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dopesotherstuff · 3 years

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The Only Men to Miss Him

Mercurio deals with the loss of his Regnant and tries to figure out what to do next. He gets advice from an unexpected source.

I was halfway to drunk when the phone rang. Unlisted number, of course. I picked it up right away. I didn't know who would be on the other end of the line, but I knew what they would be.

I was right. I knew that voice from some of my meetings with the Boss. One of his kids. Apparently they hadn't died with him.

"Mercurio, this is Davison. I regret to inform you--"

"I know." The words came out flat and tired. "I felt it."

A moment's hesitation. "I see."

He didn't say anything about it, no "my condolences" or "we couldn't save him from himself" or even a flat "your Regnant got himself killed being greedy, stupid-evil and obsessed." No. I guessed that Davison was still processing the whole mess too. It had barely been an hour, after all.

I was going to remember that moment for the rest of my goddamn life. I had been sitting on my couch, waiting for the Boss's nightly phone call with his list of get-this-done-and-report-back-before-dawn orders. I had been dead sober too, which had been the worst part of it.

The feeling had been like something breaking inside of me--a sudden snap, and suddenly the vampire blood in my veins had gone colder. Dull-feeling. Like whatever had been powering it was...gone. And the sense of loss that had rolled through me had sent me off the couch and to my goddamn knees.

No lying to myself about it. I had screamed when I had realized what the feeling meant. Furious at that hulking fuck of a bodyguard who hadn’t done his job. Furious at LaCroix for dying, for leaving me, and for becoming a goddamn monster before he had. Furious that he had let himself slide, and slide, and slide until he had gone off a goddamn cliff. Feeling his absence like a piece ripped out of me--even as I felt the dog collar he’d kept around my neck break loose.

I was free. But I was also alone.

"Sebastian LaCroix is no more," Davison continued needlessly, his voice low, tone formal. "Because of this, you as his servant will no longer be receiving vitae or salary."

"Yeah," I sighed. "I kinda figured.” I wasn’t worried about money. I was still arms dealer to Santa Monica--minus the low-caliber scraps I had been throwing Trip, anyway. I could keep myself comfortable now without even going back to being a hitter. “So what now?"

"That is being determined by the Board." By which he meant, any Ventrue elders they could dig up in California. But of course, he wasn't going to say that. He didn't know how much I knew. "You may be taken on by another Regnant within the Clan," he went on. "Your service to Clan Ventrue for over thirty-five years is notable, especially during such...trying circumstances."

By "trying", well, he had to mean LaCroix. The Boss had slid so goddamn far away from the man I had once known and admired that I had gone to every meeting with him these last few years shaking in my fucking Florsheims. I had known that even after all this time together, and all I had done for him, the man he had become would have simply killed me for a minor failure. Like the explosives job. Everyone in his Clan had to know that he'd degenerated--especially his kids. They were barely above me on the food chain in his eyes--I'd seen him use more than one as cannon fodder. "I see. When will I know?"

"Given the circumstances, there may be some...delay." He took a deep breath he didn't need: buying time. "Possibly a few months."

"A few months...!" My gut dropped. LaCroix had given me my blood three nights ago. In roughly twenty-seven days it would leave my system, and the thirst would start--that bone-deep, painful thirst that water and booze couldn’t quench. Soon after, my strength would go, and soon after that...I would wake up almost forty years older. A senior fucking citizen. probably complete with baldness and bad knees.

I wanted to scream at the rich bastard on the other end of the line about it. Wanted to ask him why they would let a guy with my capabilities, my resources, dangle while he dried up like a raisin in an oven. But I knew. Deep down, I knew.

I was just a ghoul.

Just the fucking help. Who cared if I got old? Who cared if I died? Not the little asshole on the other end of the line, that was for sure.

"There is also the possibility of having your memories edited, and being returned to your old life..." Davison ventured. I could tell he could sense my distress.

"No." I kept my voice even. "This is my life. It's been forty years." Longer than fucking Davison had been alive, let alone undead. Goddamn kids. "I got nothing to go back to."

"I understand." But he offered no solutions. "You will be contacted as soon as a decision is made."

The line went dead, and I stared down at the receiver, feeling the tiny bit of the Beast inside of me snarling and pacing. Bastards!

I had expected LaCroix to be fine with throwing me away now that he'd gone dirty. But every single fucker in the local clan? Thanks a lot, guys. Not even gonna give me a commemorative fucking Timex before you shuffle me out the door with my box, huh?

"Fuck," I growled, setting the receiver back into its cradle. But I stayed calm this time. When I had felt LaCroix die, felt the plug being pulled inside of me, every damn emotion I'd been keeping in for years had spilled out.

Anger. Sorrow. Fear. Shame, because I had failed him too.

Relief. Because...he had been an evil stranger with an old friend’s face, in the end.

And now, here I was, four fingers deep into a bottle of Scotch, wondering what the hell I was going to do to keep myself going. Find a new boss? Start trading for blood? I doubted I could bargain to get a set of fangs of my own.

That would be something, though. I already have experience in that world. I already have power, and I know how to use my blood. And I’ve got way more knowledge of how things work than some kid like Davison.

But I wasn’t some silver-spoon fuck with a good pedigree, either. I was a guy from the streets, who had fought my way up with brains and fists and a silver fucking tongue. No old money. No “breeding”. The Ventrue probably wouldn’t ever take me as anything but a servant.

I stared down at the bottle of Glenlivet, then corked it and got up. I had to get the hell out of here.

It was raining again outside. Weird thing. Santa Monica was supposed to be dry and full of pollution, and instead here we were in a warm downpour that reminded me of summer in the Catskills. I walked in it, letting the rain soak into my hair and the shoulders of my suit. Trying to figure out where to go.

I could go to the Barons. But working for them means sucking down a dose of the Crazy Juice once a month. That Cleaver guy’s proof enough that that is a bad idea. The only other vampire I knew of in Santa Monica--besides the Thin Bloods, who were nice but couldn’t help me--was already breaking in a new ghoul.

I didn’t want to look in Downtown right now. My guess was that all those Camarilla guys would be looking for anyone that LaCroix might have called an ally. I didn’t know if they would interrogate me and let me go, or just kill me. No. Better to go somewhere else that the Camarilla didn’t hold.

LaCroix had bitched about Hollywood an awful lot. Maybe there I would find someone friendly who wasn’t in bed with my ex-boss’s executioners. The Baron over there didn’t have any grudge against me.

A cab idled in front of the Asylum. I walked over, hands shoved in my pockets, checking to make sure there were no passengers before leaning over to address the driver.

The man turned his head, and even behind the sunglasses I could feel his gaze hit me like a fist to the chest. My nerve endings prickled. His face was white as bone.

Kindred. Not one I recognized.

“Going somewhere?” he purred, in what sounded like a British accent.

I recovered as fast as I could. “Uh--yeah. Hollywood, by the old Asian theater,” I said. There was a restaurant over there that LaCroix had sent me to scout. Great food, open late. Maybe it would help.

The back door swung open and I slipped in behind him, the .44 under my jacket suddenly feeling pop-gun small. But what did I have to lose from riding with this guy that I hadn’t lost already?

Fuck it.

I felt sick as we pulled away from the curb. I was doing a mental fang count of every Kindred I knew in the city who was halfway friendly to me, and the ones worth asking were coming up short. I wasn’t used to feeling this fucking desperate. This vulnerable.

I could see the back of the cab driver’s neck from where I sat, but it still felt like he was watching me. Was I getting paranoid?

Then he spoke again, and I knew I wasn’t.

“You have lost your Regnant.”

I sucked air, ready to yell at him for poking around in my head. Last thing I needed right now was Malkavian bullshit on top of everything else. But then...I just let the breath out. “Yeah,” I said in a low, tired voice. “What’s it to ya?”

His raspy chuckle sent another rush of that prickly feeling through me. “Merely an observation. It seems...ironic, that the most trustworthy ghoul in town was bound to the least trustworthy Kindred.”

All the defensiveness deflated out of me like he’d poked a hole in it. I didn’t know how he knew me so well. He wasn’t just reading my thoughts. He was reading...me. Not judging me too harshly, apparently, but he was still doing it. “Yeah, well, them’s the breaks I guess,” I mumbled.

“Not necessarily.” He paused as he steered past a fender-bender on the overpass, the cars in front of the cab parting like fish before a gliding shark. “You’re not giving up, are you?”

I set my jaw, gathering my scraps of dignity together. “Not till I’m dead, stranger.”

“...Good.” He sounded pleased. I didn’t know why that made me feel any better. I didn’t know the guy from Adam.

But then my determination slipped, and the regret crept in again. “He wasn’t like this, before.”

“Nor was the Camarilla. Yet here we are. When high ideals build an edifice or a man, corruption breeds in every untended crack and flaw within them.”

“That’s very poetic.” I suddenly wanted a cigarette so badly I could taste it. I hadn’t had a smoke in twenty years. “So you’re saying him going down like this was...what? Inevitable?”

“No. There are men four times his age who have not degenerated so. This was born from his mistakes, and his refusal to seek any redemption. He allowed his Humanity to ebb away. He listened to the wrong people--an evil man, and his own ego. He destroyed himself, in many ways, Mercurio. Do not blame the ones that are left behind.”

I scoffed, but stayed quiet. He was right, after all. But then, I finally sighed and said, “I’m gonna miss the guy he used to be. Before all of this. But...you know, I’ve been missing him for years.”

And God help me, for a moment right then I actually got choked up. I swallowed hard and pulled myself together, hoping he didn’t read my struggle along with everything else.

“I know.” The man’s voice sounded almost wistful when he finally spoke. “Me too. But that story’s over now. His story. Not yours.”

“I...I get it.” The streetlights blurred outside the cab window; I blinked rapidly until they cleared, telling myself there was no point mourning the guy when everything good in him had died sometime back in the late eighties. What had died tonight had been a shell--a shell I had simply needed, physically. This is just withdrawal.

I was gonna keep telling myself that until it stuck.

“You’re a good man,” the stranger said as he pulled up to the curb in front of the restaurant. “Hold onto that. It is more precious in these nights than you can possibly imagine.”

“Thank you.” I didn’t know why that fucked-up conversation felt like it meant so much. Maybe I was just that fucked up myself, right now.

He pushed back my cash gently with his clawed hand when I offered it. “You keep that. Your money’s no good with me.”

For a moment, he dropped his sunglasses down his sharp nose and I fell straight into his eyes. They were bottomless and black, with little points of light deep inside them, like far-off stars.

“I’ll be seeing you around, Mercurio.”

Suddenly I was back on the road, staring after the cab’s brake lights as it headed off. I blinked, looking around at the neon and dirty sidewalks, and wondered what the Hell just happened.

My mouth tasted of salt and copper, and the tip of my tongue stung like it had touched something hot. Had I bitten it?

My skin was still prickling. The vitae in my system hummed like a tuning fork. “The fuck even was that guy?” I mumbled to myself as I headed for the restaurant, the wad he’d refused clenched in my fist. I needed some good wine to clean my palate.

More Malkavian bullshit. That has to be it. He meant well, though. And he seemed to know LaCroix. Funny that I should run into the only other guy in town who would have a single kind word to say about him. Not much more than that, but hey.

Don’t speak ill of the dead. My family had drilled that into me but good back in the day. One day, though, I would probably get drunk and bitch about my asshole ex-boss until I had nothing left to say about it. But right now, the whole thing felt like a goddamn tragedy.

But I was going to go on. I was going to find a way to survive. If I had to, I’d hunt some of those Sabbat fuckers for their blood until I had a real supply. I wasn’t giving up because LaCroix was gone. My story wasn’t over.

I just had no fucking idea what the next chapter was going to look like.

#vtmb #my canon characters #vtm #mercurio #postgame #caine #prince lacroix #fan fiction #mine #vtmb fanfic

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kuroopaisen · 4 years

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tiny love || v

➵ as tooru’s younger sister, falling in love with iwaizumi hajime was easy. iwaizumi ultimately decided to rebuff you. but that was a year ago - things are different now. and you have other things to worry about. things like moving halfway across the world for university; and moving in with the very boy who’d broken your heart.

warnings: f!reader

wc: 4.3k

m.list | ch. 4 ↞ ch. 5↠ ch. 6

Life moved too quickly.

That was the only logical conclusion you could come to after the past few weeks. One minute you’re finding out you’ve got a scholarship to a university overseas, the next you’re spending as much time with your friends as you can without burning out, and then suddenly you’re standing at the airport, suitcase in hand and loved ones lined up in front of you like this is some fantasy RPG and you’re about to go into the final battle.

Your family had said goodbye before, but that didn’t seem to make it any easier. You’re the youngest, after all. The baby.

“Remember to call if you need anything, okay?” Your mother said, smoothing a hand over your hair.

“I know, mum,” you smiled. “I love you.”

She sighed, pulling you into a hug. She said nothing more, letting the slight tremble in her arms say all that was in her heart.

Your father was next, ruffling your hair with a certain melancholy. “Be good, you hear?” He chastised. “Don’t talk to boys.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “Dad…”

“I’m just saying, there are more important things to focus on,” he nodded sagely. “And don’t go causing any trouble.”

“I won’t,” you nodded. “Promise.”

Kaori was next, a certain mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Send me a photo of every pigeon you come across,” Kaori said.

You grinned at her. “Really?”

“Mhm,” she nodded. “That way I’ll know you’re alive every day.”

You stuck your tongue out at her. “That’s a terrible plan.”

“Is it so wrong for me to want to check up on my little sister?” She teased. “I just want to make sure you won’t forget about me.”

“I won’t,” you laughed. “I’m sure you won’t let me.”

“Too right,” she grinned.

She gave you one good, tight hug. She, more than anyone else in your family, seemed to be the best at swallowing this whole situation. It was a relief to know that someone would be there to console your parents.

Finally, Amaya. She pouted at you, pulling you into a rough hug.

“Don’t forget to text me, okay?” Amaya mumbled, her arms tight around her shoulders. “Or I’ll knife you.”

“I know,” you chuckled, squeezing your grip on her waist. “I’ll keep you updated on everything, don’t worry.”

“You better,” she huffed, pulling away slowly.

Once, you might’ve dreamed of going to the same university together. But life had a funny way of taking your plans and crumbling them to dust in the palm of its hand.

But you were sure that no matter what, your friendship would hold steadfast. Amaya wasn’t the type of person to let things die so easily.

You couldn’t delay any longer.

As you walked through the gate, you wondered if Tooru had felt like this. If he’d been hounded by this unrelenting fear, doubt, and anxiety. If he’d also felt like throwing up. If he had, he’d covered it up well.

That thought didn’t do much to quell the lurching in your stomach.

Tokyo had once felt unbelievably far away. But California? That was a different beast.

✧ ✧ ✧

After a twenty-hour plane ride and two stop offs later, you’d come to the conclusion that airports, in fact, were the most unholy places known to man. Whose fault was it that airports were labyrinthine hellholes which were impossible to navigate?

By the grace of God, or perhaps as an apology for the godforsaken pilgrimage that was your flight, you managed to find the luggage pickup area with relative ease. By the time you managed to haul your suitcase off the baggage carousel you were ready to take a nap for the next three months.

You sighed, looking up at the clock hung high on the wall. 5:21 AM. Ew.

You felt a touch of pity for all the workers rostered on at such an ungodly hour.

Oh, and whoever was responsible for escorting you to your new ‘home’.

As you trundled through that godforsaken place, suitcase trailing behind you and carry-on slung over your shoulder, you were too tired to think and too tired to worry about who might be waiting for you.

That clawing anxiety had gripped you for the first hour or so of your flight, but it’d been completely replaced with other worries.

There’s only fiberglass separating you and an absurdly high fall… what happens if the plane goes down? What happens if one of the wings caught fire? What if one of the doors inexplicably ripped off mid-flight and sucked you out through a vacuum?

Regardless, you’d landed with your soul very much attached to your body – although that in itself presented you with a host of new problems.

You glared at the signs pointing in every conceivable direction, praying that your English was good enough to decrypt this mess for you.

Arrivals. That sounded right.

You dragged your feet in that direction with a big yawn, decorum be damned.

A thin crowd was gathered at the gate, waiting to greet the ragtag group of travellers who filtered through. Mothers, daughters, beloved friends, lovers…

You scanned the crowd with narrowed eyes and the hope that you’d catch sight of some familiarity.

Oh.

There was your name on a placard, written in hiragana.

And holding it…

Shit.

Iwaizumi Hajime. He was glancing around the airport, seemingly a little bleary-eyed.

Your flight-or-fight response was well and truly activated. Had he really shown up at the airport at five in the morning just to pick you up?

Oh no. Oh God. That’s… not what you were expecting. Sure, you’d been told you’d be “picked up” from the airport, but you’d just expected some taxi service or something. Your mum had sorted that all out anyway – she’d insisted that you let her do that, at least, to give her some peace of mind.

But she hadn’t told you it would be Iwaizumi picking you up. Were you supposed to have assumed that? Fuck.

With the inside of your cheek trapped between your teeth and a sinking feeling in your gut, you dragged yourself towards him.

Each step you took towards him just seemed to make him look even hotter. He was wearing a loose white shirt, but you could tell that he was built. Even more built than he’d been when he left. He hadn’t done his hair in that spiky Godzilla style he used to, and it’s longer than when you’d last seen him. He’s gotten a tan, too – an unfairly flattering golden tan.

And he was wearing a pair of fucking grey sweatpants.

I’m going to die, you thought. It’s official. I am the world’s biggest idiot, and Iwaizumi Hajime will be the cause of my death via cardiac arrest.

Was it too presumptuous to text your family your goodbyes?

He caught sight of you.

You made eye contact for the first time in a year.

What do I do? Your thought, cursing yourself out for being so… so like this.

But Iwaizumi just waved at you with a small smile on his face.

You closed the distance between the two of you with trepidation, scouring your mind for what to say to him.

Hi? How are you? It’s good to see you?

None of those felt quite right. You were much too tired for this. And he was much too hot—

“Hey,” he smiled, dropping his hand to his side.

“Hi,” you nodded, resisting the urge to bow. Should you bow? He is your senior… but this isn’t Japan. But that didn’t change the rules of etiquette, did it?

“I can carry that, if you need,” he said, nodding towards your luggage.

Under normal circumstances, you probably would have refused on the basis of pride alone. But you’d just flown halfway around the world, and you were doing your best not to drool at the bloody Adonis standing before you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, handing him your carry-on. You managed to finish the hand off without your fingers brushing, much to your relief.

Iwaizumi observed you for a second, a touch of concern in his eyes. “You okay?”

“Just tired,” you smiled at him weakly. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a lie.

“Understandably,” he chuckled, pulling a set of keys out of his pocket.

You frowned as he jangled them around one finger. “You drive?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I got my license back in Japan. Managed to transfer it over.”

“Huh,” you said. When had he learned to drive? That’d been happening right next door and you’d had no idea?

“You ready?” He asked, looking at you over his shoulder as he turned around.

You nodded, tugging on the handle on your suitcase.

The two of you made your way to his car, which turned out to be a dingy-looking thing cobbled together with dull navy metal and rubber.

You said nothing as you packed the luggage into the boot, Iwaizumi doing most of the grunt work. Part of you felt bad, but you knew full-well that he had more strength in his right middle finger than you could ever dream of having.

He strolled around to your side of the car before you had time to remember which side of the road Americans drove on.

“Here you go,” he said. The asshole just had to open your door for you too, didn’t he?

You nodded your thanks, settling into your seat with a little more frustration than feasible.

He’d slipped into the driver’s seat as you finished buckling yourself in, and before you had time to take much of anything in, he was backing out of his parking lot.

You watched him from the corner of your eye.

He looked so… casual, doing this. The Iwaizumi you knew had never been behind the wheel of a car. And yet now, he’s moving like it’s second nature.

How much had you missed? So much must’ve happened while you were out of contact.

“Hey, uh… Iwaizumi?” You mumbled, clenching your fists in your lap.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for picking me up,” you said, chewing on your cheek. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“No problem,” he chuckled.

You felt like you should say something else. But you’re weren’t sure what. He seemed relatively calm, given the situation. Saying the wrong thing could potentially fuck that up.

“How was your flight?” He asked, gently making his way through the car park.

“Uh…” Was there a polite word for ‘awful’? “It was fine.” You shrugged. “I made it here in one piece, so…”

Iwaizumi chuckled. The sound made your stomach flip.

You leant back in your chair, closing your eyes with a sigh. You didn’t know how far away your apartment was. Fifteen minutes? Ten? An hour?

Your brain reeled with potential small-talk topics. There might be a lot of time to fill.

“Take a nap if you need to,” Iwaizumi said.

“Thanks,” you hummed.

Maybe he was aware that he was giving you an out. Maybe he had no idea.

But you were more than happy to take it regardless.

✧ ✧ ✧

A pre-made bed was waiting for you in your room. You blinked at it a few times, the brain-fog of a long flight still clouding your mind.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Iwaizumi said, leaning against your doorframe. “I just got you some sheets because I didn’t think you’ have the energy to sort all that out today.”

You’re going to cry. Cry, and then die.

“Do you need help unpacking?” He asked.

You turned around sharply at those words, waving your hands about. “Oh no, no… I’m fine.”

He looked at you for a moment longer, as if he was appraising you. He simply nodded. “Well, call out if you need me.”

“Yep!” You offered him an unbearably stretched smile.

“Alright,” he said. With that, he was gone.

You sighed, turning to your suitcase. It was laid on the floor, unopened.

Shit. This really was a big move, wasn’t it?

And, you’d moved in with Iwaizumi. Something you’d never expected – not like this, anyway.

