#this is why i’m never getting married and god forbid i do i’m just eloping

[stevie-baby]

My cousin’s wedding is really fucking up my concert/festival season this year

[pennyserenade]

tags: nameless oc x javier peña, nameless oc x javier pena, angst  rating: e ( explicit ) warnings: smut, language. word count: 3k+ summary: marriage requires sacrifice; theirs takes a little more than most notes: i definitely did steal the title of this chapter from the original scenes from a marriage and you know what? i’d do it again. anyways, thanks for reading and i hope you enjoy this installment! if you want to be tagged in this series, just shoot me a message or fill out my taglist form that’s available on my masterlist (pinned post). original gif by: @javierpcna​

the art of sweeping things under the rug

scene two, scenes from a marriage 

Wedding bands can vary in weight depending on the sort of week you’re having, she finds. Conveniently light, sometimes--nearly invisible, as if intertwined with oneself--and then, impossibly dense at others. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, she tells herself, but she’s on no throne, and there is no crown. It’s just her and Javi, and the elopement that tied them together. 

The ‘70s had faded silently into the ‘80, and it’s easy to feel in love when the future looks promising. Well--maybe promising is too generous of a word for what they had felt then; perhaps uncertain is better. It wasn’t the sort of uncertain that fills one with dread either, the kind that leaves them in the dark with no flashlight. No, it was the uncertainty that felt good; the sort that made them think whatever was offered in the decade they’d not yet painted with plans was going to be great. It was promises of catching Pablo, promises of a promotion, promises of a proper marriage in the country they’d come to love in their own separate and shared ways. It was realists sharing one optimistic view in a world that seemed so void of them, and now, as she sits at the dinner table in her apartment, looking at the thin band on her finger, she wonders if they’d rushed into it

Her mother told her a mal tiempo, buena cara. In bad times, keep a good face. Just grin and bare it, wait for the uneasiness of the life they were living now to trickle into the marriage she anticipated, but she isn’t sure what sort of marriage she was anticipating. She had understood that there were going to be hardships, but she had welcomed them then because she thought they were going to be hardships they would endure together. They weren’t doing a very good job at the together. 

It isn’t that she doesn’t love him. She has an unwavering love for him, but the absence of his being in her life has begun to create a festering wound in her heart. She’s torn between asking him to never leave again—to quit it all and stay wrapped in bed with her, pretending the horrors outside of their utopia didn’t exist—and saying nothing at all. Grinning and bearing. 

He’s a good man. A great man, actually. He’s gentle, funny. A little too stressed for his own good most of the time, and a bit grumpy until he settles somewhere, but he’s exactly what she needs, and everything that could break her if he so wanted it, too. And she knows he never would want that, but she isn’t sure he knows he can either, because if he did, then he was tiptoeing dangerously close to that line. 

Sighing, she shakes her head, dismissing it all. 

The afternoon has begun to fade into the evening, and the cool summer wind blows a gentle breeze into her home. Javier said he wouldn’t be working late at the Embassy tonight, and she had told him she’d cook dinner, but the eagerness that had overtaken her then had been worn by the sight of his wedding band on her dresser. It was the thing that made hers seem so heavy. The thing that made her want to cry, really, and it was so silly, but she could not help the angry ball of frustration and confusion that formed at the sigh of it, or the way it had turned into the lump in her throat. 

She yearns for the days when it was just fucking—the way they hadn’t exchanged anything personal so nothing could be personal. She misses the way he would call her, flustered, at all hours of the night and the way she’d always open her door for him, and they’d kiss passionately and fuck roughly and explore each other over and over. 

But really, she doesn’t want that, either. She doesn’t know what she wants. 

She hears the jangle of keys, hears the latch open, but she doesn’t turn to meet him. Instead, she’s lit a cigarette, and she’s staring out the window, looking at how the sun shadows the town. She puffs away at the cigarette and he says nothing when he enters. He just throws his keys on the counter and then moves quietly over to her, hands falling to her tense shoulders. She hates the way she leans into him too; how effortlessly the anger ebbs.

She looks up at him, and he smiles gently. He looks worn, as though he’s fighting something that she won’t learn until the early hours of the morning, when he’s spent from spent from sex and the general excitement that paints all of his days. Javi is interesting in that way—not emotionally stunted, but hesitant. 

“You didn’t make dinner?” he asks while pushing her hair away from her neck, pressing his lips there quickly. He nuzzles against her for a beat, taking in her scent, feeling the warmth of her against him in gratitude. He is spent, and he’s wanted nothing more than to come here. Doesn’t even really care that she’s not made him dinner, just said it to hear her. 

“I didn’t,” she responds, more softly than she likes. Her heart is tender for him, kind naturally because his being warrants it. She wants to yell, but she can’t because she loves him so goddamn much. 

“S’okay,” he mumbles. Javi moves away from her, slipping off his jacket and sitting it on the chair. “We can order something later if you want.”

She nods, putting out the cigarette. “When do you have to go back in?”

“Six tomorrow morning. What about you?”

“I took tomorrow off.”

His eyebrows furrowed, “¿Por qué?” 

“Because,” she shrugs. “Only so much depressing material you can write until it starts to wear you down.”

“You know I said—“

She cuts him off. “I don’t want to live off your paycheck. I know what you said but I’m happy doing what I do. Just—“ she pauses, struggling to think. “—not all of us can give our lives over to the cause all the time.”

She meant that, meant that entirely, and knows he feels it by the way his features settle into a look of pure nothingness. Stoned face, giving nothing. She’s sorry for it, but can’t say it. He doesn’t ask for her to. 

