#I see strangers from California. from New York. posting with love about people like me. and I can’t process it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iloveyou3thousand · 4 years

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Fluff prompt: after being long distance for months, Peter and Tony finally meet when they start going to the same college

Give me first meetings and first kisses or give me death (jk....unless?)

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It’s moving day.

May managed to move around some shifts at the hospital so she’d be able to drive Peter all the way down to Boston and see him off, make sure he settles in well so that she feels better about leaving him out there all by himself.

She makes Peter promise, every couple of hours, that he calls and texts her constantly, and that he comes down on the weekends whenever he’s not too busy studying.

Peter knows it’s going to be strange for her, being alone back in New York, but any time he even so much as hints at the fact that he feels bad for leaving her behind, she shuts it down pretty quickly. She doesn’t allow for that kind of thing. She wants Peter to pursue the kind of career and life he wants, and if he wants to go to MIT on a good scholarship then she’s not going to stop him just because the house will be quiet and empty without him.

All in all, she just tries not to think about it too much.

And neither does Peter.

Whatever the case, Peter has something else on his mind, anyway. Something equally as important as his aunt.

He met Tony online years ago, on a science-related subreddit. Tony posted hypotheses and experiments that he liked to do at home and Peter was an avid fan, always responding and encouraging the other boy.

They moved from there to a semi-anonymous chat website, and then eventually to texting, where their relationship evolved from strangers, to two people who texted each other every day, and Skyped each other every night, even if it was just a few short minutes, or just to say goodnight.

Peter knew, long before Tony one day tentatively asked him out, that he was in love with him.

But Tony lived in California, and Peter lived in New York, and between Peter’s lack of funds and Tony’s lack of time and familial support, they could never meet.

So when Tony told him he’d gotten into MIT shortly after Peter had received the news that his scholarship had been approved, needless to say they were both ecstatic.

They are officially together for just under two years, and now it’s moving day. Peter watches every boy around him like a hawk, eyes trained on dark hair and dark eyes while he keeps checking his phone for updates. A few minutes ago Tony texted Peter that he had arrived, which means they’re in closer proximity than they ever have been before and it’s nerve wracking.

Peter tries his best to focus on May, too. And moving. They have to unload the car and get all of his things across campus and to his dorm, and it’s all heavy stuff even though Peter tried his very best to pack as little as he could. This is going to be his home for the next year though. He couldn’t not be thorough.

Aunt May gushes about the surprising cleanliness of Peter’s dorm when they finally get there with all of Peter’s things. He’s the first to arrive, and the dorm is still empty, so his roommate Ned has probably yet to arrive.

Peter checks his phone for the umpteenth time, but his last message telling Tony that he’s arrived at his dorm and that he’ll hopefully be free to come find him soon is yet unanswered.

Tony was unpacking a second ago, so he’s probably still busy. No wonder, considering that his parents aren’t dropping him off. Tony flew down from California by himself, and just took a taxi from the airport. At least Peter has May to help him.

They unpack until there’s a knock on the door.

Peter looks up, expecting his new roommate. They have already been in contact and hit it off pretty much immediately, especially considering they’re at MIT hoping to do similar majors. Not to mention it quickly became clear that they were both really big Star Wars fans. Peter is already looking forward to meeting him in person – Ned promised to bring this really big Lego Star Wars buildable. They had both agreed that building it together would be a good bonding experience.

But it’s not Ned in the door opening.

Peter’s heart stops.

It’s Tony.

He looks about as nervous as Peter currently feels.

“Hi,” Tony says. It breaks Peter free from his invisible restraints and he launches himself at the boy in the door, knocking him back a step with the force with which he throws his arms around him. Tony immediately wraps his arms around Peter’s waist though, and Peter feels like he is more than ready to melt.

They squeeze each other tight and neither of them can stop beaming.

“How did you know I was here?” Peter asks, his chin still tucked over Tony’s shoulder, cheek resting against the side of Tony’s neck as if he wants to be as close as he possibly can right now. After being apart for so very long.

“I noticed your dorm number on the campus admittance letter you sent me a picture of. Came here as soon as you said you’d arrived.”

Peter can’t believe it. He pulls back to look at Tony, who looks infinitely more handsome than he ever did on camera, and he already looked so good despite the grainy quality of his webcam.

They both grin widely, and Peter pulls him in again for another firm hug before he feels Tony shift when he gives May a little wave, and May replies with a warm, “Hi Tony.”

When Peter lets Tony go he goes to properly introduce himself. “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he says, and goes to shake May’s hand, but she pulls him into a kind embrace instead.

“No need for formalities. Just call me May.” The way she smiles at Tony just make Peter feel even better. He knows that May has always supported him, and Tony, and their relationship. Peter has told her everything about Tony that he ever felt he was able to disclose, from the way his parents are always absent to how clever he is, and how caring. How he always texts Peter goodnight and good morning every single day without fail. How he remembered when Peter had tests, how he’d stay up to study with him, how he’s always encouraging of everything that Peter wants to achieve.

Peter knows that May at least doesn’t hate Tony, but he doesn’t know the extent to which she really adores this boy who makes Peter so very happy even despite being on the opposite end of the country.

But now they’re finally together.

“Yes ma—May. You betcha,” Tony says with a nod.

“It’s very nice to meet you too, Tony. Now, how about I go and find out where the nearest showers are, and you two can catch up.”

The second May is out the door, Tony is in Peter’s arms again, and they both laugh as they bury their faces in each other’s shoulders. The flat of Tony’s hands smooth across Peter’s back, and Peter has never felt so close to anyone before, both physically and spiritually. He puts a hand into Tony’s hair and softens at the gentle sound it emits from the other boy.

“This is so weird,” Tony murmurs, “To actually… you know? To be able to see you and hold you, properly.”

“Yeah,” Peter breathes back before he tucks his nose into the dip of Tony’s collarbone. Tony tilts his head into him, their cheeks together, until Peter pulls back and it brings them oh so very close.

Peter can’t help but notice the way Tony seems to pull him even closer at that moment, the hands on his back pressing just a touch harder. He can’t blame Tony. He’s holding on tighter just the same.

Tony dips his head and Peter’s heart lurches just before their lips meet.

Peter has been kissed before. But it has never felt quite the way it does when Tony does it.

It’s soft, and chaste, unhurried and with no further purpose than to test the waters – but it’s perfect. Nothing has ever felt more right. They draw apart soon, too soon in Peter’s opinion, but the look on Tony’s face is worth it for now.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since you first sent me a picture of you,” Tony admits sheepishly.

A laugh bubbles up in Peter’s throat unbidden, and his eyes sparkle.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I first sent you a picture of me,” Peter replies, voice slightly teasing.

They both chuckle.

When the initial giddiness of finally properly meeting each other in person fades away, it leaves a feeling of warm content. Peter and Tony enjoy it while they can. They sit down together, refusing to sit any farther apart than absolutely smushed into each other’s sides, and they talk.

And as they talk, it becomes clear that nothing has changed between them aside from their proximity, and it’s a relief for the both of them.

Peter is pretty much all unpacked, so when May returns they al drive down to a nearby diner to grab a bite to eat before May eventually has to start heading back home. They eat, chat, and the longer they sit together the more Tony opens up, and May starts to see just why exactly Peter likes him so much. The stories were one thing, but getting to see just how wonderfully Tony treats Peter, how absolutely smitten they are, and how genuine and sweet Tony is, it settles something in May that needs settling that day.

And when she drops the boys off back at campus, and they stand together side by side, waving while they grow smaller and smaller in May’s rearview mirror…

She realizes she’s never felt calmer about leaving Peter to by himself before.

After all, he’s not alone. He has Tony. And Tony will be good for him.

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #peter parker/tony stark #ironspider #starker fanfic #marvel #peter parker #tony stark #fluff #my fanfic #my writing #first meeting #college au #aus #first kiss #Anonymous #replies

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dr-charlie-eppes · 4 years

Text

SHOOTING MY SHOT - A RedFinch College AU

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, @kathreestars. I was your Secret Santa as part of the @newsies-secretsanta gift exchange.

I really hope you love your gift. It is a RedFinch College AU, as per your request. I have never written either of these things, so I hope it’s good and in character (but no promises :D!) It turned out WAY longer than expected, too :P. Oopsie daisies!

The story begins below the cut, and I will also include a link to when I have cross-posted AO3 (sometime in January).

Please enjoy!

“Shooting My Shot” - A RedFinch College AU

0000

It was the night before Albert moved out of his childhood home and went to college. He was nervous and excited and rushing through packing his boxes. Sure, he should have done this earlier, but that didn’t matter now. Folding his last sweatshirt into a box, his mind wandered.

Tomorrow was the first day of a new chapter of his life. He was about to move to New York City to study paediatrics, starting his career as a children’s nurse. It was what he’d wanted for years; he was more than happy it was coming true. All the same, he was full of nervous energy. The next few days held so many unknowns. He was struggling to wrap his head around what was going to happen next.

A small mountain of pristine cardboard boxes, a visual representation of what mattered enough to bring with him, lay before him. Each was adorned with a great many strips of duct tape to keep them shut. He hadn’t labelled any of them since he would just unpack them the second he arrived, and he only had to open them to know what was inside. It seemed like a waste of time to go digging through his things to find a Sharpie to deface the boxes.

His phone dinged twice is quick succession. One was from Jack, letting him know he was on his way over from next door. They were travelling to college together in the morning, seeing as they had made it into the same school. The second was from Race, wishing him luck.

Race had been Albert’s best friend since kindergarten. They hadn’t spent more than about three days apart since they met, living in each other’s back pockets and practically joined at the hip for as long as anyone could remember. They had planned on going to the same school, rooming together through college. However, Race had been accepted last minute to his dream school in Brooklyn and was leaving Albert, following his passion for dance. Albert wasn’t mad, not at all; in fact, he was thrilled for his friend. Brooklyn wasn’t that far, so he was sure they’d see each other often. However, without Race, he wasn’t sure who he’d be rooming with.

Continuing to pack his boxes, Albert’s mind wandered to his roommate situation. He was, admittedly, nervous. Without Race, he would be rooming with an unknown student. By the time he’d worked that out, the deadline had passed to submit a request to be paired with someone specific; He would be added to the lottery to be paired up at random with his new roommate. He was worried about that: sharing his space with a whole stranger, stuck together in close quarters, learning to get along. What if he was paired with someone disrespectful, or homophobic, or creepy, or just plain annoying? Albert knew he could be hard to get along with, tending to mistime jokes and miss queues, rubbing people the wrong way. He could sabotage their relationship without even knowing. And even if he didn’t, that didn’t guarantee it’d be smooth sailing. They might not get along, but what could they do? They’d be stuck together for at least two semesters. Dorm rooms were sometimes roomy, but not enough to avoid each other.

The anxiety wasn’t productive: Albert knew that. He couldn’t help it. Change was hard; he didn’t feel ready.

And Jack Kelly was not helping matters. Sure, Jack was one of his best friends - basically a brother, really - but he was an ass. He would do anything to embarrass or inconvenience Albert. That was in part due to their prank war, which had started in ninth grade when Jack replaced his gym shorts with a purple tutu and was still going strong on their first day of college. Of course, he’d never miss an opportunity to get Albert back. Nothing was sacred, no object or situation safe from Jack’s interference. All things considered, Albert should have seen this coming.

Jack offered to help him carry them to the car; there were a few, and it was already late, so Albert accepted. That was his first mistake. Jack took one look at them and started goading him.

“You should label your boxes, Al.” He said as he picked them up.

“No.”

Then, on the landing, “How are you gonna know what’s in ‘em? It’ll be a pain to unpack.”

“I know what I packed, Jack.”

“They look naked without labels.” He whined as they walked out the front door.

“Shut up.”

They started to load them into the car, slotting them in the trunk with the lightest ones on top.

“What kind of psychopath just puts their stuff in a box and closes it up?” Jack questioned with an edge of challenge.

Albert rolled his eyes, taking a medium sized box - possibly containing his desk lamp - and stacking it on top of the others.

“This ain’t a pass-the-parcel, Al, you’re allowed to know what’s in the box.”

“If you don’t shut up, Jackie, so help me, you’ll be trying to run without kneecaps.”

The seemingly endless prods and pokes continued as they loaded all his unlabelled boxes into the car. Jack continued his stream of nonsense, his arguments devolving into snipes and jabs. Albert shut the trunk forcefully, fixing Jack with a look.

“I ain’t labelling ‘em,” he stated with finality, “I know what I packed, and I’ll just unpack when I get there. If they ain’t labelled, Ma can reuse the boxes for something else later without having to scratch the writing out. It’s just easier.”

Jack gave him an unconvinced look but shrugged and let it go. Al should’ve known that was suspicious. Jack never could back down from an argument. Why would this one have been any different?

His second mistake was leaving the car unlocked. They lived in a good area; there wasn’t any reason to lock it. Besides, who would want to steal a bunch of blank boxes full of sweatshirts and towels? However, this turned out to be his downfall. The lock was the only barrier between Jack and his boxes, the last defence. Without needing to steal Al’s mom’s keys, there was nothing standing in his way. He was free to wreak havoc on his things.

His third mistake was not checking his boxes in the morning. They were in a hurry to get on the road - which was not unusual - so Al planned ahead and double checked everything when he brought the boxes down. He knew he had everything he needed, saving time in the morning. Without those last minute checks, he had no chance of catching Jack's little prank before they arrived at the campus.

Jack hadn’t let on that anything had happened. Crammed in the back seat, surrounded by his own boxes and bags, he appeared to the world perfectly angelic. Well, as angelic as Jack Kelly could be. In truth, he was the same snarky and sarcastic man he’d always been, cracking jokes like normal. Albert had no reason to suspect a thing.

So you could imagine his shock and regret when he lifted the trunk to find his boxes, all labelled in Jack’s scratchy block letters with obscene and embarrassing labels. Roadkill - California to Texas. Grandma’s ashes - This way up! (Decorated with arrows pointing to the bottom of the box, naturally). Meditation CDs - Pokémon, Ru Paul, My Little Pony. And right on the top, the Crown Jewels of Jack Kelly’s mayhem: Dildos - Size M-XL.

It was hard to embarrass Albert - it really was. He’d spent his high school years being tormented and humiliated by Jack and had grown a tolerance for this kind of thing. Carrying a box labelled ‘dildos’ across campus was far from the worst thing he’d ever had to do. However, he did worry about what his roommate might think. If he was worried about being paired with a weirdo, others must be too. This was one of those first impressions you couldn’t take back. Joy of joys.

Undeterred, he grabbed the box and braced for impact. Making his way swiftly and unashamedly to his dorm, he ignored the stares and snickers of his peers. Look at my box of dildos, folks. Take it in. They could have guessed that this was a prank, but the surprise of it still caught most of them off guard. Albert pressed on through the crowds, rolling his eyes.

If they can’t tell that this is a joke, then they ain’t smart enough for college.

He just hoped his roommate could see the humour in it.

Speaking of his roommate, he rounded the final corner with his package. The door was slightly ajar, and he could see shadows moving under the door. Taking one final, bracing breath, Albert shuffled the box onto his forearm and pushed the door, embracing his fate.

A trick of timing, the universe’s cruel joke, caused Albert to enter the doorway at the precise moment that his new roommate fired a sticky dart from his Nerf gun. The dart shot through the air. It travelled with a great deal more speed than it should, zipping through the room. No doubt it would have continued into the hall had the doorway been empty. However, it was stopped by Albert’s moving box, adhering at the dead centre of the “O” in dildos.

All movement and sound stopped as Albert looked eyes with his new roommate.

What a first impression.

0000

Moments earlier, Finch had been alone in his dorm. The last few weeks had been a blur of emotions, and he was trying to wrap his mind around it before his new roommate arrived. His first impressions were often lacking, and he hoped that he could start out this relationship on the right foot.

His decision to come to this school had been rushed. Life had spiralled out of control, leaving bad blood between him and his folks. He got an offer to move here to Manhattan, far from them, and he jumped on it. His new life was stretched out in front of him. King of his own destiny, he surveyed his territory. And sure, a cramped college dorm room that he had to share with a stranger wasn’t much of a kingdom. But the hum of the radiator sounded like freedom, and the carpet was soft. He could learn to be happy here.

He was already unpacked, all three of his boxes piled up in the corner. In his hand, he held six plastic Nerf targets. He’d bought them at the dollar store in the ninth grade, using sharpshooting as an escape from life. Since then, his skills had grown, and he frequently moved them around to give himself more of a challenge. Mapping the room, he weighed his options. He was, of course, limited to his side of the room, which made it harder to place them in a way that would challenge him. Still, he was resourceful. And maybe his new friend - he really hoped they would get along - might let him spread them around a bit.

There was one classic place, though. In all the time he’d had these targets, one place stayed constant. He went and hung the first bullseye at the dead centre of the door on the inside. He could hit it with his eyes closed, in his sleep, or with his hands tied behind his back, but he didn’t care. The target on the door had been the most stable relationship he’d had in years, always there, always within reach.

He dumped the rest of the targets on his bed, liberating his Nerf gun from his backpack. It had been his first, and it was the favourite of his whole collection. Modelled like a sawed-off shotgun, it was easy to aim and familiar. He’d carried it with him everywhere since he’d gotten it. This little green and orange eyesore was practically an extra limb, an extension of Finch himself. He’d gotten more high-power guns since, ones that could throw darts faster than he could blink, but he loved this one the best.

Loading in a sticky dart, he aimed for the door and pulled the trigger.

In a statistically remarkable series of events, someone pushed the door open at the precise moment he pulled the trigger. They got in the path of the dart, the new target of the shot. Thankfully, the person was carrying a box - otherwise, they would have been hit square in the chest; not exactly a great first impression. The dart, however, sailed gracefully through the room and stuck to the stranger’s box with a satisfying sticking noise. It lined up perfectly with the writing on the box, centred in the middle of one of the letters. If he’d been aiming for it, Finch would have been impressed with his shot. As it stood, he wasn’t sure how to respond.

Bullseye, I guess.

0000

Both men stood, frozen in time. All the sound had been sucked from the room, leaving only a thick silence. Neither was sure what to do to break it. Albert wanted speak - he really did. Wanted to laugh, introduce himself, settle in. However, his mouth was dry, and any words died before they could reach his throat, all systems at a standstill. He couldn’t even walk through the door for fear he would break the spell.

Why? Well, the man in front of him - his new roommate, the one holding the Nerf gun - was insanely hot.

He looked like a Renaissance painting. Classically beautiful, without being plain. A long thin face that reminded Albert distantly of a horse, smooth angles that caught the light and held it. Bright pearlescent teeth and unnaturally brown eyes. He looked as if he had stolen the light from the sun, soaking in its warmth and making it his own. All his brightness and sharpness was contrasted with his soft, green sweatshirt and bare feet, the picture of domesticity. All of it was at odds with the keenness of his shot, the Nerf gun still aimed dangerously at Albert’s chest. Nonetheless, every inch of him was beautiful.

Of all the things he’d been afraid of, falling in love with his roommate was the least expected.

He was suddenly a lot more worried about his first impression.

0000

He needn’t have worried: because on the opposite side of the dorm, the same things were going through Finch’s head.

Finch had always been a sucker for a redhead; the man in front of him, with his strikingly fiery curls, was no exception. Every line of his face was beautiful - from the creases around his eyes to his goofy grin. His eyes were a sweet brown, like Nutella or hot cocoa, deep and inviting. They caught the light like a Pokémon trainer catches them all. His lips were pulling slowly out of a grin into a shocked gape. Even in his confusion, he was breathtaking. His arms cradled his moving box like Cupid cradles his bow - invitingly and full of undiscovered love. His legs were obviously strong, judging by the way his jeans were stretched over them.

Finch couldn’t move or breathe or look away. He needed to lower his Nerf gun, introduce himself and explain, something, anything. Instead, he stood, transfixed and in awe. If this man were the moon, then Finch were the tides - unable to move without his say-so. His every thought was directed by this beautiful stranger.

His new roommate.

His roommate.

His.

That snapped him out of it.

0000

The beautiful stranger cleared this throat.

“Sorry!”

“Nice shot,” whispered Albert.

The stranger smiled, brushing the back of his neck. He spoke again.

“Uh, hi?”

Albert nodded. That was exactly what he’d been trying to say.

“Hi.”

A moments more of silence settled around them. Neither was entirely sure how to come back from that introduction, and both were too transfixed by the other to risk saying the wrong thing.

Albert eventually found his courage. Shuffling his moving box onto one arm, he extended his hand in greeting.

“I’m Albert.”

Tossing his Nerf gun to his bed, the stranger followed suit.

“Patrick, but the guys back home called me Finch.”

“Why 'Finch'?” Albert asked.

“I put a bird in the principal’s office 'cause he was homophobic,” the boy - Finch - shrugged, “It’s my greatest achievement to date.”

Albert didn’t know if he could fall more in love than he was already. His heart felt like it might explode. This adorable, Nerf-gun shooting, homophobe-hating man was all he could think about. He was distantly aware that he needed to bring his stuff in from the car, needed to put down the dildo box and unpack, but he was happy just standing in the doorway watching Finch.

However, his standing was misinterpreted by his new crush, who suddenly smacked his forehead and stepped to the side.

“Oh, sorry, I’m totally blocking the way. Come in.” He swept his hands to the side like a waiter, ushering Albert in.

He took his chance, stepping in and putting his box on the empty bunk. It tipped merrily onto one side, revealing another of Jack’s secret messages. Albert flopped his head back with a groan. Finch caught sight of the new scribble as well. He couldn’t help but chuckle.

Albert excused himself to get the rest of his boxes from the car, but also so he could get some fresh air. Finch was beautiful and badass. He was unlike any other guy Albert had met. If he blew his chance with him, well, he’d never forgive himself. He might be getting ahead of himself, but he kept wondering what Finch might look like in a tux and what song their first dance would be to. His mom had always called him a hopeless romantic, so had Jack. He was inclined to agree. He loved the idea of falling in love and marrying his favourite person ever, having a husband to share life’s moments with. And yeah, he’d only known Finch for ten minutes, but every fibre of his being seemed to think this guy was the perfect candidate.

He daydreamed all the way back to the dorm, trying to think of something charming to say to Finch. A pickup line? Or maybe some poetry. Where was Jack when you needed him? That man could charm the pants off of anyone. Although, from memory, he and Davey met when Jack accidentally tipped his paint water out over the art room balcony and all over Davey’s head.

As he stepped through the door of his dorm, he took a breath and prepared to ask Finch out. However, his new roommate was already speaking, pointing at the box on his bed.

“Okay, I gotta ask-“

“-It’s not dildos, I swear,” Albert cut him off.

“-who defaced your box?”

“Oh.” Wasn’t expecting that. “Um, Jack. Pain in my ass.”

Finch nodded, snickering, and gestured the box in Albert’s arms. This one read TIME MACHINE - DISASSEMBLED.

“So is he ya boyfriend or something?”

“Oh, fuck no.” Albert laughed - imagine him dating Jack, yuck - and clarified, “He’s sorta my brother? Lived next door to me and my Ma. He’s just up the hall now, helping Davey unpack.”

“Davey?”

“Jack’s boyfriend,” Albert shrugged. He wondered what Davey saw in Jack but decided not to think too hard. Davey was a least twice as smart as Albert would ever be; he would have his reasons. He expressed this to Finch, who laughed and offered a similar anecdote about a friend called Spot who was dating some extroverted Manhattan twink with a sarcastic streak a mile wide.

“They’re perfect for each other because no one can understand them,” Finch smiled, “the peanut butter and jelly of people.”

They continued to laugh and talk about their friends, bonding over their weird friends with weirder names.

Albert ducked out for more boxes. He moved every crass title from his car to his dorm, unpacking them as he went to discover their real contents. Finch offered the help him carry them back to his mom’s car when they were empty.

On the way, he asked about Jack’s prank again.

“So, Jack’s a prankster?”

Albert nodded, “Yeah, we’ve had a prank war going since the ninth grade.”

“War, huh?” Finch raised an eyebrow. “How you’re gonna get him back?”

“No idea yet, but it’s gonna be big.”

Finch was sure that it would be. He told Albert as such.

“Let me know if you’ll be wanting help,” he smiled, playfully elbowing his ribs, “I’m a sharpshooter, after all.”

Albert wasn’t sure how that would come in handy, but he filed it away for later use.

0000

In their first week together, they circled around each other, teasing and testing. It was an easy tension of learning each other’s habits and personalities.

As it turned out, Finch was a troublemaker. With his keen eye and trained aimed, he and his Nerf gun could wreak all kinds of havoc. Albert found himself stuck with more darts than he’d ever seen. He learned to listen for the quiet ‘snick’ sound of the gun being loaded, hyper aware of the bright orange darts as they landed around him.

Finch used his talents for good, sometimes, shooting bananas off the hand with a carefully modified ‘knife dart’ - which turned out to be a Nerf dart with a straightened out paper clip in it. He could also switch the lights off from his bunk with one flick of the trigger. Both were pretty cool tricks, but Al found himself loving Finch’s cheeky moves more.

He had returned to the dorm after class to find that Finch had used his posters as target practice, using strategically placed darts to block out certain letters and leave crude messages for him. The next day, he was greeted with a flurry of darts as he entered the room, Finch raining down on him with his most quick-firing gun. He also left Albert notes on the dorm door, where anyone could read them - thanks for letting me borrow your toothbrush! and Adam from the butt-lift place called - they can fix your pancake butt! and Where’s the haemorrhoid cream?