Shaking that thought out of your head, you kneeled in front of your suitcase. Something about it felt more reverent than it had any right to. You unzipped it slowly, pushing back the battered red lid to reveal your belongings.

You bit the inside of your cheek, starting with the first layer. You’d packed your pyjamas on the top – a move you’d like to thank younger you for.

As you placed it in your lap, you gazed at the rest of your belongings crammed into your suitcase.

You hadn’t brought all that much. Mostly clothes that you thought would be appropriate for the Californian weather, a few knick-knacks and keepsakes that you felt particularly attached to, a handful of your favourite books, your polaroid camera…

So much had been left behind. You didn’t mind that, for the most part; but it still felt like you were abandoning a part of yourself. Everything you’d accumulated over the past nineteen years, just…

Maybe your parents would hold onto all your things. But it wouldn’t be remiss for them to throw them away.

It’s all just part of growing up. That’s what you told yourself – you had to change, move on and get over it.

If Tooru could do it, you could to. You had to.

But now it felt like his shadow was hanging over you darker than ever. Part of your own journey had been dictated by him; if he hadn’t recommended you live with Iwaizumi, where would you be?

What was Iwaizumi even like now? Was he a good person? He’d been very nice and polite ever since you’d seen him at the airport, but…

Was he trying to be warm? Or was he keeping you at an arm’s length? Could your ‘friendship’ ever recover from… that?

You swallowed, running a hand over one of your dresses.

Honestly, you just wanted to go to sleep.

You didn’t want to leave the room because that meant you might bump into Iwaizumi. You didn’t want to unpack because you had the sneaking suspicion that it was going to make you feel like crying. You didn’t want to call anyone because you knew you didn’t have the energy to do so.

There was only one thing to do, then.

You managed to drag yourself towards your bed, hoisting yourself onto it with a grunt. You curled up on top of the sheets, wrapping your arms around your knees.

The ache in your eyes didn’t subside as your closed them, but there was nothing else to do.

Attempting to rest was better than nothing.

✧ ✧ ✧

A knock on your door.

You bolted upright, startled out of your uneasy slumber.

“Hey.” Iwaizumi’s voice was distant but distinctive.

“Hm?” You didn’t trust your own voice to hold up.

“You okay?”

You bit your lip. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine.”

It wasn’t your best lie,

A long pause followed.

“No, you’re not.” His voice was soft, gentle. Not like what you’d expected.

Although, you weren’t even sure what that was.

“Can I come in?” He asked.

“Uh…” You swallowed roughly, crossing your legs. “Yeah. Sure.”

He needed no more prompting, letting himself in and leaning himself against the wall.

There was good distance between the two of you. You’re grateful for it.

“What’s wrong?” He looked genuinely concerned. Why, you didn’t know.

Nor did you know if you should actually tell him. There was admittedly no reason to; at this point in your life, he was just a roommate.

“It’s just…” You sighed, your mouth moving before your brain. “It’s a big move, you know? I don’t think I’m ready for it.”

You’d had this conversation over and over again, both with Tooru and with Amaya. I’m not ready. I’m not ready. I’m not ready. It was the one thought you couldn’t escape, no matter how hard you tried to justify this whole thing to yourself.

“You’re more ready than you know,” he said softly. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “I guess…”

“It’s not easy, but you can do it.” His tone was resolute, not harsh but firm. It almost makes you feel like he’s right. Almost.

“And…” He swallowed, his gaze flicking to the ground. “I’ll look out for you. You’re not alone.”

You weren’t quite sure what those words made you feel.

“Thank you, Iwaizumi.” Your voice is quiet enough to go unheard, but he smiled. It was only a little smile – one someone who hadn’t known him for so long might’ve missed – but it was genuine. You couldn’t tell if that was a good omen or a grim portent.

“You shouldn’t be thinking about this tonight,” he nodded, standing up straight. “You’re already exhausted, so you’ll only make it harder for yourself.”

You pouted at him, much to your own surprise. Unfortunately, he was right.

“Give me a moment,” he said suddenly, disappearing.

You sighed, lying back on your bed and closing your eyes.

It felt like you’d entered the Twilight Zone.

Maybe things would improve when you started uni. Then you’d have something else to think about that wasn’t just ‘oh God, I moved in with Iwaizumi Hajime and that was stupid, dumb, and a colossal mistake.’

Your instincts were begging you to book a flight and go straight home to Japan. Surely, you might be able to get into some university – sure, you missed the entrance exams, but perhaps…

Were you already chickening out? Tooru had moved halfway across the world entirely on his own, but he’d never once thought about turning back. And yet here you were, lying in your bed feeling like you were about to disintegrate just because your roommate happened to be someone you used to have feelings for.

God, that was pathetic. It was only day one.

“Here you go.”

You flinched, sitting up suddenly.

Iwaizumi stood at the side of your bed, holding a mug out to you. You hadn’t even heard him come in.

“Oh, thanks,” you nodded. As you took it from him, you peeked at the tea bag.

Your favourite. He’d made you your favourite tea. You took a tentative sip.

Shit.

“I hope you still like it that way,” he said, a touch of pink to his cheeks.

It reminded you of winter back home.

“I do.” You looked up at him, giving him a genuine smile.

He smiled right back, his face softening in that rare but stunning way you remembered.

You were a little proud of yourself for keeping it together.

“I, ah…” Iwaizumi cleared his throat, taking a few slow steps away from the bed. “I’m going to go to bed. I’ve got practice early tomorrow, so…”

You nodded.

As you watched him leave, closing your bedroom door on the way, you wondered if you should’ve asked him what his training was for.

But you just sipped your tea.

This really was going to be difficult, wasn’t it?

✧ ✧ ✧

By the time you woke up in the morning, Iwaizumi was out. That was something of a relief. Iwaizumi not being around meant you could explore the apartment without the fear of bumping into him.

So, you took the opportunity, sneaking out of your room and taking stock of the layout of your apartment. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, a living room attached to a kitchen… it wasn’t big, but you weren’t about to complain.

It’s quite a change from the family home you grew up in, but the change is a little exciting. It’s certainly liveable, and you know your parents are grateful for the fact rent was affordable enough.

The apartment was well-tended and clean. You weren’t sure if he’d cleaned it up before you’d arrived – which wasn’t unlikely – or if he usually kept it this neat – which also wasn’t unlikely.

A few photos hung on the wall, some with people you knew, some you didn’t. There were a few photos of the Seijoh team, exhibiting various degrees of chaos. Some others included people that you recognized as his friends from high school, and there were several of himself, Tooru, Hanamaki and Matsukawa.

Other photos were a total mystery, though. Probably friends from university, a mix of men and women you didn’t recognize.

You didn’t let yourself look at them for too long; your mind was concocting too many questions, too many narratives that made your gut feel all funny.

The only other thing of particular interest was the television and the DVD stand next to it, stuffed full of both Japanese and English movies. Most people streamed these days, but Iwaizumi had always been a bit of a traditionalist when it came to technology.

Regardless, the small size of the apartment meant there wasn’t all that much to explore.

You slunk back to your room after a close inspection of the bathroom, which you decreed as ‘clean enough’.

By the time you passed through the threshold of your room, a quiet blanket of exhaustion settling over you. Jetlag really was a piece of shit.

You tossed yourself on your bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Maybe you could call someone. But you weren’t sure how the time zones lined up. Your parents wouldn’t be happy with you if you woke them up at some ungodly hour, and Kaori needed the rest. Amaya might be up, but you didn’t want to stress her out…

Tooru was an option. He wasn’t that far away in the grand scheme of things, and he might’ve been able to offer some advice…

But he was probably busy. And you’d already bothered him enough.

God, why were you so frustrated? Was it exhaustion? Anxiety? How difficult it was to wrap your head around the situation? You just wanted to sleep for a week.

Before you knew it, your eyes fluttered closed, and you drifted into an uneasy nap.

✧ ✧ ✧

A firm, steady knock cut through your barely conscious mind.

You blinked rapidly, frowning. Shit, did you have another nap? That better not become a habit.

With a groan (and a great deal of strain) you managed to get off your bed, dragging yourself to your door.

You opened it with trepidation.

Iwaizumi stood on the other side with a glass of water in one hand and a bowl of yakisoba with chopsticks poking out of it in the other.

“Uh,” he cleared his throat, eyes flicking to the ground, “you didn’t come out to eat, and I didn’t see any dishes in the sink, so…”

“Ah,” you swallowed. “Right.”

You hadn’t eaten yet. All day.

“Thanks,” you nodded, taking the bowl from him. To his credit, it looked good; plenty of vegetables, and nothing seemed to be burnt. That might be a low bar, but you digressed.

“Would you like to eat at the table?” He asked.

You resisted the urge to stare at him.

Eat at the table? Like… like… a family? Did roommates do that?

“Sure,” you nodded. You’re not really sure why – some fear of hurting his feelings, probably.

But you tottered after him, hoping to God that your stomach would settle enough to allow you to eat.

Iwaizumi settled himself down at the table, his seat already prepared with a glass of water, a bowl, and a pair of chopsticks.

He set the glass of water in his hand down opposite from him, in what seemed to be your designated spot.

You slipped yourself into the seat, taking note of just how uncomfortable it was. Affordability over comfort – a student mantra, apparently.

“How was practice?” You asked. You just wanted to fill the silence. Once upon a time, silence between the two of you wouldn’t have made you feel like crawling out of your own skin.

“It was good,” he nodded. He didn’t seem like he was trying to be terse of anything – Iwaizumi was just a man of succinct, short sentences.

“I’m assuming it’s volleyball?”

He chuckled. “Yeah.”

You took a small bite of your yakisoba. It reminded you of home. “Are you still a wing spiker?” You asked.

“Mhm,” Iwaizumi nodded. “Although there’s a fair bit of competition for the spot.”

“Really?” You asked. You couldn’t imagine a volleyball team where Iwaizumi wasn’t heralded as a magnificent player.

“A lotta guys wanna be the ace,” he grinned.

You smiled. That made sense.

Silence fell over the two of you for a moment as you both focused on your meals. Your appetite was voracious, now – you hadn’t even realised how hungry you were until you’d started eating.

“Did you leave the apartment today?” Iwaizumi asked, making you jump.

“Ah, no,” you shook your head. “I was worried about getting lost.”

“Fair.”

Another silence settled over you, a more pensive expression taking over Iwaizumi’s face.

He was completely unreadable. Probably because you knew nothing about him. Not anymore.

“Would you like me to show you around tomorrow?” He asked.

You blinked at him, completely blindsided.

“We could get lunch,” he offered.

You stared at him for a long moment, trying to process the muddle of feelings inside you.

What on earth was going on? Perhaps he was just reaching out a friendly hand. And, chances were, he felt some kind of duty to protect you.

“Sure,” you smiled. “Sounds great.”

You weren’t stupid enough to push away the only ally you had in this strange new world. Hopefully, other friends would come. But for now, it was just you and Iwaizumi in this little apartment, trying to make this arrangement work.

You had to make it work.

You’d find a way.

✧ ✧ ✧

a/n: aaaa thank you for your support so far! sorry this one’s a bit choppy, but i think you’ll enjoy chapter 6 (i hope sfdlkdfj)

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi hajime x you #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu x reader #tiny love

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cinebration · 4 years

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Cordial (Napoleon Solo x Reader) [Part 12]

Aftermath.

Tagged: @ly--canthrope, @maan24, @eefjedegraaf, @omgkatinka, @illbegoinhome, @tiffanypooh, @ramenyul, @crispysublimecupcake, @cavillhavoc

Warnings: none

Gif Source: smilecapsules

THREE MONTHS LATER

Solo stood outside the apartment door, staring at the number painted onto the wood: 4C. Unlike the other numbered doors he had passed, the paint was only a few months old, as though it had been touched up.

He swallowed thickly, struggling with an unusual sense of helpless anxiousness.

It had been so long since he’d last seen you.

Arriving at the hospital, he had been denied access to you—first due to surgery, then specifically by request. You had let Kuryakin and Gaby in to see you, but not Solo.

He had been forced to loiter in the hallway, waiting on the off chance that you caved and let him in. Though he had had two weeks to chat up the nurses, he had only conversed with them out of the desperate need to speak with people to fill the time, his own nerves getting the better of him. He spoke with nurse, doctor, and patient alike, undiscriminating in his choices.

All the while keeping an eye on your door, hoping for a glimpse of you whenever a nurse or doctor entered the room.

They always seemed to block the view.

After two weeks, you had somehow slipped out of the building unnoticed and headed home.

On Waverly’s orders.

After the attack on you and the death of Henry Williamson, as well as the disappearance of Virginia, Waverly had called off the mission, ordering everyone but you back to base. Solo had negotiated for a delay in returning on the grounds that someone needed to be near you during your convalescence in case another attack happened. Waverly had granted it.

Seemingly only to let you recover enough to return to the United States on your own.

Solo had returned to base uncharacteristically dejected, though he hid it behind an exterior of discontent over the failure of the mission. Grounded by Waverly, Solo pretended not to see Kuryakin’s and Gaby’s knowing glances and did his best to kill time.

Kuryakin didn’t speak to him at all the first week, and all Gaby had to say was scathing.

It took two months for Solo to convince Gaby to give him your address and another month for Waverly to grant him permission to leave.

Leading him here to an apartment complex in Southern California. The sun seemed to shine down unnaturally bright on him as he had walked up to the building, the heat pounding into his skin.

Steeling himself, Solo knocked hard on the door.

No answer.

He knocked again.

Then again.

Silence.

Frowning, he glanced up and down the corridor before retrieving the lockpicks from his inner suit-jacket pocket. Crouching, he made quick work of the lock and eased the door open, shutting it quickly behind him.

To his surprise, the small space was nearly bare but for paintings hanging at eye-level along the wall, a small table, and a lone chair. Treading softly, he surveyed each painting. They varied in subject and style but contained one commonality: the same name.

Yours.

Faint voices reached Solo’s ears beyond the two closed doors at the end of the hallway stretching away from the front room. Alarm bells rang in his mind.

Solo approached the furthest of the two doors, tensing in expectation of confrontation.

The voices trailed off, replaced with music.

A radio.

His frown deepening, Solo eased the door open.

You sat in the center of the room on a tarp, paint scattered about you. The whole room was littered with tarps, the walls shrouded in them. Paintings leaned in stacks against them, familiar landscapes and portraits staring back at Solo as his gaze swept the room.

A small radio sat near your knee, feeding you music.

Bent over a canvas in concentration, you didn’t notice Solo step into the room until his tread shifted the tarp beneath you, the movement shooting fear up your spine. You leapt to your feet, the paintbrush held out as though to defend.

Solo held his hands up. “Hi.”

The panic melted from your face, replaced with displeasure. “What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you.”

“Well, you found me. Exit the way you came.” You sat back down, your back to him, and resumed painting.

Letting his hands drop, his stomach sinking with it, Solo stepped further into the room, peering over your shoulder. He recognized the painting style immediately: Renault.

The burned painting Schwartz had wanted?

“You’ve gone back to forging,” Solo said.

“You’re still here.”

Ignoring the twist in his gut, Solo wandered over to the other stacks of paintings, quickly rifled through them. He recognized nearly all of them. To his surprise and chagrin, he couldn’t tell they were fake.

“We could have been a great team,” he heard himself say. “I steal the real ones, you sell the fakes. It would have been quite a scheme.”

“I’m sure the partnership would’ve fallen apart quickly. I work better alone.”

The irony of the statement struck Solo squarely in the chest. He turned to you.

A long scar followed the line of your jaw where Henry had sliced you in the struggle on the stairs. Seeing it made Solo’s chest constrict.

“Listen—”

“Did Waverly send you?”

“No.”

You glanced up at him, one eyebrow arched.

“Yes and no,” Solo admitted. “He wouldn’t let me leave until he had a plan.”

“Did he ask my superior for permission?”

Solo blinked. Of course you had a superior, just as he did in the CIA. Filing it away as a question for later, he answered, “I don’t know. What I do know is that the original client seems to have gotten his hands on the biological weapon we were going to pretend to sell. He’s trying to sell it now.”

“And Waverly wants us to act as buyers,” you concluded.

Solo nodded.

Lips pressing into a thin line, you returned to the painting.

“I’m under strict orders not to leave without you,” Solo added. It wasn’t quite the truth, but it wasn’t entirely a lie, either.

Perhaps Waverly intended for him to remain there for as long as it took for you to forgive him.

“Tell Waverly to call me,” you said through gritted teeth. “Now leave me alone.”

Solo wasn’t sure that was a good or bad sign. He merely nodded and stepped out of the room, clinging to faint hope.

#Napoleon Solo x Reader #Napoleon Solo #Napoleon Solo imagine #Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill imagine #The Man from UNCLE #The Man from U.N.C.L.E.

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crowdvscritic · 3 years

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round up // MARCH + APRIL 21

March and April were a whirlwind of vaccines and awards shows! A full year after we starting staying at home, the end of this weird chapter in recent history seems like it might finally be coming to a close, and this pop culture awards season—typically a time full of fun and glamour—captured our moment weirdly well. (Emphasis on the weird.) This month’s recommendations is filled with more Critic Picks than usual, so without further delay, let’s dive right in...

March + April Crowd-Pleasers

Double Feature — 2018 Action Thrillers: Bad Times at the El Royale + Den of Thieves

In Bad Times at the El Royale (Crowd: 9/10, // Critic: 8/10), Jeff Bridges, Cynthia Erivo, Jon Hamm, Chris Hemsworth, and Dakota Johnson are staying at a motel on the California-Nevada state line full of money, murder, and mystery. In Den of Thieves (Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 6.5/10), Gerard Butler takes on some of the best bank robbers in the world. Whether you like your action with a dose of mystery or the thrills of plot twists, these will fit the bill.

Double Feature — ‘80s Comedies: Caddyshack (1980) + Splash (1984)

In the mood for pure silliness? Take your pick between a mermaid and a gopher! Five years before The Little Mermaid, Tom Hanks fell for Daryl Hannah’s blonde hair and scaly tail, and John Candy was his goofy brother in Splash (Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 7/10). And four years before Ghostbusters, Bill Murray was the goof on a golf course full of funny people like Chevy Chase, Rodney Dangerfield, and Ted Knight in Caddyshack (Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 6.5/10).

Double Feature — 1980s Coming-of-Age Films Starring Corey Feldman, Kiefer Sutherland, and Challenging Brother Relationships That Influenced Stranger Things: Stand by Me (1986) + The Lost Boys (1987)

Believe it or not, I had no idea these two ‘80s classics had so much in common when I chose to watch them back-to-back. In Rob Reiner’s adaptation of Stephen King’s Stand by Me (Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 9/10), four kids (Feldman, Jerry O’Connell, River Phoenix, and Wil Wheaton) are following train tracks to find a missing body. In The Lost Boys (Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 7/10), Corey Haim and Jason Patric move to a small California town and discover it’s full of ‘80s movie star cameos and…vampires? One is a thoughtful coming-of-age story and one is just bonkers, but both are a great time.

Spaceman by Nick Jonas (2021)

My love for the Jonas Brothers is well-documented, so instead of going down the rabbit hole I started digging at 15, I’ll talk about how Nick Jonas’s latest solo album will likely appeal to a wider audience than just the fans of the brothers’ bombastic pop records. It’s full of catchy tunes you’ll play on repeat and an R&B-influenced album experience about the loneliness we’ve experienced in the last year and how we try to make long-term relationships work.

Ted Lasso (2020- )

I love stories about nice people crushing cruelty and cynicism with relentless kindness, and Ted Lasso (Jason Sudeikis) is the warmest, most dedicated leader this side of Leslie Knope. Be sure to catch up on these witty and sweet 10 episodes before season 2 drops later this summer.

Double Feature — Tony Scott Action Flicks: Enemy of the State (1998) + The Taking of Pelham 123 (2009)

Tony Scott’s movies have got explosions and excitement in spades. I love a good man-on-the-run movie, and in Enemy of the State (Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 8/10), Will Smith is running through the streets of D.C. after getting evidence of a politician’s (Jon Voight) part in a murder. I also love a tense story set in a confined space, which is what Denzel Washington is dealing with in The Taking of Pelham 123 (Crowd: 9.5/10 // Critic: 7/10) after a hammy John Travolta takes a New York subway train hostage.

Double Feature — Baseball Movies: The Natural (1984) + Trouble With the Curve (2012)

Sue me—I love baseball movies. Robert Redford plays a fictional all-time great in the early days of the MLB in The Natural (Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 9/10), and Clint Eastwood plays a fictional all-time great scout in his late career in Trouble With the Curve (Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 7.5/10). If you love baseball or actors like Amy Adams, Glenn Close, Robert Duvall, and Justin Timberlake, these movies are just right here waiting for you.

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Nate Bargatze: The Greatest Average American (2021)

Sue me—I enjoy Netflix standup comedy specials that are safe enough to watch with your whole family. That’s exactly the crowd I laughed with over Easter weekend, and while the trailer captures Bargatze’s relaxed vibe, it doesn’t capture how funny he really is.

