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spilledinkstories · 4 years

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(writing prompt: you board an elevator of strangers and someone says “thank you all for coming”— I just kind of ran with this one, didn’t take it too seriously... :P )

“So I bet you are wondering why I’ve asked you here,” said the woman in the red overcoat.

I had been planning this specific trip to my university’s library for about two weeks now. I had placed a hold on a rare copy of a book you could only read in-house, and I had been notified of the date of my viewing. It was in a temperature-controlled basement room, and to be honest, I had been feeling pretty great about the whole experience. Like this made me a Real Scholar, or something.

It was a book on the archeological findings at a famous site in China. I was writing a paper on how a report provided by women versus men often offered different focal points of the ideas of the ancient society, or different perspectives on that society all together. For example, you might get a bigger focus in a report on home life rather than warfare. That was the department’s hope, anyway. This was of course a research question posed by the department, and I had been wondering what on earth could be so different in two reports filed on the finding of a hairbrush, but anyway. The temperature-controlled room sounded cool, and I was all about that academic aesthetic. I kind of felt like it was part of some Indiana Jones movie, doing research of relics and ancient peoples, being involved in the ongoing discourse around history, the relationship between a person digging up some ancient artifact in a remote land, and then tourists paying pocket change to stare at it for five seconds.

So, you can imagine my surprise when, crammed on an old elevator with several other people in various states of exhaustion, digging for gum in my overflowing backpack to eradicate the taste of crappy cafeteria coffee on my breath, the woman spoke.

No one said anything for a couple seconds.

“Really, no one is curious?” She pressed.

“We got your memo, ma’am,” said one of the young men in a baggy sweatshirt.

“Didn’t think to question it,” said another.

“Headquarters told me yesterday, I flew out immediately,” said a girl in a voice simply dripping with a thirst to prove herself. It’s worth mentioning that we were six Americans standing in an elevator in London, England.

“Good,” said the woman in the red coat.

“Why a library,” whined the first boy. “I thought joining up meant a life of excitement, not…books.”

I had to hide my grin, not wanting to be caught. I don’t know if they knew I didn’t know what was happening, but I’ll tell you: I didn’t. I was intrigued though, and figured it wouldn’t hurt to pretend I was one of them for a little while.

“Well, I assume you all brought your paperwork with you, so we won’t waste any time getting started. I’ve booked the main room down here for one hour, so let’s be sharp, got it?” The woman in red spoke with an authority that was positively presidential. We fell in line like soldiers as the elevator doors creaked open, and she marched down a carpeted hall to what looked like a conference room.

I was beginning to question my new plan, realizing I’d miss my viewing of the book if I stayed too long with these strangers, when someone spoke in my ear. “I haven’t seen you before, but it’s nice to have another girl on the team. Wanna sit next to me?”

“Okay,” I whispered back.

“I’m Anna,” she said, smiling.

“Ivy,” I whispered back.

“Sit,” said the woman in the red coat, as we entered the conference room. She stood at the front and fired up her laptop, and had it projecting onto the screen in a couple of seconds. Images of old manuscripts and letters filled the screen, all too faint to read properly.

“So, I want you to go around the room really quickly, tell me your names, and your departments,” she commanded, turning quickly to the young man sitting to her left.

“Brandon, fact checking,” he said.

“Adam, restoration,” said the one who had whined that it was a library job.

“Jake, archeology.” This one shocked me, since he was dressed like a stoner that thought pop music would be the death of culture but was secretly in love with Taylor Swift. Maybe they were all disguised look like students, to blend on campus or something…

I gulped. I was sweating now, the skin behind my knees prickling inside my tights. Clearly this was some official thing – the power suit the boss lady had been hiding under her red coat was proof of that enough. The skater skirt I had on was okay, and my baggy green knit sweater hid the Captain America t-shirt underneath, and my combat boots hid my Dr. Who socks…but I still felt massively out of place. The space buns hairstyle really was the cherry on top. The epitome of e-girl wannabe, nerdy art student, who’d invited herself to this meeting. I gulped again. “Ivy, sociology,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t shake.

“Anna, state department,” the other girl said directly after I’d spoken. She looked polished too, like an intern at a high end tech company or something. Wait. Did she say state department?

“Great, and I’m Dr. Grayson, here on behalf of, well, a few people. Important people. Okay. Let’s get started. The short version is that the manuscripts you see on this screen are actually fakes, and we have to prove it. The long version is that they were pulled from a recent dig at a site said to house artifacts from the Byzantine empire, and they are to be displayed at the British Museum next month. It’s a political scheme. In essence, the scientists pushing these documents want to present them to the public as proof that an archaic and brutal form of biochemical warfare was commonly used before, in order to try to naturalize it into the minds of civilians, in hopes that if it’s used later they won’t deem it a warcrime that came out of nowhere.” With that, Dr. Grayson began handing out papers around the table, giving us a moment to digest.

Um.

What the hell had I walked into? I needed to go. I had to get out of there. But how was I supposed to leave without them knowing I didn’t belong? On the other hand, how was I supposed to sit here and listen to the rest of this and then try to walk away, having heard all their plans? Either way I felt like I was done for. I could feel the sweat prickling my armpits and the backs of my knees, and my toes felt slick inside my shoes. My stomach felt acidic, and I could feel it churning and roiling. I was sure Jake and Anna on either side of me could hear my heart palpitating and my breath coming in short, uneven rasps.

“Your handouts outline the task ahead of us. Of course the lawyers are already trying to handle the scientists putting this research forward as legitimate, so we’re not really going to focus on the publicity angle ourselves. Our focus is to prove that this document is a fake. We’re going to analyze it, and we’ll have to dig up some research on warfare of the time, but we’ll also be dispatching our own team to the dig site. We want to see what other artifacts or things they supposedly dug up there. Anything we can do to discredit this.”

“Right, so Brandon and I can team up, if you want,” Adam said.

“I’d hoped so. You two can work on trying to disprove the authenticity of these artifacts. They’re here actually, in the other room. Being cared for. The staff here put them in the maps room.”

Holy crap…what had I walked into. I had known choosing to go to university in London would be exiting - I’d always loved British culture, but I thought I’d be reading Shakespeare and arguing essays from Ophelia’s perspective…stuff like that. Saying that Lady Macbeth could be construed as a hero, given women’s issues of the times. Not…this.

“So, that leaves Jake, Anna, and Ivy,” Dr. Grayson was saying, “perfect. We’ll get on the jet, and we should be at the dig in about three hours. You’ll be fitted with the proper tools, of course.”

Oh my god. Oh my god. Why had I followed them off that elevator?

An hour later I was seated between Jake and Anna on a very small airplane, taking off from Heathrow.

“So, state department, huh? Couldn’t stand to let actual scientists get some work done without a babysitter?” Jake tossed this scornfully at Anna, ignoring me who was awkwardly slumped in my seat and wishing I didn’t exist.

“Unsupervised scientists are exactly what created this mess, dumbo.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you called me that. Dumbo. Ouch. How am I going to be able to focus on my work, with a wound so deep?”

“Ugh,” Anna rolled her eyes, and turned to look out her window. And by god, I wish she hadn’t, because Jake turned to me instead.

“Cute hair, by the way. You blended in really well. Sociology, you said? What’s your area?” I gulped, my throat feeling like it was made of carpet. I was an introvert to begin with, so honest conversation with strangers posed enough of a challenge. But this was another beast entirely.

“Im interested in women’s suffrage,” I squeaked.

“Of course you are. No, I didn’t mean your disguise,” he said with a laugh. He must have mistaken my anxiety for anger, because he followed with “I mean, we’re all into women’s rights. Don’t get me wrong. I just meant…like…what’s your speciality, like, why’d you get put on this specific case?”

I wracked my brains so hard I wondered if it was possible to inflict a concussion that way.

“I was in the middle of conducting research on how different teams of anthropologists or archeologists can influence the public image of ancient societies, based on publication and subsequent publicity.”

“Oh, so you’re from the office of public affairs, basically,” he said in a bored voice.

“Have you ever been to a dig before?” Anna asked, sounding politely interested. I simply shook my head.

“Okay, no worries, Jake and I can handle the grunt work, and you can focus on your write-up. I’m sure you’ve got a tight deadline for this.” I smiled appreciatively, blown away that my answer had satisfied them and terrified of making things worse.

“Wait, I thought Grayson said we weren’t covering the publicity, that they had lawyers on it,” Jake said.

“It’s more academics,” I said vaguely, and they nodded as though this meant something significant.

Thank the lord we spent the rest of the flight in relative silence, reading through the documents Grayson had handed out. They really just outlined procedures for the dig site, and our capacity there, but Anna had assured me I could just linger to a side with a laptop if I wanted.

We touched down in Genoa around three in the afternoon.

At least if it was my last day as a free citizen on this earth, I could say I’d gone to Italy with a frankly quite attractive scientist boy. Not a bad last day, as these things go. With mountains on one side and the sea on the other, it was absolutely breathtaking. If I hadn’t been in the middle of an hours-long panic attack, I think it would have been the best day of my life.

Off the plane, we got into an SUV right there on the tarmac, and as I watched the scenery slip from urban to rural I wondered what had inspired these fake scientists or whatever to even want to do this. What kind of biochemical warfare were they suggesting? Dr. Grayson hadn’t said, and none of the paperwork had said it either. I suppose the others back in London would decode it from the manuscripts, if that’s what they were doing, but…

“So you’re here to report on us, Anna tells me. I was wondering who you were,” Grayson spoke in a quiet voice from the front seat. I said nothing, feeling like my throat was going to swell shut in panic. Was I busted? Would they tie rocks to my feet and toss me out to sea?

“I don’t blame you for not wanting to speak up until we were on our way. The bureaucrats never want the researchers involved, but then they get mad when the researchers say something they don’t like, so what’s the point? You may as well be here and get the proper intel.” She swivelled in the front seat to face me. “Don’t make me regret it, got it?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said in what I hoped was a winning voice. I saw a smirk tugging at the corners of Jake’s mouth, and tried to soothe the raging panic in my head and stomach.

The dig site was honestly kind of disappointing. I had built it up in my head to look like a whole government facility built on a crater in the ground, with tents, scaffolding, desks, the works. But nope. This was just a crater in the ground, with a couple of ropes spanning the width of it here and there, I guess to mark the split between sections or something. That, and a couple of stools and ladders, and it was your run-of-the-mill pit.

“You’ll want this. Don’t forget the back of the neck,” Jake said, handing me a tube of sunscreen.

“Oh, thanks,” I said, smirking as I took a bit and passed it on to Anna, who began vigorously rubbing some into her face and arms.

“Tools are in the trunk,” Grayson said, “I’ll be in the car as I have to update the Upstairs. Private phone call, you get it. Get to work.” Anna sprung into action. It was like she was racing Jake to get the tools and pick a spot first, wanting to beat him at every turn.

“You’re not even a real archeologist,” he grumbled, leaving my side to gather his equipment.

“Tell that to the state department,” she called, and he looked pissed that she’d heard.

“Which state, even?” He asked.

“Virginia.”

“CIA then?”

“Not necessarily.”

I said nothing, letting them bicker. I went to the trunk and peered in, seeing a stack of coveralls. I picked on up to inspect it, thinking it might be nice to cover up my outfit that was feeling less and less professional by the second.

“Good thinking,” Anna said, grabbing a pair herself. All suited up, she pulled a laptop out of a bag and passed it to me.

