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diaphragmjellyfish · 3 years

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You Just Wait

gif is from @twilightofficial

A/N: The hardest part of writing a fic is honestly choosing the love interest XD I have so many fictional boyfriends it’s hard to choose just one. I have noticed a significant lack of Jared Cameron content and he’s super adorable so here it is! Also, I left the concept a little bit more vague so more people can relate to it. It doesn’t specifically say vaginismus, it’s more of a general “sex doesn’t normally go well for me” type thing.

Bottomless, covered in chocolate sauce, walking through the woods, phone dead, in the middle of August on a weekday. How did you end up here? Jared Cameron. Your boyfriend. He had roped you in to an elaborate prank on Paul that hadn’t exactly gone as planned. Needless to say, you were desperate for a shower and a nap. A hot meal wouldn’t hurt. And you were beyond irritated, not even looking Jared’s way as he walked next to you in a similar state.

“Babe, if you let me carry you, we’ll get home way faster,” he whined.

You didn’t respond, only walking with more frustration around the roots and fallen trees. It was growing dark, just about twilight, and you knew you wouldn’t be reaching either of your houses at this rate. You were miles into the forest. But your pride kept you from accepting Jared’s wolfy-back ride, because he tended to make lots of jokes about being between your legs and you riding him and blah blah blah, and you honestly might punch him right now if he did that.

So you just kept ignoring him, arms folded tightly against your chest because, yes, it was August, but this was also the Washington coast. It got pretty chilly no matter what time of year it was.

“I can see you shivering from here,” he pleaded, almost sounding in pain at the thought of you being uncomfortable. “It’s only gonna get colder. Let me help you.”

You ignored him.

“C’mooonnnnnn,” he cried. His preferred way of cracking your silence was usually by annoying you out of it, and it was working. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon c’mon c’mon c’mon c’m-”

“Jared, I swear to God!”

“Aha! She speaks!” he laughed.

“”Only to tell you to be quiet, or I’ll-”

“Or you’ll what?” he cut you off. “I’m way stronger than you!” He was teasing you into talking to him. Even if it was in the form of arguing. Damn, he always got you to crack. You stopped walking, turning to face him, arms still held tightly around yourself. You couldn’t resist a good bicker, and Jared knew that. He would get the sass to come out, and then once you got tired, he’d apologize and you’d be made up within half an hour. That’s what always happened. And you couldn’t exactly stay mad at those big brown puppy eyes for long.

“Physically, maybe,” you chided, “but I’m definitely way smarter than you.”

He stepped closer to you, a playful smirk on his face. “What, are you gonna read me to death or something?”

“I’m gonna strategize a huge plan, manipulate you, and leave you here in the forest by yourself. That’s what I’m gonna do,” you sassed. He never took arguments to heart, which is one thing you loved about him. He knew how grumpy you could get and would let you vent, and then make you forget all about the problem.

“Oh, okay, yeah sure,” he giggled, hands going up in defense. “I’m just saying that in this situation, there is no way you come out on top. You run, I catch you. You hide, I sniff you out,” he teased. This made you crack an almost imperceptible smile, but one he noticed nonetheless. “And if you did somehow manage to get away from me, you’d freeze to death in an hour flat.” The cold breeze that caused you to shiver more violently could not have had worse timing. Obviously, Jared noticed, and his face dropped. He approached you slowly, silently asking if you were still mad enough to not let him touch you. When you didn’t step back or stop him, he wrapped both his arms around you and brought you into a huge bear hug. You sighed at his warmth, wrapping your arms tightly around his torso. He’d given you his hoodie hours ago, and was left in only a pair of shorts, though he didn’t seem to notice. Damn him and his werewolf heat.

You still shivered in his arms, but his feverish temperature was a relief to your aching bones.

“See? Could’ve been warm hours ago,” he teased once again, noting your clinginess.

“Shut up. I’m still mad,” you mumbled into his neck. He laughed softly to himself, rubbing his hands up and down your body to create more heat. After a few minutes, you were starting to struggle to keep your eyes open. It had to be close to 2 in the morning, and you’d been walking for what felt like hours. Jared could have easily run home and let you brood alone, but he stuck with you no matter how long you went without speaking to him.

“Sleepy?” he murmured into your hair. You just nodded softly, and didn’t protest as he bent down, one hand going behind your knees and the other staying around your back. He picked you up with ease and started walking through the woods once more with an “Okay Princess, I got you.” His stride never faltered, easily avoiding tripping over roots or slipping on rain-soaked moss. He must have been walking for about 30 minutes, never so much as breathing hard or shifting you in his grip. You didn’t sleep, but welcomed the rest he allowed you. Your eyes were closed, head resting on his shoulder when you felt him stop. You looked up, and in the distance, maybe 50 yards away, you saw a small building.

“Hunter’s cabin, I’m guessing. No one’s home,” Jared stated, anticipating your questions.

“Think there’ll be blankets?” you wondered, tired, yet still playful.

“What, am I not enough for you?” he feigned mock hurt as you giggled at his unshakeable good attitude. Without another word, he began walking towards the small cabin, which was about the size of an average bedroom. When you reached the door, he set you down gently, holding his hands close to your waist while you found your footing, and then wrapping an arm over your shoulders to keep you warm.

“I’m assuming it’s locked,” you sighed, disappointed.

“Babe, no door is locked when you have super strength. Honestly, I thought you’d have more faith in me by now,” he smiled brightly.

“You can’t just go around kicking random people’s doors in!” you scolded.

“Okay, first of all, I can tell by the smell that no one’s been here in years. Second of all, how would anyone know it was us that broke in and not, like, a deer? And third of all, I’d say this counts as an emergency,” he sassed right back at you. You looked at him in annoyance, too tired and cold to actually care.

After a long sigh, you muttered “fine.”

He immediately turned to the door, not letting you so much as inhale before he slammed his foot into the space next to the knob, the door all but flying off its hinges. The whole scene caused deafening noise that interrupted the silence of the trees.

“Jesus!” you called out in surprise, a hand shooting up to your pounding heart. You look around, though knowing no one was around for miles. Jared only turned to look at you, a cheeky smile adorning his face, and said,

“See? Told ya.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the loving and admiring energy that overcame you. Jared really was one in a million, and you were lucky to be by his side. He could be in the worst situation in the world and still find something to laugh about.

He motioned for you to go in first, ever the gentleman. Walking through the door, the first thing you noticed was the dust. The entire inside of the cabin was covered in a thick layer of it. There was a small, rickety couch with cushions so worn they had holes in them throughout. And the fabric… my God. It looked like something from the 60’s, an obnoxious floral that had faded over time, and now just looked flat out stained. There was a flimsy throw blanket over the back of the couch, a cooler in the corner of the room that was covered in dirt, and on the opposite wall, a fireplace! No wood, no matches, but it was there. The floor was scattered with bullet shells, receipts, and decayed leaves. It was obvious no one had been in here for at least 3 or 4 years.

“Okay, I can work with this,” Jared said. You really were jealous of his optimism. But, as disgusting as this place was, it beat the frigid breeze of outside, and had a place where you could rest your heads. You walked over to the couch, grabbing the blanket and beating the dust off of it. It was really only meant for one person, but you guys were okay with getting close. It would do.

Jared walked over to the opposite corner where the cooler sat by the fireplace and opened the lid, peeking inside.

“Just water,” he said, sounding almost disappointed.

“Were you really gonna eat whatever was in there?” you spoke incredulously.

“Babe, I’m starving. You have no idea how close I am to licking that chocolate sauce off of you,” he voiced. You had almost forgotten about the sticky sauce that covered both of your clothes. That prank really was a disaster. You looked down, face heating at the thought of Jared’s mouth on you like that, and turned to the fireplace where he stood. He was looking on the mantle, oblivious to the effect his comment had on you, and exclaimed “Aha!” before reaching up to grab something. “A lighter. We’re saved! Well, you are,” he laughed looking over at your shivering form once more. “Stay here and get comfy. I’m gonna go get some wood.”

You tried your best, sitting on the edge of the couch and immediately feeling a spring poking you in the butt. The couch really was tiny. You guys were gonna have to bundle up close to fit. The thought excited you. Sure, you and Jared had always been comfortable touching and holding each other, but there were certain areas of your relationship you had yet to explore. More… intimate areas. It was your fault mostly. To make a long story short, you’ve just never enjoyed sex. You found yourself not able to get aroused, which made things painful. Sure, you wanted to. You’d thought about it a ton. But in the moment, your head was so full of thoughts of ‘What if he thinks I’m ugly? What if I smell? Am I doing this right? Is he having a good time? Am I taking too long?’ that you just stopped trying. And obviously you wanted to have sex with Jared, but you were worried he’d be disappointed. By the time he got back, just a few minutes later, you had brought your knees up to your chest, holding your legs close in an effort to preserve warmth.

“Doing okay Sweetheart?” he asked gently. You gave a small smile and nodded in response. He plopped the logs in his arms down into the fireplace, scavenging the floor for receipts, dried leaves, anything that would catch fire. He dumped these into the fireplace and lit them, the fire catching within seconds. He walked over to the other side of the room where the couch was before bending down, grabbing the bottom lip of it, and pulling it (and you) across the floor, one-handed, and closer to the fire. “Better?” You had always been in awe of his strength. Let’s be honest, it was just plain sexy. Again, you just nodded your head, staring at him in adoration.

He sat beside you on the couch, throwing an arm over your shoulders again, and leaning back, taking you with him. You cuddled into his side, watching the fire.

“Ya know, if you take away the shitty couch and sticky clothes and add a few more blankets, this would actually be pretty nice,” he finally spoke.

You laughed softly, replying, “It would. The couch isn’t even awful, but these clothes are really ruining the mood for me.”

“Well why don’t you get out of ‘em, hot stuff?” he joked. You knew he wasn’t serious because you guys haven’t gotten that far yet, but something, maybe the exhaustion or the way he kept challenging you today, made you want to actually do it. Before you could lose your nerve, you reached down, pulling off the hoodie and shirt in one go and tossing them onto the floor. You relaxed back into his arms in just a bra, acting like nothing had happened. He was frozen beside you. Maybe it was mean, but you wanted to tease him a little. He’d put you through a lot today, so you wanted to mess with him a tiny bit. So, coolly, you brought a hand onto his thigh and began running it up and down, going higher and higher with each pass. He was still frozen, so you gave a light squeeze, and heard him inhale sharply, though he tried to hide it.

“I thought you were tired,” he commented.

“Guess I’m not anymore,” you responded, turning to face him boldly. He immediately leaned in to kiss you, softly as always. You reciprocated, bringing your other hand up to cup his face. His arm that was around your shoulders slipped down around your waist, pulling you in further. Jared had always been gentle when kissing you, so you knew you’d have to make the first move to deepen it. Which is exactly what you did. Running your hand up his head and grabbing his hair, you pulled him towards you even more and traced your tongue across his bottom lip. He responded by matching your energy, tongue slipping out to caress yours before bringing your bottom lip between his teeth and nibbling softly. You guys had never kissed like this before. You felt a bead of warmth pool in your abdomen, something you’d never felt with a guy before. Sure, you’d been turned on while watching certain videos or reading certain fanfiction by yourself, but you’d never actually experienced it with someone before. It was exciting. Maybe it was the knowledge that you could stop things at any time and he wouldn’t be upset, or maybe it was how in love with you he really was, but you didn’t feel nervous or worried. You felt comfortable.

