s fine! I was just surprised, that’s all!” It was especially shocking that he was so flustered. From what you had seen from him, he was calm and collected. This wasn’t smooth as you imagined, but it was incredibly endearing.

You bit your lip mischievously. “I mean… I don’t know, Donghyuck. You’re a customer. Why should I?”

Fortunately, he received your playfulness well. What you didn’t expect was for him to come back even stronger. “Well, if you want to get serious… I’ll leave a complaint that you fake cry to make annoying customers feel guilty?”

A loud, hearty laugh made its way out of your chest. “Okay, fair enough. As long as you don’t tell my manager, I’d be happy to go on a date with you.”

You gave him a cheeky wink and grabbed a notepad and a pen and started to scribble down your phone number. When you handed it to him, that adorable signature grin spread across his face.

“Okay, I’ll... call you sometime. Thanks, Y/N.”

Then he was off, out the door with a certain bounce in his step that made you giddy, too. You had to turn around, letting yourself do a little dance of joy. At that moment, Jisung came out from the back with a smug look on his face. He punched you on the shoulder lightly as he walked out behind the counter.

“Finally,” he laughed as you protested. “It’s literally been months.”

You squinted your eyes as you stared at the boy who was now cleaning up. He had been gone for quite a long period of time, and wasn’t he just getting his things? “Did you have anything to do with this?”

He just smiled to himself as he washed his hands.

“Jisung!” you whined, swatting at him.

“Hey, hey, I only dropped some hints! Nothing explicit, it’s not like I paid him… just some hints!”

Scrunching up your nose, you crossed your arms and looked away.

“C’mon, Y/N, I’m your wing-man! You needed it and you know it.”

“Okay, maybe!” you threw your hands up in surrender. Then, in a small voice, you mumbled, “Thanks.”

But that pretty much decided it. If you could get yourself a date with the cutest boy you’ve ever seen out of it, the risk of being fired was more than worth it.

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gingers-writing · 5 years

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Clint Barton and the Period

I hope you guys enjoy this, a little info for reader suffers with some pretty bad cramps and heavy bleeding. Although taking medication it still can get pretty ugly. I hope you all have nice periods and even nicer lives.

Master List

You always booked the week off from work, this call of nature incapacitated you every time. Yes you can walk around, cook some food, but no way in hell could you do a mission. Things reached a point where you bought a Livia in some attempt to make life bearable again. And it did help, cramps were manageable and now you only had mood swings, hot and cold flushes, unending hunger and being constantly tired to deal with.

Clint and you had a strange relationship, it wasn’t boyfriend and girlfriend, but you wouldn’t call it friends with benefits. You were beyond that, you just hadn’t given it a title, he was your boss. Brought you in from Hydra, trained you, worked with you closely. Loves you everyday and in every way.

You woke that morning, bled thought you’d pad in the night, blood down your thighs and across the bottom sheet. A towel was laid down and you changed your pad. The rest could wait till you had the energy.

Around 8am you felt a dip in the mattress, gently breathing against your neck and a certain archers fingers caressing your stomach. His hand slowly reaching your waist band and rubbing a finger under. Mumbled something then got up again. You were awake, but didn’t open your eyes. He carefully placed the pads on your body attracting you to the tiny box and starting it up. He knew you used setting four, then attached it to your waistband and got comfortable again. His hand rubbing down your leg, rubbing in a slow up and down motion.

You must have slept because you heard the shower running, when you opened your eyes, 9:32am. Dragging yourself out of bed and into the bathroom, he was in the shower humming away.

“Good morning gorgeous, you look beautiful today…” He did this every period, a different compliment to start your day. Not that you ever believed him.

“I got the usual supplies out if you want to do that this morning…” By the sink was an extra safe condom and silicone lube. When you told Clint sex can help cramps, he was all for it, anything to help him help you.

“Extra safe?” You frowned and looked at him, you felt like he didn’t trust you, the thought would have never crossed your mind before, but now, it was all you could think about.

“Nearly every condom I use I break in someway, which is fine normally. You’re on the pill. But while your body is doing its thing, I don’t want to put any stress on you, the last thing you need to worry about is if the condom rips…”

You turned the Livia off putting on that cabinet, beginning to get undressed, picking up the supplies. And heading towards the shower.

“If it’s extra safe, won’t it be thicker?” Stepping in, his arms engulfing you, a kiss placed on your forehead.

“Yeah, that’s how they make sure it doesn’t rip…” his damp hands sticking to your hair, his right hand slowly going down your back, it settled on your lower back, his calloused fingers rubbing a small circle.

“But that means it won’t feel as good for you…” Your eyes big and looking up at him, you felt like you were about to cry, you didn’t know why, it was like you looked at a cute photo again.

“Oh well, I get three weeks of every month with an ultra thin condom, one week a month with an extra safe won’t kill me, I’m sure I can handle it…” His lips met your forehead and soothed you.

And he did handle it, you were lucky to be graced with a large walk in shower, the perfect size for him to lay down and had you ride on top. That allowed you to control your pleasure, him groaning and scratching at your back as you grind down on him making him feel weak, that’s all he wanted, it was you feeling better.

You never had to ask twice, anything you wanted during sex, he would do it. No matter how strange you believed it was.

“Clint I want you to press me against the cold glass, wank off and finger me…” He happily got you up, pressed you against the glass, and let his fingers do the work, his own hand stroking his length.

“Like that baby?” All you could do was nod, pleasure clouded everything, even the pain. Clint had no problem with your period, sex was sex and a period was something that happened. He always looked forward to your period, it was the one time in the month you let him dote on you in public.

You orgasmed for the third time and you were shot, you couldn’t do it again. Panting you turned and faced him. “I can’t anymore...sorry…” He smiled, kissed your lips and looked down at his length.

“You can watch me finish if you like?” You nod eagerly, as much as you didn’t want anymore didn’t mean you didn’t want to watch him finish himself off thinking about you. He unwrapped himself, and began to touch it skin on skin. Your name was a pray across his lips. Whimpering and moaning and his hand against the glass next to you and he stained it white, his hips jerking and his legs shaking in excitement.

He rinsed the glass, removed the condom and lube from the shower, than he washed his hand and got back in. You both cuddled under the warm water. He washed your body, the blood and the sweat. He massages your scalp, the shampoo smell filling the room, he wouldn’t stop until you were nearly asleep. Conditioning your hair was easy, while you let your conditioner set he would wash himself and give his hair a quick shampoo.

Washing your hair out then turning the water off, drying you down. He helped you sort yourself. He knew each day was different and he respected that you can change your mind.

“Diva cup, tampon or pad?” He opened the top draw straying on his deodorant, handing you the item you requested. He handed you a pair of his boxers.

His boxers don’t push down on your swollen stomach, they made everything feel like it was well in place, and they remind you of him.

“You look good in them…” he pouts watching as you wriggle into the blue boxers. “I look like a whale…” you retort feeling unattractive. “I think you look like a dolphin.” He teased, pulling his shirt on. Then sports shorts.

Breakfast was easy, you only ever craved one thing, celeminites. You ate five celeminites and he didn’t mind, he had his ‘bird feed’ as you lovingly labelled the box. “How’s your feed?” He rolled his eyes. “My granola and oats are lovely…” his hand rubbing your leg, your pulled on a soft bra, his big grey sleep shirt and no pants.

Nat dropped by while Clint had to go train some recruits. “When are you going to make it a real thing?” She questioned, she was drying your hair, then began to straighten it. “It is a real thing, he spends most his time here…” She rolled her eyes and you saw it in the mirror. “We’ve been doing this for a year and a half, never once have I felt the need to stick the label on it. I don’t think we will, we are just happy as we are…” She nods, a smile breaks through and you looks at her, “good, if you never label it that’s fine. But when you finally get married, I better be a bridesmaid.” You nod. “I was planning on it…”

Now with hair done, you were sprawled across Natasha’s lap with YouTube on. “Who do you think will ask first?” Looking up at her. She shrugged, “I reckon Clint, he’s an old fashioned guy...likes that tradition, I reckon he will beat you by something like four days.” You nod. He walks through the door.

“Who am I beating in four days?” Toeing his shoes off in the hallway, hanging his jacket on the rack and walking into the living room. “Y/N, on proposing, I think you’ll ask first...but I reckon she’ll have been planning it.” He nods and hums, pouring coffee, he smiled when he smelled how good it was. “That sounds expensive…” He looked at Natasha, “and when you keep coming and stealing our food, we’ll never afford a wedding…” Natasha was halfway through a pint of ice cream.

It was a small thing, Clint had slowly changed from ‘your flat’ to ‘our flat’, he would offer to pay for the ingredients he used. Now he’s go shopping and fill the cupboards. He lived there every weekend, and every weekday except Wednesday’s. It wouldn’t be long until he was fully moved in, if he was truthful, he was so ready for it.

Natasha left soon after finishing her ice cream, then just you and Clint remained. He was rubbing your legs, he would have commented on your bad tastes in YouTube’s, but for one week he could handle it. A smile cracking his lips when you began to tug him next to you, time to spoon. This is when he could just relax, he didn’t need to play with part of your body, or fiddle with something. When he spooned with you, then it was just relax. His body let go of all the tense it held throughout the day.

His nose was nuzzled into your neck, his breath was hot and gave you goosebumps, his legs tangled into your and his arms wrapped around your rib cage. You fiddled with that Xbox remote changing video, he would mutter something about keeping you comfortable, but he was slipping away into sleep. You’d eaten lunch with Nat, he’d probably grabbed something from the base he was training at.

Soon it came time for food, your stomach told you that, the pit had opened and demanded satisfying. You grabbed your phone off that coffee table and laid in Clint’s arms, quietly ordering take away for the two of you.

It was when you had to escape his hold and answer the door he woke up, his hair fluffed in strange directions, tiredly walking as you took the Chinese and gave the person money, closing the door and trying to sneak into the kitchen.

“Y/N, what you got there?” You looked over and smiled, his hair was a fluffy mess, his eyes half closed and drool still could be seen on the corner of his mouth. “Chinese, our favourite…” he pulled himself off the sofa, the smell of you serving up pulled but from the daze.

Once food was beginning to be eaten, he demands you sat on his lap, at first you complained, but you moved out snuggling into him while eating your food. He was warm and comfortable, it was very agreeable.

#clint barton x reader #deaf!Clint Barton #clint barton #hawkeye #hawkeye x reader #clint barton period #Ginger's writing #Marvel Avengers #Marvel Universe #marvel hawkeye

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yaachtynoboat711 · 5 years

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Fonder Ch. 5

A/N: Oh, boy! I’ve personally been waiting on doing this chapter. There’s a bit of a curve ball in our favorite couple’s journey back together. If y’all thought y’all hated me in Chapter 1, then get ready for this chapter. 😘😘😘

Word Count: 2.2K

Warning(s): Slow burn, plot progression, few errors/typos

The months following Yaa’s most recent encounter with her ex-boyfriend left her more hurt and emotionally distant than before. She didn’t go out like she usually did; her nights out were substituted with take out and binge-watching movies and TV shows. She wasn’t as bubbly as she usually was. In an attempt to distract herself from her pain, she turned to her drug of choice: work. At any given moment, Yaa was more than likely working if she weren’t sleeping or eating. She took on a heavier workload and miraculously met success with the cases she worked on. As the year came to a close, Yaa had realized that her year had been trash. She lost the love of her life over some fuck shit and realized that her love life, if you could even call it that, was a joke.

Everyone around Yaa hated to see her in such a sad state. She’d said she was fine but everyone knew she was suffering. So much so, her family surprised her for Christmas in D.C. and stayed with her for a week. While the surprise visit definitely boosted her spirits, she continued working her frustrations out. She’d felt played—she’d allowed the supposed love of he life to take advantage of their relationship twice. She was physically, emotionally,and spiritually tired.

Her luck changed with a call from Tanisha one afternoon.

“Clear your schedule for New Year’s Eve: you got invited to the Black Gatsby soirée by Mr. Gatsby himself.”, Tanisha stated in a matter of fact.

Yaa took the phone away from her ear and stared at it, fully aware of Tanisha’s distant voice calling her name. “Girl, what?”

“You heard me. Mr. Gatsby has invited yo fine ass to the Black soirée on New Year’s Eve.”

“Mr. Gatsby? Bitch, you know he’s a fictional white character from a book,right? Not just any book—my favorite book. Francis Scott Fitzgerald would somersault in his grave if he knew a Black man was tryna play his character.”

Tanisha snorted. “I know. For the sake of anonymity, that’s what he’s referring to himself as. Just come to Cali and live ,bitch. I’m sick of seeing you all sad and overworked and shit. You deserve more; you’re 24 and full of life. Ring in the new year with a refreshing turn up. Live a little, bitch. I’ll be calling again this week to make sure you’re coming.” Beep beep beep.

Yaa spent the rest of that day thinking about what Tanisha said. Who was Mr. Gatsby? What did he want her ? Finding out his identity and his motives were the least of her worries. As rough as her year was, she deserved to party like it was 1922. Live a little, bitch.

———

Yaa spent the next month speculating who this Mr. Gatsby character could be. He’d sent many gifts On what would’ve been her and Winston’s first anniversary, Gatsby sent 3 dozen of her favorite roses— pink, white, and yellow— to her office with a note:

You deserve more today. Think not of what should be, but what is now.—JG

For Christmas, Gatsby sent Yaa a gold circle necklace with a single pearl dangling from the middle of the circle. Same note. These grandiose gestures left Yaa shook: she’d been out-extra’d by an anonymous admirer. She immediately ruled Winston out because he just wasn’t a frivolous spender and though he was being a fuck nigga at the moment, he was too humble to even think about doing all the things Gatsby had done for and sent her.

Tuesday, December 30, 2014, Malibu, California

Matt picked Yaa up from the airport per usual. On the way to Malibu, he picked Tanisha up as well. While en route to the house, Tanisha caught Matt up with the tea involving his ex-turned-best friend.

“Wait...so there’s a secret admirer...calling himself ‘Gatsby’...only communicates through Neesh...and is inviting you to a New Year’s party?! What the hell?”, Matt recalled.

“Well, I’ll say this: she knows who he is, but he’s not giving up his identity just yet.”, Tanisha suggested. Yaa’s neck whipped to look at Tanisha’s smirking face; she wasn’t lying.

“So, it’s not Wins? Confirmed?”, Yaa asked.

“I’m absolutely, positively certain it’s not Winston, sis. Buhlee dat!”, Tanisha assured.

Something told Yaa to check her mailbox. True, she didn’t have reasons to have mail after being away from her Malibu home for not even two months, but it never hurt to look. When she looked inside, she was met with a matte black envelope. The words “ Khalida Y.D. Abdullah, Esq.” were beautifully calligraphed on the front of the envelope in gold ink. She turned the envelope to see “JG” stamped in gold wax. Homeboy puttin’ in that work. Before she opened the envelope, she noticed a medium-sized box wrapped in a similar matte black wrapping paper.

“Boy, this nigga tryna gift you clean out yo draws, I see.”, Matt observed as he picked the box up for Yaa, scaring her.

“You sound a pinch jealous, Griff.”, Yaa teased.

Matt rolled his eyes, “Whatever. I gave you the world and a Super Bowl ring, woman. Remember that.”

“Correction: you gave me one of my two rings. Don’t play with me.”, she playfully snapped back, kissing his nose as he walked into the house with the box.

He gently sat the box in front of Yaa’s usual spot on her L-shaped sectional. Tanisha finally joined Matt and Yaa in the living room and took notice of Gatsby’s packages. Yaa kicked the box over on its side.

“The hell you do that for?!”, Tanisha demanded.

“Bitch, this coulda been a well packaged pipe bomb for all its worth.”, Yaa answered.

Tanisha wagged her finger at her best friend. “Somebody needs to ban Forensic Files from your Netflix queue.”

Yaa rolled her eyes as she began opening the envelope. Whoever was responsible for the letter was very abreast to detail. The letter was typed on a typewriter, a personal bonus for Yaa as she was the proud owner of a vintage typewriter.

Yaa--

By the time you read this letter, you will already be back in sunny California. Also, if you are reading this letter, then you have instinctively followed directions. In the box is a special gift for tomorrow night; I hope you enjoy them. Secondly, upon your and Ms. Holloway’s arrival, there will be two attendants escorting you to your VIP section. The people at the door will know exactly who are. When you go to coat check, ask the attendant for directions to “The Pit”. Upon your question, you’ll be taken to through the VIP entrance. Your access code word is bubbly. Can’t wait to see you.

The Pit? That sounds familiar. Hella familiar. Yaa moved to the box. The matte black wrapping paper was too pretty destroy, but fuck it. Her eyes shot open when she saw silver strappy heels in the box. “Oooh, this’ll go perfectly with my dress for tomorrow!”, she yelled out. The turn-up countdown had commenced.