“Here ya go, I guess you didn’t get a chance to bring yours.”

“Is there internet here?” I asked.

“Yep, car acts as a router. High tech,” she said. I took the computer from her silently.

The three of us trudged back to the pit, where the other two lost no time hopping in and surveying their turf.

“So,” I said awkwardly, “we’re supposed to see if we can find any other manuscripts? Or anything suggesting biochemical warfare?”

“Partly, yeah. I’m also going to be inspecting the dig site itself to try to disprove that they found any paper substances. Particles left behind, impressions in the ground, you know.” Jake was bobbing his head, hands on his hip, looking like my dad about to mow the lawn on Sunday morning.

“You can do that?” I asked. He laughed, seeming to think I was being facetious. I wasn’t. I was just clueless, but I guess I’m glad he didn’t see it.

“I’ll just watch you both work for a while, and then I’ll start my write-up. I need to observe to figure out my angle.” I tried to muster as much authority in my voice as possible, as though I’d done this kind of thing before.

“Yeah, okay,” Anna said absently. A couple of minutes later and some awkward waiting with my hands in my pockets, laptop waiting on a stool, the others had picked work spots and gotten to it.

The silence was broken only by the sound of shifting dirt, and the occasional ruffle or grunt from one of them. Subtle glances back to the car suggested that Grayson may not be joining us in the pit at all, which was a relief. I watched as Jake poked and prodded at the ground, a look of deep concentration on his face, compared to Anna’s digging with all the fervour of a child told to find treasure in a sandbox.

There was nothing for it. I went over to the stool, opened the laptop, and started typing. I wrote of the bureaucratic nature of science, as Grayson had put it in the car, and how publication could really be a business. How people had to fight to get their ideas heard. How certain things were deemed more or less important to the government for example, versus the public sphere.

Basically, I sat in coveralls, on a stool in a pit in Genoa, Italy, and wrote my term paper.

I tried to spin it so that the finding of a hairbrush, or a kitchen tool, would be treated very differently than the finding of a weapon, and whether or not it was a man or woman who discovered it really made no difference. Both men and women work in bureaucratic systems and in academics in today’s world, and both have access to controlling information. I wrote something like that, hoping if Grayson checked what I’d been working on, she’d see it as a government report on academia, since that was my only thread of legitimacy to work with where these strangers were concerned. After I finished I quickly emailed it to myself, hoping no-one would notice, and then I could just email my professor saying I couldn’t see the book I was supposed to but I’d written a paper for the deadline anyway.

By the time I’d finished my write up it was nearing six o’clock. Jake pulled up a stool next to me, and braced his forearms on his knees.

“I can’t see any evidence of a real dig here. I don’t get it,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I said slowly, closing the laptop, having quadruple checked that I’d sent the work to my school email and saved it.

“I mean there wasn’t a dig here. This isn’t a real archeological site.”

“So where did the fake manuscripts come from then?” I asked, wondering how on earth he could tell.

“I don’t know. I also don’t know why Grayson wouldn’t have known that before we got out here.”

“Well, someone had to be the first to check,” I offered, blushing a little for fear this was a stupid comment. He looked at me, real suspicion entering his eyes for the first time.

“There are scientists in Italy. We didn’t need to fly out here to check it. Something’s up.” In the setting sun, the green flecks in his brown eyes caught the light, and I realized he was younger than I had originally thought. He couldn’t have been out of school that long.

“Maybe Grayson is in on it?” But before Jake could reply to this, Anna joined us in our little corner of the pit.

“Anyone have any water?” Jake passed her some, and she gulped it down before saying, “I’ve been digging for almost three hours and haven’t found a single thing.”

I felt the familiar surges of panic making their way through my veins, making my ears ring and my head feel stuffy, and making the other two feel oddly distant.

“Maybe the site has already been cleared out?” I offered, my voice squeaky. Anna passed me the water bottle, mistaking my rasp for thirst.

“How’s it going down here?” The three of us froze, staring at each other. Grayson had gotten out of the car, and hopped into the pit, the heels of her shoes sinking an inch or two in the loose dirt. She shuffled over to us, maintaining her look of authority.

“Yeah, good,” Jake said, “I think I’ve seen all I need to for a first look.”

“You’re only getting one look,” she drawled.

“I haven’t found any other artifacts,” Anna said, “I think whoever was here before cleared everything out.”

“And where would they have put it?” Grayson demanded. Anna fell silent, taken aback.

“I don’t think anyone really was here before. I think this is a fabricated dig site.” While I didn’t know Jake very well, there was no mistaking the challenge in his voice. Grayson’s eyes narrowed a little, and she took a couple steps closer to where Jake was seated beside me, so she could tower over him.

“And what are you suggesting, exactly, Jake?”

“When I’m working I go by Dr. Miller. I’m suggesting that they gave you a fake location to send you on a goose chase, or that perhaps those manuscripts don’t exist at all.”

“Then what would you suggest is in the maps room back in London?” She said dangerously.

“I couldn’t tell you, seeing as I never saw them in person.” A grin flickered on Grayson’s face. I caught Anna’s eye from where she was standing behind Grayson, and read the worry as a pretty bad sign.

“Who would want to send me on a wild goose chase?”

“You’re the government official, not me. Who exactly do you work for, Dr. Grayson? And what are you a doctor of, exactly?”

“Political science, it’s just a title. I work for the secretary of defence.” At this, Jake laughed in her face.

“The U.S. government is worried about some old scroll they dug up in the mountains that suggests some ancient civilization knew how to…what? Poison each other? This is a joke, right?” Jake stood up and strolled away from the group, shaking his head.

“Not poison,” she said quietly.

“Then what?” I asked, immediately realizing I’d broken my vow to myself to keep my stupid gob shut.

“Classified,” she said with an arched brow.

“So again, why fake the site?” Anna asked.

“The scientists who produced the documents could have said it was here to buy time until the exhibition,” I offered, since Grayson was still staring at me. She flicked an eyebrow up again, and finally broke her stare to turn her eyes on Jake.

“Are any of you wearing microphones?” She asked.

“No,” we all said unanimously. She exhaled wearily, rubbing a hand over her tired eyes.

“Alright. What I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this pit. The scrolls outline a way of spreading a virus that was apparently employed all the way back then. Given the recent pandemic all over the world, that’s not the kind of thing the public needs to be seeing. But these scientists are convinced it needs to go public. You can see how that would strike fear into the hearts of everyone. They’d all be convinced they were the recent victims of a large-scale government attack.”

“Who are these scientists? Archeologists, whoever?” Anna said, disgust colouring her words.

“We’re wasting time here, we can talk about this on the jet back to London. I want to see those manuscripts,” Jake said, and he strode to the edge of the pit and hauled himself out. I was shocked that Grayson didn’t counter his authority, and instead followed him.

I slept most of the plane ride back to London. I’d listened to them bicker and swap theories while we ate our way through a couple of pizzas that were waiting for us on the tarmac, but they’d mostly talked in circles. The more they talked, the less Grayson really seemed to know, and Jake kept saying he needed to see these artifacts.

With the time change back, it was about nine when we landed, and ten pm when we reached the university. I felt better, having slept a bit, but my head was still pounding with exhaustion from the events of the day.

We loaded ourselves back into the same elevator in the university library, and headed one level down. Instead of going to the conference room we headed down another hallway, where the map room was tucked away.

“They said they were still here,” Grayson said, leading us. She opened the door, and I would have been impressed by the collection of old maps had I not flown to the northern coast of Italy and back that afternoon.

“Where are they?” Jake asked harshly.

“I don’t know,” Grayson admitted.

“Dr. Grayson, have you worked with either Brandon or Adam previously?” Anna asked.

“No, I haven’t. I haven’t worked with any of you before.”

“Do you know who they work for?” Anna pressed.

“No.”

“They just said fact checking and restoration. That could be government, a university,” Anna was trailing off.

“A museum, even,” Jake offered.

“I mean now that I think of it, you didn’t check any of our credentials,” Anna said, glaring at Grayson.

“Hang on a minute, I knew five people were supposed to be joining me in the map room. I don’t appreciate your suggestion that I’m incompetent. They’re probably out grabbing coffee.”

“But how do we know they weren’t just two random guys on the elevator?” Anna said, wringing her hands. I was beginning to think she was scared that her own butt was on the line here, but mine was too so…relatable.

“Oh, you’re back, perfect,” said a voice as the door opened, and Brandon and Adam walked in. The room was cramped with all of us standing in there.

“From what we can tell, they’re real,” Adam said.

“They can’t be, the dig site seemed fake,” Jake said. “Let me see it.”

“I mean, obviously more rigorous testing has to be done than what we can do in a day, but it seems pretty authentic to me,” Brandon was saying as he led Jake over to where they’d been examining a very old, gross looking scroll of paper.

“Who do you two work for?” Grayson asked them, and they looked at her in shock.

“I work for the British Museum, in the restoration department,” Adam said a little uncertainly.

“I work for the university here, but I was hired as a consultant by the government,” Brandon said a little pompously.

“And who do you work for?” Grayson said, turning on me.

My throat burned. My eyes stung. I felt my head swimming, my palms prickling and my knees shaking. My limbs felt weirdly weightless. They were all staring at me now, and I knew there was nothing for it.

“It’s like Anna said…I was just a stranger on the elevator. I followed you guys to the conference room earlier half as a joke, and then I got too scared to leave cause I thought I’d get in trouble,” it was all just tumbling out of me, and I didn’t care that tears were tracking down my face. “I should never have gotten on the plane, I should have never even followed you down the hall off of the elevator. I was on my way to look at an old book for a sociology paper I’m supposed to submit this weekend.”

To my absolute shock, Jake started to laugh. Not just a chuckle, he really laughed. Despite myself, I laughed a little too.

“I really was supposed to write a paper on different perspectives on the publications in the archeology and anthropology world, but this took it to a whole new level. I did a write up at the dig site and emailed it to myself to submit for class, but I can delete it if you want.” I looked at Grayson, fear spiking in my gut again.

“I’ll read it first, but you clearly know nothing so I’m sure it’s harmless,” she said with an eye roll. why had I laughed? Surely ‘apologetic’ and terrified was what I should be going for, not acting like I was gloating.

“Are you gonna lock me up?” I squeaked, fresh hot tears running into my mouth and off my chin.

“What for? So you came to Italy, big deal. If Jake is right and the site is fake, you basically flew with us to see a random hole in the ground. We’ll draft up a non-disclosure agreement, track your phone for a few days, keep an eye on you…to be honest, with something like this, it doesn’t really matter that one little girl knows.” I was a bit offended at being called a little girl, but I took her point. Even if I posted about today all over my social medias, I would be discounted pretty quickly by the public, especially since I had no photos to back it up. Kinda like that history channel guy convinced aliens were responsible for historical landmarks.

“So…” I started, unsure what I was attempting to say.

Adam pulled a wad of cafeteria napkins out of his pocket. “It’s okay, no one thinks you meant anything by it. You got swept up in it. No big deal.”

“It still doesn’t answer my question though,” Jake insisted. “Where did these come from? If they are real, why do they surface now? Who found them? And if they’re fake, still who?”

“All I know is my boss gave me the assignment,” Grayson shrugged.

“What does that mean? You’re blaming the American government for this?” Anna said acidly.

I sat down in a chair tucked in the corner, glad I didn’t have to pretend I knew what was going on, or that I had any roll in this.