Taking things a step further, you swung your leg over both of his, moving to straddle his lap.

He pulled away slightly at this, making you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he responded, “I just don’t wanna make you do anything you don’t wanna do.”

You smiled, “I’m not doing anything I don’t wanna do. Are you?”

“Are you seriously asking me that question right now?” He laughed, making you giggle along.

You leaned back in for another kiss, when he stopped you again. “What exactly… are we doing, though?” You knew what he was silently asking. Are we about to go all the way? And you didn’t know yet. This had started out as playful teasing, but now you were beginning to think that maybe you did want to try something. With Jared. He was it for you, the one you wanted to spend forever with. If you couldn’t trust him, you couldn’t trust anyone. And he’d taken such good care of you these last few hours, keeping you warm, making sure you were storming off in the right direction, that you knew he’d appreciate you in a more intimate sense.

“I- I kind of would like to try… some stuff,” you answered.

He looked at you, eyes wide, before answering, “What kind of stuff? I mean, I will do literally anything you ask me to do and you know that, but I didn’t really prepare for this. Like, I don’t… have what we need.” Oh, a condom. What a responsible boy.

“I’m on the pill,” you replied a little too quickly before looking down and fiddling with your hands. “If you want to.”

“Y/N, I would be absolutely fucking honored,” he breathed, before cupping your face and pulling you into the most heated kiss yet. Your tongues danced, hands wandering. Yours, across his muscled chest and abdomen, and his, down your waist and around to cup your pantsless ass, squeezing firmly. It felt nice. He handled you in a way that was gentle and painless, but still dominant and firm. And it made the heat in your belly grow. You continued kissing for several minutes, your hands moving up his neck and eventually landing in his hair once more, and his remaining on your ass and waist. You softly sucked at his lower lip, nibbling slightly, and it made him let out a low growl and pull your hips forward onto his, where you felt something hard push against you. You knew what it was, and it didn’t scare you like it normally would. You did, however, feel your damp underwear. Shit, that’s never happened before. You were normally bone dry at this point. You let out a soft sigh, grinding your hips onto him once more.

He softened his kisses slightly, bringing a hand around to your stomach and running his knuckles lightly across your lower abdomen.

“Can I?” He questioned delicately.

“Yes,” you replied almost immediately. He brought his hand under the waistband of your underwear, when you said, “Wait,” and he stopped. “Just one thing. I kind of… have never been able to do this without it hurting a lot, so maybe you could just try to be gentle?”

“Oh, baby, you’ve been in pain before? I’m so sorry,” he whispered genuinely.

“It’s okay, I just…” It was now or never. He should know. “Normally I’m super nervous about everything, so I can’t really… get into it, and when girls aren’t into it it’s kind of… dry? And that makes it kind of hurt really bad.” You faded out at the end, feeling embarrassed. He brought his hand out of your underwear and up to your chin, tilting your face up to look him in the eye, looking concerned. “But I’m into this, I mean, right now. I’m excited. I just thought I should warn you,” you awkwardly laughed at the end.

“You promise? Because you know that if you want to stop we will, and I would never be upset or pressure or anything like that,” he spoke sweetly, making your heart flutter. And you did know that, which is why you felt comfortable. Every other time, you felt that if you went past a certain point, you couldn’t say stop. Couldn’t call it off without making whatever guy you were with super mad and then… who knows what would happen. But when Jared spoke those words, you believed him.

“I promise. And I know you’ll stop. But I don’t want you to.”

With this, he scanned your face one more time for any signs of hesitation, and when he found none, brought you down into another heated kiss. You felt his hand trail from your chin down to your breasts, skimming over your bra, down your stomach and once again to the waistband of your underwear. Only this time he didn’t go under. He stayed on top of the fabric and brought his hand down between your legs, index finger brushing lightly against your core. You barely felt it, and began to worry that you’d once again feel numb. Oftentimes, when guys would touch you or go down on you, you felt nothing. It was like you were broken or something. And you started to become concerned that tonight would be no different.

But he brought his finger down again, repeating the same movement, only with significantly more pressure this time, and it had you release an involuntary sigh. And instead of removing his finger like he had the first time, he kept it over your clit, drawing firm circles.

Your mouth dropped open in a silent moan, Jared staring intently at your face.

“Oh, wow,” you finally breathed.

“Good?” he asked cockily, wearing a large smirk. He repeated the movement again, drawing a line from your core to your clit, stopping to rub circles.

“Mmm hmm,” you sighed. He leaned in once more to meet you with the sloppiest, dirtiest kiss you two had shared yet, and it only made you grind your center into his hand. He repeated the action several times over, and you were a writhing mess in minutes.

He brought a finger under your waistband once more, stretching the elastic out before letting it snap lightly against your skin. “Let’s take these off, hmm?” You’d never stood up so fast in your life, practically ripping the panties off of you, taking your bra off with it. Jared stood up to remove his shorts, but stopped to stare.

“What?” you questioned shyly, moving to cover up.

“You’re literally the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

The boy quite literally had heart eyes for you.

“Oh,” you responded meekly, cheeks heating up. When you kept looking back at him, he seemed to snap back into the moment and hurriedly ripped off his shorts and underwear, sitting back on the couch and opening his arms for you. You moved to straddle his hips the same way as before, and he brought his arms around to embrace you as you shared another heated kiss. One of his hands moved up to cup your breast, thumb rolling over your nipple as if you were made of glass. Jared pulled his mouth off of yours and trailed his lips down the side of your face, to your jaw, and down onto your neck, suckling lightly and leaving wet kisses. You tilted your head to the side to give him better access, and brought one of your hands down between you two to grasp him. He shuddered, only grabbing your hips and bringing you impossibly closer. His other hand trailed down to your center once more, going straight to your core and gathering the slight wetness there before bringing his finger up to your clit and circling. With your underwear out of the way, you felt almost lightheaded at his touch. You never knew how girls could cum during sex before, because you never seemed to feel much at all unless it was pain, but with how aroused you were right now and Jared’s movements, you thought for the first time that you may actually be able to finish. People do say that 90% of sex is mental, and you guessed this is what they meant. The more into it you are, the more physical sensation you actually feel. Groundbreaking.

“Can I finger you?” he murmured huskily into your neck.

You tensed slightly at this, but trusted him. If you said stop, he would. “Ok, just go slow.”

“Of course,” he responded before placing a sweet kiss on your shoulder and bringing his index finger back to your core, swirling around the entrance a few times. You took a few deep breaths to relax your muscles, and he looked at you, wordlessly asking, Ready? You nodded, and he slipped his finger in, just to the first knuckle, and held it still while he brought his thumb to your clit and continued rubbing. When he noticed you visibly relax, he slipped his finger in further to the second knuckle, stopping for a few seconds, and then all the way. He kept it here again, giving you time to adjust or tell him to stop, all the while keeping you stimulated with his thumb. It felt really good. Well, you didn’t exactly feel his finger at all, which was better than pain, and his thumb was making you crazy. Your breathing was labored at this point, eyebrows furrowed as you held onto his shoulders, nails digging in and sure to leave scratches. He pressed the finger inside of you onto your front wall suddenly, massaging the ridges firmly, and you let out a moan. Your first real moan ever. And damn did it get Jared excited. He continued this motion again and again, building in intensity and pressure slowly. When he felt how wet you had become, he pulled his finger back out to the first knuckle, and added his middle finger next to it, sliding them both back in slowly so as not to hurt you. Your eyes widened at the stretch, but it didn’t hurt. It felt amazing.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered to yourself, before moaning once more as his fingers began the ‘come-hither’ motion once more.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked, concerned at your cursing.

“No, feels so good,” you moaned, and he smiled at this, increasing the pressure even more. Your eyes screwed shut, hips stuttering over his hand, letting him finger fuck you for several more minutes as you began to feel a tightening in your stomach. He brought his thumb off of your clit finally, adjusting his hand for a better angle and bringing his other hand off of your waist and up to his mouth, licking his thumb and bringing that down to your clit, resuming the tight circles. You could hear how wet you were, feeling too good to be embarrassed. The heat in your stomach was building, spreading. You felt your legs begin to shake, muscles begin to tighten around his fingers, and your eyes screwed shut as you opened your mouth in a silent scream and came. The waves of pleasure washed over you for a long time, Jared slowing his movements down so as not to overstimulate you. When you finally opened your eyes again, you were panting, legs feeling like Jello. Jared was staring at you with a look of absolute awe on his face, mouth agape and dick rock hard, red, and leaking precum. He was more turned on than he had ever been from actual sex before, and it was only from watching you.

“Fuck, baby that was so hot,” he all but moaned.

You reached down to grasp him, panting a “your turn.”

He grabbed both your wrists, stopping you. “Nuh uh, this is about you. Lie the fuck down.”

You gasped, his dominant tone turning you on despite your recent climax. You both knew that if you were even slightly uncomfortable, things would stop immediately. But it was fun for both of you to let him be a little aggressive. You did as told, lying long ways across the couch cushions, Jared moving to kneel between your legs, moving your knees softly apart so he could look at all of you. You didn’t feel insecure being exposed like this. You felt excited.

“Are you absolutely sure you wanna do this?” he questioned.

“I have never been more sure, Jared baby, I want to,” you pleaded. This was enough for him, so he brought his dick down to line up with your entrance, rubbing the tip up and down a few times to collect your wetness. He was worried that there wouldn’t be enough lubricant, so he brought a hand up to his mouth and spit, rubbing the saliva on his cock.

“You just wait ‘til we get some real lube and a real fucking bed, Princess. You won’t be able to walk for days.” You shuddered at the thought of this, and of the sensation of his dick rubbing around your clit and back down to your entrance. He pushed in slightly, letting the tip in before pausing and checking your face for any signs of pain. When he found none, he pushed in slightly more, and more. He was being extremely slow, and you appreciated it. Guys normally would just shove themselves inside, not giving you any time to adjust before pounding away. But Jared was careful, despite how turned on you knew he was. He still had your best interest in mind. Within a couple of minutes, he was fully seated inside of you, staying still until you told him to move. He brought his face down to give you a sweet kiss, waiting for you to give him the signal.

After a few seconds, you didn’t feel any sort of stinging or pain, so you nodded, saying “Just start slow.”

“Of course,” he replied genuinely. He pulled his hips back just a few inches, before slowly grinding them back into yours. You closed your eyes, focusing on keeping your muscles loose and relaxed as he continues this movement a few more times. The next time he pushed in, he ground his hips further into yours, hitting the deepest parts of you. This had you release a gasp, eyes opening to meet his. “Okay?” he questioned.

“Yes.”

He did this several more times, letting you get used to the feeling of him being so deep inside of you, before your hips began to grind back into his. It felt really good. When he noticed this, he began pulling his hips back more, pushing back in slightly faster, and this had you moaning. You threw your head back, back arched, just enjoying the sensations. Your hands were grasping at his shoulders, definitely leaving scratch marks.

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he responded, planting sloppy kisses to your neck and collar bone. “Baby, I’m not gonna last much longer.”

You smiled at this, glad he was enjoying it as much as you were. “Go ahead, cum for me,” you spoke, and your words had him right on the edge. He pulled out of you quickly, hand fisting his cock as he stared at your sweaty, writhing body below him. He came hard, spilling onto your stomach as he growled out, the sound making your toes curl, almost animalistic. You both remained in this position as you came down, breaths labored and eyes barely open. He stood up fully off of the couch and reached for the flimsy blanket on the floor, using it to wipe off your stomach. He threw it into the corner of the room and lay down next to you on the couch, gathering you up into his arms to cuddle.