“Cruelty doesn’t look so good on you, baby,” he tries to tease, but it comes out flat and serious. She bites at her lip, and turns her head to the window, back to the city, trying not to cry. 

“Are you angry with me?” 

He’s a good detective, isn’t he?

“Javi, I don’t want to fight.” 

“You are angry with me.”

She sighs heavily. “No, I’m not.”

“You are, and I wish you’d just say why.”

“It doesn’t even matter, Javi,” she dismisses it with a simple shrug of her shoulders. “You’ve been at work all day and—“

“Is it because I work so much?” he interrupts. 

“Goddamnit, Javier, I’m not fucking angry with you!” she shouts. Shouts like she is angry with him. Silence ensues and she wants to crawl in a hole and disappear completely. 

“You left your wedding ring,” she admits quietly, half out of remorse, half because she can’t stand the way he’s looked down at the table and not looked back up. Or how he sits like he’s torn between fleeing and staying. “But it really doesn’t matter, and I don’t know why it bothers me so much because I know you...you don’t mean to hurt me.”

“No,” he shakes his head. He still does not look at her, focusing on a line in the table. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Javi, I said it didn’t matter.”

“But it does.” He finally looks up. “It matters if it makes you angry with me. I left it because I forgot, that’s all.”

“I said it doesn’t matter.”

“You never fucking fight me.”

“There’s no reason for it,” she replies. 

“There is reason for it.” 

“Javi, please. I don’t get you for very long and this is not how I want to spend it.”

“Stop doing that.” 

“What?” Confusion paints her features. 

“Running from it. Fight with me.”

“Why do you want to fight so fucking bad? When you’d turn into such a fucking masochist.”

She feels that lump in her throat again, feels the way it wants to give way and lets it all go the way he’s requesting. Fills the bitterness creep into her system the way she hates. 

“I’m not a masochist,” he replies, “You’ve obviously got shit to say, so say it.”

“Fuck you, Javi,” she chokes, blinking back tears now. She definitely did not want this. 

She gets up to move, but he grasps onto her wrist. 

“Don’t run away,” he repeats. He’s angry too. 

“Let me go,” she spits out spitefully. He has such a loose hold on her that she doesn’t even need his permission to escape from it, but it’s the concept more than anything. He does let go, but she doesn’t move. 

“I didn’t want to fight with you.” 

Her cheeks begin to heat with anger, and it’s the worst sort of anger, the kind that makes her sob because she can’t contain it. It’s an anger that feels unfair, and she can never beat it; the tears begin to fall rapidly. 

Sympathy tugs at his heart; his steely resolution falls as quickly as it has come up. “I know,” he acknowledges. “We’ve got to fight, sometimes, though.”

“I know, but I don’t want to. I only see you two days a week and I don’t want to spend one of them yelling at you,” she confesses. “All I want you, Javi. Is that so much to ask?”

It’s his turn for shame to fill him. He knows why that can’t be—knows it’s because there’s things she can’t know and having her in a building full of DEA agents comprises the both of them. She’s in danger just wearing that wedding band on her finger; God forbid any of those fucking narcs ever found out they were married. He shouldn’t have done it, married her, but he could not help it; a sort of selfishness that was not uncharacteristic had pushed the boundaries within him, and he decided the good outweighed the bad. But, maybe it didn’t. 

He stands and envelops her frame in a hug. She sighs into his chest and wraps her arms tightly around him. She only wants to make him happy and to be happy with him. Why did it seem so hard? When this all began, it felt so easy, so nice and now it felt hard. 

Javier kisses her softly, just a peck and she feels lighter because of it. As he goes to pull away, she pulls him closer again, pressing their lips together. He responds, a hand resting on her hip and the other on the small of her back, holding her against him. She initiates a deeper kiss, swiping her tongue against his lower lip. They stand like this for a few minutes, kissing and basking in the presence of each other the way they’d both desired. 

It is Javi who pulls back from their kiss, needing air and wanting to take it further—just not here. In the beginning of their relationship, when it was just fucking, sex felt something they had to do everywhere; on the couch, on the table, on the counter, in the shower, on the ground, even in front of the window. And they still did that, still let spontaneity sway them, but they’d settled into more comfortable routines too. He liked fucking her in their bed, the one thing they always agreed was undeniably both of theirs wherever it resided. It was their bed so as long as they both fell there to sleep. 

He doesn’t even have to speak, just nods his head in the general direction, before she’s tugging him along. 

She sits down on the bed and peers up at him, eyes still red from the tears. He feels awful about it, but doesn’t have it in him to say it. Can’t, for some reason. It’s lost between his brain and his tongue, but it finds its way out through the gentle way he presses her onto her back and lets his lips kiss her everywhere. He kisses her face, her lips, then her neck, and then he goes further, pushing her shirt up and pressing his plush lips against the newly exposed flesh. Then he then he’s undoing her pants, kissing the spot where her panties usually begin. He offers her a mischievous grin, and she smiles back at him. 

“You really didn’t want to fight, did you?” 

She shakes her head. “No, you fuck, I didn’t,” she laughs. 