NEW YEAR’S EVE

Tanisha and Yaa had a sleepover and went straight into preparation mode for the evening when they woke up that afternoon. After getting their hair and makeup done, the two returned to Yaa’s house to change. “Sis, can you zip me up?”, Yaa yelled as she sashayed to the other side of the hall. Tanisha responded back that she was coming but then stopped and began to whistle at her best friend’s floor-length dusty rose gown. The embellishments gave the gown a modern Gatsby remix. She wore the silver shoes Gatsby sent. Her locs were styled into a curly chignon and accessorized with a pearl headpiece.

“My goodness, Yaa!”, Tanisha complimented.

“Why, thank you, old sport.”, the two shared a laugh.

Mr. Gatsby sent a 1921 Rolls Royce to Yaa’s front door. Mr. Collins drove the two friends to the party’s location--an art gallery? Mr. Collins wished the girls a good night and happy new year as he pulled off. “ AN ART GALLERY?!”, the two squeaked in unison.

The art gallery was like any modern art gallery: polished light hardwood floors, white walls, semi-dimmed lighting and enough colored canvases to stir up many a conversation. There was a lively gathering taking place in the gallery, making the journey towards the back of the gallery less suspicious. Yaa and Tanisha made a beeline to the back stairwell. Gatsby warned Yaa that there’d be a bodyguard armed with a riddle-like question that only she would know the answer to before they could go down descending flight of stairs, the pair was stopped by a bodyguard in a tailored suit.

“Wait a minute, ladies. You can’t go down there.”, the bodyguard bluntly stated. Before Tanisha could tell the bodyguard about himself, Yaa covered her mouth. “Gatsby knows who we are.”, Yaa assured. The bodyguard shook his head. “Suuure...tell me, Doc, how you want that pit beef sandwich?” How dare he challenge my trivia. “Medium rare, extra horseradish, dummy.” The guard nodded and let them pass.

After knocking on the dark door four times, it opened to a dimmer foyer. The coat check attendant, a bubbly young woman, turned to them. “Whatcha need, sweetheart?”, she asked taking a sip from her martini glass.

“Can you show me how to get to the Pit?”, Yaa asked. The attendant nodded her head towards the other coats, “Right this way”. The two friends walked behind the counter, where the attendant pointed into the coats.

“Happy new year, ladies”, the attended said as she pulled some of the fur coats away from each other, revealing a door and opening it.

The other side of the door was the rabbit hole to a fucking circus. Beautiful Black bodies donned their Cotton Club’s best. The biggest names in entertainment, sports, and music made this chocolate El Dorado their haven. The blue and purple backlights provided just enough light to highlight the various shades of melanin against their outfit. The guests on the dancefloor in an almost ritualistic unison to the musical drug the DJs hooked them onto. The two attendants escorted Yaa and Tanisha past the many 8-person tables full of people hypothesizing on who they thought Gatsby was.

Further down to the right was the bar. The purple backlit shelves displayed the finest and rarest spirits anyone could legally obtain. Scattered around the club were about 15 cigarette girls and hostesses distributing drinks and hors d'oeuvres. The pair had finally arrived to their VIP section: a semi-circle couch with a hookah on the small table, all cloaked underneath a sheer white canopy.

Everyone in attendance left their inhibitions and year-long worries at coat check. With the year Yaa had had, she deserved first dibs for dancefloor access. A wild break-up, major career moves,two emotional breakdowns and surviving her first year of practicing law summarized Yaa’s 2014. There was no way in hell she would go into 2015 and her 25th year of life stressed. Her longing to go on the dancefloor was finally satisfied when the DJ began playing The 2 Live Crew’s “Hoochie Mama”. The two friends gave each other the all-knowing, pre-ratchetry look before running out and strolling to one of their shared ratchet hymns. Yaa strolled her worries off; her smile widened the happier she got.

At the song’s end, the two laughed their way back to their section.

“Tonight has been too surreal and it’s just...10:19.”, Tanisha commented.

“It’s just 10:19?!”, Yaa whipped her phone out to confirm the time. It was now 10:20. But, there was also a message sent from Winston Duke about 45 minutes ago: “I wanna go into this New Year on a clean slate. Let’s talk over lunch. 1:30? Shoot me a suggestion or three.”

Before Yaa could internalize her ex’s text, she felt a physical presence looming over her. She was spooked by a medium-built, average height,brown-skinned brother with a fade. His black eyes were striking, yet welcoming. They reflected blue from the club lights.

“Dr. Abdullah?”, he inquired loud enough to be heard over the blaring music.

“Speaking?”, she answered back.

“Mr. Gatsby would like to see you now.” Yaa’s stomach nosedived into her back and her palms began to sweat.

“O-ok.”, she stood and began walking with the man.

Yaa was escorted through a door that led into a dark hallway. The hallway was dark except for the light that passed through the four frosted glass doors on either side of the hallway. At the very end of the hallway was a solid wood door. Yaa was let in by the man and was left alone in the modest office.

“Please, have a seat.”, a raspy yet familiar voice suggested. He continued his cell phone conversation. The back of the chair was towards Yaa.

“Yeah...right. Uh huh? Tell Cross I’m not taking an-y-thing less than 140. Oh, of cour—right. Well, my guest has finally arrived. Alright, give Erin my love. Yeah, happy new year to you and yours as well. Buh-bye.” He hung up the phone. “Forgive me and my inconsideration for your presence, Dr. Abdullah. People are really tryna conduct business with folks when there’s maybe two hours left in 2014. Damn, shame.”, he said reaching for the chilled bottle of Dom Perignon. Upon hearing his voice, Yaa nearly doubled over from shock; all the clues were coming together. Pit beef sandwiches? The Pit? No wonder everything sounded so familiar. It was Baltimore.

The gentleman finally stood up from out of his chair and sat on the desk, placing the glasses next to him and winking at Yaa. Suave ass negro. “I’m certain you’re surprised to see me.”

Her shoulders bounced as she chuckled to herself. “That, I am, Mr. Gatsby. Ooh, I’m killing Tanisha when I see her.”

The Tag List is the Bee’s Knees!

@muse-of-mbaku @kumkaniudaku @eriknutinthispoosy @whoramilaje @mbakusthrone @mbakuwife @crushed-pink-petals @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanimelove @jackburtonsays @randomwordprompts @bartierbakarimobisson @wakandan-flowerz @blackpantherreblogs @babygirlofwakanda @eerythingisshaka @washyourlinens @turn-thy-paige @doublesidedscoobysnacks @wakandas-vibranium @dramaqueenamby @oshasimone @destinio1 @teheeboo @sarahboseman @iamrheaspeaks @chaneajoyyy @lovelynervouschaos @cay-cah @coonflix @katasstrophey @mareethequeen @jozigrrl @great-neckpectations @jellybean531 @yofavcocoa @storibambino @maya-leche @blackgirloneshots @royallyprincesslilly @texasbama @certifiednatural @abeautifulmindexposed

#thefonderseries #winston x yaa #dukeandthedoctor #winston duke imagine

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jishwatylrandtop · 6 years

Text

More To Love

@overcomplicatedxoxo

prompt: Could you maybe write something about a plus sized reader who has a lot of confidence issues who Josh ends up falling in love with? Like maybe she’s at the gym working out and these bitchy girls make fun of her (maybe bc they notice a hot Joshua checking her out and they’re jealous) and Josh defends her and they go out and eventually fall in love with lots of compliments from Josh?

Paring: plus sized reader x Josh Dun Words: TW: fatphobia

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

(Your POV)

You always got a lot of crap from your family about your job--a tech supervisor for music and entertainment venues around the states. It wasn’t easy, but you loved it. That’s why you suffered through four years in college, gaining weight like there was no tomorrow, weight you since haven’t been able to lose. It had become your life, and the people you worked with, and occasionally for, had become your second family. It’s how you met your best friend, Josh. You had panicked when you were flown out to Columbus and heard you were going to be doing a gig for Twenty One Pilots, but you didn’t regret it now. After the soundcheck, the boys had walked over to thank you and the crew for all your hard work. You and Josh had got to talking and realized you two were very similar. You had hit it off right away and exchanged numbers. It’s been two years since then, and your friendship was getting stronger everyday. In fact, after you had finished your contract with your original sound company, Josh and Tyler had asked you to work for them. You were skeptical at first, but with the upside of getting to see more places than just the United States, and the promise of more time with Josh, you had said yes.

It was six months after you had accepted the job, and you were having the time of you life. The boys are amazing, and you had already seen more places than you ever would have if you had stayed at your old job. Since touring with the boys was much less stressful, you finally had the energy to workout to lose those pounds you had gained in college. Josh had played a huge role in your decision to begin working out. He had told you how it had made him feel less stressed and more energized and had encouraged you to get a gym membership so that you could go when you were out touring.

That’s how you found yourself at the gym one a Tuesday afternoon. You and the boys had stopped in Columbus for almost two weeks to catch a break and relax in the middle of the tour, so it had become the perfect opportunity for you to get to the gym every other day instead of once or twice a month. The results of the past three months of having your membership had already presented some results, but you weren’t where you wanted to be, so you were here for the second time since the break started to work off as much as possible before getting back on the road. The gym where you were working out was relatively small and only had a handful of each machine, so you were stuck working out directly next to the other patrons, which made you uneasy. It made it easy for you to recognize when people where judging and talking about you.

You were in the middle of using one of the ellipticals in the back corner of the gym, when a few girls walked in. To say they were gorgeous is an understatement. They were tall, thin, tan, and everything you envied. They were the type of girls that could get any boy they wanted, the ones that were probably instagram models. They were what you wanted to look like, and you spent a good five minutes glancing at them and wishing you could look like that instead of your short, chubby frame. You shook away those thoughts, and continued with your exercise. If anything, having those girls near you made you even more determined.

A few minutes later, you glanced back at the group of girls to see them staring at you and whispering to each other. It was behavior you knew too well, the type of behavior that told you that they were making fun of you. It disheartened you a little, but eventually you were able to forget about it for the last ten minutes on the elliptical. You eventually left the machine, and made your way over to the weights, but you were interrupted when one of the twigs stepped in your way. “I admire your effort over there” she said with barely disguised disdain. “Although, at this point, I doubt it will help you.” She finished with a quick, disgusted glance up and down your frame. “Excuse me?” “Seriously, you think you could ever make yourself look... well like me. C’mon, you’re way too fat for that.” She laughed and glanced at her friends, who where snickering behind her filming the whole thing. “You should just quit now, fatty, because you’ll never be thin. You’ll never be pretty, and you’ll NEVER find someone who will love someone of your....size.” She gave you a sympathetic pat on the back and turned, returning to her friends who each gave her a high five. You were stuck in place for a solid minute, before you realized you were just standing in the middle of the gym with tears in your eyes. The embarrassment was enough to cause you to immediately grab your stuff and leave. You finally let the tears you had been forcing not to fall run down your face as you walked the few blocks to Josh’s place, where you were staying since you didn’t own a place in Columbus.

You reached his place twenty minutes later. You spent two minutes in the yard, using your phone’s camera to clean up your face--to wipe all evidence of your tears from your face, knowing Josh could read you like an open book. You entered the house quietly, doing your best to avoid Josh. It worked as you were able to slip by him while he was in the kitchen with his back to you, but he was alerted to your presence when you accidentally let your bedroom door close too loudly. “Y/n” he called after you. “I expected you to be gone for another half hour at least, you okay?” Your silence was enough to draw him away from making dinner and down the hall to your room. He tried the door nob, only to discover that you had locked it behind you, something neither of you ever did. Perhaps that was a mistake on your part as it immediately alerted him to the fact that something had gone wrong. “Y/n, open up.” You heard him call from directly outside your door, but you were glued to the floor in front of your full length mirror where you stood in you bra and underwear. You couldn’t stop the tears as you looked at yourself. You’ve always regretted letting yourself go in college, but today it all felt like too much.

You were so stuck in your head, that you didn’t hear the door unlock behind you, and it wasn’t until Josh was standing behind you that you even remembered he had a spare key made for all the doors. His reflection frowned at yours, where tears were still falling down your cheeks despite the fact you refused to meet his eyes. “Y/n,” he frowned. “Tell me what happened.” You shook your head, too embarrassed by the story to tel him. “Please, y/n, I hate seeing you like this.” A small whimper escaped your throat as he put his arms around you. “Please don’t touch me.” “Y/n” he begged. “Please. Let me help you.” You stood in silence for a few moments more before your resolve crumpled and you retold the whole embarrassing story while tears continuously streamed down your face. When you finished, he gently guided you back to your bed where he sat you down.

Kneeling in front of you, he replied “Y/n, you are beautiful. Those girls are horrible people who don’t see the real you.” You stared at a space behind him, refusing to look at him. “Y/n, look at me.” It was a stern but soft command that you couldn’t help but obey. “Believe me, you are the most beautiful girl in the world. Yes, those girls may be thin, but they’re ugly on the inside. You are beautiful both on the outside and the inside.” “No I’m not. I’m fat.” “There’s just more of you to love. Y/n, I know it’s hard to believe but you are stunning, and any man would be lucky to have you.” “Yeah but no one wants me.” “Now that’s not true, and you know it” he stated incredulously. “Oh really?” You replied. “Name one person who wants to be with me.” He hesitated for a moment, but his one word response knocked the wind out of you. “Me.” “That’s not funny.” “It’s not a joke,” he replied, which made you scoff in response. “I’m serious, Y/n, I’ve been in love with you for months, and haven’t had the courage to tell you.” You watched his face for any hint that what he was telling you was false, but seeing none there you replied “you’re serious?” “Dead serious.” “I love you too.” “Really?” “Really. I just never thought you’d want me.” “Are you kidding? You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.” He smiled at you before gently placed his hand on the side of your face and bringing you into a soft kiss. When you broke apart, you couldn’t prevent the smile that spread across your face. “Now go shower.” Josh said. “Dinner will be ready when you get out.”