Albert loved it. In return, he reset Finch’s ringtones to weird and embarrassing sounds and short-sheeted his bed. He also stole Finch’s hats and sweatshirts, basically combining their wardrobes into one mega-wardrobe. He also replaced all of Finch’s stationery with sticks of gum, which turned out to be less of a prank and more of a genius ice-breaking hack.

They grew closer. All the pranks led to them getting to know each other’s likes and dislikes, their insecurities and routines. The more Albert learnt, the more he wanted to know. Finch was becoming his best friend. The crush he was nursing grew into a warm and unexplainable thing. Each passing day brought new moments of friendship and growth. Finch challenged him, distracted him, entertained him. He was bright and annoying, glued to his hip like a loyal puppy and floating around him. Albert grew to love his company, loved how he would ask questions while you studied - that was more helpful than he could have known, helping Albert to identify the gaps in his knowledge. Finch was the puzzle piece he had been missing.

Finch felt the same, although Albert didn’t know that. He loved the way that Albert would respond to his cheek and snark with jibes of his own. Albert enjoyed his pranks and put thought and time into retaliating. He was quieter than Finch, happy to just share the room with you without needing conversation to fill the void. He seemed to light up when Finch asked him questions, explaining the complex medical topics he was learning. He was full of adrenaline and grace, not often static. Finch found himself following Albert’s movements when he paced, drawn in. Albert was his muse. He couldn’t get enough of the beautiful redhead.

0000

At the opening of their second week, Albert returned to their dorm with a twinkle in his eye and a bagel in his hand. Finch, with Nerf gun in hand, shot a dart into the hole of the bagel.

“You!” Pointed Albert.

“Me?” Questioned Finch playfully.

“How would you like to help me get back at Jack?”

Finch nodded, “I’m in. What’s the play?”

As it turned out, Jack had planned a secret date for Davey. They hadn’t had a lot of time since coming to college, so Jack wanted to do something nice. He’d told Albert that he and Davey were going to have a picnic on the sports fields in the evening. Super romantic, at least it was supposed to be.

“I want to crash their party,” explained Albert, “but I need your help.”

He then explained that they needed a way to get in and out fast. If they lingered, Jack’s wrath would rain down upon them. Speed is of the element, Finchy, Albert had said. Luckily, Albert had become sort-of friends with one of the security guards. This guard, Denton, agreed to ‘accidentally’ leave the keys in one of the school’s golf carts for their use. As long as they returned it in one piece, no one would be the wiser.

“Where do I come in, Al?”

“I want you to get your best Nerf gun -one o’ those ones that shoot really fast. While I'm driving, I want you to spray ‘em with darts. I got some toilet paper to throw. I just didn’t think that was enough. Plus, you’ve got a wicked sense of aim. I could use a little help.”

It was a solid plan. Like Jack’s box prank, it wouldn’t hurt anyone. Albert assured him Davey would think it was funny too. He was almost as much a part of the war as Jack or Albert. If anything, he'd take it as an invitation to get his own revenge. No one’s day’s gonna be ruined.

“I’m your guy,” smiled Finch, “when do we start.”

“We ride at six. Wear something stealthy.”

0000

Six o'clock rolled around quickly. Finch had ducked out to the dollar store, picking up some more sticky darts. When he returned, he found Albert. His crazy roommate was dressed like a cartoon cat-burglar, complete with a black turtleneck and war paint. He was hastily stuffing toilet rolls into his backpack. They were armed to the teeth with Nerf darts, toilet paper, and biodegradable party confetti.

“Looking good, Al,” laughed Finch.

He was also dressed for the occasion, a mismatched all-black ensemble. He even opted for some fingerless gloves he saw at the store. He had never been one to half-ass a prank. Besides, going all out might impress Albert.

“Ready?”

“Born ready, Finch.”

“Funny, I thought you were born ‘Albert.’”

A roll of toilet paper hit him in the head.

0000

The plan was in motion.

Denton had left the cart parked by the dormitories. They were set to go, just waiting for confirmation that Jack was in position. Sure enough, Davey posted a sappy picture on his Snapchat story, toting Jack’s merits as a caring boyfriend. They were clearly on the sports field, spread out on an honest-to-goodness checked rug, picnic basket and all. The sunset painted pastel lines behind them.

As the light of sunset faded to night, they started up the cart. Crammed in with the ammo and a truly gigantic nerf gun, Albert and Finch were pressed into each other’s sides. Unbeknownst to them, both were enjoying the contact, pining for more than just the necessary contact of the cart. They drove at agonisingly slow speeds towards the sports fields, staying in the cover of the shadows of the campus. If they were caught, it would all be over. Luckily, the pair thrived on adrenaline.

Their trip to the sports fields was short and silent. Albert couldn’t help but hold his breath as if the sound of it might give their location away. It didn’t occur to him that the sounds of the cart would get them caught before his breathing would. Finch kept directing him with hand signals, guiding the cart through a maze of secret tunnels that kept them hidden.

Eventually, the great secrecy of it all got the better of them. Albert could picture them, both dressed like the bad guys in a cartoon spy movie, zooming through the campus with reckless abandon. They weren’t going fast at all - he thought it might not even bruise if he fell out of the cart. But here they were, leaning and ducking with each move as if they were in a Fast and Furious movie. Finch was holding onto the roof to stabilise himself. They were surrounded be a hoard of completely harmless weapons, yet they acted as if they were heading into a war. That last thought, along with the image of what they must look like, cause Albert to giggle.

Once.

Twice.

A snort.

Then Finch started.

Their silent voyage was overrun with laughter. Finch was shaking, trying to contain his sounds. Albert was hiccuping out barks of laughter. The noise grew until it drowned out the hum of engines. Try as they might, there was no stopping it. Tears filled Albert’s eyes. Finch took hold of the wheel and directed the cart as he snorted. They continued on, the most joyful caravan in the country. They couldn’t stop their noise until they saw the sports fields.

It was a bracing and sobering experience. Two weeks of thinking and planning had led them to this. The importance of their mission overcame their joy. They pulled their adrenaline back in, the noise level dropping below the noise of the cart. It was time.

The light from the fake tea light candles on the rug guided them. A moment of quiet and a few hand gestures revealed that there would be no way to sneak up on them. The cart was too big, the moon too bright. The element of surprise would be lost too quickly if they approached cautiously. Albert made the motion for ‘step on it’, pressing his palm out in front of him. Finch nodded. Mouthing the words, Albert counted down from three. He threw the golf cart into gear, shredding across the lawn at max speed.

The pickup in speed caused them both to shout. Any semblance of sneaking in was abandoned as Albert and Finch began a deafening war cry of whooping and cheering. They bounced across the field, the cart shaking with effort. One hand on the wheel, Albert loaded himself with a roll of toilet paper. Finch aimed his Nerf scope, fixed on the happy couple.

Jack caught sight of them too late.

“ALBERT!”

A shower of Nerf darts cut off his cries. Albert hit him square in the chest with a roll of paper. Davey, shocked and excited, burst out gleefully at the shower of multicoloured confetti, picking up handfuls and tossing them at his boyfriend.

The drive-by took only a few seconds. There was chaos as they unloaded all they had at Albert’s friends. It would long be remembered as the highlight of the whole prank war. The picnic rug, previously set out romantically with breadsticks and candles, was now littered with darts and rolls of paper and a sprinkling of reflective paper strips. It was glorious. Strangely, it looked like the leftover mess from a child’s birthday party. In Albert’s eyes, this was perfect revenge.

“That’s for the boxes, Kelly!” He screamed as they sped off.

The cart barrelled across the fields and out of sight, leaving Jack and Davey in its wake. The boys, happy with their successful mission, tore off into the night in fits of giggles once more. They didn’t stop until they were well out of sight. Only when they had pulled the cart to a stop outside the security office did they finally calm down.

Pressed close and sweating awfully, they breathed through the rush of adrenaline. The whole evening had come to a crescendo. They both smiled, calming down.

“That was awesome,” Albert laughed, “Thank you, Finchy.”

Finch slung an arm around him, “Always, Al.”

They stayed intertwined for a second. Albert liked the feel of being so close to Finch, tucked into his chest safe and warm. He didn’t want to pull away, but he was becoming more aware of how close they were. This was closer than friends. He was sure Finch knew that.

Pulling back, he looked to his roommate.

“Finch?”

“Hmm?”

He took a deep breath. It was now or never. He was going to say something.

“Would ya like it if we-“

He was cut off by Finch’s lips on his.

Oh, yeah, let’s do that.

His brain went offline, surprised by the kiss. Finch’s lips were dry from the cold night air but soft and cool against his own. He could feel the flush of Finch’s cheeks. He gasped through his noise - a noise of shock and approval.

Finch pulled back as he tried to reciprocate. He looked him cautiously in the eyes.

“I sure hope I didn’t read that wrong.”

Albert chuckled. He pulled him in by the shirt, nearly tipping Finch out of the cart with his enthusiasm. This kiss was perfect. Longer and deeper than the other, they were chest to chest by the end. They weren’t yet used to this motion, so their chins and noses bumped as they moved, prompting little giggles between their lips. It was the happiest kiss Albert had ever had. Finch was warm and close and all his for a few moments.

Finch bit his nip with a mock growl, pulling back to smile at him. Albert looked flushed and overwhelmed. However, the smile that split his face betrayed his emotions.

“I hope that’s my last first kiss ever,” Finch whispered.

Albert looked shocked, but his smile didn’t fade.

“Okay,” he nodded.

They tumbled out of the cart a minute later. They knew that wasn’t the end of it. Finch was sure he wanted to marry Albert, but there was more to do. They needed to get to know each other more and finish college and meet each other’s families. They weren’t at the end yet, but this was a damn good place to start.

They walked back to the dorm with hands intertwined. No matter what happened next, Albert knew this was the start of a beautiful life.

0000

He was right, too. He and Finch got married six years later, after college. Never had there been a better couple, better friends, or better lovers. They had grown into the most badass and unstoppable team.

They drove away from their wedding with cans tied to the back of a golf cart.

0000

Again, happy holidays and seasons greetings, @kathreestars. Hope this is everything you hoped for. Best wishes, Corbin.

#Newsies!#newsies secret santa #for @kathreestars #gift exchange 2020 #redfinch #Albert Dasilva/Finch #college AU

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notyetneedcoffee · 5 years

Text

Wrong Number

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: +18 for smutty dirty talk

* * *

“Thank god you answered. I need you to save me.”

There was a long pause. You knew you sounded desperate.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky Barnes stopped dead in the street forcing several people to weave around him. He looked at the phone in his hand, not recognizing your smooth female voice. The number was not familiar either.

“From what?”

“This team building, touchy-feely conference is going to make me vomit, and if I don’t convince Kevin -” you said the name with distain, “that I have a boyfriend, I’m going to be forced to stab him in the neck with my pen. I like this pen. It’s a Monte Blanc. It doesn’t deserve to be bloodied up.”

The man on the other end of the line chuckled. It was deep and rich. And, completely unfamiliar. You whispered. “This isn’t Joey, is it?”

“Nope, sorry. Name’s Bucky.” Came his amused response. “But I can’t refuse a dame in distress. Anything I can do to help? I’d hate to see you have to resort to stabbings.”

You laughed. Not only did this man’s voice feel like audible whiskey, he was willing to play along. “Really? You’re an angel.”

“No one’s ever accused me of that.”

“Even better.” You smirked. The annoying executive from Palm Springs, Kevin, drifted closer to you. He tried to be discrete, but instead came off as a creeper. You switched to a fake conversation. “I told you, Love, I can’t get out of this. I’m stuck here until Friday night and before you ask, no you can’t come.”

“Is Kevin there?” Bucky asked.

“You’re right.” You sighed, as if answering something completely different.

“Is he close enough to over-hear if you held the phone out?”

“Oh, sure.” You purred.

Damn. His low chuckle sounded like pure sin and caused your crossed legs to tighten.

“Okay Doll, here’s what I want you to do. I’m going to explain exactly why ‘your boyfriend’ wants to be there, and in shock, you’re going to hold the phone out a little. Turn the volume up a touch so he catches what I’m saying.”

You giggled. “There’s a reason I adore you.”

He laughed. “Ready?”

“Oh yes” you breathed, a little heady. Kevin looked sideways at you.

“Come on, Doll, you know you want me there.” Bucky’s voice rumbled through the phone. “It hasn’t been that long, but my cock is aching for that tight pussy of yours. You need me to fuck you senseless. I know it ‘cause I’m ready right now to bury myself in that wet cunt. I want to taste you everywhere, goddamn Doll, I can imagine your honey on my tongue. Let me come and set you on fire. I don’t care if the whole conference hears you scream, cause Baby, when you come all over me it’s the most beautiful sight in the world. I know I’ve wrecked you for any other man, haven’t I? The way you come for me again and again. I don’t think we can survive until Friday. If you make me wait, when I get ahold of you, I’m going to fuck you until we both pass out.”

You didn’t need to fake the flush on your cheeks. His words, his voice, soaked your panties.

It did the job. Kevin blanched, then reddened, before making a quick escape to the other side of the lounge.

“Oh, you are so good.” You smiled wickedly. “Your real girlfriend is a lucky lady.”

“Got rid of him, huh?” He was silent a moment. “Ain’t got a girl.”

You cradled the phone closer, turning more fully to the bar and waved for another drink. “Shame. Good sense of humor. Quick on mark. Great voice. Extra bonus points for the dirty talk. You even came to my rescue. I’d say you’re quite the catch.”

You could hear his breath, as if he were holding the phone very close to his face. Finally, he spoke quietly. “That’s nice, but you don’t know me, Doll.”

“Well,” you rolled the amber liquid around in your glass. “Now that I don’t have creepy dude breathing down my neck, we could actually have a conversation.”

Again, silence stretched for a moment. Background voices became clearer and somewhat insistent, though you couldn’t make out all the words. Bucky’s voice suddenly filled you ear with a clipped tone. “Good luck with things. I have to go.”

The phone went dead. Well, damn.

You finished your drink alone, imagining what kind of man could possess that voice, dripping with smoked honey and filthy words. You blamed your warm skin on the alcohol, but the slick between your legs resulted from that interaction.

Bucky. That’s what he said his name was. Before you could lose it, you saved the best wrong number you’d ever dialed to your contacts.

* * *

“What the hell is wrong with you, man?” Sam Wilson nudged Bucky in the shoulder, earning a glare that would terrify most.

“Something is bothering you, Buck.” Steve Rogers punched the up elevator button again. They’d gone to an emergency briefing and his friend seemed distracted the whole time. “I can tell.”

Bucky just shook his head slightly, frowning. Steve’s head dropped to one side in a clear ‘really?’ expression. He sighed. “I was speaking with someone on the phone when you guys came to get me, and I realized I never got her name. That’s all.”

“HER name?!” Sam grinned. “What, pray tell, were you talking to HER about?”

“Can it.”

“C’mon. Who is she?” Sam beamed and they all piled in the elevator. “If you’ve got her number, you know we can get, like, everything on this girl. We do have spies here, you know?”

“Sam.” Steve warned as Bucky looked murderous. “If Buck wants to find her, he’s got the know how to do it. Let him be.” Then just to dig a little, he added. “It’s not like she could have made that much of an impression. He didn’t even get her name.”

When the elevator doors opened on the living quarters floor, Bucky bolted straight to his suite. Fuck those guys.

All evening he kept staring at his phone. Her number was there. He could call her. Of course, she’d probably be sleeping by now. What time did normal people go to bed? Plus, she was at some sort of conference, which probably meant early morning meetings. Yes, he decided, she was probably sleeping.

He watched another hour of the history channel before the lure the phone had it in his hands. He could just text her.

Sorry I ditched the call so fast. Work.

There, he felt a little better. He apologized. Sort of.

The beep of his phone made him jump. He looked at the words in shock.

It’s ok. Glad you texted. Would still love to talk some time when I’m not tucked into bed, unless pillow talk is an option! Call me after my sessions. 1600 tomorrow?

You answered him back..

I don’t think I gave my name. It’s Y/N, but you can still call me Doll if you want.

Buck smiled at his phone and said your name aloud, tasting it on his lips.

I’ll talk to you tomorrow. ‘Night. B

He threw the phone down, smiling to himself.

He got ready for bed. Sam’s words began plaguing him as he brushed his teeth. He could look her up. It’s not like people didn’t put their whole lives on the internet for anyone to see these days. Even though he never uses any of that stuff, and didn’t even know how, Bucky knew just who to ask.

“Friday,” he called out to the building’s AI as he sat back in front of the big screen.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes. How may I assist you?”

“If I provide you with a name and a phone number, can you show me if they have any stuff on the internet?”

“Of course.” Bucky spoke your name and phone number. Almost immediately images began to fill the screen. Friday offered a summary. “Y/N, age 33. Born in San Francisco, California. Is a medical doctor with a degree from Stanford Medical University. She is currently employed with the CDC in the city of New York. Five years ago she filed for divorce from her husband only 5 months after –“

Bucky put both hands in the air. “Stop! This isn’t what I was looking for…”

The AI voiced a disturbingly thorough list of information that could be obtained with just a name and cell phone number. He stopped her again. “Friday, is there’s anything on Social Media, stuff she’s shared openly.”

“Of course, Sergeant Barnes.” The screen opened to an Instagram account and a Facebook page.

Bucky stared at her profile picture. He picked up the controller and began to skim through the posts full of dark humor, beautiful smiles, random things around the city, and for some reason, her toes. There were pictures of her toes in the grass at the park, in the sand at the beach, propped on the rail of a balcony. He found it oddly adorable.

He found a short video of her trying to say a tongue twister. There was that voice. This was definitely her. Bucky watched the video clip again. Finally, he went to bed, her voice in his head.

* * *

Your phone rang at 4:02, just as you stepped out of the elevator on the fourteenth floor. “Hello, stranger.”

“Hi, Y/N.” Bucky sounded tentative. “Is now okay?”

“Sure, I’m just getting back to my room. We’ve got a two-hour break before a boring ass dinner with a keynote speaker.”

“Any trouble with Kevin?” He asked.

You giggled. “None at all. In fact, he turned the brightest shade of red. Poor fellow, got all muddled looking. All day he kept stealing glances my way, so I kept checking my phone and subtly acting hot and bothered.”

“You’re mean.” He laughed.

“He’s a jerk, and if his pompous ass can’t handle the thought of a man being more virile that he is, tough shit.” You giggled again. “Besides, it was fun.”

“See. Mean.” Bucky grew more serious. “Didn’t mean to cut you off like that. Just some guys I, uh, work with came up with an urgent matter.”

“At least they didn’t walk up to hear you say you want to bury your cock in my wet cunt.” You purred, smiling to yourself as you kicked off your shoes and laid back on the hotel bed. A long silence followed. “Bucky?”

“Sorry.” His rich voice sounded an octave or two lower. “I’m, uh, it’s just -” He stumbled for a moment before falling silent again.

You frowned, asking quietly. “Did I go too far?”

“No.” His voice still held that deep sexy tone, only softer. “I’m just not real used to hearing such things from a woman’s lips, and -” he took a deep breath, “your voice is like silk. It just does things to me.”

“Mmm, good to know I’m not the only one affected by our conversations.” You purred.

“Damn, Doll.” Bucky chuckled. “I don’t even know you, but I could listen to you all day. And I hate being on the phone.”

You wanted to crawl through the line and see if he looked and felt as good as he sounded. “Well, I sure am happy to have dialed a wrong number.”

“Me too. Uh, who were trying to reach when I got so lucky?” Bucky asked.

“Joey. He’s friend from my building. Both him and his husband both work at home, so I thought of them first. I don’t know why.”

“You don’t have him in your contacts?”

“No, new number and I just had it jotted on a post it.” You stared out the window at the rain pelting down. Your phone said it was nice at home. “So, you’ve got a New York number. Is that home?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too.” You smiled to yourself.

“Where are you now?” Bucky asked. You heard something conspicuously like a bottle of beer – or a soda, but probably as beer – being opened.

“Orlando. It’s a conference on pandemics. Unfortunately, it’s less science and more ‘we all just need to get along’ communication bullshit.” You sighed. “I’m probably being harsh, but there’s better things I could be doing with my time.”

“So, you’re what? A doctor?” Bucky asked, although he already knew the answer.

“Yes. But I do research, not practice. What about you? What do you do when you’re not saving ladies from creepers?”

“That’s pretty much my job.” He deadpanned.

You busted up. Typical.

“I’m - um – you could say I’m in the high-stakes security business.” Bucky answered when your laugh faded away.

“Can’t really talk about it?” You knew a lot of federal agents and private security officers through your work. They didn’t talk about their work either.

“Something like that.” He hesitated.

“Well, then, if you can’t tell me about your work,” You purred, “you’ll just have to tell me what gets your motor running, Bucky.”

“Oh, really?” His chuckle came deep from his chest.

“Yeah, and don’t give me any ‘slow jazz, sunsets and long walks on the beach’ horseshit.”

He laughed, full and light. “But I like jazz.”

* * *

Getting through the conference with a bunch of phone calls and regular text exchanges with Bucky turned out to be much better than the first few days without. His humor was dark and sarcastic. Although you didn’t delve into anything about his work, and you both kept the exchanges fun, you felt like you’d gotten to know him well. How could you feel a closer connection to someone you’d never met, than you did with the last man you dated for two months?

Bucky had sent you a text stating that he would be on a job and unreachable for several days on the night you arrived back in New York. It was sweet the way he wanted to assure you that he would call, and he felt bad he could only text a farewell. You assured him you understood. He called you an amazing dame.

Work the next week barely allowed for time to miss the text exchanges, so much had piled up in your absence. On Wednesday, you were thirty-two pages into the clinical results of a recent test when the phone beside you rang.

“Dr. Y/L/N.” You answered.

“Good morning, Y/N. It’s Rebecca Kim.”

You recognized the name immediately. She was a private researcher and you both served on several committees together. “Oh, hi. What can I do for you?”

“We’ve had a situation,” Dr. Kim used the term loosely. “There’s a potential exposure here. It looks like, damn I’m not certain, but it might be XF3058.”

You froze. It was a designer pathogen, a targeted and weaponized disease. All the information on XF3058 was highly confidential, kept under tight security. “Is it active, or inert?”

“Currently Inert. But the subject shows signs of full infection and he was among the populous. I need help here.”

“I’m on my way.”

It only took twenty minutes to pack up what you needed and catch a cab to Stark Tower. Rebecca waited for you in the lobby. You would need escorting to the top security research levels. You’d only been here twice before. It was like Candy-Land, all the best tech.

The two of you were joined by Doctor Banner. He was a kind man, bright and quick to offer you a smile. “So, you’re here help figure out if we’re all doomed?”

“It’s a targeted pathogen.” You shrugged. “Unless you have the correct genes, we’re not ALL doomed.”

“We just don’t know how many people it could infect.” He nodded.

“My last estimate was .14% of the populace could be potential targets, which is still hundreds of thousands of people on the eastern seaboard alone.” You began reviewing the data.

Nearly seven hours later the computer in front of you beeped, indicating the test simulation finalized. Looking at the report, you jumped up. “Yes!”

“What?” Banner removed his glasses.

“Gotcha, you little bastard.” You pointed at the screen before turning to the other two in the room. “I’ve been running down the genetic signature. This is an old strain. The degradation in the proteins made me think about sixty years. I then pulled the profiles of the known examples of that time frame, and I can say conclusively this is from the Cold War lab of one Kazimir Maksimov. I’ve got the exact genetic sequenced.”

“So, we can engineer an antidote.” Rebecca sighed. “I’ll get the system on it right away.”

“I’m going to take Dr. Y/L/N up to brief the team.” Doctor Banner stood.

You followed him out of the room and up in bright steel elevators. It wasn’t until then than by ‘team’ he meant ‘Avengers’. Nervously, you smoothed your clothes and tried to check your reflection in the metal wall.

“Don’t worry. They’ll just be glad you found the solution.” Bruce smiled.

“Kinda wish I’d at least been wearing something other than jeans the first time I meet Stark, you know.”

He laughed. “Tony’s all bark and no bite. If he gives you shit, give it right back.”

The elevators doors opened and Bruce led you to a glass encased conference room. Tony Stark, a red-head woman, and sandy-haired man stood around an interactive screen at the end of the room. “Hey guys,” They all turned when you entered. “This is Dr. Y/N. She’s the one Becca brought in. We’ve got news. She’s worked it out.”

“Ah, the CDC doc.” Stark propped a hip on table. “So why aren’t you here working for me?”

“You haven’t offered.” You retorted with a smile. “Can I pull up my files from here?”

Turns out Stark and the others, Natasha and Clint, were far more forthcoming with the details. The victim of the pathogen was actually a Hydra agent taken down in the process of eliminating a hold-out base. They weren't sure if he’d been exposed when the building blew, if he’d been accidentally exposed or purposefully infected.

You were explaining that the virus had been in his system for at least four days when he died, and had they’d not killed him, he would have died within 24-hours. He’d been infectious for seventy-two hours.

“Well, it’s a good thing they decided to torch the place. We didn’t find any survivors after that.” Natasha drawled.

“It’s still hard to believe they just kill them all.” A strong voice came down the hall.

“That’s the way those assholes work, you know that. No loose ends.”