“Can I go?” I asked, suddenly desperate for silence and solitude. I’d had enough.

“Yeah. We know where to find you,” Grayson said, exhaustion dripping from her own voice.

I left the room. I walked back down the hallway, boarded the elevator and left the university library. I walked back to my dorm, in a complete daze, unable to process the day I’d just experienced. I’d snuck into some top secret government meeting and flown to Italy to attempt to disprove evidence of an ancient virus spreading technique.

At least I’d still managed to write my paper, and I’d tried pizza in Italy, so that was pretty cool.

A week later, with an A on my paper that I’d turned in, headlines broke that people suspected foul play with the pandemic we’d just survived the year prior. People began to suspect that it was brought on by some government or other, but then other outlets said that was just paranoia. Others still said it was old news, and what were we supposed to do about it anyway.

I bought a ticket to the British Museum, and saw the manuscript on display for everyone to see. A little blurb was posted beside it, saying how its authenticity was severely questioned, but it was no doubt real.

No one seemed to care. I never did find out where those manuscripts really came from.

9 notes · View notes

lihikainanea · 4 years

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Hi, so it might sound wierd but I would love to hear more about you and the photog dude,like how you meet and a little history about you two haha. Also , I feel like so many women have a guy like that in their lives those days. Anyways,you're amazing and I just wanna say you do you girl! Do what makes you happy! Hugs - 🐞

Oh my sweet bugaboo, buckle up.

Me and Photog Dude--we actually go way back. We went to high school together. He was a skater dude, I was the quiet nerdy and weird girl in the corner trying to be exactly like Kat from 10 Things I Hate About You, scribbling Edgar Allen Poe poems all over my notebooks.

He was...unfortunate looking in high school. And before you get mad at me for saying that, just know that I was also unfortunate looking in high school. Aren’t we all? Anyway, he was short. Really short. He had bad acne, big braces, and this weird white boy ‘fro. He was a total stoner, he’d graffiti anything that stayed still for long enough. We never mingled much, but we always sat next to each other in class because we were seated alphabetically and we have very similar last names.

After high school, fast forward 3 years later and I walk into a philosophy elective in college and his stoner ass is there (fun fact--he was legit so stoned in college that when I talk to him about this now, he has no recollection.)

Didn’t see him after that. He didn’t even last the whole semester. He dropped out, I kept him on my Facebook, never really paid much attention.

But then 2 years ago, he started posting some photos that were just...incredible. It was from his trip to a city that I used to live in, and some of the photos really caught my eye. They were beautiful. I checked out his professional page, and just thought holy fuck...this dude has talent. And I messaged him, because I’m big on complimenting people. I told him that his work was stunning, and that I was glad he was able to turn it into a career because I always remembered him being creative. We chatted back and forth for a bit, maybe a week or so, and then he invited me to his vernissage.

Maybe I got the wrong idea, maybe he was being deceitful, who knows. In any case, none of my friends were free so I roll up to this vernissage looking bomb. Smelling good. Hair in full effect.

He walks in, and I literally almost pass out--because Jesus he got so fucking hot. He’s taller now--not ideal 6′5 tall but tall enough--and he has beautiful scruff. Bright green eyes. A strong jaw. He’s all lumberjack with plaid and leather and he smells good and I’m squirming in my bar seat.

But then he rolls up with his girlfriend, whom he had been dating for 8 years.

Lei gets drunk, goes home with the bartender. Makes a point of waving to Photog Dude and winking at him as I make my way out. I go off on a tour of the world (remember when I used to travel? har), never think about him again.

Until a few months later, when I get word that he’s single. He dumped his girlfriend because they were just in different places in life.

I plot. I plan the attack. We start chatting again.

Randomly, on Valentine’s Day, I go to a local dive bar with my best friend and ‘ol Green Eyes is there. We make out in the hallway near the bathrooms, because I am classy like that.

We start sleeping together shortly after.

And from then on, friend, that’s where we’re at. It’s a mess. I really only started to get more invested this year, when I stopped travelling. It was complicated before but it worked--I’d be away, and then I’d find out that he went somewhere to a log cabin with a group of friends and fooled around with a girl there. And I’d get peeved, but I was no better--I have dudes in Sweden and in Denmark and a few other places that I was getting with too.

It’s been rough lately, only because I legitimately don’t know if I’ve caught feelings or if I’m just bored. He’s so goddamn pretty and the sex is great and now in my mind it’s ~love~, but I also don’t think about his bitch ass when I’m getting flung by my dude in Sweden.

I think I’m just bored and in need of love.

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himbofreddynewandyke · 5 years

Note

Going off the deleted sequences that Freddy already knew Larry's name from his report- it's one of their first casual hookups so they don't know names yet and are using Orange/White (though that idea on its own is so hot), but Freddy gets real into it (as he does), and accidentally slips up and moans "Larry" and then has to clean that mess up real quick lmao

damn this one was hard and took 4ever, I really liked the idea tho

Mr White had taken a shine to Freddy straight away, which was great for the job, having someone so close to Joe eager to mentor Freddy, and he was surprisingly easy to talk to, friendly, good sense of humour, (hot for an old guy, silver fox, shut up newandyke, play it cool), made Freddy feel relaxed and comfortable (“dont ever, ever let your guard down, especially around this Dimmick guy” Holdaway had told him, “you know what’s he’s done, you know what he’s probably done. This motherfucker is dangerous, cunning too, enough to not get caught”). In a way it fucked Freddy up, made him terrified about his cover when he needed to be calm, was hard for him to imagine Lawrence Dimmick in the mugshots was the same guy eating burgers with him and chuckling together over lame jokes, once Freddy was going to mention something about White’s prison stay but shut up quickly, forgot whether White had mentioned that himself or whether he’d read it from his rapsheet.

One hot day after they’d gone over the escape route for the third time, White said “gotta stop in at my place” he didn’t mention dropping Freddy off so Freddy didn’t ask. (You’re a weed dealer, you hang with other dealers and stoners, you come into stranger’s places all the time, he’s starting to trust you, might be able to gleam something interesting you can report back with.)

It was a small motel room, a living room and kitchen in one, an open door with a small shower and toilet in the room, and a closed door which freddy guessed had the bed. “You want a beer Orange?” White asked, “yeah, sure” freddy said and then gave a shrug which came off more awkward than cool.

White tossed him a can then opened the tab of his own (DAMN this guy had good arms), Freddy didnt realise he was staring til he glanced up n White was smirking at him, had caught Freddy checking him out. Freddy blushed deep, oh shit, he should probably leave, supercool Mr Orange was starting to crack and all that would be left would be nerdy faggy Freddy Newandyke.

Before he could move White stepped forward towards him, put his arm out, and cupped Freddy’s face in his palm. It was unexpected but for some reason Freddy didnt jump, instead nuzzled his face into the hand, He felt white’s thumb on his lip, opened his mouth slightly, and white slipped it in, Freddy sucking obediently. “mmmm” white said appreciatively, his grin getting bigger, cheshire cat who got the cream.

Fuck it, White obviously wanted this and Freddy did too. Freddy let go off White’s thumb and sunk to his knees. He drew his breath in staring at White’s crotch, could see the outline of his hardening dick through the pants. “wanna suck you” he said, flicking his eyes up. White’s hand cupped his head again, this time along his hair, “oh you are eager huh buddy boy?” and Freddy nodded. Suddenly white grabbed the shoulder of his shirt and lifted him up, “I wanna kiss you first” and pressed his mouth on Freddys, arms going around Freddys waist, pulling him in. He kissed Freddy hungrily, like he was savouring him, White broke away for a few seconds to take a breath then started up again. The kiss ended reluctantly, both slightly panting.

White didn’t lead him to the bedroom, and for some reason Freddy was grateful, would’ve made it seem too official, too much like they were actually having sex and not just getting each other off. He sunk to his knees again and this time Larry (WHITE you have to think of him as White, he could still end your life) started undoing his own belt, unzipping his pants while Freddy knelt there expectantly, took his dick out, Freddy’s eyes widened, White’s cock was large, thicker than Freddy had ever seen, White chuckled, must have had this reaction before, ran his hand gently through Freddy’s hair as he got started. Freddy wanted to make this good, wanted to impress White, so he took the whole thing deep as he could, choking a bit, a bit of saliva dripping out as he took it out then tried to get it deep in his throat again.

He choked again on white’s dick, letting it fall from his mouth when white tugged his hair, making Freddy look up at him, “hey, hey, hey baby, you don’t gotta take it all. Just take what you can and use your hand for the rest, ok?” Freddy nodded, then started up at a reasonable pace, feeling both embarrassed and grateful that white had corrected his technique. Now it was more fun though, could close his eyes and really get into it, jacking White’s dick while sucking down on the head, making more noise than white did, moaning around his dick, which White seemed to enjoy, “mmmm that’s good baby, you’re good at that” White encouraging him, the hand in his hair a comfort, Freddy shouldn’t trust this guy with a lighter but somehow trusted him not to push Freddys head down on his dick.

White gave another tug on his hair, “gonna cum” he said, but Freddy stayed there, keep his mouth around white’s cock, swallowed, and white pulled him up again. Another breathless kiss, other guys freddy had been with wouldn’t kiss him after he blew them, didnt want traces of their own cum in their mouths, but white didnt give a fuck, kissed freddy deep, probably had been a pickpocket at some point because freddys belt was undone and his jeans unzipped when he felt white palm his dick over his boxers.

white turned him around so freddys back was against his chest, put his head on freddy shoulder, “love the noises you make baby, don’t hold out on me” he said, taking freddy’s dick out of his boxers and jerking it slowly, and freddy obeyed him, whimpers n groans n incoherent words leaving his mouth, any thoughts of keeping cool and in control gone, white knew how to handle a dick as well as he could kiss, pressing kisses onto freddys neck “that’s it orange, that’s it”

“oh man, oh god, fuck larry, larry that feels so good”

White stopped all of a sudden, freddy was so out of it he didnt even realise his mistake til white said “how’d you know my name?”

(shit shit shit, you fucked up bad, this is it, they’re gonna tell new undercovers the story about the guy who died with his dick in the crooks hand)

“i-i knew who you were, i’d heard of you before” he was coming up with an excuse on the spot, didn’t know how he was going to finish his sentence when he started it.

“oh? And what did you hear?” freddy couldnt see white face, the guy was still behind him, but he didnt sound angry

“larry dimmick, two guns dimmick, friend of joe cabot, when i saw you in the bar i thought it might be you, when i saw you had two guns in your belt …” freddy was trying to keep cool, maybe, just maybe, he might get outta this alive

larry chuckled “jeez, I didnt think I was that well known, huh?”

he picked up where he left off, hand started wanking freddy’s cock again, maybe harder this time, pleased that he’d gotten the unexpected ego stroking. his other hand, left hand, slipped under freddys shirt and found his nipple, lightly brushing it, making freddy shiver, couldn’t help rolling his head back with his eyes closed, his arousal coming back full force after the scare.

“you know, i got the name two guns dimmick, but it should be two hands dimmick, dont cha think? Coz the hands control the guns” freddy couldnt reply, could only moan as larry began playing with his nipple, rolling and pinching it gently then circling it with his thumb, doing a different rhythm on freddys cock, “coz as you can see, i’m real good with my hands. Friend asked me to be in his band once about a decade ago, be a drummer, ya gotta have good control over both your hands for that”. Quick as lightning he switched, left hand now on freddy’s dick and right hand attacking freddys other nipple. Freddy was close now, leaning back on white to hold him up, letting his head loll back onto white’s shoulder, white was nipping his earlobe then whispered into his ear “want you to say my name when you come baby, wanna hear it”

And freddy did.