#josh dun imagine #josh dun x reader #more to love #plus sized reader

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jim-reid · 6 years

Text

I Hate Rock & Roll

Tracey Grimson / On the Street 09.05.1995

As the Jesus & Mary Chain's machine of fuzz and feedback arrives in Sydney, Jim Reid explains how most folk have got his little sect all wrong. "It seems like everything we do that doesn't have screeching feedback on it, people come out asking, Where's the feedback?'. We can't get away from it." The Jesus & Mary Chain's Jim Reid is discussing that ol' albatross called "noise" which has been suspended around the neck of he and brother William since the album Psychocandy was released and justifiably lauded way back in late 1985. At the time, the record was highly regarded for its surreptitious fuzz power and its crafty take on the pop form, developing a new sound which came in the wake of the Brit punk scene but which arrived bearing just as much power, at the same time sparking a scene which the Mary Chain could claim as its own. Retrospectively, Psychocandy is regarded as one of the most important records of the 80s and, gleaned together with Darklands, Automatic and their various singles, EPs and B-side collections, the Mary Chain have come to be touted as one of the most influencial outfits of the period. But did punters have a problem with their interpretation of the Mary Chain when the feedback gave way, as on their latest long-player Stoned and Dethroned, to more upfront acoustic renditions of songs, a clearer pop ideal? "People focussed too much on the guitar side, the noise, the volume of the thing," says Reid, "and didn't really go too far into it to discover that there were good songs underneath. Although I'm talking about critics I suppose when you go out there and you meet people who buy your records, people do get the point. Unfortunately the people who seem to write for - particularly - the British music press don't." When it comes to the "softer" Mary Chain of the mid-'90s, Reid concedes that Psychocandy may be a blight on the face of the group in the long run, especially as "people judge you by your debut in the music business". However, having an album hanging from your belt which is so broadly regarded as a benchmark isn't entirely problematic, especially when it means that "a lot of people get to hear about the band that otherwise wouldn't. "But obviously it can also be a drawback," Reid continues. "It's like everything you do ten years after the record's out, people still compare to your first album. It's a bit of a pain sometimes. "The problem with Psychocandy," he goes on, "is that it was the first album that came out to be that noisy and hard to ignore. If it had been album three or album four, I don't think we'd have had this problem. The fact that our first album was so extreme and was out in that particular musical climate, I think that's the problem." When one considers Stoned and Dethroned in the light of Psychocandy, it's hard to imagine the same band producing both records - except, of course, for the songwriting sensibility which is at the forefront of each. But then again, Stoned probably sits perfectly in the Mary Chain's history. They are, as is the case with most bands which exist for long enough to actually "grow up", simply more accessible these days, and you don't have to be a teenaged, gothed-up punk to acceptably label yourself a fan. Anyone who tells you that a lover of Psychocandy couldn't possibly get into Stoned and Dethroned has, unlike the Jesus & Mary Chain itself, stayed put in the mid-80s. And probably has the tragic haircut to prove it. As William Reid has been quoted as stating in the past, "The best groups don't follow their audience, their audience follows them." "I think it was just that these batch of songs wouldn't have suited screeching noise guitar," says Jim of the context of the most recent record. "But we're not finished with noise. We like to do different types of sounds. The acoustic side has always been just as important to us as feedback and loud guitar. During the whole career of the band, if you look at each album, there's always somewhere represented as a slow, mellow, acoustic, ballad type." When it comes to ballads, the Jesus & Mary Chain offered up one of the best pop numbers of last year with their first single from Stoned, Jim's duet with Mazzy Star's Hope Sandoval, "Sometimes Always". The track was a melodic high, telling the age old story of boy-meeting-girl, girl-leaving-boy, girl-returning-to-boy, and everyone lives happily ever after. "When we met in 1987," Reid says of his relationship with Sandoval, "she was in a band called Opal which was basically Mazzy Star with a different name; pretty much the whole band was there I think. It was weird - we were on tour with Opal and at the beginning of that tour Kendra [Smith] was singing, and then during the tour of America - a week or two into the tour - the band broke up and reformed with Hope on vocals. So that was where we met her." Reid says that the reception in the UK to "Sometimes Always" was mixed: "I think a lot of people there weren't really sure what to make of it," Reid offers. At the suggestion of his brother joining him for the duet on their current Australian tour, Reid laughs. "Obviously Hope isn't with us, so we won't be doing that song." The Reid brothers have extablished a notorious reputation for themselves as indulgent little monsters when it comes to the areas of booze and drugs. When questioned on the topic, Reid has been known to give responses along the lines of, "When you're on tour, you tend to over-indulge in stuff like bad food and too much drink and whatever drugs anybody wants to give you." This constant obsession with getting "fucked up" seems to comfortably match that non-guitar punk scene which blew out of all proportion in the UK in the late-80s - namely, the acid house/rave movement. As surprising as it may be, the Mary Chain have done their own tinkering in the techno-related. "I got into it a few years back when everyone else did," Reid explains. "But I kind of went off it, for various reasons. At first it seemed to be quite exciting and now, looking back, it seems to be making the same kind of mistakes that rock & roll was making, if you know what I mean. Too formularised. I like the Prodigy - I think they're really good. But the thing that I like about the Prodigy that's lacking in most other dance music is they've got some attitude in their music. There seems to be a kind of darkness that you don't get otherwise. A lot of the dance records that you hear either don't have lyrics of have stupid lyrics. Things like the title Music For a Jilted Generation, that's a good thing to say." Reid confirms that there have been "occasional remixes" of Jesus & Mary Chain tracks, most notable being a re-working of the Honey's Dead track "Reverence", courtesy of the engineer from the KLF. "But," adds Reid, "that's pretty much it when it comes to our dabbling in dance music." Regardless of the music they make or listen to however, it's fair to say that the Jesus & Mary Chain will always enjoy a taste of drink and drugs. Enter Shane MacGowan, rock's most public alcoholic, and the provider of vocals on one of the Stoned and Dethroned's highlights, "God Help Me". "We'd never met him before," Reid explains, "so it's not like he was a personal friend. It's quite simple - we always listened to the Pogues, we always liked his voice, we thought he had a great voice, and we just thought, 'Wouldn't it be great to get Shane to sing on a Mary Chain song?'. You just ask people if they want to sing on your song and if they say no you've lost nothing. I think it worked out pretty well. "We'd been told that he was into the Mary Chain," he continues, "and we kind of expected that he would do it. And I think the Pogues have done - or they did it once or twice at least - 'Darklands'; they used to do it live." Reid is obviously pleased at MacGowan's slot on the record and of the Pogues' cover, just as he accepts as a total compliment any group giving a Mary Chain song their own rendering. It's especially flattering, he says, when he is an upstanding fan of a group beforehand, as with the Pixies who covered "Head On" on Trompe Le Monde. "It was as much a surprise to us as it was to anybody else. We'd kind of heard just before it was released that they were doing it, but it was a wild card. But I've always liked them so it was even more flattering - a cover by a band that you actually respect anyway. Anybody doing a cover is flattering - any-body; it can only be a compliment. But when it's by a band that you've already bought their records, it's even moreso." What must also surely be an accolade for the band is that their B-side and out-take offerings (notably Barbed Wire Kisses and Sound of Speed) have been as critically praised and as well-received by fans as a new Mary Chain album. "The reason we do those B-sides records," Reid explains, "is that we don't really think of the songs that go on the B-sides as B songs. Do you know what I mean? Some of those songs are just as important to us as album tracks or single A-sides. They are kind of raw, rougher, because you can set yourself a target and get maybe five songs done in two days. They come out kind of jagged and rough but I think that's the appeal." And for anyone who's concerned that the Reids may be performing in something akin to acoustic mode on the tour to coincide with the mood of Stoned and Dethroned, never fear: The show will still be "loud and noisy, even though the album isn't", the band bringing their OTT collection of guitars along for the ride. And, in keeping with their subversive style and pain-in-the-ass personalities, there will be a suitably-named tour EP released to coincide with the visit. Reid's voice suggests a smug Scottish grin as he offers up the title. "I Hate Rock & Roll," he says. God bless the Jesus & Mary Chain.

#interview

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distant-rose-archive-blog · 7 years

Photo

CS AU Week 2017: Day 4 - Favorite Tropes AU

Emma Swan is a crusty twice divorced bailsbond person who is a lone wolf by nature, excluding the company of her seven-year old son, of course. Her occasional companion of choice is a Seattle detective who is also a divorcee and an ex-military guy who got his hand blown off on some super secret Black Op mission in Afghanistan. Killian Jones is nearly as crusty as Emma and a closet sci-fi nerd who never fails to help Emma with a difficult skip or babysit her son last minute. There’s always been an unspoken attraction between them that’s held back by their memory of their failed marriages.

Tropes Included: partners-in-crime, bedsharing, UST, friends to lovers, living in the same building, wearing each other’s clothes and drunk kissing in the goddamn rain

As a general rule Emma Swan was a lone wolf, but whether she felt the need for assistance or human companionship, she often turned to Killian Jones. As a plain clothes detective in the Seattle Police Department with a military background, Killian made a natural ally considering Emma’s work as a bounty hunter; often contributing to the capture and pick up of the human trash Emma dealt with on a daily basis. It didn’t hurt that he also lived three doors down from her apartment, was a decent drinking buddy and was generally pleasant to look at. (Emma would neither confirm or deny that she made a sport of looking at his ass when he wasn’t looking. If the man didn’t want to be ogled, he shouldn’t wear such tight jeans.)

So, when Emma was handed a file of a skip with a profile that would have reasonably been used to describe the Incredible Hulk and a habit hiding out with his sister in Bandon, she didn’t think twice before asking Killian to participate in a weekend road trip/stakeout.

“If you wanted to go on a date, Swan, there are better ways to go about it,” he teased when she asked, taking a bite out of the double meat Italian sub she had bought him for lunch as a thinly veiled form of bribery.

“Please, that is never going to happen,” Emma scoffed, pushing his paperwork over onto his keyboard so she could sit on top of his desk.

“Famous last words,” he smirked, blue eyes dancing with mischief.

“Nope. Never. I couldn’t date you. You’re a pretty boy and you know it. I couldn’t stand living with that ego. I can barely handle it over three beers,” she replied with a roll of her eyes.

“That’s a lie and you know it,” Killian shot back. “You’ve lasted five beers and a Lord of the Rings marathon. No point in denying it, Swan. There’s still video evidence on my phone.”

Emma couldn’t help it, she let out a laugh. She always had fun with Killian, particularly because they had a good banter going. Killian seemed to have the same dry wit and dark humor as her. Their rapport had a bit of flirtatious element to it, but it was relatively harmless. It never went beyond a few lines and mock confessions of love, but Emma would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about it. You would have to be dead not to.

“Okay, okay. I can last five beers and four hours as long as there’s Orlando Bloom making weird faces in the background to distract me,” Emma scoffed, lifting her hands up in exasperation. “But for real, I’ve sworn off men. And women. I’ve decided that I’m going to be a crazy dog lady.”

“When did you decide this, love?” Killian asked, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“When I got divorced for the second time,” she replied casually.

Killian nodded as if he understood, which wasn’t surprising because she knew he did. Like herself, Killian was a divorcee; his former wife Milah had left him while he was still doing military service, not long before his hand had been blown off on some mission in Afghanistan. It was one of the things that bonded them aside from their love for fantasy and science fiction movies.

“Divorce has a tendency to do that. I would sing about losing that loving feeling Righteous Brothers style, but I’ve seen the amount of damage you can do when with just a hot cup of coffee,” Killian chuckled.

“Damn right, buster,” Emma smirked, bringing the aforementioned cup of coffee to her lips.

He had said it jokingly, but there was an incident in their past where Emma had used her coffee as a weapon when she had been unexpectedly surprised by a skip at a Starbucks. It had been surprisingly effective, however neither the police department nor the skip’s publicly appointed lawyer were impressed with the second-degree burns she had left behind. Though the incident had led to Killian complimenting her Macgyver-like tendencies of trying mundane daily life things into weapons.

Killian shook his head, leaning back in his seat and appraising her. “And I suppose there are worse things in the world to be than a crazy dog lady. You could be a crazy cat lady.”

“Yeah, no thank you,” Emma replied, making a small gagging noise. “I would die if I lived in a house that smelled of cat piss.”

“Quite right, Swan,” Killian laughed.

A comfortable silence fell between them as Killian dug into his sub and Emma sipped on her coffee. One of the things she loved about Killian was that he never felt the need to fill the quiet with unnecessary chatter.

“You’re a lucky woman, Swan,” Killian said as he finished the rest of the Italian sub. “I do have the weekend off, so I do have time to help you with your hunt for…the Incredible Hulk?”

“Just wait until you see the file then you won’t be questioning the nickname,” Emma replied, somewhat defensively. “The asshole looks like Lou Ferrigno.”

“Oh, you’re talking old school Hulk,” Killian nodded in realization. “I was thinking about the new one.”

Emma gave him a look like he had grown three heads.

“I wouldn’t be bothering you if he looked like Mark Ruffalo,” she scoffed. “Besides, if he looked like that, he wouldn’t have been able to put a cop through a window let alone attempt to lift an entirely filled safe out of a jewelry store.”

“For real? And Regina paid for his bail!?” Killian asked in disbelief.

Emma shrugged.

“I don’t make the decisions. I just pick up the trash regardless of how big. He might be big, but he’s a fucking idiot. Besides, this guy is like worth like $2,000 and Mama needs to pay rent and pay for some car repairs.”

“Maybe you should just buy a new car,” Killian replied with an arch of his eyebrow.

Emma scowled at him. He was constantly dissing her yellow bug. She loved that thing. It refused to die.

“I’m not responding to that slanderous suggestion,” Emma said, crossing arms in front of her chest.

“You kinda just did, love,” Killian snorted.

“That was an acknowledgement, not a response,” she argued.

“Whatever you say, counselor. I didn’t realize I was dealing with a lawyer, instead of a bailsbonds agent,” he chuckled.

Emma gave him a half-hearted swat as she hopped off his desk. Killian feigned injury, letting out an exaggerated “ouch” as she smacked him but his huge grin made it more than clear that he wasn’t really hurt.

“Quit being a baby,” she scolded. “I’ll see you Friday night. Seven sound good?”

“Eight might be best, love. I get off at seven and I’ll need a mo to shower, shit and shave,” Killian responded, chuckling.

Emma pulled a face.

“That’s more than I needed to know,” she responded, fishing out the keys to the bug.

“I’ve picked up your kid’s vomit, Swan, I can say whatever I want.”

The next time Emma saw Killian that week, it was to pick him up from his apartment. He came out the door before she even had the chance to knock. It’s fairly obvious that Killian’s just showered; his hair was still wet, dark strands plastered against his forehead while his black jeans and shirt clung to him in a fashion that told Emma he barely had time to towel off. (She wasn’t complaining.) He carried only an army duffle over his shoulder.

They made idle chatter as they walked towards Emma’s car.

“Where’s Henry this weekend?” he asked casually.

“With my brother and resenting every second of it,” Emma replied with a sigh.

“I thought David and Henry got on,” Killian frowned.

“They do, but everything is all about the baby lately so as you can imagine, my seven-year old isn’t so interested. Plus, he was really intent on joining me this weekend on this stake out. He doesn’t seem to get that my job isn’t as glamorous as the TV makes it out to be,” Emma sighed.

“Maybe you should let him ride along at least once, so he realizes that,” Killian advised.

Emma glared at him.

“I’m not taking my son with me when I’m taking down possible rapists, murderers and scumbags, Killian. It’s dangerous.”

“I’m not suggesting you do,” he responded with a roll of his eyes. “I meant taking him on the more boring ones, you know, like your tax evaders and absentee dads that don’t pay child support.”

Emma continued to glare him, not bothering to respond. She climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The last example hit a little too close to home, bringing to mind her first husband Neal, who originally identified himself as an antique collector when they first met. The descriptor wasn’t necessarily a lie, but Neal’s choice of collection was a little less than legal and he had tried to take her down with him in hopes of a lesser prison sentence towards the end of their marriage. The three months after he got out of prison, he went AWOL and currently owed Emma $12,850 in child support; not that she expected to ever see a cent of it.

Their four-hour drive to Bandon was less tense as they move to lighter conversations like their disappointment in Peter Jackson’s adaptation of The Hobbit and whether or not they considered Deep Space Nine to be a rip off of Babylon Five or not. Despite their easy rapport, they’re bone tired by the time they reach their destination and roll into the nearest motel they could find with a vacancy sign. Emma was dead on her feet when she went to the reception desk. Killian was even worn out, leaning against Emma’s side as she approached the desk.

“Two doubles,” she asked, stifling a yawn.

The moment the old woman behind the desk gave her a sympathetic look, Emma knew something was wrong.

“I’m sorry, young lady, but all I have left is a room and that’s with a single queen. It’s wedding season, you see, and I’m nearly all booked up,” she informed her.

“Wedding season,” Emma repeated, blinking.

“Wedding season,” she affirmed. “All those young kids don’t want to get married in a church anymore. They all want seashore weddings. So, like I said, I’ve got a room with just a queen and I’m willing to give you a discount. Ten percent for the inconvenience.”

Emma glanced in Killian’s direction. His eyelids were drooping and he didn’t seem to be understanding what the old woman was saying, not that Emma blamed him. He just got off a long shift, which was followed by a long drive no matter how entertaining the company was.

“What are you thinking, Kil?” she asked gently.

“That I just want to sleep, Swan and it’s one in the morning and I don’t care if I have to bunk on the floor. Slept in worse conditions, remember?” he muttered against her shoulder.

Emma sighed. She wasn’t necessarily comfortable with the idea of Killian sleeping on the floor, especially since he was doing her a favor. However, she was exhausted and didn’t feel like driving any more if she didn’t have to.

“We’ll take it,” Emma replied.

The room they get was tired and in desperate need of a remodel. The bed didn’t look too terrible but the rug was positively disgusting, patched with suspicious dark stains. There was no way that Emma could let him sleep on the floor in good conscience. She didn’t care if he was used to sleeping in dirt holes from his time in the Middle East, he was now back in the States and deserved to sleep in a bed.

“No,” she said aloud in a firm tone.

Killian looked at her in bleary eyed confusion.

“No?” he echoed questioningly.

“There is no way I’m letting you sleep on that floor, Killian Brennan Jones,” Emma stated, placing her hands on her hips.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor, Emma,” Killian replied, irritation in his tone.

“Better me than you,” she replied.

“Emma, you paid for the room and I know you hate the argument, but I’m a gentleman, love, and there’s no way I’m letting a lady sleep on the floor,” he argued.

“I’m hardly a lady and Killian, it’s your weekend off and you’re spending it with me,” Emma shot back, frustration coloring her tone.

“I was going to spend it with you anyway,” he scoffed. “But the point still stands that I refuse to let you sleep on the floor.”

“Then we’ll just have to share then,” she snapped without thinking.

Killian looked her in bewilderment, jaw dropping slightly.

“Share?” he repeated. “Do you think that’s wise?”

“It’s a queen size bed so it’s not like we’d be on top of each other,” Emma reasoned. “I mean, we’re both adults here. What? You think just because I’m sharing a bed with you that it will automatically lead to sex? News flash, Jones, you might be attractive, but you’re not so attractive that I’m just going to start molesting you the second we hit the sheets. Get over yourself.”

