#need ryan to have this drafted by tomorrow

[cuttergauthier]

Secret boyfriend

female Smith reader x Ryan Leonard

Warning: injury, soft Ryan, fluff 

word count: 1.3k

let me know what you guys think🤍

let me know if you guys want me to do an insta edit of them soft launching their relationship!

I love Boston College, the only thing that sucks is doing homework, studying and just like home I hate when it rains and I have to walk. We are currently in the middle of October, and we are having a rainstorm. I've been here since the end of August and it hasn't rained this much.

Usually my brother would come and drive me to my dorm room since we both live in the same building but he was currently out in the city with two of his teammates Drew and Gabe, since they wanted to go see the bruins play in their home opener and they decided to spend the night since all 3 of them only had late classes tomorrow along with a night practice.

I didn’t bring an umbrella and even though it was raining pretty bad, a lot of students were making a run for it either back to their cars or dorms.

I pulled the hood of my hoodie over my head and started walking fast to my dorm.

I was almost there when another student ran right into me making my fall on my knees on the sidewalk.

I grunted my knee hurt like a bitch. The student just yelled sorry and continued to run. He didn't even ask if I needed any help.

I pulled myself up and looked at my knee. It was bleeding. I groaned and started limping the rest of the way since it hurt too much.

Once i got to the building I opened the door and made my way up those steps and to my room. I am thankfully living in a single dorm room and it also has a small bathroom, i tend to stay up late to study sometimes, so being alone means I never have to worry about keeping my roommate up with the lights.

I unlocked my room and walked in, I dropped my bag on the bed and made my way to the bathroom to see if I had anything to clean my knee. I couldn’t find anything. I looked at myself in the mirror, I was soaking wet. I decided to take a quick shower and I could ask someone if they had anything to help me clean my knee after.

I went to my dresser and grabbed my bc hoodie and a pair of black gym shorts before making my way back to the bathroom to shower.

Once I was done my knee still stings. I got dressed and put on some shoes and made my way to the dorm next to mine. I knocked on the door and Jenna answered she’s the first person i met when i moved here, she’s really sweet.

“Hey Y/n, everything okay?” She asked

“Yeah, sorry but would you have anything to clean wounds?” I ask

She pouted and shocked her head.

“No i don’t i’m sorry”

I smile weakly.

“All good, don’t worry about it”

I made my way back to my dorm room and texted my brother, he’s a hockey player so I hoped he might have something in his room. He gave me a key when we first got to bc in case of an emergency so I could still get in.

Me

Hey, do you by any chance have anything to clean wounds in your room?

Will

Yeah, I should have something in the bathroom if not Ryan probably does. Everything okay?

Me

Yeah, I tripped in the rain earlier. Now my knee is bleeding but I don't have anything to clean it with. Then i remembered that you gave me a key incase of emergency & you’re a hockey player so i figured you might have something!😂

Will

True, go check Ryan should be there! Just tell him what happened and he’ll help you!

Me

Thanks, I love you! Have fun at the game ❤️

Will

Love you too & we will❤️

I made my way to my brother and Ryan’s room & hoped they did have some stuff. My knee is really bothering me. I didn’t really want Ryan to know, but he would have found out eventually.

I’ve known Ryan for a few years, since the untdp days, he and my brother were teammates. We started dating a month before the NHL draft but we wanted to keep it on the down low to make sure we would work out since he and my brother are teammates but also best friends, we didn’t want to make it awkward. Will still doesn’t know only both of our parents do, I’m surprised Will hasn’t figured it out yet.

Once I got there I knocked on the door. A few seconds later Ryan opened up. He looked good, he was wearing some sweatpants and his untdp hoodie.

“Hey, did you forget that your brother went to the Bruins game? Or are you here to hang out with your amazing boyfriend” He asked, confused as to why I was there, since I told him I wanted to study tonight.

“No um, Will said you might have stuff to clean wounds, so i came by to check” i said nervously.

“We probably do, come in.” He said. I walked in beside him and followed him to the bathroom.

“Did you hurt yourself?” He asked, concerned.

“It was raining pretty bad when I got out of class and I had to walk back here, so I was trying to rush and then some student ran right into me, and I ended up falling down, scraping my knee,” I said.

“You should have called me, I would have come by to pick you up” he said, giving me a quick forehead kiss before He took the stuff out of the cabinet and set it down before looking back at me.

“Come here, let me take a look." He said, smiling softly. I jumped up and sat down on the counter without hurting my knee worse.

Ryan looked at my knee.

“It’s not too bad” he said, he grabbed some Cotton balls and put some rubbing alcohol on.

“This is probably going to sting,” he said before cleaning my knee with it.

I bit my lip and turned around so he would see that I had tears in my eyes. I wasn’t as tough as my brother or the rest of them.

Once he was done he put on a bandaid.

“They're all done,” he said softly.

I looked up at him to see he was already looking at me. He gave me a quick kiss on the lips.

“Thank you, i could have done it myself” i said smiling softly

“I saw how you turned your head so i wouldn’t see the tears in your eyes yn, it was probably better i did it since it probably would have taken you longer” he said and i looked at him embarrassed.

“Right, um sorry” I said awkwardly, I hate that I embarrassed myself in front of him.

“Hey you don’t need to be embarrassed about that, it’s just you and I here, I'm not going to make fun of you, I love you too much” he said smiling.

“Thanks Ry, I love you too,” I said smiling back.

He moved away so I could get down from the counter. He put the stuff away and we went back to the room.

“I was just about to put on a movie, do you want to stay a while?” He asked

“Sounds good to me, I don't feel like studying anymore” I said smiling. He chuckled.

He laid down on his bed and pulled me down with him. He pulled me closer to him and wrapped his arm around my waist. He kissed the back of my head and turned on a movie.

A few minutes later I was trying to keep my eyes open but I was losing, it didn’t take long for Ryan to notice. His thumb rubs soft circles on my waist.

“Go to sleep beautiful, i’ll be here when you wake up” he whispered.

“Love you” i whispered softly

“Love you too beautiful” he placed a soft kiss behind my ear, a few seconds later i fell asleep.

[bitchinbarzal]

We should talk abt Milo and Tates baby situation.

I’ve been itching to hear the outcome :)

Tate tells Milo about the baby.

Tatum had bad timing, she knew this. Why had she waited until the night before his NHL draft to tell him?

She couldn’t hold it in any longer.

They’d been out to dinner with their families in Toronto to celebrate Milo, Tate had been quiet all night which didn’t go unnoticed by her mom.

Back at the hotel, Milo was setting out his stuff for the big day while Tate sat on the bed nervously playing with the hem of her pyjama shorts.

“Hey Milo?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you c’mere a second?” She asks, the trembling in her voice not hidden well.

“Babe I’m kind of-“

“It’s important” she mumbles, bordering on tears. Milo hears this and drops what he’s doing.

When he walks in and sees her so upset his face is covered with concern “T what’s-“

She just says it, right out “I’m pregnant”

His mouth drops open “You’re what?”

Tate is shaking her head, like she’s trying to convince herself it’s not real “I’m so sorry Milo, I’m sorry I-“

“Are you serious right now, Tatum?” The use of her full name hurts her heart “I’m literally about to get drafted in the NHL, I’m first overall projected! And you spring this on me?!”

“I didn’t want to keep this in any longer! Milo I didn’t mean to ruin anything!”

He sighs, hand running over his face “Well you have! You’ve ruined this night, my draft, my life! We can’t have a baby Tate, I don’t want to have a baby with you!”

Tatum felt like she had been punched in the gut, the boy she’d been in love with since they were little just told her he didn’t want to have their baby.

“W-what?”

“Will you just leave please? I need a minute” Milo snapped, walking away again.

“Milo we need to-“

“You need to leave, Tate!”

She didn’t reply, curling in on herself she picked up her purse and made her way out the room.

Tate called her mom for her room number and made her way up, welcomed with open arms

“What happened, babygirl?”

She sniffles into her moms chest while Ethan watches on in concern

“I messed up momma”

“There’s nothing we can’t fix, Tatertot” Ethan reminds her from the other side of the bedroom.

She lifts her head from her moms chest and looks at her parents “even if I’m pregnant?”

Both of them are rendered speechless for a moment until she adds “and the dad doesn’t want it? Or me?”

Something inside Ethan snaps, the similar feeling he had when Ryan told her mom she would be alone to raise Tatum.

Ethan growls “I’m going to kill him” and starts taking off

“Dad, no!” Tate begs “Don’t do this he’s already so angry at me”

Ethan doesn’t listen, making his way out of the room and down the hall to bang on Luke’s door.

“Hughes open up!”

Luke’s half asleep when he opens the door to face his teammate “Dude it’s-“

“Tate’s pregnant”

“What?!” Milo’s mom gasps from behind her husband.

“And Milo wants nothing to do with her he’s said, we’re taking Tatum home I suggest you speak to your son. You and I both know the lengths I will go through to make sure he takes responsibility” and walks away.

The Hughes’ look down the hallway to Tatum, still sobbing and broken hearted while she looked at Milo’s parents and cried out

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry!”

Back in their room, Milo’s parents were mumbling back and forth about what to do.

“I’m going to kill him Luke!”

“Babe let’s just take a minute and discuss this” he tries to reason with his wife who isn’t having it.

“Our son, our son! The little boy who didn’t have a father for a whole year of his life and lived with his, also teenage mother at University has decided to do that to his girlfriend? I’m not having it Luke, we raised him better than this”

“The additional stress on this week probably clouded his judgement ok? He’s got a big day tomorrow, I’m going to go speak to Tate, i’ll get her another room and she can stay and calm down. We’ll speak to them in the morning but nobody is calm enough right now to have this discussion”

They agreed that’s what would happen, but by the time Luke got to the Edwards’ room they were gone.

When Milo woke up on his draft morning looking for Tate, his face fell to find his mom and dad telling him his girlfriend had gone home and wouldn’t be by his side tonight.

“I messed up” he admitted, his little sister now scowling at him too “but I don’t think I want this baby”

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Things My Characters Have Said

Ik I have an ask to answer, will get to it I promiseee! These quotes have been in my drafts and it's only now that I finally worked up the courage to post them!

🔹"No. I told you, that's not something I can get through. It's too advanced. It's hacking, not black magic."

🔹"It's not funny."

"A lot of people think my jokes are funny!"

"A lot of people are stupid."

🔹"Back off, big guy! I'm not scared of you!"

"So I take it you're shivering from excitement."

🔹"If there was a prize for having the world's most punchable face, I'm sure you'd win."

🔹"I'd rather have Ryan Reynolds narrating my internal monologue, but I'm too broke, so I'll just have to do it myself."

🔹"If the experience could possibly get better with the sluggish pace of the rom-com, it's worth mentioning the popcorn had dirty socks mixed with mouldy cheese for a flavour, with enough salt to cause hypertension as a nice aftertaste. "

🔹"So what's the plan?"

"I don't have a plan."

"But you're the smart one here, you must have a plan."

"Being the 'smart one' does not mean I come with a lifetime supply of plans in my pocket!"

🔹"I'm sorry my knife could not resist stabbing you. It needs better training."

🔹"Why aren't you answering me?"

"I'm busy."

"Busy doing what?"

"Ignoring you."

🔹"Your essay feels like a parental lecture. The same sentence being repeated over and over again, just with different words."

🔹*After accidentally getting high

"I'm not high!"

"I swear you are."

"I'm on the floor, not the ceiling! How is that high?"

🔹"Get off the dysfunctional moral high ground horse, please."

🔹"It's only 'illegal' if you're not doing it for the government."

🔹"Everyone who says boys don't know how to clean is a fool. Have you seen my brother's search history?"

🔹"Ah, Valentine's Day. More like, My Annual Reminder that I'm Still Single Day."

🔹"Okay, teenager, leather jacket and daddy issues. Where are the hordes of people swooning over me?"

(for the record these 2 characters do not fall in love)

🔹️ "You're not cool."