Your head snapped around. You knew that voice. Two extraordinarily handsome men came in. One you recognized immediately as Steve Rogers. The other, he had the voice of liquid sex. Nearly the same height as Captain America, strong – damn look at those thighs – and dark haired, your mouth fell open at the sight of him. His blue eyes locked on yours and he stood a little straighter.

No one missed the exchange, looking back and forth between the two of you.

“Bucky?” You breathed.

A sly smile grew on his face, and you felt yourself flush. “Hey, Doll.”

“Okay, how do you know the good Doctor and I don’t?” Stark scoffed.

“Not your business.” Bucky leveled a solemn stare at Tony.

“Yeah, well.” Bruce interjected. “Doctor Y/N has uncovered the source of the pathogen and we’re working on antidote if it becomes necessary.”

“I thought you said that could take days.” Steve asked Banner.

“She’s good.” He shrugged.

“And I still don’t know why she’d not working for me!” Tony threw his hands in the air.

“I’ve told you before. You’ve yet to make an offer." You threw back at Stark, but your eyes still had not left Bucky. Your brain spun. Thankfully common decency kept your feet planted in place, because every cell in your body wanted to touch him, to smell and taste his skin.

“I may have to change that.” He grumbled.

“You know where my office is.” You finally looked back at the group. “It’s been a long day. I think you’ve got what you need for now. Is there any objection if I call it night?”

“I may have to contact you about the final reports, but that can wait.” Bruce nodded.

“I may have to contact you about what sort of furniture you want in your office.” Tony smirked. Then he waved his hand towards the door. “Go on, get going. We’ll be in touch.”

“I’ll walk you out.” Bucky stated immediately.

You both walked to the elevator side by side, not speaking. You stopped at the doors, facing each other. He hit the button, giving you a shy – oh my god – smile.

“So.” You sighed, “an Avenger, huh?”

“Of sorts. Steve brought me in a while back.”

“Ah,” You took his metal hand in yours. All the pieces click in place in your mind. “I seem to remember seeing a briefing about that somewhere.”

You could see the concern in his eyes. You didn’t know much about him. You did know he was enhanced, by Hydra, with a derivative of the same serum used on the Captain. Other than the friendship between the two men, you didn’t know much else from his past.

“Does that bother you?” He asked finally.

You smiled up at him. “Not in the least.”

The elevator doors opened and you stepped inside. Even though the car was empty, you remained close enough to feel the heat rise off of him. “Smart, funny, and gorgeous.” Bucky moved a strand of your hair off your shoulder. “And you smell incredible.”

You placed your hands on his strong chest. He was magnetic, a forceful draw. His hand cupped your cheek, a simple gesture that felt so intimate in this small space. His other hand slapped the stop button, halting your progress. Everything stood still.

“Hey.” He breathed, face close to yours.

“Hey, back.” You whispered.

Bucky’s mouth touched yours, soft full lips brushing lightly. When you smiled into the kiss, his tongue reached for permission but was met with your own. Flaring from sweet to fevered, he pulled you tight against him. Wet, hot, your mouths explored one another.

He turned, pinning you against the wall, hands roaming over your body. You clung to him, fingers in his hair and relishing in the hard muscles pressed against you. When his mouth trailed down to your neck, you breathed out a heavy “Holy shit, it’s good to meet you.”

He laughed against your skin. “Pleasures all mine.”

You took his face in your hands and kissed him again before sighing. “This elevator is probably monitored, huh?”

“Definitely.” He stepped back a bit, allowing you to stand fully on your own feet. “And I’ve been dying to ask you out. Dinner?”

“How about pizza?” You gave him a devilish grin. “We could order in.”

“Anything you want, Doll. Pizza in sounds perfect.”

Bucky released the elevator but hit a different floor than the lobby. The doors quickly opened to an obvious residential floor. You laughed, “Damn, that’s convenient.”

He took your hand and led you down the hall. “I aim to please.”

“I have no doubt.”

You glanced sideways at his sparkling blue eyes, utterly taken by the intensity as he stared at you. The smell of him drew you closer. He smiled as you leaned into him.

Damn he was glad he answered that unknown number.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barns x reader #fanfic #mcu #bucky barnes smut #bucky fanfic

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loveisblindfanfictionbka · 4 years

Text

Love Is Blind: Chapter Four

Leandra and Melissa sat at the cafe table with Robyn and she told them about her conversation with Chris.

“So he’s got you thinking exactly what we’ve been telling you all these years,” Melissa mused.

“No, he just has me questioning if there was something in my marriage that I missed,” Robyn replied.

“I think you should meet him, Robs,” Leandra interjected, “you two seem to have a really good understanding.”

“No, we have a good thing going. I don’t want to ruin that.”

“I don’t think you want to be happy.”

“I do want to be happy but on my own terms. And I’m not ready. Talking to him made me think about my ex and just reminded me that I really still love him. And I don’t want to. I swear I don’t want to but something has this hold on me and-”

“We get it. Y’all were together for a long time.”

“It’s not just that. It’s- you ever meet someone and you just know that they’re it? Well he was it for me.”

“So what do you call this thing with Christian?”

“A friendship. I have no interest in making it more than that.”

“You ever been to therapy?”

“I tried it for a few weeks but I didn’t get anywhere.”

“Maybe you should try it again.”

“I don’t know.”

“Robyn, do you like being miserable or something? Is that the only thing still connecting you to Chris? Because if not, I don’t understand your apprehension to getting better.”

“I want to get better, I’m just scared of what that means.”

“Well Sis, you’ll never find out until you try.”

Robyn sat back in her office after returning from lunch with Leandra and Melissa. She didn’t have any appointments until 3 unless any emergencies came in so she had time to just think. She grabbed her phone and went to her dating app

A: Are you available to talk?

A few minutes went by before she got an answer

C: Sure, I just finished my last class. What’s up?

A: My friends think I should go to therapy

C: Ok. What do you think?

A: I’m not ready.

C: Why do you think that?

A: I don’t want to spill my guts to a stranger. Not when there’s someone who deserves it more

C: Deserves what? Your anger or your feelings?

A: My anger

C: So tell that person

A: I don't know where he is

C: So find him. I doubt your ex-husband was like some CIA type

A: Lol, no but I don’t think I’m ready to talk to him either

C: Do you ever think you’ll be ready?

A: I’m not sure

C: I think you’re thinking about it too much. Honestly, therapy should be for you and no one else. If you aren’t ready you won’t do anything but waste your money because you’ll fight everything at every turn. Nothing penetrates if you aren’t ready to hear it. And even if the therapist does happen to get through to you, it will not give you the closure that you’re seeking. The questions you want answers to, only your ex-husband can answer

A: I hate that you’re right.

C: Lol, there’s a lot of trauma that influences this rightness

A: Unfortunately. How are you? Was rude of me not to ask that first

C: You had something important to say, no worries. I’m fine. I was talking to my daughter and she wants a puppy

A: What kind?

C: Not sure yet. We’re gonna do some research before we make a decision

A: That’s good. I’ve had a lot of puppies be sent to my shelter because people didn’t pick the right dog for their lifestyle

C: That must suck. Do you have any pets?

A: No, I’m not home enough

C: Ah, understandable

A: would the puppy be your first pet?

C: No, I had a dog when I was a child but in my old profession, me and my ex were never home enough, it was always something with either my job or hers

A: That’s understandable.

C: You ready for your gala?

A: Physically? Yes. Emotionally? No. I’m working on convincing myself not to cancel

C: Is it really that hard?

A: Yes but I made a promise to my employees and stuff so I really do want to honor that

C: Do you need another incentive?

A: Depends on what you’re suggesting

C: How about a gift? Just for your effort of going to this event

A: And how am I supposed to get said gift?

C: I can mail it. Do you have a secure mailing address you would like me to send it to?

Robyn thought about her random PO Box that she uses when she doesn’t want to give out her work or home address.

A: PO Box 124, New York, NY 10003. Do I get to know what the gift is beforehand?

C: Nope. I’ll send it and make sure it arrives the morning of your gala. Think that’ll work?

A: I guess but I’m nervous about what it could be

C: You’ll see

A: And do you have a secure mailing address?

C: PO Box 762, Middletown, NY 10940

A: Upstate. Do you travel to the city every day or?

C: No, I have a condo near Columbia. I stay during the week then go home on the weekends.

A: How many hours of a drive?

C: Actually like 2 hours. It gives me some peace from the loud city life and gives my daughter some balance.

A: What’s it like up there?

C: Very spacious. I live in a somewhat rural part of Middletown. I have a couple acres of land surrounding my house.

A: I can’t even imagine what that would look like. Even when I lived in California, I was in the busiest part.

C: I think I appreciate it because I’m older now. I definitely enjoyed living in the city when I was in Cali

A: It holds a beautiful sense of excitement

C: Do you live near your business or far away?

A: I have an apartment nearby but I might start looking for a house soon. Maybe renovate a brownstone

C: That’s always a good deal. Would you rent out?

A: Nah. I don’t have the energy to keep up with being a landlord. It’s a job within itself

C: Very true.

A: I’m guessing you should be going, is your daughter school age?

C: She goes to a headstart program at a private school since she’s only 3 but they keep her until around 5 in aftercare. I usually have a late class today but I canceled it

A: Oh. Is something wrong?

C: No, I’d just rather not be out and about this evening.

A: Ah. Well thanks for talking with me. I got an appointment coming in soon

C: Anything major?

A: Nope. Just a check up

C: Well if you have time, I’d love to talk to you again

A: Talk or chat?

C: Talk

A: My clinic closes at 7 so I should be home by 8

C; And dinner?

A: I’ll probably grab something on the way home

C: So how about a dinner date then? We’ll eat and keep each other company

A: I’d like that

C: Great. See you at 8

A: See you at 8

Robyn closed her app then rested her head on her desk. She was drained.

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

“So what color is her dress? Jessica asked as she and Chris stood in the florist shop.

“It’s navy blue.”

“I think this corsage would be perfect. It’s simple, elegant and can be pinned to the dress instead of being situated on her wrist.”

Chris walked over the piece his sister was referring to. It contained a navy blue rose, a white rose and some baby breaths, “I like that one.”

“Do they deliver to PO Boxes?”

“Yea, that’s why I picked this shop and it’s fairly close to the Post Office where her PO Box is.”

“Why didn’t you just get her work address?”

“The whole point is to be strangers. Giving me her work address would defeat that purpose. She’s an established vet, I could probably look up her work address and find her, which, again, defeats the point.”

“Do you know what she looks like?”

“Not really. Her photo was a full body shot so the closer you zoom in the blurrier it gets. Same as mine.”

“And that doesn’t worry you? What if she’s ugly?”

Chris laughed, “what does that matter? We don’t ever plan on meeting each other.

Besides I’m not allowed to be nice to a possibly physically unattractive woman?

“You know that’s not what I’m saying. It’s just- I don’t understand this whole online dating thing”

“There’s nothing to understand because we’re not dating.”

“Yea. Right.”

“We are both in rebuilding stages of our lives and we like talking to each other. That’s all. If I was interested in more, I’d definitely would’ve insisted on meeting her or just moved on by now.”

“You told her about your nervous breakdown and suicide attempt. You haven’t even told your ex-wife that and you want me to believe you’re not dating.”

“Yes because we aren’t.”

“You’re buying her gifts?”

“I buy my friends gifts all the time.”

“You told her about Anesa.”

“And?”

“You talk almost everyday.”

“I’m not seeing your point.”

“My point is you’re dating this woman.”

“Jessica, big sister, I am not dating anyone. I like her, yes but that’s as far as it goes. I need a friend and she’s one for me. That’s it. That’s all.”

“You are so in denial, Chris.”

“I’ve accepted my situation, you’re the one with the conspiracy theories.”

“I’m just saying, I don’t want an ugly sister in law especially not after my last one. She was gorgeous and the point is to upgrade not backslide.”

“You get on my nerves, Jess.”

Jessica laughed, “is this all you’re getting for your friend?”

“Just because you said it like that, I am returning you home and finishing this adventure by myself.”

“Come on, don’t be like that Little Brother.”

“Then stop making this a bigger deal than what it is.”

This was definitely a big deal. Robyn stared at the box of things Chris had delivered to her PO Box and her heart melted a bit. The flower corsage with navy and white roses was beautiful. She loved the card that came attached but what shook her was the books he had gifted. One night they had stayed up talking about literature and she mentioned that she loved poetry but never had the time to really build up a collection. Wrapped with a red bow were two compilations of black poets. The note under the bow stated, “I’d like to contribute the first books to your poetry collection. It’s always good to start with the essentials (smile).”

Robyn grabbed one of the books and sat down in a chair just as Leandra walked in with her hairstylist beside her.

“What’s all this?” Leandra asked.

“My friend sent me a gift.”

“Your online friend?”

“Yes.”

“Wow, he must really like you.”

“I like him too.”

“Did you send something back?”

“I just got this, this morning so I’m still thinking.”

“How’d he get your address?”

“He doesn't have it. I gave him my PO Box.”

“Oh your stalker box.”

“Don’t start, Lele.”

“So how you feel?”

“I’m ok. I still don’t wanna go.”

“Girl, I ain’t talking about this stupid ass gala. How do you feel about Chris?”

“What am I supposed to feel? I really love the gifts but that’s it”

“I’m looking at your face and it’s more than that.”

“He got me poetry books.”

“What? You found someone to indulge your weird ass literature taste.”

“Look, just because you only like sex books doesn’t make my taste weird. I am cultured.”

“I have a master’s degree too so save it. How’d he know to get that?”

“We had a conversation about books and I told him I always wanted to start a collection of poetry but never had the time nor knew where to start and I guess he remembered.”

“What made him send you a gift?”

“It was a little joke about how he could get me to not back out of the gala. I honestly wasn’t expecting him to go through with it but he did.”

“A man who keeps his word. He really likes you.”

“I know.”

“So...still never gonna meet him in person?”

“That was never part of the deal.”

Leandra groaned as she flopped down on the couch, “are you at least gonna get some from somebody at this gala?”

“Ewww….no. I’m staying at most an hour then coming back home.”

“Have you talked to Chris?”

“Not today.”

“Do you only chat on the app?”

“Yea.”

“Oh.”

“Why?”

“I thought you would’ve gotten his phone number by now.”

“Nah, that’s too personal. I wouldn’t give my number to someone I haven’t met yet.”

“So meet him.”

“No.”

“Ugh….you get on my nerves, Robyn.”

Robyn laughed, “what’s your plans for tonight?”

“Getting the baby from his father and going home.”

“How is my nephew?”

“He’s good.”

“And his father?”

“Still alive, unfortunately.”

“Don’t do Max like that.”

“He gets on my nerves.”

“How?”

“He keeps asking me if we’re getting back together.”

“Aww...Lele, he still loves you.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“And you still love him too. You always playing hard to get.”

“Ch….I am hard to get. Thank you very much.”

“Is that why y’all keep going on vacations together?”

“If a man wants to take me to Puerto Rico or Costa Rica free of charge, who am I to say no?”

Robyn laughed, “Lord, what are we gonna do with you?”

“Love me, duh.”

Leandra stayed until Robyn was ready to leave for the gala. As she climbed into the back of car, she grabbed her phone

A: Hey stranger

A few minutes passed before she received an answer.

C: Hey. How are you?

A: I’m great. On my way to the gala

C: Still decided against an escort?

A: Yea. Besides, I don’t plan on staying there long.

C: Ah ok

A: So….thank you for the gifts. The corsage is perfect for my dress

C: You’re very welcome. My sister helped me pick that out.

A: Tell her I said thank you

C: I will

A: So what are you up to?

C; Laundry and grading work

A: What’s the task this week?

C: Students had to craft an original piece of music modeled after a piece they enjoy so I’ve been listening to music tracks all day

A: How’s it sounding?

C: I’ve gotten a few good ones but what passes for music and what these students are modeling their pieces after is awful.

A: That bad?

C: Some of these songs just can’t find a key and then when I listen to their reference tracks, I understand why. Music production has gotten so lazy over the years

A: You think so?

C: I’m gonna send you the best one I’ve heard and the worst one and tell me what you think

A: I’m getting homework now too, Professor

C: Lol. I just want you to hear what I’m dealing with

A: Send it. I’ll get back to you when I can

C: No rush. I’ll be home all weekend with this.

A: Cool. How’s the puppy search going?’

C: Good. We’ve narrowed it down to three puppies. I told her she has one week to pick one and then we’ll find a place to buy it.

A: As a shelter owner, please try and get a shelter dog. So many of them are good dogs that were in bad situations.

C: I will keep that in mind.

A: That’s all I ask

C: So what’s your plans after the gala?

A: Home.

C: Up for a video chat?’

A: Absolutely. I kinda miss your automated voice

C: Lol Same here

A: Anything else going on

C: Nope. I live a rather simple life.

A: Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

C: To be honest, I’m not quite sure

A: Something giving you doubts

C: My daughter told me she feels sad for me

A: Aww...why?

C: Because I’m alone. It’s kinda hard to explain to a three year old the difference between alone and lonely

A: Lol true but then don’t explain with words, show her with actions. She probably thinks you don’t have a life and for children, they haven’t commanded the power and beauty of peace and stillness. They still have so much they haven’t explored

C: You have a point

A: Honestly, if you find things to do when she’s not around, she’ll probably feel a bit better about you

C: I’ll have to find me a new hobby then

A: What’s your current hobby?

C: I don’t really have one to be honest. My job involves music now so it’s not really a hobby anymore

A: It could be, it’s not like you make music for your class, do you?

C: Not recently

A; Do you sing, play instruments? What?

C: I have a decent voice but I play the piano, the guitar, and can do alright by the saxophone

A: What type of music do you prefer to play?

C: Nothing like an old school soul song. I love playing Sade records on the sax

A: I might have to compel you to play for me one day

C: I would offer to play tonight but my instruments are in storage

A: No rush. It’s just a thought

C: I’d love to play for you though

A: You making me feel inadequate

C: In what way?

A: The gifts. The music offers. Doesn’t feel like we’re on even footing

C: Well only you know what you have to offer. Find what works. I’m always open for gifts or moments

A: I’m gonna have to think of something. Thank you for the poetry books by the way. It’s a good start of a collection

C: The classics are always your best bet

A: I’m a little surprised you remembered

C: Why?

A: It was such an odd conversation and it was late when we had it, surely you wouldn’t have remembered it

C: That’s a weird assumption. If there is one thing I’ve learned from being married, it’s learning to listen just as much as you like to talk. Reciprocity is the key.

A: Very true.

C: Are you at the gala yet?

A: Just pulled up

C: Well I hope you have a good night for however long you are there

A: I hope they do the award ceremony first so I can get my award and leave

C: If I gotta try and find a life, you need to live yours. You never know you may enjoy the time

A: We’ll see. Talk to you later

C: Later

#chrianna #loveisblindfanfiction

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exxar1 · 4 years

Text

Episode 5: Why Machiavelli Would Never Wear a Mask (And Why You Shouldn’t Either)

12/9/2020

Last week’s episode of the Young Heretics podcast was about The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli. The Prince is one of those classics of western lit that I’ve never actually read – or even taken a college class where this was one of the texts. What little I remember about this text is from history class during my junior year in high school. Mrs. Jones (no relation) told us that Machiavelli wrote The Prince as a treatise on political philosophy. He believed that the ends justified the means, and that the best way for a prince to retain power over the people was to rule by fear rather than love. The word “Machavellian” has always been used as a pejorative description in our modern society, often referring to those people who are cold, heartless, and unfeeling. Machiavelli’s name has become synonymous with those characters in popular movies, books and TV shows that attempt to control other characters and events by using various means of deceit and guile.

Now, to be fair, Mrs. Jones’ interpretation and summary of The Prince is not entirely wrong. I did a brief Google search on Machiavelli and The Prince, and about half the links of my search results reaffirmed that view. The other half, however, offered a surprisingly different take on The Prince, one that is also shared by Spencer Klavan on Young Heretics. That podcast is now 29 episodes old, but this is the first one that has presented me with something entirely new – both the text itself and the interpretation of it.

In his advice to the titular prince, Lorenzo de Medici, Machiavelli instructs him on how to best maintain power and control of his subjects and his state. The best way to do this, Machiavelli believed, was for the prince to be feared rather than loved. Also, at times, it would be necessary to use what many would consider to be unjust or immoral means in order to sustain that power and control. Hence Machiavelli’s negative reputation in the history books and modern culture.

But Spencer makes the argument that Machiavelli’s reputation is ill-earned. There’s more to this Italian philosopher than what has been passed down in the history books. To put it simply, Machiavelli was a realist. He addressed human nature – and human behavior – in harsh, realistic terms. This was how Machiavelli viewed the world. To use our vernacular, he didn’t sugarcoat the bad stuff. He understood how people behaved – both the ones in power and the ones being ruled – and he framed his advice to his prince in these simple, realistic terms.

I’ve spent the last several days thinking about this episode, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Spencer chose this episode to air when it did. All over the country, many state governors have issued lockdown orders for their principalities in response to a renewed surge in positive cases of COVID-19. As any of you who know me – either in real life or via social media – can attest, I am a rabid believer in the battle against face masks and the lockdowns. I’m also a firm believer in the actual science – as opposed to the political nonsense spouted by Doctor Fauci and his panel of “experts” – that says over and over how useless and pointless the masks are in the efforts to stop the spread of the corona virus. And, as you also know, I have plenty of time on my hands to think while at my day job, and the other day I came to a rather startling conclusion:

We should all be more like Machiavelli.

When exactly did we, the American people, become a nation of whiny, spoiled, self-entitled sissies? A nation of people who are so terrified of the possibility of dying that we happily give up our most basic freedoms and cower inside our homes or behind masks? Because that's exactly what's happened. The basic liberties and routines of our daily lives and, for many, their very livelihoods, were suddenly halted and/or shut down by our state governors who were acting in response to so-called science and medical “experts” in the effort to save a small, vulnerable percentage of our population. I've lost count of the number of times I've read on social media posts in the last 6 months about how pro-maskers wear a mask to protect their 85 year old grandmother or their 70 year old father. I've been called “heartless” and “pro-Nazi” from strangers in the comments section of news articles whenever I respond with the same argument that I'm going to put forth here.

We of the last couple generations have become so soft and spoiled and lazy that we've forgotten just how harsh and deadly real life can often be. And I'm including myself in that crowd. Those of us born in the last four decades of the 20th century have known nothing but prosperity and comfort, especially if – like me – you grew up in a typically middle class household. This is even more true of anyone born after 1995. I'm speaking of the generation that has never known life without Starbucks, Amazon, Google or a cell phone; the generation that grew up using laptop computers and watching TV by streaming it on the internet. In fact, we've become so complacent that we don't even have to leave our comfort zones to order a Big Mac from McDonald's or groceries from Walmart. When I was growing up in the 80s, I remember having to wait an eternity (4-6 weeks) for a toy to arrive that I had mail-ordered from a Sears catalog. Nowadays, I complain if my Amazon package isn't on my doorstep within 24 hours.

For pretty much all of us, 2020 was a massive wake-up call; a Mike-Tyson-punch-to-the-face or dive-into-Lake-Michigan-in-the-middle-of-December kind of wake-up call. None of us were prepared for a pandemic whose projected death toll was in the millions. Everyone from the top down – the president, our congressmen, our state governors, the national and local health experts – reacted instinctively. The medical experts, especially, were very quick to panic, based primarily on preliminary reports from European countries and China. Many state governors – most of them Democrats – were quick to declare a state of emergency and issue a lockdown order for their respective principalities. Hundreds of thousands of Americans were suddenly without work. Unemployment claims shot through the stratosphere. Congress approved an economic stimulus package. Everyone in the government – both national and local – assured us citizens that the lockdowns were temporary, two months at most.

But, of course, two months became three, then four, and by mid-July, many states were still in phase one or two of their “re-opening”. By this point, even the liberal-controlled mainstream media was reporting on the sudden spike of suicides in the lockdown states. Millions of unemployment claims were stuck in severe backlog, and more and more workers were being put on furlough by their employers – or just simply laid off. Here in Las Vegas, for example, the entire strip was a complete ghost town from mid-March to mid-June. This city's economy is utterly dependent on the tourism industry, and, with all casinos and hotels completely closed, the city as a whole suffered greatly. It's still suffering, in fact, even though most of the strip has been open since mid-July. Almost all the hotels and casinos can only afford to be open from Thursday to Sunday. Thousands here are still unemployed or working two part time jobs for barely minimum wage just to make basic ends meet.

And now, as I write this, our governor – along with those of California, New York, and many others – has declared a second round of lockdowns. In California, both Governor Newsom and the mayor of L.A. have banned indoor AND outdoor dining at all restaurants. And again, we the citizens have been told that this is for our own safety, and that these lockdowns will be temporary. One doesn’t have to look far on Twitter or Facebook to see cell phone videos of desperate, tearful, and/or furious restaurant and bar owners engaged in verbal rages about the injustice of all of this.

Here’s what should have happened clear back in February of this year:

Our leaders – our princes, if you will – both national and local, should have consulted not only the medical experts but also a team of economic and social advisors. The governors of every state should have taken a long, hard look at the long term cost of even a brief economic shutdown versus the projected death toll in the short term if COVID-19 was allowed to run its natural course through the U.S. population. You can already see where I’m headed with this. Our governors chose to shut down their states, to close all “non-essential” businesses, and ordered all citizens to self-quarantine. This was only supposed to be for a few weeks, at most. But we’ve all witnessed the long term effects of these shutdowns – skyrocketing unemployment rates, a rapid, severe spike in suicides and domestic abuse cases, and children who are falling so far behind in school due to “distance learning” that many will simply end up dropping out or repeating the same grade for another year.