He continues his trail down her body, and she lifts her hips so he can remove her pants. Javier presses his lips on her hips, on the flesh directly above the pubic bone. Then, he presses them on the inside of her thighs, teasingly slow when he gets closer to her core, and she whines out of protest when he spots. Her eyes flicker down to see why, and when her eyes met his, he presses his tongue against her clit. A moan escapes her and she grasps onto the bedspread. Javi is encouraged by this, swiping his tongue against her folds, dipping his tongue into her, tasting her—really, truly admiring every part of her—before pressing his tongue back onto her clit. He begins to suck gently, and she writhes without control beneath him. A trained expert at this now, he anchors her down by wrapping an arm around each thigh, holding them in place. 

“Javi—“ she manages to say, just as the tension begins to build in her stomach. “Oh Javi, baby, faster.” 

He obliges and she is quick to find her release in a matter of seconds. Javi remains in between her thighs, licking up her arousal. He’s gotten good at this, knows the way she likes it, knows how to do it even when she can’t tell him.

She carts a hand through his hair, tugging gently, and he removes his lips from her finally. Despite her worn state, she’s quick to rise and meet him, uncaring about her arousal on his face as she presses their lips together once more. He kisses her back with more need than he previously had, his jeans feel tighter and more constricting than usual. 

“I want to ride you,” she whispers against his lips, and he nods eagerly. Her fingers work at his belt, and then the button of his jeans, hardly making it past the zipper before she slides her hand into his pants and palms his already hard member. He winces against her lips and she can’t help but grin; this is her Javi. This is the marriage she wants. 

“Te amo,” she says, beginning to tug at his jeans. He assists her, pushing them down all the way. 

“Take off your shirt,” he demands, tugging at the fabric. She obeys him, throwing the shirt in the same place his pants fell, before he tugs her closer to him. A gasp falls from her lips as she mounts him, the warmth of his length agonizing so close to her heat. She reaches between them, lining his cock up to her entrance. Eyes connect as she fills herself with him, and his mouth falls open, desperate to moan but too choked by the feeling of her around him. She moves slowly, not wanting to release the warmth of him yet in favor of forming a steady pace to ride him. Javi, however, is growing increasingly aroused beneath her, and can’t help the way he guides her on his cock. “Please,” he begs, brown eyes dark with desire. She nods, and they move together, her hips following his hands instructions. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out, watching the way he slides in and out of her. “I’m not going to last much longer, baby.”

Distracted by her own desire, she merely nods his confession, grinding herself on him until she fills the beginnings of another  orgasm, the sweet release inches away. He doesn’t lift her from himself now, wanting to savor this feeling for a few moments longer. “Te amo,” he finally responds back, a deep groan releasing at the way she squeezes around him. She grinds against him, and he lets her, allowing his finger to undo the bra they’d both been too eager to take off as she does. It falls slowly down her chest, and as soon as it exposes her nipple, he’s quick to wrap his mouth around it. This earns a throaty moan from her, and she swears her orgasm isn’t ever going to end. 

He pulls the fabric down her arms completely before turning them over, never leaving her once. He is desperate now, denied his orgasm too long, and the heat is pooling viciously in his stomach. He thrusts roughly into her, a whine emitting from her lips when he does, but she lifts her hips to meet him the second time he does it. 

“Faster, baby,” she encourages, and he presses his fingers into her hips so hard that he’s certain the skin will bruise as he thrusts into her for the last time. 

He slides out of her, and with a few more rough tugs on his cock, he’s releasing on her stomach. He wants to lay beside her, flat and lifeless as his lugs play catch up (it’s the fucking cigarettes, but he can’t stop them), but he resists the urge. He leans towards the bed stand and grabs a handful of tissues, wiping himself and her clean of his cum. She lays still, watching him intently, a soft, appreciative smile embedding in her features. 

“I miss you a lot, you know,” she says. He throws the tissues away in the bin across the room, and she takes in his frame; admires the way his back looks, the broadness of his shoulders, even his ass. He’s a good looking man, on top of everything, and she’s happy to be his wife. She just wishes it was easier. 

“I do know. I miss you too.”

He slides back into bed, uncaring of his nakedness, and she uncaring of hers. He pulls her bare body against him, and she wraps a leg around her hip. She traces his lips with her finger and he takes her hand, kissing the palm of it. 

He loves her, loves her so goddamn much that the guilt of the wedding ring on her dresser eats away at him. It bites and bites because the way he’s so casually lied about why he left it, acted as if it wasn’t deliberate. Doesn’t want to tell he’s afraid they’ll find out if he doesn’t, doesn’t want to have to worry about if she’s okay anymore than he does already. He calls her every night, checks in at the same time so he knows nothing is wrong, and she knows he does this, but there’s a thousand things she doesn’t see. A thousand things he doesn’t want her to see, either, like the way he left the wedding band because he’s afraid or the way he drives past her house every night before he goes to his, just to ensure it’s still there, even though he knows it is. Doesn’t want her to see the anxiety that fills him every time he hears about a bombing or the way he can’t sleep when he goes away. He wants their marriage to be perfectly normal, wants it all to be perfectly normal. Colombia deserves to be a country where marriages don’t feel this hard, and that’s all he wants to give her, but he can’t. 

As she lays against him, she can feel the tension in his body, knowing by the way he holds her a little too firmly that he’s thinking about something. She wants to ask about what, but she doesn’t want to spoil the moment. 

They’ve both become experts at sweeping things under the rug—at sacrificing—and neither of them knows whether it’s good or not, but they’ll continue to do it. Lie causally in order to protect, not address the pain and disorder, just for moments like this, moments that feel entirely like their own. Moments that make them feel married and dedicated to one another. 