“Did you have a good time?” he asked almost nervously after a few minutes.

“Nah, kinda sucked,” you teased, and he let out a playful laugh, lightly shoving you away before pulling you back and planting a kiss on your temple.

A pause. “For real though,” he prodded, beginning to panic slightly.

You burst out laughing. “Of course I had a good time, Jared. Best i’ve ever had, if I’m being honest.”

“Ok good,” he sighed, relieved but trying not to show that you actually had him nervous for a second.

Another pause. “Did… did you have a good time?” you questioned back at him.

He seemed almost offended at the question, bringing a hand up to cup your face so that your eyes met his. “Y/N, this was the best night of my entire life. That was perfect. You are perfect. And I’m glad you trusted me enough to do that with you.”

You felt your eyes sting slightly, emotions running wild. You considered yourself the luckiest girl in the world to be with Jared Cameron. Not only was he totally gorgeous, but kind, hilarious, and great in bed.

In an effort to switch the tone back to a more playful one, you replied, “Yeah, well I was promised some more fun involving real lube and a real bed so…”

He tugged you further into him, wrapping his arms around you in a way that made you think he might never let go. He laughed, and said “Oh, you just wait.”

#jared cameron x reader #jared cameron #twilight #wolf pack #paul lahote #sam uley #jacob black #embry call #seth clearwater #quil ateara #edward cullen #twilight smut #vaginismus

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sylvieeee5 · 3 years

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OH MY GOD OKAY IT’S HAPPENING

HI! I AM BEYOND EXCITED AAAAA

I’m writing this on Friday, but I’m waiting until Saturday to post it- partially because I want to give people a chance to watch the episodes for themselves, and mostly because I’m extremely tired from cooking and hosting the full on dinner party I decided to hold for this premiere. This is what being an adult is, baby!! Putting together sophisticated get-togethers to watch kid’s shows!!

A quick warning! This liveblog will reference plot points from the books, which will spoil the books and future episodes of the show. And believe me, it’s much more fun to go in blind :)

With that out of the way, here’s episode one: A Bunch of Smart Orphans!

Here he is! Mr. Benedict himself and-

KATE!!! KATE THE GREAT! Love her!

Sticky!

Ah, and hello foreshadowing (aka Mr. and Mrs. Washington).

And here’s our first major change- Constance’s backstory. I’ve seen folks bringing up how this could affect the plot of a possible season 3/ Prisoner’s Dilemma adaptation… personally, I think that show runners definitely have a plan. They seem enthusiastic about future seasons, and I doubt they would self sabotage. Plus, this is only one small scene- we don’t know yet how much has changed, or if it’s changed at all!

Also, I already adore Constance.

The vague and ominous signs around town are a nice touch!

REYNIE! REYNIE MULDOON! Annnnnd- roll intro!

Her Majesty the Queen??? Madge?? Hello??? You’re one book early, ma’am, but AAAAAA WHAT A NICE REFERENCE

OKAY I’LL PROBABLY MAKE A SEPARATE POST JUST FOR THE INTRO BUT FOR NOW I WILL SAY THIS: IT SLAPS

Miss PERUMAL MY BELOVED

hmmmmmMMMMM wow good thing our current world isn’t like that haha! haha

she saved it for him,,,,

So the Boatwright Academy is an actual place? Wonder how Mr Benedict got out of those lawsuits dktxkjkigxit

Then again, this man lives in an actual mansion, I think he can afford it

Tamil!!

fyidbsurekgxugsoydkvdiywitxyiv

such a good moment and it’s straight from the book!

:( :(

:( :( :( :( :(

i,,,,,,, i need a minute,,,,,,

I LOVE THEMMMMMM

NUMBER TWO

okay funny story- i only found out about this show when the trailer came out, and for some reason my first thought was “i wonder if they cast kristen schaal as number two” and SURE ENOUGH

why was that the first thing i thought? why is she somehow perfect for this role? no clue. must be fate.

the visuals for the questions are so cool

…

THE WAY SHE JUST LEAVES

oooooh…. that’s a really good way to show how long the emergency has been going on, and how nothing has changed…. because none of it is real

AAAAAAAA the green hair! the cloud dress!! i love it!!!

9 year old me was blown away by this

THE PICKLE JAR I-

Okay, now I know why Kristen Schaal is perfect for this. Her deliveries are so deadpan but so funny.

I’ve used a lot of school pencil sharpeners, can confirm they always sucked

HEBEHEUDQHBSYQQJWHBIGHHSEHHFHQJHDHEBSHIWQNFHISMCIJCHXNDUWQJ

This also blew my mind in 4th grade.

and so the kids finally meet!!

The Great Kate Weather Machine!! I love her!!

hmmmm do i hear hintings of a character arc?

They don’t bring up her measuring ability again, but it’s nice that they mentioned it!

ah yes, the adaptation-only fodder characters! nice to meet you two, we’re never going to see you again! (unless the writers pull a dungeons and dragons and make one of these random kids the big bad all along…. 👀 /j)

Kate Wetherall: Agent of Chaos. (you know, that might actually be a pretty good nickname. she should look into that)

MILLIGANNNNN

👀 👀

WOW, REAL SUBTLE GUYS

OOOOOOOH

split screen! very cool :)

THE PERSPECTIVE SHIFT IS SO CLEVER

Kate Wetherall: Rater of Sewers. (okay, yeah, that one’s not so great)

Kate Wetherall: Rater of- okay, you know what, not doing the same joke again.

People keep repeating that specific phrase- “Nobody’s at the wheel”. Interesting…

AGAIN. SUBTLE.

The framing of shots with these two specifically is so genius. It’s barely noticeable, unless you already know the twist in the first book! Someone who’s going in blind might notice how some shots seem to linger, but they wouldn’t put two and two together right away, which makes it excellent foreshadowing. aaaaaa i love it-

This scene is done so beautifully!!! The home video look… i’m crying

Katie-Cat,,,,,

Her jacket being from the circus is a really cool detail :)

NO HE DIDN-

excuse me for a moment

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

shut UP DEWEY

the DRAMA I LOVE HIM

SHUT UP DEWEY

YEAH GO OFF KATE

RHONDA KAZEMBE MY LOVE

HER ACCENTTTTTT ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

using that split screen again! more shows should use split screen, i think :)

KATE WETHERALL: KARATE MASTER

ughhhhh dewey

I HAVE NEVER HATED A CHILD MORW IN MY LIFE YOU JERK

“it was more of a yell” ahgehdhwjfjwhxnijhq

reynie you sweetheart <3

kate!!

OHH i hate you

kate, on the other hand, i adore awwwwww

AWWWWWWWWWWWWW

HAHAAAA GET OWNED LOSER

ROLL CRED- no wait

HERE HE ISSSSS (for real this time)

MR. BENEDICTTTTT

“donteatthat” ahgehdhwhdhhshws

awwwww

ah- well, not inaccurate

WHAT AN AMAZING WAY TO INTRODUCE A CHARACTER

THE TRUE MAIN CHARACTER IS HERE

MS. CONSTANCE CONTRAIRE

he looks so excited i- ❤️❤️❤️

wow rude

AN I C O N

ICON

I saw someone in the comments of this clip saying that this is actually a pretty accurate depiction of narcolepsy with cataplexy! good for the crew doing their research :)

“Constance, apparently.”

They included the green plaid! Even if it’s not really part of his costume.

Marta Kessler’s facial expressions are glorious

:( :( :(

:) :) :)

REYNIE-

love these science nerds higsftjydgitloh

machinator

I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM

I LOVE HIMMMMMM

HIS VOICE,,,,, HIS FACE,,,,,,, REYNIEEEEEE

OH HECK

RECRUITERS?????

oKAYYYYYY

WELL THAT’S A CLIFFHANGER ALL RIGHT

and we get to hear that awesome intro music again :)

So! Overall thoughts: 9/10! A really solid premiere, definitely has me excited for things to come, and a pretty faithful adaptation! Obviously there were some changes, but that’s always to be expected when adapting a book to the screen. I really enjoyed it!

I’m going to get more pie, and then on to episode two!

#mysterious benedict society #the mysterious benedict society #mbs disney #mbs #mbs disney spoilers #mbs spoilers #mbs liveblog #sylv liveblogs #mbs s1e1

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goldeneyedgirl · 4 years

Text

TwiFicMas20 Day 3: Married in Vegas

I hope December is treating everyone well <3 Today’s offering is ‘Married in Vegas’. G requested it to be included in FicMas months ago, and it’s here. In pieces, because I may have over-estimated how ‘ready’ it was to be seen.

It also degenerated into something terribly depressing, when I was definitely going for something happier, rom-com meets coming of age, so large chunks definitely need to be rewritten.

Oh, and if you want more of a specific fic, you NEED to tell me, or it will simply languish on my harddrive, forgotten forever.

Onwards!

I meet him on a Thursday night, in the shitty little bar where I work. We talk, he drinks, and then he leaves.

By Saturday night, I am Mrs Alice Whitlock-Hale, with a ring bought from some cheap jewellery vendor and a plastic flower crown in my hair.

It was the best night of my life.

Okay, so I could start at the beginning. But the true beginning is a four-year-old girl being left behind when her mom runs away with her baby sister, and the middle is when, at fourteen, that girl is thrown out of her father’s house. She tries to go home once, at sixteen, only to find out that her dad and step-monster moved away. Left the state and left her behind without so much as a forwarding address.

But that story is depressing as hell, so we’ll start when things get interesting.

My ‘husband’ – Jasper Whitlock-Hale - was a strapping 6-foot-something soldier fresh from his last tour – honourably discharged, he was quick to inform me when we first met, and I could tell that was a point of some pride for him.

I worked at a bar called ‘Sassy’s’. It had been opened in the 70s and I was pretty sure it hadn’t been cleaned or redecorated since those halcyon days. The current owner was Bruno – his son, Emil, was the manager. They were both decent, in that they paid me on time and never groped me. It’s pretty sad when those factors qualify as ‘decent’, but you tend not to be too picky when you’re applying for work at places like ‘Sassy’s’.

Especially when you’re an underage runaway.

How were we still in business? Well, we did dollar beers after nine at night (it wasn’t good beer), and we served pretty good nachos, and we had a huge flat-screen television. Oh, and we ignored any kind of gambling that happened in the dark corners.

It started off as a totally normal night – the usual crowd waiting for their cheap beers, wiping down sticky tables, and killing time. If I was lucky, there wouldn’t be any decent sports playing tonight, and no one would bitch much if I switched the channel over.

He walked through the door just after nine, limping quite obviously. He was wearing a button-down shirt, jeans and a worn leather jacket. He looked kind of haunted – but that isn’t exactly unusual in Vegas; if you don’t arrive with regrets, you’re probably going to leave with them.

He also looked too young, too clean and way too promising to be a patron at Sassy’s. I was slinging beer at that point, as he approached.

“Beer, please,” he said as he sat at the bar.

“Dollar, thanks,” I said with a smile, grabbing a chipped – but clean – glass, and grabbed a dish of peanuts. They were pretty good – more than often, they were my dinner.

“Thanks,” he nodded once, staring at the amber liquid for a moment. He looked exhausted.

I kept working – stacking fresh glasses, packing the dirty ones into the ancient dishwasher behind the bar that Bruno had installed last summer, so proudly. Pretty sure it was older than me, but it meant that I didn’t have to deal with the washing-up anymore, so I smiled and thanked him, as if I didn’t spend at least half a shift trying to get the damned thing to work.