The Mighty Ducks (1992)

I thought somewhere in my childhood I’d seen at least one of The Mighty Ducks movies, but after watching all three, I think my memories must’ve come from previews on the VHS tapes for other Disney movies I watched over and over again. The original still holds up as an grown-ups, which is why even my parents got sucked in to this family movie while just passing through the living room. Bonus for ‘80s movies lovers: Emilio Estevez is basically continuing Andrew Clark’s story from The Breakfast Club as an adult. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 6.5/10

Double Feature — New, Dumb Action on Streaming: Godzilla vs. Kong + Thunder Force (2021)

If you want something intelligent, go ahead and skip to the next recommendation, but if you’re looking for something stupid fun, these are ready for you on HBO Max and Netflix. Thunder Force (Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 6/10) follows Melissa McCarthy and Octavia Spencer as they train to become superheroes who take on superhuman sociopaths wreaking havoc on Chicago, and alongside Jason Bateman, they do it with a lot of laughs. Godzilla vs. Kong (Crowd: 9.5/10 // Critic: 5/10) is, um, exactly what it sounds like, so I’ll skip a plot summary and just say it’s exactly what you want from this kind of movie. #TeamKong

3:10 to Yuma (2007)

All you need to know is Russell Crowe is an outlaw, and Christian Bale is the guy who’s got to get him on the train to prison. I also watched the 1957 version, which is also a solid watch if you love classic Westerns. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 8/10

Falcon and the Winter Soldier (2021)

Marvel’s newest series isn’t nearly as inventive as WandaVision, and it may not land every beat, but it’s worth a watch for the fun new gadgets, Sebastian Stan’s dry joke delivery, and its exploration into themes of what makes a hero and what governments owe their citizens. It’s a pretty satisfying entry in the MCU canon, but I’d also recommend re-watching Captain America: Winter Soldier and Civil War—the canon is getting expansive, and it’s getting trickier every year to keep up with all the backstory.

March + April Critic Picks

Best of 2020 Picks

As per usual, the months leading up to the Oscars becomes a binge period for potential Oscar nominees. In March and April, I watched many of the films that made my Top 20 of 2020, including Boys State, The Father, Judas and the Black Messiah, Let Them All Talk, Minari, Nomadland, On the Rocks, One Night in Miami…, Promising Young Woman, Soul, and Sound of Metal. You can read how I ranked them on my list for ZekeFilm, plus reviews of The Father, Minari, Promising Young Woman, and Soul.

Bonus: If you loved On the Rocks, don’t miss this feature and beautiful photography starring Sofia Coppola, Kirsten Dunst, Elle Fanning, and Rashida Jones for W Magazine.

Stranger Than Fiction (2006)

What would you do if you started hearing a voice who narrated your every thought and move? If you’re Will Ferrell, you’ll seek out a literary professor (Dustin Hoffman), fall in love (with Maggie Gyllenhaal), and track down the voice (Emma Thompson) who’s making ominous predictions about your future. Stranger Than Fiction is funny thought-provoking, and an unusual but welcome role for Ferrell. Crowd: 9.5/10 // Critic: 9/10

All the Royal Family News

Speaking of stranger than fiction, it’s been a busy few months for the Royal Family. We’ve celebrated 95th birthday of Queen Elizabeth, the 3rd birthday of Prince Louis, and the 10th anniversary of Will and Kate’s marriage. We also lost Prince Philip, and we watched the drama of Harry and Meaghan’s interview with Oprah. No matter what happens to their Crown, I don’t think we’ll ever get over our fascination with the Windsor family. A few pieces worth reading from the last few months:

“In Meghan and Harry’s Interview, Two TV Worlds Collided,” Vulture.com

“The Queen’s Man: Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, Dies,” TIME.com

“Obituary: HRH The Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh,” BBC.com

Goodfellas (1990)

One of my film opinions that makes me feel like a phony is that Martin Scorsese just isn’t my cup of tea. He’s brilliant, but his films tend to be long and dark, two qualities that are never my first choice…and somehow Goodfellas still worked for me? Maybe it was the TV edit graciously toning down the violence or maybe it was that Ray Liotta and Joe Pesci were firing on all cylinders, but for some reason this ‘90s classic didn’t suck the joy out of my evening like Scorsese often does. (Bonus: For a Martin Scorsese/Robert De Niro I don’t really recommend, head to the last section of this Round Up.)

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Fearless (Taylor’s Version) (2021)

Her voice has only matured, so Taylor Swift revisiting her old albums is like upgrading a blast to the past. Plus, the six new tracks make me feel like 15 crushing on that boy in Spanish class again, and her Grammys performance (just before her third Album of the Year win) was magical and folklore-tastic.

Double Feature — ‘60s Action Classics: The Guns of Navarone (1961) + Planet of the Apes (1968)

The Guns of Navarone (Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 8.5/10) follows Gregory Peck and David Niven as they destroy Nazi weapons in the Mediterranean. Planet of the Apes (Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 8.5/10) follows Charlton Heston as he attempts to escape from, well, a planet full of apes. The pacing of ‘60s films doesn’t always hold up, but that’s not the case with this pair. Both are still full of suspense, and you can’t go wrong hanging with casts like these.

Let Him Go (2020)

Kevin Costner and Diane Lane play a farming couple who unexpectedly help raise a boy who lost his biological father—sound familiar? But instead of a superhero origin story, they’re part of a thrilling Western with performances nuanced (Costner and Lane) and showy (Lesley Manville). If I’d watched this before completing my Best of 2020 piece, it likely would’ve been on my list. Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 8.5/10

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The Oscars

I’m a ride-or-die fan of the Academy Awards, but I’ll admit even I found this year’s ceremony odd. Instead of focusing on what wasn’t so hot, I’ll recommend a few moments you don’t want to miss:

Emerald Fennell giving a shout-out to Saved by the Bell

Daniel Kaluuya acknowledging his parents’ sex life during his acceptance speech (??)

Yuh-Jung Yoon flirting with Brad Pitt and acknowledging she’s just “luckier” than her fellow nominees

Glenn Close dancing to…”Da Butt”?

You can also read about the historic wins and nominations from this year’s Oscar class and why the Golden Globes were an even stranger production weeks earlier.

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Trailer-palooza!

Movies are on their way back, y’all! I’m counting down the days until I can get back to a theatre, and even if some of these movies are duds, I’m planning to see all of them on a big screen if possible:

Those Who Wish Me Dead (May 14)

Cruella (May 28)

In the Heights (June 11)

Space Jam 2 (July 16)

Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings (September 3)

West Side Story (December 10)

Also in March + April…

To add to the Oscars love, you can listen to a conversation about what we learn about family, community, and society in some of the year’s biggest nominees on the Uncommon Voices podcast. I join regular hosts Michael and Kenneth in this episode, and I recommend all of their thoughtful discussions on their “What’s Streaming” episodes.

I’ve previously recommended the Do You Like Apples weekly newsletter, so I’m proud to share I contributed twice in March! I wrote about Love and Basketball, directed by Gina Prince-Bythewood, and one of my all-time favorite Julia Roberts rom-coms, Notting Hill. (I also tied to win their Oscars pool, but I suppose that’s less exciting for you than me.)

It was a busy couple of months on SO IT’S A SHOW! New logo, new email list, new Instagram, and a host of new episodes about a flop of a Madonna flick, a Swedish children’s TV show, an urban legend turned into a horror movie, one of the best films about journalism ever, and a Martin Scorsese movie about a real boxer.

Most of what I wrote for ZekeFilm in March and April was mentioned in Best of 2020 recommendations…except for The Nest, a film that couldn’t figure out what genre it wanted to be.

Photo credits: Nick Jonas, Royal Family. All others IMDb.com.

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steppedoffaflight · 4 years

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Summer’s a Knife - Chapter 14

Catch up on Chapter 13 here

Van is done shaving, and comes into the living room dressed and ready for his ride to arrive. He ignores you as he peeks out of the front window blinds, before fussing with his sleeves, rolling them up to his forearms. You realize that his entire shirt is one button off, and he was about to head out to the bar like that.

“Van,” You sigh, standing up. He doesn’t respond, only looks at you like he’s ready for a fight.

“C’mere,” You urge him softly, but you walk to him instead. You swallow down the lump in your throat as you start to unbutton his shirt, tears threatening to form behind your eyes. “You messed up a button.”

He realizes what you mean as you correct it, watching your fingers rebutton him.

“I’m sorry,” You tell him, desperate not to leave the night on a bad note. “I was a bitch.”

Van’s heading out for the night.

Word count: ~8.2k

A/N: content warning for some (pre-discussed) sex where one person is high but the other is sober

Chapter Fourteen August 2019

Van flew in on a Tuesday and is gone by Thursday, back to the U.K. to headline another festival. He promises to be back soon; August is full of sporadic free time between the festivals and radio events, a chance for the boys to recharge in preparation for the second leg of the United States tour that would be commencing in the fall and carry them until the Christmas season.

On that following Wednesday you’re curled up on your couch, drinking your coffee and scrolling through social media when your screen goes blank. There’s a moment of confusion before it lights up with Van’s call.

“Hey,” You answer hesitantly, expecting this to be some sort of mistake. He never calls this early.

“Hey!” Van sounds cheery and awake, the exact opposite of you at the moment. “You’re up! I timed it right!”

“You what?” You laugh, pulling away to look at the time. He’s called you at 6:15 on the dot. “You planned this?”

“Yeah! I wanted to catch you before you went to work!”

His enthusiasm is contagious, brightening up your mood slightly. You were currently wrestling with the dread in your stomach reminding you of all that would need to be done once you get to the office today. Even your usual avoidance tactic of mindlessly scrolling through social media wasn’t working that well.

“Good job,” You congratulate him before taking a sip of coffee. “How’s it going with your parents?”

Although Van could have flown back to the States immediately after the festival performances on Saturday and Sunday, he’d decided to spend a few nights at his parent’s place during the week, before coming back to California on Friday.

“Good,” Van hums, and you hear rustling in the background as he moves around. “They’re out at the shops right now to get stuff for tea.”

“Bet they love having you all to themselves.”

“Oh, they fucking do.” Van’s tone implies he doesn’t quite feel the same. “They’re cornering me every chance they get to give me a talking to.”

You think of the way Van described his parent’s adoration for him, and try to imagine what bone they could possibly have to pick with him. “A talking to? Why?”

“Because I don’t have any little ones!” His voice is high. “They’re asking me about getting married and shit! The farthest I’m looking into the future is January!”

Van had already started to express his excitement for the new year to you, when the band had a couple months of a clear schedule to get into the studio for the fourth album. Knowing his one-track mind when it comes to music, you actually feel sympathy for his parents trying to discuss anything else with him. It was a lost cause.

“Aw,” You coo, “They just want a little Van to hang out with when you’re on tour! Don’t be mean.”

“M’not tryin’ to be,” He sighs. “But I’m not worried about that stuff. I’m trying to get us selling out stadiums.”

A typical Van response. “Yeah,” You hum, feeling pity for him as well. As different as your lives were, the difficulties of being surrounded by family after being away for most of the year were one thing you shared. You know how the incessant questions and demand for every second of your free time gets to your head.

“Unless you’ve got a little one for me?” Van jokes before lowering his voice. “After last week?”

A startled laugh bursts down the line from you. “No, no,” You assure him quickly, before pausing. “Well, my period hasn’t come yet, so we’ll see.” You’re teasing, of course. It wasn’t due for a couple of days, and you were so religious about your birth control you had no doubts it’d arrive.

“Fingers crossed.”

“Van!”

“That it comes!” Van laughs. “Christ!”

You’re laughing with him, the heavy feelings of dread having been chased away. But if you didn’t get off the couch soon you’d be running late. “I gotta go get ready for work,” You tell him, still grinning.

“Yeah, alright. I just really needed to speak to someone sane,” Van sighs. “Have a good day.”

“I will,” You lie, finishing off the rest of the coffee in your mug with two gulps. “You can text me anytime you need some extra sanity.”

“Keep me in your prayers,” He says dryly. “See you Friday.”

Your period arrives that night, light and pleasantly early. Even without any doubt, Van’s joke had put a niggling sense of worry in the back of your mind, and you were relieved to put it to rest.

Thursday is business as usual, but on Friday your excitement about seeing Van is dampened significantly when you realize you’ve bled through your tampon overnight, rushing to throw your soiled underwear and sheets in the washer before work. Things only get worse from there; the entire day at your desk you’re seized by merciless cramps, accompanied by the constant need for trips to the bathroom. You’d wanted to surprise Van by picking him up at the airport that evening, but instead you let him Uber over, hoping he’s not too disappointed.

As soon as you hear the knock at your door you launch yourself off of the couch, hurrying to answer it.

There’s been a post-airplane Van McCann delivered to your porch, complete with all of his luggage. His face lights up as soon as the door swings open.

“Hey!”

“Hi,” You reply as you help him roll his two suitcases into the living room. His backpack has slipped off of the one shoulder it was resting on, and you grab the handle of it, untangling it from his arm. There’s some commotion as Van shrugs his leather jacket off, hanging it neatly on the hooks on the wall next to the door, and shimmies out of his boots, but after that small delay he goes for his usual hug, you two clinging to each other.

“Sorry I didn’t pick you up,” You say into the shoulder of his t-shirt.

“Aw, don’t worry about it,” Van brushes you off as he pulls away. “I wouldn’t wanna deal with the airport after working all day either. I’m here now, right?”

You smile at his optimism. As you grab the television remote, pausing your show and shutting down the TV, Van rolls his two suitcases into the empty guest bedroom before taking his backpack into your room.

“Are you washing the sheets?” He calls from the other room, and you realize that you’d been so caught up in Netflix you’d forgotten to make the bed before Van arrived.

“Yeah!” You call as you head to the small laundry room adjacent to the kitchen. “They’re done now, though!”

You hear the soft footsteps of Van in his socks as he follows you into the laundry room, prepared to help you carry the dried bedding to your room.

When you hand Van the rumpled ball of your comforter, he takes a moment to sniff it. “Clean sheets for me? You shouldn’t have!”

You knock the dryer door closed with your foot, trailing behind Van with the sheets. “You wish,” You tease him, dropping the pile of fabric on your bare mattress. “I bled through them, actually.”

You weren’t one to coddle grown men when it comes to the reality of periods, but once the words were out of your mouth you found yourself hoping they didn’t gross Van out too much.

“Ah.” Van nods in understanding, starting to unravel the fitted sheet. “So no little ones?”

“Will you stop?” You laugh, assisting Van in the task of attempting to get the elastic wrapped around the bed. “If you keep jinxing it I’m going to make you wear a condom again.”

“Consider my lips sealed, then.”

You smile to yourself as you two finish up the bed. It’s amazing how much Van coming over feels so natural; You’ve missed the constant joking, and forgotten how easily you two coexist in the same space. You wonder if it ever gets less exciting to see him after trips; each time it feels like a dream that he’s physically here with you. So far, that sense of wonder hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s only exacerbated the longer you two are friends, not to mention the way he’s always so happy to see you.

“Does pizza sound good for dinner?” You ask him. You hoped it did, because you had been craving it terribly all day. Also, it was the only thing that sounded even remotely appetizing with the way your hormones were causing chaos in your stomach. Besides ice cream. You wonder if you still had a carton in the freezer, or if Van would be in the mood to go get some at the soft serve place down the road.

“Pizza sounds great.”

Van does the honors of putting the order in via his app, so that dinner is his treat tonight. You two spend the rest of the night curled up on the couch, plunging back into your favorite Netflix show together as you both chow down on your spectacular dinner choice. It occurs to you for the first time tonight that you share a Netflix show with Van; one that neither of you watch when you’re apart. You wonder if there’s even a small chance that he’ll ever see you as more than a friend with benefits.

You’re awake before Van on Saturday morning, and thankfully haven’t bled onto the sheets.

Your period is still excessively heavy, and you curse the universe for doing this to you the weekend Van has to be over. There’s plenty of days he isn’t around! Why must you bleed yourself to death the days he is?

It’s one of those mornings that feel like a car stalling, refusing to get moving. You have a cup of coffee, check the news on your phone, like a few instagram posts, and watch some morning talk shows before deciding to nestle back in bed. Van’s still dead to the world as you tuck yourself in, his body wiped from the jet-lag.

The second time you wake up is to a very disoriented Van fumbling around by your nightstand.

“What are you doing?” You groan, pulling your pillow over your head to try to block out the blaring afternoon sun shining through the cracks in your blinds. You knew it was futile, and you wouldn’t be able to return peacefully to sleep now.

“Charging my phone,” Van’s voice crackles as he speaks. You peek out from the shade of your pillow to see him shove your charger into his phone, setting it on your bedside table next to yours.

“What time is it?” You mumble, regretting it when Van nudges the pillow off of your face.

“Hm?”

“I said what time is it!” You whine, tugging your pillow back into place. Your cramps hadn’t been around while you were having coffee, but they’ve definitely arrived now. Maybe you could just suffocate yourself with the pillow and be done with it.

There’s the soft tap of Van checking your phone screen. “Almost one.”

“Let’s go back to sleep,” You try. Maybe if Van lays down again you could get him to cuddle you.

“I just slept for thirteen hours,” Van snorts. “Come have a cig. Do you have eggs?”

You heave yourself up dramatically, nodding as you wipe the hair out of your face.

“Do you want some eggs and toast? I can fry up some mean breakfast potatoes too if you’ve got some.”

Your stomach growls. “Yeah, I’ve got potatoes.”

You mope to the bathroom before meeting Van in the kitchen. He’s left a cigarette and his lighter on the counter for you, and you take your first puff as he shuffles around in the fridge, his own cigarette already dangling from his mouth.

“Can you reach up into that cabinet?” You ask as he starts to lay out his ingredients on the counter. You’re grateful you remembered to get a fresh carton of eggs the last time you were at the store.

Van swings the cabinet open. “Pass me the ibuprofen. No, other bottle,” You instruct him, before he passes over the correct pill bottle.

“Not feeling well?” He asks, watching you wash your ibuprofen down with a swig of his coffee.

“These cramps are fucking killing me,” You complain as you pass the bottle back, Van tucking it back on its shelf. “They’re not usually this bad.”

Van hums to show he’s listening, but you leave it at that.

You prep the potatoes while Van makes you both a plate of eggs, peeling and slicing them exactly as Van demands. He didn’t lie about his potato-frying abilities, and soon you’re both seated at the table with heaping piles of fluffy eggs and crispy potatoes, ravenous after sleeping way too late. Neither of you realize you’ve forgotten to make toast until you’re done eating.

Afterwards, you two pass the rest of your afternoon away on the couch, watching television. Van lets you nestle yourself under his arm, cramming your legs into the depths of the couch cushions so that you can press your body against his, your head resting comfortably on his chest.

When TV starts to get boring Van maneuvers to the YouTube app, determined to show you a few of the band’s performances. He’d only recently become aware how much you really didn’t know about them, and was determined to bring you up to speed. You had tried to stay clueless on purpose; you figured if you went full-on-fangirl, scouring social media for content and insider information, that you’d probably look at the boys in a different light. You liked that you hadn’t been a fan of them when you’d met Van, and that you had no social media persona to compare to the boys you hang out with in the flesh. But you figure there’s no harm in watching a few performances of the setlist you’d already seen three times, especially when Van is so proud to show them to you.

You’re watching on-screen Van belt out Twice when you realize Van’s been texting through the last three songs. Obviously, watching videos of himself is probably not the most entertaining thing in the world for him, but you couldn’t bear for his attention to be elsewhere.

“Stop texting,” You whine, rubbing your cheek against his shirt.

“Sorry,” Van mumbles, but he still doesn’t put his phone down. “Do you want to go out tonight?”

Despite feeling like hell warmed over, you perk up. “Where?”

“Out to the pub. A couple of mates are in town and want to catch me for some late birthday drinks.”

You sink back into Van’s chest, disappointed. You were hoping Van had been proposing a dinner for just the two of you, like you hadn’t had since the first time he ever took you out. You were craving something romantic like that from him. Why hadn’t you ever gone out on another date? It must be because that’s when he realized he wasn’t interested in you romantically. Sure, you two have had some romantic moments in the comfort of your own homes, but there was something about getting dressed up and going out that felt so much more official and exciting.

“Nah,” You tell him. “I feel like shit.”

“You’ll be okay if I go?”

You rest your chin on his chest, peering up at his concerned face. “Yes! I can even pick you up, if you want.”

At this, Van breaks out into a grin. “You’d do that for me? That’d be ace, actually.”

You push the hair from his face, realizing you’d just agreed to stay up tonight waiting on his call. “Of course,” You assure him, before pressing your cheek back into his shirt. “But if I’m gonna have to wait up then let me sleep on you until you’ve got to get ready.”

You hear Van set his phone down on the coffee table. “What about a li’l kip? Throw that blanket over us, will ya?”

You unravel the blanket in question, draping it over both of your bodies as you two wiggle into a comfortable position. Van is warm and soft, and the sound of his breathing creates the perfect conditions for you to doze off almost immediately.

You both wake up to the alarm Van’s set, your domestic bliss ruined by Van needing to get ready for the bar. You stay slumped on the couch, watching in amusement as he hauls one of his suitcases out of the guest bedroom, rifling through it for his toothbrush and the least wrinkled button up he’d packed. He’s such a chaotic, last-minute type of person, and there’s something about getting to enjoy the show without actually having to get yourself ready that cheers you up.

Van is blow drying his hair into his typical waves when you shift on the couch and swear you feel the familiar warmth of your tampon leaking.

You try to hold still. Van will be leaving soon, and you can worry about it then. But then you cringe as you feel the sensation again, and then you remember you’re not wearing a liner right now, and you stand up from the couch.

“Hey, can I steal the bathroom for a sec?” You ask, hesitant to disturb Van. He’s got shaving cream on his face, and he looks at you in disbelief.

“Right this second?” He asks, but his tone lets you know it’s a trick question. He’s rushing to run the razor over his jaw, and you cringe, expecting him to cut himself moving that quickly.

“I just need it really quick,” You plead, dreading the surprise that awaits when you pull down your underwear.

“Y/N,” Van huffs. He hasn’t even looked over at your reflection standing in the doorway, too focused on shaving. “I’m in the middle of having a shave and I’m gonna be late! I don’t care if you take a fucking shit in front of me! Have at it!”