Our princes should have been more like Machiavelli. They should have allowed life to continue as normal – no mask mandates, no social distancing orders, and most definitely no mandatory quarantines. Instead, the princes should have advised all citizens that the choice was theirs to self-quarantine or not, and that face masks would also be encouraged but completely optional. The result of this, of course, would mean a very high death toll in the short term. There would be no way to avoid this. As we already know now, face masks and social distancing are pointless and useless when it comes to preventing the spread of COVID. The highest numbers of fatalities would be among those older than 65. Hospitals and morgues would be overwhelmed. Emergency triage centers would have to be established in parking lots and empty football stadiums. For a month or two, the news headlines would be filled each day with the most recent death tolls.

But then, into the third month, the death count would start to go down. As herd immunity was finally achieved, life would, slowly but surely, get back to normal. And through it all, there would have been a slight drop in the regular business of many restaurants, movie theaters, and other recreational businesses that rely on tourism and seasonal traffic. But, ultimately, the country would have recovered from this much faster than they will in our present timeline. As it stands now, hundreds of thousands of small businesses across America have gone bankrupt and closed their doors for good. Even major restaurant chains like Ruby Tuesday and Sweet Tomatoe’s have permanently closed many – if not all – their locations. In the alternate timeline, where they had been allowed to remain open with no restrictions of any kind on the number of customers they were allowed to have inside at any time, these businesses would most likely still be up and running.

Yes, that means that your 75 year old father or your 90 year old grandma would have probably died. But that’s life. Like Machiavelli, I’m not gonna sugarcoat it. Life is hard. If you haven’t figured that out by now, you’re in for a long and frustrating existence on this earth. And lest you think I’m speaking from some superior, unaffected, condescending platform where I have not experienced any loss or hardship this year, let me remind of you of my blog post about my close friend Aaron Walker from a month ago. No, his death was not the result of COVID, as far as I know, but it was sudden, and it was completely unexpected. I’m still feeling his loss. But you know what? Life goes on. We mourn the dead, we bury them, and then we move on. Death is a fact of life. Machiavelli would have understood that, and so should all of us in 2020. This year has seen a lot of death, more than anything in recent decades, in fact. But that’s life. That’s the way life goes sometimes, and trying to avoid that inevitability by forcing face masks and quarantine and shutting down businesses on a whim is not going to change that simple fact.

I know many of you reading this are probably screaming at your phone screen right now, calling me all kinds of names and cursing me. “How can you be so heartless????” you rave. “How can you allow so many elderly and innocents to die just so you can still go to the movies or sit down at McDonald’s to enjoy your iced coffee and Big Mac????” “You’re a murderer because you still refuse to wear a mask in public!!!!”

And you know what? You’re absolutely right. I am probably infecting others by not wearing a mask. I do still want to go to a movie on Friday night and pig out on overpriced popcorn and soda. I do enjoy going out to eat at least once a week with all my friends. And yep, I’m perfectly fine with accepting the reality that many people are going to die because our governors refused to sacrifice the whole society in the chance that it might save a few innocent lives.

In other words, “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one.” That edict is as true today as when Spock said it to Captain Kirk in Star Trek 2 in 1982. Machiavelli would have completely understood that statement, and he also would have understood this: that which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. We humans have been spreading disease to one another ever since Adam and Eve were cast out of the Garden of Eden. Death, you see, is the natural consequence of sin. Death is unavoidable, and death comes for us all. For some of us, we are lucky enough to live rich, full lives. For others, death comes all too soon. My grandfather will be 90 years old this year on December 31st. If I were to ask him today if he were ready to shuffle off this mortal coil and be welcomed into the arms of our Heavenly Father, his answer would be an immediate and resounding, “Yes!”. Your 75 year old father or your 85 year old grandmother are most likely looking forward to death. That doesn’t mean you should just kill them now by your own hand to hasten the inevitable. But it does mean that they are ready to meet their maker if their number is up. (And, by the way, is not more cruel to force the elderly to slowly waste away alone, locked up in forced quarantine in nursing homes, not allowed to see or even speak to their loved ones until they eventually die of depression, loneliness or COVID???)

COVID-19 is an act of God. It’s a chance of nature, a random thing that has struck the human race, and none of us have the power to change it or ward it off or protect ourselves and our loved ones against its wrath. As we have been doing since the Tower of Babel, we humans have infected one another and survived many, many plagues worse than this one. So you need to stop your whining, stop your complaining, pick yourself up, and get on with your fucking life. And, while you’re at it, you might want to open your Bible and get acquainted with your Creator. Because, sooner or later, you’re gonna meet him, and if you have not accepted his son, Jesus Christ, as your lord and savior, you will spend eternity in a place that makes COVID look like a summer’s vacation in the Florida Keys.

So, in conclusion, be more like Machiavelli. Throw away your damn mask, rise up against the tyranny of our modern princes, and help me get our lives back to normal. If we do not stand up for our freedoms we will most assuredly lose every last one of them.

Mmmmm-kay???

(And, by the way, if you haven’t been listening to Young Heretics, I strongly advise you to drop everything and begin immediately. Look it up on YouTube or wherever you get your podcasts. It will change your life.

You’re welcome.)

#covid #covidiot #life #god #mask #liberty #freedom

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shon-ha-lock · 5 years

Text

Sweater Weather (harry/niall)

It’s that time of year! I had a blast participating in this year’s 1D Secret Santa. @silveredsound i hope you like my gift!

It was a super cheap flight, in Niall's defense. A real deal. So what if the connection was in a tiny regional airport? In Wisconsin. Three days before Christmas. In the middle of a week of record low temperatures and snowstorms.

Okay. In retrospect, maybe he should have expected something to go wrong.

Niall's plane is the last to touch down in Chippewa Valley before it starts rerouting its incoming flights to airports not currently being blasted by the polar vortex. This is also, of course, when it grounds its outgoing flights “indefinitely”, leaving him and around one hundred other travelers stranded.

The whole airport has just two gates, with one shared, cramped waiting area. A line has snaked itself around that entire space, leading up to the customer service desk, where everyone is waiting for a chance to yell at a single beleaguered United Airlines employee about their flights being cancelled.

Niall contemplates joining the line, but he’s more the type to wait until he can vent his anger by giving the lowest scores possible on a ‘how did we do?’ survey. And besides, just standing near the desk for a few minutes gives him all the information he needs to know, on repeat.

“We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience this is causing our loyal customers,” is the current opener every time someone storms up to the little old lady working the desk. Her reedy voice is placating and increasingly nervous as she assures everyone that United is “currently working with Chippewa to arrange accommodations for anyone whose flight has been delayed by the storm.”

This is comforting until Niall realizes that this means they don’t currently have hotel rooms set up for travelers with missed connections the way larger airports do. No shuttles, no vouchers, not a goddamn thing.

They’re only twenty minutes outside of the little city of Eau Claire, Wisconsin, which probably has at least a few hotels with vacancies, but the odds of finding an Uber driver to brave the storm and get him there are slim to none.

Niall’s not really the type to just stand around in a crisis and twiddle his thumbs, but if he’s being honest with himself, he hasn’t a goddamn clue what to do right now. He flies relatively frequently but he’s never actually had to deal with a flight being cancelled because of the weather, and he’s struck by a childish urge to call home and ask his mother for advice about what to do.

At the moment, it’s looking like he might actually need to call her anyway, because she’s expecting to pick him up from Albany International in five hours, and that’s definitely not happening now. God, he hopes he’ll make it back to New York at some point within the next three days. He’s never spent a Christmas away from home in his twenty six years of life, and he doesn’t want to start now.

He’s well on his way to an anxiety spiral when he notices that there’s one other passenger besides him not angrily crowding around the service desk. He looks to be around Niall’s age, and he’s pawing through a backpack with a resigned expression on his face. After a minute, Niall figures that he must be searching for warmer clothes to put on; the man’s short sleeved shirt is well-equipped to show off all the strange tattoos on his arms, but isn’t exactly appropriate for December in Wisconsin.

Niall, by contrast, is dressed and packed for two weeks of winter in upstate New York. He looks down at his own backpack, aware that it’s stuffed with four different Aran sweaters, and makes a decision. It’s the season for doing good deeds, after all. Making a stranger a little less miserable surely counts.

“Hey there,” Niall says as he walks over to the man, who’s given up looking through his luggage and is now sitting forlornly on one of the waiting area’s cheap plastic benches. He looks up, and Niall’s breath -- well, it honest to God catches in his throat. This guy must be some kind of model, because he’s got just about the most gorgeous face Niall’s ever seen. Green eyes, red lips, the works.

“Hi?” the guy ventures after a few seconds of Niall staring down at him like a lunatic.

Niall can feel himself go red as he hurriedly unzips his backpack, feeling around until he grabs a fistful of wool.

“Here,” he says, pulling out a sweater at random and basically throwing it at the guy’s head.

“You looked cold, so.” He shrugs. He watches this ridiculously good-looking stranger hold out the sweater to examine it, smiling widely for a second before his expression shifts to concern.

“Oh, this is hand-knit, isn’t it? I couldn’t possibly take this,” he says, trying to hand it back to Niall, who takes a step backwards and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Really, I insist,” he says. “Seriously, you’d be doing me a favor. My grandma still thinks we live in Ireland and makes one for me every year; I’m drowning in the things.” This seems to make the guy only more determined to hand it back to him, but Niall perseveres.

“I’d feel guilty just getting rid of them, but if I tell her I passed one on to a chilly traveler I’ll be grandson of the year, so.”

Niall narrowly avoids pumping a fist in the air in victory when this makes the guy giggle, bite his lip, and finally, reluctantly pull the sweater on over his t-shirt. It’s a sea green that matches his eyes perfectly, which is great, because what Niall really needed was to be even more distracted by a random person’s good looks.

“I can’t thank you enough,” he says once it’s on, his chin-length hair now attractively rumpled. “I was worried I was going to freeze solid the second I went outside.”

He holds out a hand; Niall takes it. Soft palms, manicured and painted fingernails -- this guy might really be a fashion model.

“I’m Harry,” he says. He smiles wide enough when he says it that his cheeks dimple. Niall’s heart is in some serious trouble now.

“I’m Niall,” he replies, letting go of Harry’s hand a second later than is probably appropriate.

He’s not sure how, but he wants to keep the conversation going somehow, just so he has an excuse to look at Harry’s face for a little longer. Before he can come up with something, an ancient intercom crackles to life and makes them both look around.

“Attention, travelers. In two hours, the storm is expected to dissipate enough to start offering shuttles into Eau Claire. Chippewa will be providing vouchers for the following lodgings.”

The announcer rattles off a list of local hotels before repeating the entire message over again. This announcement seems to renew the stranded travelers’ agitation, and they start swarming the service desks with complaints about the wait. Harry and Niall both stay where they are, clearly on the same page about not bullying the elderly. Harry doesn’t seem any happier than the people yelling, though.

“I didn’t manage to sleep on the plane because I was so nervous about the weather and the turbulence,” he confesses to Niall. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out before that shuttle actually gets here.”

“Where are you coming from?” Niall asks. They’re making small talk! Success!

“Well, I started out in Italy thirteen hours ago,” Harry says ruefully. “Then I had a connecting flight in Boston, and from there, I should have gone all the way out to LA, which is where I’m spending Christmas. But I had to book last minute, and the only flights left had an extra connection. So I took a chance on this one, and of course now I’m stuck here.” He pouts as he says it, and it should make him look immature but instead he just looks like he’s posing artfully for Covergirl or something.

“So we’re heading in opposite directions,” Niall says. “I’m coming from LA, and I’m on my way to New York.”

Harry’s eyes light up at this.

“Oh my god, do you live in NYC? I love spending time there, it’s one of my favorite cities in the world.”

Niall sighs and shakes his head in mock-disappointment.

“Everyone loves NYC so much but they always forget about the actual capital of New York.”

When Harry just stares at him blankly, Niall relents and laughs out, “I’m from Albany. My whole family immigrated there from Ireland when I was six months old."

Niall feels a bit awkward at first, talking about his life with someone he just met, but he quickly learns that Harry is the type of old soul who loves to make conversation with strangers. And by the time the shuttles start actually arriving he can't say that the two of them are strangers anymore.

He learns that Harry's lived in LA his whole life, and so traveling anywhere that's cold knocks him off his feet. Niall's only lived in California since he started attending UCLA (at first as an undergrad and now for post-graduate work) but it turns out he and Harry have several mutual acquaintances, which delights Harry to no end, and he seems more interested in Niall's classes last semester than Niall was, asking questions about what he learned and whether the professors were cool or boring.

He's in the middle of a rant about early morning lectures when the intercom starts announcing that they'll be able to start shuttling people into the city soon. Which of course means that the two of them are going to have to go their separate ways.

Harry starts fussing with his luggage again, seeming almost shy now, and thanks Niall again for the sweater.

Niall scrambles for something else to say to forestall a goodbye.

“How did you know it was hand-knit?” is the only question he comes up with, but it's effective.

"Oh!" Harry exclaims, going all smiley again.

"The pattern was really detailed, and I could see how tight the stitches were. Didn't seem likely that a machine made it," he says.

"Wow, you've got a real eye. Do you work in fashion or something?" Niall asks, wondering if his initial impression was right after all.

"Or something," Harry says, seeming embarrassed for some reason. "I um, do modelling work sometimes. Shoots for Gucci, mainly, but other brands too. It's why I was in Italy, actually."

Holy shit. There’s an actual Gucci model wearing one of his grandma’s sweaters right now. What a thought. His mom is going to flip when he finally gets to New York and tells her all about this.

"That's really cool," Niall tells him, scrambling to think of a segue into asking for his number that doesn't come off like he's just trying to hook up with a model.

As luck would have it, Harry provides one for him - by asking for his grandmother’s phone number.

“Or even just her mailing address,” Harry rushes on when Niall bursts out laughing.

“I’d like to personally thank her for making such a pretty sweater that’s doing such a good job of keeping me warm.”

“Well, I’m going to be seeing her for Christmas in a few days, if the weather calms down. You could call me and I could just hand my phone over to her.”

It’s not particularly subtle, but luckily Harry doesn’t call him out on it. In fact, his face goes a bit sly, and he looks Niall up and down for a moment.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Harry says, and then whips out an honest-to-god gel pen from nowhere to physically write his phone number on Niall’s hand.

“Text me when you get a chance, and we’ll have each other’s numbers that way,” he says cheerily.

A few minutes later, they go their separate ways - Niall with Harry’s phone number written in bright green ink on the back of his hand, and Harry with a signature Grandma Horan sweater to keep him warm.

As he passes the service area, Niall cheerfully plucks a survey card from the desk. Seems like he’s going to give United a glowing review after all.

#hs #narry #my fic #1dficsecretsanta #harry styles #niall horan #fic

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pocketseizure · 4 years

Text

Disneybound

Case #0180602. Statement of Ted Nakamura, regarding a strange experience at the Haunted Mansion attraction in Disneyland, California. Statement recorded directly from subject on June 2, 2018.

Jonathan takes the statement of someone whose memories may not accurately reflect the events of his childhood. He then has a short conversation with Martin and learns something (perhaps not so) surprising about Elias.

The events of this story take place after Episode 103, "Cruelty Free" (the one in which Jon reads the statement of a farmer in New Zealand with a monster pig).

( This story is also on AO3. )

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Jon cast a level gaze at the American sitting on the other side of the table. He was fit and clean-shaven, and he appeared to be in his early thirties. He wore a wide grin and a bright red shirt depicting Minnie Mouse posing in front of the Eiffel Tower.

Jon sighed and pressed the record button of his tape recorder.

“Statement of Theodore Nakamura – ”

“Call me Ted, please. Or Teddy, if you like. All my friends do.”

“Ted Nakamura, regarding a strange phenomenon he experienced at the Haunted Mansion attraction in Disney World – ”

“Sorry, but it’s ‘Disneyland.’ Disney World is the one in Florida.”

“In Disneyland, California. Statement recorded directly from subject on May 25, 2018.”

“This is exciting! I love the detail you’ve devoted to authenticity. The tape recorder is a nice touch.”

Jon grimaced. “Statement begins.”

A hint of uncertainty crept into Ted’s smile. “I’ve never done this before. Is there a protocol? Maybe some sort of standard introduction I should start with?”

“Just tell me about the incident you came to report. You can start whenever you’re ready.”

“All right, I’ll start at the beginning.”

Ted clapped his hands on his knees and took a deep breath. Jon watched as his eyes made a brief circuit around the densely packed shelves arranged in disorderly rows at the rear of the room before finally coming to rest on one of the objects jammed between the accordion folders and cardboard boxes. He’d witnessed this process often enough that he could pinpoint the object of the man’s attention – a cloudy snow globe with a tarnished metal base. It wasn’t connected to any of the cases on file in the archives, merely something Gertrude had brought back from one of her travels on a whim.

“I guess you could say that I’m not the sort of person who would be the star of a Disney movie,” Ted began. “I’m not an orphan, and I had a happy childhood. My mother was an architect who moved from San Francisco to Los Angeles during the construction boom of the 1980s, and my father went to business school at UCLA and never left. His family is from Seattle, and they made some money in real estate in the 1990s. We’re comfortably middle class, but I went to one of the big public schools in Orange County.”

He paused, seeming to expect some sort of reaction. When it became clear that no such reaction was forthcoming, he continued.

“Even in LA, where everyone tries to stand out, high school was all about belonging to a group. I didn’t have any interest in the grandstanding of my school’s Gay-Straight Alliance, and I didn’t have the looks or the talent for the student theater club, which is where a lot of kids like me spent a year or two on their way out of the closet. Mostly I kept my grades up and my head down as my circle of friends from middle school gradually went their separate ways.

“My mom worked from home, and she made sure our house had the first high-speed internet connection in my neighborhood. I don’t mind admitting that I spent a lot of time online. I posted an embarrassing number of bad stories about cartoon characters on LiveJournal, and I eventually ended up being invited to join a popular Disney fan community moderated by a friend of a friend. All the people I spoke with on the comm were strangers, at least at first, but we gradually got to know one another as we responded to each other’s posts and comments.

“Between one thing and another, we somehow managed to figure out that most of us were the same age. Oddly enough, a lot of us lived in SoCal, so we decided to meet up over the summer at Disneyland. Everyone showed up, and we had a great time. We met again the next summer, and then again after my senior year.

“Nothing bad happened, but I stopped updating my LiveJournal after that. I went to college in New York, got a job in the city, and fell out of touch with most of my online friends.

“I moved back to LA four years ago, not that I do anything glamorous. I manage the back end of a tech company’s website and intranet, mostly database stuff, but I still have an IG account. I started it just for fun, but I joined early and picked up more than a thousand followers in less than a year. Someone suggested that it would be cool for me to visit to Disneyland and post photos, so I thought, why not? Like, I love Disneyland!”

Jon cleared his throat. “And what is this ‘strange incident’ you came to report?”

“Hold your horses, I’m getting to it. It’s important that you know my background, right? What I’m trying to say is that I’d only been to Disneyland three times before. It wasn’t a major part of my life. But it was a good part of my life – that’s important.”

Jon nodded in acknowledgment. “Very well, then. Duly noted.”

“Disneyland was considered to be a little seedy when I was in high school, but it’s gotten fancy in the past ten years or so. It used to be that you could just walk in, but these days you practically have to make an itinerary. So I did some research, got a group of people together, and we went and saw the sights. Everyone wore an outfit to match the style of a character, and we took a lot of pictures. The photos were so popular that I hit 5k followers in less than 24 hours, can you believe it? Everyone and their sister is into DisneyBounding these days, but picking up that sort of following from on-location fashion photos was still a thing you could do in 2015.

“Like I said, I had a happy childhood, but no one ever paid me that sort of attention. It was such a dopamine hit, you have no idea. Or maybe you do?”

Jon grit his teeth. “Please continue with the statement.”

Ted laughed. “Pushy, aren’t you? But that’s all right. It’s weird, but I feel like I can tell you anything. Has anyone ever said that to you before?”

“You’re not the first.”

“Maybe it’s the librarian thing you’ve got going on – or archivist thing, sorry. Puts me right at ease. And I appreciate that. If there’s an adult who willingly goes to Disneyland for fun, especially someone like me, people tend to think that’s creepy. The therapist I was seeing at the time called it ‘Peter Pan Syndrome,’ of all things. I never went to another appointment with her again, but that’s beside the point. What I’m trying to say is that I kept going back to Disneyland, usually with friends but sometimes with my boyfriend, who I met on Insta. We bonded while sharing theories about the Haunted Mansion, which is… Well, it used to be my favorite ride in the park. It still is, I guess, but I can’t go on it anymore.

“It took me long enough to get here, but this is the part of my story that should interest you. The reason I like the Haunted Mansion is because it reminds me of my mother, who passed away from a heart attack while I was living in New York. It was very sudden, completely out of the blue, and I never got to say good-bye. I never cared about the Haunted Mansion when I was in high school – we all thought it was cringe for some silly teenage reason that probably involved how awkward it would be if we were in the dark with each other. It wasn’t until I visited the park again as an adult that I finally went on the ride. When I did, I had this sudden flashback to a childhood memory.

“I must have gone to Disneyland with my parents when I was young, because standing in the dark and listening to the music made me recall being on the ride with my mother. This was during the lead-up, before you get in the Doom Buggies and begin the ride proper. I remember being absolutely terrified by what I thought was an endless maze. I felt like that line, after it entered the building, lasted forever. Kids can be like that sometimes, but my memory of this is crystal clear – the corridor genuinely didn’t end. I felt like there were people all around us, there had to be, but somehow it was just me and my mother, alone in the darkness.

“And then I remember that this terrible thing appeared out of nowhere. I’m not sure how to describe it. It definitely wasn’t a person in a costume, but it was too realistic to be the projection of a cartoon, and it was talking to us in voice that sounded like laughter and crying at the same time. Like it was hurt, but it found its pain amusing. Meanwhile, the walls kept stretching, and as they got taller I started to see awful things in the gaps between the ceiling and the floor.

“My mother held my hand the whole time. She kept whispering to me: ‘It’s going to be okay. You are brave, and you are strong. Nothing in here can hurt you.’ Just that, over and over, until the ride was over.

“When we finally got out, I ran straight to my dad, who knelt down on the pavement on the other side of the gate and hugged me. He and my mother both patted my back as I cried. I was so relieved to be outside again that my tears wouldn’t stop.

“My dad seemed confused by how afraid I was. This didn’t occur to me until I started thinking about it much later, but isn’t it strange that he didn’t understand why a young child would be frightened by a scary ride?

“I moved back to LA almost immediately after my mom’s funeral, but Dad became a little distant with me. We were both grieving, and it must have seemed callous to him that I was posting shots of myself at Disneyland on social media right after Mom died. Really I just needed a break from the move, from my job, from mourning, from everything – and I guess a part of me felt like my mother would never die as long as I kept returning to that memory of her holding my hand in the Haunted Mansion.

“My dad eventually moved on and married a younger woman. She would probably be my evil stepmother if my life were a Disney movie, but she’s actually a princess, and I adore her. I spend more time with her than I do with my dad these days, but I’m trying to do better. I thought I could reconnect with him if I took him along with me on a visit to the park, but he turned down my invitation. He told me he enjoyed my photos, but that he had never been to Disneyland and had no interest in going. Too many screaming children, he said.

“That was a surprise to me, so I told him about my memory of the Haunted Mansion. While I was talking, his face went completely pale. I don’t mean that as a figure of speech – it was like all the blood had been drained from his skin.

“He insisted that he had never been to Disneyland with me and my mother, but then he told me something strange. When I was about five years old, we went to visit his family in Seattle. My grandfather had just taken on management of a property in Capitol Hill, one of the old Gothic Revival mansions that used to be common there before the neighborhood gentrified. It was an old house, almost as old as the city itself, but my grandfather was having trouble finding potential buyers. The property had been designed by the student of a famous British architect by the name of Robert Smirke, and he wanted my mother to come take a look. Do a walkthrough, point out any potential areas of interest and value, that sort of thing.

“According to my father, my mother had a bad experience in that house. She refused to talk about it with him or anyone else, and she never went back to Seattle. She took me along with her on her tour of the property, and I was apparently just as upset as she was when we came out, even though my dad says we spent less than ten minutes inside. If I thought this place was the Haunted Mansion, and if the ride at Disneyland evoked such a strong memory, it makes me wonder – what did we see in that house?

“I checked with my grandfather, and he said the property never did find a buyer. The only person who seemed seriously interested was a British woman by the name of Gertrude Robinson. Shortly after she made inquiries, the place burned down. Imagine my surprise when I ran a search and learned that this Gertrude Robinson was employed by an institute dedicated to paranormal research.

“So,” Ted concluded, meeting Jon’s eyes, “I gave you my statement. I hope it will be useful to you. I was wondering what you could tell me in return.”

“Not much, I’m afraid. As you can see, we’re still in the process of organizing our records. We’ll investigate to the best of our abilities and contact you if we learn anything.”

“I would love that, thank you. Well, you have my information so…”

“We’ll be in touch. I believe I see my assistant Melanie hovering around. She used to have a large following on social media herself. I’m sure she’d be happy to show you outside.”

“So you’re from LA,” Jon heard Melanie say as she held the door open. Ted directed his dazzling smile at her, which she returned before allowing the door to slam shut behind them.