“Mija!” Luis ducked his head out of the kitchen, passing me a plate.

“Thanks,” I said. “Need a drink?”

“Nah, just fine girly.”

Luis had it easy. He was in college, so this was a part-time gig for him – he only came in two nights a week. He earned twice what I earned, but we didn’t get as many orders for food, so he got to sit in the tiny-ass kitchen (seriously, two people couldn’t fit back there) and study. He’d make me dinner every shift we worked together, which was nice of him. Tonight was grilled cheese.

On quiet nights, I liked to prop the kitchen door open, and sit on the bar and listen to him talk about his classes while I ate. He was always hinting about me going to college, about financial assistance and scholarships, but it just wasn’t going to happen for me.

I had a mouthful of food when the group in the corner started yelling for more drinks. These guys knew Bruno and Emil, so I had to tolerate their smart-ass mouths. They liked to tease the ‘princess’ who worked there. I got that from a lot of regulars, but these guys liked to imply that I was a whore, and tell me they’d wait for me after work to ‘test me out’.

Luis said it was because they were testing me, and they were pissed that Bruno never fired the white girl. Camila, one of the ex-waitresses, was the daughter of one of them and that was why they never tipped me. A form of protest. I never breathed a word about it, and treated them just as well as any other customer.

“Beers, gentlemen,” I said, sliding the tray onto the table. “Can I get you anything else?”

“I’ll say,” one of them leered and another slapped me on the ass. I rolled my eyes and turned to go back to the bar.

“Rough night?” the guy at the bar said as I returned.

“What? Oh, them,” I shrugged, picking up my sandwich. “They’re here every night.”

“They act like that all the time?” he asked.

“Yeah, but they’re just blowing off steam. Don’t like that I kept my job and one of their daughters didn’t,” I said. “Can I get you another?”

“Please.” He watched me move carefully. “What’s your name?”

“Mary,” I said, placing another beer in front of him, and grabbing a soda for myself.

“Jasper, ma’am,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, Jasper. You from around here?”

By closing time, Jasper had nursed four beers and half my sandwich – which he inhaled like he hadn’t eaten in a while. We’d chatted. He’d just returned from his third tour in the Middle East – he didn’t say much about that, though I heard some pride in his voice when he mentioned it.

We talked about Vegas a bit, about the things he missed when he was overseas (his aunt’s chocolate cake, the cool forests of Washington state, and books). He was just passing through Vegas, here for a few days. Trying to adjust back to civilian life.

He stayed as I cleaned up, loading the dishwasher and scrubbing down the benches and tables. He watched as David and Sammy came up to pay, smirking as I leant over the bar to reach the money, giving them an unwilling flash of my pitiful cleavage.

All twenty-six dollars of it, in crumpled bills.

“Thanks,” I smiled brightly, handing them a receipt and a package of matches with the logo on it. They grunted at me and left. Their table was a mess of napkins, peanuts and glasses.

“Hope they tipped you well,” Jasper said as he watched me load the tray.

“Oh, they don’t tip. They hate me,” I said, as I piled the garbage onto a tray.

“How long were they here?”

“Since five. It’s fine, really,” I said. “It’s tradition.”

“No, it’s being an asshole,” Jasper muttered.

Luis chose that moment to leave the kitchen, bag on his shoulder.

“It’s closing time,” he sung at me, just like every night. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!”

I snorted. “Well, Jasper, it’s been nice talking to you, but I have to lock up,” I said with a little regret. He was a nice guy, and nice guys didn’t spend a lot of time at Sassy’s.

“Do you need a lift home?” he offered and then froze. “Sorry, that sounded really… seedy. I was going to offer to split a cab.”

“Thank you, but Luis gives me a lift,” I said.

“Okay. Do … you work any other nights this week?” he asked, almost shyly.

Luis was doing his best to be invisible, grabbing the trash and dragging it out the back.

“Tomorrow morning, from eleven til seven, I said. “Beer is full-priced, I’m sorry to say.”

“Okay. Thanks. It was nice talking to you,” he said again, fumbling with his words.

“You too. And if I don’t see you again, have a good time in Vegas,” I said, and, leaving money tucked under his glass, Jasper finally rose and limped out.

I sighed; dumping the glass in the sink and counting out the four dollars for the till, I jammed the tip into my bra. There wasn’t much else to do – I was opening tomorrow; we opened from 11am til 1am, so it would be me who unpacked the soda in the backroom, and the glasses and ran a mop over the perpetually sticky floor. So I could go into the kitchen and change out of my uniform and go and find Luis.

Once the hot pink wig was peeled off, my black hair stuck clammily to my face. My make-up had mostly melted off and it was a relief to tug on my leggings and hoodie and grab my bag.

Luis was waiting for me in the car as I locked up.

“So, you and soldier boy,” he began as soon as I got in.

“Ugh, really?” I pulled my tip out of my bra. “He was alone, and flirting with the waitress. Won’t see him again.” It had been a quiet night – fourteen dollars, plus whatever Jasper had left me. I mean, on average, I made maybe twenty-five dollars in tips a night.

And I stared. Two twenty dollar bills were staring at me, along with six dollars. A forty six dollar tip for four dollar beers. And half a cold grilled cheese sandwich.

“No, he didn’t like you at all,” Luis drawled.

“Shut up,” I grumbled, but inside I was giddy. He was dashing, and smart and polite. And now I could make my rent.

“Here were are. Sleep well,” Luis pulled up in front of the apartment block.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said, spinning my keys around my finger, and headed home.

The apartment block was a grim brick building of roughly eighty apartments. I lived in number 48. Well, I rented a room in number 48. The apartment was really Victoria’s. Victoria had two kids and never actually told me what she did for a living. Nothing would surprise me. She was a bitch, didn’t give a shit about her kids, but rented out the third closet-sized bedroom complete with air mattress and a locked closet full of canned soup to me for the princely sum of eighty bucks a week.

What did I know about my new husband?

He walked with a limp – I was guessing an injury that got him discharged from the military.

He had a twin sister – one he spoke of with equal parts affection and irritation.

He liked history – American military history, specifically.

He was raised in Texas, until his mother died when he was 10. He and his sister were packed off to live with his mom’s best friend and her husband in the wilds of Washington state, where he stayed until he finished high school. He never mentioned his father.

And he was a consummate gentleman.

I, on the other hand, lied my head off.

Well, I only told the usual lies – I was 21, earning money for college, hoping to be a nurse one day. Oh, and when he asked about my family, I told him they were dead. It was better to keep it simple, it meant there were no questions.

We got married on the Strip, Saturday night.

And when he woke up Sunday morning looking hilariously horrified at the fact we got married, I might have exaggerated how drunk I was.

That makes me sound like the worst kind of person, and I don’t think I am, really.

I mean, he was dressed very nicely, he had a black AmEx, and was clearly educated. But I didn’t want to take advantage of him, truly. I wasn’t looking for money or anything. He was so nice, so handsome and he made me feel safe. And before she left me, my mom always told me that life was meant to be full of adventures, and I had to get out there and grab them with both hands. She didn’t leave me with many good memories, so I kind of held onto that advice.

Just once, for a moment, I wanted to pretend to be the type of girl who could marry someone like Jasper Whitlock. The kind of girl who got to stay in beautiful hotel suites.

He kept apologising to me, seemingly more shocked that I had slept on the hotel couch than the idea we had gotten drunk, married and might have had sex. He looked completely panicked, pacing and muttering and staring at me like a stranger.

I took advantage of the giant bathtub and the endless selection of bath gels and lotions whilst he tried to be subtle about the panicked phone calls he was making, his knuckles white as he gripped the damning piece of paper that declared us husband and wife in the state of Nevada.

I emerged smelling of cherry blossoms and lavender. I mean, I only had the previous night’s clothes – my black mini-skirt, leggings, a Sassy’s tank top and my poor flats – but at least I was clean and tidy.

“I need to shower,” Jasper managed as I came out. “There’s coffee and juice if you want something.”

“Thanks,” I smiled.

As I went to grab a drink, his phone buzzed and I looked down to see the messages flash across the screen, one after the other.

ROSALIE (CELL) 9:17:04am: Cut the tramp loose. C spoke to E & u can annul when u get home. JFC.

CARLISLE (WORK) 9:17:11am: I’ve spoken to Eleazer, and he’s willing to work this out.

EDWARD (CELL) 9:17:24am: Tell me this is a joke or something. Rosalie keeps shrieking every time she calls.

ESME (CELL) 9:17:31am: Rosalie told us. Bring her home with you and we can fix it. Love you XOXO

BELLA (iMessage) 9:17:49am: R u ok? Saw on R’s FB what happened.

EMMETT (CELL) 9:18:00am: Did u srsly marry a stripper in Vegas?!?

EMMETT (CELL) 9:18:09am: Rose is losing her shit. Nice knowing u.

EMMETT (CELL) 9:18:34am: At least send pix of what she looks like dude.

I turned away from the phone, though it was fascinating watching the messages pop up. My cellphone was a beat-up second-hand Sidekick Tiffy had given me for my seventeenth birthday, the back bedazzled in pink and purple, and the only text messages I got were from Luis, Emil and Bruno, about work.

Or Victoria, bitching about the rent.

I grabbed my drink and sat on the couch, flipping on the television whilst I waited for Jasper to finish in the shower. He emerged, looking calmer, though pale and hung over, snatching up his phone, with a towel slung around his hips. I tried not to stare – goddamnit, this guy should not be marrying strange bartenders in Vegas. He would have absolutely no trouble getting a date. I knew I was bright red, refocusing on whatever cartoons were playing on the screen.

Jasper took me to breakfast at the hotel restaurant afterwards - I felt super underdressed with my sweater over my top, as I was served the fanciest eggs I had ever seen. Jasper crumbled a bagel up and drank about a gallon of coffee, barely meeting my eyes. I figured I might as well take advantage of my wedding breakfast, and also helped myself to fruit salad that included fruits I wasn’t aware were even available in America, and a doughnut that looked hand-painted with icing.

“I have some appointments today,” Jasper said, finally, when he finally pushed his plate aside. “We could meet for dinner later.”

I popped the last bite of doughnut into my mouth and wondered if he was planning on leaving town, leaving me behind.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

I had the day off, surprisingly enough. Normally on my days off, I had plans – sometimes I worked for a catering firm I was registered with, for some extra cash. Sometimes I’d hit the thrift stores to try and pad out my meagre wardrobe, or go and sketch or read in the park. I hated hanging around the apartment, since Victoria, James and Laurent kept unpredictable hours and could be there all day.

But today, I had nowhere to be. My phone needed charging and I could do with a few extra hours of sleep – a headache was definitely lingering. Plus, if breakfast was any indication, I needed to dress up for dinner. I was pretty sure that breakfast had cost more than my entire wardrobe. But I had one dress that was passable.

Luckily, the apartment was empty when I slipped in and collapsed into my bed, noticing only for a second that the hotel couch was far and away more comfortable than the ancient air mattress Victoria provided.

I was woken at five pm by a text message from Jasper.

360-555-0134 5:03:44pm: My meetings are done. Just heading back to the hotel for a shower. Our reservation is for 7:30pm. Pick you up at 7?

I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face – I hadn’t been sure I’d ever hear from Jasper again. But he was taking me out to a fancy dinner. Hell, I would have been over the moon if we went to a movie and ate hot dogs in a park. Flipping open the keyboard, I tapped out a response.