Killian’s jaw clenched and Emma watched as a muscle jumped. He was as pissed off as a man could be when he was bone tired. She knew in any other situation that this would have blown into a fight of epic proportions, but neither of them had the energy to put the effort in.

“Fine,” he replied tightly, grabbing his pack and heading towards the bathroom. Emma nearly jumped when the door slammed angrily behind him.

Emma took advantage of his absence, changing into a pair of candy cane stripped pajama bottoms and an Army shirt that had once been Killian’s, but had long since been pilfered by Emma and become a permanent resident in her closet. She hopped on the bed, choosing the side closest to the nightstand rather than the door. Killian emerged from the bathroom not to long after, wearing only a pair of boxer briefs and a shirt advertising Mills’ Bailbonds. Emma quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Nice t-shirt there, Jones,” she replied, biting her lip to hide her smirk.

Killian blinked before glancing down at his shirt as if just realizing which one he was wearing. He gave a shrug then realized that Emma was wearing something of his own collection.

“Same to you, Swan,” he nodded, all the fire and frustration from before erased.

He hopped onto his side of the bed without further comment, immediately seeking refuge under the covers and turning with his back facing her. Emma understood the sentiment and unfolded her own side, ready to go to sleep herself.

“Mind turning down the light, Swan?” Killian asked gently.

“Sure,” Emma replied, leaning up to turn off all the lights before snuggling into the sheets. There’s a reasonable amount of room between them without her feeling she’s hanging to the edge of the bed.

“Night, Swan,” Killian muttered so quietly that Emma almost didn’t hear him.

“Night Kil,” she murmured back, nuzzling her pillow.

Emma was tired enough that she didn’t remember falling asleep. She would, however, never forget waking up. Somehow over the course of the night, they both had gravitated towards the middle of the bed. Emma awoke the next morning, warm despite the fact both she and Killian had kicked the sheets to the bottom of the bed. Killian had molded himself against her back, seeking the warmth of her body underneath her shirt. She was somewhat mortified to note that his hands on curled itself around her breast and both of their legs were tangled together. Killian was still asleep, his even breaths puffing against the base of her neck, causing a shiver to run down her spine.

She immediately removed herself from the situation as carefully as she could, ignoring the hammering of her heart. Killian let out a small whine of protest, but didn’t wake. Feeling slightly bad, she gathered the neglected sheets and covered him, in hopes of keeping him asleep just awhile longer. He deserved it.

Emma gave the ancient alarm clock a quick glance. It was roughly eight in the morning and she wanted to stake out the sister’s house by nine-thirty. She could take a shower and get dressed at her leisure. If Killian was sleeping when she was done, she would give him a jostle and some space while she got some coffee. Satisfied with her plan, Emma went to work and tried to ignore the events of the morning.

As she predicted, Killian was still asleep when she was done getting dressed. He wasn’t particularly pleased to be woken up, but she had mollified him with the promise of coffee. There was a Starbucks not too far from where their motel, located on Virginia Ave. She ordered herself a large iced caramel macchiato and a large dark roast coffee with a shot of espresso for Killian. After a near three years of friendship, she knew his coffee order by heart, not that it was a particularly hard one to remember.

When she arrived back at the hotel, Killian was dressed albeit still on the sleepy side. He had a tendency to be barely coherent and irritable without his coffee, so before he even said a word she shoved his dark roast in his hands without comment. He raised the to-go cup in silent thanks before taking a sip.

The majority of their day was rather uneventful. They sat in Emma’s yellow bug two blocks from her skip’s sister’s house the entire morning and mid-afternoon without so much of a hint of movement. When it came around to four-thirty, they got a bit testy with each other.

“We haven’t seen a lick of anyone. You sure, they’re home, Swan?” Killian asked, drumming his fingers against the dashboard.

“Her car is parked in the driveway,” she replied flatly.

“Doesn’t mean she’s home or he’s here,” he responded, raising his eyebrows.

“I know, but I have a feeling in my gut.”

If it were possible, Killian’s eyebrows would have risen past his hairline.

“We’ve been sitting here for the past six hours based on a feeling in your gut?” he asked incredulously.

Emma gave him an annoyed look.

“You’ve always trusted my gut before,” she snapped, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“Yeah, but before now, your gut hadn’t gotten me leg cramps from being awkwardly folded up in your small ass car.”

“Don’t insult my bug,” Emma snapped, pointing a finger in his face.

“Your bug is an old rust bucket in dire need of being replaced, love,” Killian replied matter-of-factly.

Emma was about to yell at him when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. As if he had sensed their argument, Emma’s skip of the week emerged from the barely there raised ranch, tossing a pair of keys leisurely into the air.

“Son of a bitch,” Killian muttered, pulling out his gun.

“I told you he was here,” Emma replied smugly as she pulled out her taser.

Killian gave no verbal reply, but rolled his eyes as he stepped out of the car. Emma followed in suit, quietly snickering to herself. As could be imagined, Emma’s skip was not happy to see them and immediately tried to bolt, only pausing when Killian fired a warning shot. When the asshole thought it was a cute idea to try and charge them, Emma hit him with her taser. It took two jolts to take him down, but all in all it wasn’t the worst take down in Emma’s experience. The only thing that royally sucked about it was that it took nearly two hours to fill out all the necessary paper work in order for Emma’s bounty to be processed properly. By the time, they left the station, it was nearly eight-thirty at night and neither was in the mood for a long drive.

“Want to find a new hotel so you can have your own bed?” Emma asked lightly.

Killian made a noncommittal grunt.

“That wasn’t answer,” Emma said, raising her eyebrow.

“I don’t see the point. We’re not paying that much at the place we’re at now and it’s not like last night was a complete disaster. Like you said, Swan, it’s not like you molested me once we hit the sheets.”

Emma bit back the snarky reply about him molesting her in his sleep that was laying on the tip of her tongue. She refrained however because she was pretty sure Killian wasn’t aware of what had happened and she didn’t feel like hashing out that can of worms.

“Come on, Swan,” Killian replied, clapping her on the back. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

They ended up at a small bar across the street from the motel they were staying at. As with how things usually were with Killian and Emma, they stayed for more than a drink. They drained three beers each and shared a plate of onion rings. Killian insisted on paying the bill since Emma was paying for the motel room, but she refused to let him pay the tip and threw ten dollars on the table while ignoring the disapproval in his gaze. Emma couldn’t bring herself to care too much however, she was feeling slightly buzzed and giggly.

They were halfway to the motel when the heavens decided to open up and a heavy rain fell. Emma let out a loud shriek of surprise and immediately jumped to Killian’s side for warmth. He grumbled in irritation, taking off his leather jacket and hauling over their bodies in a haphazard way of shielding them from the sudden shower.

“Get a little closer, love, or you’re going to get drenched,” Killian grumbled, pulling her towards him.

Emma let out a shuddered breath as his fingers unknowingly brushed against her breast, bringing back thoughts of this morning. He immediately caught the sound however as his eyes zeroed in on her lips and held their gaze there longer than was entirely appropriate for platonic friends; not that Emma had much of a leg to stand on, she had been unabashedly checking him out for the past three years.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, his hold growing tighter.

When he spoke, she couldn’t help but focus on his mouth. It was only fair that she got to look as well. Unconsciously, she licked the corner of lips and despite her near hyper focus on the lower half of his face, she caught his eyes zeroing in on the action.

What happened next was an impulsive decision on Emma’s part that was no doubt fueled by a combination of liquid courage and her long-held desire to resolve the sexual tension that had been lingering between them ever since she found him teaching her son how to play air hockey. She grabbed the collar of his shirt and immediately tugged him down for a hard and unyielding kiss. Their teeth clashed together, the angle was more than a little awkward and Emma was pretty sure her lip was split from the roughness of her actions, but that didn’t seem to matter. Killian immediately dropped his jacket, letting it plop wetly onto the cement as his arms curled around her back in a vice grip to pull her closer.

She broke a way for a moment to take a quick breath before diving back in for another kiss. Killian let out a pleased noise from the back of his throat that Emma was pretty sure she wanted to hear on repeat for the rest of her life. She awarded him with affectionate nip of his lower lip before deepening the kiss. If she had been soberer, she would have been a bit mortified with how liberal she was being with her hands.

Emma made a noise that sounded embarrassingly like a whine when he pulled away. However, embarrassment soon turned to pride when she realized how heavy he was breathing.

“Emma…” he whispered. “Please tell me you’re not drunk.”

“I had only three beers,” she scoffed. “You know as well as I do that it takes more than three beers to knock me on my ass.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, though the sound was a bit strangled. “I…I just don’t want this to be a mistake.”

“This isn’t a mistake,” she whispered. “This…this is long overdue.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she laughed.

Killian laughed as well before hauling her over his shoulder and marching determinedly back to their hotel room, leaving his leather jacket behind in the rain without much thought as he made his single-minded trek. Emma let out a peel of laughter, pounding her fists against his back half-heartedly.

“What are you doing!? Put me down!” Her demands lost held no heat as she couldn’t stop giggling.

“Doing something I should have done a long time ago,” Killian replied. “And I’m not wasting any more time than I already have.”

When they finally got to their room, he immediately pressed her against the door and lifted her drenched shirt over her head, flipping it across the room without much thought. After such a caveman-like display, Emma had expected him to be rough but she was surprised by the softness of the kiss he placed on her lips.

“This is okay, right?” he murmured quietly.

“It’s more than okay,” she said, her hands absently soothing over his back as she rose on her toes to silence him with a kiss.

The next morning, she awoke in the same fashion she had the previous one with Killian pressed up against her back, his breath curling on the base of her neck and his hand on her breast. However, incident was a bit as it also involved a lot less clothing than the day before and there was a pleasant ache between her thighs and more than a few love bites on Killian’s neck. Instead of removing herself from the situation, she merely cuddled closer and went back to sleep.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs au week 2k17 #cs fanfic #cs au fic #trope challenge #my aesthetic #my fic #my shit #so many tropes #so many #not my usually ken but I hope you like it

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wandering-----wonderings · 4 years

Text

Sydney smiled. ''Well, if we had to let out the truth about our relationship to save my life, then it was worth it to me.''

Noah gave a half smile. ‘‘I still don’t know how he [Sloane] found out about it,’‘ he said. ‘‘I wish I could figure it out - I’m always pretty cold to you in the office.’‘

Well, Sydney did tell two people within the span of the same book: Emily and Stephanie. She met Emily when she was invited to a party at Sloane's house [Free Fall] and they hit it off, and she found herself spilling the beans about a lot of things, including her secret romance with a co-worker. Remember, while Sydney doesn't really know either of them at this point, they know her, so I can easily imagine Emily sitting at her vanity after the party is over, in a dressing gown and taking off her jewelry, and rubbing lotion into her hands while telling her husband how grown up Sydney is and about everything they talked about. I can see him 'innocently' inquiring about this paramour's identity and her telling him. Which it's not like she knew Stephanie would rat her out to Sloane, but she should have figured Emily would. Seriously, you're having a secret tryst with a co-worker behind your boss' back and one of the few people you tell about it is ... your boss' wife?

Fast-forward to the end of the book, we have Stephanie reporting back to Sloane and confirming the relationship between Sydney and Noah, but assuring him that she didn't think it would get in the way of Sydney's development as an agent. Sydney and Stephanie met during SD ''summer school'' and Sydney thought they were destined to be friends with how similar they were - including them both having boyfriends that they worked with, and Sydney confided in Stephanie thinking that she in turn would admit to her own relationship with a fellow agent (not knowing that that was what Stephanie was doing to her - and it worked). Looking back, I wonder just how much of Stephanie's background was true, or if she was handed Sydney's file and told to fabricate a believable backstory to get close to Sydney and get her to open up.

After telling Stephanie that she was dating someone she worked with, she also said that Sloane ''would not like it, that's for sure'' and thinks that Wilson [her former handler] wouldn't have either. However, one book before this one [Father Figure] he didn't seem to mind.

''Really?'' Wilson raised a skeptical brow. ''I thought you and Noah had hit if off.''

''What are you talking about?'' she said, embarrassed. ''He never even talks to me!''

''Hence my suspicion,'' he said with a wry smile.

''Noah's alright,'' Sydney admitted, making Wilson's smile even broader.

(That's as far as I'm reading for this because that's where it starts to get heartbreaking.)

Four people in total knew of Sydney and Noah's relationship. Emily and Stephanie (and both told Sloane), Wilson (who wouldn't have told Sloane) and Francie, who, coincidentally enough, also found out in Father Figure when Sydney had a bit of a meltdown. (The meltdown was totally valid.)

Despite my love for the books, one thing I didn't like is how they wrote about her 'love life'. I'll admit, I can kinda see why she sorta dated Burke, but she should have broken things off as soon as she got back from Hawaii. She also shouldn't have let Gromnovich make her doubt her feelings for Noah, and while she's still an ingenue in the love department, she shouldn't have been so easily romanticized by Trevor. As well as telling Brennan upfront that she already had a boyfriend instead of letting him think that, as Francie put it, ''scored the first cutie of sophomore year'' (which was also a ruse - on Brennan's part). I blame this on the books having different authors and them trying to put their own spin on things, but when you have a girl whose a spy at 19 and 20 years old (remember, the 12 books span a year of her life; a little more but not much), she doesn't need that many romantic entanglements. ''Noah was the one she wanted, the only one she'd ever wanted.'' [Sister Spy] and they should have just stuck with that.

Most of the problems Sydney and Noah had were communication-based, such as in Disappeared, when Noah voiced that he didn't think Sydney was ready for a solo mission. Now the reader could understand that when he said he ''didn't want anything to happen to jeopardize the mission'' he was really saying that he didn't want Sydney to get hurt. Of course, Sydney didn't realize that and she hadn't learned how to read Noah yet (and still hadn't really by the end of the book series) and got mad. I can understand why Noah's closely guarded and keeps things close to his chest (being an agent for as long as he has it kinda comes with the territory) and sometimes it like just assumes that Sydney knows the same things he does (a compliment, really) and doesn't think he has to say anything. Sydney, despite being more open and forthcoming, holds back on things that need to be said. Plus, neither one of them have much experience with the whole dating thing; Noah was Sydney's first real boyfriend and Noah had claimed that ''it's just better to be alone''. Add work to that when there's supposed to be 'no fraternization', then, yeah, it can get messy.

My main problem is Shadowed. I actually have a few problems with Shadowed. It starts off with her calling Noah her ''quasi-boyfriend'' and swearing off men (while she was still dating one), and making a squabble they'd had in the previous book sound like it was big enough to end their relationship. In retrospect, the rest of the book Sydney and Noah wise kinda meshed with what was already out there, but the 'summing it all up' that the author tried to do at the beginning of the book didn't really work; it was like they read the previous books so they'd have an understanding but didn't really get the details right. Such as: Shadowed having her had ''... a relaxing week of camping on the Oregon coast''. The lie she came up with (actually Sloane came up with it) [Skin Deep] was that she was going to take care of her ill father, and while it does say she ''drove up to care for him'', it never said Oregon. So unless her ill father decided to go camping - no. Also, Sloane didn't have the ''idea'' to send Sydney into K-Directorate - Noah recommended her [Infiltration]. Two, she didn't ''finally'' meet Anna Espinosa; she met her for the first time, and Anna didn't escape Sydney's grasp. (''... remembering with irritation how Anna had - but only just! - escaped her new agent grasp''.) Sydney came up with a plan and it worked. The plan wasn't supposed to last so much as buy time, so to speak. Then, later in the book, there was the small issue of her getting out of the van in Berlin twice - on the same page even, seriously, how does no one catch that? We also never find out what Anya was doing with Sydney's jacket tag. Close to the end of the book, it's surmised that she was putting a bug on Sydney to get her voice-print. However, once we find out that Anya wasn't working with Lucy, it still didn't say what Anya was doing. Intimidation tactic?

My second biggest pet peeve, right after the whole ''quasi-boyfriend'' thing is something Francie said. ''Well, well, well,'' she chuckled. ''Looks like you just scored the first cutie of sophomore year.'' Now this is when Brennan, obviously, is expressing some interest in Sydney, and one would think this would be the moment that best-friend-Francie, after hearing Sydney declare her love for Noah a couple months prior [Father Figure] would've piped up and said something along the lines of, ''Hey, she's dating someone, but I'm available''. Instead of inquiring how things were with Noah, Francie basically encouraged Sydney to start something with Brennan. Which sorta makes me wonder if she ever met him in between books and didn't like him. In The Solution (1x20), Francie says ''He was never good enough for you.'' Now, that frame of mind could have come after Noah left and she was heartbroken for her friend, or it could mean she met him at some point after Father Figure and didn't like him and proceeded to subtly push Sydney towards other guys.

((I had something else here but I forgot what it was.))