“Statement ends,” Jon muttered as listened to their conversation growing fainter. He ended the recording and leaned back in his chair.

“Any thoughts you’d like to share, Martin?”

“Oh, I, um,” Martin stammered. “I didn’t want to interrupt the, you know. The statement.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he emerged from between the shelves.

“It’s fine, Martin. It was a relief. To know that you were listening.”

“I’m sorry, I… What? It was?”

“I’ve never been good with people like that.”

“People like… Wait, excuse me?”

“People who are so…” Jon made a vague gesture to illustrate his point. “Sunny. Bright. Content. When someone comes here to make a statement, they’re usually upset.”

“Ah, right. I can see what you mean. But he looks like he just got back from a trip to the happiest place on earth.”

“The happiest place on earth?”

“You know, Disneyland Paris.”

“Disneyland Paris? They finished construction?”

“A few decades ago, actually.”

Jon sympathized with Ted Nakamura’s father. Between the crowds and the relentless sunshine, he couldn’t imagine a more ghastly location, and by this point he considered himself something of an expert on cursed geography.

“I don’t suppose we’ll have to go there ourselves to investigate,” he said, making an attempt to smile. He failed. His muscles were still tense from the process of taking a statement, and his face felt frozen.

“Really? You… want to go to Disneyland Paris? I suppose I could come too, I mean, if it’s not…”

Jon was alarmed by how red Martin’s face was becoming. Did Martin want to go to a theme park? Jon didn’t know much about Disneyland – or Paris, for that matter – but his childhood had been unusual, to say the least. He’d never asked, but Martin’s family couldn’t have been much if he had nowhere to sleep but down here in the archives. Perhaps he could use a vacation. Perhaps they both could.

Jon turned to face his assistant. “Martin, I…”

“Did someone say Disneyland Paris?”

Jon frowned. “Does this conversation interest you, Elias?”

“I heard you were planning a trip. You really must go sometime. It’s fantastic, quite the experience. I went myself, back in 1996.”

Elias made a quick series of taps on the screen of his phone before holding it out in front of him. Jon and Martin leaned forward to get a better look.

In the photo, Elias was posing next to someone wearing a Mickey Mouse costume. He wore an aloha shirt over denim shorts, and he was grinning from ear to ear. The camera had caught him in the act of pulling a tall man with a square jaw and a severe expression into the frame. The image quality was poor, but the man seemed far too pale for the summer sunshine.

Jon’s frown deepened. “And that is…?”

“Oh, this is Peter. You’ll meet him soon enough, I’m sure.”

“Do you, um. Do you go to Disneyland often, then?” Martin asked.

“Just the once. Peter lost a bet, you see.”

“Right.” Jon couldn’t put his finger on it, but he had a bad feeling about this.

“I wouldn’t mind going back. We could all go together, make an office party of it. It would be fun. You do know what fun is, don’t you, Archivist?”

Martin’s eyes darted between Elias and Jon. “I don’t think it’s safe to…”

“Come now,” Elias interrupted. “Would you have any reason not to?”

“China.”

“Excuse me?”

“China. I need to follow up on a statement, something Gertrude was looking into before she traveled to New Zealand.”

“Excellent. I’m glad that’s settled. I’ll leave you to your preparations, then.”

“Damn it.” Jon clenched his fists on the table as Elias left. A trap had been set, and he’d walked right into it.

“Don’t feel bad,” Martin said, oddly perceptive. After everything they’d been through, Jon was coming to appreciate that about him. “At least we know that Elias is still human. He likes Disneyland, after all.”

Jon wasn’t convinced that a fondness for theme parks qualified someone as being ‘human,’ but what would he know? He had to admit that Elias was right about one thing – it would do him good to get out of the archives.

“Are you really going to China, then?”

“I suppose I am.” Jon removed his glasses and rubbed his forehead.

“I’ve always wanted to go someplace like that, somewhere far away,” Martin said, his eyes darting to the tape recorder on the table. “I’d like to hear about it. If you don’t… If you don’t mind, of course. Maybe I could, I mean, we could go out for a coffee together. After you get back.”

“All right,” Jon replied, replacing his glasses. That would be rather nice, actually. “After I get back.”

#The Magnus Archives #Jonathan Sims #Martin Blackwood #Elias Bouchard #Haunted Mansion #full episode format #canon compliant #ghost stories #my fic

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steebharringt0n · 5 years

Text

snapshots of our lives | b.h x you

Sent away for a work conference, Billy finds himself snowed in at JFK Airport. Itching to be back home for Ava’s first Christmas he meets a mysterious stranger at the bar who might be just be able to solve his Christmas dilemma.

a/n: IT’S OFFICIALLY THE HOLIDAY SEASON AND I CANNOT CONTAIN MYSELF. this story gave me cavities, I’m not even joking, this is by far the fluffiest thing I’ve EVER written. (part 2 of shadows of the night will be posted later today ayy two stories in one day!)

---

You pressed your head against the kitchen wall, twisting the phone cord around your finger. In the background you could hear Christmas music playing, Adam trying his best to help Ava decorate her Christmas cookies but she was more enthralled by all the colorful icing and sprinkles around her.

“No Ava, the sprinkles are for his hat!” you heard him pout. You could only imagine the only helping she was doing was shoving the sprinkles in her mouth.

You twisted your head around, frowning at your oldest child. “Adam, she’s only 8 months old, I don’t think you’re going to get too far with her”

You turned your head back around, trying to keep the conversation quiet.

“No luck huh?”

The other voice on the line sighed heavily, you could only imagine him rubbing his temples in frustration, “I’m sorry baby, I really am, I’m trying everything. This goddamn snowstorm came out of nowhere”

You glanced back at your children, both of them blissfully unaware that their father may not make it home in time for Christmas. You shakily exhaled, trying hard not to cry - you knew it would make it harder on him if you did.

Billy had been sent away to New York for a week for a work conference. He was due to be back on the 24th but New York got pounded by freak snow storm that stopped all flights back to California. So there he was, waiting around at JFK Airport, trying to kill time. His flight was already cancelled and he refused to pay for a hotel. He had some semblance of hope that maybe it would stop snowing and that he’d be able to see his kids and wife, but all of that went out the door when they predicted another foot of snow.

Worst of all, it was Ava’s first Christmas and he hated that he was going to miss her little [Y/E/C] eyes light up at all the toys Santa had bought her. He had already missed Adam’s Christmas recital, which fortunately for him you were able to catch it all on tape. But it still didn’t change the fact that he was thousands miles away from his family.

“I know Billy, it’s okay. I’ll tape everything - “

“It’s not the same Y/N ... I just want to be home, god, fuck this” he angrily muttered. He kicked the bottom pole of the payphone, his hands tightly gripping the phone in his hand.

“I know, I know. We just have to stay positive for the kids, for us. You’ll get home when you’ll get home okay?”

He let out another deep sigh. He felt so useless. “Yeah, I know, you’re right.” he paused, closing his eyes, trying his best to not let his anger get the best of him.

“I love you”

His body instantly relaxed at the sound of those three words. If there was anyone that could get him to calm down, it was you.

“I love you too”

A loud commotion and Ava’s ear-shattering wail suddenly broke your thoughts away from Billy. You looked behind you and saw sprinkles scattered everywhere,

“Ava noo!” Adam whined, hoping off the chair and picking up the now half empty sprinkles container.

“Is that our children causing havoc?” Billy questioned, a slight smile on his face.

“Ah yes, your daughter has a knack for knocking things over - Adam, no, Adam, leave it there, I’ll clean it up - leave your sister in her high chair - no, don’t touch it! Ah, okay, Billy hold on just a sec - “

You placed the phone on the kitchen counter, quickly walking over to the dining room table where Ava had her little hands thrown in the air, her mouth open as she let out piercing screams. Adam took the opportunity to run over to the kitchen, grabbing the phone and pressing it to his ear.

“Dad! When’re coming home?” he excitedly questioned, “I made a drawing at school for Santa. You, momma and Ava are in it, Mrs. Lori said it was the best picture she’d ever seen!” he happily babbled onto the phone.

His mouth spread into a grin as he heard his son’s voice, nothing in the world made him happier than his children.

“I sent the drawing to Santa in the North Pole, I told him that you went away for work and that you’d be coming back soon, right daddy? You’re coming home soon right?”

Billy’s smile dropped, he shuffled his feet nervously, uncertain on how he was going to tell his son that he probably wasn’t going to make it in time for Christmas. “Hey bud, I bet Santa’s going to love your picture, and I uh, I’m working on make it home okay? I’m going to try my very, very, very best to be home soon okay? You be good for momma, don’t forget to brush your teeth tonight”

“I promise I’ll be good for momma. Ava spilled all the Christmas sprinkles, we’re making cookies for Santa. We’re also making your favorite, the ones with the peanut butter” Adam said.

Billy swallowed thickly, trying hard not to let tears build up, “I can’t wait to try them buddy. Is your momma still busy?”

Adam looked behind him - in the last minute you had managed to clean up the mess and soothe Ava who was now happily resting on your lap, a teething ring in her mouth.

“No I don’t think so - “ Adam paused, “Momma! Are you busy?”

You let out a laugh as you walked back into the kitchen, “Say goodnight to your father, you’ll see him soon okay?”

Adam pressed the phone back onto his ear, “I love you daddy, I’ll see you soon”

Billy’s heart lurched, he had never hated snow more than this moment. “I love you too Adam. I’ll see you soon”

Adam then promptly handed the phone back to you, walking back to the dining room table to finish up his Christmas cookies. You carefully balanced the phone on your ear as one of Ava’s hand tugged on your hair.

“Hey, I’m sorry to cut this short, I gotta get them to bed soon” you wistfully told him.

Billy nodded over the other line, he twisted his other wrist to check the time. There was a three hour difference, it was almost 12 AM in New York, but almost 9 PM in California. You had let Adam stay up an hour earlier than usual since tomorrow was Christmas day, but you warned him that if he stayed up past 9 that Santa wouldn’t come because Santa only visits kids who are asleep.

“No, no I understand, I’ll uh, keep you updated if anything changes”

“Okay, I love you Billy”

“Love you too Y/N”

Billy slammed the phone back into the receiver, hanging his head low. He brushed a hand through his hair, walking back towards the gate where his plane was originally supposed to leave. He stared out at the large windows where a blanket of snow covered the runway. He then glanced up the TV monitor right above him, the word CANCELLED flashed brightly in red - as if it were mocking him.

He shook his head, making his way towards the bar that was still luckily open this late. He took a seat on one of the stools, raising his hand to get the attention of the bartender who was cleaning shot glasses. He then asked for some whisky, on the rocks. Alcohol always had a way to help soothe his emotional wounds, and right now he was hurting - bad.

“Alone on Christmas Eve? That doesn’t seem right” said a voice right next to him.

Billy glanced over, a large man with white hair and a white beard sat a couple of stools down. He too had a beer in his hand.

Billy shrugged, swirling around the drink, “My flight got cancelled. My family is in California, it’s my daughter’s first Christmas and I’m going to miss it” his voice was undeniably sad as he took a sip.

The large man nodded at him, “I understand. It’s hard to be away from your family during the holiday season”

Billy let out a dry laugh, “I hate being away from them at all. I uh, never really had the best Christmas’s growing up, but my wife, she’s absolutely amazing, she makes all these Christmas decorations, and my kids, oh man ... “ Billy paused, trying to keep his emotions at bay, his thumb twists his wedding band, “It just sucks you know?”

The man raises his hands, “No, no I totally get it” he then decides to scoot down towards Billy, taking the stool right next to him.

“Name’s Kris by the way” he extends his hand.

Billy glances up at him, he looks oddly familiar, but he takes his hand anyway and gives it a shake, “Billy, or Bill, whatever floats your boat”

“So uh, Billy, tell me more about your family. I’m sure it helps talking about them” Kris said.

Billy takes a large gulp of the whisky before he continues to talk, “I met my wife in high school, she was a quiet little thing. I was a little punk, don’t know how she put up with me, but I’ll forever love her for doing so” he smiles as memories of the two of you back in Hawkins flood his head.

“We had my son about 5 years ago, Adam’s his name, he’s a little clone of me, he’s so incredibly smart and so kind, and Ava is my little one, just 8 months old. She looks everything like my wife, she has the cutest toothless smile that just brightens up anyone’s day” Billy is grinning at this point, his hand continues to swirl the alcohol in the glass.

“I had a really bad childhood growing up ... I had given up on people, I wasn’t a very nice person. But my wife gave me this amazing family, something I never thought I was able to have. She changed my life, my family changed my life” there’s a pregnant pause, “I’d give anything to be with them right now”

He downs the rest of the whisky, trying hard to not let his emotions overtake him. He then turns to Kris, who was just smiling and nodding at him the whole time. Billy gives him a thin smile, “What about you? Do you have a family?”

Kris takes a sip of his beer, shaking his head, “Ah, my family is far away as well, but I’ll see them by the end of tonight. I’m just taking a pit stop”

Billy frowns, “A pit stop? Where you heading to?”

“Ah, so many places”

Billy lets out a snort, “Good luck, you’ll need a Christmas miracle to get out of here”

Kris gives Billy a sly smile, he then signals over to the large window that looked towards the airport runway. “Huh, looks like it stopped snowing ... “

Billy glances behind him and his eyes widen, he places his empty glass down and runs over to the window. There were already workers outside cleaning up the runway. A sudden loud voice comes through the speaker,

“Flight 342 to San Diego International Airport is now on a 3 hour delay. Looks like the snow has stopped for the rest of the night. Please allow our workers to clean the runway. Thank you for your patience”

A wide grin takes over Billy, his heart leaps with joy. He heads back to the bar to pay for his drink and to continue talking to Kris - but he’s nowhere to be found.

Instead he sees a picture sitting on his stool. With shaking fingers he picks it up. It’s a stick drawing of a family, a man with blonde hair, a woman with [Y/H/C] hair, a little boy and a little baby. His name, your name and Adam and Ava are written right above the stick figures. He flips the picture over, the name Adam Hargrove is written at the top. His eyes prick with tears as he reads the messily written letter,

Dear Santa,

Please bring my daddy home for Christmas. I miss him very much. I have been a good boy, I eat all my vegetables and brush my teeth every night.

Love Adam Hargrove

A sob escapes Billy’s lips as tears hit the picture. He looks around for Kris, but he’s nowhere to be found. His mind can’t wrap around the fact at what just happened, hell, it doesn’t make a lick of sense to him. He wipes his tears, taking a deep breath to recompose himself. He calls over the bartender,

“Hey! Did you happen to see a large man with white beard and white hair sitting here?”

The bartender shrugs, “No sir, it’s just been you this whole time”

Billy shakes his head, “There’s no way ... it can’t be ... “ he mutters to himself. He glances back down at Adam’s drawing, folding it up neatly and placing it in his coat pocket. He pulls out his wallet and puts down a 10 dollar bill. He tells the bartender to keep the change.

He walks over back to his gate, taking a seat. His mind still can’t believe what has just happened, and he still can’t believe that he’s actually heading home. He decides not to call you and tell you the good news, he wants to surprise the 3 of you.

As soon as he lands back down in San Diego, he hails down the first cab he sees.

It’s almost 8 AM when he finally arrives home. He promptly grabs his luggage from the trunk of the cab and walks up to his porch. He’s so excited he almost can’t contain himself. Grabbing the keys from his pocket, he unlocks his front door, opening it ever so carefully so that he can creep inside.

Instantly he’s hit with the smell of the peanut butter cookies Adam promised him. Christmas music is quietly playing in the background, he walks towards the living room where the tree is. He can hear chattering voices as he gets closer. He pokes his head in, a hundred watt smile on his face.

You and Adam have your back towards him, rummaging around through the presents under the tree. But Ava, all dressed up in her Christmas onesie, immediately notices her father. She babbles happily, clapping her hands as she reaches towards him,

“Da ... da!” she exclaims, her eyes wide and bright.

You turn your attention towards her, still not noticing Billy’s presence, “Ava, did you just say Dada?”

She reaches up for him again, and this time you finally look behind you and you let out a loud gasp.

“Oh my god! Billy!”

You jump up from the floor, throwing yourself into his arms. He welcomes your embrace, holding you tightly. You plant kisses all over his face as Adam leaps for joy, running towards his father and hugging his leg.

“Dad! Dad! You’re home!”

Billy has one arm tightly holding you, while the other is placed behind Adam’s head. You pull away from him, staring at him incredulously. Your mind still can’t process the fact that he actually made it in time for Christmas.

“I - I heard it was supposed to snow like crazy! What happened?!”

Billy shrugs, “I don’t know! It just stopped snowing! The craziest thing happened, you’ll never believe it”

You and Adam watch as Billy pulls out a piece of paper from his coat, he unravels it and holds it out towards the both of you. Your eyes widen, then your jaw proceeds to drop.

“Hey! That’s my drawing!” Adam exclaims.

Billy crouches down to Adam’s height, “I know bud, I think Santa gave it to me”

Adam’s blue eyes become wide, a small gasp escapes his mouth, “You met Santa?” he whispers like it’s a secret.

“I did, he helped me get home”

You pick up Ava who had been fussing the whole time to be picked up by her father. You hand her over to Billy, who then proceeds to give him sloppy kisses all over his face. She babbles excitedly at him, her little hands resting on his cheek.

Tears prick at your eyes, your heart swells at the sight of your husband and children. The rest of the day is spent opening presents, eating Christmas cookies and watching Christmas movies. Billy later explained to you about the mysterious man he met at the airport bar, still to this day you can’t believe how he was able to make it back home.

The both of you chalked it up as a Christmas miracle, and Christmas season at the Hargrove household became that more special to the four of you.

#Billy Hargrove #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fanfiction

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cooperfm · 4 years

Text

hello beautiful people ! lenny here ( 23 , she / her , mst ) and i’m so excited to be here ! i’ve been really missing my boy cooper , and this group really felt like such a good fit for him . i cannot wait to introduce him to you and meet all of you ! everything you need to know about him can be find right below the cut , and if you like what you see just click that heart or slide into my dms and we can plot ! my tumblr ims are open , or you can reach me via dis of the cord @ * ɪ'ᴍ ᴀ ʟᴏɴᴇʟʏ 𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒄𝒉 .#3088

did you just see cooper averton walking down fifth avenue ? the twenty three year old, singer / songwriter has been living in the nyc for five years and has a net worth of $124mill & 28.5m followers on instagram. some say they tend to be quite charming , but also reticent . however, they seem to enjoy posting about fingers adorned with silver rings , missed calls from california , lyrics scribbled in a rush on their social media. ( austin butler ✕ he / him ✕ cis male ) & ( lenny ✕ 23 ✕ she / her ✕ mst )

* / 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑩𝑨𝑺𝑰𝑪𝑺 :

full name : cooper jonathon averton

nicknames : coop , cj , c.jave

age / birthdate : twenty3 / june 27 , 1996

gender / pronouns : cis male / he , him

sexuality : pansexual

hometown : bel air , california

occupation : singer , songwriter

* / 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑩𝑨𝑪𝑲𝑮𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑫 : ( tw : mention of drugs , addiction , overdose )

so i have a full bio written up for cooper , which you can find here — fair warning , it’s a novel because i tend to ramble and cooper has a fairly elaborate history . but below will be my attempt at the cliff notes of his story , though i can almost guarantee it may still get out of hand because i , like jenna marbles , have a too much gene and i can’t control it !!!

cooper was born in bel air , california , and i know you know what that means — the silver spoon was shoved right into his mouth from the get go . mr averton was a well - known and reputable lawyer , so money was far from an issue for the family . the only issue was upholding their reputation and the family legacy .

being the eldest child , cooper was immediately expected to be the one to follow in his father’s footsteps and take control of the firm . except young cooper turned out to be far from lawyer - material . he was sweet , outgoing , and a little weak - willed — and thus , the family disappointment .

long story short , coop was the black sheep of the averton family . he stretched to reach the high expectations of his family , particularly his demanding father — but always seemed to fall short . cue the daddy issues .

cooper’s peers took advantage of his kind , personable nature in order to rise to gain their own popularity . he eventually caught on to his fake friends when he caught his girlfriend cheating with his best friend , and he sorta spiralled . loneliness and rejection are his greatest fears and he couldn’t swallow losing everyone around him , so he swallowed his pride and just kept letting people take advantage of him — all while burying himself in bel air’s partying scene .

that is where his addiction started , the drugs numbing him in a way nothing else could — well , aside from music . his creative streak was just another thing that differed him from his family and cooper embraced it . he always loved the way music made him feel , strumming a guitar or humming a lyric . he had two loves in his life : drugs and music .

following high school graduation , cooper’s parents were pushing him towards college , crossing their fingers that their son would find his way back from his little detour in life . but cooper had a different route in mind for himself — he wanted to pursue his passion for music . this obviously did not sit well with his parents , who couldn’t fathom how their rockstar son would further tarnish their pristine reputation as bel air’s finest . tensions rose in the averton mansion until they finally exploded one night , leaving cooper to pack his bags and leave the place he had called home for eighteen years .

being eighteen , cooper had full access to his trust fund and he booked a one way ticket to new york city , eager to put as much distance as he could between himself and his family . he didn’t want to solely live off of his parents’ money though , so he began busking and bartending to pay for his little apartment .

cooper could have easily bought his way to the top , to the career he dreamt of , but he wanted to earn it , to know that his talent was what pushed him to success . so he played on the streets , in as many bars that would let him , and uploaded his music online until he finally caught the attention of a rising record label .

his career generally follows that of his claim , sir sly , except his first single was released in 2017 . i’ll be working on a general timeline for his career , but he’s been active since 2017 and just released his newest single “ all your love ” !

last year , cooper ended up in rehab after a near - fatal overdose while touring . he went off the grid for three months until returning in the fall a brighter version of himself . it seemed to have done him good , except he eventually fell off the wagon after a few too many nights back in his usual clubs . that’s all on the downlow though , not many know he’s back to using and he’s careful to only be caught with a drink in his hand .

he’s also slowly reconnected with his family since his teens . they still don’t love his lifestyle choices , but there’s still the random phone call every now and then .

** i don’t know where else to weave this in , but his stage name is c.jave — sort of a little alias for him so he wasn’t leaning on the averton name .

* / 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 :

label(s) : the maverick , the benevolent , the contingent ,

traits : charming , reclusive , diligent , trusting , loyal , naive , addictive , creative , short - tempered , obsessive

aesthetics : fingers adorned with silver rings , a journal bound in leather , missed calls from california , shirt sleeves pushed up to elbows , lyrics scribbled in a rush , cigarette smoke curling from parted lips , broken guitar strings

personality wise , cooper’s a walking enigma . at first glance , he’s quiet , mysterious , and a little intimidating . his resting “ don’t fuck with me ” face can put most off , and he’s unlikely to make the first move with strangers — unless he has something in his bloodstream .

give him a few drinks ( or pills ) though , and cooper can become the life of the party . he honestly just loves to have fun and enjoy his freedom in nyc . he’s a well - known face at the bars and is often photographed stumbling home to his loft apartment in times square .

his walls are unfortunately let down a little too quickly for his own good though . even though it’s fucked him over in the past , he trusts too easily and wants to believe in the best of everyone . he’s quite charming and sweet so he can easily win over most , but those cold - blooded enough find it easy to take advantage of him and his generosity .

once you earn his trust , cooper while fight tooth and nail for you . he’s fiercely loyal , catch him throwing hands at anyone who tries to mess with his friends .

he’s also a major gentleman . manners were ingrained in him from the start , so he’ll open doors for strangers , text you to make sure you got home safe , and offer help with anything you need .

this isn’t a major thing , but i wanted to include it , but he’s a really great conversationalist . he’s just so curious , so he listens really well , and is so intelligent and well - thought that any conversation can twist into some deep , philosophical exchange if you’re not careful with him .

oh and — his look is current austin : the short , dark brown hair — v elvis of him . he had the original long , blond hair for a good few years but cut it shortly after rehab for a “ fresh start ” or some bullshit .

* / 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑵𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑺 :

i truly want anything and everything plot wise for coop . i’m down to brainstorm , fill wanted connections , and / or work off of chemistry ! but i’ll list a few ideas that come to mind rn :

first nyc friends . he’s been here since 2015 and sorta bounced all over the place . i would love a roomie from back in the day in coop’s old , run down apartment , some og party buddies ?

exes ! he’s openly pansexual , so this is open to any . please break his heart ( sir sly has a song about a cheating ex soo 👀 )

friends with benefits , random hookups . drunken one night stands !

writing partners ? cooper writes all of his own music and also writes for other artists .

bromances . partners in crime . brother / sister friendship !

neighbours ?? cooper lives on his own in a really beautiful loft apartment , but i’d love a neighbour in the building or something !

flirtationship or cute crush !!!

#elite:intro

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thetravelerwrites · 5 years

Text

Johnny (Cowboy Minotaur) Pt. 1

Rating: Orange Relationship: Male Human/Male Minotaur Additional Tags: Exophilia, Reader-Insert, Monster Lover, Interspecies Relationship, Male Reader, Male Monster, Gay Reader, Gay Monster, Post Gold Rush, 1860's California, Cowboys, Cowboy Minotaur Words: 3349

Another commission for @severedreamerbeard. The reader is called to a boomtown by his uncle, who is the mayor, to be the new deputy for the sheriff. It doesn't take long for him to realize the stern, stoic sheriff is hiding a secret. Please reblog and leave feedback!

*Note: Bláithín is pronounced "Blaw-heen."