775-555-0182 5:04:59pm: Sounds good – am sending my address. Hope your day was good.

I had two hours to get ready for the fanciest meal of my life.

I could so do this.

—

Considering my resources, I didn’t think I looked too bad. I’d left my hair loose, since I didn’t own a curling wand or straightener, and managed to paint my nails with the half-empty bottle of nude pink I’d found amongst my stuff.

My dress was a black polyester number I had fished out of a basket at the thrift store and had cost me eight dollars. It was a baby-doll style and I thought it made me look older. My shoes were black wedges that were nowhere near fancy enough, but I didn’t own any proper heels.

I had run to the drug store around the corner for a lipstick, a deep crimson that made me feel much older and more glamorous. The effect was somewhat spoilt by the fact I didn’t own a decent coat, just a purple cardigan and a hoodie. And the only purse I owned was a silver crossbody-bag that looked like I had only paid two dollars for it.

At seven on the dot, I emerged from my room to find Victoria, the kids, James and Laurent eating pizza.

“Look at you, baby,” James was practically drooling as I walked through, jamming my wallet and phone into the tiny bag. “Told you she was gorgeous.”

Laurent made a non-committal sound but his gaze never left my legs, ew.

“Where are you going?” Victoria demanded, glaring at me. She definitely preferred me as skinny, bedraggled Mary instead of girly Alice.

“I have a date,” I said.

“A date? Finally working for the money, Mary?” Victoria said. “Thought you were too good for that.”

I made a face at her. “A date. With a guy. Where he takes me to dinner and we talk.”

“You didn’t come home last night,” Victoria said carelessly, and I caught a dark look pass over James’ face. “Excuse me for assuming that you’d come to your senses.”

I swallowed my vulgar response and grabbed my keys. “Don’t wait up.”

My stuff was packed up – in the end, I had only a small duffle bag and my messenger bag of stuff for nineteen years of life.

Jasper was planning on driving back to Forks over two or three days. He had considered – and offered – to pay for us to fly back, but I’d never been in an airplane before, and figured a road-trip would give me time to prepare to meet Jasper’s family.

I wasn’t expecting it. Not for James to half-punch, half-slap me, and shake me by the throat. I couldn’t breathe, my lungs burning, slightly disoriented from the blows.

James half-threw me against the fridge, the handle digging into my back. I dropped my bags as he grabbed me by the scruff of the shirt and pulled me back towards him.

“You think you can leave?” he spat at me. “Stupid bitch, think you’re better than this?”

I tried to pull away, but I was too small.

“You’re just like Vic. Just like ‘em all. You’ll come crawling back when that prick gets bored,” he purred at me, one hand sliding down my stomach and I suddenly was terrified. “I’m not picky, I’ll take you back – when you beg.”

“James.”

We both jerked around to see Laurent standing in the doorway, with one of Victoria’s daughters in tow.

James pasted a bright smile on his face. “Just sayin’ good bye to Mary here. Takin’ her chances in sunny California.”

Laurent looked from me to him and shrugged. “Coming?”

James looked back at me and sneered. “Yeah. The trash can take herself out.”

Within seconds, they were gone, and I was alone. I span on my heel and headed to the bathroom.

I stared at myself in the mirror. My throat was red, where he’d shaken me, and my eye and cheek were already swelling – and my lip was split. My back and shoulder ached, plus my right ankle was tender.

Thankfully, the collar of my cardigan would cover up my throat, and my sunglasses would cover up my eye. Hopefully, my lip would stop bleeding by then. Nothing that indicated James had hurt me. But I didn’t want to hang around, in case he came back.

Snagging my bags off the floor, I dropped my keys on the kitchen table and fled apartment 48 for the final time.

Jasper was waiting in the bar with a coffee and the paper when I showed up. I’d tried so hard to dress nicely – a blue shirtdress and lavender leggings – but the women in the hotel foyer made me look like a middle school student.

“Hi,” I smiled as I reached the table.

“Good morning,” Jasper said, jumping up to take my bags. “Can I get you anything?”

“An oj?” I asked, looking around at the fancy surroundings. I wasn’t sure anything as pedestrian as an orange had ever crossed the threshold of this place.

“Certainly.” A hotel employee suddenly appeared at Jasper’s elbow. “Could you put these bags with mine? And the lady would like an orange juice, and perhaps the brunch menu?”

“Of course, Mr Whitlock,” the employee said.

I wriggled around in my seat, gazing around the bar. One woman was wearing the most incredible red and gold heels, and another had an embroidered floral dress that was to die for.

“The hotel had some computer difficulties this morning – we should be able to leave soon,” Jasper said to me, drawing my attention back to him. “I’d like to make it to Boise tonight.”

“Sounds good,” I said, as a waiter swept to my side, placing the fanciest glass of juice in front of me, and a tasselled menu. “Thank you.”

“I’ve already eaten,” Jasper said, looking guilty. “Early start. But please, get whatever you want.”

“O-kay,” I said. I wasn’t very hungry, and my throat hurt after James’ assault, but I needed to eat – I wasn’t sure if we’d stop for lunch. Rule number one was never, ever turn down free food.

A hotel employee appeared at Jasper’s elbow the second my breakfast plate was cleared, to let us know that the ‘issues’ had been fixed, and our luggage was in the car.

It was happening. We were going.

Mary-Alice Brandon: now leaving Las Vegas.

The motel was neat and pretty clean, with two double beds and a TV. We’d grabbed burgers through drive-thru, and were ready to settle in for the night.

I had some ancient pj bottoms and a tank top to sleep in, and didn’t think of anything else as I left the bathroom, my hair hanging loose.

“What the hell happened to you?” Jasper was at my side in a second, his eyes wide.

“What?” I gave him a confused look, and belatedly realised that my make-up was washed off and in my tank top my throat was bared, the bruises that James had given me so much darker and angrier than before.

“Oh, um, my landlord’s boyfriend had a problem with me leaving,” I said uncomfortably.

“Jesus,” he murmured. “We can find a doctor in the morning.”

I waved it off. “I’ve got painkillers in my purse. Just have to wait til I heal.”

Jasper was determined to buy me clothing as soon as we finished breakfast, and I gave up and let him drive me to the Gap outlet. It was a novelty to be able to purchase whatever I need, something I wasn’t used to, as I carefully chose jeans and dresses. I also picked up a winter parka on sale, when Jasper warned me how wet and cold Forks was.

But when Jasper went to pay, he gave me a Look. “My sister spends more on a single pair of shoes,” he grumbled at me as I gathered my bags.

“I’ve got everything I need, I swear,” I said. “Probably too much, honestly.”

On the way from Seattle, I tried to memorise everything about Jasper’s family and friends, so not to fuck this up worse than it already was.

There were his ‘aunt’ and ‘uncle’, Esme and Carlisle. They had one biological son, Edward, who was 22 and married to Isabella, with a toddler named something strange. Ness, Jasper called her.

Jasper’s twin sister, Rosalie, was engaged to a man named Emmett, who was also one of Jasper’s best friends. They were building a house in Forks, and were getting married at the end of the year.

Jasper’s best friends were Emmett and a man named Peter, Jasper’s roommate in college, who now worked at a law firm in Seattle and had a girlfriend named Charlotte whom Jasper called ‘an angel’, and designed wedding dresses.

I felt like I needed flashcards.

#twificmas20 #ficmas20 #alice cullen #jasper hale #alice/jasper #jalice #twilight renaissance #twilight fic #human au #getting married in vegas #wip #my fic #my fic: vegas

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lyricfulloflight · 5 years

Text

Cherik Bodyguard AU

I have no idea what this fic will be title, but I wanted to share the prologue because...because I’ve been working on the start of three different cherik fics and I just wanted to share at least one of them.

This is a modern, AU, non-powered fic. Erik is a former military man turned bodyguard, Charles is an actor. This is the prologue to the main fic.

Let me know what you think!

Story below the cut.

Prologue

It took Erik less than five minutes to decide he hated Los Angeles. More specifically he hated rich, entitled, juvenile model/actresses who hosted parties in the Hollywood Hills of Los Angeles in the middle of the summer when Erik had to stand outside in 100 degree heat in a suit. This particular rich, entitled model/actress probably hated him right back, which was fine with Erik.

He had arrived at the sprawling one story, mid-century modern house at the time assigned to him by the Frost Protection Agency: 1pm. The host of the party, one Raven Darkholme, had answered the door with nothing more than skimpy lingerie and a scowl. Erik had, according to her, woken her up. Since she was supposed to be hosting a party that started at 2pm, Erik figured he’d done her a favour.

After muttering a completely insincere ‘Sorry’, Erik brushed passed the half-asleep young woman and started a perimeter check of the property.

It was another forty five minutes before his colleagues showed up.

“You’re late.” Erik said when they entered the backyard.

“Good morning to you too, you grumpy German asshole.” Alex Summers replied with a smirk.

“It’s almost fourteen hundred hours.” Erik answered flatly. “The party is supposed to start in fifteen minutes.”

“This is Hollywood, Lenhsherr. No one is going to be here on time, they’ll be at least an hour or two late. That’s how things work around here.” Alex explained. “You can relax – if that’s even possible for you.”

Erik stared at Alex in silence for a minute and then went back to scanning the completely inadequate fencing around the backyard.

“Have you met my brother, Scott?” Alex’s voice interrupted.

“No.”

“This is where you turn around and say hello, Lehnsherr. They do teach basic social skills in Germany, right?”

Erik scowled and turned around to face the brothers.

“Hello.” He ground out, extending his hand toward the unfamiliar brother who had darker hair and sunglasses. “Erik Lehnsherr.”

“Scott Summers. Nice to meet you Erik.” Scott replied with a tense smile. “Haven’t been in California long have you?”

“No.”

And given the ridiculousness of this day so far, he didn’t plan to stay long either. The basic concept of schedules and timeliness was something Erik was not willing to live without. He’d only been with the agency for a couple weeks, but fortunately they had offices in several large American cities and even a few in Europe. Erik had been looking to get as far away from his former life as possible and California had seemed like a worthy prospect for escape. Clearly it was not. Luckily he remembered that Ms. Frost had mentioned during his interview they were also looking for new bodyguards in Dallas and New York. Surely one of those cities had to be better than this.

“The inadequate fencing appears to be the most likely point of entry.” He stated.

“Have you ever been to one of these parties man?” Alex asked.

“I’m not at the party, I’m providing security for the party.” Erik replied stonily.

“Listen, not that you shouldn’t check the perimeter and do all the regular security ‘stuff’” Alex said sarcastically, making making quotes as he spoke, “but seriously, these parties, they hired us cause they like how it looks. Tall, strong guys in suits standing around looking dangerous, we’re like...arm candy or something. You’ll probably spend more time trying to get drunk party goers to leave you alone than you will chasing away threats. They like the paps, man. They want their pictures taken.”

“That’s not what the contract said.”

“Screw what the contract said. A bunch of young almost celebrities who are trading on their good looks and charm? They want their pictures splashed across magazines and all over the internet. It’ll help them get their next job.”

“I hate this place.” Erik muttered, but not quietly enough not to be overheard.

“Yeah, doesn’t seem like your scene.” Scott nodded. “You should ask Emma if they have openings in Washington or New York. More politicians and businessmen on contract out there. Might be a bit more your speed.”

Erik grunted in acknowledgement, clearly Scott was the smarter of the two Summer’s brothers.