“Okay, oh my God, fine!” You snap, stomping behind Van to the toilet. You tried to be polite, but if he was going to be a jerk, why even bother?

You yank down your underwear, and predictably they’re soiled with a nice-sized red inkblot where your tampon had leaked. You kick off your sweatpants in order to get your underwear off. Guess you’d be doing a load of laundry tonight while you waited on Van.

You tug your tampon out, which is horrifically, overly full. You’ve got to dispose of it in your bathroom trash, which you keep in the cupboard under the sink, which Van is currently blocking as he stands in front of the sink.

“Can you move?” You snarl, still annoyed with him for not giving you privacy. His head jerks down to look at you, and you can see the anger flash through his eyes at your words. Just as he’s opening his mouth, no doubt to chew you out, you see his eyes dart to the tampon precariously dangling between your fingertips, stained and dripping onto the toilet seat.

He shuts his mouth and steps back, allowing you to open the cupboard with one hand and dispose of the tampon in the other. You scowl as you wipe yourself and insert a new tampon before snatching your underwear and sweats, marching out of the bathroom pantsless.

You immediately treat your underwear with stain remover, throwing them directly into the washer. Then you storm room to room, looking for other articles of clothing to wash with it. You weren’t going to go through all this hassle over one fucking item of clothing.

But even after emptying your bedroom hamper and throwing the kitchen hand towels in for the sake of it, there’s still only enough clothes to coat the metal bottom of the barrel. You decide to go through Van’s suitcase sitting out on the living room floor. You angrily sniff each stupid button up and matching black shirt, throwing them with all of your might towards the kitchen so they’d be easier to get into the laundry room. Why was this entire suitcase full of identical clothes? Why didn’t he ever wear any fucking color except black or navy blue? At this rate he might as well just keep two of the same outfit and rotate through them!

With his dirty jeans, socks, shirts and underwear, there’s finally enough things to consider starting the washer worthwhile. You’re still upset, pouring fabric softener over Van’s clothes at the top of the pile as if you’re dousing them with gasoline, and slamming the lid shut with a loud metal echo as you get the water running. Then you head into your bedroom, get some fresh pants on, and resume your spot on the couch.

Van is so fucking annoying!!! You immediately send to Mary.

You wait for her to respond before you send her the scalding paragraph explaining the situation that you’ve already started mentally drafting. In the meantime you flick through other apps, angry at everyone living their perfect little lives on instagram, and tweeting about their perfect little significant others on twitter.

But the longer you sit there, the more your anger starts to fade. You think back to Van’s face when you bitched at him, and how he didn’t even react. He hadn’t even been that rude, now that you reflect on the situation. He was only in a rush. Soon you’re left with just a cold pit in your stomach, and the embarrassment of realizing you’d completely overreacted.

“Van,” You sigh, standing up. He doesn’t respond, only looks at you like he’s ready for a fight.

He realizes what you mean as you correct it, watching your fingers rebutton him.

“I’m sorry,” You tell him, desperate not to leave the night on a bad note. “I was a bitch.”

Van snorts at your words, tugging you in. “I should’ve just stepped out for a sec.”

“You were in a rush,” You excuse him tearfully. Why are you on the verge of crying? You realize you sound pathetic, but there’s nothing you can do about it. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I feel really bad.”

Van gives you a soft smile, before leaning in for a quick kiss. “You’re forgiven.”

“I hope I am. I’ve got all your dirty clothes from your suitcase in the washer.”

“Oh, you’re definitely forgiven now,” Van grins. There’s the shine of headlights against the blinds, and Van peeks out again. “Okay, gotta go. I’ll call ya!”

And with that he’s bouncing out of the front door, and the countdown starts until you’ve got to go retrieve him from whatever state he drinks himself into.

You can’t doze off. You’ve just gotta stay busy. That’s your mantra as the hours pass. You finish up the load of laundry, you clean the bathroom that Van’s ripped through like a tornado, and then you get engrossed in the book you’re reading. It’s tempting to think that you’ll wake up to your ringtone if you turn your phone up, but you know better. Once you’re out for the night you sleep like a rock.

At one A.M. your contacts are dried out for the day, and you exchange them for your glasses. At two you have to force yourself to sit upright on the couch, because sprawling out is making your body feel too warm and heavy. And at three you decide to step out onto the porch and have a cigarette for some fresh air.

Your phone is wedged in the crack of the couch, and as soon as you’re in from your cigarette you check your notifications. In the few minutes you were away from your phone there’s now one new notification, a missed call from Van. Before you can return the call, your phone is ringing again.

“You ready?” You greet him. You feel more awake, a fresh bolt of excitement shooting through you at the fact you’re going to see him again, and get to sleep next to him tonight.

“I am,” Van confirms. “I thought you fell asleep.”

There’s a slur around the edges of his words, and you’re excited to get to converse with drunk Van tonight, even though he’s not so different from sober Van.

“Nope! Just having a cigarette. Where am I going?”

There’s some commotion on the end of the line as you listen to Van ask another person where he’s at, but then he’s able to give you someone’s address. Apparently someone had decided to keep the night going at one of their houses rather than head to another bar.

There’s never a time that L.A. is fully asleep, but if you had to pick a good time to be on the road it would be now, at three in the morning. The traffic is minimal, and although you struggle to find Van’s friend’s place amidst the subdivision of identical homes, eventually Van steps outside and you see his lanky silhouette stumbling down the driveway a few houses down the street. You pull forward and he climbs into the front passenger seat.

“Have fun?” You ask, as Van buckles himself in.

“Yeah,” Van nods. His voice sounds a bit dreamy, like his head’s in the clouds. “It was nice catching up with them.”

The ‘them’ in question were a few other indie artists signed to the same label as Catfish. Van mumbles for a bit about their conversations and a new single they had played him that was supposed to impact radio in the next week or so. You’re not listening too intently, humming along in response as you get back on the main roads.

You suddenly spot the bright golden arches of a McDonald’s sign, and your stomach growls. You know if you don’t have a late night snack now, your stomach would never let you sleep.

“Hungry?” You ask as you start to turn into the drive thru. Whether or not Van wanted something, you were definitely getting some fries. And maybe a McChicken, come to think of it.

“No, I’m fine,” Van says, tapping away at his phone. He was texting someone, his fingers composing a message at rapid speed before you watch the bubble slide up as he sends it. Who the hell was he texting this late?

“Who are you texting?” You ask as soon as you’re done placing your order at the window. You keep your voice light, hoping to seem conversational rather than nosy.

“Um, Bond.” Van tucks his phone back into his pocket.

“Oh, was he out with you guys?”

“No. I just wanted to send him a quick note about a riff before I forgot.”

You roll your eyes to yourself, even if you feel a swell of affection for him. Van McCann, classic workaholic even when he’s drunk.

“Can we turn the air up?” Van sighs suddenly, shifting around in his seat. “It’s sweltering.”

There’s a breeze flowing through your open window that’s giving your arms goosebumps, but you suppose it probably feels humid for Van since his window is closed. “Yeah, turn it up.”

You don’t expect him to crank the knob to the highest setting, sending ice cold air blasting through the vents.

You leave the air conditioning alone as you pull forward to get your bag of food, but as soon as your window is closed the cabin of the car is freezing. You click the knob back a few settings, so a snowstorm is no longer roaring at you.

“What’d you do that for?” Van huffs, wiping at his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. “I’m dying!”

“I’m dying!” You protest, “You’re trying to freeze me out!”

“Freeze you out?” Van argues, “You’ve basically got it on heat!”

You look over at him in utter confusion. The temperature setting was set to coldest and the vents were blowing at a higher setting than you ever bothered to use. In the glow of the red light you were currently stopped at, you could see that Van was very visibly sweating.

As you continue the route back to your house, Van goes so far as to undo all his buttons, tugging his shirt off of his shoulders so that he was sitting there in only his black t-shirt. So dramatic.

“Can I have some chips?” Van asks, but without further ado he’s pulled a few fries from the brown bag with his fingertips, chowing down. You sigh, but let him get away with it.

When he goes to take another handful, you reach over without looking, snatching the bag from his lap. “You said you didn’t want anything!”

“I don’t! They just smell good!”

The road is empty, so you glance over at Van in frustration. He’s staring at you in annoyance, wide eyed like he doesn’t see a problem with him helping himself to your food. Maybe you wouldn’t notice on someone with darker colored eyes, but immediately you’re startled to see there’s almost no blue to his irises.

It all clicks together in your head suddenly. “Are you high?”

Van’s jaw hangs open slightly, but he doesn’t dispute it. The overheating, the dilated pupils, being an absolute spaz texting Bondy about guitar solos in the middle of the night. All of the signs are there.

“You took ecstasy, didn’t you?” You grin in delight at having figured it out, poking at his chest. His body is radiating heat. “You did! Admit it!”

“I didn’t lie!” Van crosses his arms, slumping back in his seat as he offers you a lopsided grin. “I never said I didn’t!”

You pull onto your street, Van trailing behind you as you head into the house with your bag of food, not trusting him with it. “Well, you can stay up all night, but I’m going to bed.”

“M’not gonna be up all night,” Van tells you, but he’s vibrating with energy as he sits down on the couch next to you.

You tug your McChicken out of the bag, unwrapping it immediately so you can take the first bite. You only shrug. Although you had occasionally been around others who were on molly, Van was the only one of you two with first-person experience.

“Hey,” Van says suddenly. “You’re wearing your glasses.”

“I am.” He’s seen you in them on rare occasions, but tonight he’s looking at you intently like he’s seeing them for the first time.

“You look hot,” He says finally.

You almost choke on the fry you’re swallowing. “Yeah right. Shut up.”

“You do! Like a sexy secretary.”

You roll your eyes, not justifying him with a response. There was a distinct difference between a secretary in a revealing button up and a short skirt, and you sitting there on your couch in one of Van’s crewnecks you’d stolen on a night you’d stayed over and baggy, shapeless sweatpants. But if Van was high enough to confuse the two, more power to him.

“I’m going to bed,” You announce after you’d finished off your McChicken. There’s a handful of fries left in the red cardboard packaging, and you shake them at Van in offering. He takes them gratefully.

“Not without me,” He says with his mouth full, inhaling your leftover fries and standing up from the couch with you. You gather up all of your trash, piling it in the bag before heading to the kitchen to throw it out.

Van follows you into the bedroom, and you startle when his fingers sneak under the hem of your crewneck.

“What are you doing?” You laugh, elbowing him as he brings his hands to your stomach, pulling you backwards into his chest. “Let me get ready for bed!”

The more you struggle against him the tighter he holds you, his fingers trailing up your ribs and to your chest. You continue to attempt to fight him off, giggling the entire time.

“Don’t you try to sneak second base,” You tease, his hands coming back out of your sweatshirt, although he still wraps his arms around your middle, his nose coming into your hair.

“You’re soft,” He whines, running his hands up and down your front over your clothes. “And you smell good.”

“If you wanna cuddle me, get in bed.” You finally shake yourself free of his embrace, shedding your borrowed sweatshirt and heading for the dresser to grab a sleep shirt. Van isn’t discreet with the way he’s staring at your topless figure, practically drooling as he peels away his own shirt and undoes his belt.

Climbing into bed after your long night waiting for Van feels like heaven, and you’re relieved to fold up your glasses and perch them on your bedside table, the true mark of a day ending.

Van climbs in beside you, and you click the lamp off, the room going pitch black. You flip on your side so that you’re facing Van. Your eyes adjust to the darkness, the streetlights glowing through the window and barely illuminating his face.

“Can I have that cuddle now?” He asks quietly, and you laugh, wiggling closer to him as a yes.

You expect him to wrap his arm around you, but instead his fingers sneak right back under your shirt, before he slides his palm against the small of your back, rubbing up and down. You close your eyes, soothed by the sweep of his hand, before you feel his hair tickling your nose and his lips on your neck.

“Van,” You huff in surprise. “That’s not cuddling!”

“Sure it is.” You can hear the laughter in Van’s voice as he resumes kissing up and down the line of your neck. It feels pretty fucking good, so you close your eyes and relax against your pillow.

“It’s not,” You still reply, not willing to let him have the last word. “But you’re lucky you’re good with your mouth.”

Van moans against your skin. “I can’t get enough of you,” He confesses as he stops kissing your neck in favor of joining your lips. As he licks into your mouth he starts to maneuver you onto your back, his hand now rubbing your side as he starts to hover over you. “Fuck. You feel so good.”

His words send a shiver up your spine, even though you’re not exactly sure what he’s referring to. The kissing? Your skin? He’s kissing you with more urgency now, and your hand comes up to his cheek. His skin is smooth and soft from his shave, and you swipe your thumb back and forth.

“Oh shit, that feels so good,” Van groans, and you feel it right in the depths of your belly.

“This?” You ask, swiping your thumb again.

“Yeah,” Van pants, kissing you harder. “Just touch me. Touch me everywhere, fuck.”

You didn’t need any more encouragement to get your hands on him. Your hands roam all over, scratching his scalp, the back of his neck, his shoulders. You feel him break out in goosebumps as you trace your fingertips against the bumps of his spine.

“Don’t stop,” Van pleads when you pause, lost in the kissing for a moment. You think back to that conversation you’d had on the patio about how much he liked taking ecstasy. You hadn’t realized he enjoyed it this much.

“Are you gonna come?” You can’t help but ask, because you realize now he wasn’t kidding about simple touches putting him on the verge. He was still in his briefs, but he was clearly rock hard.

“Fuck if I know. It feels like I already have,” Van nuzzles against your chest, practically purring when you put your hands in his hair again. “Oh, fuck, just like that.”

You laugh in surprise at his words. “Is it really that good?”

Van swears again as you give the back of his neck and gentle squeeze, and you take that as a yes.

“Let me fuck you,” Van pleads, sitting up so he can look directly into your eyes. He’s clearly out of his mind with desire. “Please.”

“You won’t last,” You joke, stroking your thumb over one of his nipples. He shudders helplessly.

“Don’t I know it,” He laughs at himself. “But you’re so fit. Please.”

“I dunno.” Your hesitation looks like it’s causing Van an excruciating amount of pain. “You’re not thinking straight.”

“We’ve talked about it when I had my head on right,” Van begs, watching as you trail one single finger up and down his stomach and chest. “Plus, you’re my best friend.”

He must be extraordinarily high if he’s slipped on his favorite British slang of best mate. You can tell that waiting for your word is intensely tortuous for him.

“Uh, no to fucking,” Comes your ultimate decision, realizing that’d be logistically hard to navigate with your period and a hazy Van. “But lay down. And get your underwear off.”

Van scrambles to do as you say, all of his limbs vibrating with need. When you climb down between his legs, nudging his thighs open, you feel them try to close instinctively.

“Don’t smother me,” You warn him, but your voice is lacking any actual threat. Van pants as you press his knees open, and after a moment’s consideration you sneak your fingers underneath them. It’s a sensitive spot for him on a regular day, but he jumps out of his skin at your gentle touch tonight. God, ecstasy-high Van was so fun to explore. Even in the extremely low light of the room you can see how badly his dick is craving to be touched, flushed and curved against his lower belly and shiny with precome.

You knew that foreplay wasn’t an option here, so with one calculated motion you’ve pulled Van’s foreskin back with a flick of your wrist, wrapping your mouth around his dick and swiping your tongue over the ridge of his head as he cries out.

He’s shuddering against the sheets like any moment might be the last, and you know that there’s no way he can give you an accurate warning in his current state. You lap up each spurt of precome, the hand not holding his dick in place reaching down to touch his balls. You decide not to give them their usual attention this time, instead sneaking your fingertips underneath them, and up towards the base. Maybe Van’s never been touched here, or maybe he’s just enjoying it to the extreme, but his dick twitches inside of your mouth, his toes curling.

When you feel you’ve given him a decent amount of head, surprised he’s held off like he has, you pull back, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to the head of his dick. You wipe your mouth dry with the back of your hand before wrapping a palm around Van, jerking him off quickly. You retract your fingertips from behind Van’s balls, instead running your nails up and down his inner thigh.

With a gasp he starts to come, and you continue to jerk him off as he comes onto his stomach in heavy spatters, his whole body contracting through his orgasm. You’re careful not to release him prematurely, jerking him off until he’s cringing with sensitivity, writhing away from your touch.

You lean your torso off of the bed, snatching Van’s shirt from the floor. You wipe him off with careful strokes, soiling his shirt with every last drop. You offer him a clean corner of the fabric so that he can wipe the sweat off of his face.

“Are you good?” You ask once he’s tossed the shirt back onto the floor, and he furrows his eyebrows in disbelief.

“Good? I don’t think I’ve ever felt this fucking good in my entire life,” He insists.

You grin at the compliment, poking at his hip. “I mean, are you overheating? Do you need some water or, like, ice or something?”

“I think I’m alright. I’ll grab some water after I piss.”

While Van heads to the bathroom you stumble around in your dark kitchen, preparing him a glass of water. You hear him groan from the bathroom, the door hanging open.

“Even pissing feels incredible,” He tells you when he comes out. You pass him the ice water as you take your turn, laughing as you do.

Your body feels like a block of lead as you climb back under the covers this time, actually ready to sleep. The only thing preventing that from happening was Van sitting upright smoking a cigarette, lamplight beaming into your eyes.

“Have a fag,” He tells you. “Get ready for round two.”

“Round two?” You sputter, shaking your head. “You fucking wish!”

“I meant for you!” Van laughs. He kindly offers his cigarette out to you, and you prop yourself up on one elbow to steal a quick drag. “Gotta make sure you get off, don’t I?”

“What a gentleman,” You joke, nestling back under the sheets. “But I’m going to sleep.”

“No fair. Even for head?”

“I’m on my period,” You remind him, rolling over so the lightbulb wasn’t shining in your eyes. “I already told you you’d be up all night alone.”

Van sighs. You doze off immediately, only to be woken up an indeterminable amount of time later to Van clicking the light off, and leaving the bedroom after grabbing your guitar.

You’re up around ten the next morning, feeling amazingly refreshed after sleeping like the dead. Van, on the other hand, is sitting on the couch, puffing through a cigarette, looking considerably less refreshed.

“Morning!” You quip cheerfully just to piss him off. It works. He offers you a death glare. “Write any good songs?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Guess we’ll see what the lads think.” He trails after you into the kitchen, where there’s a pot of coffee already brewed and partially gone.

You marvel at the sort of friendship the band has. You didn’t think anybody could pay you enough to write songs on drugs and then present them to your coworkers. But then again, maybe it was worse when they were sober songs that Van had really poured his heart into.

“Having fun on your comedown?”

“I’m crawling out of my fucking skin. Not to mention the hangover.”

“Can’t sleep it off?”

“Not yet,” Van sighs. He’s got deep, dark circles under his eyes, and his cigarette is trembling where he’s holding it between his fingers so he can take a sip of black coffee from the mug he’d just refilled. “But once my head shuts up, I will.”

You understand the terror of intense anxiety and panic attacks, and that’s without any drugs. Watching Van’s hyperactivity transmute to panic is hard to watch. You’ve never seen happy-go-lucky Van less like himself. You feel bad now for teasing him.

“Do you wanna try? I can lay back down with you,” You offer out of pity. He shakes his head.

You finish up your coffee before getting the water running for a shower. Mary was making a trip to Costco today, and since you didn’t have a membership you were planning to go with her this afternoon.

“Can I get in with you?” Van calls from the living room.

“Yeah!” You yell so that he can hear you, your voice echoing against the tile as you start to strip.

When Van comes in his eyes wander up and down over your body. “Is it still your time of the month?” He asks, smiling weakly.

“Unfortunately,” You sigh, tugging your tampon out right in front of him. Clearly as of yesterday you two were at this level of familiarity. You realize he’s still smiling. “Why?”

“Gotta return the favor, remember?” He reminds you as his own clothes start to litter the bathroom floor.

You haven’t been in the mood lately, too frustrated with the bloating and the cramps and the bleeding to feel even slightly attractive, but something about Van always pushes those worries aside.

“Hm, I guess you do,” You singsong as you step behind your shower curtain into the warm spray of water. “But you better hurry, I gotta go to Costco with Mary.”

Van is incredibly efficient, bending you over so that he can fuck you while also sneaking a hand around to keep warm, wet circles over your clit. As much as you usually despise doggy style there’s something perfect about it today, the water pounding down on the small of your back while you brace yourself against the tile with your forearms, struggling not to slip as Van thrusts into you. You’re deliciously sensitive because of your period, and after only a few minutes of Van’s concentrated attention with his fingertips you’re groaning through your orgasm, your knees trembling as Van’s fingers continue to move against you.

Van pulls out, jerking himself off until you feel him come on the swell of your ass. Then his waterlogged palm flushes water over your skin, carefully cleaning himself off of you.

“That was very pornstar of you,” You tease breathlessly when you’ve stood up straight, soaking the rest of your scalp so you can finally wash your hair.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Van admits sheepishly. “Thought now would be the perfect time.”

You wonder if he means he’s always wanted to do that to you, or if he’s never done it in general. But then you remember that you’re the only one that’s ever fucked him while he was on ecstasy, and decide to be happy with that win regardless.

After sex and a shower Van is looking a little more normal. His cheeks are flushed pink from the heat, a welcome change from the pallor of his complexion when you’d greeted him this morning. He’s looking a little more content, a little less like a walking panic attack, and after he changes into some clothes he hasn’t sweat through you convince him to try getting into bed.

He’s a grown man, and doesn’t need you to oversee his nap, but that doesn’t stop you from following him into your room, and getting into bed with him. It would be perfect if you could calm him down enough to sleep in the next half hour, so that you could get ready and go shopping without having to worry.