"I know, sweetheart. It's called being hot."

🔹"I'LL KILL YOU!"

"Well, my physics test results come out tomorrow, so by all means, go ahead."

🔹"Sometimes I wish I could IV some common sense into your bloodstream."

@feline17ff oc crack quotessss!

[ladyluscinia]

So in true Tumblr fashion, my Year in Review post won't, well, post. So you guys get the bootleg I'm copy / pasting myself lol 😆

With commentary!

I posted 3,406 times in 2022

That's 1,092 more posts than 2021! (Here's my 2021 Year in Review for comparison! It's much less impressive.)

362 posts created (11%)

3,044 posts reblogged (89%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@autisticandroids

@altarofrowena

@ladyluscinia

@billiewena

@treesofgreen

I tagged 3,404 of my posts in 2022

(wait which fucking two did I NOT tag???)

#spn - 1,391 posts

#our flag means death - 668 posts

#ladyluscinia - 541 posts

#izzy hands ofmd - 486 posts

#blackbeard ofmd - 333 posts

#dean - 324 posts

#destiel - 302 posts

#gifset - 216 posts

#fanart - 216 posts

#castiel - 200 posts

(I'm still a Supernatural blog in 2022, and I will be one in 2023 😘🥂)

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#but i thought their initial posting was pretty interesting until one day i realized i stopped seeing it because i was blocked for crimes 😆

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I actually love that Vane is Mr. "What's in it for Me?" and openly philosophically inclined to, like, the simplest and most tangible desires, because in any other show he would be SO easy to get on your side, but in THIS show everyone is a 10 year plan double or nothing idealist so the conversations go:

Flint: "I can't give you money. I need the money for a convoluted scheme that will eventually offer all of us safety and self-governance and ideological superiority. Let me persuade you I know what I'm doing."

Vane: "No, I think I want money. Like, good luck with the rest of that, but I've got it covered. With a ship. And money."

Flint: "But what if the Navy comes for us?"

Vane: "That's tomorrow-Vane's problem, and he'll probably appreciate being richer than today-Vane if it comes up. Pay me."

Link - 493 notes - Posted July 25, 2022

#4

The lack of new Supernatural drama today despite the mass resignation of the British government is proof that Supernatural is tied specifically to American political upheaval, and now I'm wondering what is coming for us on October 11

Link - 658 notes - Posted July 7, 2022

#3

[This is where I discovered that adding any images other than the header that started the post caused the draft to immediately become unsaveable, so if you want to see my dumb joke you have to click on the link]

.

You ever think of a stupid joke you just HAVE to see visualized?

Link - 859 notes - Posted April 11, 2022

#2

Edward Teach Meta - Remember Edward Hasn't Always Been a Muppet...

...and honestly he's still just mostly faking it.

I see a lot of posts about the whole dichotomy of Ed vs Blackbeard, and - because I live in the Izzy Hands tag for this show - a lot of it takes a very... simplistic (?) approach. Mostly along the lines of Ed is a traumatized real guy who just wants love and softness while Blackbeard is the violent persona he puts up because he thinks he has to (and Izzy makes the situation worse with a fixation on a fake person).

This... does not really make sense to me. For one, if we're going to acknowledge "Blackbeard" is a persona then we should probably acknowledge "Ed" is equally fake. The dichotomy is two wildly different masks, and the same real Edward is behind them both. And I want to talk about that guy.

Warning - this got insanely long

---

Link - 884 notes - Posted April 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Ryan Reynolds having staff hype up his new tumblr account to users and then realizing that a shitty CW show that ended almost two years ago is trending over him in anticipation of the 5th

[Insert math lady meme]

Link - 19,855 notes - Posted November 4, 2022

---

Of course that fucking meme got first. Well it's technically Nov 5th posting so I suppose it could be worse. Good luck everyone with getting your own Year in Reviews to work if they haven't yet!

See you next year!

[griffin-wood]

How about #4 for whoever sparks joy?

title: the cure.

prompt: "I'm sad and I demand cuddles." (prompt list)

pairing: raylene x arthur.

-

'i'm sad and I demand cuddles.'

She laughs to herself a little, sighing at the events of the day. Her coffee spilled on the pavement this morning, her very own energetic boost of the day. Afterwards, she almost tripped onto her face before Ryan stops her from an embarrassing fall. Besides that, she also accidentally closing her draft without saving it. A nightmare for one Raylene Gray, which follows with her lunch in the kitchen was burned due to her emotional breakdown over the document. Still grieving of the scenes she wrote down, only for it to disappear.

The text summarizes her whole day, and it's only four in the afternoon. Arthur wasn't here today, he left for a business trip the last two days. He's supposed to return tomorrow and she regrets not joining him, maybe she'll get the cuddles sooner than later. But, a meeting stopped her from joining onto the trip - as she waits for him to return. The text itself symbolizes it, she's sad and she wishes to be cuddled with a good movie, and maybe take out too.

The hours went by and she in fact did ordered take out, as she decided to ditch work and have a self care time instead. She's still sad, that's a matter of fact; the ideas she tried to rewrite only end up as scratch itself, the take out was laid on the table. Comfort food at its best, a tub of ice cream in the ready, a whole catalogue of rom-com she prepared. It's a good me-day for her, as she finally prepares for the session, only for the doorbell to step in her way.

She checks the time, it's almost 8pm due to her extra nap before her self care session. The sun already set, as she walks through the door. A familiar figure stood by on the other side of the door, Arthur standing there with a pizza box; and a judgemental raised eyebrow which she returns with a smile.

"That's...mine." she said sheepishly, before she jumps into his arms as he held her as Arthur shuts the door with his foot.

Raylene's hands are wrapped around his neck, letting out a breath; no words needed between them. He's here, and well; that's enough for her. She translates her thoughts with her lips meeting his, with the gesture returned with a spoken meaning within it. In between the lines of, it's good to be back.

Arthur somehow finds it all amusing, and apparently surprised himself as well to be returning a day early from his business. The text from her was the final push, and well; it feels great to be back. The subtle amused smile on his face, as Ray meets his eyes before he sets her down on the couch. The movie begins to play in a swift motion, as he joins by her side.

Words, it doesn't exist within the silence and that's enough for them. As she snuggles onto him, a part that's been missing the last few days; as the cure of the shitty day. It's indeed the perfect cure.

THE END.

tags: @wayhavenots , @indorilnerevarine , @takemyopenheart

[rotemmi]

10/03/22

We are now a month into the new semester and I'm already struggling. I told myself this time would be different, but I'm already giving in to my Sisyphean shortcomings. I need to figure out how to stay motivated, but I don't even know where to start. At least I did my assignment that's due tonight. Like yeah, I got a 76 on it but that's better than a zero. I have to watch this show for my sociology class and I think it's going to be interesting I just have no motivation to start it and the first draft of the paper I have to write on it is due next week. I also have an interview (possibly two) on Thursday that I am so fucking nervous about. I need the job so desperately that I am willing to do just about anything to get it.

I kind of regret quitting the cafe gig. I should have stuck it out until I had something else lined up, but I was so upset and I just couldn't stand being there while everything crumbles around me. I still haven't completely forgiven Jac for that. I mean they knew I was sleep deprived. They dropped the ball on Friday when they knew I was getting on a plane. They knew I had gotten three hours of sleep on Monday and STILL quit out of the blue when they were supposed to open. So yeah, maybe I made a snap decision, but can you blame me? Wouldn't you do the same if you were in my position? And now I'm just supposed to forgive and forget and pretend like everything's fine? They get to live it up while their parents take care of them and I have to struggle to find of job and question my self-worth every damn day. Like I just don't know what to do. I'm angry. I'm angrier than I've ever been before and it's scaring me. This is the longest I've ever harbored this much disdain for someone and they're supposed to be my best friend. We live together for Christ's sake. We're supposed to be together forever, but right now seeing them every day and acting normal feels like my own personal purgatory.

I'll update you again when I have more to say. I think I'm going to try to sleep off some of my bad feelings.

See ya,

Emmi <3

Update: 11:42 PM

So I picked a fight with my boyfriend I guess. My friends say it wasn't me picking a fight but now I feel terrible about it. So yesterday I asked my bf if he wanted to spend Thanksgiving with my family this year (FYI we're long-distance). I asked him at like 1PM yesterday and he didn't respond until after 8PM. And he said he'd have to figure out his work schedule and see if he could come down. I was so excited and grateful that he was even considering it instead of shooting me down and I told him so. He never responded to me last night. He never texted me or called me today. I finally texted him at 9PM and said, "hello?" and he was like "sorry babe work was hell today. so what're the dates for thanksgiving?" so I told him that I understand he's busy with his new job but that isn't an excuse for him to put me on the back burner. I can't compete with his job, I'll never win that fight. He said he doesn't know what to say and he was sorry. I asked him if I could call him tomorrow and we could have an actual conversation about this but he didn't respond. I'm so confused and I don't know if I'm just being insane but Jac, Ryan, Emily, Jarrett, Charissa, Jake, and gina said I'm asking for the bare minimum. My mom thinks I need to cut him more slack and he's adjusting to a new job. I don't know. I wish there was an objective answer. I wish I knew what was right and wrong. I just wish everything was different.

[b4kuch1n]

bioshock came out 11 years ago

[natemacktruck]

all I need part 2 - Cale Makar

REPOST from @cale-makar

Summary: you fall for Cale Makar, but keeping it hidden from your brother, Ryan Graves, is harder than it looks

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: none, I think

a/n: Let me know if there are any mistakes(other than me completely fucking up the game schedule)

~

“Hey, Gravy! How’s your sister?”

The room went silent. Ryan’s cold stare burned into Cale’s now red face. A sharp intake of breath from Cale.

Someone dropped a fork. Ryan scoffed and stomped out of the dining room. Someone placed a hand on Cale’s tense shoulder.

“Give him some time,” Landy’s voice rang through his ears. Cale could barely process it. He raked his fingers through his hair and pressed his palms into his eyes. His elbows rested on the table in front of him. “He wants her to be happy, too.”

Cale gingerly rose from his seat and headed off toward the lobby. He didn’t want to talk to Ryan yet, but he couldn’t stand to be scrutinized by his teammates in the breakfast room. Even if they were supportive of your relationship, it was too much pressure to hold himself together after Ryan’s reaction.

He typed out a text while seated in the chairs in the lobby. ‘We need to talk’ He deleted it immediately.

He pressed the call button in your contact instead. It would’ve been an hour earlier for you in Denver, but he hoped you were awake already.

“Hey!” your voice came through the phone, far too happy for a morning. He hated to ruin your good mood.

“Uh, hi,” he stuttered. “Ryan knows.” It was easier to tell you straight away instead of softening the blow.

“What do you mean, ‘Ryan knows’?” your voice came out much weaker than you expected. You stopped tying your shoes. Who cares if you were late to work?

“We were having breakfast, and Burky noticed a hickey on my neck, and then Tyson said something dumb, and now Ryan knows,” Cale said nervously. You sucked in a sharp breath. “Are you okay?”

“I’m gonna kill Tyson the next time I see him,” you whispered, only partially joking. “What are we gonna do?” You could hear Cale’s rapid breathing, practically being able to see his knee bouncing.

“There’s no avoiding the inevitable,” he sighed. “Not anymore.”

You got up and began pacing in and out of different rooms in your apartment. There were pictures of you and Ryan with your parents littered across the walls. Bright smiles brought warmth to your faces in these small moments in time. Your 16th birthday, when Ryan had better things to do than hang out with his little sister, but he was there by your side as you blew out the candles. When your family flew to New Jersey for the draft, and you were there cheering him on when he was drafted by the Rangers. A picture at your high school graduation when he managed to fly back home for a day to see you walk across a stage. Ryan was there for you when your previous relationships went awry, and maybe that was why telling him was so difficult. You weren’t used to hiding things from him. He was there to give you comfort when you needed it most. Ryan never knew your previous partners like he knew Cale. He and Cale were teammates, almost like brothers. To him, the two of you were just neighbors. It was a shock to his system to connect the pieces.