#reservoir dogs #creamsicle #freddy x larry #prompt fill #my post

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soulvomit · 5 years

Text

Thoughts about the changing shape of identity and friendship over the course of my life

What sparked this was seeing young people online talk a lot about identity, and trying to find a “perfect” group of people that would be all-accepting.

I have thought in the past that this is a generational thing that for whatever reason Gen Z is much more concerned than was Gen Y, and miles and away more concerned than Gen X. But looking back on my own life, it’s clear I was always looking for The Right Group, The Right Identity Label, and finding “the place where I belong” was a dominant trope of 1980s and 90s disaffected youth. (The youth zeitgeist of the 90s came to be about the spaces we *made*, but in fiction, this was an outgrowth of the 80s “Magic of Friendship”/”Losers Club” trope.) And ffs, “finding myself” was a big Boomer trope that only got a break during the 70s and early 80s, while ex-hippie Boomers were playing catch-up with adulthood. I have thought, “but I relate to myself as a Whole Person and my friends as other Whole People. Not pieces of people, not social masks. Whole People.” The thing is, that’s a distinctly middle aged mood, especially for women (the media portrays this as a middle class white woman thing so there are probably intersections involved). It’s not something I felt as a young person. If you told me to “be myself,” and asked me who “myself” was, I could only reply that “myself” was a sucking empty void waiting to be filled by something outside of myself. I was aching and empty. When I was 18-20, huge parts of my social world just... moved on without me. A number of them were older and were already at the place in life where they were getting married, living on their own, etc. All of the older friends would end up having whole new social circles. And the ones my own age were moving away for college or joining the military while I was staying put. Then at 21, I moved away from the handful of remaining friends left in LA. Now there was intense pressure to find The Right Group. The irony is that this didn’t really revolve around labels, it revolved around finding The Right Group that would unconditionally accept me *as an individual.* I feel like Gen X ideals around friendship may have been shaped by media just as other generations’ have, and one of the big tropes of Gen X media is what “It” referred to as the “Losers’ Club.” We were all looking for our fellow Goonies - groups of mismatched people who are all outcasts for different reasons. Nerd/geek culture was starting to lose this quality as of the mid 90s. A majority of nerd groups were still “the Losers Club” in dynamic, or we would never have had the conversation around The Five Geek Social Fallacies. Those of us whose main work forming our core social group took place before the late 90s, may have experienced - and may even still experience (if my more walled-off, bubbled-up, cliquebound 40something friends are any indication) - being able to move in a world that largely consists of Old School geeks/nerds. And when I talk to socially isolated Gen Xrs, there’s so often this baggage of growing up with the “one social group that will be perfectly accepting of me absolutely as an individual” but never having found that earlier in life, at a point in life when it is - I’ve heard - harder to make friends. I don’t feel this is the same now; I feel like Gen Z is better at articulating difference. And now if I watch Goonies and other Gen X popular properties it becomes clear that the “nerd/geek” media trope as well as these “Losers Clubs” were an awkward progressive Boomer attempt to have a conversation about actual socially marginalizing difference in a time when nobody really had the words for a lot of these things and nobody was doing class analysis. There weren’t really these massive conversations around different experiences - the Gay Experience, the Asian-American Experience, the Autism Experience. The 80s social world was presented as being all about “being one of the white, rich Pretty People or NOT being one of the white, rich Pretty People” so a lot of us never really learned to talk about difference. Finding The Right Friends(tm) would allegedly erase every difference we had but how would we find The Right Friends(tm) if we didn’t even have words for our experiences? It became clear as Gen Xrs became content creators in the 90s that how we internally conceived our friendship circles was different from how Boomers romanticized them. And I feel like a lot of Gen Xrs carry baggage around 80s material about ~ThE MaGiC of FrIeNdsHiP~. So there is still a “losers’ club/Goonies” dynamic that is probably internalized as a Gen X social trope. We may still have this identity provided we haven’t had to make friends outside of our group. I feel like old social groups can be like a crutch in some ways (in both the good and bad senses of having a crutch) and if you’re a socially awkward or marginalized person it can be very difficult to leave your group no matter *how* toxic it is. I ultimately had to make friends outside of my initial group: and I’ve had to, over, over, over again. Every time I am in a new place, around new people, I’m back at square one with establishing who I am all over again. (I’m not talking about sexual orientation/gender identity labels, though there was a “find the perfect group that will 100% When I was a teenager or 20something it was easy to say that one specific part of my life - say, playing role playing games or being queer - existed out of proportion to other parts of my life, enough to consider those things the main thing my identity and sense of self and source of most of my life experiences. The crazymaking aspect of this is that I used to juggle multiple social masks. I worked in conservative environments and had a semi-conservative mother, but had alternative, deeply nerdy, and stoner/artist/counterculture friends, so there was DEFINITELY the dynamic of having groups of friends who never met. My work friends could never meet my non-work friends. Not if I wanted to not jeopardize my career. (This dynamic has changed a lot but ONLY BECAUSE TIMES HAVE CHANGED. ) It is VERY hard to say that now, about any one thing, about any part of myself. As of 45, I simply have done too many things and they’re ALL valid parts of me and my past. All of my social spheres that I’ve been in, all of the interests I’ve had, all of the experiences I’m in, are threads in a single tapestry. They’re not stick-on labels that go on individual canisters.

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nerdcanary · 6 years

Text

Fight

This is basically a character study of Alice and her and Bill’s relationship prior to the Apotheosis. Maybe if this gets enough traction and people are interested, I’ll write an alternate ending where things end a little more happily for Alice and Bill. I was also thinking about writing a version of this from Bill’s perspective. Shoutout to Mariah, @linguinismansion. If you check this out, I hope you like it. If you don’t like it, I wrote it at like two in the morning so blame that. Also on Ao3

Alice tucked her knees into her chest and tried to keep her breath at a steady pace as she listened to her parents fight down in the living room. It’s not like she was trying to listen, really she wasn’t, their voices… carried.

“Karen, come on, honey, we can try to work this out! My friend at the office, Charlotte, she’s been going with her husband and she says it’s worth trying!”

“You know what we are, Bill? We are a shattered mirror. You can try as hard as you want to glue and tape all the pieces together, but at the end of the day, the mirror is still broken. There are still cracks and pieces that fall out and go missing and your reflection in it is never the same. That’s what we are. You are never going to fix us.”

“Sweetheart, please, I am willing to put in as much work as I need, just please-”

“You don’t get it, Bill! I. Don’t. Love. You. I just don’t. I haven’t for a very long time.”

There was a deafening pause; it seemed to have a fist around Alice’s heart.

“What about Alice?” Her heart stopped. “This, this would be so hard on her.”

“She’s fourteen, almost fifteen, Bill, she’s not some little kid anymore. Maybe it’ll hurt, but she’ll move on. And you’ll get to visit.”

“... What do you mean? I want custody.”

“Bill, I thought you would’ve guessed this by now. She’s not your daughter. Remember that week you went and visited your family? I had some fun while you were away.”

Alice covered her mouth, trying to conceal her sobs as she buried her face further into her knees. It felt like she couldn’t breathe, like her chest was caving in on itself.

“Of course I know you didn’t have her with me.” He sounded so defeated, and Alice felt her heart ache for her dad. “I’m not the smartest man in the world, but damn it, I’m not an idiot. But I didn’t care because y’know what? I was there. I was there when you gave birth to her. I held her in my hands in that hospital room and nothing else mattered. I was there when she started to crawl, and walk, and talk. I was there to hold her when she came out to us, telling her it was okay, that we still loved her. I may not have given her life but I’ve damn well helped her through it, and I want custody!”

“We’ll see about that.”

She heard the front door slam and suddenly she felt very, very alone.

Her parents thought she’d been asleep that night, never realizing that she knew what they meant when they were going out to “dinner.”

She knew the whole time that they were meeting with divorce lawyers. Which is why she didn’t understand why she started sobbing when they sat her down and told her that they were getting a divorce.

And then they said that she was going to be living with her mother in Clivesdale.

They would be moving by the end of the month.

It felt like time stopped and all the breath had been removed from her lungs.

No.

No, no, no, she was supposed to stay with her dad. That’s what he said. He said he would fight for her.

She felt empty as she walked up to her room, and shut the door lightly behind her.

“Thank you for letting me get custody, Bill.”

“I guess you were right… she didn’t seem to care that she was going to be with you.”

Alice felt her hands curl into fists and pound against the wall, saw them swipe off all the papers on her desk. Her eyes came to rest on a photo of her and her dad.

She picked it up, her arm raising to throw it at the wall, and… she couldn’t let go. Her legs collapsed underneath her, the picture frame still gripped tightly in her hand.

She clutched it to her chest as she sobbed, until she eventually fell asleep.

For the first year or so after the divorce, she refused to see her father, refused to even go to Hatchetfield because she didn’t want to run the risk of him “happening” to show up wherever she and her mom would go.

She knew it was cruel to do that to her father, especially since she knew about her mom’s affair.

But he said he was going to fight for her, and then he didn’t. He rolled over and let her mother win, just like he always did.

So fuck him.

Fuck him for letting her have whatever she wanted. Fuck him for not caring enough about her when she needed him most.

Fuck him.

Fuck. Him.

She started seeing him upon her mother’s insistence.

“Just because things ended between your father and me doesn’t mean they have to end between the two of you. He misses you.”

Her dad picked her up at the bus station and wrapped her in the biggest hug. She brought her arms up to return the hug awkwardly.

(She hated to admit how great it felt for him to hug her again).

He grabbed her luggage from her and immediately started chattering away about how they were going out to Red Lobster to celebrate coming back home.

She didn’t have the heart to tell him that it wasn’t her favorite restaurant anymore.

She climbed out the window that night on the trellis, knowing her dad wouldn’t come in and check on her.

She wandered around town for hours, not caring how late it was. It was fucking Hatchetfield, the capital of Nowhere, USA. What was the worst that could happen?

Somehow, she ended up at Hatchetfield High, thinking of what could’ve been.

“What are you doing here?”

She turned, seeing some girl in a flannel and beanie leaning against the wall.

“Could ask you the same question.”

“Asked you first.”

“Wandering. Needed to clear my head. You?”

The girl chuckled. “Needed to smoke.” She produces a blunt from her pocket and offered it out to Alice.

She crinkled her nose. “No thanks.”

The girl shrugged at lit the joint, taking a long drag. “I’m Deb.”

“Alice.”

They made out in Deb’s car until a policeman rolled up and rapped his knuckles on the glass and told them to leave before he arrested them.

Deb dropped her off at her house and before Alice could ask for her number, she’d driven away. It wasn’t until she’d climbed back up the trellis and into her bedroom when she noticed there was a piece of paper in her back pocket.

Call me,

555-1234

She scoffed at the girl’s methods before getting out her phone and texting her.

Asshole.

Three dots appeared.

She smiled.

She texted Deb the rest of the week whenever her father wasn’t paying attention, which was fairly often if she was being honest.

She was just… everything her father wasn’t.

She continued going back to Hatchetfield for one week a month, and sneaking out and meeting Deb at night until her dad caught her one night when he went outside to grab something from his car.