The Traveler's Masterlist

September, 1866. The California gold rush had ended more than ten years ago, but people continued to move out there in the hopes of finding their fortune. As such, small towns popped up all over the west faster than the census could keep up. Your uncle was the mayor in one such town and had written you a letter asking you to come out to help.

A rabble of undesirables had made camp just outside of town, and there wasn’t enough lawmen in the fledgling town of Redington to keep them at bay. He knew from letters with your father that you’d had a tough time adjusting to life in the city after living on a farm for most of your life, so he asked if you’d be interested in coming out to be the deputy for the newly-appointed sheriff, John.

He warned you in his letter that the sheriff was gruff and taciturn with more muscle than charm, having been a lawman for more than fifteen years already. He was a minotaur, which actually put you at ease; you’d worked with minotaurs on the farm before.

After writing back to inform your uncle that you’d accepted the job, you packed your belongings, bid farewell to the few friends you’d made while in the city, and caught a train west.

The train didn’t go right to the town, so you’d had to hire a stagecoach to take you the rest of the way.

“It’s gon’ be a rough trip,” the grizzled coachman said. “We’ll be runnin’ through them ol’ boys territory, unless yer wantin’ go the long way, which is another day’s ride and is gon’ cost you another five dollars.”

“You got a gun?” You asked him.

He snorted and pulled a hidden six shooter and a four-chamber Colt revolver from his vest.

You nodded. “We’ll be takin’ the short way, then.”

He shrugged as if to say your funeral and jerked his chin, indicating it was time to go, and you threw your bags into the coach and followed behind.

About two hours into the ride, your heard a loud whistle and the horses shied, bringing the coach to a standstill. From the window, you could see about four men on horses, leaning over their pommels with guns in hand. None were larger than a .36 or a .44, and most were single shooters.

“Whatcha’ got in there, Earlie?” One of the men said.

“Some city-slicker too cheap to pay for the long way,” The coachman said dispassionately. “Ain’t worth much by my reckonin’, and I ain’t got nothing fer ya neither, Lloyd, so git.”

“Let’s get him out here, then,” Lloyd said. “Have a chat with ‘em.”

The coachman sighed and thumped the roof. “What say you, stranger?”

You took your shotgun and your gun belt out of your bags and slung it around your waist before stepping out.

“Afternoon, boys,” You said, placing your hat on your head and shouldering your shotgun. “What can I do for ya?”

The leader, Lloyd, squinted down at you. He was a dirty mess, like all in his group, but he had contrastingly white teeth that seemed to be the only thing about his appearance he cared for.

“Well, newcomer, I don’t blame you for not knowin’, but there’s a toll to pass through these parts.”

“A toll, eh?” You said, scratching your nose. “Well, I’m afraid I ain’t got no money to give you boys, but I got a job waitin’ for me in that town up ahead. I’d be happy to pay it once I’m set up.”

Lloyd clucked his tongue. “See, now, that’s a problem for us,” He said. “If we let you through without payin’, ever-body’s gon’ think it’s fine to not pay. And then how we gon’ make a livin’, huh?”

“Get an honest job and stop shakin’ folk down with phony tolls?” You suggested.

“Hey!” Lloyd shouted from his horse, making it prancing in place in agitation. “We provide a service! If it weren’t fer us, any good-for-nothing could come wanderin’ into our town.”

“Your town, huh?” You asked. “I wonder how many people in that town would agree with that statement.”

“Hey, you wanna shut your trap?” Earlie hissed. “You tryna get us shot?”

“No need,” You said with a smile, looking at the horizon. “The cavalry is comin’.”

Out in the distance, two horses were trotting up to greet you. On one was your uncle, and on the other was a large, black bison minotaur with a grim look on his face. He wore a grey shirt with a pinstripe vest and dark, sturdy trousers. He also had on a coat with loops instead of buttonholes and a large stetson with holes for his massive horns. He had two sidearms and a bandolier slung over one shoulder. His silver sheriff’s badge shown brightly in the high sunlight.

“Lloyd,” He said, nodding politely, but there was a hint of a warning in his deep, gravelly voice. “Boys. What’re y’all doin’ here?”

“Just greeting the newcomer, sheriff,” Lloyd said, smiling a blinding, disingenuous smile. “Wanted to make sure he understood how things work ‘round here.”

“My nephew, the new deputy, will learn how things work well enough without your help, Lloyd,” Uncle George said.

The smile slipped from Lloyd’s mouth, leaving a sour look on his face. “I reckon he will, then,” He said darkly. “Come on, boys. We ain’t got no more business here. For now.”

The men whooped and hollered and turned their horses, riding off in a cloud of dust.

“Good riddance,” Your uncle said, jumping down.

“Hey, Uncle George!” You said, reaching out for a hug.

George reciprocated. “Good to see you, my boy!” He held you at arms length and looked you up and down. “You’re thin! City life disagrees with you, son.”

“That, I can’t argue,” You said, grinning.

“Son, this is our sheriff, John,” Uncle George said, motioning to the large minotaur.

“Call me Johnny,” He said, shaking your hand firmly. “You handled yourself well. My last potential deputy pissed himself when Lloyd rode up on ‘im.”

You laughed loudly. “Well, I’m used to runnin’ off cattle thieves back on my pa’s farm. That Lloyd feller seems like the same sort of lowlife.”

“Hey,” The coachman said. “This is a lovely reunion and all, but you only paid for the day. You wanna sit around flappin’ yer gums, you can either pay another dollar for makin’ me wait around or I can high tail it outta here, up to y’all.”

“Hush, Earlie,” Uncle George said. “Come on, boy, get up in the coach ‘fore Earlie pitches a fit. Let’s get you to town and settled in.”

You’d been to this town once before, when your uncle, who was a wealthy man in New York, moved out here with a bunch of settlers to put the town up. You’d helped him build his house, and a few of the other houses as well, before your uncle decided you’d done enough for him and sent you home. As thanks, your uncle had left you his house in the city, but you soon found yourself out of your element and uncomfortable there. Getting the letter from your uncle had been a relief.

As soon as you got into town, the coach stopped and you retrieved your bags. Both Uncle George and Sheriff Johnny leapt off their horses and tied them to a hitching post with a water trough.

“You’re still familiar with the town, I assume?” George asked.

“Yessir,” You said.

“Well, not much has changed since you been here last, so I’ll let Johnny here take the reins and show you your job.” He slapped Johnny on the shoulder. “I’ve got some work needs doing at town hall, but I’ll meet up with you at The Sixer’s saloon later, all right?”

“Sure thing, Uncle,” You replied, shaking his hand before he walked off.

“Well, then,” Johnny said, folding his arms. “You got any experience with bein’ a lawman, kid?”

“No sir,” You said.

“But you’ve done farmwork? You look strong,” He said, looking you up and down, appraising you.

You tried not to blush. “I’m a fair hand and a good worker.”

“How’s your shot?”

“Middlin’. Better at long range.”

“That’ll do,” He said. “Lemme show you the jailhouse.”

You followed him to the jail and he opened the door. There were three cells, bare, but there were bedrolls stored on shelves in the walls of each. There was a table with two chairs, a desk full of papers, and a wanted board with a few posters on it. There was a door, which led to a bunkroom with four beds, each with it’s own side table and chest of drawers. Only one of the beds looked used; the others looked brand new.

“Take any bed you like,” Johnny told you. “There ain’t no other deputies, but in a town this small, more’n one is too many.”

“What about them boys threatenin’ the town?” You asked him, laying your bags on the bed across from Johnny’s.

Johnny snorted. “Your uncle’s over-reactin’. It’s nothing I couldn’t have handled on my own.”

“How many are there?”

“Other’n Lloyd and the boys you saw outside of town? About three or four more. Their leader is a minotaur named Randall.”

“I was under the assumption Lloyd was the leader,” You told him, surprised.

“Well, I guess that’s your first lesson, then,” Johnny said, sitting on his bunk. It creaked under his weight. “Don’t go assumin’ things. Randall likes to… supervise, I s’pose. He lets Lloyd take care of his business unless things get rowdy. Randall only likes to jump in when there’s an ass whoopin’ to be dealt. He loves any chance to prove he’s the biggest swingin’ dick on this side of the tracks.”

“Yeah, I knew a few o’ them back in my town,” You replied evenly. “Lemme guess, mean drunk?”

“Right on the money,” Johnny said. “He’s a short, stumpy, angry son of a bitch just about all the time, but more so when he drinks. And he drinks a lot. And often. Other’n that, this job ain’t so hard. Break up fights, arrest troublemakers, that sorta thing. Simple fights get a few days in a cell, assaults are a couple weeks and a fine. Anything bigger’n that goes in front of the judge. Judge Jones makes a rulin’ and we take care of the rest. We don’t hold prisoners indefinitely; long term prisoners are taken to the big house in Sacramento. We do the hangin’s here, though.”

“Have there been many hangin’s?” You asked.

“None so far,” Johnny said, taking a swig from a flask that was sitting on his bedside table. “And I aim to keep it that way.”

“Hence my arrival,” You ventured.

Johnny huffed a laugh. “No offense, kid, but I was doin’ just fine long before that uncle o’ yours got a bee in his bonnet about Randall and his boys. I didn’t ask for help, don’t think I need any help, and you comin’ here hasn’t changed my mind an inch. Just do as your told and stay outta my way, and we’ll get along just fine.”

You ducked your head sideways in acknowledgement. “Fair enough. Hopefully I won’t be sittin’ around all the time, though. I like to be movin’ and doin’.”

“There’ll be plenty for you to do, kid, don’t you be worryin’ ‘bout that,” He said, slapping both of his knees and standing abruptly. “Come on, let’s get you squared away. We’re gon’ need to get the blacksmith to fashion you a badge. You can unpack later.”

As Johnny promised, there was plenty to do, including cleaning the cells, brushing down Johnny’s horse, and mending the corral fence. If you didn’t know better, you were more of a work hand to Johnny than a deputy. You might have been annoyed by this, but it was better than city living. New York was just so damn boring and unfamiliar compared to the farm. This was all more natural to you.

Later that evening, you and Johnny met up with your uncle and an older gentleman in the Sixer’s. They were at a table playing cribbage and eating an evening meal. Uncle George bid the two of you to pull up a seat and asked the centaur barmaid to bring two more bowls of stew and some beer.

“Son, this is my good friend, Judge Herbert Jones,” Uncle George said, pointing. “You’ll be dealing with him mostly when it comes to crimes bigger than simple brawls.”

“Your Honor,” You said, shaking the older man’s hand.

“Jones is fine, boy. How old are you?” He asked.

“Twenty,” You answered.

“Old enough,” Jones said. “Welcome to town. Johnny’s been doin’ a hell of a job before now, but with Randall’s gang takin’ up residence just outside of town, we need the extra hands.”

“I respectfully disagree, Judge, but your word is, in fact, the law ‘round here, so I won’t complain,” Johnny said, leaning back as the barmaid set a his food in front of him.

“I recommended hirin’ on three deputies,” Jones said, pointing his fork at Johnny. “Be grateful you managed to talk me down to one.”

Johnny flicked his hat in acknowledgement and started eating.

“Oh, lord,” Uncle George said. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.”

I turned to look at the saloon doors and saw Lloyd come in, followed by another minotaur. This one resembled a Shorthorn, dappled red and white, and though taller than you, he was much shorter than Johnny. One of his horns was broken. He had a sunken, sallow look about his face and he had a cob pipe sticking out of his lips. He had an open bottle of something that he took a swig from.

“Oi!” The barmaid said in a heavy Southern Irish accent. She was wearing a leather corset over a lace blouse and a red bolero jacket. Her eugenia riding hat was festooned with silk flowers and feather fascinators. Her brown horse half was unadorned, though her black tail was intricately braided. “Ya can’t be bringin’ yer own booze in my establishment, ya gobshite! ”

“Settle, Bláithín,” Johnny said, standing. “I’ll handle this.”

“Ya better, boy-o,” Bláithín said, folding her arms. “They’re already owed a baytin for bashin’ me windas. Last those mogs set foot in here, they got scuttered and run out all my punters.”

“I got it, I got it,” Johnny said, holding up his hands.

“Hey there, Sheriff,” Randall said, walking up to Johnny. With the two of them standing face-to-face, their height difference was even more pronounced. “Heard you got a new deputy from Lloyd. Made quite the impression, as I heard it.”

Johnny snorted in annoyance. “Kid,” He said flatly. “You got callers.”

You stepped forward and to Johnny’s right. “Evenin’, Lloyd,” You said, raising your hat minutely. “I’m assumin’ this must be Randall. Howdy?”

“Howdy,” Randall said slowly, looking you up and down. “He’s a strong lookin’ fella, John. Thought you liked your boys soft.”

“Shut your mouth,” Johnny said in a harsh undertone, a clear warning in his voice.

“What’s he--”

“Nothin’,” Johnny said, interrupting you. “Don’t meddle in business that don’t concern you.” His tone made it clear he was in no mood for questions.

Don’t concern me? You thought. Wasn’t Randall talking about past deputies?

Judge Jones stood up and folded his arms, looking at the scene dryly.

“Alright, boys, I think it’s time for y’all to be movin’ on,” He said.

“Now, now, Judge, we just got here,” Randall drawled.

“Bláithín’s rules are simple. No bringin’ in your own liquor, so’s I think you’d best be off.”

Randall took a long, long draw from his bottle while staring at the judge. When he was finished, he stepped in close, really close, to Johnny and whispered, “You got this town in your pocket, sheriff, but if I wanted, I could have you hanged with a snap of my fingers. I could bring a whole mob of people here and watch you dangle from a tree. You think on that ‘fore you go around tellin’ people what to do.” He backed up and turned to Lloyd. “Let’s go. We’ll be back, horse girl. Best have your best whiskey out or you regret it.”

“Go score a goat’s arse, you chancer!” She shouted at his retreating back, stamping her front hoof in agitation. They left through the swinging door, leaving silence in their wake.

Johnny was breathing hard. What Randall said had riled him up, but he was clearly struggling to maintain control. His sudden shift in temperament had completely confused you. He turned around mechanically without saying anything and sat back down at the table, continuing to eat his dinner.

“I believe it’s time to call it a night,” Uncle George said. “Interest you in a night cap at the courthouse, Herb?”

“Sounds good to me,” Jones said. “Boys,” He said, tipping his hat as he followed Uncle George out.

You turned and regarded Johnny, eating his stew as if he’d not eating in days, though he didn’t seem to be enjoying it. When he was finished, he downed his beer, threw some coins on the table, and walked out without a word.

You were going to go after him, but Bláithín stopped you.

“I wouldna bother him, buck,” she said. “John’s a solitary man. Needs his time alone.”

“What did Randall mean?” You asked.

“Even if I knew, it wouldn’t be my tale to tell, lad,” She said, wiping down the bar. “John’s a new addition to this town, only been here a month or two, brought on by the judge. Much of his past is a mystery, and he’s not exactly chatty about himself.” She rested her elbow on the bar and put her chin on her palm, sighing. “A shame, that. I’d like a crack at that buck, I’ll tell ya. Laid it on thick when he first got to town. Most of the ladies did. Handsome, stern, and stoic: who wouldn’t like that? But,” She said, straightening up. “He passed on all of us. Dedicated to his work, he said.” She went back to wiping. “Your stew’s gettin’ cold, youngster.”

You sat back down at the table with your thoughts in a roil. What on earth could Randall do to get Johnny hanged? Johnny seemed like an upright, by-the-book man, so what could Randall possibly have on Johnny that would have him so stressed?

You bought another beer to wash down your dinner and give Johnny some more alone time, then finally wandered back to the jailhouse.

When you went into the bunkroom, Johnny was either asleep or pretending to be. You didn’t bother him.

Sitting on your bunk, you began to take off your boots and belt, looking over at Johnny. He had his shirt off and was sleeping in his trousers, faced against the wall. You admired the sculpted muscles of his shoulders as they merged smoothly with the contours of his back and down. His behind filled out his trousers pretty well, leaving little to the imagination. You wondered what it looked like without…

Suddenly, it hit you like a bolt of lightning. Didn’t seem interested in any of the women, didn’t want deputies, kept to himself and didn’t talk about his past, had a secret that could get him hanged. Of course, it was obvious. Johnny was just like you.

You had been attracted to men since you could remember, and when you first told your father at age eight, he’d beaten you senseless. You found out that loving men was considered “perverse” and “indecent” and, more importantly, illegal. It wasn’t an executable offense, but lynch mobs didn’t care much about that. So you hid your true nature all your life, fending off women and keeping lovers secret, not that you’d had many.

You lay back in your bunk and stared at the ceiling, willing yourself not to ogle Johnny in the dark.

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#exophilia #minotaur #reader insert #male reader #male reader insert #male monster #mlm #interspecies relationship #commission #my writing #cowboy minotaur

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mamabearcat · 5 years

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First Impressions

Yesterday, I reblogged this long post that gave heaps of examples of people being nice humans to each other, despite their outward appearance. And the last paragraph, where a girl with a cold goes to convenience store and has a chat to a friendly giant of a man, just struck a chord. And then this inukag oneshot happened. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Kagome cracked open one eye, clutching the blanket tighter around her as she shivered. She really shouldn’t be surprised. All day yesterday she’d been feeling like crap. She’d put it down to the stress of moving into a new place, but nope. She had a cold. And probably not just a sniffle considering she was both shivering and sweating. She swallowed, then wished she hadn’t – it felt like she had a golf ball lodged in her throat. A golf ball covered in broken glass, serrated knives and acid.

“Sangoooo?” she moaned pitifully, not wanting to move from her balled-up position under the covers. No answer. Then she remembered. Sango had gone out last night, after failing to coax Kagome to come out and meet her friends for their regular Friday night drinks at the pub. Kagome had taken a rain check, feeling exhausted after moving all her stuff into Sango’s apartment and had just wanted an early night.

Come to think of it, she hadn’t heard Sango come in last night. Surely, she should be back home by now? She pushed one arm out of her blanket cocoon, patting the bedside table to find her phone with shaky fingers, then pulled it back inside, squinting at the brightness of the small screen with scratchy dry eyes.

She had three missed texts from Sango.

Kagomeee! If you change your mind hon, we’re at the pub a couple of blocks down – Three Blind Mice. Come out and drink with us! Me and ma boys! We gotta celebrate you moving in! Don’t be a party pooper!

Are you coming?! C’mon, we’re going dancing! You love to dance!

Gon crash at Mirokuuus. Bit tipssdfy. lOve ouup Kagsssss xxxxxxxxxdsklfsx

Kagome snorted. On the upside, it looked like she wouldn’t be the only one feeling like crap this morning. On the downside, it meant she had to fend for herself. She lay there feeling pathetic. Tried whimpering a little to see if it made her feel better. It didn’t. She wished that a glass of water would miraculously appear on her bedside table, complete with flu medication and a box of tissues. It didn’t. She tried engaging her usually happy go lucky personality. C’mon Kagome! Buck up, it’s just a virus. You’re not actually dying. Lots of people have it worse off than you… probably.

Finally, she dragged her sorry self out of bed, shivering as her feet met the cold wooden floor. Note to self. Buy slippers. She had no idea where any medicine she owned might be in her half-unpacked boxes of possessions, so she dragged herself into the bathroom and opened the mirrored cabinet to see if Sango had any. Lots of eyeshadow. Eye make up remover. Some nail polish that looked like it had gone a bit clumpy. Some bedraggled looking fake eyelashes that had seen better days. But no medication. Not even a cough drop. Note to self. Buy the entire contents of a pharmacy.

She shut the door of the cabinet and recoiled at her own reflection. Gah, she looked disgusting. Her face looked deathly pale framed by her blue-black hair, which seemed to look greasy and lank, even though she’d washed it yesterday. Nose and ears bright red. Blue eyes now watery. Even her lips looked chapped.

“Uuuungh”, she moaned, and wished she hadn’t as the demon that had taken up residence in her throat commenced merrily stabbing her with a pitchfork without restraint. She leaned her head forward on the cabinet with a dull thud. There was nothing for it. She was going to have to go outside and engage in conversation with actual people to buy something to make her feel human. Dammit.

Trudging through the snow wearing her only pair of tracksuit pants, her only pair of boots, nearly every shirt she owned and Sango’s puffy jacket that she’d pilfered from the hall closet, Kagome was bitterly regretting her decision to move to New York from California in late autumn. Who does that? Her joy at finally being able to move in with her best friend Sango after securing the job of her dreams in New York was definitely being overshadowed by her physical misery at the moment. Her shivers were reaching the proportion of actual earthquake tremors, and the cold air was making her throat feel even worse. She hunched her shoulders against the cold wind, both hands shoved in the pockets in an attempt at keeping them warm. Note to self. Buy a woolly hat. And gloves. And a scarf. A trickle of dampness invaded her suede boots, which were very cute, but obviously not waterproof. And new boots.

A small eddy of frozen air whistled around her, the cold breeze managing to poke it’s frozen fingers down the back of her neck. She whimpered, and then made a determined face. C’mon Kagome. Think of the pioneers. They didn’t have puffy jackets, and they survived. Mostly. She’d been walking for twenty minutes and she still hadn’t found somewhere that sold over the counter cold medicine. Now she’d settle for just Tylenol, anything to dull the pain in her throat and the increasing thump in her head.

She spotted a convenience store on the corner and decided this was it. Whatever they had would be good enough until Sango got home. She shuffled in the door, scrubbing the snow off her boots on the mat and swiftly closing the door behind her. She could have wept in relief. It was warm in here.

Her ears were burning with the cold, and she wished she’d had the sense to buy more cold weather clothes before she moved. She was pretty sure her boots were going to be ruined, her socks were soggy and freezing. It was only mid-November, she didn’t think it would be snowing already, but apparently according to the weatherman, she’d moved in the middle of some freak early cold front. Figures.

Rubbing her ears gently to try and defrost them, she walked over to the shelves that had looked like they had medication stocked on them, glancing at the guy standing behind the counter. She stopped. Wow.

He was tall, really tall. And muscular. The red flannel shirt he was wearing did nothing to disguise the width of his shoulders. But what really made him stand out was the long silver hair, pulled back at the nape of his neck. And… omg, were they puppy ears?! Kagome nearly squeaked. She’d only met a few demons in San Diego where she’d previously lived, mostly ones that had an affinity with water, seeing there were so many jobs available that centred around the fishing industry. She’d never seen anyone like him before. One pointed white ear twitched, obviously listening. Gah, so cute!

Kagome realised she had been blatantly staring when he turned his piercing amber eyes her way, his expression a little stern, and she quickly whipped her gaze to the shelves in front of her, cheeks burning with more than the cold. Focus Kagome! Don’t bother the nice demon. So what if he’s the most spectacularly beautiful person you’ve ever seen. She picked up some Tylenol, then grabbed a basket and trailed around the little store. There wasn’t a huge amount to choose from, but she added a couple of bottles of Gatorade. That would have to do.

She approached the counter with some trepidation. At 5’2”, she knew she wasn’t the tallest person around, but next to this guy she felt miniscule. A tiny pathetic, wet kitten sized ball of sickness. He was leaning back against the wall with his eyes closed and arms crossed, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but this convenience store, and she couldn’t really blame him. She’d done her time working in customer service and it sucked. She quietly put her items down on the counter.

“Um, excuse me?” Ouch. She almost whimpered at the ripping feeling in her throat as she spoke.

He turned towards her, uncrossing his arms, his amber eyes almost seeming to possess their own glow.

“Hey, you okay? You really don’t sound so good.” His voice was like melted honey, a rich baritone, and the gaze of those golden eyes was focused directly on her. A double whammy that had Kagome feeling a little weak in the knees. Usually she would have brushed off a stranger with a bland ‘I’m fine’, but something about that voice and the concern in those amber eyes made her tell the truth.

“Not so good. I woke up with a sore throat; I think I’m coming down with the flu.”

He looked her over and Kagome felt like a deer caught in the headlights, mesmerised. Like she’d accidentally come in contact with some ancient demigod doing his best to blend into modern society by wearing a flannel shirt and jeans and failing miserably because he was just too goddamned beautiful. She tried to get her shivering under control, so she didn’t look quite as pathetic as she felt, but that seemed to make it even worse.

“Have you eaten anything today?”

Kagome shook her head, unwilling at this point to speak and risk more punishment from her throat. His throat rumbled; it was an obvious reproach, a resonating grumbling growl that woke up tiny butterflies in Kagome’s insides.

“You need to eat if you’re sick. Would ya like a chicken sandwich? They’re warm, and they’re pretty delicious.”

Kagome’s stomach spoke for her as if on cue, and he grinned at her, a sharp fang poking over his lip, the golden eyes squinting in amusement. Her cheeks heated even more, and the butterflies turned somersaults in her stomach and woke up their friends.

“I guess that’s a yes then.”

Kagome nodded again, gripping the edge of the counter for support. She wasn’t sure if it was the flu or the aura of the man in front of her, but she was feeling a little light-headed. She watched as he carefully wrapped up the hot chicken sandwich and scanned her other items, placing them all gently in a bag, handing it to her after she’d paid.

“You be careful out there, okay? The slush on the corners can be really slippery after it’s stopped snowing. Have you got far to walk?”

Kagome shrugged. “Not too far”, she tried to say, but all that came out was a creaky whisper. Great, now her voice was disappearing altogether. She swallowed with an effort. “Thankyou.”