This is scene two from a marriage.

tagged: @filthybookworm​ 

[averyonelovesjack]

secret ~ daniel seavey

requested: yes

I love your writing so much!! I was wondering if you could write an imagine for Daniel based on the song secret love song by Little mix? Could it be like he wants to hide their relationship but after awhile she hates it? You can do whatever with it you’re writing is amazing!! Thank you ❤️❤️

summary: after hiding in a closet for what seems to be the millionth time, y/n gets easily annoyed about the secrecy of their relationship

warning(s): cursing

word count:  1921

author’s note: i’m freaking obsessed with daniel & lovey’s cover of this song so this was so much fun for me to write. y’all request some good songs omg 

I sat down on my boyfriend’s bed, his phone lodged in my hands as i tried to hold it in the air and keep it away from him, but failed as my height was much shorter than his and he could easily reach it. He laughed, pulling it from my soft hands and rolling over so that he was sitting on top of me. Small giggles left my mouth as his hands pinned me down from my wrists.

With his phone in one hand, the other held me down carefully. Daniel leaned down, pecking my lips softly. Smiles reached my face as i attempted to lean up and kiss his lips again. He rolled over beside me, his back hitting hard against the bed and his fingers going back to tapping at his screen.

“dannyyy” i whined and he put his phone in his pocket, his fingers being brought to his lips as if to silence me.

“the guys are home, y/n,” he warned and i tried my hardest not to roll my eyes.

“get off your phone then,” i scold and then whine again, quieter this time, “pleaseee”

he sat up, showing me his phone and then setting it down on the dresser, going back to looking at me. i sit up as well, letting him pull my body close to his and hugging me tightly, “hey, i love you”

A small smile appears on my face as i looked down happily, “i love you too”

he looks at me and a giggle leaves his lips as we stare into each other’s eyes. we were never the serious couple, with the lovey-dovey moments. comedy was our specialty. our lips connect again as i sat criss-cross on his bed.

as i was about to say something to him, a knock came at the door and stress hit my body. Daniel sent me a pleading look as he quickly called out, “yeah what’s up?”

“hey, man. i just need to grab something,” It was Jack. Or supposedly Jack, since I never seemed to be able to meet the famous roommates. It was painful, sure, but we did it for the right reasons. It would hurt people too much if we came out with our relationship.

A frustrated look came upon my face as Daniel looked guilty, but i quickly scurried towards the closet, shoving my body inside, “sorry, coming”

once i was secure, i heard the door open and footsteps came close. it was a few moments before jack spoke up, “hey, who were you talking to in here earlier?”

“oh, facetime with anna,” he easily lied, which made me feel more guilty than frustrated, “sorry, were we loud?”

“no, not really,” Jack said, “heard when i was walking by. Tell her i say hello next time”

“will do,” Daniel replied and then i heard the door close. i waited until daniel came to open the closet, and then i popped out.

daniel gave me half a smile as i took another seat on his bed for the second time today. i wanted to smile back at him, but nothing inside of me could bring myself to feed him anything other than a frown.

as much as i wanted to give him the world, i just didn’t understand how to go on like this for the rest of my life. and we each said that eventually we’d come forward and have this relationship be part of not only our lives but others’ too, but three years went by so quickly and now i’m stuck being a secret love.

it started as a secret when we met because we were each in separate relationships. i had a boyfriend of several months, who i loved dearly, and daniel had been seeing someone for a little while too. it was cheating, we cheated. we both understand the complications of that and we understood that it was unfair to do that to our partners, and yet we couldn’t stay away. it wasn’t fair, especially when it took three months and several occasions until we’d told our partners. it wasn’t right, but it was us. we did it and now we seem to be living in this stupid lie we’d created to avoid scandals.

daniel was on idol when it happened and it was extremely important to him. it wasn’t the right time to come out and explain what was going on, especially when half of america was watching him every week. and when he got voted off, i couldn’t be there to comfort him. i had to be there through facetime, through texts. I had to be there in secret.

And when that was over, it seemed perfect. We could tell anyone, we could say something. But we never did. We stuck together through the silence, deciding that later would be better for us each. And then, Why Don’t We formed. He was in a new band that needed good publicity and the idea that he was in a relationship was strictly prohibited. Corbyn was an exception, but his rules were endless. Daniel didn’t want that for us. he wanted perfection in our enclosed relationship.

I was brought back to reality when the soft touch of Daniel’s fingertips traveled upon my face, “love?”

i looked up at him and saw the guilt in his face, “i should probably go”

he frowned, “wait til they leave, y/n. come on, stay with me”

“i should get home,” i shake my head, “i have things to do”

“like what?” he almost laughed and i glared, unsure entirely why i was being so hostile suddenly.

“school work, laundry. i don’t know, stuff that i don’t have to hide,” i spit and he looks taken aback by the new words that filled his ears.

“y/n,” he tried but i shook my head, grabbing my jacket and moving towards the window.

“you know what, it’s fine!” i tell him, “No one has to know anyways. I’ll sneak in and out of a window until I’m twenty-five. And god forbid you propose, i won’t wear the ring. And we’ll secretly fly out to Vegas and elope. Or is that too suspicious? I’ll fly out and you’ll facetime me from your bedroom and we’ll marry through the phone. And i’ll go into hiding when if i were ever to get pregnant. And our kid will be in secret too. I’ll home school them and they’ll be like Rapunzel, hidden in a tower their entire life-”

A small smile appeared on Daniel’s face, “you picture us getting married.”

i let out an aggravated groan, “that’s not the goddamn point!” i rubbed my head with my fingers and then looked up at him exhaustively, “i’m tired of this”

Daniel walked over to me, his hands being placed in mine, “y/n, i love you”

“and i love you too. we’re horrible people who cheated on amazing people and we shouldn’t have done that, but i met you and we fell in love and we were fifteen years old, danny. it’s not the smartest thing, but we did it and it happened and i’m so fucking tired of being shoved in a closet every time one of your roommates comes into the room”

he looked down, frowning. i waited for a response, but he didn’t have anything to say. everything inside of me had been bottled up for so long and i just needed to get it out. it was like with one single push, the entire fort fell and every piece of my thoughts came tumbling out.