“We’ll be back home before the game tomorrow.”

“Huh?”

“We have back-to-backs with Chicago,” he explained. “We’ll get home before the game tomorrow. I’ll see you there?”

“Maybe, uh, probably- I don’t know,” You started. You were conflicted. Some part in your mind was still convinced Ryan would never be okay with this. You ignored it. “I probably have to work.”

The stress of facing Ryan was too much. It was easier to avoid him.

~

The games against Chicago went well, but you couldn’t bring yourself to put on the Graves sweater and drag yourself to the Pepsi Center. You’d have to see everyone after the game, and maybe even go out with them after two wins. You weren’t put together enough for that.

The last two days were spent in your apartment, watching Disney movie after Disney movie while simultaneously trying to forget all the memories with Ryan that were attached to each film. He tried calling, but you ignored each one, eventually turning your phone off. He tried to stop by your apartment, but you were throwing yourself into work. The team had a week-long roadie the following week, so you could avoid Ryan for the next few days. Hopefully, you’d be ready to talk to him by then.

The boys had a successful road trip, and Ryan showed up at your door the night before their next home game. You opened the door, bracing for Ryan’s cold eyes, but what you got instead was a firm, but warm hug. It was too much. You sobbed into his neck, clutching at the fabric of his shirt beneath his jacket.

All the stress and fear pent up over the last week released out of that hug. You felt safe. You could tell him anything in that moment, and you regretted every lie you ever told him. Every time you had other friends or your coworkers cover for you. It didn’t make sense to you why you would hide something so big anymore. Ryan rubbed small circles into your upper back, trying to calm you down.

“It’s okay,” he hushed. And maybe it would be. You sniffed and looked up at him, ready to apologize.

“I’m sorry,” you began, your eyes glancing down, refusing to make eye contact. “I shouldn’t have lied. It was my idea to hide from you. Cale always disagreed with me, but I was so set on you being angry. I don’t even know why. We’ve always told each other everything. I’m sorry I thought it was necessary to lie.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you needed to hide anything from me,” he rubbed his hands over his thighs nervously. “I was joking when I said he couldn’t date you. I was shocked, of course, but I’m not angry.”

“You’re not?”

“I’ve never not liked anyone you’ve dated before, I mean, until they broke your heart, then I kinda hated them,” you let out a wet laugh. “But I trust your judgement.”

You wrapped your arms around his torso again, the now wet fabric of his shirt pressing into your cheek.

“I kinda already knew anyway, I just didn’t wanna admit it.”

“What?”

“Clare pointed it out to me after that one dinner where you left after we accused you of hiding a relationship from us. And then you were wearing Cale’s jersey during the game against Nashville, and you lied to Clare about that, too,” Ryan responded with a smile on his face.

“Wow, I really need to work on my acting skills,” you laughed.

“Also, Cale was on the phone with someone and I walked in on him, and he admitted he was dating someone. I just didn’t connect it.”

“Dumbass,” you muttered with a smile and pulled away from him.“Sorry I got your shirt all gross.” He shrugged.

You went into the kitchen to grab snacks while Ryan turned on the tv. It was a routine you didn’t even have to think about anymore. He already had one of the Disney movies that you watched last week pulled up on the screen. It was time for some much needed sibling bonding.

The next morning, you woke up to Ryan leaving early for a morning skate. He had the familiar burgundy and blue fabric of your jersey grasped in his hand.

“What are you doing with that?” you mumbled from the couch.

“You won’t be needing this one anymore!”

And so you marched into the Pepsi Center that night with ‘Makar’ across your shoulder blades. Your single seat was in the lower bowl this time, and you made it there just after warm-ups.

You managed to catch Cale’s eye during the anthem, and you swore his smile could light up the whole arena. Your smile matched. The game started soon after that, and you settled into your seat.

Ryan scored first off a pass from Donskoi in the first, and you cheered the loudest. You spotted him and Cale talking on the bench. The sight warmed your heart. It would’ve killed you if Ryan really was actually upset.

It went downhill in the second, with Francouz letting in two shots. The score went even when Nichushkin shot one past the Flames’ goalie. You eventually got up during the intermission to get a drink.

The score stayed tied in the 3rd with two more goals for each team. The buzzer rang at the end of the period, and you went to get another drink for the overtime. Calgary scored 2 minutes into overtime, effectively ending the game. You slowly made your way down to the dressing room.

Even though the team lost, Cale still looked elated coming out of the dressing room. He was the first one out again, but you didn’t have to hide from anyone now. He could hold you for as long as he desired. And he did just that. Cale’s arms wrapped around you, squeezing you tight to his warm body. You pulled your arms out of his vice grip and grabbed his face, pulling him into a deep kiss. You chose to ignore the cheers coming from the doors behind you.

“Let them be,” you heard Clare say to Ryan. She probably knew about the two of you since the beginning when you stopped showing up to the weekly dinners. She could somehow also tell when you were lying. You were glad when she dragged Ryan away.

Cale parted for air first, still holding your waist. “Guess we should take some acting classes?”

[darkangel0410]

FIC ROUND-UP 2020

Hey, ya'll, as we yell one last ‘FUCK YOU’ at the absolute hell year that was 2020, I thought I would do a fic round-up of everything I wrote this year. Enjoy!

down to the last bone (pre-relationship McEichel, shapeshifter au): Jack doesn't really meet McDavid until they're both playing at the U18's in Finland. He's heard of him, of course, everyone has, and they've run into each other on-ice, but nothing more than that.

on a hot summer’s night (Tkachuks, a/b/o au, mpreg, werewolves, sibling incest): Sometimes he’ll just be making a sandwich or watching a movie and he’ll just get hit with this urge to find Brady and beg him to fuck him, to make sure he knocks him up.

It’s fucked up for a lot of reasons, not least that they're both still at the beginning of their careers, especially Brady, and Matt isn't in a hurry to stop playing for an extended amount of time, weird biological urges aside.

So when it's mid-August and he still hasn't had his late summer heat, Matt's worried and pissed and fucking scared, but still a small part of him hopes that his alpha finally knocked him up.

falling apart (hips and hearts) (McEichel, a/b/o au, heat/rut sex):  The first time they have sex is during the run-up to the draft while they're in Chicago to watch game four of the Final.

strike us like a match (Tkachuks, Sentinel/Guides, bonding, sibling incest): They've always been close, closer than most siblings Matt knows.

sweat drips (love sticks) (Tkachuks, BDSM au, sibling incest, impact play): There's worse things for a hockey player who happens to also be a sub to be than a masochist; at the very least Matt always has a bruise to press when he's jerking off, aches and pains that he can pretend someone put on his skin during a scene if he wants to. Usually he doesn't.

just swimming in our sins (Tkachuks, dick pics, sibling incest, panty kink, rough sex): The thing is they've always been weird about each other.

Matt always thought it was just being brothers, just a product of playing hockey their whole lives and moving around a lot when they were growing up.

But now he's pretty sure that whatever weirdness they have between them has nothing to do with hockey.

feel good (on my lips) (Stromes, a/b/o au, sibling incest, not related au, heat sex): Most of the time it doesn't bother Ryan that his dad forgets he's an alpha; the rest of their family are almost all betas, so Ryan's always just shrugged off being lost in the shuffle.

It mostly doesn't matter to him in the grand scheme of things: he doesn't live at home any more, his ruts are always six months apart so it's easy for him to plan visits home around them. There's never any one that stays at his dad's house, so his old room there still smells like him, there's no other scents there to annoy him when he visits.

It does mean that his dad tends to dismiss other people's dynamics as unimportant, because Ryan is so easy going about his own.

Even when that's information Ryan would really appreciate having ahead of time.

those words, that kiss (Patrik Laine/Nik Ehlers, werewolves, a/b/o au, heat sex): As long as Nik’s happy, that’s all that matters to Patrik. Everything else is secondary to that, even hockey.

take me home (you’re the one true thing) (Tkachuks, soulmate au, sibling incest): They're exactly what they're meant to be, every part of them tangled together, and they wouldn't change any of it no matter what.

eyes closed, fingers crossed (Sam Girard/Erik Johnson, BDSM au, spanking, light punishment): Erik doesn't need to see a video to know that Sam's a good dom.

all your fevered dreams (Tkachuks, hellhounds, sirens, mating fights, sibling incest): Most preternaturals don’t recognize Matt’s scent right away.

The ocean part of it is simple: all sirens smell like saltwater, even if they’re not born at sea the way their ancestors were. It’s the brimstone that makes wolves and other shifters wrinkle their noses in confusion and lean in closer to get a stronger smell, like their noses lied to them the first time.

Matt tolerates it when it’s his teammates trying to familiarize themselves with his scent and even then his patience is limited and he’s not afraid to push them away from him if they get too annoying about it.

Hellhounds are choosy about who they let into their personal space and for how long: Matt’s no exception.

not a day goes by (Brock Boeser/Elias Pettersson, a/b/o au, non-traditional a/b/o dynamics, bonding): He's never looked at an alpha and thought mine. Never wondered how one would look with his collar around their neck.

But Brock is always right there, always within touching distance and smiling at Elias like he can't help himself. Like maybe he wants what Elias wants.

in between (McEichel, godlings au, homophobic slurs): The locker room afterwards is quiet in spite of winning and Connor knows part of it is his own bad mood bleeding over to the rest of the team, but he can't bring himself to care as much as he should.

got you under my skin (Quinn Hughes/Jack Hughes, a/b/o au, sibling incest): “Quinn's not an alpha,” Jack says automatically, even though he can smell the new undertone to Quinn's normal evergreen and oranges scent, the one that's been there since they went to world juniors last year; it’s sharp and heady, and a part of Jack can’t help but focus on it, drawn to it for some reason he can’t explain. “We're betas,” he adds, his voice unsure.

Matty scoffs but doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t really need to: Quinn and Chucky are still fighting, snarling and hitting each other with a ferociousness that seems entirely out of place in the Tkachuk's front yard, and the air seems to be pressing down on Jack, intense with the scent of two enraged alphas, and that says more than any words could.

charlie (Charlie McAvoy/Brandon Carlo, godlings verse): Charlie doesn't remember anyone ever explaining what death, or the afterlife was to him.

beginnings in death (pre-relationship McEichel, in death au): The first time he sees Connor is at a funeral.

nobody loves you (like i do) (Tkachuks, BDSM au, masochism, sadism, rough sex): The thing is Matt doesn’t consider himself romantic or anything like that. He loves Brady: as his dom, as his brother, as his boyfriend, and yeah, he needs him in the same ways, but those are just facts to him.

i love the way you hurt me (Tkachuks, werewolves, animal death, werewolf courting, minor character death): A mate who couldn’t court properly, who didn’t have claws and teeth of their own, wasn’t a mate worth having in Matt’s opinion.

How could you judge someone as worthy when they couldn’t even beat you in a fight?

just like oxygen (McEichel, werewolves, animal death, werewolf courting, minor character death): Even back then Jack knew Connor would change his life.

just to feel you (Tkachuks, a/b/o au, heat sex): Brady knows it’s going to be him and Matt.

They still fight like cats and dogs, as eager to use their fists on each other now as when they were kids, but there's an edge to it recently that wasn't there before, something that makes Brady want to pin Matt to the floor and take him apart, bite by bite.

He thinks Matt would let him, too, the way he watches Brady when he thinks Brady isn't paying attention.

The joke's on him, Brady always pays attention to Matt and what he's doing.