The next hour or two passed without issue. As Alex had predicted, the first guest arrived at the late and complete imprecise time of 3:17pm. As guests began to trickle in, wearing odd and unusual clothes, Erik had a sinking feeling. When the hostess, dressed in a green and blue flowy gown that somehow managed to have plenty of fabric and yet cover nothing but the essential bits strutted out to welcome the guests to the party, his fears were confirmed.

“Welcome to my 21st birthday, costume pool party bitches! Let’s all get plastered!”

Erik winced at the high pitched announcement and the roar of cheers that followed it. Wonderful. A costume party full of twenty-somethings who wanted to get shit faced and also swim in a pool. Genius idea.

The following hours were some of the worst of his life, which was saying something as Erik’s life had never been a something to brag about. He was accosted by no less than a dozen bikini clad girls (he couldn’t call them women since they all looked about fifteen and he was tempted to ask them when their parents were coming to pick them up), had a woman dressed as Cher pinch his ass, and was propositioned by two men, one dressed as a sailor and the other wearing both too much leather and yet not enough clothing in general.

Erik hated this job. He hated California, with its hot, sticky weather. Most of all he hated these people. People with nothing in their heads and botox in their faces (even though no one looked a day over thirty) and silicone in their chests. People who thought nothing of invading the personal space of someone who was working, and clearly not attending the party.

At this moment he particularly hated the young man dressed as Tom Cruise from Risky Business, wearing nothing but a button down shirt, sunglasses, tube socks and white briefs, who was currently serenading everyone with a truly terrible rendition of ‘Copacabana’. Firstly, Erik thought, the man obviously should have been singing ‘Old Time Rock and Roll’, given his costume. Secondly, the man might have been better off singing when he was less drunk. Erik could only hope his voice would have been better and more in tune if he wasn’t quite so sloshed. And thirdly, it should have been illegal for someone’s ass to look that good in plain white briefs. Plain white briefs were not sexy, they were practical and unassuming. But these briefs, with that ass, they assumed a lot, including far too much of Erik’s attention. Erik found himself thinking quite a bit about how likely it was that someone would push the young man into the pool. Erik tried to justify his thoughts as concern, concern that the young man, being more than a little drunk might be at risk of drowning if he was unexpectedly pushed into the pool. Obviously his thoughts had nothing to do with how transparent his entire outfit would be once he emerged from the pool, certainly not. Erik was a professional and professionals did not think about random party guests in that way.

No one pushed the man into the pool.

For while, Erik lost sight of the man and was able to give the full force of his concentration to patrolling the perimeter of the yard and looking for unwanted, uninvited intruders. Thank goodness he was looking, because within half and hour of starting his route, he found one nosy paparazzo hiding behind the bushes, gleefully snapping away. His line of sight the perfect angle to get shots into the flimsy tent where guests were changing into swimming attire. ‘What a horrible excuse for a human being’ Erik though vaguely before kicking the man’s camera out of his hands and hauling his upwards by the scruff of his shirt.

“Hey man! Lay off! I was just doing my job!” The man scrambled frantically for his camera as Erik dragged him along.

“Your job is to take pictures of unsuspecting women taking their clothes off?” He bit out through clenched teeth.

“Hey, they’re asking for it man! They want to be famous!” He man whined as Erik pushed him toward a mostly discrete side exit.

“I’m quite certain they were not asking for it.” A crisp cultured voice interrupted before Erik could punch the man in the nose. “There’s no need for violence, my friend.” The voice spoke again and Erik felt a hand touch his arm, causing him to frown, but relax his arm back down to his side.

Erik turned to find himself face to face with the Tom Cruise costumed man, who sounded considerably less drunk than Erik would have thought based on his earlier behaviour.

“Your film, please.” The young man said, holding a hand out toward the paparazzo Erik had caught.

“It’s all digital man.” The man replied smugly.

Erik grabbed the offending camera out of the man’s hands and passed it over to Tom Cruise, or whoever he was.

“Here.”

“Thank you.” Tom (as Erik had decided to think of him for lack of a better option) smiled a brilliant smile up at Erik and happily took the camera.

“Digital they may be,” Tom said, deleting pictures and removing the memory card, “but they are now gone. If I ever see you back on my sister’s property again, I will call the police and have you charged for trespassing.” He turned back to Erik, his voice now much lighter, friendlier even. “If you would be so kind as to escort this man off the property Mr. …?”

“Lehnsherr. Mr. Lehnsherr.” Erik managed to answer.

“Mr. Lehnsherr. I would be most grateful to never see him again.”

“My pleasure.” Erik smiled, lifting the offensive man high enough that his feet didn’t touch the ground, he started forward moving quickly to haul the man by the house and down the driveway, depositing him on the road outside the front gate.

Erik returned to the party and somehow made it through the last couple of hours of debauchery. No other intruders were spotted. Guests continued to drink and a great many people were pushed into the pool. ‘Tom’ was no where in sight, however.

Erik took to smiling his biggest, most aggressively toothy grin at everyone who came near him, which effectively scared everyone away from his general vicinity.

“Jesus, that’s terrifying.” Alex commented after a pair of young women had turned and run away from Erik’s latest smile. “You should never smile, man. I’ve gotten six phone numbers from these chicks – stop scaring them away. If you don’t want the phone numbers, I’ll take them.”

Erik scowled, disgusted at Alex’s complete lack of professionalism. Of course he was scaring them away. He didn’t want their phone numbers. The only thing he would admit to wanting, was a name (okay, he likely would have taken a phone number too). Unfortunately, as the party died down and guests stumbled home, Erik didn’t catch sight of ‘Tom’ once.

The next day he was back at Frost Protection Agency headquarters asking for a transfer. Within the week he was flying to New York. He had no regrets, he and California were clearly not meant for each other. ‘Tom’ whoever he was would remain a mystery. Which was fine by Erik. Mystery Tom was intriguing: a man with some principles, a horrible singing voice, and a fantastic ass. ‘Tom’ is real life would no doubt have been a disappointment, as people almost always were.

So Erik did what he did best: he compartmentalized and pushed ‘Tom’ into a nice little box and stored him away in the recesses of his mind. Now, was the time for New York. He sat on the plane, in a cramped economy seat and pulled out the file on his next assignment.

#lyric writes #cherik bodyguard au #cherik fic #just a taste #more to come...#eventually

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goobergamer · 5 years

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Welcome to the Real World, Chpt. 2/?

Fic Summary: ‘The real world’ is Marine Corps slang referring to civilian life after discharge. -(x)

Or, Washington, new and struggling veteran, moves into a duplex where he has a strange and surly neighbor with a penchant for the color red. (Sargington modern war vets AU)

Warnings: No common warnings for this chapter, ask me if you need specific content tagged for!

First chapter on Tumblr here: (x). This chapter crossposted to AO3 here: (x)

The first rain since Wash’s arrival to the house three days prior sees sheets of water falling to the porch steps. It takes him a couple of trips between the kitchen and the rest of the house to realize that what’s falling outside the front window is far heavier than the rain on his other two sides of the complex. Pulling on a jacket and braving the waterfall to reach the bottom of the stairs, he spies a gutter full to capacity with wet leaves, spilling what it can over the rim. Odd that there would already be so many in the summer.

Or perhaps not so odd. Did Stephen say anything about gutter cleaning?

Maybe. Wash’s guess is as good as anyone else’s; physically present he was for their meetings, mentally present? Not so much.

Well, there is someone he can ask now. Sarge has been living there for at least a few months already. He should have had an idea of what maintenance comes with the place.

At Wash’s knock, Sarge’s door swings open a few inches before stopping short, no fewer than three security chains holding it in place. He squints out the gap before recognizing Wash, his expression shifting to one...slightly less suspicious. “Washington.”

“Uh, hi.” Wash feels out of practice in conversations with normal people, let alone a man who’s clearly a fair stretch beyond that. “The, uh, gutter’s overflowing, and I was wondering if they hire someone to do cleanings here?”

“Nope, that’s on us.”

Joy. At least it isn’t a one-person building. “Okay. Do you want to come out now to do it, or we can--”

“No can do,” Sarge interrupts, face impassive. “I don’t do heights.” And he promptly slams the door.

After giving it a long, incredulous stare, Wash walks back to his own side. He has some sense that even if he were to knock again and Sarge actually opened the door, the conversation wouldn’t get much further.

He climbs out an upstairs window onto the porch’s overhang with his makeshift gutter cleaner, a broom. The thought crosses his mind to leave Sarge’s half of the gutter untouched; it would probably still drain from Wash’s pipe, but he would get his point made either way. In the end, however, he brushes the rest of the leaves off the side of the porch. May as well get it while he’s up there instead of being a (well-deserved) asshole; there’s already one frustrating neighbor in the complex, there doesn’t need to be two.

---

Routines are good. Routines are normal. Routines make Wash feel efficient with his time, as opposed to aimless with the amount of it he just can’t fill.

And routines mean that nothing is wrong, that everything can be expected because it is exactly the same as it has been. Wash of course would never lean on that, never let his guard slip, but it’s comforting all the same.

Get up at 6 (though waking up often happens earlier, not by his choice). Out of the shower by 6:30. Coffee on the porch by 7, before the summer heat bears down. Like clockwork. He’s maintained it for two weeks in the duplex now.

Except today, when Wash steps out with his drink, something is wrong. He senses, before he really sees, the moving shape out of the corner of his eye, and jerks his hand back, instinct ready to transform his mug of burning hot coffee into a weapon.

He pauses, thankfully, when the figure is fully in his line of sight; Sarge, sitting on a kitchen chair he must have dragged out, holding his own coffee mug. Apparently unaware of his near brush with second-degree burns, or at least ignoring it, he offers a gruff “morning, Washington,” as a casual greeting.

Wash mentally counts back from 5, straightening up as his heartbeat slows to somewhere within the range of normal. “...Hey, Sarge,” he finally replies, tone clearly conveying his confusion. “...What are you doing out here?”

“A man can’t drink coffee on his own front stoop?” Sarge squints at him, challenging.

Not when you haven’t done it any time before now. “I mean-- I-- Nevermind.” Wash doesn’t need the routine. Sarge doesn’t need to drink his coffee there either, but Wash can already guess who would more easily fold.

With a small “hmph”, Sarge nods, seemingly victorious in whatever nonsense he thought was going on. He takes a sip of his coffee, and after another moment of staring, Wash leans his elbows on the railing and imitates the action.

The two remain there, silently drinking and watching the road, until Sarge’s cup finally drains. He promptly stands up, nodding at Wash when the movement draws his eye, and returns to his apartment.

Wash doesn’t know what to make of it. Sure, not everyone lives on a schedule, but why change it up this particular day? There’s nothing special about it. It’s no cooler or hotter than usual. No more or less sunny.

There’s no special reason he shouldn’t, either, he reminds himself. But the thought had still gnawed at him every time Sarge shifted and Wash had to work not to twitch.

It makes more sense--not much, but more--when the next morning, Sarge is back out there again.

---

A little over a week more, and Wash has made tenuous peace with Sarge’s now daily presence during his morning coffee. They greet each other, and say goodbye when one or the other clears out, but not a whole lot is said in between. It would almost be easy to ignore him there once they’re settled in...if Wash isn’t growing more curious about Sarge, against his better judgement.

He knows, logically, it’s the water in the desert phenomenon; beyond the cashiers who ring him up for his once-weekly grocery trips, he hasn’t had much engagement with people over the past month. While that’s by his preference, it still isn’t what he was previously used to, sleeping in tents or on floors packed with five or six other people he had been training with or fighting beside daily for years. However much of a closed door he is, Sarge is still a little bit of necessary human interaction.