She opened the door and stepped back out into the cold, and the wind seemed to cut into her like a knife. She smothered a small whimper and began trudging away from the store, hunching her shoulders in an effort to keep the small amount of warmth leftover from being inside still had safe, when a sudden hand on her shoulder made her freeze.

She turned, only to see the dog-eared demon from the store. With a bright red woollen beanie in his hands. Which he suddenly plonked down on her head.

“Ya know, only an idiot would be going out in out in weather like this without a hat, especially if they’re sick”, he said conversationally, tugging down the edges to make sure her ears were covered.

Kagome stared at him open mouthed.

“Either you’re an idiot, or you’re delirious. Which is it?” He placed a hand on her forehead, checking her temperature. “Dammit, girl, you’re burnin’ up! I was just jokin’ with the delirious crack, but maybe you really are!” He stared at her seriously for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. He poked his head into the store, hollered that he was leaving for the day, grabbing a jacket and a scarf that was near the front door, then walked back to her side.

“C’mon, I’m walkin’ you home”, he said, shrugging on the jacket. “You said you didn’t have far to walk, right? Can’t be good for business to lose a local customer.”

Kagome looked at him uncertainly. He certainly didn’t look like a serial killer, but she got the impression that most serial killers didn’t go about announcing their intentions either. And he’d seen that she didn’t have much money – she’d dumped the fistful of change on the counter when she’d bought stuff, with only a dollar or two to spare. What if he were some kind of pervert?

While she was trying to make a decision, he commenced winding the scarf around her neck gently, tucking the ends in her jacket. He must have noticed the hesitation in her gaze, because he took a step backwards out of her personal space.

“Hey, I promise I’m not tryin’ to take advantage of ya. I’m not that kinda guy. And even if I was, which I promise I ain’t, you really look terrible at the moment.”

Kagome glared at him. That may be true, but he didn’t have to be an asshole and actually tell her. She was tempted to rip of the scarf and hat and stomp home, but her ears had only just begun to thaw out. And to tell the truth, she was feeling so ill that she was actually beginning to wonder if she would actually make it home, stomping or otherwise.

The dog demon clicked his fingers, and Kagome noticed the long pointed nails at the ends of his fingers. “I know. What if I call a friend of mine? To vouch for me. She’s the type a girl to tell it to you straight.” He dug into his jeans pocket and pulled out a phone and dialled a number.

“Hey Sango”. Kagome’s eyes rounded in surprise as she watched him speak on the phone. He sniggered. “You sound terrible… Yeah sorry to wake you. Actually no I’m not… That’s what you get for listenin’ to Miroku – I thought you were smart. Anyway, I want you to speak to a girl I’m gonna walk home, let her know I’m trustworthy… Shut. Up. Not like that! Okay, thanks… wait, what? Oh, I dunno, guess I’d better ask huh?”

He turned to Kagome. “Sorry, just realised that I never asked your name.” He bent his head down so he’d be able to hear her soft voice over the wind whistling around them in the narrow street.

“It’s Kagome”, she whispered, almost giggling as the demon’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Wait, you’re Kagome?! Sango’s new flatmate?” Kagome nodded, shivering violently as another breeze whistled around the corner, and he the golden eyes narrowed in concern. “Shit, we’d better get you outta the wind and home before you get any sicker.” He turned his attention back to Sango on the phone. “Hey Sango, it’s Kagome. She’s actually sick, she’s lost her voice – I was gonna walk her home because she looks terrible. Can you talk to her, let her know I’m okay?”

He handed the phone to Kagome. “Here, listen to Sango for a sec.”

“Kagome?” said Sango, “is that you?” Kagome made an incoherent creaking sound. “Oh, hon I’m so sorry you’re not well and I wasn’t there this morning. Listen, let Inuyasha walk you home. He’s one of my best friends – you would have met him last night if you’d come out with us. He may look grumpy, but he’s just got resting bitch face – he’s actually a sweetheart when you get to know him. I’m gonna have a shower here and I’ll be home in an hour or two, okay? Love you!”

Kagome handed back the phone. “What the hell Sango? Resting bitch face?” he grumbled into the phone. “Yeah right, sure, when hell freezes over. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her. See ya later.”

The walk home ended up being a bit of a blur to Kagome. She was sure she was actually leaning on Inuyasha at one point, and he may have piggy backed her up the stairs. They finally made it back to the apartment, and after he’d taken the key from her shaking fingers and opened the door, he insisted she take some Tylenol straight away and have a shower to try and warm up.

The warm water burned at first against her frozen skin, but finally she managed to thaw out. The medication must have started working because the thumping in her head had decreased from kettle drum sized down to a small set of bongos, and her shivering had almost stopped.

When she tottered back out to the lounge room, dressed in her pj’s and thick socks with her quilt wrapped around her, dragging on the floor behind her like a royal train, she found Inuyasha waiting with two bowls of instant ramen.

“Hey Kagome.” He examined her carefully, then smiled, holding out a bowl to her. “You’re actually lookin’ a little better, but you still need to eat somethin’. I put your chicken sandwich in the fridge for later, but I thought this might be a little easier on your throat. If you can’t eat the noodles, at least drink the broth.”

Kagome plonked herself down on the sofa across from Inuyasha and reached out for the bowl and chopsticks, breathing in the steam and wrapping her hands around the warm of the bowl. She smiled at him gratefully. “Thanks Inuyasha”, she whispered. “How did you know that I love instant ramen. Did Sango tell you?”

Inuyasha shook his head and returned her smile with a toothy grin, picking up his chopsticks and watching as she greedily slurped the noodles from her quilt cocoon. “Nuh, she didn’t. But it looks like you and I are gonna get along just fine.”

#inukag #inukag fanfic #inukag oneshot #inuyasha x kagome #inuyasha fanfic #Bearpluscat fanfics

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 5 years

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Part XIII - The Untimely Downfall of Strangers

Maybe the lyrics and the melodies would leave her feeling just as confused as I did in New York when she disappeared in the middle of the night.

Maybe the pictures I drew in the songs would leave her feeling as empty as I was that winter. I could only hope.

7.5k wc

read parts 1 - 12 here

AN: Thanks so much for reading!!!! So interested to hear your thoughts on what is going to transpire with Harry and Margot. If you like my work, please REBLOG because where I come from, sharing is caring.

THEN - Day 1534

I knew I needed to get out of my parent’s house. If it weren’t for the fact that I was 21 and my social life was minimal, I might not feel so strongly about it.

But seeing as Ben and Sara were home from college and meeting up with friends from high school--it got me thinking that maybe I didn’t have enough of a social circle.

Coming home from Tennessee made me realize that my social circle mostly existed of people who worked for me in one way or another--throw my boyfriend, his band, and the people who worked for them into the mix and I felt pretty fulfilled.

But suddenly, I was back in California for 12 months of minimal interaction with people outside of my immediate family and Sinead. I was lonely. I was bored. And I didn’t really know what to do about it.

Which is why, a whole year after I left Harry in New York, I somehow talked Maya into playing basketball with me in the driveway.

“Your free throw sucks,” she said--holding the basketball in the air before throwing it in my direction. Maya’s senior season was about to end--so she was open to embarrassing me for only our mom and Pete to see.

I shot the ball again and watched as it missed the hoop entirely--Maya didn’t even make an attempt to get my rebound. “Yeah, well--not all of us are high school basketball stars.”

She rolled her eyes--giving me a hard time in jest. “Not all of us left high school to go on tour.”

“Touché,” I said, dodging the ball that she passed back to me--this time with more force and speed. I reached a hand out to stop it, keeping my body a safe distance in case it developed a mind of its own.

“How do you feel today?”

Her words seemed nonchalant, but I knew her question was loaded. What she really meant was are you a mess inside on the one year anniversary of your life ceasing to exist? She walked towards the hoop in our driveway, reaching for her water bottle as I smoothed out the messy hair that came loose from my ponytail.

I shrugged my shoulders, wishing that the sunset didn’t remind me of him.

“Fine,” I said.

“Okay and now for your truthful answer,” Maya prompted, gaining a laugh from me as I walked to meet her by the grass.

I thought of Maya on the basketball court--her high school’s female version of Troy Bolton. I’d been dragged along to plenty of her basketball games and Ben’s soccer games--my mom seemed just as excited to watch Maya rule the court as she did to see me fill up the Rose Bowl.

“I just wonder what he’s doing.”

She took another swig of water and then handed it to me. “Would you ever reach out?”

I let out a sarcastic laugh after I sipped. “And say what? I miss you--I shouldn’t have left you--I suck?”

Maya kept her eyes on me--her silence was her answer: yes. I could say that if I wanted to.

I groaned and walked back to my place on the court, watching as she bounced the ball twice before passing it to me. “I’m sure he wonders what you’re doing, too. You pretty much fell off the face of the earth.”

I tried to shoot again, the sound of the ball on the rim echoed off of the trees that separated our house from the Toluca Lake neighborhood. “I didn’t fall off the face of the earth.”

“You literally finished tour, went to rehab, came home, and haven’t posted anything on social media. No music, no interviews. People at school used to ask if me you were dead.”

I rolled my eyes, watching as she shot the ball from the box, a gust of wind blew through our private yard.

When I didn’t respond, she laughed. “I’m just saying. He--of all people--is probably the most curious about what you’re up to.”

“I’m sure he thinks about it--,” I paused, “in between his fantasies of murdering me.”

“You’re dramatic,” she waved me off. “He probably wants to call you. I bet he’s a mess today.”

“You don’t know that. He was a shell of himself during your decline.”

My decline. I rolled my eyes.

That was the thing about Maya--she was thoughtful and introspective and observant, and most importantly, ridiculously mature for a 17 year-old. She knew Harry well--even if she met him for the first time when she was just thirteen.

She shot the ball and then did it again--a three pointer. She tossed it to me and I didn’t even catch it--reaching for it so hard that I nearly lost my footing. “What was your impression of that time?” I brought my hand up to shield my eyes from the setting sun--I’d never really asked her what it was like for her.

“Of your decline?”

“Yes,” I made a face. “My decline.”

She put a hand on her hip and let out a sigh. “You were a mess. It was obvious to everyone--Harry was, like, I don’t know--a chicken with his head cut off.”

I laughed at the last part a little--the image playing through my head as I went to retrieve the ball that had bounced past me.

“I don’t know why he didn’t just address it more directly,” she commented, her words almost more to herself than to me.

I felt the need to defend him for some reason. “I mean--he did address it,” I said. “I just lied to him a lot.”

“He gave up too easily, though. He knew you weren’t okay and he should have pressed you harder.”

“I didn’t see you pressing me harder.”

“I’m your little sister. I could tell you the house was on fire and you wouldn’t listen to me.”

Partially true. She held out her hands as if to summon the ball from me. I tossed it to her and watched as she dribbled it a few times and then shot it, the soft sound of the nylon net against the ball as she turned to look at me again. “I’m right.”

“He did give up too easily--I agree with that. But I think he did the best he could.”

It felt strange to say it--it felt weird to talk about him as if I weren’t mad and as if I wasn’t upset that he didn’t call. It’d been a whole year--and tonight, despite the fact that it was November, felt eerily similar to the driveway scene I’d replayed in my head a thousand times.

We’d sat on the grass only a few feet away, our hands brushing against each other when we stood to have dinner. He seemed to watch me with a smirk and something about him made me feel like I didn’t have to try so hard.

I didn’t have to be Margot Jones 24/7. I could just be.

So maybe that’s why I defended him. Maybe it was because out of all the things that had happened between us--all the things we can’t ignore--making me fall in love was my favorite.

NOW - Day 1729

Sinead sat at the counter while I pushed around scrambled eggs in a frying pan that my mom bought for me when I moved in.

It was late morning--nearly 11am when Sinead showed up--but she said she had good news when I opened the door with narrowed eyes. She’d been showing up unannounced more and more often, and now that I wasn’t as miserable and grouchy as I’d once been, I think she enjoyed my company a little more.

“So--it just says they’d love to meet. They don’t even mention the old contract or anything like that. Just that they would talk about it.”

I let my shoulders slump as steam floated up above my head. “I dunno--that makes it all real.”

“You’re already recording it,” Sinead said simply, her tone more serious than I would have liked.

I turned around to face her, letting my hands rest on the granite behind me. “Sinead--it’s pretty laissez faire right now. We’ve done, like, three songs. I’d hardly call it an album. Who even knows if they’ll go together.”

“The songs?”

“Yeah,” I turned back around, unable to ignore the thoughts of Harry in my head. “They’re all old, so far. Half old, at least. I haven’t written a lot of new stuff. They’re all just things I was sitting on. And they’re really different from anything I’ve put out before. Less pop and more--indie, I guess.”

She looked up from her phone for the first time and seemed to soften her expression. “I just think that you’re most you when you’re creating. You’ve been bored lately.”

“I was locked up and went to therapy a shit ton,” I defended my empty schedule. “I needed a second.”

“I’m not saying it’s bad,” she stood from her stool and walked towards the Keurig. “I’m just saying that I think you’re ready. Even if you’re afraid.”

She didn’t press me any further. In fact, she was quiet until I sat beside her on the deck and forked a bite of food into my mouth.

“Does Harry know you’re recording?”

I nodded, my eyes hidden behind my sunglasses as I watched a few surfers try to catch a wave. “We haven’t spoken in more detail than that, though.”

“Well, should I tell John you’re down to meet or no? If it’s too soon it’s too soon, but I don’t think he’ll pressure you. He knows what happened.”

What happened. I rolled my eyes a bit--thankful she couldn’t see them beneath the shaded glass. What happened is I was burnt out. I was working more hours a week at 17 than most people do in mid-life. Being me was a constant job and I had a boyfriend who was regularly on the other side of the planet singing love songs to stadiums of girls who wished I didn’t exist.

I’d release an album and piss people off for being too honest. Tone it back and I was called too mysterious. I couldn’t please everyone, so I stopped trying. Forgive me for losing my shit.

“I’ll go,” I said with a lift of my shoulders to show my lack of emotional attachment--however fake it was. “But we can’t tell Harry.”

Sinead thought on that for a second--licked her lips--and then smiled. “Okay.”

THEN - Day 1308

There were nights when the thought of Margot didn’t seem to swirl in my head. Nights when the alcohol was plenty and the music was loud and laughter seemed to fill the air. Those nights were what I lived for--or, they were what I needed to live.

I wasn’t thrilled with the way everyone seemed to settle in on the couch when we returned from a restaurant downtown. Mitch’s eyes were looking more sleepy with every second and Jeffrey seemed glued to his phone.

“C’mon guys,” I said, clapping my hands together as I made a move towards the kitchen. “Who needs a drink?”

I scanned the room--none of them seemed to flinch at that. Out of the eight people in front of me, Mitch was the only one who even looked up at the sound of my voice.

“Mitchell? Fancy some rum?”

“Nah, man,” he shook his head, standing from the couch with an apologetic look on his face. “I’m tired. I’m just gonna head upstairs.”

I frowned at that--now letting my eyes sweep back to the rest of them. “What’s the deal? The night is young! Why are we all acting like old ladies?”

Jeffrey looked up at this, clearing his throat as he adjusted on the couch. “Harry, man, we’re tired. We’ve partied the last three nights after working all day. Let’s just have a quiet night in.”

My stomach seemed to sink at his words. A twinge of anger passed through my chest and I felt my eyebrows meet in the middle of my forehead. “We don’t need a quiet night, I don’t need a quiet night.”

Mitch seemed to slip up the staircase--a few of the others following behind without any words.

“I thought we came here to have fun,” I called after them, hearing my voice echoing off the walls of the stairs and the foyer, following them up the steps to the second floor. “Work hard, play hard, right?”

“Harry,” Jeffrey was now at the counter, standing in front of me with his mouth set in a thin line. “Are you alright, man? D’ya wanna talk?”

I let out an angry noise before dropping his eye contact, my hands coming to rest on the cool granite of the counter. “Talk about what, Jeffrey? Talk about the fact that I got fucking dumped and it’s been a few months and I’m not over it? Or about the fact that every fucking song we’ve written so far is about her and her emotional fucking baggage?”

He seemed to wince at my swearing--or maybe it was the fact that my eyes were now filled with tears.

“You want to talk about that?” I pressured, watching as he let out a sigh and shook his head.

“You’re writing songs about her because you’re feeling, man. You’re feeling a lot right now and you’re processing it. I promise it won’t feel this way forever.”

I appreciated his attempt at soothing me, but it felt like the only thing that would work was a shot glass filled with the rum that sat beside my hands on the counter. “Feels that way.”

He nodded. “I know. But--just rest and chill for a while. We can’t drink every night. We can’t party every single night. Go upstairs and sleep and channel this energy into making a good fucking album to show her what she’s missing.”

I laughed a bit at that--I wanted it to be true. I’d hoped from the second I signed the contract with the label to come down here and make it that she’d hear it one day and wonder what had happened. Maybe the lyrics and the melodies would leave her feeling just as confused as I did in New York when she disappeared in the middle of the night.

Maybe the pictures I drew in the songs would leave her feeling as empty as I was that winter.

I could only hope.

NOW - Day 1732

Margot didn’t know I was coming home to L.A., and I wanted to keep it that way. Out of my own selfish fear that she’d tell me not to or she’d worry about what people would think, I wanted the 5 hour plane ride from the East Coast to be relaxing. After all, promo tours were almost as tiresome as getting back together with your ex.

When I landed at the small regional airport in Burbank, I called her and listened to the voice message that had been updated since 2015. She sounded older, more mature, somewhat vague, and like she probably wouldn’t call you back as soon as she could.

I called Sinead next, hoping to find a location to head towards, seeing as I was already in a car heading West into town. Again, no answer. It was Nick who finally did.

“Hey--yeah, I’m pretty sure she’s with Nathan.”

“In the studio?” I clarified, tugging at my lower lip as I watched the California landscape take shape outside my window. A noise of confirmation from Nick. “For herself?”

“Uh,” he seemed to stall, likely wondering if he should backtrack or carefully considering how to proceed. “I don’t know--have you called her?”

“Yeah--no answer.”

Had I called her? It felt like a bit of an insult--almost as if he were implying that I should know more than I did, and the fact that I didn’t held significant meaning.

I was doing my best--which is something it felt like everyone ignored. I was trying with every bone in my body to glue the pieces back together to resemble what her and I had once had, minus the cracks and the flaws and the lack of communication about emotions.

With Nick off the phone and a better idea of where she was, I gave the address of Nathan’s studio to the driver, watching as the Hollywood streets turned to the hills of Sherman Oaks.

The small house on a residential street was just as quiet as I remembered--except only now the shutters were blue instead of black. I wondered if the inside would be the same--the same couch where I’d watched Margot record the first song we’d written together. The kitchen off the side that Nathan kept filled with her favorite snacks.

When I knocked on the door, there was silence for a moment, birds chirped in the yard--the soundproofed walls didn’t give me a taste of what was happening inside.

Nathan, with a bit of surprise but a smile nonetheless (thank God), opened the door and called Margot’s name. “Someone’s here to see you.”

He stepped aside to let me in, pausing awkwardly in the small back room until Margot appeared with furrowed brows.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, moving towards me to let her arms wrap around my middle. I pressed a kiss to her forehead, thankful for the fact that, while she did seem confused, she wasn’t angry or upset.

“Few days off. Figured I’d rather spend them here than New York.”

She smiled up at me (apparently that was the right answer), but took her arms away from my sides, crossing them over her chest as she eyed me up and down. “And you just knew I was here?”

“I talked to Nick--I think he didn’t want to tell me.”

She let out a laugh and shrugged a bit at that. Nick hadn’t ever hated me--I think my relationship with him was more affected by his fear of what would happen if things didn’t work. When we were young, he’d tell Margot that relationships are great but work was important. I think it stressed him out for her career to be so intertwined with mine--any slight movement on either side of the boat and the whole thing could capsize. He wasn’t wrong.

Margot moved aside to let me hug Nathan--I’d spent plenty of late nights with them in this house, bringing food from In n’ Out or coffee from Starbucks.

“Good to see you, man,” he said, clapping a hand on my back before pulling away.

“You too--how’re things? How’s Stacy?”

“She’s good, Lily’s almost three--it’s wild.” He pulled out a phone to show me a picture, both Margot and I smiled at the screen, though I figured she’d already seen it.

When they led me back towards the board I wanted to ask but I didn’t. I didn’t let the words trail out of my mouth to inquire about what was happening--was she recording? Was it hers? Would it be released?

Instead, she texted Sinead to make sure she’d bring my bags into the house and let her know that we’d both be home for dinner.

Eventually, she looked up at me from her seat on the couch. Nathan had disappeared on a phone call, giving us a few seconds alone.

“Aren’t you going to ask?”

“About what?” I feigned confusion, eliciting a giggle from her as she lifted her feet to rest on my lap. “This?” I motioned around the room--searching for clarification. “Your professional endeavors are none of my business.”

She rolled her eyes at my wording. “They are if you’re sleeping in my house.”

“Yeah about that,” I faked a frown. “Can I sleep over tonight? M’really not feeling the drive to Agoura Hills.”

She whacked me in the stomach playfully, another side eye as she leaned back to rest her head on a throw pillow behind her. She closed her eyes. “I’m recording my own stuff.”

There it was. I shifted a bit, letting the words settle in the air between us before clearing my throat. I nodded. I was supportive. I wanted her to do what she wanted. God knows everyone would be more than eager to listen to it--they were dying to hear from her and understand what had happened.

“New or old?”

“Both.”

Another nod. Apparently words were escaping me.

She opened one eye to peer over at me. “Do you care?”

“Care?” I asked, confused about her wording. “I want you to do what you think is best.” The words fell out of my mouth like hot lava. It was a phrase I’d said so many times.

Should I extend the tour and spend more time away from you? Whatever you think is best. Should I do more promo for the album and lose more sleep? Whatever you think is best.

Should I do this interview? Do this magazine cover? Where should we go on vacation?

She knew it just as well as I did--which, I’d assume, is why she rolled her eyes before sitting up and staring at me straight on. “That’s not much of an answer.”

It used to be plenty.

“I don’t know what you’re asking me,” I said honestly. “Do I care as in am I interested and supportive and all of that? Yes. Do I care as in am I worried that you’re going to--” I cut myself off.

I hadn’t thought through the words enough yet. I knew she was thinking about it. I knew she was with Nathan that time I’d called her after she spoke to Ryan Seacrest. I wasn’t completely in the dark--but I didn’t know enough to save me from the ruminating over worst case scenarios.

“Am I going to what?” She pushed. “Do the same thing you did to me?”

Ouch. I sighed, letting my head fall against the back of the couch in exasperation. “Yeah. That.”

She srunched her lips in thought, her eyes trailing over the room. Past the sound board, past Nathan’s chair, past the coffee table where I knew she did a lot of writing. And then they fell on me.

“You can’t blame me for wondering.”

“I don’t,” her shoulders moved with her words. “But you can’t expect me to not be honest.”

“I was honest too.”

“No--you made it sound like I left without a word and like you had no idea what was going on.”

“I didn’t!” I defended suddenly--the emotion just as raw inside of me as if it were November of 2015. “I felt like I had no answers and then suddenly you weren’t there. I never planned on not being with you. I always factored you into my life.”

The words looked like they stung, and I hadn’t meant for them to. Margot seemed to retract her feet and become smaller as she shook her head. “I didn’t plan on fucking you up, Harry. I made a decision based on what I thought was best.”

She threw my words back at me like poison. I broke eye contact. For a minute I wondered if we’d ever be able to move past it--the night in New York when she cut the cord.

She shook her head a little, staring at the hardwood floors beneath us. “I have to tell my story and say how I feel. If I don’t do that--I’m just doing the same thing as before.”

She could tell I didn’t understand when I narrowed my eyes.

“I have to be honest and write what I feel and tell my side because if I don’t I’ll resent it and I’m not going into this with any type of agreement to keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to be silenced by fear or anxiety or anything.”

I nodded--almost taken back by her honesty, a breath of air escaping my lips. “I want you to do what’s right for you. I just don’t want to look like an asshole.”

I smirked a little--knowing full well that I probably would. Maybe not in every song. But in some.

A door shut down the hall, letting us know that Nathan was off the phone. Margot laughed and rolled her eyes playfully at me. “That makes two of us.”

THEN - Day 652

“Get your feet off the table,” my mom’s voice sounded from behind me as I . scrolled mindlessly on my phone. She let a hand trail down my hair as she passed behind the leather couch in my green room.

I rolled my eyes and let out a scoff at her. “Mom--I can put my feet on my table if I want.”

“It’s called basic manners, honey, okay?” She sat in an armchair beside me--looking over her cell phone quickly before clicking it shut. She brought her eyes up to mine, then sighed. “I just met with Nick. They want to add another date in San Diego.”

“Okay,” I nodded, dropping my own phone to my side before crossing my arms, trying to pull the San Diego date into my head. August. Sometime in August. But I didn’t know when.

“Margot, you don’t have to say ‘yes’ to everything.”

“It’s my tour,” I reminded her, knowing full well that the decision ultimately came down to me. I hadn’t even spoken to Nick yet--and as I’d gotten older, my mom took on less and less of a managerial role. It felt better to have more separation between work and family, especially once I no longer needed her permission to lawfully engage in work.

“Margot Leanne,” my mother shook her head at me. “What has gotten into you?”

I rolled my eyes again and pulled my legs up in front of my chest. The last thing I needed with two hours before doors was my mom acting as if I needed to run everything by her.