You sit up against your headboard and nudge his head into your lap, playing with his damp hair while he tries to settle in.

“Are you mad?” He asks, his voice muffled against your thigh.

“Mad about what?” You giggle softly, rolling your eyes.

“Have I ruined your Sunday?”

“No!” You scoff. “If anything, you just made it a lot better.”

Van grins against you at that. “You’re my best mate.”

“I know.” You sigh, half from fondness and half from the desire to be more. “You’re mine, too.”

“Don’t forget about me when I’m touring next month.”

“I could never,” You laugh, ruffling his hair in punishment. “I know you’ll come by when you can.”

Van relaxes against you, some of the demons in his head clearly appeased at your words. You wonder what other anxieties are swirling around there, if he ever has to worry about finances or forgetting to mail something or whether or not he left damp clothes in the washer or the stove on at home. It feels like he sails through life unhindered by such tedious worries, but now you’ve seen first hand he has them like everyone else. He worries about burdening others with his hangovers, and being replaced by his best friend while he’s working.

Slept in way too late, you lie to Mary after picking up your phone from the nightstand. I’ll go with you next week!

You’re grateful last night you left your book on the nightstand instead of putting it away on the shelf, your glasses and book perfectly within reach without you having to disturb Van. This was a way better way to spend your Sunday rather than pacing through crowded aisles in a warehouse. You hold your book with one hand, still fussing with the ends of Van’s hair with the other, and enjoy your last day of the weekend.

#summer's a knife #catfish and the bottlemen #van mccann #catb #catb fic #van mccann fanfiction #vanfic #catfish and the bottlemen fanfiction #van mccann fic

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captaincvans · 5 years

Text

Chapter One: Heart Made of Glass

09/30/19

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 1667+

Prompt: 8. “I think we should break up.”

Warnings: Language! Angry!Chris

Series Masterpost

A/N: This is my entry for @my-emotional-self 5K Writing Challenge! This can be read alone, but it is a part of a mini-series for those who want a continuation! Anyways, on to the fic~ If you want to be tagged, please send me an ASK!

You weren’t one to complain about your boyfriend’s schedule. You knew as an actor, he was usually really busy filming and when he was at home, he made sure to spend as much time with you. This time however, when he came home after filming his last Avengers movie, he was distant and snappy with you. It started just two weeks before he was set to go home, and you chalked it up to the fact that it was his last movie with the people he’s worked with for the last eight years and he wanted to spend as much time as possible focused on them. Then he came home, and he just wasn’t the same person. He didn’t text you when he had landed. He didn’t greet you when he came home. There was no welcome home kiss- let alone a hug. He barely talked to you for the next few days, and every time you two talked, he was snappy and short.

The fights started happening more frequently, all throughout the winter holidays, the two of you were under a thick blanket of tension. This man could fight about anything and everything. He was stubborn and passionate. Those two traits were something you always admired about him. The way he could fight for what he believed was right, and defend those who didn’t have a voice. However, when those traits were used against you, that was a different story. Tonight was another fight, and you couldn’t for the life of you remember how it even started, but you knew the end of that fight was something you would be reliving for a very long time.

You were spending Christmas with his family, opening gifts with the whole Evans clan. The morning was spent baking cookies for the children, and you woke up early to make sure you baked enough for everyone. Once the whole lot was settled in the living room of Lisa’s house, around the Christmas tree, the children starting opening their gifts first. There were a lot of screaming, and excited laughter which made your heart swell with joy. You had a lot of fun picking out special gifts for each of the children after getting to know them in the last few years, and their joyous reactions was much appreciated. For the adults, you got each of his siblings an embossed bathrobe as a running joke when you had a spa day with them, a slightly drunk Scott proclaiming loudly that he wished he had a bathrobe as soft as the ones they were wearing. For his parents, you got something more practical, they were complaining about how their lawn mower didn’t survive last summer, so you got them another one for Christmas so they didn’t have to worry about it when the weather got warmer.

They each gifted you different things. Chris’ siblings all pitched together to get the two of you tickets to an art and wine tour, and his parents had gotten you a knitted blanket, joking about passing it down to your future kids. When you turned to Chris, his shoulders squared and his eyes were hard, glaring at you. You could tell it was making the rest of his family uncomfortable how cold he had been with you. They were used to his clingy ways, always having an arm around you and would never go pass two hours without kissing you at least once. They could feel the tension immediately when the two of you stepped in the house: the forced, awkward smile making it difficult to hide their rocky relationship.

“I didn’t get anything for you,” Chris said nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders.

Your shock was mirrored with by his family members, who knew Chris to be pretty extravagant with his gifts despite your constant insistence that you did not requiring anything to be that super fancy. “Okay, that’s not a problem! I still got you something.” You pulled out a small box, and handed it to him.

He tore the wrapping paper, not very gently, and opened the box to find two summer passes to Disneyland Park in California. When you found out that his last month of filming for his newest movie was in Anaheim, you jumped at the opportunity to have his stay extended to spend the whole summer in the sun and in the happiest place in the world.

“Oh, cool,” he said, closing the box, and moving on to the next gift.

You deflated slightly at his reaction, hoping for some more excitement. You could feel Lisa’s gaze on you, but chose to ignore it, chalking his reaction to the anxiety he always felt around the holidays. There were a lot of pressure around this time to be happy, and you knew that wasn’t always the case with the two of you.

You had one final dinner with the family before heading home. The original plan was to visit your family for a few days, but those plans fell through when your parents’ flight from Cuba was delayed and your siblings wanted to wait until they arrived home to have the get-together. Both of you entered the house silently, Dodger still with the petsitter until we could pick him up.

“Chris, can we talk?” You started, cautiously approaching him as you knew he was already in a bad mood.

“About what?” He responded with snark lacing his voice, He ran his hand through his hair as he dropped his bag near the entrance of the door.

“It was just really awkward today…”

He rolled his eyes. “Just because I didn’t get you a gift one time?!”

“No, no! It’s not like that- I don’t care that you didn’t get me anything. It’s just… I bought those Disney World passes for us… Daniel said you would be doing the last month of your filming in California so I figured I could take some time off and we can go together after you’re done.”

“So you’re upset that I wasn’t more excited for it? Jesus, you know I hate it when you make plans without considering my plans. What if I don’t want to stay in California after filming? You know I only leave Boston when I have to.”

“I know, but I thought it would be easier for you to stay in California for an extra month, instead of coming back here and having to spend money on another flight there.”

Chris scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. “It’s always about money with you, isn’t it?”

“What?! What do you mean?” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and crossed your arms in growing anger.

“You’re always talking about money- telling me that I should save here and save there when I want something, but when you want something you don’t care about my savings anymore.”

“Chris, I never asked you to-“

“We both know you’re only with me for my money anyways,” Chris spat.

That argument made you stop in your tracks. Never in the two years that you dated the actor had he mentioned that he was uncomfortable with the silent arrangement with your finances. You had paid for flight tickets to visit him whenever you could, but there were a few times when he had surprised you with them as well. Everything in between was just whoever had their wallet out first. There were a few times that Chris had left his wallet behind or you had wanted to treat him, and you paid with no problem. Other times, he paid for your outings. You weren’t an actress by any means, and did not have that kind of money, but you weren’t living off his paycheque either.

“Chris, what the fuck?! You know that’s not true-” you started, but he scoffed. “Chris, I love you for you- I don’t-”

“You love my money. You love being spoiled. Honestly, don’t know why I bothered with you- I basically was just paying you to hang out and have sex with me.”

You gasped, never hearing such hurtful things from Chris, even at his angriest moments.

“I should’ve just gone with a prostitute- they’re probably cheaper and at least they keep themselves in shape. You just look like you’ve really let yourself go- honestly, how much weight did you gain while you were fattening yourself up with my money?”

That broke you. Everything else he had said before that moment, you would be willing to fix and forgive him for, but that statement was the last straw. He knew how insecure you were with your figure, especially for someone who was not an actress or model, dating one, he knew that you always felt not good enough. Compared to the beautiful women in his life that he’s dated, you felt like you were on a whole different world. You had told him of your insecurities during a really vulnerable point in your life, letting him in on years of self-hate and doubt that he had helped you with. Instead, now he was using it against you. All the small, petty fights from the previous month finally tired you out. All the fight you had melted away as your heart ached at his insult.

“I think we should break up,” you whispered, not knowing what else to say. After packing up most of everything, you turned back to your boyfriend, realizing that there was one more thing you wanted to tell him. “Um- I’m not sure how you want to go about this, but I think you should know anyways, and if you want to call me after you’ve calmed down a bit so we can discuss this-”

“Discuss what?”

“I’m pregnant, Chris.”

He laughed, rolling his eyes. “Really? You’re gonna pull that one on me? I’ve had my share of sluts pretending to be pregnant with my baby. Stop lying to try to tie me down to you. It ain’t gonna work. You’re not getting any more money from me.”

“I’m serious, Chris. I could show-”

“Well, I don’t believe you. You probably got knocked up by someone else.”

“I never-”

“Just get out. I’ll leave your stuff with the concierge downstairs.”

Knowing he wasn’t going to listen to anymore, you nodded and left the apartment you spent the fast few years. It was only in the empty hallways of his apartment that you allowed yourself to crumble down. You don’t know how long you spent in hallways, just crying your hearts out at the loss of your relationship. You felt cold and empty, even moreso in the coldness of the winter season.

(Chapter 2) –>

#emily’s5kwritingchallenge #chris evans x reader #chris x reader #steve rogers x reader #chris evans fandom #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans oneshot #marvel #marvel fics #marvel oneshot #marvel fanfiction #steve x reader #josephine writes

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thecollegefootballguy · 4 years

Text

2020 Top Games of the Week: Week 10

HEY EVERYBODY! EVERY FBS CONFERENCE IS BACK NOW! We’ve got football wall to wall from morning to night this Saturday and the MAC is playing every team in cross-division games TONIGHT.

It’s a pretty packed week, so the top ten is going to be chock full of interesting games. Yes, it’s Week 10 now according to ESPN even though last week was Week 8. Idk, who really cares as long as the games are being played safely.

Top Ten Games of the Week

10. West Virginia 4-2 (3-2) at #22 Texas 4-2 (3-2)

The Big 12 has dissolved into total chaos with the defeat of Oklahoma State last week. At least half of the league is in a decent position to win the conference and the next month will sort out who actually earned that right. West Virginia has been quietly humming along under the radar until their 37-10 defeat of Kansas State showed that the Mountaineers really can challenge for the league title. Texas of course is hoping that they can rally behind their upset of the Cowboys and make a delayed push for the Big 12 title.

9. Stanford at #12 Oregon

The PAC-12 is finally back and the league is wide open. Oregon is the favorite to repeat as champions but the Ducks of course did lose a bunch of guys to graduation and the draft, including star QB Justin Herbert. Stanford looked like a pushover for most of last year, but many people didn’t take into account the horrific injuries luck the Cardinal suffered. If they’re back to 100% strength, Stanford can give UO the same headaches they’ve given the Ducks for the past decade.

8. Arizona State at #20 USC

Just as Oregon is the favorite in the PAC-12 North, USC is most observers’ pick for the South championship. Of course, we actually have to see how good the Trojans are on the field, and SC welcomes the dark horse favorite to win the division in Arizona State. The Sun Devils had a breakout season last year and are hoping to capitalize while the rest of the conference is in disarray in 2020.

7. Washington at California

Another interesting PAC-12 game between teams aiming to supplant Oregon at the top of the North standings. Washington had a good run from 2016 to 2018 as the top PAC-12 team, but the Huskies couldn’t put all the pieces together and then Chris Petersen unexpectedly retired. Can Jimmy Lake keep the momentum going? Meanwhile, Cal has been quietly building a solid program in the shadow of Oregon and Washington, and last year the Golden Bears finally claimed they Axe from Stanford for the first time in a decade. It’s time to see if the Bears can keep up their improvement.

6. #23 Michigan 1-1 (1-1) at #13 Indiana 2-0 (2-0)

Will this game actually impact the Big Ten East race? Probably not, Ohio State likely has this one in the bag already, but this should still be fun and interesting. Indiana has surprised everybody with a hot start, but how good are the Hoosiers really? We’ll find out if they can beat another team with a large talent advantage. How bad is Michigan? Well, if they lose to Indiana despite a massive talent advantage they could be quite bad.

5. #11 Miami FL 5-1 (4-1) at NC State 4-2 (4-2)

After Clemson and Notre Dame, the ACC race is really very interesting. Miami and NC State have both bounced back from disappointing 2019 seasons and at least the Hurricanes still have a clear path towards the ACC Championship Game or at least the Orange Bowl based on how the top two finish.

4. #14 Oklahoma State 4-1 (3-1) at Kansas State 4-2 (4-1)

Oklahoma State can still easily win the Big 12, the path is wide open. The Cowboys just need to beat all the teams they’re supposed to beat. Can they? Well, they didn’t beat Texas so who’s to say. Kansas State can also win the Big 12, they’re just not playing like they want to with a limp defeat at the hands of West Virginia.

3. #8 Florida 3-1 (3-1) vs #5 Georgia 4-1 (4-1)

Despite Tennessee and Missouri showing flashes of brilliance, once again the SEC East race is going down to Florida and Georgia. The World’s Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party (socially distance) will provide us with the team that will face Alabama for the SEC Championship and the path of the Playoff.

2. #9 BYU 7-0 at #21 Boise State 2-0 (2-0)

Yes I’m putting this game ahead of a top ten matchup, but I think the winner of UF-UGA will lose to Alabama and that will be it. The potential for the winner here is a bit higher in my opinion. BYU is gunning for an unprecedented selection as an at-large non-G5 team into the NY6, and if the Big 12 and PAC-12 both wash out the Cougars are going to be pressing hard for inclusion in the Playoff. Boise State may be the best G5 team if not Cincinnati, so the Broncos can make a big statement themselves for either the NY6 or even the Playoff with a win over Brigham Young.

1. #1 Clemson 7-0 (6-0) at #4 Notre Dame 6-0 (5-0)

Pretty much a Playoff quarterfinal. Clemson and Notre Dame are two of the top teams in the country and the winner here will have a strong command of one of the Playoff spots. Trevor Lawrence isn’t playing which should be a huge problem for the Tigers, though Clemson’s D also looked very subpar against Boston College last week so I think we can finally see the Fighting Irish break through against a top team.

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ellewritesathing · 5 years

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So Close - S.S. X

Summary: The universe has a funny way of putting the things you want right in front of you, but just out of reach. Stiles and Y/N have been best friends ever since Scott brought him home, but when Stiles realizes that he might want to be something other than best friends, she leaves to go to some fancy private school up North. Now that she’s back though … maybe he’s got a shot? A Teen Wolf AU in which the reader has always been so close to Stiles and yet so far.

Prologue - S2E1 Part 1 - S2E2 + S2E3 Part 2 - S2E4 + S2E5 + S2E6 Part 3 - S2E7 +S2E8 Part 4 - S2E9 + S2E10 Part 5 - S2E11 + S2E12 Part 6 Part 7 - S3AE1 Part 8 - S3AE2 + S3AE3 Part 9 - S3AE4 Part 10 - S3AE5 + S3AE6

Word-count: 4.7k+

A/N: Motel California is one of my least favourite Teen Wolf episodes, but I hope you guys still enjoy what I did with it! Feedback and criticism is always welcome :)

This year was supposed to be different. Scott was getting his life together. The Argents weren't hunting anymore. Derek wasn't turning anyone else. Erica and Boyd were coming home. Different. Better. But it had been less than a month and if anything had changed, it was for the worst.

Scott wasn’t healing from his injury. The Argents were keeping secrets from each other. Derek was dead. Erica was dead. Different. Worse. And the fact that the bus was approaching a literal storm on the horizon felt more like another bad omen than just another bump in the road on the way to a crappy cross-country meet.

“Stop thinking about it, man.” You turned in your seat when you heard Isaac’s voice so that you were leaning up against the window and had a clear view of him and Boyd.

“Like you’re not thinking about it, too?” Boyd asked.

“Yeah, well, we’ll both stop thinking about it.” You rolled your eyes as you listened to Isaac speak.

“I can’t.”

“Look, it’s not like any of us can do anything about it,” you said, looking past Boyd to where Ethan sat with Danny. “It’s a little bus.”

“You sure about that?” Boyd asked.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket so you motioned for them to talk it out while you checked the message. It was from Lydia.

‘Allison is two cars behind the bus and we’re running out of gas.’

‘Just stop for gas. It’s not like you don’t know where we’re going.’

You turned back to Boyd and Isaac but your phone buzzed again.

‘You don’t think I tried that? She doesn’t want to lose you guys.’

You rolled your eyes and shared your location with her.

‘There. Get gas and just track my location, weirdos.’ ‘I love you, by the way. It’s sweet that you’re worried.’

---

“The two of you, back in your seats!” Coach yelled. You ducked into the seat in front of Scott and Stiles, flashing the girl next to you an apologetic smile. “Jared, again? Carsick? Ever ti- Why do you even get on the bus? McCall, not you, too!”

“No, Coach, I’m good.” Scott’s voice was raspy as he answered and he looked like he was going to puke.

“You’re still not healing?” You leaned over the seat to get a better look.

“I don’t know. Does he still bleed if he’s healing?” Stiles asked sarcastically and you glared at him. He stammered out an apology and you looked back to Scott with a much softer expression.

“He’s listening,” Scott said, looking over to Ethan.

“Then can he hear me telling him to-”

“Stiles, not now.” You looked over your shoulder at Ethan. “Is he gonna do something?”

“Not in front of this many people,” Scott said. He closed his eyes again, probably in an effort not to be sick.

“Okay, well, what about the two ticking time bombs sitting right near him?” Stiles asked, pointing at Isaac and Boyd a few seats in front.

You shook your head. “They’re angry but they’re not that dumb … I hope.” Isaac’s head tilted as you spoke, obviously listening to your conversation. You mumbled an apology for him.

“And what if they are? What are we gonna do?” Stiles asked, talking more to Scott than you. “Are you gonna stop them?”

“If I have to,” Scott answered, nodding slightly.

“I don’t think it’ll come to that,” you said. Scott winced as the bus went over a pothole. “Hey, are you okay? I can ask Coach to stop the bus.”

Scott shook his head. “Alpha wounds take longer to heal.”

“Yeah, I know that. But Isaac and Boyd are fine. You should be too.” You leaned over to feel his forehead.

“Mom, I’m fine. Promise.” He had this annoying little smile on his face as he held onto your wrist.

“Yeah, must be if you’re making jokes like that,” you said and pulled your hand back.

Eventually, the bus rolled to a stop behind about a million other cars on the highway. A traffic jam. Just great. You were too busy being moody to notice what was going on with Boyd in front, but you stood up when Scott struggled to his feet.

“Boyd, he’s gonna do something,” he said. You nodded and helped him into the aisle. Stiles grabbed your hand before you could follow Scott to the front.

“Stiles, not now,” you said for the second time in the past hour. You shook off his hand and took another step forward, but he grabbed your arm again and pulled you closer.

“Will you just sit down?” Stiles asked. “He needs this.”

“Let go of me.”

Stiles let go and you took a breath. “He needs a win after- after Derek, okay?”

You walked past him and slumped into what used to be Scott’s seat. Stiles slid in next to you with a stupid grin on his face. “Ah, atta-girl,” he teased and you glared at him. “You spend way too much time with the Hales, by the way.”

---

After Stiles harassed Danny and found out that Ennis might live through the night, the mood somehow got more relaxed and double as tense. You hoped that meant Derek was alive as well, but you were too scared to admit it. As if saying it out loud would jinx it.

“Now the rest of you,” Coach said when he was done traumatizing Jared. “Don’t think we’re gonna miss this meet because of a slight traffic jam, or the minor tornado warning, or Jared. We’re gonna make this thing! Nothing's gonna stop us! Stilinski, put your hand down!”

“You know, there’s a food exit like half a mile up. I don’t know if we stop and then maybe traffic-” Stiles’ plan didn’t sound half bad but Coach wasn’t having any of it.

“We’re not gonna stop.”

“Okay, but if we stop-”

“Stilinski!” Coach blew his whistle. The werewolves of the bus looked like they were going to cover their ears, but you figured that was just because of the sound ricocheting off every surface in the bus. “Shut it! Seriously! It’s a little bus! Stop asking me questions!”

“I hate him,” Stiles said as he leaned back in his seat. “That man is like an impenetrable wall of-”

“Jared gets carsick,” you pointed out. Stiles looked over at you and you gave him a small shrug. “It would be a real shame if he got sick and we had to pull over to clean the bus. We'd be delayed at least an hour …”

“Yeah, a real shame,” Stiles said, beginning to get a sly smile on his face.

“A crying shame, even.”

“Oh no.” Scott came back looking like he wished he’d stayed in the front with Boyd and Isaac. “I hate it when you two look at each other like that. The last time that happened, I sprained my ankle!”

“Yeah, but did you die?” Stiles asked. “No? Then shut up. We’ve got a plan.”

“No way. You’re not harassing some poor kid!”

“You don’t even know who we're harassing!”

“Scott, you're not healing,” you said, looking at him with pleading eyes. “Please, just sit down and let us handle this.”

“But-”

“Please?”

Scott took a deep breath and sat down, though it looked more like he just collapsed into the seat. You leaned down to kiss his head when you and Stiles got up.

“Thank you.” You gave him a smile before taking your phone out of your pocket and handing it to him. “Call Lydia and tell her we’re going to stop.”

“They’re in Beacon Hills. What’s that gonna help?” Scott asked.