Today is sticky-hot, even so early in the morning, and Sarge emerges after Wash, sporting a red tank top and a worn pair of cargo shorts.

“Washington.”

“Sarge.”

With formalities out of the way, Sarge settles into his chair. Wash intends to turn toward the road, hazy as the dew burns off the asphalt, but before he can something catches his eye. Though there is a rough-hewn scar on Sarge’s nearest shoulder, Wash’s eyes are drawn to a splash of color above it. Tattoos of military origin are typically recognizable in style alone, but this one in particular is startlingly familiar, with its similarity to the Recon Jack skull tattooed on Wash’s chest.

They aren’t a match, though, and Wash’s question is answered when he reads the banner script beneath it: ‘USAF Combat Control’.

“You were special ops,” Wash realizes aloud. He isn’t familiar with many standard military units outside of the Marines, but he has at least a passing knowledge of the high-level special operations forces he could have come across on collaborative assignments. The Air Force’s Combat Control Teams, trained on combat support and communication behind enemy lines, are one of them.

Sarge’s brow furrows at the sudden break in the silence, before he follows Wash’s line of sight to the tattoo. He huffs, as though disgruntled that Wash has somehow noticed something completely out in the open. “You’re damn right I am.”

The skull is surrounded by two curling wings, with a parachute in the backdrop. I don’t do heights. So either he had been lying to get Wash to clean the gutters alone...or there’s something significant there.

Not that it’s exactly his business. He plays it safe, asking, “how many jumps?”

“More than you.”

Likely true. Definitely frustrating in its evasiveness. “I don’t recall mentioning what I did.”

“And I don’t recall making a guess! My answer still stands.” But it doesn’t take long for Sarge to start poking for more info. Perhaps Wash hasn’t been the only one curious. “You don’t get scars that big by paper pushing. Unless they’ve started handing out medals for paper cuts.”

Maybe Wash being straightforward in a gesture of goodwill will encourage it in his cagey neighbor. Besides, it’s not like he feels any inclination to hide the info Sarge is after. It’s his past, for better or for worse. “Marines. Force recon.”

Sarge grunts in reply, but his begrudging recognition seeps through. Wash had trained in spec ops as well, with an emphasis on reconnaissance, gathering intel deep within enemy territory. Though Sarge had probably parachuted more, as he’d said, it would have been for his role’s focus and his age. Wash has his own areas of greater experience he could claim. They’re on fairly equal footing, as far as things go.

“Awful young to be out of the game now, after all that training,” Sarge comments, another probe. Wash turns his attention to his coffee, now growing lukewarm; while he appreciates that he’s gotten Sarge talking, that isn’t first full-length conversation material by a longshot.

“You aren’t that old, yourself,” he finally evades.

Sarge barks a laugh at that, but apparently his own discharge isn’t first conversation material either, because he drains the last of his coffee and waves Wash goodbye for the day.

A/N: Sarge's shoulder tattoo: (x)

Wash’s shoulder tattoo: (x)

#rvb #red vs blue #wttrw #welcome to the real world

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sophieswundergarten · 1 year

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My brain came up with this while I was half asleep, and then I proceeded to promptly forget about it for the seventy-two some-odd hours. But I remembered tonight! So here you go:

Sophie Assigns the "Good" MBS Humans to the Fellowship of the Ring

I just thought the other day, "Hey, four kids plus four adults and one Miss Perumal makes nine! Guess what other book I enjoy has an initial grouping of nine protagonists?" And then the rest of this followed

Of course, I made the Hobbits the kids. It just worked really well with the route I was going.

Frodo - Constance. They both have a lot on their shoulders, and whether they like it or not they are instrumental in the success of their friends

Sam - Kate. I waffled a bit on Sam, but I think Kate fits best here. She has her bucket and is very prepared, and she also goes on solo missions with/carries Constance a lot.

This means the boys are Merry and Pippin!

Merry - Reynie. If I'm remembering right, Merry is a little older than Pippin, and tends to look out for him. I know they're cousins in the books, but I really like the idea of them as a brother-like duo that works together a lot.

Pippin - Sticky. Slightly less life experience than the others his age, but still doing his best! Also very close with his friends and gets put in a position of power under a Not Great Guy (Denethor/Curtain) and learns to break away from him and look out for the people he loves.

Okay. So. I know that initially it seems like Mr. B should be Gandalf. But hear me out.

Gandalf - Milligan. He's there sometimes, sometimes he's off doing other stuff that is still vital to the mission but not immediately visible! He jumps off things (Granted, Gandalf has the Eagles to help him), and has that kind of general colour scheme. He advises the kids both individually and as a group.

Gimli - Number Two. I don't even know. I just felt this one immediately. She's really intense and strong and a good fighter, but sometimes she needs someone to tell her to calm down and loosen up a bit.

Legolas - Rhonda. Also felt this one as soon as I thought about it. Something about Rhonda having slightly better people skills and the general charisma of an elf, but she's still super close with Number Two and they make fun little competitions out of working together.

Boromir - Nicholas. Now. This gave me a lot of trouble, but I think it works because this is the character he would give himself. The one with a brother, who gets "favoured", but ultimately falls prey to his weakness. He genuinely wants to help the kids, but in the end he puts them in danger. This does not mean Curtain is Faramir. We're not even getting into that can of worms here.

And we all know what this means!!

Aragorn - Miss Perumal. I love this one, even though it kind of happened by process of elimination. Her "bit of a puzzler" traits as a ranger who can track people all over the place is so good. Also, this means that she'd get a girls team up with Rhonda and Number Two as the Three Hunters! And, come on. I really want to give her a cool sword.

#What does this mean for any of the other characters?#No idea!#This literally came into my head as I was falling asleep a bit ago #But I got so excited when I remembered it that I really wanted to write it out #The only snag I hit was Nicholas because he's a little tricky #In the end I feel like Boromir is a really good choice for him #But we're also using MBS rules where no one we actually see dies so I don't have to worry about any of that #The Rhonda and Number Two dynamic made me so happy #As well as Miss Perumal being a really cool magical sword person #But this was just me being Very Specific about two things I really like so please take it with a grain of salt :)#the mysterious benedict society #mbs #constance contraire #kate wetherall #reynie muldoon #sticky washington #milligan wetherall #mr. benedict #nicholas benedict #number two #rhonda kazembe #miss perumal #dipika perumal #lord of the rings #lotr

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floop0wder-blog · 6 years

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How Common Is Off-label Drug Use?

It happens. Whether you believe in multiple personalities is up to you, but you need to understand that the brain has the capability to switch off, so to speak, while your body is still operating. Is it still occurring? That would have likely busted the market open with cheaper drugs and a new level of competition. Unfortunately there is no wall mount option so the dispenser will require a dedicated level surface near your sink. This means some residue will always remain behind. If the Batman murders are indeed a covert op, the motives behind it don't need much explanation. I hope you are able to use some of them. Campaign for Personal Prescription Importation (CPPI) is a national nonprofit patient advocacy organization that advocates for Americans’ access to safe, affordable prescription medications from Canada for personal use. 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GIRARD'S STORY, HOWEVER STRANGE, reflects what TIs around the world report: a chance encounter with a government agency or official, followed by surveillance and gang stalking, and then, in many cases, voices, and pain similar to electric shocks. So, instead of becoming a landscape architect, Girard began a full-time investigation of what was happening to him, often traveling to Washington in pursuit of government documents relating to mind control. Could it be that the entire scenario is as simple as one guy going off his nut? Going Off-label Without Venturing Off-Course: Evidence and Ethical Off-label Prescribing. What questions should I ask my doctor about off-label drug use? However this does not mean the side effects will not occur with lower dosages or short term use. Los Algodones is an unusual small border town, about four blocks square in size. For approximately four years, the Pentagon conducted secret research: zapping monkeys; exposing unwitting sailors to microwave radiation; and conducting a host of other unusual experiments (a sub-project of Project Pandora was titled Project Bizarre). Also from Beautybay I got the Macadamia Oil No Tangle Brush, which I fell in love with. And just like that I got it. Was the Batman shooting a mega-ritual carried out by the occult elite and its mass media appendage? Wow, what great savings. While its exact range is classified, Doug Beason, an expert in directed-energy weapons, puts it at about 700 meters, and the beam cannot penetrate a number of materials, such as aluminum. While your dog is suffering from cataracts, canada pharmacy online the lens becomes cloudy and opaque. Is it the glycerine that is making it sticky? Truly professional. Good job! Tom Skinner, a spokesman for the U.S. It should be noted that this investigator also reviewed the audio radio traffic from the Aurora Police Department, and requested a source from the department to authenticate the radio (audio) communications. 3 off manufacturer coupons in the January 24 Sunday paper. In a systematic review, Kripalani et al.

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alexisbundy1-blog · 6 years

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#13. Road Trippin’

Over the spring break, my father and I spent eight days (unnecessarily) visiting an assortment of colleges on the East Coast. We covered ground from New Hampshire down to North Carolina, which gave me a chance to visit new places and rediscover old ones. It was also a really nice chance to bond with my dad, who has been in and out of the country for the past few months. I’ve decided to summarize my trip to each state to give insight into what I experienced throughout the eight days.

BOSTON, MA: When I first visited Boston over the summer, I didn’t enjoy it as much as I thought I would. It was hot and sticky, I was with a group of people I didn’t really know, and I also had a ~slightly traumatic~ experience. However, when I re-visited the city with my dad, I began to understand the real appeal: great sports town, great community, great college town, tremendous amount of history, and there’s a lot happening. Though it was quite cold, the sun still shone from a relatively clear sky; at least there was no snow. It also didn’t hurt that the first hour of being in Boston was spent shopping on Newbury Street. I’d give Boston an 8/10. Keep doing you, Boston.

HANOVER, NH: First of all, Hanover was cold as heck. It actually snowed (what in tarnation) during my <24 hours in the town, and come 9am, it was 22°. Um, no thanks. But cold weather aside, you can instantly feel the tight-knit, small town atmosphere of Hanover the second you enter. As my dad and I explored the one mile radius of what is downtown Hanover, we came across a small poster/record/memorabilia shop where I received an unsolicited, but not really unwelcome, explanation of how to finesse my way into Dartmouth (even though I will not be applying there until maybe my second year of college, and most likely for a semester abroad). For me, Hanover was lovely, but it was a little isolated for me. I’ll give it a 6/10. (That’s also because of the weather)

NEW HAVEN, CT: After spending three weeks this summer confined to specific areas of New Haven, I felt pretty comfortable walking around the town, reminiscing on lunch dates at the nearby Shake Shack and all of the terrible mistakes I made at summer camp. I have to say, though, New Haven has the best pizza in the US, and I am more than ready to defend my statement if need be. New Haven’s also great because it’s an hour from Boston and an hour from New York; you can get the best of both worlds either way. Plus, I got to spend some time with Casti alum/one of my idols Lea Sparkman!!! But I didn’t get to see my one true idol, Paige Vermeer. RIP. Because I’m a little biased towards it, I’ll give the Dirty Have an 8/10.