((I'm gonna have to apologize for how ... awful and off this all sounds. I had had a rough draft written down on paper, typed it out, and then when I was looking up something else my computer went to a blue screen and then rebooted itself - and I hadn't save the document I was typing. So I had to retype everything and this is round two and it's not nearly as good and flowy as it was on the first one. It's also longer than I planned; I had a topic and then I just went off it.))((Make that round three; blue screen, another reboot, and nothing saved. I'm stopping and posting this before I lose it again.))((A month+ later ... thankfully, I haven't lost it again, but if you've made it this far in reading - thank you. I know it's not the greatest but it's backing up other things I have, so ...)))

#Alias #Sydney Bristow #Noah Hicks #Shadowed

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weneedtherooks · 6 years

Text

What Happened In Vegas... (1/2)

Viva Las Vegas!

“You wanna make a bet the girl standing on the table will pass out first?” Friedrich snorted. “$20 on the girl who was swinging on the pole earlier,” her returned, setting the final shot glass on his coworker’s tray. Little bets like these helped pass the time during parties like this. 21st birthday bases were a popular bore. After all, who didn’t think Vegas was the perfect place to get shitfaced on your first legal outing? What happened at Vegas stayed at vegas, right? The waiter dug out a twenty, sliding it over before picking up the tray of shots. “It’s a bet!” Friedrich grabbed the bill and stuck it in a tray behind the bar. Friedrich Rosenthal had been living in Las Vegas for three years now, working as a casino bartender. He’d left hamburg in need of a change of pace, although Nevada wasn’t what he’d originally had in mind. Too much neon for his liking, and too many sloshed gamblers slipping him their hotel room numbers. Periodically, he’d get sent to one of their party venues, and those nights always ended the same: some poor girl gets wasted and leaves with a perfect jackass. This party didn’t seem any different. A group of twelve had booked the venue for tonight, and Friedrich had gotten the short straw. He hated this venue; it had a stripper pole and a bunch of black lights paired with white couches…which generally meant skimpy clothes, too much tequila, and an excessive amount of tongue. The girls filed in first, all long eyelashes and sweet perfume. Eight girls, followed by four guys. An uneven number…great. Friedrich went back to cleaning a martini glass, glancing up when a chorus of “boo”ing sounded by the stage. “Aw, c’mon Claire! Megan’s gonna work the pole again soon!” “Hey!” the offended party chimed, giving her friend a playful smack on the arm. One of the men in the group (a sturdy guy with gauges and an eyebrow piercing) tried to pull the parting friend back, but she stepped back, holding her hands up, shaking her head with an apologetic smile. She was a pretty blonde (a naturally pale blonde, too), her soft curls hanging just below the chin. The backless halter top she was wearing was cut well below the breast line in the front, the fabric thin and almost silky. Not to mention the five inch black velvet stilettos; she had to be as tall as him in those! Paired with the tight skinny jeans she was wearing…he could probably bet money on her wearing a thong. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know how to make a Long Island iced tea, would you?” “I feel obligated to ask how much you’ve already drank.” She grinned as she leaned against the counter. “I can handle it, honey.” “Well, suit yourself,” he mumbled, pulling out a glass. “Not like you haven’t already had two mojitos and five shots of tequila.” “And yet I can still feel my feet,” she returned sarcastically, two clunks on the floor soundly finishing her complaint. “In all honesty, I’ve only had one drink. The first mojito.” “Really?” “Yeah. Not a huge fan of tequila.” “What about…?” “Got pulled away from my drink,” she leaned closer to his face, “and one of the guys that came with us has been staring me down since we arrived,” she said in a hushed tone. Friedrich leaned over to the side to look past her. “The guy that tried to pull you back,” he replied. She nodded. “I just don’t trust him. Been drugged before, not risking it again.” That was a surprise. “Popular girl, eh?” She scoffed. “They just don’t like that I say no, so they figure drugging me is better.” Yeah, I’ve been there before. They remained silent while he finished her drink. Her eyes look incredible, he thought to himself, noticing the dark brown irises look almost black in the dim lighting; the blue neon and black lights made her eyes glitter, giving the dark pools a sort of enigmatic charm. “So,” he started, sliding the finished drink to her, “you have a name?” Lifting the drink to take a sip, she smiled. “Do you?” “I asked first” She smiled behind the rim of the glass. “Clara. And you, Mister Foreigner?” “Excuse me?” “Your accent. German, right? Sounds Northern.” “Y…yes. How did you know?” he asked, once again taken by surprise. Clara shrugged a shoulder. “I lived in Germany for two and a half years. In, ah, Bremen.” He couldn’t stop the grin from forming on his face. “Incredible. What on earth were you doing out there?” “Culinary school, if you can believe it.” She gestured at her outfit. “I lived in Hamburg for six months before moving to Bremen. Worked as a waitress.” “And now you’re here.” Clara huffed, dropping her chin into her hand. “Yep. Here.” Friedrich folded his arms, cocking his head to the side. “What she asked, amused confusion in the question. “I’ve got it.” “Got what?” “You’re from some semi-rich family,” he began, unfolding his arms to place his hands on the bar, “East Coast or something. Didn’t like Mommy nagging you about your future, so you used Daddy’s money to get into culinary school abroad. Got bored with Hamburg after a month or so, but stuck it out another few months before moving to some boarding house in Bremen. Came back to the states against your will, bored and lonely.” Clara’s eyes slit, a look of serious concentration on her face. “You tried going back to school, but couldn’t force yourself to do it. So now you’re sitting at a bar, alone, wearing an outfit that probably isn’t yours, flirting with the bartender. Why, I don’t know, but hey. I won’t complain.” A smile crept slowly across her face. “You ran away,” she countered, biting her lip. “Most of your siblings are married or have good careers, leaving you the odd one out. You took a ship here, cause planes are terrible for proper human interaction, and you’re a perfect little social butterfly. You have something of a vintage charm, but it’s never been enough to get you by, so you settle for the Sensitive Artisan by day, and the Casino Bartender by night. I bet you have a bottle of whiskey twice your age sitting at home so people think you’re sophisticated.” “And you have a secret stash of port and milano cookies.” She laughed, finishing off her drink. I’d pay money to hear that laugh again… “Well? Was I right at all?” she giggled. Friedrich couldn’t help but nod. “Yes, I did come on a boat, and yes, my siblings have their shit together. I came on a boat because airplanes make me skittish, and I read for most of the trip. I do, in fact, own a 40 year old scotch, and I certainly wouldn’t call myself an artisan.” “What about the vintage thing?” “I’ve mostly been called ‘old-fashioned’, but you’re right.” They both chuckled, Clara fidgeting with the empty glass in her hand. “I’m not from a rich anything, but I am from the coast. I wanted to go to culinary school, but Hamburg wasn’t really working for me, so I left. I did get called back, but it was after my dad got sick of sending me money. You’re half right about my outfit, and my secret stash is milanos and peppermint schnapps.” She grinned. “Also, I’m flirting with the bartender because he’s quite handsome, and the charming compliment was sincere. If only he’d tell me his name.” Incredible. “Fritz. And I’m wondering if you wanna get out of this party and actually have a good time?”

Clara woke up to a pounding headache. Good god, how much did I drink last night…? She sat up slowly, yanking the covers up when she remembered she was naked. Wait…why… She saw the backpack by the bathroom door. Riiiight…the bartender from the party. Is he still here? Turning on her phone, the lock screen read 8am. The next day. Did we actually fall asleep together last night? She saw a soft light coming from the bathroom. Getting out of bed, Clara tiptoed to the bathroom, knocking quietly on the door. “Friedrich?” The door cracked open. Friedrich gave her a sleepy smile. Oh, don’t be cute, that’s not fair. “Hey Claire. Did I wake you up?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. She shook her head. “No, no, you’re fine! How long have you been up?” “Not long, I just woke up. You got a headache too?” “Ugh, yes.” He chuckled quietly, opening the door further. “I was actually gonna take a shower. Care to join?” “I’d like that!” Stepping into the bathroom, she noticed a small night light plugged into the wall. “Really?” she asked, pointing at it. Fritz nodded. “I find they suit morning after hangovers quite well.” That makes sense. “Do you usually stay overnight in people’s hotel room?” He paused as he turned to face the shower. “No,” he replied, his voice almost inaudible. Clara kept her mouth shut; clearly this wasn’t normal for him. “I, uh, generally take pretty hot showers.” “Hot sounds perfect.” Clara stepped into the tub, closing her eyes and sighing as the hot water ran over her body. She turned to face Fritz as she heard him enter behind her. “The only thing that could make this better is scented candles. “Would you make fun of me if I told you I had some at home?” “Shut up. You do?” Friedrich smiled, moving in closer to get under the water himself. “Seaside scents and such.” He sighed, his smile dropping a touch. “I get homesick sometimes. It helps, in it’s own way.” Clara nodded, remembering all too well when she did similar things. “Sometimes…I’ll make German street food when I’m upset.” Friedrich looked down, raising an eyebrow. “Why?” “I just…I miss Germany, you know? It felt like home.” Clara looked at her feet. “Your accent gets thicker when you drink, you know.” “Or when I stop trying to hide it,” he answered, letting his accent flow freely now. “I like it…” In the dim light, she could have sworn he was blushing. Clara turned to face him, draping her arms over his shoulders. He has beautiful eyes. Fritz brought his hands up, gently stroking up and down her waist. And such a radiant smile. They interchanged looking into each other’s eyes…and looking at each other’s lips. I wonder… Clara leaned forward. Friedrich met her halfway. He still tastes like whiskey… The water was cold by the time they finished.

“Clara! You almost ready? We gotta go soon!” Clara groaned against Friedrich’s mouth. “I think you’re being summoned,” he murmured against her lips, smiling broadly. “So stupid.” “Good thing you already packed.” Clara smiled, shaking her head. “If only I’d left out some decent clothes,” she whispered, leaning forward to kiss the bites along Fritz’s collarbone. He made an approving hum. “You’ll never be able to leave at this rate.” Clara stopped suddenly. “Maybe I don’t want to…” The silence between them was deafening. “Well, maybe-” “Clara!” “Take my henley.” “What?” She tried to protest, but he’d already put his shirt over her head. “It’s alright, I keep an undershirt in my bag.” He stood, making his way to his backpack. His shirt smells like Old Spice… “You want me to let them in?” he asked as another knock sounded on the door. “Might as well.” Lonnie’s jaw dropped at the sight of him. “It’s alright, Lonnie. He doesn’t bite.” “Clearly you do,” Sophie grumbled, stepping into view. Poor girl was wearing sunglasses and rubbing her temples. “Yeah, they’re really something!” Fritz beamed, brushing his fingers across the various bites and bruises. Clara rolled her eyes. “Hey, if you’re gonna show off, think you could show off how well you can carry shoes? Cause I’m not walking in those things all day.” Clara and Fritz hung behind the rest of the group as they made their way to the elevator. “So…what now?” “I’m gonna go back home…” “And?” They started at each other, stopping in the middle of the hallway. “Claire…?” “Yeah…?” What the hell is happening…? “Ahem.” They turned to face Lonnie, the tension between them breaking. “You two coming or what? I mean, I don’t know what he plans on doing today, but I know we’ve got a plane to catch.” Clara blinked, her shoulders dropping. “Right. Home.” “Right…” Friedrich mirrored, his mood abruptly becoming sober. The elevator ride was spent in awkward silence. They didn’t speak as Clara checked out, either. “Well…if you’re ever back in Vegas, look me up,” Fritz finally said, extending his hand. Clara took his hand, shaking it after a time. “I will…” He smiled sadly, chuckling softly at the drawn out handshake. Clara nodded, finally letting go. Her heart was hammering in her chest. After handing her her shoes, they parted ways without another word…

-2 weeks later-

“Hey, you’ve been in there for a while. Is everything okay?” Clara looked up from the pregnancy test in her hand. Wiping her eyes off, she buried the little plastic stick in the trash. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

#my ocs #modern!rosenthals #clara and friedrich #modern au #shitty dialogue

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guessmonsta · 7 years

Note

"Wow, you're hot." For Bokuto pls? 💙

(P.S this is the longest thing I’ve ever written for the blog, exceeding the Kuroo First Time™ thing by 93 words)((But I like it a lot I hope you like it a lot))

Bokuto loved nightlife. He loved the rhythm of The Night, the cool breeze and chirping of crickets, the wave of pleasure that ran through him when he looked up at the stars, the feeling of darkness surrounding him leaving him breathless, he loved it. He would go as far as calling himself a night owl, but he figured that was ridiculously corny, even for him. Sometimes, he pondered if he was part insomniac. The Night was always persistent, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him awake. The Night was like a clingy friend, it begged for him, pestered him, and he always, always gave into its pleas. As Bokuto grew older, The Night became more fun. The Night offered him parties, clubs and adventures, new things he never had the opportunity to experience before. The Night was more generous to him, sweeping him off to places divine, throwing him into a pit he could only describe as ethereal.

Today, The Night dragged him to a place he’s never been. A hipster club deep underground in the back alley behind an art studio. Fairy lights were draped around the railings down the stairs, incense and candles going off in every corner to hide the inevitable smell of cannabis. His heart raced, not out of fear, but of adrenaline, as he opened the rickety old door of the club. Well, now that he was inside, he wouldn’t necessarily call the place a club. It was more of a speakeasy, a fancy mahogany bar set up with whisky glasses lined up on the edge. A man with a handlebar mustache was playing the guitar while taking slow drags of a Havana cigar. Girls sat in the corner, all dressed in ripped jeans and flannel, drinking tall glasses of coffee flavored vodka and giggling. None of these people grabbed his attention, though. He slid towards the bar and ordered a drink, eyes scanning the room for someone interesting. The Night always taught him to make new friends, and he always did. Although, this place was different, stoic, a place he knew he would find someone different from the usual boisterous party goer. There was a girl down the bar, exactly four seats away from him, sitting by herself with a chardonnay in her hands. She wore a form fitting black dress with black heels, henna tattoos of flowers and hieroglyphics running down her arms. Her piercing eyes were focused on the the glass, and only the glass, as she began to swirl the liquid. Bokuto could tell she wasn’t here to drink. He caught himself smiling and standing up, taking the seat right next to her and clearing his throat. She didn’t look up at him, but he could tell she knew he was there. Her shoulders stiffened a bit, the tempest in her glass slowing to a halt. “Hello there.” He announced, balancing his elbows on the bar. Her eyes widened as she turned to him, every aspect of her body dark and mysterious. “Well, hello.” She smiled at him, although the smile didn’t seem sincere. It was barely a hairline, and she immediately turned away. He concluded that she was an introvert at its finest. She was probably a people watcher, he thought, because there was no other reason for an introvert to travel to a bar by themselves. She turned in her seat, crossing one of her legs over the other and leaning on her palm to face him. “I’ve never seen you before.” She muttered, catching his gaze. “What brings you here?”“Sheer curiosity, I guess. I never go to the same place twice.” She nodded, setting the chardonnay down on the bar and holding out one of her hands. So, she wasn’t an introvert. He was nervous to grab her hand, and he didn’t know why. She intimidated him a bit, he couldn’t pin her down, and it was frightening. He noticed that there was a long, silver and black henna tattoo of a snake running down her middle finger, drops of poison dripping off the snakes tongue. It was only until he grabbed her hand did he realize why she had such a thing. Her touch was like a poison itself, cold, intoxicating, something he wanted to hold onto. Her eyes locked with his as she shook his hand, her supple lips parting. “I’m __ __, it’s a pleasure.”“Bokuto Koutarou, ditto.”“I don’t introduce myself to boys I meet at bars very often, so consider it a compliment that I did so.” Bokuto barely missed it, but she winked, her hand sliding graciously away from his. “You seem like quite the character.” “A character?”“Mhm.” She hummed. “I want to know the story behind your hair, if it isn’t too much of a burden.”Bokuto found himself laughing, although what she said was not meant to be funny. He ran his hand through the crunchy strands, the gel residue a mess on his fingers. “I’ll tell you the story of my hair if you tell me what’s up with all those tattoos.”She looked down at her arms and flipped them over, exposing all the intricate designs running down them. “Well, for starters, they’re henna, so they’re not permanent.” She shrugged. Bokuto nodded. “Yeah, I figured.”“Smart boy.” She chuckled, continuing with her story. “I have a tendency to change my mind a lot, and my greatest fear is getting a tattoo and regretting it later on. Instead, I just get these, they last three weeks, and if I start to dislike them, they just wash away…” Bokuto found himself getting lost in her words. She was sophisticated, a being of dark matter, something that seemed so familiar yet so foreign at the same time. Her sharp eyes met his again and he found himself go cold. Her eyes were like stars, he thought, her face, like the full moon itself. It wasn’t until she cocked an eyebrow did he realize he was staring, and his eyes darted away. He cleared his throat, his hand running through his hair again. “There isn’t much of a story behind my hair.” He laughed. “Well my natural hair is black. When I was a first year in highschool me and my buddy Kuroo were messing around in the gym and I got a bunch of white chalk in my hair. He said it looked cool on me, and I kinda agreed and he dared me to die it like that permanently. And ah…” He paused, gulping, freezing up a bit under her tentative glare. “I’m not one to turn down a dare, so I did, and it’s been like that ever since.”“What about the ah…” She pointed to the little crevice between his hair. “What about the part.”“Oh! A little while after, I realized my hair kinda looked like the animal I’m named after, so I split it to resemble it a bit more. Wanna guess what the animal is?”She laughed, looking him over closely. “Oh geez… The only thing I can think of is a great horned owl…”Bokuto nodded excitedly. “Yeah, that’s it!”“Oh, that’s adorable…” She muttered, her eyes meeting his once more. He could feel his heart start to beat, his cheeks start to flush. For some odd reason he was so attracted to this girl, attracted in ways he couldn’t comprehend. He found himself talking to her for hours. The speakeasy had cleared out what seemed like a millenia ago, the bartender disappearing to the back room. It was 3:36 AM, and he could feel himself grow tired, but he didn’t want to be tired. If he went home, left this low key ramshackled getaway he’d lose her. He didn’t want tonight to be the last time he’ll see her. He didn’t want to take her home, he didn’t want a one night stand. He wanted his hand in hers again, he wanted her number. He wanted to know where she came from and what her name meant and all her dreams and aspirations. He wanted to be friends, he wanted to be more than friends, but she got bored, and he was scared. He found himself leaving with her ten minutes later. Cars still sped down the street, cicadas still sang from the trees, crickets and frogs their accompaniments. She looked more graceful under the streetlights, the black dress she wore fitting more. He wanted to stare, but he couldn’t, he feared he would walk into a pole or a car, or something. They journeyed back to her apartment, and she stopped in front of the steps. She asked if he wanted to stay, and she noticed him tense up. “It’s not like that. It’s too late to call an Uber and I don’t want you walking home by yourself.” She shrugged, slipping her cold fingers in his. He agreed, although staying a night with her didn’t seem like so much of a burden. Her place was so undeniably her. Mint green walls covered with black accents and foreign designs, black bowls and black pillows contrasting a white couch, the chiaroscuro effect leaving him breathless, almost. The balcony doors were wide open, the full moon casting upon her face as she lead him out to the balcony. They sat down at a little glass table, and just looked at each other. The moon light cast upon her face was magnificent, and Bokuto couldn’t believe he was in the presence of such a magnificent being. “Wow, you’re hot.” he muttered, absentmindedly, then froze up in his place. She cocked an eyebrow as he shook his head rapidly. “No, no, no I mean pretty! I mean, you are really hot but, oh, god.” He sighed, staring down into his lap. Why had he said that? She was probably going to kick him out now, due to unrequited opinions, but she only laughed. “You really think so?”“Yeah…” “Well, it’s an honor, thank you.” She proceeded to bow. “You’re pretty hot too, owl.”“Oh, did you really just call me owl?”“Yeah, its cute! Owls are cute. I don’t know, I just find it great.”“What does your name mean, then?”She shrugged, pulling her phone out of the mini purse wrapped around her shoulder. “I’m not quite sure, I’ve never gotten around to looking it up.” She was silent for a moment, her thumbs tapping away on the screen. Her tongue poked out when she did so, and Bokuto couldn’t help but feel even more attracted. Her eyes widened when she found something, a satisfied huff leaving her nose. “So I got something…” She muttered. “There’s a whole bunch of boring ones, but there’s one I like in particular.”“What is it?”“The Night.”

#Haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! Imagines #haikyuu!! Matchups #haikyuu!! Scenarios #bokuto koutarou

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high5nerd · 4 years

Text

Alone Together---Chap. Eight

I don't remember moving from that couch, but we were outside in the cold air that night, watching the sky darken and the stars come out. So far that dream I had seemed possible, and I wasn't sure if I was welcoming that idea. As long as we both meant it...that she meant it...I'd gladly have that dream be a reality.

But it was much different. She and I were lying under the stars, hands behind our heads and happily enjoying the silence. Though immune to temperatures, she was bundled up snugly with her jacket, gloves and beanie. She was still shivering from the biting wind. Twice, I suggested we go inside, but she refused. She wanted to see a shooting star so badly, she said she would rather freeze to death than miss it. A comet shower would happen soon, and there was no reason to make her change her mind.

I like how stubborn she is. It's refreshing. Almost amusing as well.

"See any yet?" she asked, wisps of her breath curling into the air.

"No, but that satellite is throwing me off." I pointed to the sky, right where a tiny pinprick in the sky was lazily drifting further to our right.

She laughed, and moved her body closer to mine for warmth. I smiled and teasingly raised a brow, "I thought you said you could handle the cold?"

"Oh come on, it's colder than you would think." she bumped my side with her elbow.

"Short people have a tendency to be more prone to being cold. Nothing to be ashamed of." I teased, looking back at the sky.

"Ugh, God you're annoying." she groaned. I knew she hated being shorter than me. I couldn't blame her. I was a massive six foot three feet tall. She was a shrimp compared to me. Okay, maybe not a shrimp, but a head shorter than me.

I chuckled, knowing she was smiling along with my dry humor.

But then across the sky shot a bright, wicked star. A white-hot tail left its mark quickly in a matter of milliseconds before dying out again.

"Saw one." I grinned, making a silent wish.

"Darn! I missed it." she snapped her fingers, but then turned her head to mine and asked, "What did you wish for?"

"...I honestly don't know what to wish for." I blinked slowly. My mouth seemed to say the words without my brain registering what I was speaking. I was still thinking about the beauty of that shooting star.

"Really?" she looked up, looking quite surprised, "Not anything?"

"Nope."

"Not power, fame, connections...anything?" she was starting to give me a suspicious look.

"...Well, there is one wish. But I know it will never happen." Yep. My mouth was no longer connected to my head. It was foolishly flapping all on it's own while my brain is shouting at me to shut up and not let this woman see inside myself.

Damn her and her kindness. Damn it all for making me so vulnerable.

"What would it be, even if it would never happen?" she asked, rolling onto her back again, inches away from me. Darn. I liked having my arm draped around her shoulders.

I thought about it for a while, maybe a good two minutes before finally-and quite truthfully-telling her. Before I gained control of my own being, the fearlings would often whisper and hiss in my mind that the Boogeyman must be the strongest of all spirits, showing not only no mercy, but no feeling and no honesty. And for a while...I believed that. I soon found it disgusting and disturbing to see others confessing feelings or sharing personal thoughts that would have no beneficial improvement on their current predicament. It still slightly irks me. Where I'm from, men refused even the slightest 'are you alright' questions. It was because even at birth, we're born to be warriors. We were born to be strong, fearless pilots of the spaceships and fight off the darkness that consumed every constellation in the universe. That is, until I...uh, switched sides.

But this world was different from the one I was from. In some ways, even brave soldiers confide in each other and those they trust. Humanity here had a strong connection to their thoughts and feelings...which in a way is beneficial to us spirits as well. Fear, dreams, hopes, wonder, memories...they all came from the whispers of trust.

Maybe Alice was one of those people I could confide in.

"A family."

It was quiet. She stared at the sky, her mouth unmoving, closed in thought. I looked over at her. Maybe I shouldn't have truthfully told her what I wished for...it definitely wasn't 'Boogeyman' material.

She finally looked at me, and I felt my heart stop. It even ached seeing her tears. She gave a small smile before wiping her tears away.

"Me too."

There was another warm silence between us, nothing too bothersome. Well, maybe it was slightly bothersome to her. Because right as I was about to open my mouth and change the subject, she blurted out, "Not that Sadie isn't family. I just...I just want Mom and Dad back."

"I know." I said, looking at her seriously.

"Do you remember your parents?" she asked, almost whispering it out so I couldn't detect her voice wavering.

"I'm willing to change the subject if this bothers you, Alice. Really." I stated, and it made her smile, at least.

"That's sweet of you, but I'm okay. Trust me...Well?"

Honestly, the only memory I have of my parents back in the Golden Age was when they attended the ceremony of my becoming of a general and their hopeful faces as I left the piers to fight the fearlings...I couldn't even recall their first names besides Mother and Father. I can't even remember if I had any siblings. Sad, isn't it?

So when I told her that, she looked surprised. Then after more explanation of what era and universe I lived in before here, she seemed to understand. I could tell not by her nodding, but by that twinkle in her eye.

"So you're as old as the mountains and rivers, basically. I can't blame you for the memories fading away."

I raised a brow at her, smirking, "Hey, I'm not as old as Pangea, missy."

"I wasn't implying that." she laughed, nudging me with her elbow as she sat up.

"It sure sounded like you were. Well, in a poetic way," I sneered at her, "which doesn't ease the insult any better."

"So how old were you before you became yourself?" she asked, genuinely curious.

Again, I had to think about it. Let's see...became an officer at nineteen...married at twenty two...general at twenty four...father at twenty five…

"Thirty, at least." I finally said.

She laughed and touched the hair on my head, "Oh, so those aren't highlights?"

I blinked, eyes widened. "What are you talking about?" I couldn't help but feel shivers run up and down my spine as her fingers played with my hair. It oddly felt good.

She gave a quite attractive, mischievous grin before saying cheekily, "You've been under a lot of stress for all these years, huh? It's showing handsomely in your hair."

Immediately my hands flew up to my hair and covered it, causing her to roll back and laugh, covering her mouth to quiet herself before Sadie could hear us outside when she was supposed to be sleeping. I glared at her, trying to hold back a smirk. Cheeky wench.

"At least you said handsomely. Besides, you have no idea what stress is like when you're immortal." I huffed, sitting up myself.

She finally calmed herself and nodded, "Yeah, I give you full credit for that. You're pretty strong."

I smiled and looked away, pulling out green blades of grass and throwing them somewhere else, away from me. She watched me for a while before giggling out, "Not good with compliments, huh?"

"Nope. Never have been, never will." I winked at her, and she gave one last beaming, white smile before getting up.

"Come on, I need sleep myself. You wanna spend the night again?" she asked, helping me up gracefully.

"I think I've earned that right after you pointed out my greying hair." I pouted, and it caused Alice to smile again.

"Call it peppering. I think it's very pretty with your hair, since it's already dark. It gives it shape."

"Oh, so now you're a hair stylist?" I laughed, causing her to roll her eyes at my playful jab.

Meanwhile, Sadie peered out the window as we walked towards the patio once more, the moonlight making the backyard bright enough to show that her beloved sister was in fact smiling and having fun. She smiled to herself and turned to Sanderson, who was happily sitting Indian style on her bed with children's playing cards spread out on her quilted bed.

"I'm glad Pitch is making Alice happy." she sighed, jumping back onto the bed and picking up her cards.

Sandy nodded as well, his smile showing just that. He put down an ace with fishes, and Sadie snapped her fingers disappointedly.

"Is this his first time talking with real people?" Sadie asked, drawing two cards from the thick deck.

Sandy touched his chin in thought, his mind reeling backwards in time to recall such events. Finally, he shook his head and held up two fingers.

"Second? What was the first time?" Sadie raised a brow, accidentally bending a card between the pads of her fingers.

Sandy conjured up an image of Jamie Bennett, and Sadie immediately recognized him. She beamed brightly, "The storyteller? He really met Pitch? That's so cool!"

Sandy silently laughed, his sparkling eyes crinkling with amusement. Through his chuckles he pointed at her cards to pick, and she quickly put down a five of jellyfish before slapping the deck, making Sandy crinkle his nose teasingly. Sadie giggled before moving her left card over to her right hand.

"Someday, can I meet North and the others?" Sadie asked, hushing herself when she heard the sliding door of the patio open, following the murmurs of her sister and Boogeyman friend.

Sandy raised a golden eyebrow, intrigued at the question. North hasn't ever had children over at his place, not even Jamie Bennett. The big man himself also knew how much Sadie meant to Sandy, for she was his Devout Bond. Maybe he would allow her to visit the place, just for a while.

Sandman smiled and gestured to her, his way of saying, Like right now?

Sadie gasped as her smile grew wide, "Yeah! Right now!"

Sandman nodded excitedly and jumped up, Alright! First we'll stop by the Island of Sleepy Sands, and then we'll take a ride in the Dream Ship to Santoff Claussen, okay?

Sadie quietly cheered as Sandy opened the window and morphed golden stairs to help them leave the room. After a quick shake of his finger, Sadie retrieved her white winter coat and light blue mittens. She was so filled with excitement, she ran up the stairs and onto the stingray that flapped slowly in the air, waiting for it's passengers to board. This wasn't the first time Sadie had a ride on one of these magical beasts, it might have been her fifth or sixth. She always loved late-night rides like this with the Sandman.

Rolling his eyes, he grabbed her light blue scarf and hat she forgot before following her to the stingray. Behind him, the window shut closed firmly, and the sand stairs fell to nothing once more, but a pile of glowing sand, barely visible to the naked eye.

#rotg fandom #rotg fanfiction #rotg fanfic #fanfiction #fanfics #rise of the guardians #rise of the guardian fanfics #pitch black #pitch black x oc

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arielandthesea · 6 years

Text

Ariel & The Sea

October 15th, 2008

Whenever I think of her, I picture her with someone else.

She is a closed chapter that unfortunately has a minimal, yet open window of playing a role in my life again in two months - December. I think part of the reason why I always picture her with someone else is because I know she always needs someone to be there with her and since we both moved away and I am not with her now, I picture her with someone else.

That necessity she has to be with someone all the time is normal, I used to feel it too but eventually, I got over it, I grew out of it. Frankly, I doubt she’ll never grow out of it.

I met Ariel in junior high, it was the first day of school and I remember seeing her chat comfortably to all the kids around her. This was something impressive to me since I would’ve been nervous, stressed out and probably keeping my head down but not her, she was comfortable talking to everyone as if they’d known each other since elementary school. I wasn’t a new student, it was my second year at catholic school but it felt like I was new since I was invisible, but not to her. I remember we made eye contact and she smiled at me, I immediately looked away at the window, the garden, the trees. The nervous feeling was overwhelming but curiosity won and one day before the lunch break, I saw her walking down the hall, she’d gone to the principal’s office to pick up a small plastic bag her parents brought her. I pretended I wasn’t shy and fooled myself to ignore my insecurities and I approached her, and we had a very successful small talk.

The topics covered in that conversation included which school she was from, how she felt about this school, who her friends were from the other school and what she liked to do after school. We must’ve walked across the soccer and softball field twice to cover all those subjects and everything she said seemed so positive and jolly that I constantly dodged out every question she asked me. Ariel came from a prestigious school outside the city, she had a cute ex-boyfriend who she was still friends with, popular friends and all the other elements of a positive, happy youth. I was not ready to tell her I didn’t really have any friends other than my guitar teacher Rony - a sixteen-year-old metalhead who was currently trying to teach me the solo of a Sum 41 song. I wasn’t ready to tell her I wanted to learn how to skateboard because Avril Lavigne was my human idol and I say human because the cyber idol was Lara Croft. I had all her PC video games and I played them all the time after school but sometimes I would instead play Tony Hawk or the Sims. I certainly was not ready to tell her one of the happiest days of my life was the day when I found the unlimited money code also known as rosebud;!;!;!;!;!… Nope.

I suppressed myself for a while, just enough for me to find out if I could trust her enough to share my eccentric self with her, eventually, I did and we blended. By blended I mean I made her geeky and she made me girly. It all happened in less than a month. There was going to be this party that I had to dress up too but didn’t know how so she somewhat advised me and introduced me to her friends from her other schools. A couple small gatherings after that made me realize I’d developed a few but some interpersonal skills and therefore became more relaxed. On my end, I introduced her to Supaplex. Supaplex was a video game I wasted a couple years on, it was similar to Pacman since your avatar would be a ball collecting DNA-type icons in different maze-looking worlds where you had to watch out for the gravity-affected balls that’d come down and make you explode, or the scissors that in most advanced levels would work the same way as Pacman’s ghosts did and kill you. But enough about video games. We also played John Milton hypnotize-yourself CD’s on my stereo and tried to hypnotize Julia; a third of the four girls in our clique, and my best friend.

Due to the fact that the day we tried to hypnotize ourselves we skipped last period and came to my house and two hours later the principal called me, demanding to come back with the girls while I was still trying to chew the just-delivered pizza in my mouth, I was seen as the leader. The queen bee of the rotten apples from catholic school. Ariel was more of a mastermind but she was cute, came from a good family and had to carry around an insulin kit with needles she’d use before every meal. I was just another rebellious daughter of a single mother soon to be expelled and due to the chronic suspensions, calls from the principal and forecasted expulsion, my mother decided to enroll me in another school away from my friends, away from Ariel. Only she didn’t know at this point, we had crossed the line of an innocent friendship.