In some ways, 2014 felt like the height of my career. I was on my 3rd headlining tour--my second sold out arena tour--I’d won four Grammys in February, and my time off was spent jetting between countries to visit my boyfriend on his sold out arena tour. I didn’t need my mother telling me to get my feet off of the coffee table.

“Nothing has gotten into me,” I said quietly, hoping she’d drop the issue and give me some space. She didn’t seem to understand how much I needed lately.

Days on tour were hot and busy and the nights were even more hectic. I spent most days doing radio interviews in cities we visited, meeting with VIPs--mainly the family or daughters of the arena executives who had been connected to a small meet and greet. Then there’d be wardrobe fittings, going over tricky dance moves, soundcheck, meet and greet with fans, and then I was lucky to get an hour or two of quiet before I had to start hair and make up.

Pair that with being on stage in front of 50,000+ people for two and a half hours and by the time I got into bed on the bus, my ears were ringing, my head was spinning, and my heart was asking me how long this would all last.

Would I make it another 10 years? Could I do another four arena tours--like my contract demanded? How many albums would the label want out of me? Was I writing this next one fast enough? Soon I’d have to start recording late at night on the bus once Nathan flew out. Write, sing, record, perform. Smile, be grateful, be cheery. Repeat.

It was hard to quiet my thoughts at night, but the hum of the highway beneath the wheels would usually lull me to sleep. And when it didn’t, I called Harry.

THEN - Day 1629

When Sinead showed up at my house a few days ago to tell me that Harry was releasing a single, I knew someone who’d be more shocked than I was.

“I can’t believe that asshole has the balls to write some song and release it,” Cara rolled her eyes and sipped at the iced coffee in front of her. I sat in the kitchen of her West Hollywood apartment, hoping the maintenance man would be over soon to fix her air conditioner.

The spring air was warm in Southern California, and Cara had nothing but shorts and a sports bra on when I showed up.

Cara and I met when we were 14--early in my music and acting career and early in her high school career. She lived down the street from me when we first moved to California, and for some reason, she was one of the only people I felt I could trust.

She wasn’t too shaken by the whole fame thing--in fact, she was more concerned with whether or not I could help her meet Channing Tatum than she was about the fact that I was signing record deals and had a popular sitcom.

“He’s not an asshole,” I said, wiping the condensation on my plastic Starbucks cup before a drip found the top of her counter. “He’s just--I don’t know. I have no clue if it’s about anything. Could be about a fucking staircase, for all I know.”

“Yeah, I just,” she shook her head, running a hand through her long hair. “I hope he doesn’t stir shit up.”

“Uh, it’s going to stir shit up. I’ve kept such a low profile no one even knows I’m here,” I motioned around her apartment--implying that there had once been a time where Cara had to come to me. I got sick of sneaking up the back stairs of her apartment complex and through the hoard of paparazzi that would follow behind my car.

“I could call him--you know, reach out and ask if it’s about you.” There was a knock on the door--hopefully the maintenance man.

“No,” I shook my head, watching as she rounded the counter to greet whoever was on the other side. “No one is reaching out to him.”

“We’ll call Niall! I’m sure Niall knows.”

“He doesn’t--I texted him the other night.”

Cara pulled the door open, revealing a man in a blue collared shirt. He looked more like a pool boy than a maintenance man--and he introduced himself as Pete.

Cara showed Pete where her central air ducts were--and soon he was headed out to the back of the building, hoping to find the problem. Cara relocated to her couch and I followed behind, bringing my iced coffee with me.

“Or Niall’s just not telling you,” she shrugged.

“He would tell me if he knew--or warn me, I guess.”

She gathered her blonde hair to one side and used the hair-tie around her wrist to hold it in place. “Y’think Harry’s pissed that Niall and you are still so close?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” I lied, letting my tongue find the green straw before sucking. “I lost compassion for him when I went to rehab and he didn’t call.”

Cara laughed, rolling her eyes and shaking her cup to make sure she’d gotten all of the coffee out--it was just ice now. “He wanted you to get help--so you do, and then he doesn’t call. Typical man.”

I was quiet at that. I didn’t know if I’d call Harry typical. So many things about him and about us felt anything but--but I knew what Cara meant. And she had a point. He wanted me to get help, to go somewhere and get better, but when I did, he disappeared.

So was that what he really wanted after all?

But I couldn’t let myself think that way--I couldn’t let the what ifs occupy my mind and I couldn’t sit around wondering how things would be different if I hadn’t left, hadn’t gone to Tennessee, if he had called.

I went. He didn’t call. I learned ways to handle the waves of panic that settled in my bones when I was left with the quiet of my bedroom and the uncertainty of a Sunday afternoon.

I wasn’t paralyzed anymore by the fear of the unknown.

“You okay?”

I let out a sigh but nodded--thankful to have someone like Cara who’d stuck around through it all. I couldn’t say the same for a lot of my friends. “I just can’t believe he’s not in my life, you know?”

She nodded, a thoughtful look on her face as she waited for me to say more. I think Cara was used to me being pretty tight lipped about things, so when she got something out of me, she wanted as much as she’d get,

Lucky for her, I was under-caffeinated, hot, and had nothing to do on a Friday morning.

“I didn’t think--I dunno,” I stopped myself.

“What?”

I looked around the room, feeling the emotion build in my chest as I spoke. “I really thought he would have called by now.”

NOW -- Day 1734

Margot peered over the counter--a wrinkle in her forehead as she read over the board one more time. It was early afternoon, so it’s not like there was a line behind us or anything, but her indecision felt eerily similar to how things had been.

“Just a chocolate milkshake,” she spoke finally, her eyes flickering up to smile at the girl who’d fill our order.

We’d dipped into a small ice cream shop on the Pacific Coast Highway--and after a few pictures with the two girls behind the counter, Margot took on the task of deciding what she wanted. Now, after ordering, she smiled up at me.

“We came here when were, like, 19--do you remember that?”

“S’why I suggested it,” I said, slipping my fingers between hers as I pulled her towards the register.

Things felt calm--or, more importantly, Margot felt calm. She didn’t seem to check over her shoulder every second for a camera or obsessively fix the sunglasses on her face to shield her eyes from whoever was watching.

She leaned against me as we waited for our order--my arms wrapped around her shoulders in an display of affection. I was surprised she was okay with it--she used to be more standoffish about that type of thing.

Once I finally got my sundae and she finally got her shake--which she beamed at with wide eyes--she sat across from me at a small table in the corner of the room.

“How are you feeling?” She asked me suddenly--her eyes on her hands as she fiddled with the straw wrapper in her fingers.

“How am I feeling?” I repeated her question, checking that I hadn’t misheard her. She nodded. “‘Bout what, lovie?”

“About all of this,” she shrugged a bit, taking a sip of her treat before bringing her eyes back up to mine.

I let out a breath of air through my nose--hoping to string together the right words so as to not alarm her. But then, when she shifted in her chair, I realized I was doing it.

I was dancing around her, fearful of saying the wrong thing, but even more fearful of her reaction. I cleared my throat--she stared at me with eyes that told me she knew I was thinking.

“I feel like I’m taking it day by day,” I said honestly, watching her closely for any sign of emotion. She nodded, a smile pulling at her lips. “What?”

She tilted her head to the side as if to shrink away from the question. I reached a hand forward to poke her arm--eliciting a giggle from her as she sipped at her shake again.

She sighed, rolling her eyes a little. “I think that’s the only way we can do this. One day at a time.”

I nodded--a sense of relief washing over me upon hearing we were on the same page. The relief, though, seemed to give me the necessary clearance to be more honest with her.

“S’hard, obviously, to be away and be working right now. But m’really happy that we’re giving this a shot.”

“Me too,” she nodded slightly, her eyes scanned over the empty room. At 1pm on Tuesday, we figured we were safe to dip inside here and make it out relatively unscathed. There was laughter from the two girls behind the counter--who seemed to sheepishly watch us enjoy the ice cream--but she didn’t seem to mind too much.

“How do you feel?” I turned the question around--always hoping for a better view of Margot’s mind. How did the wheels turn inside? How did she manage to handle all of the emotions I knew she felt without always giving it away that she was feeling them?

“I feel--” she hummed a little, thinking of the right word before picking up the straw wrapper again. “Nervous, I guess.”

“Nervous?”

She dropped the paper on the table and nodded--another sip before bringing her eyes back to me.

“About what?”

“I dunno,” she shrugged awkwardly--and I think we both knew she was lying. “I mean, people know, and they’re starting to really know,” she motioned with her chin to the girls behind the counter--who’d undoubtedly already posted their pictures to the internet. “And people haven’t always liked it.”

I hummed in agreement--there was no use in denying that people were talking and we were spending time together and there was now a mountain of evidence that we were, in fact, back together. Whether or not either of us had confirmed it publicly--what did it matter? Pictures of me leaving her house--pictures of us out to dinner, in the car, my arm around her shoulders walking into an office building in Encino where we saw Hillary--seemed to solidify the thought in everyone’s head.

The look on her face made me concerned, though. “Do you not want them to know?”

“No--I don’t care--it’s the truth, I just--” she paused again, scrunching her lips as she seemed to let her mouth catch up with her brain. “I’m trying really hard to talk more. And tell you how I feel and be honest and all of that. But it’s hard and scary--especially when you’re traveling so much for work and when the actual tour starts in the fall. S’bad timing.”

I laughed a little at that--nothing about our relationship seemed to have good timing. She kept her eyes on her hands--the wheels must have been turning, she started speaking again and the words seemed to come out a quicker pace. “And I’m afraid that everyone in your life--your friends and family and the fans--they’re probably not too happy with me.”

“It’s no one’s business,” I said simply. “My friends and family are fine--my life is my life and we all know that my mum and sister want nothing more than for us to just have a baby already.”

She laughed, somewhat reassured as she sipped at her milkshake. “And Niall practically cried tears of joy when we FaceTimed him together that night.”

I laughed, taking another bite of ice cream in front of me. She was quiet for a moment--the air around us settling before she spoke.

“I think it’s going to be an album.”

An album? I felt my eyebrows lift in surprise--the ice cream in front of me was sure to melt now. “The songs?”

She nodded. After our conversation at Nathan’s a few days ago, we hadn’t spoken of it much. I didn’t want to pry and she likely didn’t want to give away too much in the early stages.

“Oh.”

Another nod.

“How’s it going?” I asked slowly, the words came out of my mouth sounding manufactured and awkward.

“Good,” she said simply. “S’nice to be back in the studio and being creative and whatnot. I really like the way the songs are shaping out.”

“Do I get to hear them ever? Or I’ve got to wait like the rest of the world?”

She laughed at this, her lips pulling up into a smile that made my stomach warm with butterflies. “Who knows. I don’t even know if we’ll do a traditional release.”

“What do you mean?”

Her shoulders rose and fell, she picked up the milkshake and tilted it to sip the last of the ice cream inside. “We might not announce it until, like, it’s just released.”

“No promo?” My forehead wrinkled in confusion. It didn’t sound like something Nick would go for--or the label for that matter. But then again, when you’re Margot Jones, they let you make your own rules.

“Might just release it on apple music, spotify, other streaming platforms. This--to me--is less about money and awards and making waves.”

I nodded, urging her to continue. I spooned some ice cream into my mouth.

“It’s more about just putting it out there. I’ve been gone. You were gone from my life. A lot happened. Here’s how I felt.”

Her words, though they made sense, sent a bit of a chill down my spine. I guess I couldn’t blame her for wanting to tell her side of things. I mean--how could I? How could I be upset that Margot Jones--of all people--had a captive audience that was begging to hear her take on things?

I guess I couldn’t--even if I was nervous for what her side entailed. So instead of protesting, I swallowed my pride and reached across the table to hold her hand. “M’proud of you, lovie. I want you to tell your side.”

NOW -- Day 1735

Harry heading to the East Coast for more promo left a quiet wake in the living room of my house. Sinead, who had my laptop set up on the coffee table between us, leaned forward to press play once I settled into my spot on the cushion.

I’d known about the documentary--Harry had mentioned it in passing at Geoffrey’s the first time I saw him. For some reason, though, I pushed it out of my mind until he mentioned it again in front of Sinead. As soon as he left the room, she insisted--with wide eyes--that we watch it one night with a bottle of wine.

I wasn’t afraid, exactly. It’s not like I thought he was going to bad mouth me on camera or do anything purposeful to make me look bad--the songs did enough of that on their own. I think he knew that.

So when the music started to play and he appeared on the screen, Sinead looked over to me and offered a smile. I think she knew how sad I was.

It was strange to be watching something that offered a glimpse into his time without me. I mean--that’s what it was, right? Here’s a documentary of what I did to get over her.

It felt, even more now, like he was offering people a piece of our story and showing them how bad things were. He cut his hair, he stayed in a house on a hill where no one knew his name. I was left with a strange flavor of guilt in my mouth that only slightly disappeared with each sip of chianti.

He drank--like he’d mentioned--to forget about the reality of the world off of the island. And when that didn’t work, he drank more.

I tried to think of the time frame--where was I when he was there? What was I doing? The truth is that I was likely in my bedroom at my mom’s house--or Amanda’s office--hoping to avoid those exact circulating questions about where I was and what I was doing. I couldn’t even run from myself.

“I can’t believe he even wrote this song,” Sinead said quietly, her eyes drifting to mine as the sun set outside. “About sleeping with someone else in an attempt to move on.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” I shrugged--and I meant it. I could tell he wasn’t himself. I could tell he was sad and lonely and confused, slowing coming out of his funk as time wore on and the number days between now and New York climbed. But I still wished that instead of finding someone else to spend the night with, he just picked up the phone.

I don’t think I’d ever not wish for that.

NOW -- Day 1742

I don’t think Margot cared that she wasn’t here. She said she wasn’t ready to be more public and she said she’d rather support me from the sidelines--or, really, from a safe distance in L.A. I’d been briefed by my team on ways to respond. How to answer questions that felt manageable-- or how to avoid the ones that didn’t.

I knew the game and I knew how to keep a steady smile throughout all of it. I was hoping, maybe unrealistically, that no one would put me on the spot. I hoped that there were better things to talk about than whether or not my car in her driveway meant something. I was hoping, truthfully, for an easy night of work and drinks and watching the movie and just getting on with it.

But life was never that easy.

The first question wasn’t too loaded. “How’s Margot--you’ve been spending time with her?”

She’s good. She’s great. We’re enjoying each other’s company.

Fine enough. I could answer that. She knew I’d get asked and she knew I wasn’t going to go out of my way to deny anything. But I also promised I wouldn’t give too much away.

My real concern, I guess, was saying the right thing. After a few years in the business, I felt like I could talk my way out of just about anything, but having Margot involved felt different. I didn’t want to say anything she wouldn’t like--I didn’t want to say anything that made it sound like we weren’t together.

I guess, realistically, a part of me wanted to be honest. And not in the sense that I would tell an interviewer everything there was to know about our relationship, but more so that if someone called her my girlfriend, I didn’t have to backtrack and try to minimize our relationship.

I knew that Margot didn’t like the way the media portrayed me--I mean, I couldn’t say that I always loved it either. But it felt safer to just admit we were together and give Margot some sort of stability and reassurance that I wasn’t going anywhere.

She’d yet to bring up the girl from Jamaica again but I knew it was only a matter of time. I could see it in her eyes when she stared at me in bed--my head on the pillow beside hers only minutes before she’d turn the light out.

I knew she was holding it in and I knew that--finally--she was creating music to let some of that out. I only hoped that it did the trick to release some of the tension and pressure between us.

A woman with a big smile in a blue dress seemed to catch my gaze as I made my way down the line of media. She asked about the movie and moving on from the band, and just when I thought she was finished, she spoke again. “Margot Jones--are things back on? It’s pretty clear through your album that you had a lot to say to her, or about her, really,” her voice was inquisitive but pointed, almost as if she knew exactly how I’d answer.

“Uh, y’know, Margot is a great girl and she’s always been an important part of my life, so s’nice to get to hang out with her again. Thanks for coming,” I said to the woman, ready to move my feet to walk away, but she spoke so quickly I couldn’t help but hear her follow up.

“Did you hear that she had a lover in Tennessee? Is his story true?”

I tried to not let the confusion watch over my face in public--that was one of the first things I’d learned. Our publicist had told us early on that the worst thing you could do was let them know you were shocked. Something about fuel on the fire, making more news, the like.

I tried to blink a few times as the security guard behind me pushed me forward, clearly giving me an excuse to not answer and move on through the line of people who were dying to ask me stupid questions.

A lover in Tennessee? Is his story true?

I had to push it out of my mind to get through the rest of the small talk--the questions, the fans, the people who’d been invited to the premiere. A swirling in my head in the London heat made it hard to focus, but once I was able to dip inside the air conditioned loo in the theatre, I pulled out my phone.

A quick google search would likely put my heart to ease. Margot Jones Tennessee lover.

What a strange thing to type--I waited for the webpage to load.

I blinked twice again, trying to make sense of the pictures at the top of the page--pictures of Margot from various events or magazines--and beneath them, small black words seemed to elicit a thundering heartbeat that suddenly brought a pounding to my ears.

Tennessee rehab employee breaks silence: I dated Margot Jones!

#udos #Harry Styles #Harry Styles Fan Fiction #harry styles fanfiction #Harry Styles fan fic #harry styles fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #one direction fic #one direction fiction #harry styles imagines #harry styles blurbs #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #harry styles story #harry styles hetfic #harry styles smut

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lovemesomesurveys · 5 years

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when’s the last time you ate a pickle? It’s been a few years since I’ve actually eaten one, but I like to have one on the side sometimes with my sandwich cause I like to squeeze out the juice and dip my sandwich in it. It’s quite delicious. what’s that you’re listening to? An ASMR video. was the last thing you drank a coke or pepsi product? Nope. how many times is your cartilage pierced in your ears? I only have my earlobes pierced. what are your pets names? Princess Leia.

do you need to take a smoke break right now? I don’t smoke. have you ever had a pet bird? Nope. honestly, do you think that you’re going to be an overprotective parent? I don’t plan on being a parent at all. what was the last kind of chips you ate? Probably Doritos. It’s been awhile. tell me the birthdates of everyone in your top friends. would you rather have ice cream, freeze pops, or popsicles in the summer? I like freeze pops, or Otter Pops as I call ‘em. It’s been a few years since I’ve had those or any ice cream, though. what kind of relationship do you have with the last person you kissed? We’re not on bad terms or anything, but we’re not friends either. We drifted apart. We do have each other on Facebook and Instagram, though. I’ll “like” some of the things he posts sometimes and he’ll like some of the things I post sometimes, but that’s the extent of it now. have you ever told a stranger that their barn door was open? No. what color are your toenails right now? They’re not. when was the last time you clipped your nails? I pick/clip at my nails and the skin around them quite often. Like, a few times throughout the day. I don’t know what’s left to pick/clip at, but I do it a lot. :/ does your mouse have a wheel to scroll with? I have a track pad that’s built into the laptop. what is your biggest accomplishment in life? Blah. click on a myspace bulletin and scroll to the main bottom - what’s it say? what is one thing that you really wish you could understand, but don’t? Myself, really. I don’t know why I can’t get it together. Why I put off certain things. Why I don’t take care of myself very well. The list goes on. what were your grades on the last report card you recieved? I got all As my last semester. what temperature do you like to keep your room at? I don’t know the temp, but I like to keep it cool. I’ve had 3 fans going all summer and even now as well because it’s still warm here. It’s starting to cool down and it feels nice at night and in the morning, but it’s still warm during the day. Still need my fans all day and we’re getting into mid October. Sigh. what’s your favorite department in lowes? I don’t go to Lowes often. Actually, last December was the first time in I don’t even know how long. what is the brightest object you can see by just looking around the room? My lamp is bright. have you ever been tutored or tutored someone yourself? I’ve been tutored. would you rather wear necklaces, bracelets, rings, or earrings? Bracelets. pretty, bright, fake jewelry or boring, plain, real jewelry? I used to be really into accessories and I’d wear a lot of stuff from Claire’s and Hot Topic. I liked to matching my accessories with my outfits. It was cute, but inexpensive stuff so I was able to get a lot of it. Of course, real jewelry is beautiful and I like that as well. I have some plain piece and some with stones. I don’t wear jewelry anymore for some reason, though. Well, except for recently when I started wearing beaded bracelets. I don’t know why I stopped. where did you recieve your last receipt from? Walmart. what was the last thing you said outloud (singing doesn’t count)? “It’s warm in here.” is everything you have on actually yours? Yes. when was the last time you wore a band-aid and why? A few weeks ago cause I got a cut on one of my fingers. do you like ketchup or mustard better with your corn dogs? I mix them together. do you ever just randomly drive around when you’re upset about something? I don’t drive. you look at the clock and it’s 4:44 PM, what do you do? Uh, nothing? What’s significant about that time? a trip to california, the bahamas, new york, wisconsin, utah, or canada? I’d love to visit the Bahamas, New York, and Canada. what would you do if you discovered that you had a 7 year old kid? Well that’s impossible, so. I’m pretty sure I would know if I did, though. moon sand or play doh? Playdoh. what was the last act of creativity you displayed? I made a few beaded bracelets recently. I don’t think that’s all that creative; though, but *shrug* do you like the way your hair looks right now? Ugh, no. do you ever find yourself just writing/typing out your feelings? That’s exactly what I do in these surveys. if so, does that make you feel better? It’s nice to have a place I can just ramble and vent. who’s house were you at last, besides your own? My aunt’s. any big plans for this summer? Summer is overrrrrrr. :D are you missing school yet? I don’t miss it. play guitar, drums, keytar, xbox, sims, sing, or take a dance class? Play The Sims, ha. what’s your favorite department in wal-mart? Apart from the food, I like looking at the decorations during Halloween and Christmastime. I used to like looking in the makeup department a lot, but I don’t wear makeup much anymore. have/would you ever run track? No. do you honestly believe that someone will waste their time reading this? Some people like reading other people’s survey answers. I do. do you like your teeth? No. the last male that you texted just confessed his undying love for you do you still speak to him? Uh, that’s my younger brother... are you in a hurry to grow up? I was never in a hurry to grow up. I wasn’t the kid who couldn’t wait to be an adult. Even at 30 I’m still not ready, but time keeps going whether you’re ready or not. who was the last person you were in a vehicle with other than family? I haven’t been in a car with anyone other than my family in years. does piano music tend to calm you down? I don’t use that as a way to calm down, but I suppose it probably would help at least a little. It is nice to listen to. do a 180, then turn back around and tell me what you saw. Nah. do you actually pay attention to the lyrics in a song before you add it? Sometimes, but usually it’s just if I like how it sounds. Then I’ll listen to it closer. how many people can you think of that you know named christopher? One. how far away are the people you miss most? 3 of them passed away. I don’t know where the other is. what’s something you need to get done soon? I’ve been needing to do a lot of things for a long time. what is the most repulsing smell you can ever recalling catching a whiff of? Public restrooms can smell pretty rank sometimes. :X your best friend tells you they’re moving. believe it or think it’s a joke? Uh, I’d sure hope my mom would be joking if she said that. I’d be like, “So, we’re moving?” who’s pool did you last swim in? It was a friend’s boyfriend’s pool. is your best friend awake right now? Yes. are any of your friends or family members out of town right now? Not anyone in my immediate family. I don’t know where every single person in my extended family is, I have a large family. your grandparents just died in a plane crash, what are you doing? I’d be devastated to say the least. what website did you last visit (and no, myspace doesn’t count on this one) Well that’s good cause it wasn’t Myspace. Haven’t been there in over 10 years. Anyway, apart from this one it was Google. if i came to your house, could i find any kind of chocolate? There’s brownies. There may be chocolate ice cream bars, too. do your parents allow smoking in your house? Nope. does everyone in your top friends really deserve to be in that place? what size bed do you have? Full. would you rather frolic through a field of daisies, sunflowers, or daffodils? “Tiptoe through the tulips...” lol. do you remember the last time that you colored a picture and what did you draw? I don’t draw, but I like color. I last colored something earlier this year. last person you left a voicemail for? I don’t like voicemails. what is the last thing you charged? My phone. who was the last person to upload a picture with you in it? My aunt. have you ever held a snake? Nooooooooooo. what did you last use tape for? I don’t remember. what was your score last time you bowled? I don’t remember. The last time I went bowling was several years ago. do you remember your cubby hole number from kindergarten? No. Actually, I’m not completely sure they even had numbers... I feel like they had our names. Awwww that made me so nostalgic and kinda sad. I miss those days. :( do you like peas? No. is your current status update and mood accurate on what you’re doing? I haven’t posted a status on Facebook in a long time. describe to me the nearest stuffed animal to you. There’s 3 on my bed: a small dog squishmallow, which is a super soft and squishy stuffed animal, a big giraffe squishmallow, and a regular giraffe stuffed animal. what is the last cd that you listened to in a vehicle? I don’t remember, it’s been years. do you ever wear sleep masks when you sleep or shower caps when you shower? No. I kinda want to get a cooling eye mask, though. what would you like to drink right now? I’m good with my Starbucks Doubleshot. zebrah print, cheetah print, cow print, polka dots, or stripes? Polka dots or stripes. could you tell me exactly what pets everyone in your tops friends have? when is the last time you ate pudding or yogurt? Several years ago, not a big fan of either one. do you like raisins? Yeah. do you tend to drink lemonade often? Nope. It’s been years since I’ve had lemonade. would you rather go to a beach, and amusement park, or a water park? Beach or Disneyland/World if I got to pick the amusement park.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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