*

Well, that’s it! All things considered, it was a pretty good year for me, creatively speaking. I did some moodboards, too, and maybe I’ll post those tomorrow or at some other point ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I hope ya’ll also had some good things that helped you through this disaster of a year, be safe and I’ll see you on the other side of 2020 ❤❤❤

[doomonfilm]

Review : The Tomorrow War (2021)

HBOMax and Netflix both had entries for the weekend of July 4, so it only makes sense that Amazon Prime would make sure that their presence was felt as well.  After the swing at big budget glory that was Infinite, Amazon Prime’s recent science-fiction offering starring Mark Wahlberg, another big box office presence finds himself as the face of an Amazon production in the form of Chris Pratt, the household name whose fame grew after a stint in Parks & Rec and a star-making role as Peter Quill in the MCU’s Guardians of the Galaxy franchise.  Based on the trailers, the film has all the trappings of a big budget, special effects and action-driven popcorn flick, so I decided to give it a shot.   

If it weren’t for the deep science-fiction premise, The Tomorrow War could almost be mistaken as a commentary on the Military Industrial Complex, like an inverse take on the Starship Troopers approach.  Watching Dan Forestor instantly transform from a teacher and family man into his former war-hardened soldier form feels noble in terms of its intent, and maybe it’s just the cynic in me, but it immediately puts a coldness on the entire future war affair, as if pure detachment is needed to survive a threat that draftees are given zero time to comprehend.  The fact that a worldwide draft is implemented to subdue a universal threat is oddly timely for the conspiracy theorist in me, especially in light of the fact that there seems to be an interesting sea change on the horizon in regard to the political stance on public knowledge of extraterrestrial existence.  Even with this otherworldly threat standing as antagonist, the film doesn’t hesitate to play on the beat that having the enemy emerge from within is a strong possibility.  Despite the way that I’ve rambled about this particular spectrum of The Tomorrow War, Chris McKay and company balance these threads quite well, and all while ramping up the energy and momentum of the film from story beat to story beat.

With Infinite standing as Amazon Prime’s other attempt at rolling out a blockbuster (as previously mentioned), one can garner that a fascination with time-based narratives is becoming a common thread.  The Tomorrow War borrows the best aspects of the Terminator franchise and Shane Carouth’s Primer approach to build its framework, which allows the logic needed for this particular suspension of belief to be sold due to concepts that seems easy to explain at face value, but above the head of standard comprehension upon reflection.  For example, the acknowledgement of the generational gap that would exist between the young military force from 30 years in the future and the middle-aged draftees helps us dispel the worry for potential time paradoxes due to meeting yourself in the future, but it also sets up a slight John Connor mythos once you realize the Forestor father and daughter relationship will boomerang back and forth through time, at least from Dan’s point of view.  Positioning time as fluid and always moving allows McKay and company to implement the fixed point theory of time travel, which instantly raises the stakes of the story due to the built-in ticking clock that comes from making sure you don’t miss your return window.  With these two foundational points strongly set, a sort of narrative tuned mass damper is built which allows you to stack all types of realistic and imaginary science on top of what the audience has already accepted.

There seems to always be some sort of indistinguishable gap between the historic big budget releases in theaters and the small sample serving of streaming service attempts, but The Tomorrow War is a huge step in closing that gap when it comes to production value.  Viewers will immediately notice the impressive use of effects for both the time travel and the Whitespikes, and when we are given moments to view the post-apocalyptic world, it is stylized enough to have an emotional impact.  The combat is appealing to watch, much like the previously mentioned Starship Troopers, as a good mix of novice, survivalist and pure military approaches are mixed in among our characters, with as much adaptive learning being present as there are unfortunate casualties.  There are a number of powerful allusions to Vietnam present in the film, such as the use of choppers and air strikes, the post-traumatic stress and shattered worldview of returning soldiers, deserters, and much more.  The overall tone of despair and danger weighs heavily on the film, and using unconditional familial love as the driving force of hope rather than traditional romantic love is a nice change of pace.

Chris Pratt does what he does best, mixing his natural charm, humor and ability to symbolically and literally gather the troops in his role as the leading man of The Tomorrow War, while also being one of the most believable members of the combat force.  Edwin Hodge matches Pratt’s intensity in terms of combat while providing an edge that stands in opposition to Pratt’s warmth, which makes them a formidable dynamic duo.  Yvonne Strahovski manages to present a façade of military leadership to mask a clearly volatile presence of love that must be held in check in order to make sure her mission is successful, which echoes the adoration shown by Ryan Kiera Armstrong in her role as the younger Muri Forestor.  Betty Gilpin remains hopeful (and even mentally sharp) in the face of a threat that would cause many similar characters to go to pieces and play their characters as fragile, one-note worried housewives.  Sam Richardson provides a solid mixture of comic relief and scientific knowledge, which is welcome within the midst of a very heavy soldier presence that dominates the film, giving the average viewer someone they can latch on to.  J.K. Simmons makes a couple of notable appearances (I wouldn’t mind seeing him work with Chris Pratt again in the future), while Jasmine Mathews, Keith Powers, an interestingly cast Mary Lynn Rajskub, Mike Mitchell and Seth Scenall round out the supporting cast.

The Tomorrow War reminds me of my time working at the movie theater back when I was in high school, specifically the summer that Independence Day was released.  I’m not saying that McKay has found that Roland Emmerich magic, but he has managed to match the spectacle of Independence Day in a way that modern day audiences can relate to.  If streaming services can match the quality of films like The Tomorrow War moving forward, I may have to stop mentioning the movies in a light that makes them sound lower tier. 

[lucky-peoqle]

Craig feeling guilty for snapping/hurting at someone he cares about and is very apologetic. (Not many people like Craig but I do i love reading about him) circa s4, maybe he brings up canon nods from his past and gets kinda vulnerable and heartfelt. Idk i love softcraig.

a/n: this is my second time writing this bc the draft didn't save :( i would be lying if i didn't say i watching season 2-4 just for this imagine (i'm on season 6 now hehe)

fandom: degrassi

character: craig manning

warnings: crying (?) other then that it's pure fluff

summary: the reader accidentally calls craig the wrong thing and that causes him to snap on the reader.

craiger.

you knocked on the door of the jeremiah household, waiting for someone to open the door.

just as you thought no one was going to answer, the door opened to reveal the familiar face of caitlin ryan, who was probably watching angela for joey.

you smile, "hi caitlin!"

"y/n, hey! craig's upstairs."

"alright, thanks," you grin, walking into the house.

"y/n!!" you hear one of your favorite people call.

"angela!!"

"what are you doing here?" she smiles, hugging you tightly.

"to see you, of course!" you smile, picking her up and twirling her around, causing angela to squeal out of excitement.

"hey, hey! be careful before you drop her!" caitlin chuckled with a smile.

"don't worry, i always am! you can trust me."

"don't worry, i always do," she chuckles.

"is that who i think it is?" you hear a voice call from the stairs.

"maybe it is, maybe it isn't," you say back.

"haha, very funny," craig says, walking over to you and angela, "hey kid," he smiles at angela, taking her from your arms.

"yes, i'm so funny. maybe even funnier than jt."

"yeah, totally," he said, putting angela down, grabbing your hand and leading you up the stairs and into his room.

you sit on his bed, sigh, and look over at him.

"sooo...," he says.

"sooo...," you reply.

"what's up?"

"i'm stressed, school sucks."

"i feel ya, i feel ya."

"yep," you said, popping the p.

"how's home?"

"same old, same old. i'm pretty sure my dad's grilling tonight. what about you? how's the band, rockstar?"

"good! amazing actually! jimmy's finally got this new riff down. we're really getting somewhere, y'know?"

"totally! craig, i'm so proud of you. you're amazing, have i told you that?"

"maybe like one or twice... or one hundred times."

"haha very funny, don't be too modest."

"don't worry, i'm not. i'm not."

"yeah, sure craiger."

craig's head snapped towards you, making you look at him with worry.

"you okay?"

"what did you just call me."

"craiger...?"

"don't call me that ever again," he said, his voice raising slowly.

"what? why?"

"just don't, okay?!"

"okay, fine. just calm down, please. you know how i get with yelling."

"don't tell me what to do!" he snapped.

"okay, i'm sorry craig," you say, tears streaming down your face.

once he saw the tears, his face softened, "wait, no, y/n i'm sorry."

"don't. i should leave."

"y/n please don't. i need you," he said, grabbing your hand.

"craig, i'm not breaking up with you. i just need space right now," you say, your hand slipping out of his. "see you monday."

you walk out of his room, and down the stairs, walking towards the door.

"y/n? why are you leaving?" you hear angela call out.

"i have a dinner to eat, ange!" you smile, crouching down to her level.

"oh, okay. i thought craig did something bad."

"what? no no no, he would never do anything bad. never think that okay?"

"okay!" she smiles.

"i gotta go, but i'll see you soon alright."

"tomorrow?"

"maybe not tomorrow, but soon, promise."

"pinky promise?" she holds out her small pinky.

"pinky promise," you smile, locking her picky with yours.

"see ya kid," you smile, hugging her tightly before getting up and walking to the door.

before you open the door, you hear a creak at the top of the stairs.

"y/n, i didn't know you were still here."

"i was just leaving actually," you say, reaching the doorknob.

"oh, okay. see you later," he said.

"yeah, see you later," you say, walking out of the house, making your way to your house.

you lay on your bed the next day, which happened to be a sunday. tomorrow you would have to face your boyfriend who snapped at you, even though you didn't know you did anything wrong.

you hear someone walk up the stairs, expecting it to be your mom or dad, until your heard a knock at the door.

"come in," you state.

the door opened to reveal none other then the craig manning.

you sigh, "what do you want craig."

"i couldn't sleep last night, i felt so guilty."

"craig, you yelled at me, even when i told you i hate when people yell at me. why did you yell at me anyway?"

"okay, do you want me to explain?"

"please."

"what you called me.. my dad called me it all the time. i didn't know how to react so i just snapped."

"craig, you should have just told me, i would have stopped."

"i know, but i just... i don't know what's wrong with me.." he said.

you looked over at him, noticing the tears that were streaming down his face.

"craig please don't cry, please. i'm sorry i just left out of the blue yesterday, i should have let you explain."

"no, really it's fine, it's not your fault. it's mine. i'm crazy, y/n.

"you're not crazy, i love you, craig. so much. you're okay, we're okay."

"wait, you mean it? we're okay?"

"craig, we were never not okay sweetie."

"oh, thank god."

"i love you, a lot," you smile, kissing him on the lips.

"i love you more, but i think ange loves you more. she's dying to see you again, wanna come over?"

"i would love to," you smile.

end.

a/n: IT'S DONE!! THIS IS PRETTY LONG LMAO,, also degrassi update, i just finished the episode were jt dies and im SOBBING.

[kikiskeysgame]

I am just very, very proud of how the Blackhawks were able to defeat the Edmonton Oilers in the Stanley Cup Qualifiers and make it to the first round of the 2020 Stanley Cup Playoffs. 

To me, it seems like a long time since the Blackhawks made the playoffs (well, in my mind, anyway). Prior to the NHL's pause due to the COVID-19 pandemic, the Blackhawks' chances to make the playoffs were leaning towards quite unlikely. 

I know that some fans were skeptical that the Hawks should've even made the playoffs at all after having an iffy regular season or predicting that they would tank just to get Alexis Lafreniere in the NHL Entry Draft, but that didn't happen. 

They worked their tails off, overcome a few ups & downs during the series, and made it through the series in one piece just like I hoped they would.

In the first period, the Oilers got on the scoreboard first (no surprise there) with a goal by Josh Archibald just 45 seconds into the game. The Blackhawks were able to answer back as Brandon Saad tied up the game (with assists by Connor Murphy & Jonathan Toews).

Matthew Highmore broke the tie with his second goal of the series (with assists by Ryan Carpenter and Duncan Keith), giving the Blackhawks a 2-1 lead; however, the lead didn't last for long as Ryan Nugent-Hopkins tied up the game in the second period just as the Oilers' power play was coming to an end.

During the second period, Alex DeBrincat took a boarding penalty which gave the Oilers an extended power play chance which the Blackhawks were able to successfully kill off.