“They’ve been two cars down since we left. Nice to see that nothing gets past those keen werewolf senses, huh?” You rolled your eyes and followed Stiles up to the front. He was already distracting Coach, so you slid into the seat next to Jared.

---

Scott stumbled out of the bus and Lydia and Allison were both there to help drag him to the bathroom. He was bleeding through his shirt and it kind of made you want to throw up.

“Woah, woah, woah. What are you doing?” Stiles asked just before you crossed the bathroom threshold.

“Saving my brother. What are you doing?”

“You need to stay out here with Isaac and Boyd.” Stiles kept talking over your protests. “You’re the only one of us they like! They’ll listen to you, okay? Look, you know I won’t let anything happen to Scott. I promise. No matter what."

You took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes. “No matter what.”

Stiles squeezed your shoulder before dashing in after the others. You turned to regroup with Boyd and Isaac but they weren’t that interested in what was happening to Scott. They just kept glaring at the twins.

You turned away for a few minutes to leave Melissa an update, and when you got back the two of them were gone. Isaac was beating the crap out of Ethan and Boyd was just letting it happen. You rushed over but Isaac didn’t hear you screaming for him to stop, and he didn’t care when you tried to push him back.

You managed to knock him down and then rushed to Ethan to make sure he was okay. Your hands were holding his face and you barely heard his ‘watch out’ before you saw Isaac stand again. He pulled his arm back to hit Ethan again, and you pulled him close to you, hoping that at the very least Isaac wouldn’t hit so hard if you were wrapped around the guy he was punching.

When the punch didn’t land, you took slow breaths and looked up. Scott had snapped Isaac out of it, and you were made distinctly aware of how close you were to someone who helped kill one of your best friends. You pushed yourself away and crawled back until you felt arms catch under your shoulders and pull you up. You clung haphazardly Stiles when you were on your feet.

“Thanks,” you said breathlessly.

“Anytime.” He moved a piece of hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear. You thought he was going to kiss you, but you both snapped out of it when Coach told Ethan to get cleaned up because you were leaving in five minutes.

You both walked over to the group, and you tugged on Scott’s sleeve to get his attention. You took him to sit on the benches so you could talk.

“You know it’s not your fault, right?” you asked cautiously. Scott didn’t answer. “It’s not your fault Derek’s dead.”

“You don’t know what happened that night.”

“No,” you exhaled. “But Isaac told me that he had to pull you off of the edge because it looked like you were gonna jump off after him. I- I’m not arguing with you; I probably would’ve backflipped off that ledge if I thought it would make a difference. But, Scotty ... no one blames you for what happened.”

“I blame me for what happened,” he said. “Everything that’s happened. Allison’s mom, Erica, Derek, the sacri-”

“None of that is your fault.” You held his face in your hands to make him look at you. “And you can’t keep yourself from healing because you don’t think you deserve to.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Scott looked away from you again and you sighed. “Derek cared about you. So did Erica, believe it or not. They wouldn’t want you dead.” You got up and held your hand out to him. “I don’t want you dead.”

Scott didn’t say anything, but he took your hand and followed you back on the bus. Allison asked if she could sit next to him, so you were left looking for a place to sit. Danny was out because he was with Ethan; Isaac and Boyd were paired up and, honestly, you were kind of avoiding them; and Lydia and Stiles were together. You ended up finding a random seat and hoping the drive wouldn’t drag on too long.

---

The bus came to a stop in front of possibly the seediest motel you’d ever seen. You stepped out and shared a worried look with Scott while Coach gave the group a talk. The more you looked at the motel, the more you knew you didn't want to be there.

“Listen up,” Coach started. “The meet’s been pushed till tomorrow. This is the closest motel with the most vacancies and the least amount of good judgment when it comes to accepting a bunch of degenerates like yourselves. You’ll pairing up. Choose wisely.”

Pretty much everyone who paired up on the bus started looking at each other, so you made your way over to Scott, slipping your hand in his. “Hey, big brother who I love and adore most ardently,” you said with the biggest smile you could muster up. “Don’t suppose you wanna share a room with me?”

“Woah, Scott, no. If you’re with her, then where am I gonna sleep?” Stiles asked.

“You can share my bed,” Scott offered with a small shrug.

“I’ll just sleep on the floor. Thanks.”

You rolled your eyes and pushed them forward to grab the keys. You caught Isaac’s eye and smiled at him, hoping he got the mental ‘it’s okay, we’ll talk later’ message you sent and wouldn’t confront you about what happened earlier.

The room didn’t inspire much confidence but you pushed through. Scott asked who wanted to shower first and you shuddered. “I’m gonna check on Lydia. She didn’t seem too happy about being here,” you said.

You found Lydia outside her and Allison’s room, heading off to get new towels from the front. Allison was already showering. She looked pretty tense and you bumped her arm lightly.

“Lyd, what’s up? You’ve been kinda weird since we stopped,” you said gently.

“It’s just …” You watched her look around, like she was trying to find inspiration to word what she needed to say. “You weren’t here when I had a psychotic break and wandered around the woods for three days, but you were here when I had my second psychotic break and brought Peter back from the dead. And it feels like that. Like something horrible is going to happen tonight.”

“Yeah, I have that feeling too,” you admitted. “Though I don’t think tonight’s the best night for a naked stroll in the woods, do you?”

That made her laugh and shove you lightly, but the few moments of lightness vanished as soon as you stepped into the reception area. You watched her interact with the owner, and then when Lydia froze, looking at the number on the wall, you asked what it meant.

“It’s a kind of inside thing for the motel. My husband insists on keeping it up,” the lady explained. You held Lydia’s hand as she went on. “It’s a little morbid, to be honest.”

She told you that the Glen Capri had the highest number of suicides in all the motels in California. Lydia’s grip on your hand brought you back to reality, so you hurried out a thank you and rushed yourself and Lydia out of there.

“You forgot your towels!”

The two of you told Allison what you found out as soon as you were back in the room and she was dressed. All she asked is if you were sure that it was 198.

“Yes, and we’re talking over 40 years,” Lydia said. “On average, that’s … 4.95 a year, which is …”

“In this place? Kind of expected,” you mumbled.

“Yeah, but who commemorates that with a framed number?” Lydia almost yelled. You put your hands up in surrender and she rolled her eyes, motioning for you to move closer again.

“Wait, and they’re all suicides?” Allison asked.

Lydia told her that, yeah, they were all suicides and went on to describe a few different ways in which these suicides could have happened. But then she stopped. She was listening to something.

You looked over at Allison before leaning in closer and moving some of her hair out of the way. “Hey, Lyd, you okay? We don’t have to stay here if you-”

She got up and moved closer to the air vent, still listening, before turning around to face you and Allison. “The two people in the other room- they just shot each other. You didn’t hear that?”

You shook your head and Lydia pushed past you and ran next door, you and Allison following behind. The door was unlocked but you didn’t see anything when Lydia switched the light on. It was being renovated. You felt your heart rate slow down.

“It had to be right here,” Lydia said. She told you guys what she heard and Allison promised that she believed her. Lydia walked painstakingly slowly towards the wall, but you and Allison managed to take her back to the room. “There is something seriously wrong with this place,” she told you when the door was closed.

“But they were suicides, not murders,” Allison said. “And it’s not like this place is haunted, right?”

“I think that depends on your definition of haunted,” you said.

Lydia agreed with you. “I bet that couple made their suicide pact in that very room. Maybe that’s why they’re renovating; maybe they’ve been scraping brain matter off the wooden paneling.”

“Maybe we should find out,” Allison said. Lydia reluctantly agreed and they started walking out. “Y/N, you coming?”

“Uh, yeah.” You nodded, drumming your hand on your leg. “I just want to grab Stiles first. He’s pretty good with this stuff.”

“Okay, yeah. Meet you back here in like five minutes?” Allison asked.

You nodded and watched the two of them round the corner before going to find Stiles. You barged into the room to find Scott staring out the window, and for a split second when he turned to look at you, you could have sworn his eyes were red.

“Hey, Scott, you okay?” Stiles asked, walking out of the bathroom.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” Scott mumbled. He looked at you. “Uh, everything okay with Lydia?”

“Yeah, I just need to borrow Stiles for a second,” you lied. Something was up with him. “The shower’s not draining right and he took that plumbing job like two years ago so maybe he could help.”

“Stiles got fired from-”

“Yeah, thanks!” You grabbed Stiles and pulled him out of the room, motioning for him to be quiet until you got back to Allison’s room.

---

“The last time I saw Scott act like that was during the full moon,” Allison said.

“Yeah, I know. He was definitely a little off with me too,” Stiles agreed. “But actually, it was Boyd who was really off. I watched him put his fist through the vending machine.”

“See? It is the motel,” Lydia argued.

“But Isaac wouldn’t back down with Ethan earlier.” You shook your head, sounding unsure. “That’s not like him.”

“Still. Either we need to get out of here right now-” Lydia opened the nightstand drawer and pulled out the bible “-or someone needs to learn how to an exorcism ASAP before the werewolves go crazy and kill us.”

“Okay, just hold on, alright?” Stiles said. “What if it’s not just the motel? The number in the office went up by three, right?”

“You mean like three sacrifices?” Allison asked.

“What if this time it’s three werewolves?” Stiles asked. “Scott, Isaac, and Boyd. Maybe we were meant to come here.”

“Exactly!” Lydia exclaimed. “So can we get the hell out of here now? Please?”

Stiles looked at the bible in her hands and frowned. He moved to take it from her. “Hang on, let me see this,” he said. You looked over his shoulder and squinted at the newspaper clippings.

“Are those-” you started.

“The articles on the people who killed themselves,” he interrupted, dumping all the clippings on the bed.

“If all the rooms have bibles-”

“There could be articles in all of the rooms.” Lydia was the one who interrupted you this time. She mentioned the couple she heard next door again, but stopped when you heard a noise coming from the room and Stiles ran out, all of you following behind. The door was locked.

“That was not locked before!” Lydia yelled.

“It sounds like someone turned on the handsaw,” Allison said. You and her shared a look before pushing Lydia back and kicking in the door. Stiles rushed in and found Ethan holding the handsaw dangerously close to his stomach. The two of them wrestled it out; the handsaw eventually tossed to the side, Ethan shoved backwards into the heater, and Stiles tripping over the wire and almost decapitating himself of the machine.

You rushed forward and pulled him away, holding him in your arms for a second before the two of you scrambled to your feet. Ethan was getting up again. He stormed out and the four of you chased after him.

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” he snapped when you reached the stairs. “I don’t know how I got there or what I was doing.”

“Okay, you could be a little more helpful, you know?” Stiles told him. “We did just save your life.”

“And you probably shouldn’t have,” Ethan said, retreating back to his room.

“Guys, I’m gonna go find Isaac,” you said, not really paying attention to them. “We’ve seen all the wolves since we got here but no one’s seen him.”

Allison nodded. “Yeah, and I’ll find Scott. You two get Boyd.”

Isaac and Boyd’s room looked empty when you got inside, but you could hear something. The faint sound of crying and some scratching noise. It was under the bed.

“Isaac?” you called gently. The noise stopped. You crouched down and looked under the bed. Isaac’s frightened eyes stared up at you. “Hey, buddy, we’re gonna get you out of there, okay?” You reached your hand in and he crawled further back. You heard water running and hit your head on the bed when you looked up to see who it was. Boyd. With a gigantic safe in his arms. “Boyd, what are you doing?”

You followed him into the bathroom but it was like he didn’t even register that you were there … until you tried to wrestle the safe out of his arms. Then he looked you dead in the eyes before flinging you into the bathroom wall.

You groaned and your vision blurred, but you could still make Boyd out as he got into the water and placed the safe over his chest. Stiles and Lydia rushed in and tried to help but to no avail. Lydia told Stiles to get the road flares from the bus - they work underwater and could snap Boyd out of it, if he got it in time.

You dashed back into the room and fumbled through the nightstand. Lydia asked what you were doing but you didn’t have time to answer. When you found the lighter, you dropped to the floor and reached under the bed. You switched it on and shoved the flame into Isaac’s face. He woke up and grabbed the lighter from you, looking confused.

“Y/N, what the hell are you-”

“I’ll explain later! Right now, you’ve gotta help me,” you said, dragging him out from under the bed. Stiles was back with the road flare and he managed to wake up Boyd before you got there.

Isaac pulled you out of the way when Boyd launched the safe across the bathroom as he sat up. You mumbled a thank you and waited for your heart to slow down. But then you remembered something. Scott.

You raced out, almost crashing into Allison. “I can’t find Scott anywhere,” she told you, panic in her eyes.

“It’s happening to him too, isn’t it?” Stiles asked.

“What do you think? Three out of four werewolves seem to have it.” The words tumbled out of your mouth without thinking, but thankfully Lydia was talking so you didn’t have long to dwell on it.

“Uh, guys?” Lydia pointed out to where the bus was stopped. Scott was standing in front of it, doused in gasoline and holding a flare in his hands. You moved to run over but Stiles caught your wrist. The situation needed a more delicate approach than tackling him.

“There’s no hope,” he said when you all stopped in front of him. He sounded defeated.

“What do you mean, Scott?” Allison asked. “There’s always hope.”

“Not for me,” he said. “Not for Derek.”

“Derek wasn’t your fault,” she said.

“Every time I try to fight back, it just gets worse. People keep getting hurt.” It was like Scott couldn’t even hear Allison, so you decided to try to get closer to him. If you could get the flare out of his hand … “People keep getting killed.”

“Scott, listen to me, okay?” Stiles begged. He was taking steps closer right with you. “This isn’t you, alright? There is someone inside your head telling you to do this. Okay? Now-”

“What if it isn’t?” Scott asked. “What if it’s just me? What if doing this is actually the best thing I could do for everyone else?”

“It’s not,” you promised. Talking was enough of a distraction that he let you step into his gasoline puddle.

“It all started that night. The night I got bitten. You remember the way it was before that?” Scott had turned to Stiles now. “You and me, we were- we were nothing. We weren’t popular. We weren’t good at lacrosse. We weren’t important. We were no one … Maybe I should just be no one again. No one at all.”

“Scott, just listen to me, okay?” Stiles repeated. “You’re not no one, okay? You’re someone, you’re- Scott, you’re my best friend. Okay? And I need you. Scott, you’re my brother. Alright, so …” He stepped into the puddle of gasoline. “So if you’re gonna do this, then …” He put his hand around the flare. “I think you’re just gonna have to take me with you. Alright?”

“What he said,” you smiled gently. “I love you, Scott. And I’m not letting you do this by yourself.”

Scott was crying, and you grabbed the flare out of his hand as he collapsed onto Stiles. You threw the flare to Allison, but she was distracted and fumbled. You heard it clatter to the ground and then Lydia screaming. The next thing you knew, Lydia and Allison had knocked the three of you down and the gasoline went up in flames.

And from those flames emerged one of the most horrifying things you’d ever seen: the Darach.

---

You knocked on Isaac and Boyd’s door and started talking as soon as they answered. “There is no way that I’m sleeping in this crappy motel,” you told them. “The rest of us are sleeping on the bus, you in?”

The agreed and you walked them to the bus. Things were still tense because half of you were dealing with almost killing yourselves, and the other half was dealing with trying to stop it, but they were better. You’d changed shoes and Scott was washing the gasoline off in the shower. Isaac and Boyd slumped into adjacent bus benches and you saw Lydia and Allison were already snuggled up under a jacket and asleep. You sighed and sat down, waiting for Scott to come back.

“You don’t look too comfortable,” Stiles said, hopping over the seat in front of you and to get to the window seat on your bench.

“Mmm. Waiting up for Scott,” you mumbled. “How long does it take to get gasoline out of your hair?”

“Uh, in my experience it’s easier to just shave it off. Not a real hit with the ladies but effective.” You laughed and leaned into him. He was warm.

“That why you grew it out? Hoping to get more attention from the girls?”

“Nah.” He gently moved some hair that had fallen over your face when you moved under his arm. “Just the attention from one.”

“And how's that working out for you?” You were playing with the drawstrings of his hoodie.

“Not as well as I hoped, but I’m hanging in there.”

You must have fallen asleep in Stiles’ arms, because you woke up with the two of you covered by Scott’s jacket and Coach yelling. Scott had been asleep on the bench in front of you.

“I don’t want to know,” Coach told you all. “I really don’t want to know. But in case you missed the announcement: The meet’s canceled, so we’re going home. Pack it in!”

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles slow burn #stiles stilinksi imagine #mccall!reader #teen wolf #teen wolf au #teen wolf rewrite #so close

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thosequeenboys · 5 years

Text

Put a Little Love on Me (Joe Mazzello x Reader)

Summary & A/N: This fic was written for @acdeaky for the Secret Santa event, based on her request for a ‘homecoming, friends-to-lovers’ story.’ I selected our lovely lovelorn Joe. The event was expertly planned and organized by @sohoneyspreadyourwings - Sabrina, Darling: so appreciate your clever idea and caring efforts to help us celebrate the holiday season! And, MANY thanks and props to the amazingly creative – and supportive -- @warriorteam1924 for providing story and title song ideas! Happy holidays to you all!

Warnings: Here at The Fluff and Angst…

There’s no place like home…Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz was right, you mused, as you pulled your suitcase, clutching your purse through Heathrow Airport with one goal in mind: curling up in your own warm bed in your tiny apartment and falling into a deep sleep tonight. A museum fundraising consultant, you just wrapped an exciting gig at Tate Modern, rushing out of your last meeting to get to the airport on time. Security took forever, and once you grabbed your bags and put on your shoes, you felt panicked upon hearing your flight was boarding--you had to go to the bathroom-and of course, the gate was the last one at the end of a long corridor.

As you glanced at your phone to check the time, you saw a message on your screen from your oldest and dearest childhood friend, Joe, an actor, who was taping a new show in LA. You and Joe had been through all of life’s benchmarks and vicissitudes together: graduations, career ebbs and flows, romantic ups and downs, friend drama -- and every emotion under the sun. You socialized with each other’s families and knew them all intimately. As kids you set up intricate stories playing Pirate Ship and House. Joe always added humor and mischievousness into the pretend games. As college students, you travelled cross country. Joe and you could always pick up where you left off, though these days, you often weren’t in the same place for very long. It had been months since you had seen each other. Nevertheless, you trusted each other implicitly. You knew each other’s phone passcodes. You served as each other’s emergency contacts. You had exchanged home keys in case of emergencies.

You glanced at Joe’s message:

CHANGE OF PLANS

CHANGE OF PLANS. You were dying to stop and read more, but you had two literal streams of urgency to address. You tossed your phone into your bag and moved your uncomfortable self as quickly as you could. After ducking into a bathroom and accomplishing mission one, you tore out of the doorway and resumed your quick clip, eyeing yellow gate signs in your peripheral vision.

Upon hearing ‘Final boarding, British Airways Flight 1907 to JFK New York’ you sprinted down the corridor and arrived at the gate panting, lining up behind the last few stragglers. The agent welcomed you and you smiled, handing him your ticket. You inched your fingers into your purse to grab your phone as you stepped forward down the boarding plank.

Your heart started to flutter as you read the rest of Joe’s messages:

Taping postponed, long story

Headed back to NY

Catch up when you get back.

HOT DATE TONITE!!!

You threw your phone back into your bag.

As you proceeded onto the plane, you felt your heart pounding, as those last three words kept repeating in your brain like an uncontrollable tick. HOT. DATE. TONITE. As you walked down the aisle, you felt tears well up in your eyes. Sad and jealous feelings were kicked up like the autumn leaves that fluttered skyward when you and Joe jumped into the big pile his dad raked up every Autumn. The emotions cascading through you overtook any rational thought, but you tried. Of course he has a date. Why wouldn’t he have a date. He should have a date….you tried to convince yourself. But the problem was, you admitted as your vision became blurry through your tears, it wasn’t a date…with you. It never was. You didn’t let yourself think about it often, but when your guard was down and the thoughts crept in, you rationalized it was for the best, adding all the usual platitudes: you wouldn’t want to risk ruining the friendship; you probably weren’t the best match for each other anyway; you knew each other too well and would drive each other crazy; your careers were too complicated; it just wouldn’t work.

With shaky hands, you hoisted your suitcase to the overhead bin and crawled into your window seat on the 777. You wiped your eyes and took a deep breath, which hitched as you fought your emotions. The Captain came on, “Uh…sorry folks, we have a bit of a delay. Looks like we’re about 15th for take-off.”

The entire plane groaned. Good thing you had an engaging novel to keep you entertained-and distracted. You read, but your concentration didn’t last. You finally let yourself think about the offer presented to you in the middle of your trip-a full-time job at The Getty Museum in LA. You’d be able to settle down and not have to run from gig to gig-and through airports with a full bladder. You needed to make the decision in the next few days – a scary, fork-in-the-road decision that would shape your career, your future and your home. You closed your eyes and conjured images of a possible West Coast future: I’d be safe and warm if I was in LA. California Dreamin’… (1)

Your thoughts of LA led to images of Joe who had been living there the last few months. You retrieved your phone and started to type your response to his texts:

On the plane at Heathrow

Due to land JFK 6:00 EST

Let me know when you’re free so we can catch up

Your finger swayed over the phone keyboard. You would wish any other friend a fun-and successful-date. Here you were hesitating. Your conflicting feelings were out in full force. You decided to don your Big Girl Pants. Seriously though: you were over adulting at the moment. You quickly typed the final line.

Have Fun!!

You sent the text and shut off your phone just as the plane turned the corner to the take-off runway and picked up speed, sinking you back into the seat. Feeling drowsy as the plane lifted through the clouds, you let sleep take over. You woke several hours later to a neck ache and a meal. You ordered a glass of wine and settled in with your book.