“i’m tired of spending nights at home, trying to figure out if you’re in bed or not so i can text you without one of the roommates noticing that you were talking to someone. i’m tired of having to spend days at a time away from you. i’m tired of climbing through a window on the days we do get together. i’m tired of hearing amazing stories of your roommates and never being able to put a name or a story to a real face, just a picture on instagram. i’m tired of not being able to gloat to my friends about my amazing boyfriend when we’re in a club and they’re humping guys while i sit around sipping a glass of fucking water. so i need to go home daniel, yes. because while i hide every one of these things, it gets exhausting and i just need a break to not hide the biggest part of my life”

he stared up at me now, his lips connecting tightly with mine. Daniel steps away from me, walking past me, shoving the window closed and taking my jacket from my hands, throwing it onto the bed. he bends down, untying my sneakers and pulling them off of my feet while i balanced on him, confused as to what was happening. my fingers interlock with his when his other hand opens the door to his bedroom.

a little gasp escapes my lips as he chuckles, guiding me through what seemed to be a never ending hallway. we reached the end and there were two boys sitting on a couch. they both looked up at daniel and i recognized their faces as Corbyn and Jack. They sent him a congratulating look when they saw our intertwined hands.

“hey guys, i’d like to introduce you to my beautiful girlfriend, y/n,” He told me, “you know everytime you guys try to fix me up with a random girl and i completely fail? well just so you know, i do have game because i got the prettiest girl in the entire world”

“how’d you end up doing that?” Jack asked, “and how long have you been here?”

“a couple hours,” i inform him shyly.

“did i just completely miss you when i was in there?” he asks but i shake my head.

“i was in the closet,” i tell him, “but now i’m not gonna do that anymore”

“how long have you kept this a secret?” Corbyn questions.

Daniel looks to me and i return the look. I watch as my boyfriend sends him a funny face, shrugging, “a little over three years?”

the tv turned off and corbyn and jack both stared at us, “THREE YEARS?”

We nodded our heads, “god i always thought you were a terrible liar”

“you are welcome,” Daniel oddly replied, “alright. are the other two in their room?”

“should be,” Jack told him, “nice meeting you, y/n”

“you too! nice to be able to put a voice to a face,” i smile as we walk away.

daniel and i travel towards another room. we entered the room and saw the two boys on a live, “are you live?”

Jonah nodded, explaining to the video, “daniel just walked in”

“we can come back another time-” i start to tell Daniel, but he shakes his head.

instead, he brought me in front of the camera, sitting down on the bed. He pulled me down onto his lap, “alright guys. i’ve got an announcement”

“does it have anything to do with the pretty girl you’re cuddling?” Zach sarcastically replied and i giggle a little bit.

“actually, yes. i would like to introduce you--jonah, zach, and the audience, to my beautiful girlfriend of three years. This is y/n and i love her very much,” Daniel tells them, causing me to blush.

“excuse me? three years?” Zach’s eyes were wide.

i nodded my head as Daniel spoke, “surprise!”

[iamwhelmed]

Doubt Totes Terror

Hey guys! I just wanted to doodle up a little one-shot, take a step away from WOHT for a moment, ya know? ;D Anyway, here, have this fluffy, fluffy, fluffy fic.

Summary: Isaac is very confused, very light-headed, and literally nothing about this situation is helping. What in the world happened between senior midterms and... now?

Rated T for alcohol mention (kinda, but not really), and implied sexual content. Oh yeah, and language.

Things had been rough, rougher than usual, really. Going through day after day with the Activity Club always hurt, but there was something special about that pain the last year, like everything he’d felt before had intensified. After Hijack, Isabel had clearly been beside herself with him, Ed followed suit like always, and Spender simply continued to be Spender-- but Max hurt. Max, who never deserved what he got from him, who hadn’t done anything wrong... he hated Isaac, too. Every bit of snark was underlined in angry red pen, and try as he might to do the right thing, to patch things up between them, that line grew bolder, and soon there was no reading between the lines because the lines weren’t there, just red ink turned grey and lifeless. Max remained distant and unattached, but Isaac had, perhaps unintentionally, opened his heart to him, let him a little too close for the lack of return he was getting, but he couldn’t help it. Max was cool, and funny (when his heart wasn’t snapping under the butt of the joke), and even if he never let Isaac in the same way, didn’t exactly comfort him or pat his shoulder, he still defended him. Well, he defended him in battle anyway. Maybe it was all the teamwork, all the long hours spent alone with him, but somewhere along their fiftieth trek through the woods, Max’s eyes started to look like the stars overhead.

Aside from that though, Isabel still snuffed him, Ed still avoided him, Spender still ignored him, and Max still ruffled his feathers constantly (of course, nowadays his heart did flips just to hear him call his name). He’d become the mascot forever, he supposed. He was just doomed to the bed he’d made for himself. But that wasn’t anything new, and he’d by and by become used to it.