“Alice? What the hell do you think you’re doing? Get back inside, now.”

Her dad wasn’t a very intimidating man, but she couldn’t help but wring her hands together and duck her head in shame as she made her way back through the front door.

She tried to get to her room before he got inside, but he cut her off before she could and told her to sit.

“Alice, tell me what the hell you were doing sneaking out at almost midnight.”

Her eyes were burning holes into the carpet.

“Alice, I can’t just not do anything about this.”

She felt her head snap upwards. “Oh really? Just like you couldn’t do anything about-”

She cut herself off from saying “getting me.”

Bill’s shoulders slumped and sat in the chair opposite her. “Sweetie, I… I really tried. With your mom. I did and it just… didn’t work out. It happens. But it doesn’t mean I love you any less. You’re still my little girl.”

He leaned over and kissed her forehead, sending her to bed.

For real this time.

She went to the bathroom first and looked in the mirror.

It was broken.

She kept visiting every month, eventually even introducing him to Deb.

Things got better.

Despite their disagreements about Deb, they were okay. It wasn’t how it was before the divorce, not by a long shot, but it was progress. He was trying to get them tickets to see Mamma Mia, even a third so Deb could come.

He still saw her as a kid. She could tell. But he was trying.

And she was willing to try, too.

If she was being entirely honest with herself, she wasn’t sure she liked Deb as a girlfriend. Not that she wasn’t a good one, quite the opposite. But Deb always just felt more like a good friend that she would make out with than a girlfriend.

But then her dad would go on about how she wasn’t good for her, try to convince her to go out with someone else. And her instincts would kick in and she defended Deb.

Afterwards when she would talk to Deb, she’d feel horrible. She didn’t want to string her along, but there was so much uncertainty of where the line of wanting to get back at her father ended, and where true feelings began, if there even was a line.

All she knew was that she liked Deb, she really did. She liked how she never pushed her more than she was ready to handle. She liked the way she defended her against her stoner friends. She liked the way she would just hold her sometimes if she had a rough day and run fingers through her hair.

She liked Deb. It’s why she always defended her to her father.

It’s also why she got off the bus that Sunday going back to Clivesdale. Because as much as this was another one of her father’s ways of treating her like a child that couldn’t make her own choices, he was right. Deb wasn’t right for her.

For once, her dad was right.

“Alice? Babe? Where are you? Come on out. I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise.”

She cowered in the corner of the Hatchetfield High choir room, knees tucked into her chest as she listened to Deb and Grace Chastity’s (fucking nerdy prude) echoing footsteps.

She stared at her phone screen. It had been ten minutes since she’d called her dad. He was on his way. He was coming to save her.

But the footsteps seemed to be getting closer. It was only a matter of time before-

Knock.

“Alice?”

She doesn’t remember dying. She remembers Deb breaking into the room, humming a tune as she watched Alice try to reach a high window to climb out of.

And then… it felt like she was an outsider looking in, like she was in a virtual reality simulation. She was seeing everything but she didn’t have control.

She felt herself walking towards voices.

She tried to call out. “Dad, Uncle Paul run!”

But nothing came out.

This thing started its musical number. Complete with all the terrible emotions and memories she’d been carrying over the last two years.

“Dad, it’s not true, not anymore. I love you, Dad, please.”

Nothing.

Paul took away the shotgun from her dad and she felt herself reaching down to pick it up.

She brought it up.

Aimed.

She pulled the trigger.

They split up when the military chased them away. Her body stopped moving as she pushed hard at the invader in her head. She pushed harder and harder feeling her body convulse as the thing tried to fight back.

The next thing she remembered, she was sobbing, kneeling in the middle of the hallway.

She didn’t care that she felt like a hot poker was being pushed through her skull as the thing tried to regain control.

Her hands shook as she brought the shotgun barrel to the underside of her jaw.

She felt it scratching at her consciousness, trying to stop her from pulling the trigger.

“You killed my dad. You made him think I didn’t love him in the last moments before he died. Fuck. You.”

She pulled the trigger.

#tgwdlm #the guy who didn't like musicals #Mariah rose faith #Lauren lopez #starkid #team starkid #joey richter #Jeff blim #Corey dorris #Robert manion #nick lang #jamie lyn beatty #jon matteson #musical #musicals #broadway #tw: implied suicide #darren criss

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shammyb · 5 years

Text

smitten journal entry

So, Yesterday, after a slow, tedious, long day of work, I decided instead of going out for Pride, that I really missed James (aka Daddy). I decided to shoot him a text message while at work letting him know I was missing him and though we planned on getting together Tuesday, that I was available for cuddling and seeing him after work. He immediately responded that he would be home by then and would love to see me and give me a surprise gift he had been telling me he got just a couple days prior. I was anticipating to find out exactly what it was, and to my surprise, it wasn’t what I saw coming---while I got those presents as well.

After I got home from work, I went on a nice lil 20-25 minute jog. How amazing the breeze felt across my perspiring skin on that warm summer night. Once I got back home, I felt energized, showered, packed my things, and walked over to James’ house--Lucky me, that we now only live about 6 blocks away from each other. If we both didn’t value our autonomy so much, the lack of distance could be too convenient. Any who, as I got to his house, I was welcomed with a huge hug and kiss, and giggled my way into the apartment doors. His home is lovely: It’s a fully finished basement unit of a large Victorian home, with his own private backyard, kitchen, and laundry unit. Minimal, but his appreciation for art shows from the art he has hanging on his walls. As well as his massive nerdiness. I always have adored nerds. Side note, I’ve never met a nerd who wasn’t a giant kinkster.

We sat at his bar top counter and chatted for a minute, until I eagerly asked what my surprise was. He pulled a miniature box out of his backpack and handed it to me. On the front of it was a small image of what appeared to be two Magic Wand’s laying on a mattress, and a giant frog chilling out on the other side of the mattress. I laughed, and though the image was cute, and thought that was the gift. Then he told me I had to open the box. I wanted so badly to shake it..But knowing my luck, I’d break whatever was sitting inside.

I opened it up, and laying on a small piece of Styrofoam, was a pair of earrings, with miniature sculptures of the Hitachi magic wand. They were fucking adorable, and I couldn't get over how amazing and silly, but how ME they were! I’m going to school for sex education, and love getting people talking about what brings them pleasure--and these were the icing on cake for my new adventure while i get myself closer to the sex educator/therapy route! A little ice breaker or conversation starter, and so hilariously cute. The sculptures were so intricate looking, even with the spiral cord hanging aside the wand, that I was afraid touching them would break them!

I was in shock, and told him how much that was not the gift I was expecting, but how sweet and funnily, thoughtful they were. He knows I like big crazy statement earrings, and that I love talking about sex--our entire relationship is pretty kink centered. Anyway, after a while longer of catching up, he grabbed my hand and walked me into his room, where he then showed me the gifts I was expecting to be the original surprise. He opened his little chest of fun things, and pulled out some new elaborate, different sized sets of hemp ropes. We had been practicing shibari--him learning/trying out new knots on me, and me very much enjoying being practiced on. The original ropes we had been practicing with were cotton, and one was black, the other red. We are both drawn to beauty and the aesthetic of the artform, and agreed one color throughout would be a lot nicer than miss-matched ropes. The hemp smell of them definitely took me back to late middle school and early high school, when I was a little bit of a stoner, and extremely into making hemp braided jewelry for friends and family on the regular.

Anyway, THEN, after putting the ropes aside, he pulled out the gift I had been MOST excited for..one we had talked about one or two nights spent before this... Which was a leash and collar. I had never had one with a partner, but it was something in my kinky brain I had always fantasized about. It was a beautiful black leather, handmade collar with a sturdy O-ring on the middle front, for the leash. And oh so subtly, but enough to see, were the words “Daddy's Girl” engraved on the front. He then pulled out the leash, which was made of chain, besides the handle which was leather, and subtly engraved on it, were three hearts, because he enjoys sending me three heart emojis in text messages. Having him put the collar on me was one of the most intimate experiences I believe I’ve ever experienced with someone. I had very vulnerable intimate experiences with Jake, a former Daddy (my first), but we had never gotten me a collar. After he put it on me, he told me I was officially his little girl. My heart melted. I had never felt so warm, and so turned on. I felt loved in a way I had always craved from a partner. The type of submissive I had always dreamed of being. And I felt that he too, naturally felt very paternalistic and loved gifting me the present of being daddy’s property. After that, we had the most passionate, and honest sex we’ve had since we met. I felt like it was for me, what getting the title of “girlfriend” or “partner” officially, is for others who are more vanilla minded. After fucking endlessly, and being all daddy's, we nuzzled up, giggled, he told me how adorable I was, bit my nose, pretending he ate it, and gave each other a bunch of little pecking kisses all over each others necks/chest/chins. I felt like we were connecting in the way we both had honestly been wanting to, and that we had both reached a level of trust in one another to be vulnerable enough to take on those roles.

Originally, I was going to go out for Pride, but in all honesty, I had a far better night.

In the morning, we woke up together, not wanting to get out of bed what. So. Ever. Nor could we stop giving each other affectionate kisses. Until, time started creeping by, and our stomachs started getting hungry enough to force ourselves up. He asked if I wanted to be taken out to brunch, and I said hell yeah, that sounds far better than the granola and cup of coffee I was planning on having at home! We got dressed, and walked down the road to a place called Paradox Café. ---Two steps backwards, it is fathers day, and I had to crack all the jokes to him, him being my Daddy and all --. For it being fathers day, we were only two people behind on the waitlist for the next table. We ordered food, people watched, talked about how therapy was going for him, and how he’s about to invest in a new digital camera, to start up yet another hobby. We chatted and stared into each other's cool eyes and giggled for most of the rest of the morning, until eventually time got to us, no food was left on our plate, and we had to start walking back towards home and heading separate ways. I’m one happy little girl though. I finally feel like a puzzle piece that has been missing in my puzzle of needs has been reconnected with one that fits just right. I feel warm and fuzzy. I’m cherishing it while it’s here. I’ve done a lot of other things in my life to get me here, but the extremely unexpected development this relationship that casually started back in the fall/early winter, is definitely a huge contribution.

#mine #journal entry #i'm happy right now

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woildismyerster · 6 years

Note

Yoo! Can you write a scenario with Kevin G using nerdy dirty pickup lines on reader and she gets really flustered by them?? Thank you!

THIS WAS SO HARD, AND SO FUN

You were positive that you knew how to draw a graph of the function f(x) = 1/x.

“Y/N, will you come to the board and draw the function?”

You were not positive you knew how to draw the function.

Math was fine. Plugging and chugging was fine, cool, whatever. Doing math at the front of a room full of intelligent people was less fine, since they would notice a mistake you made before you would. The marker squeaked while you drew, but your hand was steady.

“Oof, check out that ass -”

“Kevin,” Norbury scolded.

“- ymptote! Y/N’s form is perfect.” You could hear the smile in Kevin’s voice, but you could also hear the giggles around the room.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in the hopes that it would wipe any embarrassment from your face. If you stood up front too long, it would only seem pathetic. You whirled around, rolling your eyes in a way that was hopefully good-natured, and walked back to your desk.

“Very good,” Norbury called to your back. “Now, let’s talk about finding the limit as the function approaches …”

“It’s for math,” Kevin blurted.

“What is?” When he had appeared at your lunch table, you hadn’t expected that to be the first thing he said. You thought back to math class, but nothing made his words make sense.