NEW YORK CITY, NY: Literally five seconds upon my arrival, I was smothered by one of my best friends, who lives on the Lower East Side, and was whisked away from my hotel in Midtown to Times Square. One of my favourite rituals with said friend is to window shop at expensive department stores (Barney’s, Saks, Bergdorf Goodman in this case) and drop our jaws at the ridiculous pricing of the ridiculous clothing. I mean, a Fendi t-shirt for $875? A shirt that you could buy at Urban Outfitters for $30? Come on, now. But New York is always a treat, shoddy weather or not. New York will always get a 9/10 from me.

NEWARK, NJ: Because my father hails from NJ, we always make a visit to my uncle, who lives in Roselle Park, and spend time with my family. Prior to, we drove through the town of Princeton, and my father pointed out numerous places that held special places in his heart. For example: an intersection on a highway in which my mother and he were rear-ended. When we returned to my uncle’s neighbourhood - about an hour away from Princeton - we headed to the town where my father and he grew up and were treated to a good old-fashioned Italian meal at the local restaurant. After saying our goodbyes, Dad and I headed to our airport hotel, where it turned out that our booking hadn’t gone through, and my father’s true Jersey roots came into play. Jersey is Jersey, so I’ll give it a 6/10 (It would be a 5, but I have sentimental feelings towards NJ)

CHAPEL HILL, NC: I’ve always wanted to visit North Carolina, and honestly I was not disappointed. We were greeted with 80° (!!!) weather - a welcome change from a high of 51° - and Southern hospitality. Chapel Hill is such a beautiful area; I was blown away by it all. Everything was great until we ate dinner at a nearby restaurant. It wasn’t that the food was bad, but I found myself not being a fan of Southern food. Very heavy stuff. Regardless, though, NC had a really warm atmosphere that honestly surprised me. I’m ready to go back now. 9/10.

CHARLOTTESVILLE, VA: Okay so we didn’t actually spend more than 30 mins in Charlottesville. I know I have some friends here who are from Charlottesville, so I won’t diss their former town. But my trip through the state of Virginia was nothing less than...eye-opening. I’ve told this story about 923994 times already but it still leaves me in slight disbelief. After leaving NC and being in VA for all of five minutes, Dad and I were greeted with a 50-ft tall, 100-ft wide Confederate flag that hung from a 300-ft flagpole. I think what bewildered me the most is that it actually stood in existence; we all hear of Confederate statues and whatnot, but seeing a Confederate flag proudly blowing in the breeze before you is a sight you can’t unsee. Fast forward two hours, fried catfish sandwiches (that we most definitely didn’t eat) and all, we found ourselves yearning to get to the hotel. As it turns out, our hotel was not on campus, as advertised, but instead a mile out. My dad was so horrified by its dilapidated state that he made the executive decision to make another two-and-a-half hour trip to Arlington. Guys, I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to give Charlottesville/the southern part of Virginia a 3/10. I hope my former Cvillians won’t hate me and will see my outsider’s perspective.

WASHINGTON, D.C.: I love Washington, D.C. very much. It didn’t hurt that my middle school trip to the nation’s capital was wonderful, and it also didn’t hurt that we happened to be visiting on a beautiful day. I mean, need I really say anymore? D.C. is awesome. It’s a city that, to quote my dad, “makes you proud to be an American.” If you take out all of the political corruption. D.C. gets a 9.5/10. Go you, D.C.

And so concludes my rather exhausting trip. I am now sick and recovering from a virus that I picked up along the way, but I wouldn’t trade that trip for the world. Shoutout to my father for being the best driver and for having the stamina to do such an extensive, ambitious trip. And also for booking it to Arlington with no complaints.

I’m sad that I won’t be attending college in the States for the first year (at least), but hey, transfers and semesters abroad exist. I don’t think the American college system has seen the last of Lexi Bundy just yet ;)

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snowedinpodcast · 4 years

Audio

Transcript and content warning below the cut!

Let’s Walk: Kind of Stillness [Transcript]

[Content Warning: in-depth descriptions of bodily coldness]

There’s something about being physically cold that’s so upsetting. Like, there’s kind of a sweet spot to it, I think. Right now, my right hand is half-numb—like, the ring finger and the pinky finger? If I move them, I can just about feel them, but that's it, and then the rest of my hand—the middle finger, pointer finger, thumb—are, like, burning? Like, they’re so cold they’re hot, y’know? So they are not numb, they are having a bad time, and I feel like the numbness is that kind of sweet spot. It’s like oh, my hands are so cold that they don’t even register how cold they are, so I am not in discomfort. This is fine.

But it takes … an hour? Maybe 30 minutes? To get there, to that numbness sweet spot. And then, like, moving your whole hand feels really strange ‘cause you can barely—your hand barely registers that muscles are moving ‘cause they’re numb. So … it’s like, it’s comforting in that it’s not physically uncomfortable but it’s upsetting in that you’re watching your hand move but you’re not feeling your hand move … and then it’s like an alien creature has inhabited your arm or something. [Laughs]. It’s bad! It’s bad, don’t love it. Um, but also do love it, weirdly. I prefer the numb feeling to the burning. My left hand is entirely burning, so that’s great.

Um … there is something a bit settling about being cold, though. Like, physically cold, once you hit the numb point. Because it sort of feels like a kind of stillness. When you’re hot, there is also a kind of stillness, but you’re, like, sweating, y’know? You’re, like, laying on your bed … just … pouring liquid out of your pores [laughs] and it’s sticky, and it’s uncomfortable, and where, like, your arm lays close to your body, there is more heat ‘cause both your chest and your upper arm are in close contact with each other. And so that—like, the heat enveloping both of them overlaps, so there’s points of heat where your limbs connect that you just can never do anything about ‘cause you can’t disconnect them. Whereas when you’re all-over numb and cold, you’re all-over numb and cold. It’s not more cold or less cold in any one specific place. When your whole body gets to that stage … your whole body gets to that stage. Or, more specifically, ‘cause, like, you tend to keep your core and your neck and your head warm—or else you’ll die—but, like, when your extremities all reach the same level of numb-cold, that is the best. That is the best. That is the kind of stillness that I go for. And it’s settling. But I hate the process of getting there.

I also hate the process of getting out of that kind of stillness … because when your hands are numb to the point where they’ve registered that the coldness surrounding you is like room-temperature-level or is acceptable hand temperature, bringing your hands back up to room temperature is upsetting to them! Your fingers swell up, they don’t know what they’re doing! They’re like, why have you done this? I thought we just re-established a new normal room temperature! And I’m like, well, we’re inside now, and I want to draw. Like, that’s the thing, when my fingers are, like, numb-burning—either going through the process of becoming fully numb or coming out of that process and readjusting to room temperature—your fingers puff up, they burn a little bit, and, like, their movements are not as precise. So I can’t draw. You don’t know how many times I have come home from school—high school—and just wanted to freaking draw. But I can’t. And I have to sit abjectly by the fireplace, sticking my hands out, until my hands are done warming up to the point where I can hold a pencil and make confident strokes. [Laughs]. It’s upsetting! Oh my gosh. But anyway, yeah.

And I also haven’t felt numb-cold in a while because I spend most of the year in Washington state … going to university. Which I won’t be doing after this semester and then the one after it. Terrifying. We’re not gonna think about that right now. Being a senior is such a liminal experience. It’s a whole year of, just, being in-between places. If you think senior year of high school is weird—which it is, it’s very weird—ah, try senior year of college. Yeah. I’ll bet you, like, the last year before retirement is also weird—although I don’t know if you know that as certainly as you know it with high school and college. ‘Cause you gotta go somewhere after senior year but people can technically retire whenever they want to as long as they’re financially able to do so. I guess if you were keeping really strong track of your finances and you were like, yes, by the end of the next five years I will be able to have enough money to retire at this facility that I’ve researched intensely or on this island that I bought, whatever it is, whatever … [laughs] whatever percent … whatever tax bracket you’re in …

If you earn over $100,000 a year, you should just be eaten—[laughs], no. You should have whatever other income you get on top of that skimmed off and donated. Maybe you can pick the charity you want to donate it to, how ‘bout that. That’ll make it feel a bit less like the government is strangling you but … like, as suspicious [as] I am of governmental structures and as frustrating I find it that bureaucracy slows everything down … millionaires cannot be trusted. Capitalism and its free-for-all, laissez-faire bullshit is going to favor … corner-cutting, rich, trust-fund baby types who have not read enough intersectional feminist theory to make informed decisions with their money. If you’re a shrewd businessperson who doesn’t have an ethical bone in your body, who chooses to ignore ethical considerations, you are going to trash this planet [and exploit workers]. That is how we got here. So I need there to be something that holds the millionaires accountable for themselves. If I have to side with the US government to fight the millionaires … I guess I just have to do it, man. I guess I just have to do it.

‘Cause at least with the government, to some degree, you can vote people in. Not trying to say that there aren’t biases there that shut out people of color—women of color—and favor, y’know, the third Kennedy kid, whatever his name was. Like yeah, yeah—voting people in, having democratic representatives still isn’t perfect. But at least the people have some kind of say, unlike with millionaires. Like, you just become a millionaire or you don’t, like, you have that million dollar idea and it takes off but you haven’t been vetted—like, you haven’t … you, you don’t have to qualify to be an ethical human in order to reach millionaire status. Whereas if you’re going to be representing your, your district, your state, the country at large as one of the Supreme Court Justices, you need to do a lot of proving yourself worthy of that title to the people you represent before you get there. And I think that is better than nothing. [Sigh]. It’s definitely better than just millionairehood and the wacky ways in which that sorts itself out. God, I’m cold.

How did we get here, how did we start talking about millionaires? God, I’m cold. Oh yeah, it’s retirement and the last year of retirement and how that must feel weird. I’m sure it does … “but not as good as me!” “Left, left, left my wife and 49 children without any gingerbread. Think I did right. Right? Right, by my—”

I love that I can just quote … random passages from my favorite books that I read as a kid. It doesn’t even necessarily have to fit whatever I’m thinking, I can just call up exactly how the actor hired to read the audiobook read those lines and just play them in my head and then imitate them to the best of my ability with my own voice and it’s just instantly funny? I don’t know why it’s funny. Maybe it’s not so much that it’s funny but it’s comforting? And it’s a little silly ‘cause it obviously sounds different in my head than how I’m able to replicate it ‘cause my voice is not the same voice as the people who read the audiobooks for these stories, but … and then there’s also a bit of humor in, like, just randomly spouting a phrase that has no connection to what I was just thinking ... but that still feels right somehow. Like, the reason that “left, left, left my wife and 49 children” fit that moment was because it is comforting to me as a human, it did not fit with the subject matter of what I was talking about. So it fit for a different reason, and these incongruent contexts in which the conversation I was just having and this quote still somehow fit with, like, me as a human … that’s just weird! The contrast is weird! And weird things make ya laugh. [Laughs]. I don’t know, dude, trying to explain humor is like, … god … if you ever wanna watch an English major—er, a Lit major—froth at the mouth, ask them to explain a joke … and they will fall over themselves.

Ok, great. Thanks for that, thanks for that. I love you. [Tongue click].

#this puppy was recorded on 201103 #no songlyric this time around bc this was a spontaneous recording! im kind of glad tbh #i never want to feel stuck in a format #rules that are guidelines work best for me yknow #snowed in podcast #snowedinpodcast #sip #oh yeah the book quote at the end is from Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson #kind of stillness

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vegajoyce · 4 years

Text

Cat Pee Keto Miraculous Cool Tips

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Can A Neutered Male Cat Still Spray

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Cat Pee Grass

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#Cat Pee Keto Miraculous Cool Tips #Cat Spraying Bloody Urine

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