What killed him was Johnny, and the hand he had in Max’s back pocket.

They looked good together, got along well. Max actually smiled around Johnny, and Johnny wasn’t as destructive (to himself or anyone else) when Max was around. Max told jokes Johnny didn’t get, and Johnny was touchy-feely and made Max screech. Lots of times Isaac would sit there from across the lunchtable and just watch the way Max looked at him, and as bad as it hurt to see this unique softness in a guy so disinterested in everybody around him, see the way his hand tapped over on playful fingers to latch around Johnny’s under the table (everyone saw it and pretended not to, for Max’s sake, not his), he couldn’t look away. He told himself that they were only in high school. Things would get better. Max and Johnny would date for a few months, get sick of each other and split... but it never happened.

They’d hit senior year when Johnny started openly blabbing about marriage, and half a week into midterms when Max started dropping hints about eloping.

And that was where Isaac was now, laying on his bed with the curtains drawn in the dead of night, one arm to his eyes to catch the tears that hadn’t stopped for a solid hour. What an idiot he was. How stupid he was. He’d always known he was falling like a rock down a river, and that Max floated atop the current, but he’d still hoped, and every night he still had dreams, though those dreams were mostly plagued by visions of red and blue lights melding and molding like the Aurora. All he could do was watch from where he’d been pegged to the ground, take in the sight and smile because, even if he wasn’t a part of it, even if he never would be... it was beautiful.

His body wracked with another sob, and he set the balls of his wrists to his eyes hoping to corner off some of it, but thick bold streams dripped and colored the skin of his cheek down to the bottom of his ear wet. His chest hurt, felt heavy, and he could breath but he really didn’t want to. His heart was twisting, and churning, and he was certain it’d grown tangled in its own strings.

What an idiot he was. How stupid he was.

“Max...” He grinded his teeth, knowing there’d be no response.

He turned to his side, legs curling at his chest. He lifted half the pillow and bent it over his face, muffling his sobs. He was broken. He was a mess. He’d known all along it was coming, and it was all he could do to keep from bothering the rest of the house.

He faded out for a moment, then faded in.

When he opened his eyes the third time, they felt heavy, and he couldn’t see for anything behind the curtain of gaussian blur that’d fallen over every inch of his iris. Stern hands shook him by the shoulders. He raised one hand and tried to wave them away, but the shaking grew more forceful, so he wiped at his eyes instead. Must have been all the crying. “Isaac.”

“Wh-what...? What?”

“You’re crying. What’s up?”

Isaac sniffed, wiping away the last of the dried tears from the corner of his eye. The person before him was still a blur, a mask of browns and blues and white. He blinked a few times, then squinted, and soon enough, a clear vision of Max’s face came into view. His brows were furrowed, like he was doing his best to bunch his two eyebrows together, and he was close-- so very, very close. Isaac blushed at the proximity, and moved back a few inches to save face, and maybe get some air that wasn’t muddled with the heat of Max’s breath on his lips... oh god, were they that close? “Max? Wha- what are you doing here?”

The furrow of Max’s brows grew more pronounced, and there was a shred of-- fear?-- in Max’s widening eyes. “What?”

Isaac yawned and rubbed both eyes with one hand, because Max couldn’t know he’d been crying, and maybe he was feeling a great deal sluggish. “It’s like, midnight or something, right?”

“Yes...?”

“Then...” Isaac paused, one thought rising above all others and jarring him from his fuzzy sorrow-filled brain. He inhaled sharply, crawling away to the opposite end of the bed, scrambling to catch his rear end from falling over the edge. “Wh-why are you in my bed!” Sure enough, Max was laying beside him, under the covers, head propped up in one hand like it was completely normal for them to be sharing a bed, sharing covers and space and-- heaven forbid-- air!

Max frowned and sat up completely, frown growing deeper, and from above, more intimidating.  “I mean, do you want the long answer,” he gestured to... the bed? “Or the short answer?” Isaac raised an eyebrow, and glanced down at the mangled sheets and...Max’s...bare...leg...

Oh no. Slowly, with all the caution of a horror film protag and the grace of a baby deer with only two legs to work with, he lifted the sheets from off his body, looked under, then quickly pulled them back down.

He fell silent, and Max leaned over, one hand between them as he got, once again, uncomfortably close. “Isaac?”

“We did... we did that.”

“Yeah. We’ve, we’ve been doing that.”

“No we haven’t!” Isaac whipped around, bunching as much of the covers as he could at his waist, before realizing he was unintentionally revealing more and more of Max’s bare torso and-- for fuck sake. He pulled the covers over the front of his face, up to his forehead, because it was really the only thing he could do to hide the fierce red covering the entirety of his upper body. “Ooohh my god, ooohh my god! This is not happening. This is not happening! I’m dead! I have to be!”

Max reached over and plucked the covers from his face as he would a feather from a chicken, because that’s what Isaac was right now-- a chicken. “What are you talking about?”

Isaac then covered his face with both hands, peeking out at Max between the slits of his fingers. “Maaax... we-- we--!”

“Yeah. Why are you flipping out about this?”

“Why aren’t you?”

“I mean why are you flipping out about this now, after like, three years.”

“What?”

“Don’t what me! I’m what’ing you!”

Isaac grimaced and ran a hand over the side of his face, leaving the other to fall limply at his lap. He was tired, so very tired, in more than just the physical sense. “Max, you’re really freaking me out, I have no idea how this happened. We need to tell Johnny.”