“The Mathletes have a meet next week,” he said, holding his hand out like he was calming a horse. “My boys and I will be gone, and I need somebody to text me the notes.”

You bit into the cafeteria pizza, raising your eyebrows at him. “What about Cady Heron? Or you could ask Norbury for the slides.”

“Is that a no?”

“No,” you immediately said. No, if he needed your help, you wouldn’t say no.

“So, if you don’t mind,” he grinned, “Imma need your significant figures.”

You groaned. “I thought we were having an actual conversation.”

“We were! Are!”

“You wrecked it, G.”

“You’re smiling,” he pointed out.

You tried to push your lips over your teeth, but that fizzy feeling in your chest kept bubbling up. That was funny. Funnier than the asymptote thing. “No, I’m not.”

He handed you his phone, rocking back on his heels. “Hit me up, girl.”

“No.” You typed in your number, dreading and looking forward to his text in equal measure.

You flipped through a copy of Les Mis for English class, weighing the pros and cons of skipping the bits on Napoleon. Or, to be more realistic, acknowledging the larger number of cons and trying to figure out if you cared.

You didn’t think you cared enough to read them.

You flipped through the book, searching for the end of the section, but a note dropping on your desk distracted you.

There’s a test in history later. Do you want to borrow my flashcards?

You shot a questioning glance over your shoulder. Kevin held up a stack of notecards, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

You bit your lip. He had already taken the test. Kevin wasn’t the type to cheat - he had never needed to be - so he wouldn’t be giving you the answers. You wouldn’t have wanted them, even if they were up for grabs. But, if he was offering his flashcards, they must be useful for the test.

You nodded back at him, and he passed them up to you.

You gave a soft snort when, between a card on icons and a card on the Protestant Reformation, a slip of paper fell out.

Can I plug my solution into your equation?

You pulled out your phone to fire off a reply, fighting the urge to either laugh or boil over.

Y/N: Tacky.

Kevin: But effective.

Y/N: That’s a no from me.

People slowly filed up the bleachers to take the class picture. You took a spot in the middle, hoping that you would blend in with the rest of the kids. You didn’t want to pose with all of the jocks and preps at the front, but you didn’t want to lurk with the stoners in the back either.

Your eyes closed when a soft punch landed on your shoulder - you instinctively knew who it was. “Please, don’t.”

“Hey, babe.”

“Kevin.”

“What’s your sine?”

You groaned, head dropping.

He hopped from the row behind you to the empty space next to you. “Y/N, how’s it hangin’?”

“Fine,” you huffed.

“You don’t sound fine,” he said. His shoulders were hunched to keep the fabric of his jacket up near his ears, and the way he peered at you made him look peculiarly bird-like. “You sound kind of pissed.”

An unexpected wave of guilt soaked you. “Yeah, no, not pissed. Tired, maybe, but not pissed.”

“Hmm.” He looked up thoughtfully, tapping his foot in an erratic rhythm. “I need to up my game. I need a better line.”

“That’s definitely not it.”

“Gimme a second.”

You waited, a smile creeping at the edge of your lips. “You won’t have anything good enough.”

“Are you looking for something smexy -”

“Smexy?”

“Smart and sexy,” he said with a pleased, smug nod. “Smexy. Pure Kevin G, honey. You dig it?”

“No,” you said.

That didn’t stop him from trying his lines. That didn’t stop you from smiling. It was very possible that, in the middle of reacting to something Kevin said, the school picture wound up catching you mid-grin. For once, you might end up looking happy in the yearbook. Kevin would have a field day.

“Freedom at last,” you sighed. “I can go back to class. You’ve used up weeks of this on today.”

“What do you mean, this?”

You waved a hand at him.

“You just gestured at all of me,” he said, aghast.

You waved again.

“I’ve used up weeks of me on one day?” He was grinning. “I didn’t know there was a limit. The limit does not exist.”

“I can only handle so much,” you pleaded, that smile still firmly in place. “You’ll be the actual death of me.”

“One more,” he said. He grinned, waggling his eyebrows. “I swear, it’s a good one. You’ll love it.”

You sighed. “Hit me.”

“Kinky.” When you rolled your eyes, he was quick to assure you that it wasn’t the line. “No, wait. Okay. Can you integrate my natural log?”

You snorted. “God, Kevin.”

“They’re funny. It’s okay to laugh.”

“If I laugh, it’ll only encourage you,” you said. Granted, the fact that you were breathing seemed like encouragement enough to him, but you still didn’t want to seem too eager.

His smile went a little crooked, a little serious, and you sobered. “Y/N, if you told me to stop - really stop, not in a ‘what a dumb pun’ way - I would. You know that, right?”

You considered. Maybe you had, deep down. That would explain why your heart sank when he asked Cady Heron to join the Mathletes instead of you; why you texted him back without fail; why sometimes the two of you had real conversations.

“Yeah,” you finally said. “Yeah, I know.”

“And?”

You gave a sarcastic laugh. Sarcastic, but you saw the gears turning while he thought through the conversation.

“I’m feeling very encouraged, Y/N,” he said.

“Yeah, well, I have to go to class,” you mumbled. You hopped down the steps, ignoring the buzz in your pocket that was, undoubtedly, something flirty from Kevin. Something that, indubitably, you would respond to in kind. Knowing the truth of it wasn’t even embarrassing anymore. He was the nerdiest kid, but that kind of did it for you.

“Tyler,” you groaned while you shouldered your backpack. “Thirty problems is too many. It’s too hard. I’ll be doing them all night.”

He started to respond, but before he could, Kevin through an arm over his broad shoulders. “Y/N, babe, you don’t need to use math problems as a euphemism for my name. Tyler knows what we’ll be up to tonight.”

You couldn’t help it; you smiled. Kevin was always twisting things you said, but you seldom said things so easy to twist. He smiled back, arm dropping from Tyler’s shoulder to mess with the collar of his shirt.

“Well,” you said in a slow, sweet voice. “It’s a shame I’ll never finish.”

Tyler gave a bark of laughter, and Kevin’s jaw dropped.

“Y/N,” he breathed, “that was way more than a flesh wound.”

You grinned, unrepentant. “Chicken.”

“One of these days, you’ll give in to my ample charms,” he said earnestly. “We’re endgame.”

“One of these days, you’ll actually ask me out,” you replied.

His eyebrows shot up. “I’ve asked you out a million times.”

“No.” You looked at Tyler for support, and his brow furrowed.

“Kev, I think she’s right.” He gave a bewildered laugh, like this was a twist ending he hadn’t expected. “You’ve never actually asked her out. You’re all talk.”

Before Kevin had a chance to say something, or maybe ask you something, you flicked a wave over your shoulder and left.

Too hard. You’d do them all night. You seriously walked right into that one.

In preparation for a test, Norbury had the class rotating through stations, each one with different types of practice problems. You ended up going through the stations with the Mathletes, effectively giving you the best study partners you could ask for. Every subject was covered, every problem was finished, and the class ended with you feeling almost confident about the upcoming test.

“For once,” you teased Kevin, “I’m leaving your company satisfied.”

“I’m not,” he said.

“Oh?”

“Nope. We should date.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “No math jokes?”

“I’m serious.” Kevin shuffled his weight from one foot to another, eager and nervous all at once. “We should go out, all jokes aside.”

“I should ask you out, ‘cause you can’t differentiate,” you said.

“Y/N, that isn’t an answer.”

You grinned. “Wanna couple our equations tonight?”

He looked ready to laugh, but he scowled while he smacked you with his bag. “Y/N, the one time I try to talk to you without math jokes -”

“I sure hope you’re good at algebra,” you crooned, “because you have to replace my X without knowing Y.”

“You Googled these!”

“Kevin,” you said. You grabbed his hand and wound your fingers between his. “Isn’t it annoying when somebody is to busy joking to get things started?”

He groaned. “Imma date you so hard.”

“Good.” You pulled him out into the hall, keeping hold on him. “Because I want to work on you all night.”

He laughed, and you were encouraged.

#mean girls #mean girls musical #mean girls broadway #kevin gnapoor x reader #kevin g #kevin gnapoor #ally writes

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brahms--heelshire · 6 years

Text

Carnivals and Queasy Stomachs

(A/N): Me absolutely loving child/teen usuk? It’s more likely than you think. I’m not the best at writing Alfred especially his point of view, but I guess only practice can help me get better. The whole idea of this fic came from a standup comedian I was listening to. Alfred is a bit of a dumbass. Arthur has a really dramatic personality change, but it’s because of Alfred not just my bad writing. A light trigger warning just in case: there’s vomit and some cursing.

“Arthur!” I called down the hall, waving down my schoolmate. I watched him notice me, before pulling the hood on his oversized winter jacket over his head and rushing out of the school. I started to chase after him, really needing to ask him something. I didn’t get why he tried so hard to avoid me. Everyone called him an ‘outsider’ and it was obvious why. He never even made an attempt to befriend anyone… In fact, he actively tried to avoid everyone.

I grabbed the back of his coat as I caught up to him. “Hey,” I said, not out of breath. Arthur was a lot of things. A lot of very interesting things, but not a very fast runner. “You’d better wait up for me next time,” I commented, giving him a smile and a wink.

He rolled his eyes and murmured, “Not likely,” completely ignoring my smile and wink. I’d almost consider it offensive if I hadn’t known Arthur. He liked to be mysterious. He liked to pretend that he didn’t give a fuck about anything. Luckily, I’d cracked his mystery boy code. For the most part, he was more active in discussions and even nicer to other students recently. I just wanted to know why he didn’t act friendly at all towards me.

“So, Arthur,” I said, leaning on the doorframe of the entrance to our school, “I was thinking…”

“Then maybe you should stop thinking,” Arthur said.

My fingers brushed a stray hair of his out of his face… Alright, there wasn’t really a stray hair, but I wanted an excuse to reach out and touch his face. He always looked so perfect. No matter where he was or who he was with, Arthur’s eyes shined, his hair looked just tousled enough to be stylish, and his skin was blemishless. And his lips… well, I had certainly done enough fantasizing about those lips of his that I knew all about them. They were a faint pink, but certainly stood out from the rest of his pale face. Everything about him was perfect, like it had all been planned. Unlike my pimply face and bland blue eyes with nerdy glasses. His perfectly slim physique looked dainty next to my much larger body.Arthur shuddered against my touch, despite the large jacket that surrounded his small form.His face flushed- from the cold, of course- and his eyes fluttered shut for a moment. When they opened again, I knew that they had to be made of kryptonite. They were such a stunning green and I felt all of my hero power drain out as he looked at me.

“Oh, uh, sorry Arthur, if I stopped thinking, you wouldn’t get to hear all of my amazing ideas,” I smirked at him.

He rolled his eyes, before signaling for me to go on.

“Uh, so, there’s this carnival-esque festival coming up at school. You know? I mean, if you wanted to go with me, that’d be fun. What I’m trying to say is that I want to go to the festival with you. If you’re cool with that, of course,” I said, twiddling my thumbs.

“Um, Alfred, were you aware of the fact that the school festival is normally attended by couples?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah, well,” I said, trying to come up with an excuse for the fact that I was trying to ask him out, “We’re here at a Japanese international school. I just thought it’d be fun to experience some of the culture that we don’t have back in the US of A or England.”