You see, at that time Ariel and I were best friends, we were always together. We actually didn’t talk that much, we just sort of existed together and while existing we did things that don’t just exist, they are provoked. Most of the time we’d be touching each other, maybe playfully at first but eventually we’d touch each other in a more intimate way until one of us stopped the other - mainly me. One particular time I was laying in bed watching the shadow of the ceiling fan break while Ariel who laid on the floor grabbed my hand, she pulled it closer to her mouth and sucked my finger gently. It was the first time I was sexually aroused.

Because of my mother’s wishes of wanting what’s ‘best for me’, she commanded I’d never see Ariel again… so we started hanging out in secret. My last period ended about an hour before hers so I would walk to her and meet on the football field to chat until her mom picked her up. We would just talk about how she was feeling, what school was like for me now and other similar, easy topics. We were close but only met with time limits, that made it hard to be light and consistent. Then, time faded into the nothing and I didn’t see her again for a while.

During our sophomore year in high school, there were rumors - I heard rumors about her getting kicked out of school. Rumors of her going to rehab in another state. Crazy things that didn’t suit her at all but unfortunately they were all true. It wasn’t until six months later when I finally heard from her on instant chat that I was able to get the story straight. Just seeing her status as available online took a huge weight off my shoulders, I was totally hooked and had no idea.

Ariel drove to my house one day when my mom was out of town and in a very casual way, she told me all about the raves she went to, the drugs she used and other events that doubled the rumor-based trouble I knew she was in. We only spoke for a couple minutes, then I just watched her smoke her spliff thinking of how much I missed her. She got a little nervous and joked her way to and into the car. I complimented how clean the ol’ white thunderbird looked, then she drove away smiling.

We always separated and reunited at odd times, gaps that lasted years or months depending on what had happened or how far our cities were from each other. This time, October of last year, we met up again. A little older, a little wiser. This, whatever it was that we built up for years, anxiously needed a label. Ariel made the first move, labeling herself as bisexual as we drove in my car to this part to get hot dogs. Changing the subject never worked with someone as ballsy as her and I told her I was gay. She told me she knew that I was, I told her I knew that she was and suddenly we started dating.

One night at a coffee shop, she said she wanted something serious and real. Confused I asked for time to think, given the fact that I knew she liked sleeping around. Offended Ariel stormed out, leaving me with a small, yet-embarrassing bill to pay. I needed time to think, I needed time to find out what I wanted and how I felt but before the week was over I found out she was hooking up with a DJ. I stopped talking to her.

It wasn’t long before I heard from her again, apologizing, saying that she missed me, admitting she did wrong. This loser here called her and forgave her while she swallowed the proven co-dependent genes between words. This loser here saw her again. This loser here was six feet under. Blinded by pink sunglasses. Pretending to be strong while falling apart inside knowing this invisible chain was hard to break.

And we went out and it was awful. I took Ariel to my friends’ house and got really wasted with her - she was also high on something. Later on that night she drank a tequila bottle in shots and started yelling at me until I cried, she cried, we were both a sorry drunken mess so I decided to drive her home. On our way there she asked me to take her to her friend’s house - a junkie. I said no and she almost jumped out of the car, so I gave her options. Him or me; coke or this co-dependent loser of a quasi-girlfriend she had available 24/7. The quasi-girlfriend she kicked around that waited like a puppy for her to come back. I asked her me or some coke. She chose the coke.

A couple days later her parents sent her to rehab and I know she works at Six Flags because… I spoke to her. I don’t know what’s gonna happen, it’s such a mess, it feels like fiction. Maybe I never loved her. Maybe I don’t love her. ——————————————————————————————-

January 5th, 2009

On Saturday most of my plans got cancelled in the morning, mainly little things, hanging out with old friends and all that but lunch with Stella didn’t. Plans with Stella never got canceled. It’s funny to think how she became good friends with Ariel the year when I moved away. It’s a double edge sword since now everything seems to have a domino effect. Ariel texted me twice, random short half sentences that really meant she wanted to talk to me. After waiting it out with Stella, she dropped the bomb and told me she wasn’t doing well. She told me her parents found her on the street, high and dirty, she had escaped rehab. They took her to the hospital and the doctors said that if this drug problem persisted if she continued consuming as much as she did, mixed with her diabetes, she would only get a few more years of life.

I called her, I called her every day and she never picked up. I felt anxious about the fact that I didn’t know if she was well or if what Stella told me was completely true. I also felt stressed and frustrated by the fact that I couldn’t do anything and mad about the fact that I cared. So I went to a gay bar and made out with a girl, a part of me desperately wanted to feel something for someone else, anyone. It didn’t help.

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February 17th, 2009

Ariel called this morning making fun of me. She said she left her phone at home while she was at the hospital and her sister told her it was blowing up with my calls. She asked how I knew her number and I told her Stella gave it to me. She told me her old one was stolen, I told her I knew because a drunken stranger picked up crackin’ jokes about cops, saying I was a cop then him. She thought this was funny although I wondered what kind of places she was hanging out in for a person in this state to be cracking these types of jokes.

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May 23rd, 2009

I’ve been skyping with Ariel almost daily and when we can’t, we speak on the phone.

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June 7th, 2009

Ariel bought a ticket to come see me. I told her I’m moving to New York soon for college and she wants us to spend time together before I move. I can’t wait to see her, the last rehab seemed to work, she’s clean and stable. I can’t wait to see her.

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July 17th, 2009

Ariel flew in last night. I went to her house to meet her. I was so excited and nervous to see her that I didn’t even kiss her. All I could do was stare at her. I must’ve stared too long to make her break that with a joke but I was just hypnotized by her eyes, her kind, warm eyes. The eyes I hadn’t seen in awhile. Drug-free eyes. And that’s what made it all worth it, waiting for her to be okay to allow herself to get to know me, there were so many things I wanted to share with her. Things I’d never share with anyone. I can’t wait to see her again tomorrow.

I love her.

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July 18th, 2009

Today it was fun, although I think I drank too much. I went out with Ariel and friends. We went to my pool, I took her aside and kissed her like I’ve never kissed anyone before. I looked into her eyes for a while after that, enjoying the comfort of sharing myself with her, finally, after so long.

We went back to my friends house and got shitfaced. Then I drove her home.

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July 20th, 2009

Ariel started getting high again. Things haven’t gone as smoothly as I thought. She also drinks too much. She thinks I can’t fool around with her unless I have a drink. She’s right, I’m scared shitless. A friend also told me she was hitting on her. It didn’t surprise me since Ariel’s a flirt. I also didn’t believe my friend so much since she’s not that great looking but maybe Ariel is trying to make me feel jealous.

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August 2, 2009

Ariel hooked up with a guy and I almost cried. She kept asking ‘well what are we?’ pissed off, giving options of ‘friends? Girlfriends?’ She’s asking that because she kept pressuring me into having sex but I need to build trust again since she’s been using needles and I know she doesn’t believe in getting tested.

I dropped her off at her house.

I need time to think.

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August 7th, 2009

Ariel called me at home saying she didn’t wanna call my phone because she thought I wouldn’t answer. She said I abandoned her in a cute voice, joking around.

It melted my heart.

This attachment, this goddamn attachment is consuming my life. The stress of knowing she’s on the edge makes me hyper vigilant. The responsibility of her well-being falls on my shoulders and no matter how hard I try, I can’t let go. I forgave her one more time.

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August 18th, 2009

We went to the beach, I took my camera with me this time. During sunset we were kissing, having fun and I took off her top, I was in another world. Then a woman approached us and asked us to stop it, ‘there are kids present’ but they couldn’t see us I think she was just homophobic. We drove home afterward and went to my pool. We were hanging out with my friend and her girlfriend.

After a while, Ariel got naked and told me to turn off the camera. She asked me to get in and went underwater to take off my underwear aggressively. I asked her to stop I wasn’t comfortable and she seemed mad. Frustrated she told me I am not a lesbian. My friends got uncomfortable and excused themselves. I took Ariel home.

When we got to her house she got out of the car and slammed the door. I felt anger boiling inside of me. I can’t explain. Humiliation, anger, frustration. Driving away full speed kind of helped but I can’t do this anymore.

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August 19th, 2009

I broke up with Ariel.

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October 7th, 2009

I dreamt about a pretty blonde girl in the balcony in the balcony of an old Mexican hotel who looked at me from a distance. She turned around twice, closer to where I was standing. Then I saw her floating in a falling position. Eyes closed, hair undulating, lit, glowing in the middle of a black space with infinite darkness. After my mind inspected every element playing in front of me, I realized she was falling in slow motion. She hit the floor with some speed as if she fell underwater. When she hit the floor she broke her neck - I heard the cracking sound. Then I saw myself in a sea of people who went to see her. She was dead and covered in blood.

I woke up thinking I was in my bed back home, a bed doubles the size of this one. I woke up thinking Ariel was in trouble, as always but fighting myself to check.

I think of her, I think of her a lot.

I think of what she told me this last time and what I told her to push away forever.

She started using heroin. I couldn’t take it.

I hurt her to make her hate me.

I made her hate me to let me go and take responsibility for her own life.

I’ll check up on her in December.

I wish I didn’t feel like I should.

I wish I could stick to my word.

I wish she was clean.

I wish to fall in love with someone else.

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November 19th, 2009

Ariel killed herself two days ago, they found her yesterday, I found out yesterday. I was on a break, I had a lot of missed calls from my friend but it was someone else who told me, another friend. She told me this and I couldn’t believe it. I was crossing the street…

It’s raining a lot and I can’t write.

I have class now so I’ll write some other time.

Ariel, I loved you so much.

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November 20th, 2009

I still don’t know what to think, I still don’t know what to say or write.

It hurts me to think it happened this way, that she was alone, that she injected adrenalin into her heart. I couldn’t sleep last night. I stayed up all night crying, thinking.

Ariel,

I hope wherever you are, you’re fine.

I want you to know that I loved you more than I’ve ever loved anyone else in my life.

That I always tried to save you from all the bad things that happened in your world and that is what I did for years until I realized last summer that it wasn’t my job to save you. I realized that by trying to help you I was hurting myself and frankly, you wanted to be at that place.

You were self-destructive.

I never fully understood what caused you so much sadness, I just hope you found comfort in me at least for a while. Yesterday I cried a lot for you, I wrote a screenplay about your story, our story. I am deeply sorry I couldn’t afford to go to your funeral but I believe that by not being physically there has left me with your memory alive. I guess this was the way it was meant to be so I’ll never forget. I hope that wherever you are, you’re fine but, since you’re gone I must confess this letter is for me.

I hope I see you again, at the place where they put your ashes. It’s just a shame we will reunite like this and I guess all I can say is that at least I’m glad you finally found peace.

You will live with me forever, as a beautiful memory.

I loved you, so much.

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December 2nd, 2009

Lately, when I think of Ariel I play Pink Floyd’s Let There Be More Light.

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December 10th, 2009

I’ve been dreaming of Ariel. I dream that she speaks to me and I listen. I think only until now I am starting to realize how much this is affecting me.

I told a close friend about how she ended her life shooting adrenaline to her heart, she said ‘of course, that’s where all the emotions meet.’

Somehow now, whenever I think of her I go back to that day when she came into the house to get a glass of water and we both heard my mom calling my name. We freaked out. I was so scared of my mother finding out about us that we always met in secret. It was like living in our own bubble and now that she’s gone, I don’t know what to do with myself…

In the first dream, I was near a shore with turquoise water, surrounded by buildings during sunset. Soon after, the water froze including rocks and waves. Everything had a cutting sound of ice breaking. I took out my camera and started taking photos. Then I moved to another spot, in front of the frozen water then ten feet tall pieces of ice rose from sea level. They slowly formed into buildings. There were three and after shaping up, the top cracked and aimed towards me. I saw myself in my dream, I saw the way I was looking at them in fear yet determined to put up a fight by holding onto my camera and photographing the scenery behind a rock. Then, these pieces of ice started flying towards me. The larger pieces didn’t hit me but the thin did, they’d cut me and it hurt but not so much. Soon after this dream ended and another one began.

In this second dream, I was outside a coffee shop with a spinning class next to it where old classmates from catholic school were working out. The look of disgust on my face expressed how well I liked them. Then I turned around and saw Ariel, I told her ‘people will think I’m crazy to be talking to you’ I knew she wasn’t alive in my dream and yet I was happy and she was too.

At some point she sat on top of me and hugged me, then she said ‘I used to do the same thing with Abel’, a friend of hers who overdosed. Paralleling her words, the third dream began.

A homeless man rode a wooden truck down the street, the car was decorated with paper mache simulating a dragon. He was going really fast. There was an audience, a group of meth addicts with skin peeling off. He kept yelling something, a group of words that didn’t make sense and everyone followed him to the curve where the car flipped over and he fell, his head dragged on the concrete until his face detached from his skull, leaving it as a mask. He stood up almost immediately and ran away in living flesh.

A woman in the audience approached the face he left behind and held it the only way a fan would; close to her heart with eyes wide shut.

Did I become that fan?

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December 11th, 2009

I dreamt of her again last night, a forensic team was looking for fingerprints and once again I was the only one who could see her. This time, Ariel had long hair and her eyes weren’t empty anymore. However, I knew what had happened, I knew she was gone but I didn’t say anything I just held her close to me. She was very upset.

I woke up freezing, my heat didn’t work. I told my mother about my dream and my theory that maybe something else happened, that maybe she was murdered. She told me I was just paranoid.

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December 30th, 2009

Now I dreamt Ariel was trapped like a princess in a castle but instead of a castle, it was a retail store and the only way I could save her was by passing a written test. There was someone else there trying to do the same thing. However, Ariel approached me and whispered that she wanted me to pass it.

I took the written test chewing bubble gum listening to Linking Park.

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January 2nd, 2010

Death is unavoidable. We are all born, grow up then die. Reproduction is a personal affair. However this three-stage cycle can be very abstract since we’re all born but some don’t grow up and those of us who do, don’t know until when and we all die but somehow stay immortal in other people’s memories.

In my case, I will never forget Ariel but at the same time, I don’t wanna carry her with me. I want to travel light.

I feel out of the picture and I am going against everything I once believed in. I don’t know why I am but I know I have time to find out, I’m not in a rush since after all, I am only eighteen years old.

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January 17th, 2010

I am holding my heart in my fist.

I disconnect it from my mind and put it away but Ariel’s death can’t be unnoticed and the science of my dreams will help me figure out a way to expose it.

Last night her face was behind a hexagon-shaped screen fading into static.

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January 28th, 2010

I started relating to all the common deaths. The loss of a parent, the loss of a friend, a lover or relative. Even the loss of a victim who you don’t know but feel bad about how they were killed and why. You also have massacred, natural disasters, 9/11, New Orleans, Haiti, guerillas, everything. All those losses and life keeps going.

The violence of it all is affecting my subconscious since now I dreamed of two mannequins where heads turned 360 degrees while blood gushed out of their eyes and mouths and nipples. Behind them, a window featured a view of the city at night but the reflection showed a mad Ariel chained to a chair screaming in mad frustration.

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March 23rd, 2010

8:14 p.m. Dishes, dirty dishes. Blues, I love the blues. Stones, stoned Rolling Stones, Rolling Stoned. There is no point in writing, words are words.

Words put together to make sense, sometimes.

Sometimes they don’t until later on,

Sometimes not at all. Writing is like singing or playing guitar. The more you get used to it the better it is to write… write awayyyy!

Bullshit, not bullshit. Fiction, reality.

Squeezing reality like a fucking orange, because that’s what we are, oranges.

Squeeze the fuck outta me and you’ll get juice, juicy juice. C’mon, do it!

You won’t be disappointed.

If you want dirt here’s a hole you can dig in.

Juice, dirt, guitars. Juice, dirt, guitars.

Fun, fun, fun, never-ending fun.

And this is all just me. Writing, talking, thinking.

I wanna do something natural, a visual granola yogurt. Horses alone without fashion models. Colors, cows, farms, ugly flowers, clouds, water, natural-natural-natural.

Everyone I know has emotional issues.

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March 24th, 2010

When life gives you lemons, you eat them with tequila.

The pages in my journal went from pink to black or gray. Pretty pages in pink, naive, a glimpse of who I was. Now dark lost and confused, how I handled Ariel’s death now gone.

She’s gone and I’m here.

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April 3rd, 2010

I died. I’m living twice,

There is a double life.

There is a second life out there,

I wanna do this now,

I don’t wanna waste a summer.

I want to be with you,

I don’t wanna waste more time.