For not the first time that night, Max looked pensive, pensive and confused. He squinted at him. “Um, so, left field question here, but uh,” he pressed the palms of his hands together, then placed them under his nose. “Why would we tell Johnny?”

Isaac reeled back, jaw coming completely unhinged because-- what? What?

“Be-because he’s your boyfriend, you smartass! You cheated on him, it’s the right thing to do!” Of all the unbelievable-- Max? Cheating? Having no remorse? He knew he was bad at promises but come on! This was a bit much!

If he was confused before, he was utterly bewildered when Max reflected the exact same exasperation and disbelief, along with something else? Sticking your tongue out usually meant disgust, right? “What the actual flip are you talking about? I have never, plan to never, and will never date Johnny Jhonny!”

“Well what the frick were the last four years, then? For pete sake, you guys were” He froze, setting on elbow at his knee, resting his forehead in his hand as he took a long, trembling breath. “You guys were talking about-- about getting married, about starting a family. I heard you!”

“No the fuck you didn’t!” Max crossed his legs under the covers, turning to face Isaac completely. It almost felt like a sleepover, like they were just friends discussing the crisis of the future, of college and careers and dead-end jobs, not infidelity. “And what do you mean four years? Isaac, tell me what’s going on. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you’re thinking.”

Isaac gripped at his hair, intent on pulling it all out, every last inch of orange, with tweezers and a razor if he must. He felt like he was going insane, and he might have been. “I-- Don’t get me wrong, Max, I-- I want this. I just, I just don’t understand. W- we just took our midterm today in English! You told Cody you and Johnny were gonna elope after graduation--!”

“What.”

“And Johnny, Johnny has been talking about you and him tying the knot since the year started! You guys have been so excited! I mean, I guess you’ve been as excited as somebody like you could get about something like that, but!”

“Isaac.”

“I was just gonna be happy for you!” His voice was starting to crack, but he wasn’t gonna cry again. He couldn’t. “But now? I don’t- don’t remember how this happened!”

“Okay, look at me.”

He glanced up as Max leaned forward, cupping his face in either of his hands. Isaac swallowed, and Max got closer. Even though their noses were brushing, he saw something familiar in his face, something he’d seen a lot, though he couldn’t place it. Even if he was close enough he could only faintly see Max’s eyes, he could still make out the stars, and they were shining.

Max kissed him, softly, pressed their lips together and ran a thumb over his cheek, and his heart fluttered despite knowing it was a bad idea. Max was gentle, like he was afraid Isaac would break and turn to dust between his fingers if his kiss was anything but light like a brush of wind. He knew he shouldn’t, but it was everything he’d ever dreamed of, everything he’d ever wanted, just a kiss; he closed his eyes. Max shifted to sit up on his knees, wrapping one arm around his neck. He’d suddenly become less afraid, deepened the kiss, pulled him closer. Isaac played along, let him lead, because frankly, he didn’t know what else to do.

Again and again, their lips parted, then met, and brushed, and dived, until Isaac finally pulled away, pressing a hand over Max’s mouth. “Stop it.” He was breathless, and what would have been a command sounded more like a plea, but Max listened. Kind of.

He took Isaac’s wrist in his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm, eyes never fleeting, even as Isaac pulled that hand away. “Cody was never in an English class with us. You and I didn’t even have an English class together.”

“...Huh...?”

“And you and I haven’t taken a midterm in a year, at least, not in highschool.” Max set both his hands in his lap, fingers wrapping around the bone of his blanket-covered calves. “And no, Johnny and I are not talking about marriage. I promise you, I’ve never, ever dated him. Not even briefly. Not even a fling.”

Wait, hold on. What? Isaac frowned, and glanced around the bedroom. Much to his surprise, it was not the one he’d grown up in, and certainly not the same house. The bed was a queen, but that was about as far as the similarities went. The dull yellow curtains of his bedroom, the one he remembered falling asleep in, were a light blue against a tan wallpaper (wallpaper he remembered being grey). This room was smaller, not by much, but enough to notice, and was filled with pictures of him and Max, and the club, and it all ranged from middle school to what appeared to be graduation (from middle school? High school? He was the only one not in cap and gown). Isaac glanced down. The sheets were different, too, though he couldn’t remember exactly what they’d looked like before. Yes, this definitely was not his bedroom. “Is this... your room?”

“Wow you are really out of it tonight. Since you can’t seem to remember, this is our apartment. We live here.” Max coughed, and mumbled “... together.”

Isaac blinked, and turned around to look at Max, who was looking everywhere but his eyes now, an unfamiliar (though it felt like he’d seen it before) rose dusting the tips of his cheeks, riding along his nose. “Wait, I live with you?”

“Yeah, we’re together. That’s what people do when they’re dating.”

“I’m dating you?”

“Yes! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! You had a nightmare! Or something! I don’t know, you were kinda freaking me out.”

Isaac usually, well, felt that usually, he would have snapped back, say that he was just as, if not more, freaked out, but he was just too damn happy to reflect snark. Isaac reached forward, cupping Max’s cheeks in his hands, running his thumb over his nose, brushing his hair back with his other fingers, felt the warmth of his cheeks, which were certainly growing hotter under his gaze. Max watched him, eyes wide, lips thin. “Oh my god you’re my boyfriend!”

“Fiance, actually.”

“I can kiss you!”

“That’s the idea.”

“I can-- I can hug you!”

“Not in public, preferably, but also yeah.”

“Oh my god.”

“You okay?”