In the third period, the Oilers had another power play chance which the Blackhawks killed off again. With 8:30 left in the period, Dominik Kubalik broke the tie and helped the Blackhawks regain the lead goal (with Toews getting his second assist) of the night. 

Although the final minutes of the game looked a bit frantic, the Hawks were able to get the victory and sweep the Oilers.

Even though the Blackhawks' bad habit of taking unnecessary penalties popped up during the game, they were able to put their penalty kill to good use and killed them all off. The Hawks need to make sure that they don't take any unnecessary penalties during the game. It doesn't matter whether it's the regular season or the playoffs; if you take too many of them, it could affect the outcome of the game for them.

Corey Crawford was just absolutely amazing tonight. Although he got off to a bit of a rocky start early on, he was able to step it up for the rest of the game and also made some very outstanding saves.

When Crawford missed a few days of training camp due to COVID, I was concerned if he'd be healthy enough to participate in the playoffs and if he was, I questioned whether he would be his usual self again.  Crawford definitely looked like his old self as the game went on and was a big help for the Blackhawks tonight. I liked how Kirby Dach played tonight, but I wished that he was able to capitalize on his scoring chances; it would've be nice for him to finally score his first career playoff goal. 

Although Dach did a great job throughout the qualifying round, he needs to try to be more assertive when he has the puck and not hesitate when he has a good scoring chance. As I've mentioned in my past keys to the game, when you have a chance to shoot the puck, just go for it, don't hesitate.

Depending on the outcome of the Colorado Avalanche-Vegas Golden Knights round-robin game tomorrow, the Blackhawks could find themselves facing either one of those teams. 

No matter who they end up playing against, the Hawks need to bring that same intensity, that same resilience & that same confidence they had in the series against the Oilers, and really put it to good use into every game that they play in during the first round.

Until then, go Blackhawks!

[pollylynn]

Clepsydra—A Season 3/4 Caskett One-Shot

Title: Clepsydra WC: 2400

A/N: Post-Knockout (or technically, post–Rise conversation). There are very glancing references to Naked Heat and Heat Rises here. 

How much time? 

He knows better than to ask questions he does not want to know the answer to. Or once he knew better. He once was a man who knew better than to ask, to act, to want. He once was a man. 

He doesn’t know what he is now. A being—a not quite person—caught between was and aching to be. Caught between now and I’ll call. 

When? 

He knew better than to ask that, at least. The man he once was knew better. 

When? 

There’s no profit in wondering. He wonders anyway, just beneath the surface, but on the surface, he works the case alongside the boys. He is at the precinct with the sun each morning—all three of them are. He takes the case home with him each night when even the long summer sun is a distant memory to the sky. He takes it all home. 

He stares at the digital storyboard. He burns through legal pads without number, trying to piece together theories that can give them any kind of lead, any course of action at all. 

He feels hamstrung in all of it. Ryan and Esposito are diligent. They are every bit as determined and fired up as he is. But the ideas that should flow fast and furious from his mind will barely come at all. He feels as if he’s standing on one leg with his right hand tied behind his back, half blindfolded. Without her, he feels like he’s missing half himself. 

How much time?

They are turning in circles before long. They are doubling back, checking and rechecking. They are coming up on nowhere quickly—the point at which it’s all ritual. They are abruptly rear-ended straight into it by the arrival of Captain Gates, whose second official act is to kick him to the curb. Her first is to shut down the investigation entirely. A stalled investigation, a waste of resources, inappropriate to begin with. 

It doesn’t stop them, of course—not the three of them. He works the digital board—the only board, now—all day at home. He rends lined yellow pages in frustration, then dives for the shredded remains in the wire basket under his desk when he’s suddenly convinced he was on to something this time. 

The boys come straight to the loft after work. They come with sleeves rolled up, bearing pizza and beer. They stay until the wee hours, then creep home for barely detectable amounts of sleep. They work—the three of them—but there’s nothing new. There’s been nothing new for . . .

How much time? 

He won’t let himself count the days, the weeks. He wills his mind away from the reality that they have moved into months—plural—long since. He wills his mind away from the merciless, ultimate truth. But it’s there, just beneath the surface.  

On the surface, he tears the book apart. He reduces it to its component phonemes, and Gina is irate. He assumes Gina is irate from the triple-digit number of voicemails that have piled up. He doesn’t speak to her, of course. He doesn’t speak to anyone, really. His mother and Alexis are away. 

He’d sent them away at the very outset—We don’t know, we don’t know. I need to know you are safe. Please. He’d sent them away, and at this point, they are staying away. He knows, distantly, that they are staying, because the silence stretches out when he calls, when they call and he notices that it’s safe to pick up. He doesn’t speak to anyone, really. 

The book is easy. It’s surprisingly easy once he starts knitting it together again. There’s Montrose to create. He’s come up before, in passing, but Nikki’s Captain needs to come to life in this one, and he does—his features, his mannerisms, his voice. They find their way on to the page like the lemon juice secret messages he used to leave for himself as a kid. 

He’d write them out and tuck them in winter coat pockets in summer, hoping to find them at some much later date, hoping he’d forget and rediscover with the heat of a lightbulb or a match from the kitchen drawer. He’d tuck them away, hoping for some pleasant summer surprise in the grey of December. 

It never happened. He was too impatient, his memory too perfect or his technique too sloppy. But that’s what happens now. Writing Charles Montrose—remembering his friend and mentor—is a like discovering a treasure trove of lemon juice secret messages. 

There’s his care for Nikki. There is his mentorship and his love for her. And there are his failings. There are the terrible ghosts that haunt the man, but even writing that is easy, because there is conflict. There is a struggle, and there are warning signs. There is a a story—a tragedy, yes, and his jaw, his spine, his whole body aches when he writes the man’s death—but there on the page is a fucking story that makes sense. It’s easy, compared to the real world, and one night—one moment on a well-honed knife blade between night and morning—he looks up, and he is finished. 

The book, unwritten and written again, is finished. 

He closes the last chapter file just as Nikki opens a book and settles in at Rook’s bedside. He checks the manuscript folder and sees the chapters neatly, chronologically, arranged. 

He’s written from beginning to end—something he never does. He’s done a handful of factual sanity checks, but he has not looked back in any meaningful way. Each chapter’s Last Opened date matches its Date Modified exactly, and each of those maps on to the date he has sent each one off for editing—for proof of life—Chapter X, Draft. And now he is simply done. He .zips the folder and sends it to Black Pawn as an attachment, all at once—no revisions, no worrying each sentence in each chapter to death. No revisions, and no looking back.  

He dials Gina’s number, heedless of the time. 

“It’s done,” he says flatly. He hangs up before she’s finished with her sleep-heavy Hello. 

He sleeps, then. It’s not the first time since Roy Montgomery’s funeral—not the first time since the shooting. The demands of his body aren’t kind enough to have propped him up all that time. He has slept in ten thousand brief snatches and awoken with a start every time. He has awoken with the sharp, aching certainty that they days, the weeks, the months have all been an awful nightmare. 

How much time?

But now, he sleeps straight through most of the day. His phone wakes him. His mother, Alexis, he registers as he fumbles the thing on. His daughter is clipped, cool, distant. His mother oscillates between high sarcasm and cautious hope that sleep—the real sleep she hears in his unguarded voice—will have done him some good at last. 

The doorbell buzzes. He stumbles through the office. Alexis comes back to the phone, softened by two degrees, no more. She says she loves him. She just worries about him. He says the same and promises he won’t forget to call tomorrow. 

He tugs open the door on the third or fourth try. He’s expecting Ryan and Esposito. Except he’s not expecting Ryan and Esposito. He remembers this as he blearily takes in the bike messenger holding a box of manuscript paper like a pizza. He remembers that Ryan and Esposito aren’t coming quite every day any more, because there’s no real need. Because they’re nowhere. Some of the good the sleep has done him ebbs away at the thought. 

He signs for the box and tips the messenger. He slices through the tape holding the cardboard cover on and sees the angry post-it first. Gina’s handwriting, her rage rising up from every stroke of the pen. Edits. Acknowledgments. Not done. 

He tosses the post-it aside, and wants to weep. He sits down hard on the stairs with the manuscript in its box between his feet, and he realizes that he hasn’t.

He recalls, for reasons a dime store shrink could fathom, her dry eyes and the absolute clarity of her words after the hangar—No one outside this immediate family. He recalls the tears on Ryan’s cheeks, glinting in even the dim light. But he has no memory of his own state of being. He can see himself there among them. He can describe his position in the room, where his hands came to rest, the angle of his head. He can say for certain that he did not weep for Roy Montgomery. He has not wept for him. 

He has not wept for her. Not really, though the last tears he can remember shedding were those that fell on to her body as her shockingly warm blood pumped out of her chest and spilled over the ornate brass buttons of her dress uniform. 

He has not wept for the terrible, inevitable conclusion he has put off for days, weeks, months, —plural. He has staved it off with the case, with the book, with this facsimile of a life he has been living, but now it seems he has reached the end, and he wants to weep.

He reaches between his feet instead. He grabs the stack of pages that make up the first chapter by expert feel. He wanders, back to the office and retrieves his dark blue editing pencil. 

He works quickly, slapping one chapter face down and retrieving the next. Once again, it’s easy. He’s critical of the fact that Montrose feels somewhat abruptly introduced—his life requires more exposition than a third book should have—but there’s no remedy for that, other than what he’s managed to do in rendering things as impressionistically as possible.

He paces, pages and pencil in hand. He hunches over the desk. He slouches in the leather chair. He moves through the manuscript with focus that cannot be healthy, but what about this is? What about the man he once was is anything like healthy. 

It’s an odd hour again when he finishes—when he decides he’s finished. He sets his worn-down blue pencil aside five or six pages before the end of the last chapter. That’s as it should be, as it needs to be, as it will stay. Nikki opens the book at Rook’s hospital bedside. 

It’s morning, he thinks, though the hour on his watch dial is ambiguous and there’s a thick cloud cover over the city. The street below his glass office wall probably says morning. He feels heavy in the world. Tired, yes, but also heavy, as though he might go to the floor in an all at once heap any second. 

He should go to bed. He should try for sleep, or rest, or . . . physical stillness, at least but the final pages draw him back. He sinks into his desk chair. He frames the pages with his hands and he reads. The whole of it is clear to him as the words reach inside him. He turns the final page and he sees the book for what it is—a love letter to her. 

That’s what Paula called Heat Wave. It wasn’t. Heat Wave was . . . attempted seduction mashed together with a note passed all the way around a sixth grade classroom. It was the work of a boy pulling the pigtails of the girl he liked, as Beckett herself had so aptly put it. As Kate had so aptly put it. 

This—these pages stacked high beside him, ending on a wounded, aching note—is a love letter. It is an elegy for a man they both loved, and it is the hell that they have rained down on one another, all this last year. It is the secrets she has shared with him and him alone, and it is his heart laid bare to her. 

It is the offering she does not want. 

How much time? The rest of forever. That is in the inescapable truth he has staved off all these days, weeks, months, and he has come to the end of it. Almost. 

There is a page after the last—happy to read to him endlessly and then another page. It’s blank save for a single word, once again, in Gina’s furious handwriting. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS in all caps this time. His head drops to his hands. He presses his palms against his eyes and feels the weight of what he dashed off last year. The few grudging words of thanks to Beckett herself, and the sly jab of the knife—his thanks to Gina for staying on top of me. He is, amidst the wash of everything else, ashamed of that. He is sorry for it and baffled by the instinct that led him into such a cheap, pointless shot.

He sits with everything that has transpired over the last year. He knows there is anger awaiting him in the middle distance. He knows he will live in the days, the weeks, the months to come with the kind of fury born of absolute despair. And still, in this moment, with his head bowed over the thing he has unmade and made new, he is baffled by the instinct to cause her pain. 

So, he decides, he won’t. He takes up his worn-down blue pencil. He scrawls in the space below Gina’s single, angry word, just her name at first, Detective Kate Beckett. Grief travels strangely down his arms at the sight of the letters there. It settles between the bones of his wrists, sending out aching pulses of longing. 