“Oh…” Arthur said, looking slightly... hurt? He certainly looked upset. He quickly turned around, heading for the dorms, “Sorry, I have to go.”

“Can you at least come with me as friends?” I asked him, hoping to at least be around him at the festival that night.

“Fine.”

“Remember, Arthur, it’s tonight. I’ll pick you up at five,” I promised.

He walked away.

It was almost time. Holy shit, it was almost time. I stressed over my hair, trying to comb a cowlick in my hair down, but it kept popping back up. I eventually left it alone, deciding to focus on my clothes. I picked my phone up off of my bed, shooting Arthur a quick text, ‘Hey Artie, what are you wearing?’ I looked it over for spelling/grammar mistakes and, upon finding none, sent it.

‘ALFRED, WHAT HAS GOTTEN INTO YOU?’ He was quick to reply.

All of a sudden, I remembered the... uh, not good connotations associated with my question.

‘OH MY GOD ARTHUR. THAT’S SOOO NOT WHAT I MEANT, DUDE. I MEANT WHAT ARE YOU WEARING TO THE FESTIVAL?’ I shot back, feeling my face heat up until I was sure that it was red. I sure wouldn’t mind if he answered it the other way, but I had a feeling that he didn’t want to do anything like that until he was older.

‘Oh, I’m getting dressed now. I just picked out a white tee-shirt, one of your old hoodies, and some leather trousers.’ Arthur was getting dressed while he texted me. That sure didn’t help my mind from spiraling off into different directions. And one of my hoodies! I gave some of my old hoodies to him since he didn’t bring much to school for winter clothes. He hardly ever wore them because our personal styles were so different, but when he did, it was like Christmas came early. He was so cute.

‘Okay, thanks dude! :)’ I texted him back.

I pulled a tee-shirt and some jeans out of my dresser drawers, then my bomber jacket out of my closet. I put them on and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked okay. I wanted to look amazing for Arthur, but no amount of preparation could’ve really made me look as good as I wanted to look.

I checked the clock on my phone as I slipped it into my pocket. I grabbed my wallet off of my dresser I rushed out of my dorm room and down the halls, counting the doors until I got to Arthur’s room. I knocked on his door, pausing for a moment to catch my breath.

Arthur opened the door, stretching his arms as he looked out at me. He greeted me with a cold, “Hello, Alfred.”

I’m sure that my eyes lit up at the sight of him. My hoodie was too large on him, just making him look small and huggable. His hands were covered by the long sleeves and he swatted them around when he moved his arms. The bright blue hoodie was a contrast to his white tee and black pants. If there was any doubt in my heart that Arthur Kirkland was the cutest man alive, it all went away right then and there.

I tapped my pocket to make sure that I had my phone and wallet. Once I verified that everything I needed was there, I smiled at Arthur and asked, “You ready?” I held my arm out for him to take.

“I’m ready if you are,” he said, letting his hand settle in the crook of my elbow.

We walked the rest of the way together to the festival mostly in silence. We occasionally exchanged words, but for the most part said nothing.

Once we got there, I bought the tickets for Arthur and myself. After all, nothing says gentleman who is boyfriend material like responsibility. The festival had so much going on! There were games to win prizes. There were rides. There was food. The smells of food and the sight of food reminded me of the fact that I hadn’t eaten since lunch.

“Hey, Arthur, you wanna grab a bite to eat before we check out anything else here? I’m starving,” I asked, complaining.

“Alfred, I don’t think that’s quite a good idea,” Arthur replied.

“Dude, nothing will go wrong with having a bite to eat,” I said, brushing it off.

“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said.

I snorted, ignoring his ‘warning’.

We headed over to a food booth. I ordered a hot dog with bacon and macaroni and cheese on it. Then I ordered cotton candy and funnel cake and kettle corn. Arthur was giving me disapproving stares, but it was delicious so so what? I ate like a champion. Arthur- who only ordered a turkey leg- was enjoying his food slowly. Tantalizingly slowly, biting gently and making soft noises as he ate.

Once he finished, he licked around his lips before wiping them with a napkin. I could’ve sworn he was just doing it to tease me.

“Okay, now let’s just get on some rides, or win some prizes!” I looked around the festival, excited. I grabbed Arthur’s hand to make sure that I didn’t lose him in the crowd, pulling him along behind me.

“Alfred, that’s not your best idea, and you’ve had a lot of bad ideas,” Arthur commented.

I ignored him.

My eyes saw the ride and my feet started walking over to it before my brain even registered what it was.

“I love these Scrambler rides,” I said excitedly, “Come on Arthur, let’s get on!”

“I’m going to have to trust that you know what you’re doing,” Arthur said, letting out a loud sigh as he put his backpack and hoodie on the ground and sat next to me.

The machine started up and the small carts that we were in started to move. As it moved faster and faster, I wanted to shout to the person running it to stop the ride. I started to feel more and more nauseous.

“Stop the ride!” I shouted as loudly as I could. The stoner running the machine wasn’t listening. He probably wasn’t even in the booth. He was probably off eating a weed brownie or something. My stomach lurched once more. I leaned over and vomited all over Arthur’s chest and lap. I immediately recoiled in shock. I mean, sure, I’d imagined Arthur covered in certain liquids before, but not vomit. I felt so bad for him.

“Arthur, I’m so sorry,” I said as the ride stopped.

“Alfred, I am tired of your shit!” Arthur said, starting with talking normally, but gradually getting louder until he was screaming. “I hate you! Go piss off someone else, because I’m not taking any more of you!” Arthur shouted at me, shoving me backwards.

Then the man that I loved, my puke on his clothes, stomped off to somewhere else in the festival.

I chased after him.

“Arthur, wait!” I half-shouted, dodging people. I took the chance when I noticed that he ducked into a bathroom. I followed him in, only to hear sobbing from the one taken stall.

“He hates me,” Arthur mumbled. I heard a slam and saw the stall door shake a little. The next thing I heard was his sobbing getting louder and a shout of “GODDAMMIT!”

“Arthur,” I said, knocking on his stall, “Are you okay?”

He pulled the door open, slamming it against the wall. He was wearing my hoodie, but no shirt underneath. The hoodie was long enough to almost completely cover his boxers, and he’d taken his pants off.

“No,” Arthur said, glaring at me, “So you’re going to take your money, go to one of the shop stalls, and buy me some trousers.”

I rolled my eyes, “Seriously, Arthur?”

“Yes, seriously. It won’t make me okay, but at least I’ll be able to walk around.” He shut the door on me.

I walked around for about twenty minutes. It was dark by the time that I found a stall that sold clothing. I looked at the stuff for a few minutes, before I grabbed a yukata that looked about Arthur’s size and bought it.

I rushed back to the bathroom and handed the yukata to Arthur above the stall.

“You actually got me something?” He asked, sounding confused.

“Yeah, I mean, I kinda owe you,” I said, embarrassed.

He paused for a moment. Then said, “Wait… Alfred, are you saying that you’re really that dumb?”

“What?” I asked him, “What do you mean?”

He unlocked the bathroom stall, pulling me in by the collar of my tee-shirt. He asked, “Are you telling me that you are seriously dumb enough to have thought that eating a ton, then going onto a ride particularly made to swing you around would not get you sick?”

“Yes, Arthur,” I grumbled.

“Oh my god, you’re so fucking dumb,” Arthur said, putting his head in his hands.

“What did you think?” I asked, legitimately confused.

“Oh, I thought that you did it on purpose because you secretly hate me and your trying to get close to me was just an attempt to get me to let my guard down enough for you to humiliate me,” Arthur said with a shrug.

“Uh, are you okay?” I asked.

“Do you want to go on the ferris wheel?” Arthur asked me, a small smile spreading on his face. I swear, my heart melted at that moment. “Ferris wheels don’t move fast, so you most likely wouldn’t get sick. Plus, we can look at the scenery, because it really is beautiful around here.” He clasped his hands together. “Back where I’m from, there’s this huge ferris wheel called the London Eye. Ferris wheels are my favorite!” Talkative happy Arthur… that was new. Arthur was definitely quirky. It made me happy though, because it really felt like he opened up to me. He’d never have talked to me like that in the past.

“Okay, whatever you want,” I said, giving him a goofy grin.

He grabbed my hand and pulled me over to the ferris wheel, running as quickly as he could.

We got a small pod together, just for us. He gazed out the window, sitting so close to me that I could feel our thighs touching.

I mustered all of my energy to reach over and take his hand. His face went red, but he held my hand and smiled at me.

“Alfred, do you know what I used to daydream about a lot?” He paused, letting out a long sigh, “Having my first kiss in a ferris wheel like this. They’re romantic and it’s so intimate. Just two people, alone, without anyone else to see them.”

“So did the first girl you kissed kiss you in a ferris wheel?” I asked.

“Alfred, you are impossibly dumb,” Arthur said, putting his hands around my head and pulling me into a kiss.

“Wow,” I said, leaning in for another kiss.

#usuk #my writing #usuk fanfiction #sksksksksk #it's pretty bad but it's long sooo

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starkerized · 6 years

Text

take one down for the young and easy

the Steve/Bucky Stoners AU no one asked for

in which Steve has a medical marijuana prescription for his asthma (sounds weird but it does help)

nerd!bucky, punk!steve

also on AO3

It all starts with Steve gets his medical marijuana prescription at fifteen years old.

The whole thing sounds ridiculous to Bucky, quite frankly, who thinks that someone with asthma smoking makes as much sense as a diabetic eating a pound of candy. But apparently, his best friend insists in his usual mulish way, it actually helps with the asthma and half of the other things on Steve's laundry list of ailments.

Bucky continues to push his point for another few days, because it's common fucking sense, for crying out loud. Most of it's just to hide the fact that he's a little scared shitless of drugs, having been the pristine, slightly nerdy one throughout elementary and middle school. Everyone knows that Steve is the troublemaker, and the mere idea of Steve doing pot makes Bucky and his morals deeply uncomfortable.

Until he googles it, in a moment of weakness. It turns out Steve was right about the marijuana. Huh.

That and Bucky Barnes has a crippling weakness for everything about Steve Rogers, but it takes another few years for Bucky to figure that out.

They're sixteen when Steve offers him his first hit. They're lying on their backs on an old baseball diamond, the dirt clinging to their clothes and the pungent weed sticking to Bucky's nostrils. The full moon illuminates every strand of Steve's blond hair, throwing the angles of his face in sharp relief.

Bucky's hands are behind his head, and he's trying to pick out some of the constellations, but Steve's a huge distraction, as always. He gave up long ago on insisting that he was straight -- Bucky may be straight-laced and a bit of a geek, but he's not that uptight. On the other end of the spectrum, Steve has been out and proud since their first days in high school. Bucky's vaguely jealous of that, how Steve kisses boys behind the bleachers at football games, how he wears those rainbow bracelets up and down his skinny forearms like a badge of honor.

He's not as jealous of the bruises that mottle Steve's cheekbones when Gil slams him into a locker, "fag" spat between his teeth like it was the filthiest word in the dictionary. Though a slight burn kindles in Bucky's stomach when he sees matching scrapes on Steve's knuckles and the red flush on his face after a fight, loathe as he is to admit it.

Seeing Steve right after the adrenaline rush hits, blood oozing down his hairline, his chest rattling between muttered curses about certain bullies... it's almost as good as seeing him high.

Because as Steve's eyes roll back into his head in bliss and the moon-kissed smoke curls around his face, Bucky realizes two things.