Once the wheels touched down in The Big Apple, on the other coast, you turned on your phone. A few texts from friends and news updates appeared. Nothing from Joe. Of course not, he must be on his date, you sighed. Perhaps, finally, your separate lives would prevent you from maintaining the relationship and the easiness - and comfort - you always found with each other.

Your warm bed feeling more tangible, you got yourself through customs and out to a cab, which whisked you toward home as the skyline’s lights flickered outside your window. Suddenly out of the corner of your eye, you saw a light beaming in your purse. You pulled out your lit phone and saw the message from Joe:

Wrong date. Sigh.

Wrong lots of things, but now I realize what’s right.

Welcome home. Talk soon.

Wrong date? What the heck did that mean? Did he mix up the day for his date? What else is wrong? Did something happen with his show? And what is right? Thinking about it all made you more tired and emotionally overwrought. You put your phone away and vowed to keep it away for the rest of the night.

The cab stopped with a sudden halt in front of your apartment building. You paid, gathered your bags and walked slowly toward the wrought iron lantern fixtures that adorned the front door and gave off a welcoming glow. It was after midnight London time, and your body felt ready to fall into bed, the weighty duvet-covered comforter lulling you to sleep.

You dug into your bag for your keys as climbed the steps. You opened your front door and saw the small light on your entry foyer table on. That was strange. But before your tired brain could slip into worry, you heard a familiar voice bellow ‘Hello, Madam’ in a British accent. And you breathed. Your face lit up instantly. Your body relaxed and felt energized all at once, because you realized: that voice, in your apartment tonight, unexpected, has always, always been the voice to ground you, warm you, soothe you, entertain you….love you. The voice of home.

Joe emerged through the kitchen, with a wide grin, carrying a wood tray with Hunan Delight take-out containers and a few lit votive candles. You were entranced, but also a bit perplexed.

“Um, Hi, uh, wow, this is a pleasant surprise.” You uttered, truly shocked.

He walked past you a few steps into the living-dining area and put the tray down on the dining table, which he had set with placemats, dishes, cloth napkins, wine glasses and silverware. A low bouquet of freesia and tulips in yellows, pinks and purples dipped gracefully over a small glass vase. A bottle of Moscato was breathing. After unloading the tray and flashing you a wink, he moved over to the stereo, and you followed him. He pressed the button and the familiar strains of one of your favorite songs filled the air and Joe, ever the showman, able to emote and entertain in any setting, moved his hands in grand gestures as he sang along…

“Put a little love on me, put a little love on me. When the lights come up and there’s no shadows dancing I look around as my heart is collapsing ‘cause you’re the only one I need…to put a little love on me.” (2)

You sank into a chair watching him sing, enjoying his performance and letting the words sink in. His playfulness and grandiosity turned serious and a bit sullen as the song progressed, and you could tell he was getting emotional. By the last chorus, he had trouble getting the words out and he stopped singing. The song ended with Niall’s voice framing the moment.

When the track finished, he stared at you and started to speak:

“So, finally, for once, I ended the date tonight- such a bad date - before we finished our drinks. It was just so wrong. And then, afterwards, I had an entire conversation with myself, quite engaging actually, complete with jokes, historical and pop culture references, and a dollop of self-pity, followed by a kick in the ass – the Uber driver must have thought I was high. And I realized, I admitted, finally – it’s you I was really having the conversation with. I knew just what you’d say. And it’s you, I wanted the date with. It’s always been you. You’ve always been what’s right. Always.”

You covered your mouth, feeling tears welling again. “Oh Joe…..I’m so happy. I…I can’t believe it,” you said as you stood up. You felt that time and reality were suspended. You stopped for a moment and replayed the last few minutes over in your mind, testing reality. Finally, you spoke: “I have to admit, when you wrote me you had a hot date, I felt really upset …..i finally admitted that I wanted your date to be me.”

“I’m so glad you felt that way. And, hey, thanks for jinxing my date,” Joe huffed, jokingly. You both laughed. “I felt it was time to just be honest. I worried if you’d feel the same, but…I…felt it was better to know. And, I figured wooing you with your favorite song by your favorite celebrity crush, would hopefully seal the deal.”

You laughed. “It most certainly did.”

“It was the perfect song, though, I gotta hand it to that dude,” Joe smirked. “So…will you…will you…put a little love on me?”

“A lot of love” You smiled, and then more tears started to drip from your eyes.

“Babe…what’s wrong?” Joe touched your arm with concern.

“It’s good actually…I have this job offer from The Getty and…”

“OhmyGod! That’s fantastic!” Joe leaned into you and gave you a hug. “Are you interested??”

“I am, but it’s hard to picture my life changing so much. Not travelling. Leaving my family, my home…it’s a lot of change to imagine. And, that California sun will wrinkle me like a raisin.” You smirked.

“True on all counts. It’s an adjustment. Well, LA’s felt like my second home for a while now….so we can create a new home together on ‘the OTHER coast’…. Home could be the Pennsylvania Turnpike, Indiana’s early morning dew, high up in the hills of California. Home is just another word for you. (3) Let’s celebrate your new job – and our journey - with some Hunan Delight.” Joe kissed you gently on your cheek and pulled the chair out for you, before taking his own seat.

You sat and poured the wine. Raising your glass, you said, “Here’s to us-past us, present us, future us.”

Joe raised his glass and clinked yours, “Here’s to love.” (4)

Song Notes

1. California Dreamin’ by The Mamas and The Papas

2. Put a Little Love on Me, by Niall Horan

3. You’re my Home, by Billy Joel

4. Here’s to Us, by Halestorm

#joe mazzello #joe mazzello x reader #joe mazzello x you #joe mazzello fanfic #secret santa #bohemian rhapsody #borhap fanfic #borhap fandom #bohemian rhapsody fan fiction #queen fanfiction #queen band #queen #friends to lovers #homecoming

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nikkoliferous · 4 years

Link

This week, in one of his first in-person appearances since the pandemic started, Joe Biden made some Pennsylvania voters a promise.

“I’m not banning fracking. No matter how many times Donald Trump lies about me,” the Democratic presidential nominee said at Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh, where much of the nearby industry relies on the controversial technique for extracting natural gas.

It was a move meant to clarify his position and extend an olive branch to workers who rely on the fossil fuel industry after he reiterated his commitment to combating climate change in recent weeks.

But for a different section of voters, it was another nail in the coffin.

“I don’t want to vote for Joe Biden and I don’t want to vote for Trump,” said Jason Kishineff, who is running for city council in American Canyon, California. “I think either choice is going to lead to human extinction.”

Kishineff is part of a progressive, far-left group of voters who say they will not vote for Biden, even if it means a Trump victory, largely because of the candidate’s failure to adopt a progressive agenda on healthcare, mass incarceration, the environment and policing.

In 2016, this group was part of the estimated 5 million Americans who voted for third-party candidates, including hundreds of thousands of voters in swing states like Florida and Michigan.

But two months ahead of the presidential election – and after fours years of Trump – experts say the group is less of a factor for Democrats than it was in 2016. That shrinking power could serve either to further alienate progressive voters, or coax them into an eventual vote for Biden, especially if he chooses to adopt more leftist policies.

“That group is smaller,” said Rashawn Ray, a political sociologist and fellow at the Brookings Institution. “There have been deliberate decisions made with people saying ‘we cannot make this mistake’ again, knowing they played a role – even if it’s a small role – in Trump getting elected.”

Nick Cruse, a 29-year-old in Kansas City, Missouri, said it wasn’t that simple for him. “There’s no one who has done more damage to the Black community in the last 40 years than Biden,” he said.

Cruse, who is Black, cited Biden’s authorship of the 1994 crime bill, which contributed to mass incarceration rates, and his 2005 bankruptcy bill, which made it more difficult for people with limited income to pay off their debts. While Cruse is staunchly against Trump and the Republican party, he said Biden represents many of the same ideals as the current president when it comes to corporate politics.

Angelica Whipple agreed that avoiding a Trump re-election was not enough reason to vote for Biden.

The 29-year-old moved from Puerto Rico to Massachusetts as a child and has been a resident there since. A few years ago she left her job of 11 years as a personal care assistant for the elderly because of a disability. But trying to get disability benefits was difficult, she said, and she went months without health insurance, delaying surgery for ovarian cysts in the interim.

Whipple had voted for Barack Obama in previous elections but said that her political views changed in 2016, when Sanders ran for president. The Medicare for All platform, and legalization of marijuana, became non-negotiable to her. Biden has not committed to either of those policies, though he supports a public option health plan.

“He’s very steadfast in not doing anything for progressives,” Whipple said. “I don’t see how he’s that much better than Trump. At least with Trump we see it out front.”

Both Cruse and Whipple said that Biden’s vice-presidential pick, Kamala Harris, was another drawback for progressives, mostly due to her past role as a prosecutor. That has become an even more pointed issue during the past months of police brutality protests, since neither Biden nor Harris has explicitly condemned far-right agitators, or committed to defunding police departments.

“He’s been doing all of these horrendously centrist things and surrendering to the Republican narrative of protesters being rioters,” said Matt Myers, a software engineer in Seattle. “Making the false equivalence … it’s just not acceptable. He’s basically kicking the left in the teeth.”

Even so, several of the progressive voters said they would consider voting for Biden if he were to adopt some of their key platforms, such as Medicare for All, which has widespread support among Democrats. So far, they said, that hasn’t come to fruition. “If Biden is willing to support [those policies] I will sacrifice my own integrity and vote for him,” Kishineff said.

Cruse also said he would vote for Biden if he were to adopt Medicare for All and legalization of marijuana. But, he said, that would still be a “huge compromise”. And Jessica, a voter in Texas that the Guardian spoke to earlier this year said she still plans to vote for the Green party.

Myers is hoping Biden will also reform student debt, which left him bankrupt after he went to college for the first time. While he is already planning to vote for Biden, he continues to be a vocal critic to help try to push the platform left, which he said is not only ideological but a better strategy for Democrats.

“I kind of feel that the Democrats have been throwing easy elections because they keep running boring centrists who don’t excite anyone,” he said. “But my bigger fear is that Biden is going to represent four more years of a weak and useless Democrat party that … just sets up the conditions for someone worse than Trump.”

Meanwhile, the fact that Sanders had come out to actively endorse Biden in a way that he didn’t with Hillary Clinton didn’t seem to resonate with his own supporters. “I think it has split the Sanders movement into pieces,” Kishineff said. “A lot of us are not sure whether he came into this race compromised.”

Ray pointed out that Biden had adopted some of the progressive agenda, though not always explicitly. He noted that the candidate has had public conversations with Sanders supporters, like Cardi B, and that he chose a Black woman as running mate, even if Harris wasn’t the group’s chosen candidate.

He also thought Biden would end up reaching out to progressive voters in the days leading up to the election. “Part of what’s happening with Biden is he hasn’t had to do that yet,” Ray said. “He doesn’t want to pull those cards out too soon.”

But for some of the #BernieorBust crowd, voting for a third-party candidate or withholding their vote is not only about Trump and Biden. It’s about trying to diminish the country’s two-party system, in which Democrats and Republicans both have compromised on what they care about the most.

Until then, and perhaps in spite of that, this group of voters have no plans to lend their support to what they see as an establishment candidate. Kishineff said he will vote for Gloria La Riva, from the Party for Socialism and Liberation. Cruse plans to vote Green party, he said, to send a message to the Democrats. Whipple plans to write in Bernie Sanders.

“We keep shaming progressives but maybe it’s time to look at Biden and push him left,” Whipple said. “Let that be the change.”

Just your periodic reminder that many of the people you’re calling “privileged” for refusing to vote for Joe Biden are doing so because their lives have been directly impacted for the worse by his 40+ year career of screwing regular people over.

#us politics #joe biden #2020 us election

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polygamyff · 4 years

Text

46.

The joys of being back at work, I mean it’s good to be back at work, but I am not just ready to leave my baby at home, I miss her so much already. I miss Robyn too, I just feel like how would this work out. Does this mean I would need to bring Reign with me to work, it seems like I would need too bring her with me because Robyn refuses to let a nanny look after her. I know she is part time, but her work is annoying. They changed up her shifts, it’s just dumb. How the hell does Reign come in this, like I don’t mind it because that is my daughter. I will bring her to work I guess; I maybe shouldn’t have told Robyn about the nanny because she is not for it. If I have Reign here, I need to babyproof my office, but then I get those busy moments where I need to meet important people and Reign will not be able to help herself and may make a scene, this is difficult but then again. My dad had me with him, I think I was much calmer as a kid then Reign, she is very much more hyper than I was. I think I just sat on my dad’ lap and didn’t move, Reign would knock all my shit off and then scream at me, I mean that doesn’t upset me, I admire her. She is the best baby I know; she is my heart but I don’t know how it will work “Maurice, Tina is here for you” Ally eye balled me, rolling my eyes “great” I sighed out saying, she always be on some shit “where is my handsome man, hey baby” I smiled as I got up from my seat “Tina, what are you doing here?” walking around my desk “for you baby, look at you. You look so well. Come here” hugging Tina, she is a joyful woman “oh baby, you are packing” I busted out laughing “Tina, I done told you I am taken now, you need to calm down” moving back from the hug “take a seat” walking around my desk “I will baby, it’s been a while since I seen you” she said as I sat down.

Taking in a deep breath “so how can I help you today, how is things?” Tina reached over to my desk, grabbed my photo frame “let me see this, oh baby. Look at her, these are the new ladies in your life. She really changed you huh” nodding my head “my hoe days are over, I am happy now. I am divorced, I am sure you know and soon I will marry Robyn” Tina cooed out “she really got your heart, she is beautiful, the both of them Maurice. I get why, she must be a lovely girl too because I know you” she placed the picture back down “you do?” I reached over fixing the picture “I do, you have had beautiful ladies too, but not as beautiful as Robyn. She really got your heart huh” nodding my head “you’re right, I have been with and seen beautiful ladies but Robyn. She is superior, she cares for me. She tells me how it is, the ladies I fucked with looked at me like a meal ticket. I am never that to Robyn, and I am happy. I have a daughter, I changed. I had to change my ways Tina, I couldn’t lose them, and I don’t want my daughter to grow up and say you didn’t change at least. My days are done Tina and I am happy, I can’t wait to go home” Tina cooed out “well I am happy for you, but you still my baby” I laughed shaking my head “but tell, how can I help you? Tell me what you like now?” she is a good client, I do like Tina “Milan hotel, I need to place my girls in there for their photoshoot, also male models. I have altogether thirty models, if you can help me?” nodding my head “Milan Tina, right. How long for and when?” unlocking my laptop to check my system “two weeks and next month please” that is short notice “erm, well that is last minute. Well what I can do is of course do you a deal but also provide that for you, it’s ok Tina. I can provide that” nodding my head “Dubai hotel, I need to throw a party for my niece if so? She wants some little rapper to come along so it will be big. I will pay of course” rubbing my chin “erm, I mean of course I will say yes, I need to contact Dubai first though” Tina doesn’t do anything small so I cam imagine it will be big, I just need to see if it is available.

Leaning against Ally’ desk “yes” Ally said without even looking at me “I need you to sort out what I just sent you in email please, put it as priority. Please” I mean was I ever going to do this myself, of course I was going to get Ally to do it “favours again?” Ally looked up at me “you know it, I have to keep Tina happy, she pays well” Ally sat back in her seat “you sound like some hoe she buys” I chuckled “possibly am to the money, so you going to do it for me?” I asked “sure, I will get that done for you, Tina is literally obsessed with you. She kept saying where is my handsome man, I was like woah woman. Calm down, but how do you feel. You’re so close to having the business, like one more step? Exciting right?” nodding my head “you know it, but I owe it to you also, you have done so much for me. I have a good team; I also have a little something” walking around her desk, sitting down in the seat across from her “so I have a friend” Ally put her hand up “oh hell no, I am not about to mess with that!” she spat “no wait” I laughed “just wait, he is a good guy. I have said it to him, I have said it’s you and I have had dealings with you, but he’s not bothered, you may like him. Stop being negative” Ally crossed her arms across her chest “I am not but it’s you, I don’t trust your judgement sometimes. I mean you have had some pretty shit judgement” she is not wrong “he is a good guy; do you want to know who it is? I mean least give him a chance, I know I am or was an asshole but I have my own daughter and it’s kind of made me realise that I wouldn’t want that for my child, I mean it’s a shit excuse for how I am or was but I wouldn’t do that to you. I see how precious girls are, so you want to know who that person is?” Ally probably does hate my ass and I do not blame her “Reign has really changed you, well go on then. Shock me” I chuckled “ok, it’s Jay. He is handsome right? I mean I am not gay, but he’s looking for a girl, I know a girl. What you think?” Ally paused not saying anything “he is a good guy?” Ally paused staring at me “and you think he wants me? I mean, I don’t know” I got up from the chair “well I will give him your number, I think you will like him” Ally just laughed shaking her head.

Meetings, I do hate them. Because shit just gets fucked up, someone comes up with a bright idea and changes everything up “so Maurice, before you took over there is a hotel opening in Atlanta, this for the Hilton. As this merger happened, this kind of delayed things. This is under the new Davenport development, so what I suggest. Being that it is a new hotel, it’s a new thing with you still. I think it’s wise that you are there for the opening for this hotel and it is because of the new ownership, it would be a nice touch. Good promotion for you because you are the new face of the company and we want you to get enough attention for this, I think it would be nice if Robyn and your daughter go, show family unity, it’s a new start for everyone. As your publicist this is what I think needs to happen” clearing my throat sitting back in my seat “right, can’t my sister go? Is that a bad thing?” my publicist shook her head “yourself please, I want you to be involved with more of the hotels, you can’t be just here. I mean yes this your hotel, but people do like you, they like you a lot and they want more of you and your family. We have various commentary, beautiful family. Reign is just a princess. Robyn is beautiful, why isn’t she a model. His wife has brains and beauty. It’s all positive so I want this to be done Maurice, then it will roll into when you take over officially” I knew there would be some shit “right, but those comments were nice. Nobody liked Noami, we can agree on that right?” my director laughed “not my place to say” he said through his laugh “well I will get Ally to put it in the diary then, Robyn is a maybe she is working” I am sure she will be “have you discussed with Robyn that there is interest in her? She needs to be aware of herself, she also should get a publicist” I laughed “Lorraine, Robyn is not like that she wants to be who she is. I am proud of her, she saves lives. We just make money off people, so I will ask but I can’t be sure, Reign can always be there. She is ready for the cameras that girl of mine” I might need to take Terry with me instead, poor Terry.

I am excited to be done for the day here, time to go home and meet up with AI so he can do Reign’ bedroom, I only trust him with any type of planning, he does my hotels. He did the home in Cali, so he can do that “Ally, I am out. And I am sure you got a text?” I pointed at her “you’re awful! Office gossip go away” that means he did text “tell me, come on. You like him?” she is lying to my face “I didn’t say I did, I just said you like office gossip. Stop being nosey, you gave the number, you did your bit so now go home!” Ally spat “Ok but, tell me this. Is he being nice to you?” Ally smiled shaking her head “he is being nice, now stop thank you” I will ask Jay because I know he will tell me, he will tell me anything “but if he does upset you, let me know. Least I can do” Ally waved me off “can we please have the old Maurice back, who is this man? Negro please” I laughed walking off, let me leave this office because I am late seeing AI, he will be pissed off if I am too late. He has been busy designing my hotel in Tokyo, the inside shell of it anyways. I mean he gets paid well so he can’t say he doesn’t get paid for it but still, I want my daughter’ room done.

Getting out of my SUV “see you in the morning boss” my driver said “and you” closing the door “Mr Davenport, if it isn’t the man that gets me to come and design his suite because he felt like it” I laughed shaking his hand “sorry, I just didn’t see this happening either” I pointing at my home “then the home in California, so now this is it yes? You ain’t going to come and tell that you are moving again?” shaking my head laughing to myself, this is funny “look, it happened but I promise. This is it, the home inside was done, you’re going to love it, just that my daughter has no bedroom, so I need to incorporate her room, these rooms are big, they are adult sized with bathrooms. I need you to change that up, I need to be a big ass play den for my daughter, she is growing. She likes touching things; she is starting to hold her own a little more. I want you to keep it luxury but also make it fun for her. I need to also change some things up, again. Reign is growing up we have a lot of things she can hurt herself on. It’s very much a home for adults, but we got it. I just need you to help with change some things here and there” AI nodded his head “well I need to see the room first, I will take some pictures and then see what I can come up with” nodding my head, I know he will come up with something magical, he is a good guy.

Placing my hands on my hips looking down at Reign, she is on the floor playing “daddy is getting your bedroom sorted, don’t worry” Reign looked away saying something to herself “she is telling you off ain’t she” Terry said “she is, you see that behaviour. Is she not crawling yet? I am sure she should be?” I asked Terry “she is getting there, she seems to like to stand more then anything, if she can grab a side she will be standing up. She gets in the position but then she’s like forget it. She’s always getting picked up, so now we have alone time she gets in the position more now. But she is there, so leave her to it. She is so loved so constantly she is being picked up” Terry is not wrong “well if you say it is ok, then it’s fine” I trust Terry “every baby gows at different paces” she is right “hey, Maurice” looking behind me “you got your things?” I said to AI “I do, and aww I remember her when she was a baby. Oh wow, she has grown, your dad said you’re trouble. He wants to create you a little cell” AI said, Reign yelped out and went back to her thing “I have an idea, it’s very grande I would say but you are going to love it, so you leave this to me and your daughter is going to love you forever” that is what I like to hear “and you are right, the rooms are huge, like I have so much to work with but she is going to love her room when I am done” I can’t wait to see it now.