He knows, in the part of himself that his not yet utterly destroyed, that he has to go on. He knows that it’s important he sketches the broad outline of what he means to say, right here and right now, but it seems impossible with tendrils of sorrow winding through his hands. 

The answer, when it comes a long moment later, is one she has given him—an unhesitating, apt assertion of something true. He’s meant to steal it from her all along. He steals it now and gives it back. Detective Kate Beckett, he writes again, and just below it, how to make sense of songs.  A/N: Not really sure where this came from. Someone on AO3 left a really nice comment on “Kindness Yet,”  and for some reason that just put me in a Season 3/4 state of mind. And I’ve always been fascinated by the meta of the books. Also, I’m just not going to bed at all these days, because my head just won't fucking shut up. 

[alittleoptimistic]

Psychic For Hire

A Buzzfeed Unsolved Fanfic

Summary: Shane is a psychic for hire working in LA, and sure, he’s a fake, but at least he’s telling people what they need to hear! That is, he thought he was fake. But after a strange accident, he has the oddest dreams… Meanwhile his old friend Ryan is researching his next greatest supernatural horror novel in the underbelly of the LA psychic scene and wondering how on earth you convince someone they might be psychic for real?

Trigger warning: violence, car accidents, cussing, dead people.

________________________________________________________________

Chapter 2

Sometimes you’ve got to just be like, ‘well, okay, this is how today is gonna be.’ Ryan dropped his fifth quarter into the vending machine and blinked, long and slow at the options. He got lost for a second, his eyes focused on the reflection of ceiling lights and the waverly look of his own face in the glass. He had a bruise just beneath his left cheek, (coffee cup, he was pretty sure), and a cut on his upper arm. Pick a snack, he ordered. His arm lifted up and tapped in the numbers.

Chips, a slim jim. They clunked at the bottom and Ryan wandered toward room 247 A, where Shane lay sleeping. Ryan felt an odd calm. He should freak out, but he’d gone beyond that and now he floated in this haze while he waited for Shane to wake up.

The hospital room had vertical fabric blinds that let in a dirty evening light. When Ryan entered, Shane was sitting up in bed, gingerly poking at the small bandage over his left eyebrow. He’d been smacked pretty hard. Scary, hard. Ryan had never seen someone that pale before. They were lucky. His chest shuttered.

“Hey, big guy, you’re awake.”

Shane blinked at him, no trace of confusion in his eyes. He knew exactly where he was. Which was very typical of him, to be honest? He relaxed into a smile, apparently unperturbed by the whole situation. “You totaled my car. It’s like college all over again.”

“Fuck you,” Ryan threw the slim jim at him. “Don’t stick your head out the window like a dog.”

“I was throwing up. Christ, my head hurts. Am I okay? I feel okay?”

Ryan nodded.  “You flew out the window, so everyone is super shocked that you are. They think you probably have a concussion, though, which sucks. You’re supposed to rest or whatever. They’ll probably be in here in a few minutes.”

And they were. A few more hours of pandering around, being poked, asking and answering questions, and getting prescriptions, and then, remarkably, they were on their way out. It was… wild. He’d been so scared, and now here they were, catching an Uber.

“I wonder what happened to the people who hit us.” Ryan mused as they watched the animated Uber car on his phone get closer and then miss them entirely.

Shane huffed. “He’s fine. Won't try to change his shirt while driving again, I’m guessing. Don’t worry about it.”

Ryan glanced up. “You don’t even-”

“Is that our guy? I think I see it. Purple Toyota? Purple Toyota, baby!”

The night slipped into a darker, deeper purple as they arrived at Shane’s suburban fever dream of a house. The brightest light by far was Shane’s neon PSYCHIC sign on the front window. Ryan found himself staring at it as they climbed out of the Uber, saying their goodbyes.

He wasn’t sure this was such a good idea anymore.

He had four months to come up with the first draft of a novel about the LA psychics, according to his publishers. Ryan was thinking about some kind of mix of Dead Zone and the celebrity lifestyle… if that was possible. It made sense to stay with Shane, do research the way he always did. Part of his angle was always the real-life research he did before writing anything. He wanted to give people as much truth as he possibly could. Shane was his best friend (or was , ten years ago) and Shane was a professional psychic. It would be stupid to pass up an opportunity like it. This was a strange thing for Shane to be, of course. Ryan remembered first hearing about Shane’s job through a mutual friend and he’d laughed and told them they were confused. Shane, a psychic? Shane was goddamn Doubting Thomas reincarnate.

It made sense, now that Ryan was here, talking to him. Shane wanted to be a therapist in school, but he had to quit midway through after… something. Ryan couldn’t remember what had happened exactly. Shane had told him they couldn’t room together next semester, and just like that, he disappeared off the face of the earth. Ryan got the impression any questions about this were very off-limits, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t curious. The point was, the way he explained it, Shane managed to find a way to be a therapist without technically having a license.

It didn’t make him any less of a con artist, obviously, and it put an honest horrible taste in Ryan’s mouth. He’d rather not know about any of it than have to recalibrate who he thought his friend was. He couldn’t tell any of this to Shane. And he needed the room. Not to mention, it was going to be great for his book. What better insight to this side of LA then through the eyes of someone who knew all the tricks. Then, Ryan could find the real ones, couldn’t he? Or, he could try.

Shane unlocked the front door. He was talking casually about nothing in particular and Ryan laughed in response without really hearing the words. Shane’s house was simply ordered, a single hallway down the center with a living room and open kitchen to the left, and the closed-off office to the right. Two bedrooms further down the hall, and a bathroom at the end. Apparently, Shane used the other bedroom to do video work? Editing had always been a hobby of his, something he and Ryan bonded over originally. “I’ve got a foldout couch in there you can use, ” he told him.

They met around the breakfast counter and Shane poured him a glass of something. Ryan frowned. “I don’t think you should drink if you have a concussion.”

“I’m going to have a headache tomorrow either way,” Shane answered.

“Wh- no, Shane, Jesus-”

Shane took a sip and gave him a put on look. “It’s fine. I’m fine. You drink. You’re all shaky still.”

Ryan wanted to tell him he was not shaky, thank you very much. Instead, he picked up the glass and did so. Surprised, he took another sip. “This is… really good.”

“Gift from a friend,” Shane hummed, sitting down on the tall chairs. His feet still touched the ground, and Ryan realized a moment later, his own did not.

“You have friends?”

Shane rolled his eyes, amused, and then winced. He could brush it off all he liked, but his head was definitely hurting him. “Got me there. A client, then. Lilly Keller.”

Ryan choked on the wine.

“Wait. Like, the Lilly Keller?” Lilly Keller, the famous actress, winner of multiple oscars at the young age of twenty-three. Lilly Keller, America’s newest heartthrob. Ryan’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t just- Frick, dude, you’re Lilly Keller’s psychic?” Shane gave him a cheeky grin. “She’s a sweet girl. You can come with me to a session if you like.”

“ If I like? Who else do you know? Do you know Leonardo Dicaprio? Please say you-”

“She’s the only celebrity, don’t get too excited!”

Ryan was about to reply when headlights shot through the room from the front window. They were inordinately bright, especially since he and Shane hadn’t turned on more lights than the small one over the stove. The car faced them, unmoving. The headlights flipped on and off and on again with deliberation.

Ryan held up a hand to squint at it. “What the hell?”

Shane didn’t say anything.

“Shane?”

Ryan looked at him. Shane was stiff, his face blank. He set the glass down with a clink on the counter. “...shit…”

Ryan’s breath caught. “Is something wrong?”

Shane raised his eyebrows, meeting his eyes suddenly. “Naw. Just something I’ve gotta do. You wait in here.” Without another word, Shane crossed the kitchen and opened the door of his office. Ryan stayed at the counter, too shocked to do anything but obey.

Maybe this really was a bad idea.

Shane cursed in the dark of his office as he pushed aside a few books on his bookshelf to reveal the safe hidden behind. He opened the dial quickly. Inside lay a pile of jewelry, some watches, other important documents, and piles of cash. It wasn’t all his technically. He got rent from several other psychics around the area and then delivered a portion of his and theirs to the person above him.

Shane counted the bills, fumbling. His head pounded like it was shrinking around his brain. There was no way he was going to get around avoiding explaining this to Ryan. With a sigh, he straightened, closed the safe, and walked to the front door. Ryan met his gaze and his eyes widened when he saw the money in Shane’s hand. Shane didn’t have anything to put it in or else he would have. Shane didn’t respond. He already knew Ryan was scared. It was bleeding off him like sweet sick. Fear and disappointment.

Shane had a knife in his back pocket just in case as he walked down his sidewalk. It was wet from the sprinklers. Just at the end of the driveway sat a black, shiny car, windows thick.

The moment he saw it, his headache pulsed worse. But he relaxed. His shoulders dropped and he picked up his pace. Thank God…

The window rolled down as he got closer.

“Good evening, Jack.”

Jack, a black-haired kid with a pointy nose and bruised eyes, leaned into the streetlight so he was visible. “How’d you know it was me?”

Shane handed him the cash. “The way you park? I dunno. Wasn’t expecting you tonight. I thought you guys weren’t coming till the twentieth? Where’s Hera?”

“She’s at a party. Apparently she has some big meeting in the twentieth. She told me to come collect early.”

“Well, you’re lucky I had extra meetings this week.”

“ You’re lucky.”

Shane wasn’t scared of Jack. He wasn’t a bad kid, all things considered. It wasn’t his fault his family was batshit crazy. Shane smiled and drummed his fingers on the top of the car. “Well, tell Hera I said hello.”

“Will do.” Jack turned the car back on, putting the money on the passenger seat. He nodded toward Shane’s head. “Someone get ya?”

“Hmm? Oh, no. Car accident earlier today.”

“Aw, that sucks. They give you morphine?” Shane blinked at him. “A little. Gave me crazy dreams.”

The kid grinned a wide, toothy smile. One of his teeth was gold. “Nice. Thanks, bitch. See ya. Hera said she wants you to start taking in the money yourself or she’ll kick your ass.”

Shane opened his mouth to protest. Then he shut it. He managed something like a smile. “Fine. Stay safe, Jack.”

“Whatever, voodoo man.” With that, Jack rolled up the window and slunk the car down the street.

Shane hesitated in his front yard. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was... so tired.

And Ryan was peeking through the blinds. Of course, he was.

Shane turned around and met Ryan’s eyes immediately, startling the man into dropping the blinds and disappearing. It would be funny in other circumstances. Suddenly, he didn’t want to stay up and drink with his friend anymore. His headache was only getting worse and Ryan was worry pacing in his living room like an anxious cat.

Shane made it back to the kitchen. He rubbed the back of his neck. His body ached. The pain medication must have been wearing off. “Well, you wanted to know what it's like being a psychic in LA...” He laughed.

Ryan stood stiff, his hands trembling. “Who was that?” Shane ignored the question. “My head is killing me. Can we… I'm sorry, can we talk about this tomorrow?”

Ryan wavered. “Are you in danger?”

Shane waved the question away in dismissal. “Naw, calm down. My boss likes me.” He knew Ryan was brimming with questions, but they had a whole two months at least to get answers to them, and Shane was having a hard time focusing now. He walked out, down the hallway. “I set out the blankets and pillows on the bed in there.”

Ryan didn’t have a choice really, but he relented and followed. “... Okay. We’ll talk tomorrow?”

Shane turned at his door. “Duh? Night, Ryan.”

“... night.”

Shane put the door between them as quickly as he could. He was being totally unfair, but he really didn’t have the energy to explain. He sat down on his bed, took his shoes off, and then lay flat on the covers for a minute, thinking he’d get up and change any second. His body was heavy, and he was very aware for no reason in particular that he was a creature inside it.