One, that he is completely and utterly in love with his best friend, and has probably been since that first day of kindergarten.

Two, that he really, desperately wants that joint, if he's going to be able to gather the courage to do what he wants to do.

So when Steve turns to him and offers him a hit, the way he always does, there's no way Bucky can say no. Steve's arm moves sluggishly through the thick summer air. Bucky's heart pounds a mile a minute in his chest, and his fingers tremble slightly when he takes the joint. Steve doesn't seem to notice, though. "Just suck, and blow," Steve instructs him, probably trying to be serious, but he just sounds stoned, with that familiar rasp he gains when he's like this. Bucky's mouth goes completely dry.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck. Who does he think he is? His mom will definitely find out, everyone will find out, this is what you get for hanging around that no-good Steve Rogers, honestly, Barnes, you could do so much better--

Except -- sorry coach, sorry mom, sorry Ms. Fairfax, but I never could.

The weight of Steve's eyes on his face makes the whole thing ten times more nerve-wracking than it would've been otherwise, which is really saying something.

After awhile, it starts to get easier. Bucky doesn't cough, but that night he washes the oily smoke from his hair and his skin for what feels like an hour. Steve sleeps over that night, and he just sits on Bucky's bed and smiles as if he's trying not to laugh when Bucky comes out scrubbed pink.

Smug bastard. I love you.

"Look at you, you're a wreck." Steve drawls. "Tryna' imply something? Do I smell?"

Bucky shakes his wet hair at Steve like a dog, and Steve laughs and laughs. "Fuck you," Bucky shoots back, disappearing into his closet to find a pair of pajamas. Steve just rolls over and giggles.

Little does Steve know how much he means it.

Eventually they both mellow out, sprawled on Bucky's comforter with the air-conditioner on full blast. Bucky's eyelids are a million times heavier than he remembers them normally being, but he isn't that tired. Just... feels heavier, in general.

The smallest furrow appears between Steve's brow. "You're not... you okay? Do you want more?" That's another thing; Steve usually isn't all that talkative, but pot is like fucking truth serum for him.

Bucky flaps his hand dismissively. "Affects different people differently. Shut up, would you? I'm trying to sleep here."

Steve swats his bicep. "It's barely 3AM. I want to tell you things. You know Sam Wilson?"

"Yeah," he croaks. Sharp dread fills Bucky's stomach in a way that's weird for how zoned out he feels right now. He really, really doesn't want to talk about this right now.

He's not blind, okay, he always knew that his best friend was stupidly attractive on a platonic level. Then he learned he had a thing for twinks, which was, all right, he could live with it -- but with tonight's realization smacking him in the face with all the subtlety of a bullet train, Bucky's feelings could be spared the newest story about Steve's latest one-night stand with Sam fucking Wilson. Asshole doesn't know how lucky he is, Bucky thinks bitterly.

And it's weird -- that possessiveness comes out of nowhere. It catches him off-guard, and should feel strange, but at the moment it feels completely justified.

Bucky clears his throat and tries again. "Yeah, everyone knows the rumors."

For some reason that just makes Steve frown, and Bucky wants to kiss it away. Jesus fucking Christ, what is his life. "No, we didn't -- I'm going to kill Natasha." He sighs, scrubbing his face with the heel of his hand. Bucky hums in what he hopes is a neutral way, but probably just sounds tired, and rolls over so his back faces Steve. He really, really doesn't want to hear this right now.

"What's your problem?" The words come out clumsy, but Steve responds before Bucky even has them fully out.

"Listen, he was totally coming on to me, okay. But I said no! Told him I wasn't into him, s'all." Steve blurts, before continuing in a tighter voice, "and since when do you listen to rumors before hearing me out?"

Bucky doesn't know if it’s his ruined high or the late hour or both, but right now he's just frustrated. Mostly with himself and his stupid fucking feelings, which doesn't at all explain why he feels the urge to lash out. "Since you started sleeping with every guy you lay eyes on, that's why. I mean, Christ, Steve. The whole school knows you're gay, you don't need to rub it in at every given second."

It's quiet for a long time, and Bucky can barely process his own words when Steve volleys them back with a steel-tipped blade. "If you're a homophobe, you could've told me a long time ago, Buck."

Bucky's eyes fly open, and he rolls over to face Steve, despite how he can barely see the other boy in the pitch darkness of the room. Shit, shit shit. "No, that's not what I meant--"

But Steve's already getting up, the bedsprings creaking as he turns away from Bucky and heads out the door.

As the bedroom door slams shut, Bucky throws his head back against the pillow in frustration. Goddamn his stupid mouth and these stupid drugs. He really should’ve known better. He contemplates running after Steve but suddenly he feels like he weighs a million pounds, the anxiety and fear compounding in his chest and turning into lead.

After enough minutes go by and the anxiety is practically suffocating him, he turns to grab his phone where it’s charging by the bed. 3:39AM, and his heart drops when he sees no texts or calls from Steve, even though his best friend is the most stubborn person he knows and could easily cold shoulder someone for weeks.

It takes Bucky a solid ten minutes to compose the “Hey, where are you? I’m sorry.” text. It didn’t take long for him to realize that his righteous anger was really just jealousy at Steve’s level of confidence.

The “typing” icon pops up, disappears, pops up, disappears. Bucky feels like he’s about to lose his fucking mind, until the message pops up. “In the yard.”

Dragging himself out of bed takes a Herculean effort, but he gets it done and quietly tiptoes downstairs so Steve’s mother doesn’t wake. Under the harsh light of their back porch, Steve is working through another joint. He looks like an vengeful angel, his freshly showered hair glinting golden and haloed with smoke.

Steve doesn’t look up at Bucky when he sits down next to him, but he does scoot over in acknowledgement. Bucky opens his mouth to officially apologize, but because his self-control completely goes out the window around Steve, he ends up saying, “You do realize this isn’t the yard.”

The look that Steve shoots him is mostly weary, but Bucky can trace the upsetness lingering behind the eyes. “Fuck, Steve, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m being such an asshole right now. You...” I think you’re the love of my life, but I’m way too comfortable around you, so I say things that hurt you. You honestly deserve someone better. “You didn’t deserve any of that.”

Steve angrily flicks the ash, sending bright sparks that land on their shoes. “I guess I should just dial back the gay, huh,” he spits, and Bucky recoils. “God, Buck, you sound just like Gil.” That’s a low blow, comparing him to the bully whose tormented Steve for most of his school career, but it’s not entirely inaccurate. At that moment Bucky realizes he has a lot of explaining to do, or else their friendship might be in jeopardy. His heartbeat jumps into double time. The thought of losing Steve over such a stupid, off-handed comment makes him want to crawl out of his skin and die.

“Listen, I... You’re right. But it’s not because I’m homophobic,” and with that thought Bucky would chuckle at the irony, if it weren’t for the delicate situation he’s in right now. “I just... You know I’m also definitely not straight, but I don’t know much more than that. You’re just so... confident about who you are, and I--”

Steve scoffs at that, his eyebrows cutting dark lines into the half of his face Bucky can see. “Don’t try to turn what you said into a compliment. You said I was rubbing it in.” Steve pauses to take a drag, and Bucky is pretty sure his chest is about to burst. “Whatever issues you have about being closeted, you know I’m here for you, Buck. But don’t try to drag me down when you’re feeling... confused, or whatever it is.” Steve shakes his head and sighs. It seems like he’s approaching forgiveness, or the outer reaches of it, but there’s still something tense about his posture.

Bucky is painfully careful with his next words. He has to lick his lips a few times, and his tongue is drier than a sheet of sandpaper. “I know. It’s just hard.” He stares, fixated on Steve’s old converse and his own black socks. Maybe it’s the weed, but they’ve never spoken so honestly about sexuality. Mostly it’s Bucky teasing Steve about his latest hook-up, or Steve texting Bucky about his latest crush. This night feels... different, and that’s what makes Bucky finally take the plunge.

He gathers all the breath he can in his lungs and says, “There’s actually this guy I’m really into, if you can believe it.”

Bucky wasn’t sure how he expected Steve to react. His best friend freezes, eyes widening in surprise. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s... been going on for awhile now, actually,” Bucky ventures, trying to sound appropriately aloof.

Steve has the same look on his face as when he’s trying to solve a difficult math problem. That, or he’s focused on keeping on a straight face. “Wow, I’m. I’m happy for you.”

Steve is the worst liar Bucky has ever met. Bucky secretly loves it. A part of him also knows, maybe Steve is just taken aback right now. It’s not like Bucky has ever demonstrated a romantic interest in anyone over the course of their ten-year friendship.

“What for?” Bucky drawls, back to his old playful self. “It’s just a crush, nothing to be excited about.”

“I guess, but.” Steve licks his lips and takes another hit. What Bucky wouldn’t give to be the end of that joint. “Still a big moment. I’m guessing it’s a guy...?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky can’t quite name the expression on Steve’s face right now, but “happy” isn’t it. “Does he go to our school?”

He can’t suppress a laugh at that one. “You’re getting warmer.”

Steve’s expression twists. “Is it Sam?”

“No!” Bucky runs his hands through his hair, suddenly wishing he could rewind this conversation back to the apology and redirect appropriately. “What makes you think that?”

“You seemed to get pretty upset when I brought him up earlier, is all,” Steve says defensively.

“Trust me, it’s definitely not Sam.”

“Stop playing around. Who is it?”

“I don’t know, this is kind of fun-”

Steve groans, “Bucky, c’mon...” and Bucky chooses that moment to lean over and touch Steve’s lips to his own before he can think twice. Of course Steve tastes like the summer night, the ozone weed, and something sweet that’s distinctly his own. Steve is frozen when Bucky parts, his eyes closed.

“It’s you, you big idiot,” Bucky finally murmurs. He can barely hear himself over the blood pounding in his ears. Steve opens his eyes slowly, as if waking up from a dream. A smile tentatively spreads across his face, igniting one on Bucky’s as well.

“You’re serious?” Steve stammers, and Bucky suddenly remembers that one of the common side effects of smoking pot is anxiety. “I can’t-- I feel like you’re messing with me right now, Buck. Please tell me you’re not.” Bucky can’t stand the pleading pitch and quickly covers Steve’s hands.

“I’m dead serious. I’ve been crazy about you for pretty much as long as I can remember,” and it’s weird hearing it aloud and knowing it’s real, but worth it for the grin that ignites Steve’s beautiful face.

“Wow.” Now Steve actually sounds breathless. “You know I was only chasing all those other guys to distract myself from how bad I wanted you, right?”

Bucky’s heart skips a beat in his chest; he definitely didn’t know that. “Who’s the asshole now,” he laughs, and Steve swats at him. “Breaking my heart for a few good-looking dickheads-”

“Buck, stop,” Steve whines, and Bucky presses another kiss to Steve’s cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Okay, okay. Let’s go back upstairs.” Plucking what’s left of the joint out of Steve’s hand, he takes another drag and puts it out on the dirt below them.

Steve pauses. Bucky knows that mischievous glint in his eye. “You know, sex is really good while high. I’ve never done it, but I’ve jerked off, and it’s always different-”

“Great, enough talking, more walking upstairs.” Bucky feels like he’s walking on a cloud. He still can’t wrap his head around it; he actually has everything he’s ever wanted since grade school.

Maybe Steve was a bad influence, and Bucky couldn’t have been more grateful.

#stevebucky #stucky #my fic #shrug emoji

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