Sitting down on the floor “daddy is home now so let’s have some daddy and daughter time” I sat a little away from her “Reign-Texas, look what daddy got. Oh wow, what was that bubzy” holding bubzy up to my ear “I am going to get Reign to crawl to me” I said to Terry laughing “what did you say, Reign is a brat” Reign turned her body to look at me “aww my bubzy” hugging her stuffed toy, Reign dropped the toy she was holding “you going to come to me? Come and get bubzy” Reign pointed at me and started babbling something “right but Reign you need to come to me” she is not impressed “aww my bubzy” hugging it again, Reign started to move to get into position “good girl” I swear I want her to do it, I want her to crawl but she seems to want to stand more “she always does this” Terry said, Reign stared at me “come on, come to me” holding my arms out, I huffed out. I need to go to plan b now. Getting on my hands and knees “I only do this with your mother” I laughed “sorry Terry” I added, crawling over to Reign she found it amusing that I was “Mi Amor, my baby. You need to start doing this” shuffling to the side of her, Reign just stared and then looked to the floor “da” I gasped “say dada!?” I spat, but she ended up sitting back “oh no, Reign” I groaned out “it’s ok, you will eventually do it. You have all this space around here, you can do what you like. You are still so clever ok” sitting across from Reign “you are my clever, clever baby” Reign reached up to me, so I held her up on her legs “you rather walk huh” kissing her cheek.

Who would have thought, I am fixing this walker. I mean I have never done such a thing; I have never fixed things in my life because I would get other people to do it “Terry, you think I am doing this right?” I laughed to myself, I feel so dumb “erm, I think it looks right. Don’t you think Reign?” I feel so dumb right now “I wanted to speak to you actually, before Robyn comes back from work” let me give up on this real quick and try again later “sure, you want some more advice?” I laughed shaking my head “so this whole me taking Reign to work, I was thinking because she is getting older. She will want to be more adventurous and I want her to be Terry, I really do. But I feel like my office won’t be a safe place for her, and I was thinking if we get a nanny, but Robyn won’t agree, she hasn’t even helped with the maid yet, she is being hard headed about it all. What you think? Am I right, I just want my daughter safe, what if I look away and she runs away, can’t have that because anyone could take her. I just don’t know what to do, because ok I can work from home but at times I do need to go, you know what I mean” I just have that worry, I wonder what Terry’ take on it “you are right, Robyn is hard headed. You both need to speak on it, I think if you can work from home and then when she is home, you can then switch over. Robyn has said it to me, she won’t agree to nanny at all Maurice, and this is her home. I can’t tell her what to do but you both need to speak, together” nodding my head, she is right “I guess I will, she is will agree to disagree huh” shaking my head, she will disagree of course because that is Robyn.

I sighed out “Mi Amor, where is mommy” I thought me and Reign would wait outside for Robyn, she said she is coming but she is taking her time, I think it’s traffic “is mommy taking too long” pressing a kiss to Reign’ cheek, she is being so nosey right now just watching cars go by. Looking down at my phone to check if Robyn has text me but she hasn’t “come on Robyn” unlocking my phone “shall we take a selfie baby” tapping on Instagram, tapping on the plus sign “Reign” holding the camera up, I am not good at these things at all. Watching Reign from my phone as she is looking at everything around her “look Reign, hey!” she looked at my face and I just laughed “no baby, here” she looked away and at my phone, I gasped at her and she smiled. I smiled and quickly taking the picture “aww baby, we are looking cute baby” adding a caption ‘Daddy and daughter time’ posting the picture, looking up from my phone “aww Reign, it’s mommy! She is here” putting my phone in my pocket, I need to buy Robyn her own car. She is driving the rental still; Robyn is smiling so much. I knew this would make her day for us to be waiting for her, walking slowly towards the car. Robyn got out of the car “aww look at you two, oh my god” she said “it’s my hero, she is back from saving lives. Yay!! Welcome home mommy” pressing a kiss to Robyn’ forehead “aww to see you both has made so happy, thank you” placing my free arm around her.

#Chrianna #Chrianna FF #Fanfic #Fanfiction

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newstfionline · 4 years

Text

Headlines

Reopening brings more coronavirus cases (NYT) The warning that echoed ominously for weeks is becoming a reality: Once states begin to reopen, a surge in coronavirus cases will follow. Thousands of Americans have been sickened by the virus in new outbreaks, particularly in the Sun Belt and the West. As of Friday, coronavirus cases were climbing in 22 states amid reopenings. Arizona, Texas and Florida are reporting their highest case numbers yet. California and Washington have reopened in a more incremental way, but have still seen an uptick in cases.

Coronavirus survival comes with a $1.1 million, 181-page price tag (Seattle Times) Remember Michael Flor, the longest-hospitalized COVID-19 patient who, when he unexpectedly did not die, was jokingly dubbed “the miracle child?” Now they can also call him the million-dollar baby. Flor, 70, who came so close to death in the spring that a night-shift nurse held a phone to his ear while his wife and kids said their final goodbyes, is recovering nicely these days at his home in West Seattle. But he says his heart almost failed a second time when he got the bill from his health care odyssey the other day. The total tab for his bout with the coronavirus: $1.1 million. $1,122,501.04, to be exact. All in one bill that’s more like a book because it runs to 181 pages. The bill is technically an explanation of charges, and because Flor has insurance including Medicare, he won’t have to pay the vast majority of it. But for now it’s got him and his family and friends marveling at the extreme expense, and bizarre economics, of American health care.

Protests focus on over-policing. But under-policing is also deadly. (Washington Post) By the time he was 18, Jay had already been shot twice. And he’d learned a lesson about how to keep himself safe in his high-crime New York neighborhood: He was always armed. Jay (a pseudonym we gave him to protect his identity) had little faith that the police would ever bring his assailants to justice—or that they could protect him from future attacks. “I just [know] where [my enemies] live and . . . the gang, I know that they be over there. . . . I gotta carry it in bad places.” As the protests sparked by George Floyd’s death at the hands of officers in Minneapolis have continued, fervent calls to “defund the police”—or even abolish departments altogether—have quickly risen to the top of some reformers’ wish lists. This push seems aimed at addressing the dangers of over-policing: not just obvious abuses like Floyd’s death but also heavy-handed law enforcement responses in communities of color to minor offenses, such as loitering, drinking in public or panhandling. But a great deal of scholarship has demonstrated that under-policing also leaves residents feeling perpetually underserved and unsafe. Residents of distressed urban neighborhoods have complained about ineffective policing for centuries, including officers’ rudeness, slow response times and lack of empathy for crime victims. Some residents of high-crime neighborhoods have long concluded that police are either incapable of keeping them safe or unwilling to do so—and a small subset of repeat offenders, like Jay and others we spoke to, have discarded the criminal justice system entirely as a viable mechanism for settling trivial disputes with enemies, opting instead to literally take matters into their own hands. The result is that many black and brown communities now suffer from the worst of all worlds: over-aggressive police behavior in frequent encounters with residents, coupled with the inability of law enforcement to effectively protect public safety. But defunding police departments would address only one side of this problem. And the real, and significant, dangers of under-policing would just get worse in the neighborhoods that most need the police to improve—not disappear.

Tourists dip their toes in water as top Mexican beach getaway reopens (Reuters) Foreign visitors have begun to trickle back to the white sands and warm waters of Mexico’s Caribbean coast as its popular beaches gradually reopen to tourism with new sanitary measures in place to prevent the spread of the coronavirus. “I’ve been stuck in New York City in my apartment for three months, so I decided that on the beach somewhere open was probably a good call,” said web designer Sam Leon, 31, after arriving Saturday at the airport of famed resort town Cancun. Others were similarly undeterred, even as Mexico reported record infection levels in recent days and in certain areas is at the peak of the pandemic.

Bolivian schoolteacher gives virtual classes as superhero (AP) Sometimes, Jorge Manolo Villarroel is Spiderman. Sometimes, he’s the Flash, or the Green Lantern. But he’s always a teacher—one who lives out his childhood dreams by dressing up as superheroes for the locked-down students who attend his virtual classes. His classes have become so popular that siblings fight for the laptop screen to learn from this costumed teacher. They, in turn, often offer him tech help. At 33, Villarroel speaks with the passion of a child. His modest room is filled with the masks and costumes of his characters, along with images of Christ, several Roman Catholic saints, revolutionary Che Guevara and his parents. Villarroel, who lives in a poorer neighborhood of the Bolivian capital, teaches art at the San Ignacio Catholic School in a wealthier area. His students range from 9 to 14 years old.

Yankee go home: What does moving troops out of Germany mean? (AP) After more than a year of thinly-veiled threats to start pulling U.S. troops out of Germany unless Berlin increases its defense spending, President Donald Trump appears to be proceeding with a hardball approach, planning to cut the U.S. military contingent by more than 25%. About 34,500 American troops are stationed in Germany—50,000 including civilian Department of Defense employees—and the plan Trump reportedly signed off on last week envisions reducing active-duty personnel to 25,000 by September, with further cuts possible. But as details of the still-unannounced plan trickle out, there’s growing concerns it will do more to harm the U.S.’s own global military readiness and the NATO alliance than punish Germany. The decision was not discussed with Germany or other NATO members, and Congress was not officially informed—prompting a letter from 22 Republican members of the House Armed Services Committee urging a rethink.

Delhi to use 500 railway coaches as hospital facilities to fight coronavirus (Reuters) India’s federal government said on Sunday it will provide New Delhi’s city authorities with 500 railway coaches that will be equipped to care for coronavirus patients, after a surge in the number of cases led to a shortage of hospital beds.

China reports 57 new cases, highest daily number in 2 months (AP) China on Sunday reported its highest daily total of new coronavirus cases in two months after the capital’s biggest wholesale food market was shut down following a resurgence in local infections. The Xinfadi market on Beijing’s southeastern side was closed Saturday and neighboring residential compounds locked down after more than 50 people in the capital tested positive for the coronavirus. They were the first confirmed cases in 50 days in the city of 20 million people. Authorities locked down 11 residential communities near the Xinfadi market. Police installed white fencing to seal off a road leading to a cluster of apartment buildings.

Kim Jong Un’s sister threatens S. Korea with military action (AP) The powerful sister of North Korean leader Kim Jong Un threatened military action against South Korea as she bashed Seoul on Saturday over declining bilateral relations and its inability to stop activists from floating anti-Pyongyang leaflets across the border. Describing South Korea as an “enemy,” Kim Yo Jong repeated an earlier threat she had made by saying Seoul will soon witness the collapse of a “useless” inter-Korean liaison office in the border town of Kaesong. Kim, who is first vice department director of the ruling Workers’ Party’s Central Committee, said she would leave it to North Korea’s military leaders to carry out the next step of retaliation against the South. Kim’s harsh rhetoric demonstrates her elevated status in North Korea’s leadership. Already seen as the most powerful woman in the country and her brother’s closest confidant, state media recently confirmed that she is now in charge of relations with South Korea.

Thai entrepreneur connects Michelin bistros to those in need (AP) Natalie Bin Narkprasart’s business was in Paris. But she was locked down by COVID-19 restrictions and stuck in Thailand. Her heart was in Thailand, too—and it ached for her compatriots who were suffering in the pandemic. So she recruited a network of volunteers, including Michelin-starred chefs, to help those in her homeland whose already modest incomes were shattered by the pandemic restrictions. Her group, COVID Thailand Aid, says it has reached more than 30,000 people in more than 100 locations with care packages and freshly cooked food.

Kids around the world are out of school. Millions of girls might not go back. (Washington Post) She was 13 when the Ebola virus struck her country, shuttering schools across Sierra Leone. The closures lasted nine months, but Mari Kalokoh could not return to the classroom for years. Global shutdowns have pushed approximately 1.5 billion students out of school since March, according to the United Nations Children’s Fund, including 111 million girls in the world’s least developed countries. The disruptions are projected to end or seriously delay the education of 10 million secondary-school age girls. Parents in more traditionally conservative nations tend to prioritize the education of their sons, experts say. In West and Central Africa, 73 percent of boys older than 15 can read, compared with 60 percent of girls in the same age group. So when families lose income, they’re more likely to stretch the budget on schooling for boys, said Laila Gad, UNICEF’s representative in Liberia, a former Ebola hotspot. Remote learning, she added, is especially burdensome for girls, who are frequently expected to shoulder more cooking, cleaning and babysitting.

Pope appeals for end to Libyan civil war (Reuters) Pope Francis appealed on Sunday for both sides in the Libyan civil war to seek peace, urging the international community to facilitate talks and protect refugees and migrants he said were victims of cruelty. In an impassioned plea during his noon address in St. Peter’s Square, Francis said he was pained by the situation in Libya, which has had no stable central authority since dictator Muammar Gaddafi was overthrown by NATO-backed rebels in 2011. For more than five years Libya has had rival parliaments and governments in the east and the west, with streets often controlled by armed groups and sporadic fighting.

#headlines #news

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stone-man-warrior · 5 years

Text

January 20, 2020: 7:55 pm:

I just now returned from another socio-terrific shopping experience in Dystopia, Grants Pass Oregon, where all of the current citizens are fake, and are Canadians who are using the name of an American that was killed by the SDA terror army. The conditions are best described as living in the aftermath of a slaughter and depopulation of the citizens who lived in the county twenty years ago, where the original population was all brutally killed, and the new, replacement population is implanted from Canada, mostly Quebec, and are commanded as an army by Screen Actor Guild leaders in Hollywood California. SAG gets their orders from the British Throne, Royal Family, and House of Lords British Parliament.

It’s all fucked up.

The current fake impostor population is instructed by SAG leadership to vote in specific ways, as the leadership commands the individual soldiers to vote. The US Election Ballots are filled with Screen Actor Guild Member Shill Candidates, who also take their commands from the SAG leadership in Hollywood CA.

The Josephine County Oregon population is composed of a mixture of Screen Actor Guild members, who are instructed to create a social atmosphere for cover, to make the county appear as a normal county does. The others are Seventh Day Adventist Christian religious cult, and are an army, armed with swords and Nitrous Oxide airborne gas. They use the gas to kill any outsiders who come the the county. SAG arranges replacement look-a-likes to take the place of the murdered victims. The army is supplies with vehicles, housing, food, clothing for free, all of their needs are supplied as any army is supplied by it’s leadership.

Commerce is all faked with false record keeping and the commerce itself, is used as a means of identifying and then marking, and killing those who attempt to make any kind of purchase, anywhere, for anything. Since the army is supplied for free, anyone who makes a purchase is marked as an outsider by virtue of the transaction of making a debit, credit, or cash purchase.

I went to:

6th Street Market

Walmart

As I was leaving my driveway, members of the Clyde Baum terror cell at 333 “Mystreet” were hovering around the front of my home in Clyde’s Red GMC Pick-up truck. Then, a member of the Monroe terror cell also passed by, and lingered at the mailboxes in front of my home. Monroe was driving a small black Crossover style vehicle, a Nissan “Versa”, Oregon License 976 FAV (976 is questionable, not certain)

I left on my way, members of the Google sponsored terror cell at the corner of Russell Road an Three Pines Road, the “Bad Guy Auto” terror cell, were inside the garage with the door open watching as I left on my way. They alerted the people at 6th Street Market of my location and possible ETA at the store.

A large white pick-up truck with a large white horse trailer came around the blind corner near Oxyoke, “Dead Man’s Curve” with all of it’s driver side wheels in my lane. Had I been near the double yellow line as I went around the corner, there would have been a head-on collision at that time. Fortunately, I am aware of the reasons that corner is called “Dead Man’s Corner“, it’s a popular place that terrorists arrange that victims will be taken there. Hollywood provides the professional Stunt Men for such activities.

I arrived at 6th Street Market. I had to park where the terrorists had arranged that I park. An “L” shaped parking arrangement there is a useful tool to take victims. A man waits in his large truck in a parking spot that is perpendictualr to the one that the victim is parked in, such that the two rear bumper’s of the vehicles are close to one another, and he exits that parking spot just as the victim is also exiting, causing a “T-Bone” in reverse. That allows that the driver of the truck will have a reason to engage with the victim close up and verbally. Victims are exposed to Nitrous gas at that time, and carted away. I avoided the “T-Bone” on the way out, but not by much.

Inside the store, each time I go, the clerk signals for two assassins to come in, sometimes three. Then, she creates some kind of distraction with the debit machine as the two enter the store behind me. Today, the distraction was simply to delay the debit machine, with the indicator that reads, “please do not remove card“ for an extended time after the transaction is otherwise complete. I just stare at the machine waiting for my card to be released from it. That’s when the assassins shoot the victim in the back. The .25 they use does not pierce my coat, and the bullet bounces away, and the clerk always steps aside right then.

So that happened. I heard the “SnaP! sound the gun makes. I lit my lighter, and one of the two terror assassins launched out the front door, and disappeared somewhere at the empty Christmas Tree sales yard across the street. One of the two store clerks, a large red headed woman about 28 years old, followed the launched terror soldier out the door, and began to use her smart phone to communicate with others about what had happened. She was standing by the drivers side door of my car as I exited the store. Also, whenever I go to 6th Street Market, part of the assassination attempt includes that two young people are entering the store as I am leaving. They are always at the entrence at the exact time that I am going through the door on my way out. Those two are not always the same people, but there are always two, to cart the murdered victim away, and they are summoned and come from the barber shop that is also in that shopping strip mall, Village Center, on 6th Street, across from Lithia Dodge Dealer.

So, at least one dead terrorist at 6th Street Market.

Also, I learned while I was there that one of the three bozo’s that attacked me last week while claiming to be Secret Service, US Army, and FBI, was a man by the name of Rick Manning, of the Medical Democrat Terror cell at 598 “MyStreet”. The one that said he was Secret Service, the oldest of the three, who told me he was “Strong” from 3747 Russell Road, the Strong Family “SAG House” terror cell, was Rick Manning. I cut Rick Manning’s throat and his eyes in defense that day, as well as the other two. Apparently, Rick Manning was BOTH “Strong”, from 3747 Russell, AND Rick Manning from 598 “MyStreet”, playing the role of both men. Rick Manning drives a odd, red Honda Station Wagon, about a 1986 model. They did not make very many of those, and it is easily mistaken for a Ford Taurus Station Wagon.

The other two bozo’s said they were reporters from Los Angeles Times Newspaper after the fighting that day. One of them, the one that said he was FBI, and I described as Italian looking, may have been a member of the Google sponsored cell at “Bad Guy Auto”. I have met Rick Manning once, he used two snarling pit bulls to attack me one day. But I thought I killed him that day. Although the man looked similar to Rick Manning, I am not prepared to agree with what the clerk at 6th Street Market said tonight, that the man was Rick Manning. I have never met “Strong”, so I cannot comment about what “Strong” looks like up close, other than he looks like Manning, from about 500 feet away.

So, what I learned is inconclusive, with exception that Manning was NOT Secret Service, and is NOT LIKELY to be a Los Angeles Times Reporter. I did not learn anything new about the one that said his name was “Dan” and was from “US Army”.

Ok, back to the shopping experience:

I went to Walmart. I saw what looked like Juseph Myers white Crossover style vehicle parked in a driveway at the corner of “A Street”, and Beacon Street, at the South East house of the corner. There is a truck in my yard that belongs to a man that once lived at that house, Zachery White, so, that could be a Confusion Service sort of activity done my Juseph Myers, who is part of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police terror cells.

At the Walmart, the parking was not very full, plenty of parking. The store was not very active. The presence of terror soldiers was such that it was obvious that the people in the store were mostly Screen Actor Guild variety of “Bubble Service” terror activity. The Seventh Day Adventist terrorists were in very small number, SAG was in high number.

Nitrous Fogger soldiers were not obvious, there were only very few following me around. I decided to ask about Smart Phones from a store clerk, to learn about the payment, contract, and other things associated with owning a Smart Phone. The young man the helped me was friendly, knowledgeable, and courteous. He was not wearing a Walmart Vest. He was wearing a black shirt with name tag. I learned something important.

The Apple iPhone is available for only one penny. If you agree to use US Cellular Service Provider, at $75 per month, for two years, the phone only costs one penny. That’s $0.01 for a iPhone. There IS NO PENALTY to CANCEL YOUR CONTRACT with US Cellular, and you can keep the phone. That is where and how the terror army is obtaining some of the iPhone’s that the scouts use without service contract, and only use connectivity of Blu-Tooth networked to all of the other terror cell members such that the Blu-Tooth technology is creating a Blu-Tooth Grid, where each phone behaves the same way as a cellular tower does. There are so many terror soldiers, that they are always connected to one another, and can communicate without a service contract.

I think one terror soldier was ignited shortly after I arrived at the Walmart, and launched away from the shampoo, deodorant, first aid area. “Evac” was announced on the store PA system.

When I was checking out at the self checkout, the debit machine malfunctioned. That was supposed to be opportunity to make a hit attempt on me at that time. Something must have gone wrong, because there was no hit attempt at the time that the clerk came to reset the debit machine. Or, it was done to make it appear as if my debit card is no good, to fool someone who may be investigating terror in Oregon.

As I was leaving, I noticed that there are ZERO motor homes in the parking lot where there are always motor homes and buses. No cars, no buses, no motor homes there. Those buses and motor homes serve as nitrous tank refill area, first aid for injured terrorists, and for torture area’s when victims are taken in the parking lot.

They were all gone tonight.

Upon returning to “MyStreet”, I saw a vehicle come from Sparacino’s terror cell and go to 598 Manning, Medical Democrat (Med-Dems) terror cell. I did not see what kind of vehicle, but it was not a large truck.

That’s all for now.

end terror reporting: 9:42 pm.

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