Shane sat in the passenger seat as the car whizzed the highway. The radio played Miley Cyrus’s ‘The Climb’. Shane turned his head. He recognized the feeling, the thickness of the air like moving through dough. In the driver seat, Jack sang not-so-well, but earnestly, as he drummed his hands on the wheel. The sight made Shane smile. Jack wouldn’t be caught dead listening to something like this.

Shane stood in a bookshop, looking up at the reflection of a book on the inside of a display. ǝɿiH ɿoꟻ ɔiʜɔγƨꟼ. A dark-haired man passed by.

Rapid images passed his eyes. A girl cried in her bathroom, a man and a woman fought in a kitchen. A plate broke. The images passed faster and faster until he couldn’t distinguish them. Everything was too quick, too much information all at once. His stomach began to ache.

Then he was laying on cold marble tiles. Heels clicked past his ear. Above him, marble arches stretched into a dome centered by a massive chandelier that shone like the damn sun. He tried to sit up and managed to turn his head instead. Gravity was too heavy. A familiar woman opened the front door. She wore a mink fur shawl over a nightgown, clearly heading toward the bed. “Jack. you look like shite, honey, why doesn’t your mama dress you properly.”

“Got the money, auntie.”

A pause. “Excuse me?”

Jack stepped back. Shane could see his sneakers. “I have the money, auntie Hera, Ma’am.”

He gave it to her and she hummed. “You told him to come here?”

Jack nodded.

“It’s about time we initiated that dry ass fucker… I’ve never seen a more well-behaved pet.” She leaned forward and pulled Jack down so she could kiss him on the cheek.

“Aw, ugk, auntie- auntie, he’s paying fine, I don't see why you’ve gotta-”

She grabbed his cheek, a little rougher than she ought to have. “How about you run along and let the adults do the thinking, Jackie dear. Have a goodnight, tell your mama she’s a whore.”

“Okay, auntie.”

Shane was listening so closely, he almost didn’t notice until it was too late. The stone crept around his legs and up to his body. He screamed as he fell into the marble.

Concrete surrounded him. He couldn’t breathe. Coldwater rushed at his back. Suddenly he dropped into water, tumbling, slamming into walls. It was so cold. He gasped and flailed and-

Jumped up out of sweat-soaked sheets.

Shane choked on nothing, shivering, breathing rapidly. His whole body hurt. He was battered and bleeding and-

No, no he wasn’t. What kind of nightmare…

Shane scrubbed his face and hissed in pain at the cut over his eye. Sunlight streamed in from the window. A few moments passed, and his heartbeat slowed.

The door rattled. Ryan poked his head in, hair tousled. “Yo, you want eggs?”

Yes, he did.

Man, concussions sure were weird.

________________________________________________________________

previous            to be continued....

[duchessfics]

How about ‘Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures’? And I don’t want to be greedy or rude, but are you working on the next part of the Billie series? I just love it so much! 🥺

Ooh I actually love doing these so here we go...

Send me a name of a fanfic I wrote And i’ll give you five facts/headcanons about it!

Or send me 📚 and I’ll pic a random fic I have to give five facts/headcanons about!

1. Ok Desperate Times is my smut baby 😂 I worked on this until I hated it. I’ll include some pics of my editing/writing of this:

The big writing is my first draft and the margin notes are my second edit.

I tore this thing apart. 😭

and when I ran out of space on the margins I wrote my notes on post-its.😂

And did you think I was done? Nope I type this whole mother f*cker up to tear it apart again. 

And once again I ripped it apart. All 20 pages.

By the time I went through and added in all of these corrections I hated this fic. I thought it was a piece of sh*t and I wanted to just scrap it. But I put in too much work to do that. 😭 So i messaged @shineestark and asked her to read it. 

Honestly I don’t know if I would have posted it if it was just up to me. 🙈 It was a tough labor, but I now love this fic so much?! I even reread it sometimes. 😅

2. I was super nervous because Wilhemina never came in the whole fic. I DID NOT want it to seem like I cut her short. But in my head I thought about it like, for Wilhemina she gets that level of pleasure dominating both the reader and Billie. I do think she gets included many times, but sometimes dominating is her mood. Hopefully that makes sense. 😅 I was anxious though that someone would call me out for not giving her a moment. 🙈

3. I don’t know if anyone noticed, but throughout the fic I specifically used the name Wilhemina when she was being stern or dominant and the name Mina when she showed her softer side. I wanted it to be subconscious and to help shift the mood. If you read it through again you probably won’t be able to unsee it. 😂

4. Ok...here are songs I associate with this fic. Be warned these are a lot more spicy than Loving Reminder/By Her Side 😅:

React--The Pussycat Dolls

Hip--Mamamoo

Heavy Cross--Gossip

Acceptable in the 80s--Calvin Harris

Toxic--Britney Spears

Fireball (ft. John Ryan)--Pitbull

(RBB) Really Bad Boy--Red Velvet 

Knock on Wood--Amii Stewart

How Ya Doin’?--Little Mix

Whistle--BLACKPINK

Think--Aretha Franklin

I will say not all of these lyrics coincide with Desperate Times, but they set the tone for what I wanted to evoke. Does that make sense? 🙈

5. Ok I would make this a drabble, but then it would turn into 3,000 words so I’m just doing bullet points. After this whole thing I imagine this exchange one night at dinner...

The scene is all three are sitting at a table with Wilhemina at the head Billie to her right and the reader to her left. 

As they’re eating, the reader (aka you) mention you have a question. breaking the comfortable silence.

So they ask what it is and you trip over your words, feeling embarrassed as you ask, “Just out of curiousity...umm what would happen hypothetically of course...what would I have to do for you to...well, umm...for you to use your cane on me?”

Listen. Billie chokes right there and even Mina is shocked at your question. Meanwhile you feel like crawling into a hole and never coming out. After a moment, Wilhemina clears her throat and would respond, “Well...it would have to be something really bad.”

Meanwhile Billie is still mentally recovering from that curveball and trying sooo hard not to laugh.

Meanwhile you fidget with a string on your shirt and ask, “How bad?” So rather than beating around the bush, Wilhemina says, “You want me to use my cane on you?” 

While that was what you were implying you still look shocked and stutter out, “I mean--What I meant was...Well, um...yes.”

Billie has never been this quiet in her life, but she’s definitely watching this whole thing and is VERY intrigued. Meanwhile Mina is trying to think of something small enough that you would disobey, but large enough that it warrants that punishment.

After a moment, Wilhemina says, “If I were to use my cane, it would be after repeated disobedience such as sleeping in until the afternoon, or avoiding chores, or as you know, touching yourself. And I would resort to the cane is spanking and other punishments didn’t seem to be effective.”

By now your mouth is practically watering and you know you easily do those things already. So you nod in understanding and squeak, “Ok.” before starting to eat again.

And as you look down to your plate, Billie and Wilhemina just share A LOOK and try not to laugh at how that question just came out of nowhere. 😂

This was a lot longer (sorry 😬) but I’m still happy to do these! 

AND...yes I am working on the next part. 😉 I just finished the final edit and need to make a couple corrections, but it should be up by tomorrow night! I’m glad you like it though! 😁

[fanfiction4thesoul]

My Happiness is with You Part 1

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Word Count: ~3.5

Warnings: Language; full on troupe

Summary: It’s the holidays which means it’s time to visit your parents. And Roger gets to come too.

A/N: Hello again. This has been in my drafts for a while. Figured I would post it. To be honest, I’m not sure how happy I am with this. So let me know if you like it, or I might just let it die. Thanks to any and all that comment/like/reblog!

“Yes, mum, I’ll be there. No, I promise I won’t be late. Yes, I have the time written down. Yes. Yes.” You sigh as your mother keeps going on and on about the holidays. She called just to make sure you had everything right before tomorrow. It was probably more because she liked to stick her nose into everything. 

You hear Roger chuckle as he gets up from the couch, having listened to your half of the conversation for the last 15 minutes. He pinches your bum as he passes causing you to squeak in surprise on the phone. 

“What was that? Are you alright (Y/N)?”

Glaring at Roger does nothing but make a cheeky grin appear on his face before he disappears around the doorway. 

“Yes, mum, I’m fine. Look I’ve got to go but I’ll talk to you later.”

“Wait! One more thing. You’re bringing your boyfriend, right? Ryan was it?”

“It’s Roger mum. And yes, I told you he’d be coming along.” You frown. Your mum is normally really good with names. 

“Great! Last thing, I promise. Ellie will be coming too! Won’t it be great to see your sister? And of course Richard as well.”

Oh yes. Seeing Ellie and Richard will be simply delightful. The prodigious first born with her dashing husband to boot. 

Just as you were about to respond, Roger comes back through the kitchen with two bottles of beer in his hand. He waves one in your face before moving to sit back on the couch. 

“Yeah it’ll be fantastic mum. I’ll see you then. Bye!” You hang up the phone without waiting for a response. Groaning, you move back to the couch with Roger, taking the offered beer before settling next to him.

“Your mum giving you trouble?” Roger asks as he tucks you closer into his side. 

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” You take a large pull of beer. Setting it on the coffee table, you move to snuggle into Roger’s shoulder. “Are you sure you still want to go?”

“Not in the least. But they’re you’re family. I have to meet them right?”

You and Roger had been dating for quite a while now. You met back when Queen just formed at one of his gigs and hit it off. The expected one night stand turned into a two night stand that just sort of never ended. Well, until Freddie basically smacked you over your heads and asked what the fuck you were doing. 

Now here you were, living together though not alone. You moved in with Roger and Freddie over a year ago. While Queen was starting to do well with the sales of their first album, none of you could afford to live on your own. But that was fine with you. You adored Freddie, even if he was a shitty roommate sometimes.

“I’ve told you, you don’t have to meet them if you don’t want to.” You try to reassure Roger. Even though you’ve been together for a while now, you don’t want to scare him off with the prospect of your parents. Lord knows your mum just might.

With the holidays rolling up, your mother planned a small family get together that was supposed to be just you, your parents and your brother, Tom. He was on holiday from his first year at uni, so you’re excited to hear how he’s been making out. Out of the two of your siblings, he was easily your favorite.

Roger originally wasn’t supposed to come, but he told you a couple weeks ago he wanted to meet your parents. “No, love, I’ve got to meet them. I’m just a little nervous.” Looking up, you can see worry in his clear, blue eyes. He sets his empty bottle next to yours, avoiding your gaze.

“Where’s the confident rockstar I fell in love with? I didn’t think you’d be afraid to meet my parents.” You brush your hand across his cheek, gently turning him back to face you, wondering where this insecurity came from.

“I don’t know if you noticed, love, but I wasn’t exactly a one-woman kind of person before I met you. I never had to meet a bird’s parents. And I’m definitely not the type of guy parents want their daughters to bring home.”

Roger certainly had a point. With his long hair, smoking, drinking, and passion for the drums, he can seem like a parent’s worst nightmare. But you’ve been lucky enough to get to know Roger and see past the mask he puts on for the world. 

You’ve seen him patiently take care of Freddie while he was sick and being an even bigger diva than usual. 

You’ve watched him get excited over the release of the latest book in the series he’s been reading. 

You’ve seen all his soft smiles and the tender gestures that make up Roger.

“I think you’re exactly the type of person I want to bring home. And if my parents can’t see that in the few days that we’re there, it’s their loss.” Bringing him down, you kiss him sweetly. He responds immediately, molding your lips together.

When you pull away, he leans his forehead against yours for a moment. “Okay. We’ll see how it goes.” He gives you one more quick peck. “Now let’s get back to the movie. You’ve already got me emotionally invested in these characters so I need to know how it ends.”

Laughing, you rearrange so you’re curled up in Roger’s lap, head resting against his neck. 

Tonight's date night for the two of you. And by god does that make you sound like an old married couple. But you’ve been so busy the past few weeks with the holidays, you’ve barely been able to spend time together. 

So you both insisted on having a night to yourselves before you shove off to your parents’ place. Luckily, Fred was out of the house, so you and Roger could watch shitty movies and cuddle on the couch without Fred’s suggestive commentary. 