(He takes his wig off, he’s a man dressed as a woman.)

Inside a theater that seems to be my school’s theater I see, friends sitting apart from each other. I’m in the middle then walk to sit down and sit in front of the screen.

We’re all watching a movie I can’t see.

Then I’m in the student lounge on a couch with my computer. I stood up to grab a book from the shelves in front of me and I see Ariel who tells me she’s late, ‘for what?’ but she leaves before I can even look at her eyes. Then I’m at the theater again watching this movie I can’t see and I feel so alone.

Now I am the homeless man and a police officer speaks to me as he takes his wig off.

He takes his wig off.

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April 10th, 2010

Sexy red lights set the mood of the room of noise, noise, noise. Cars traveling.

High speed. Motion.

Neon palette of colors,

Sunglasses at night and the feeling that you’re alone when you’re surrounded by people…

The only moment when you become no one.

Animosity.

We disappear with the smoke, vanish.

Electronic music faded out by bittersweet rock,

Beetlebum.

And we see a very pretty girl dancing, boneless,

Lost in time.

Shooting.

She’s gone.

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April 18th, 2010

Ariel told me she wanted to take her life.

She told me she didn’t care about anything and that it was her choice. I guess the fact that she was diabetic didn’t help, taking all those meds and all.

I guess knowing she’d died young didn’t help either and that was probably why she created that fantasy of challenging time.

I guess a part of us always has that thought in the back of our minds.

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May 4th, 2010

Ariel, I want to see you, and it is dumb to talk like this but I can’t help it. I can’t assimilate it. Everything seems absurd. Everything seems to be a never-ending nightmare about the death of someone like you that isn’t really you but someone else.

I dream about you still. Last night, again, I could see you. I was the only one who could see you. And I kissed you like I never did before like I always should have but didn’t due to my fear of giving myself to you completely but I should’ve, that’s all you wanted but I blocked it because it would’ve meant a lot more to me than to you. You were my first and only love and now I see photos and play videos of you and I feel you’re alive. Sometimes at night laying in bed I feel you next to me, making fun of my obsession with your death, making existentialist comments that sum it up, making me laugh.

Now, more than ever I feel you’re here but I know you’re not and I feel alone. In a way, I feel you were mine and I was yours. There was no one else. I know you all and you knew me too. My life gravitated around you but now that you’re gone, nothing makes sense. What can I say and to whom? I miss you. I feel empty. I spoke to your parents, I saw your name in the newspaper, I went to the church where they placed your ashes and I still can’t believe it. I feel regret of the last hurtful words we exchanged and foolish for now telling you how I really felt.

I feel remorse for bailing on you when you needed me the most but I selfishly wanted to leave you in order to grow apart and yet I am here with your ghost.

Is it normal to speak to you like this even though you aren’t here? You were eighteen, I’m still eighteen. I had you in my life for five years and why? It is the most pointless question but why did you die? I want you here. I want to lay next to you in bed and play with your hair. I want you to give me the moon again. I want you to make fun of the corny stuff I used to tell you. I want those moments back and new ones. I want to wake up a year ago and redo our summer. I want to tell you how I feel. I want to know more, do more.

Do you remember that time we talked about what we would do when I moved to New York? When you told me you would cook and clean while I worked to bring the steak back for dinner?

Yesterday, the day before, last week and last year I saw you but knowing I will never see you again provokes a nameless feeling in me… Frustration, I feel frustrated and I wanna scream, run, shoot a bullet into the nothing than drive 140 miles per hour I feel enormous impotence because everything reminds me of you; the sun, my bed, your house, this city. I don’t know how I’m gonna let you go, I don’t know. And I can’t write anymore because you don’t exist, we’re only me, this notebook and this pen.

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May 6th, 2010

Sometimes I go on facebook and read our messages.

Then I wonder how you became a name on a stone,

a headline, an obituary, another statistic.

I feel so guilty. I was so cold.

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May 7th, 2010

Look at me fall in the pile of leaves of the forest I am lost inside of myself. I’m heartbroken but writing a statement about it isn’t gonna change it, it’s just a momentum for review tomorrow, the next day or the next. The faded sun won’t burn my skin in the Altar desert. Back in town, empty parks, and lonely streets remind me of has-beens.

I am disposable.

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May 23rd, 2010

I feel trapped in the symmetry of my own life and my addiction to document it.

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May 24th, 2010

I dreamed of you last night. I was in bed, I was in this bed and you were at the door.

I said ‘come here!’ you did. You hopped on my bed smiling and stared into my eyes.

I closed your eyes slowly with my fingertips, you were so calm.

Then you went outside and a stranger called you.

You told him you were fine but he controlled you.

In the end, you left with him and I woke up alone.

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May 25th, 2010

I can’t see the white moon because white is translucent therefore I see nothing and not seeing the icon of the night makes me think the night is non-existent and every day connects into one, therefore, there are no dates.

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May 29th, 2010

I can be physical with a stranger because I have a black hole in my soul.

I’d rather be a mystery than something special.

Love is devastating. Whenever I have sex, I am not there and I have no peace of mind.

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July 3rd, 2010

Who will I be today?

I guess I’ll just be myself.

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July 17th, 2010

I dreamed you came out of the water naked, covered in seaweed, pale and your left breast was missing. I was worried until you explained it was because of all the months you’ve been dead. You asked me to come with you to this place where they reconstructed dead people. I saw the process. They made you look alive. Then they gave you a piece of paper with the date and time the effect would expire but you didn’t let me look. Finally, a stylist was doing your hair and you looked at me through the mirror, tired. Then I woke up.

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September 9th, 2010

I saw Ariel today on my way to the bank on Second avenue. I was walking down the street, turned to the left and she was the store’s cashier. I kept going and saw her walking in front of me wearing a hat.

I don’t know why this is happening. I’m aware of the fact that she will stay in my memory for a while but the frustration of this situation feels like a disease. Everyone keeps telling me my eyes seem empty but no one will understand to feel the need of that time machine. Or what it is like to portray her in strangers every now and then and finally, what is it like to fantasize about her being here, standing in front of me, waking me up from a long nightmare and me walking up to her, seeing her the way I used to, like I never have looked at anyone else and holding her hand and, great… I’m crying. She would laugh at me right now if she was alive. Then we would drive without a purpose or destination. I will never let her go. She will stay in the back of my mind as a powerful reminder of life.

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September 11th, 2010

Cigarettes are a sweet death.

I like watching the smoke come out of me slowly,

It reflects how I feel like inside,

Vanishing.

Sleeping pills,

Fears…

The only person I’m afraid of is myself,

My brain…

It hurts.

My heart,

It aches.

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September 17th, 2010

I dreamed of her last night. We were back home and I saw her hanging out with friends. I ran up to her excited to see her but when I finally got close enough she made fun of me and said ‘snap out of it dude!’

Then I went back to my car and she left with a friend.

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September 21th, 2010

You will stay young and I will be old, forever.

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October 11th, 2010

Sometimes I picture her here, wherever I am,

Sitting next to me making funny remarks of how I often glamorize the relationship we had.

I should move on with my life.

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October 17th, 2010

I feel I am no longer myself, or a complete version of myself. I think I pretended to be someone for so long that I finally became that and I don’t know what it is.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m a good person,

Am I cruel?

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October 26th, 2010

What am I doing wrong?

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November 13th, 2010

I hooked up with this Russian yoga instructor and due to a number of text messages received, I think we’re dating. I’m on the 2 train on my way to see her but I don’t know if this is such a good idea because I didn’t feel anything the other night.

Will I ever feel something again?

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November 19th, 2010

What am I doing? I’m so confused.

This girl is nice and pretty but she has really bad manners and she’s ugly when she smiles.

I don’t like her smile, and she loves mine apparently.

Am I a bitch?

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February 2nd, 2011

And you are the one and only,

Only now is were.

What are dreams and nightmares?

What are all the other than simple lights on the road?

Leaves on trees falling in the Autumn.

Stepped on.

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February 8th, 2011

Today I dreamed of you again, only this time,

You were alive.

It felt like breathing underwater.

I don’t wanna be a martyr but I don’t know what else to do or who to talk to,

I’m so alone,

So cold,

So isolated.

And the glass didn’t fall from the table,

My phone didn’t vibrate,

The wind didn’t mess up my hair,

Everything stayed the same,

But me.

Many nights I wonder what went through her mind, what made her end it all.

It’s so abstract.

Based on the pieces of information I know now and then,

I never thought she’d do it.

Who am I?

I am nothing else than an editor.

I go back and look at re-runs of our lives.

I miss you so much. Why did you leave me?

You knew you were the only one I could be myself with.

You’re so selfish.

Life and everything I knew about it changed when all of the sudden; parties, fun and friends became all different. I didn’t go out at all and when I did I would blackout drunk to make myself giggle again. What used to be fun wasn’t anymore. Conversations changed. All of the sudden I wasn’t interested in talking about shit about my lit teacher. He could go fuck himself.

‘Go fuck yourself Mark!’ He didn’t respond and I walked out the classroom,

Out of the floor,

Into the elevator

And back out again.

Only to find rain and fog.

I couldn’t remember who my friends were and I stopped talking to those I never liked.

I am fading out.

I realized the real complexity of things come in the most simple forms.

This inner fox is killing me,

The violent knowledge,

Of everything we were,

Projected in re-runs,

Of everything we once believed in.

And the clouds,

Suddenly vanished.

And the trees, destroyed by the wind,

Yelled in sorrow,

Knowing there is no tomorrow.

Which is nothing else than hope,

Wishful thinking of what could’ve been perfect,

Today.

There’s no such thing as perfection,

Nor there is for sublimity.

And you,

Apple of my eye,

Delight me.

In these now gray grounds.

Behind the smoking cloud, hard leather for vandalism, the embryo remains intact.

When did we become bullets?

Though we all establish fences,

Some stronger, more threatening than others,

We all invite trespassers.

We all receive them with joy,

Arms outstretched,

Cookies and a frou-frou drink.

Once our guests have settled down,

Unzipped and stretched,

We become predators,

Beasts.

And the most selfish act is performed by,

Both of us.

And everything we exchanged

Rests in memories,

Because oh we all do remember,

But the reminder might sound highlighted,

Meaningful.

Shamed to be vulnerable,

Libertinage takes over.

One bakes more cookies,

Hoping trespasser number two will join and heal,

One’s hidden wounds.

How far did we go? Where should we stop?

Let’s not.

Why did you stop?

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February 10th, 2011

I feel so lonely on this rootless tree.

The ground is far down,

Let’s just down once more.

Why did I call you? Why did you pick up?

Why did you come over? What’s this all about?

I don’t know you,

I was drunk.

We will never be the characters in that movie scene,

I refuse.

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February 15th, 2011

I don’t wanna write about you anymore but I can’t help it. On average I think of you twenty times per day. This amount increases if I’ve had an alcoholic beverage. On average I dream about you once a week. On average I see you once a month unless I blink and realize this person is not you. I never blink, though, I look away and smile.

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February 16th, 2011

Now that you’re gone, you’re turning me into this ultra-sensitive human being - I feel it all.

I only wish I would’ve had some of this structure before so I could’ve shared it with you,

Like you always wanted me to,

Like you always needed me to.

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February 17th, 2011

Once again I fell into the abyss of suicidal thoughts.

I am scared of myself.

I am scared of my confidence to complete tasks most kids can’t.

It is my virtue,

And my curse.

The characteristics of a polyhedron,

Bending, folding, unfolding.

And it’s never what it seems.

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February 18th, 2011

Your voice dancing around me,

Triggered sexual desire.

Your eyes as they hunt for mine,

Fill my morbid self.

Your lips,

Waiting in line,

Desiring to lock with mine were the reminder that once again,

You were looking at human flesh.

Too bad I lost my skin where I lost my heart.

If you could only see beyond that.

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February 20th, 2011

Sensibility levels raised as pages fill in,

Observant eyes become aware.

Lips went numb,

Skin went dry,

And all of the sudden,

I cared.

Sometimes the I guess and the I think and the ‘um’ pauses are needed for me to talk to you because I intimidate you and I don’t know why.

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February 21st, 2011

Where would you be? Now, so cold, so alone.

The gloomy settings, the empty spaces.

Memories of who you were keep fading with all these new feelings of confusing and pure anger.

Now I want you to be alive because one day, everything vanished.

Instrumental music played while I stood in front of everything you left behind.

I’m turning into my own worst enemy.

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February 22nd, 2011

Mentally sick creatures,

Losing lizard skin,

In line for rebirth as those they admire.

Poisoned rats craving status, power.

Hoping to fit in where they were once banned from.

Losing all integrity to be someone else, someone better.

Personality surgery down to the bones.

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March 29th, 2011

Drawing nine lines to create a tridimensional box which never reveals as an optical illusion of a cube, always cubes in every page. Uneven and deformed, determined to evolve, multiplying independently, filling a page of squares and diagonals craving perfection yet never achieving it, lacking tools needed for structure…

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April 3rd, 2011

Freckled wide-eyed, blushed cheeks.

Skin, hair, perfect teeth.

A heart, so young…

And then who would’ve known how she felt if she never expressed it.

There was no explanation.

It was as if she lived in fairyland and she was the queen and everyone just couldn’t wait to figure her out and please her and love her.

I’ve gone over last summer a hundred billion times and after god knows how many pages and cigarettes I’ve spent wondering what she was thinking of whenever she glared at me I end with the same conclusion; she wanted something I couldn’t give her and we both knew it. She was in search of a fantasy love you cannot find on this earth, so she left it.

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May 20th, 2011

It’s so quiet but in a way, it never is because the Chinese neighbors argue in high-k daily.

My super’s everyday conversations plagiarize monologs from gangster films and my pipes seem to be alive. My jeans feel tighter, I’ve gained weight.

Today after my interview I decided to walk down 58th street and saw a bunch of sad people. I’m used to seeing well-dressed beings with frowned faces but today they all just looked gloomy. Concerned. Sad. Maybe it’s just the gray skies, secondhand smoke or the artist that just died.

I don’t feel nineteen today.

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May 23rd, 2011

At the edge of an island,

At the top of a tree,

In a dark alley.

Turning my head 360 degrees,

Ending up looking down.

Overtipping those with money I don’t have.

The solution for happiness equation must belong to the dirtiest, oldest hermit who moved away in a life voyage. In the deep forest. Lost at sea.

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August 12th, 2011

‘You’re nineteen, everyone’s beautiful’

Was last night’s punchline.

I portrayed Ariel as a worn out beauty as if her memory became a character in my subconscious guiding me through dreams and life, a muse.

The beauty concept in my dream represents the nostalgia of yesterday’s expired day.

Similar to hunting a wolf in a snowstorm. A foreign land.

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August 30th, 2011

I still don’t know how I feel about anything.

As days pass me by, my perception changes so drastically that I end up clueless in a world filled with people on auto-pilot quotes and sentences.

All actions have pre-designed reactions. Everything I interact with someone I bring up a likable matching personality, my brain is filled with protocols -

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December 21st, 2011

Last night I dreamed of a flower that doesn’t exist.

It was placed in the middle of a crater.

The image,

Stuck in the corner of my eye,

Would hid whenever I turned.

I woke up in a suspended state,

Thinking I missed out on what could’ve been

The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Am I beautiful?

Is beauty based on tone? Symmetry?

Oval-shaped faces with high cheekbones are considered to be beautiful,

But they only remind me of cupcakes.

Jolly, sweet, fluffy creatures,

Afraid of the raw and sheltered,

Numb to the abstract and the complex.

Sometimes I envy their lack of awareness,

As I can feel, everything.

But perhaps I am just a martyr.

When does beauty become erotic? Why does it?

I wash up every day,

Finding imperfections, every day.

Nothing I possess comes close to what I saw last night in that flower,

In my dream.

Eventually, my eyes desaturated everything,

As if I didn’t deserve to enjoy pulchritude.

What would happen if I disappeared too?

Cutting out people tearing in black.

Who would give you voice?

What would happen to my expensive lingerie?

People don’t pass on dead people’s underwear.

What would define me?

What would describe me in the first sentence?

I wouldn’t like them to say I was beautiful.

I would like them to say I kept my thoughts to myself,

Often falling in the void of everything I couldn’t explain.

Never A or B but everything in between.

All these thoughts I would like to keep adventurous,

Pass the shadows once they fade in jet-black.

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January 1st, 2012

Like sand clocks,

We drop in the sequel of time, light and unaware.

Dead time,

Uncontrollably splitting continuance,

Brings the illusion of meaning for past time.

The mystery of time relativity works our way, somehow.

The wisdom it brings is irreversible.

We were built to linger

‘Cause nostalgia is a self-destructive state of mind.

We were not built to swim across dead time,

The deep ends are unbearable,

And will remain unknown, forever.

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