When you first met Roger, you thought he was very rigid. Sure he was suave with any woman he came into contact with. But he always seemed so aloof, both physically and emotionally. Of course, he had no problem with bold gestures to flirt, or anything to do with the bedroom. You just never took him for a touchy feely kind of guy. 

Boy were you wrong. Once you got together, he loved to touch you.

A hand on your hip to bring you closer or an arm around your shoulder as you sat together. Anything he could do to idly touch you, he would. His absolute favorite though was holding hands. He’d swing them between you while you walked, bring them into his lap, plant kisses all over your hand. You think it has something to do with all his excess energy.

Not that you minded. 

So it comes as no surprise to you that by the time the movie is over and you’re halfway through the next, you’re both stretched across the couch in a mess of limbs. 

You’re almost asleep on top of Roger’s chest, mostly because he’s gently running a hand up and down your back soothingly. His other arm keeps you pressed against him, as close as you can possibly get. Just before you can doze off, the door bangs open and the lights flick on. The light easily passes through your closed eyes, causing you to scrunch them up. Roger groans and you feel him throw an arm over his eyes.

“Hello, darlings! How are you this fine evening?” Freddie barges in. Squinting through your eyes, you can see him shedding his many layers of clothes he wore against his bitter cold. Fred sure knew how to ruin a moment. 

“We’d be a hell of a lot better if you knew how to make a quiet entrance Fred.” Roger moves his arm to glare at him, using his other to hug you impossibly closer. 

“And where’s the pizzaz in that?” Fred moves to the kitchen and you hear him put the kettle on. “Have you two been here the whole night? What happened to date night?”

“Well, it looks like it just ended,” Roger grumbles, though you doubt Freddie hears him. Sighing, you snuggle into Roger, willing the soft atmosphere to return. 

Fred drops something in the kitchen and yelps. 

You let out a groan filled with resignation. You know it’s time to get up and actually go to bed. You’ve got a long trip tomorrow and you both need some rest. Though Roger protests when you move, he follows you down the hall to your room. You get ready for bed in comfortable silence. Taking off your shirt and shorts, you rifle through Roger’s clothes before you find your favorite shirt of his and pull it on.

Collapsing into bed, you close your eyes again until you feel Roger’s weight beside you. He guides you to him so you can cuddle into his side. Just as you’re about to fall asleep, you hear him whisper, “I really hope you’re right about tomorrow, love.”

Trees blur by as Roger speeds down a back road, only a short distance from your parent’s house. He’s nervous. He fiddled with the radio for half an hour before you told him to knock it off. Then it switched to tapping out random rhythms on the steering wheel. You finally lit up a cigarette and passed it off to him. 

For the rest of the trip, you and Roger have managed to to go through half a pack. It definitely helped with his jitters (and yours too, if you’re being honest) so you can relax and talk. Roger finishes off the last cigarette, tossing it out the window before rolling it up, cutting off the frigid air. 

Before he can start tapping away again, you grab his hand and bring it into your lap, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’ll be fine, Rog,” you tell him. He gives you a small smile in return just as he pulls onto your street. You feel your own nerves jump a little. 

Once he parks, you get out and he quickly follows joining you at the front of his car. He takes a second to pull your coat tighter around you. “You muppet, were going inside! Quit fussing.”

“Oh shut up,” he says. You laugh as he bring you in for a tender kiss. “Can’t help it,” he sighs and offers you his arm. “C’mon, love. Let’s go meet your parents.” His smile is brilliant as he guides you up the drive to where your family waits. It’s the special smile he reserves only for you and it makes your heart swell even further. It gives you hope that he’s gotten over his worries. You’re so happy with Roger. Every day you’re reminded of why you love him so much. 

You just hope your parents can see that. Well, more like your mum.

Before you can even reach the front step, the front door is thrown open. “(Y/N)!” Tom yells. He races forward and tackles you in a hug, forcing you to let go of your grip on Roger.

“Tom! It’s so good to see you!” you laugh out. When he relinquishes his hold on you, he has a huge grin on his face, partially obscured by his shoulder length, dark hair. “You grew your hair out! It looks very rockstar,” you say, fiddling with the ends. 

He swats your hand away, “Yeah. Figured I could get away with it now I’m at uni. Mum still had a fit, though.” He shrugs his shoulders. His eyes flick over to Roger who has been watching your whole exchange with a fond smile. You’ve told him numerous times how close you are to your brother, so he knows how excited you really are. “And who’s this?” he drawls, “The beau mum’s been talking about?”

“You bet I’m the beau,” Rog grins, extending his hand, “Roger Taylor.”

Tom squints his eyes as he shakes hands. “I feel like I’ve heard that name somewhere before.”

Roger opens his mouth to answer, but your mum’s yelling interrupts him, “Thomas! Will you let them in the house for God’s sake!”

Tom just rolls his eyes. “C’mon, before she shits a brick.”

You grab Roger’s hand again and lead him inside with Tom. The rest of your family is spread about the kitchen. 

“(Y/N)! You finally made it,” your mother exclaims, though she makes no move to hug you. Your father gives you a smile, though, before bringing you into a bear hug. Pulling back, he gives you an eye smile. Always a man of few words, your father likes being in the background and leaving your mother to take the lead.

When he sits back down at the table, you’re brought to the attention of your sister. Ellie is sat at the table as well, Richard leaning against the wall directly behind her. “Ellie, Richard,” you say. Ellie just gives you a nod and looks away while Richard doesn’t even pay you any attention. 

“Well, (Y/N)? Are you going to introduce us to your boyfriend or not?” Your mother asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Of course,” you pull Roger a little forward with you, giving his hand a squeeze, “Everyone, this is Roger. Rog, this is my mum, dad, Ellie, her husband Richard, and you already met Tom.”

Roger puts on his most charming smile, “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. Thank you for letting us stay with you, Mr. and Mrs. (Y/L/N).”

“Oh none of that. Call me, Charlie,” your dad says.

“...You can call me, Beth,” your mother adds hesitantly. You quickly dart your eyes to your mother and wait. She looks a little uneasy, but doesn’t say anything more, making you breathe a sigh of relief.

Your father is quick to invite you and Roger to the table where supper is just about to be served. You have to squish onto one side with Tom to all fit, but that just means you and Roger get to sit closer together. Tom catches everyone up on how he’s been doing at uni, the friends he made, the classes he’s taking. Your mother scolds his hair choice and you watch her gaze shift to Roger slightly before returning back to Tom. Roger must notice though, because he squeezes your thigh under the table. 

It’s strange and a bit worrisome. Your mother has always expressed a certain type of dislike towards what she considers the “unruly” people. You thought she might mention some of those comments in passing humor before warming up to Roger. But her quiet demeanor is unusual. And unnerving. You’d have to try and talk to her alone some time.

A moment passes before your mother brings up Richard’s law firm and so dinner digresses into mind numbing lawyer talk that no one actually understands. You can tell Roger is trying to be polite. He looks attentive as he listens to Richard, but his wandering hand tells you otherwise. He keeps it tame, though, only caressing your thigh and playing with your hands. 

When Richard finally stops talking and there’s a small lull in conversation, your father speaks up for the first time, “I’d like to know more about you, Roger. If you don’t mind.”

“What would you like to know, sir? I’m an open book,” he says, leaning back in his chair and putting an arm around the back of yours.

“What are you studying?” your mum cuts in.

“Right now, I’m going for biology.”

“Right now?”

Roger shifts a little, “I used to study dentistry, but I was quick to find out I’m not cut out to be a dentist.”

Though your father asked to know more about Rog, your mum takes over the conversation. She asks him everything from where he grew up, to his previous schools, to where he works. Then she starts throwing in her snide comments. 

“Oh, you lived in Truro? I heard the city’s architecture is atrocious.”

“I bet you had some interesting people at your stall in Kensington Market.”

The more questions she asks, the more comments she makes. And a pit forms in your stomach. She’s keeping everything cool and calculated. Like she’s gathering evidence for a trial. You knew she wouldn’t like his appearance at least. Not with his long hair and stylish (if outlandish) fashion. But this is not how you scripted it in your mind. She was supposed to make some faces, maybe, that you would brush off. Then she would start to like Roger once she got to know him. 

She wasn’t supposed to do...this. 

You’re sure Roger knows what your mother is thinking, if the furrow between his brows is anything to go by. His answers, that started out extremely polite, now hold a soft edge to them. He counters her comments with an easy breeze, as if he’s not being subtely insulted. He’s waiting for something. 

You can see Tom watching this ping pong match with a little worry showing on his face. Ellie and Richard’s face give nothing away. “Wait, wait, mum,” Tom interrupts, attempting to save you and Roger. “How’d you meet (Y/N)?” 

“We met at a bar my band was performing at. Hit it off and the rest was history.” There it was; his ace. A hit back at your mother. Roger smirks, tongue in cheek looking completely satisfied as he waits for your mother’s response.

You watch with a small smile as Ellie finally frowns. Just as your mother goes to open her mouth, your dad speaks up, surprising you. “Oh, you’re a musician. That’s quite a talent. What instrument do you play?”

Roger looks just as surprised as you, but kindly replies, “I mostly play drums and backup vocals, though I can do some guitar as well.”

“What did you say your bad was called?” Tom asks.

“When I first started in uni, it was Smile. But we changed lead vocals and bass so now we’re called Queen.”

Tom slams his hands on the table causing you to jump. “I knew I heard of you before! The guys on my floor wouldn’t stop raving about Queen, wondering when they were gonna come back to play. I’ve heard your album a hundred times thanks to my roommate.”

Roger gives him a genuine smile and explains how the band sets up gigs and that they might be headed back towards his area in the near future. While they talk, your mum is silently stewing at the head of the table. She catches your eye once, and you just stare back, not sure how you’re going to deal with this.

Supper finally ends and you and Roger help Tom clear the table and do the dishes. Your dad makes a move to protest, but your mum quickly shuts him down and ushers everyone else into the sitting room. Tom and Roger joke around while you work, seemingly forgetting the tense atmosphere from before. You’re glad they get along above anyone else. When you finish the dishes, you shoo Tom in with the rest of the family, saying you’ll be along soon. 

He doesn’t get very far before he turns around. “Don’t let mum get to you, (Y/N). Or you either, Roger. Just make sure you’re happy.” He says the words lowly so no one else overhears. You sigh as he walks away. When did he become so mature?

Bundling back up in your coats, you lead Roger outback into the cold air. He quickly lights up a cigarette, leaning against the railing of your deck. He takes a deep drag before passing it off to you. You mimic his position. After a few moments, he asks, “Are they always like that?”

You hum. “Like what? Pretentious as fuck?”

He snorts a laugh, “Yeah.”

“Only my mum and sister. And Richard by default I guess. My dad just quietly goes along with everything. Tom’s the only outspoken one.”

“Besides you, right love?” He gives you a soft smile around the cigarette.

“Yeah...besides me.” Roger passes you the last of the cigarette, coming to stand behind you. As you take the final drag flinging away the butt, he wraps his arms around your middle pulling you back against his chest.

“I’m… sorry. About my mother. I don’t know why she’s being like this.” You feel so shitty about how she was behaving. Roger doesn’t deserve that.

“Hey, you’ve got no need to apologize for her, love.” He speaks in your ear, nuzzling against you. “I’ve heard it all before. From my own parents, no less.”

You sigh, “Still. I’m sorry.”

Roger hums, kissing a line up your neck. When he reaches your ear again, he pauses. “You’re happy, though… right love? With me?”

You whirl around in his arms, looking up at his startled expression. “Of course I’m happy with you! Don’t ever doubt that.”

He smiles and brings you in for a long kiss. “I don’t, love. Not with you. I love you. So long as you’re happy, I don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks.” He murmurs, still brushing his lips against yours.

You just bring him back, pressing yourself as close to him as you can possibly get, conveying as much love as you can into the kiss.