Isaac breathed and leaned forward, digging his nose into Max’s neck, reveling in the shiver he felt run along Max’s spine. He was breathless, weightless, walking on a cloud high above level nine. His hands fell to Max’s arms and squeezed them, just to make sure this wasn’t the dream, and he’d wake up to the painful life he’d been leading all by himself. Max was here. He was his. “I’m fantastic.”

He could feel Max swallow. “Okay, that’s it, never ever again are you going to bed drunk. This is too much. I can’t handle this every time you get wasted.”

“I’m wasted?”

“I mean, you were... before.” Max gestured to him. “I don’t know what this is.”

Isaac chuckled, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. “I love you.” He pressed more kisses up and down the length of his side, from his temple to his collarbone, feather-light and filled to the brim with emotions he couldn’t even begin to contain. “I love you, I love you, I love you!”

“I sure hope so. If you didn’t, that would make this super awkward.”

Isaac went to press another kiss to Max’s neck, only for Max to grab his chin in one hand, redirecting his lips to his own. Isaac obliged, wrapped both arms around his neck and ran his hands through his hair, making it as messy and unpresentable as possible because oh my gosh it was real, this was all real. Max’s kiss grew shallow, and it took Isaac a moment to realize it was because he was grinning. And then Max was laughing, trying his best to muffle it between kisses but failing miserably. “I thought I heard you say my name.”

“Did I?”

“Yeah, that’s what woke me up...” Max pressed another kiss to the side of his lips, but returned to an actual kiss soon after. “You were crying in your sleep. Dream that bad?”

Isaac nodded, speaking between kisses. “Yeah.”

Max snickered again, pressing their foreheads together.

“So... you guys didn’t hate me after Hijack?” Isabel sighed over the phone.

“No, Isaac. Didn’t hate you the first time, either.”

He sighed, hands wrapping around a hot mug of green tea. Max sat across from him at their small square table, one hand on the phone to keep it upright while the speaker blared. Isaac blew on the steam, watching as it shifted in the current of his air. He glanced to Max, and gave him a smile, a silent thank-you for the uncharacteristic nurture which, Max was stubborn about, “wasn’t so uncharacteristic anymore”. Max smiled right back. “Isabel, can you tell Isaac that I’ve never dated Johnny Jhonny?”

“What? He thinks what?” Then she cackled into the phone for a good, long minute. And when I say cackle, I mean that, on the other line, she had one hand over her stomach, head thrown back, and was nearly falling right over the back of her recliner. Isaac pouted, and Max grinned from ear-to-ear. “That’s fuckin’ hilarious.”

“I tried to tell him, but he just kept saying no, you guys have been dating for years, you’re talking about getting engaged--!”

“I do not sound like that.”

“How would you know Mister Amnesiac?”

Isabel finally caught her breath on the other line, and Isaac could almost see her wiping away a salty, salty tear. “Oh, Isaac, dude, no. Just, no.”

“Yeah, thanks, I get that now.” He honestly didn’t think it was so crazy. Now that his memories had, somewhat, returned, he could recall a few times where Johnny had looked at Max with a certain... desire... in his eyes, and he recalled some exchanges of dialogue where Max (jokingly, sure, let’s go with that) flirted, but apparently that was just him. Though, now that he thought about it, was Johnny even the type to get married? Was Max? Well, the matching rings on their fingers said yes.

“No, Isaac, really, it’s hilarious that your brain decided Max-- Max!-- of all people--”

“-- was dating Johnny, yeah, I get it, it’s funny.”

“No, I mean, yeah, but like... Max has had his eye on you since eighth grade.”

At this point, Max’s eye widened, and a deep crimson fell over the tips of his ears and nose, lips twitching into a scowl. He reached out to press the off button, but Isaac snatched it out of his hand, at the price of splashing some hot tea over the side of his mug, and sneered at him. Max’s scowl grew harder, and funnier. “Oh really? You know, my memories from that time period haven’t returned yet.”

“I’m not sure you knew back then anyway, but yeah,” Max reached out in a panic, swinging for the phone. Isaac stood up fast, taking a step just out of Max’s reach as he bent over the table. “I think it had something to do with Doorman back in the day? Something about that whole debacle just kinda got him all crushing on you and stuff.”

Max’s fearsome scowl had dropped to a mere, pleading look. It was then that he was truly, truly glad this was his reality, because nothing-- nothing-- was better than Max’s puppy dog eyes. He snickered and readjusted the phone to his other ear, taking a sip of his tea. “Huh, how funny. How’d you notice?”

“Isaac--!”

“Pfft, how could I not? He kept moping around when you couldn’t make it to a mission. Not to mention the extensive longing looks--”

“--ISAAC PUT THE PHONE DOWN--!”

“-- and his phone’s background. You know he just had a picture of you, the same picture, as his home screen, for like, years until you guys started dating.”

His heart swelled, and he turned to look at Max, who had his head just about buried in his arms, aura swaying erratically over his hunched shoulders. “... has he really liked me that long?”

“Like isn’t exactly the right word, but yeah.”

How, how could his brain have created such a terrible, awful nightmare when every day he lived in this reality? A reality where Isabel and Ed were his friends, friends of seven years, and Max liked him-- like, liked him liked him, enough to marry him! He could hardly contain his burst of love, appreciation, just joy, pure joy for the life he was leading and the people around him and the sheer luck of it all. He was happy. He was loved. He had friends. This was his best possible timeline, and he still carried enough doubt in him to fear Johnny in his dreams? To fear the same things he feared as a dumb kid? He laughed, for the third time that night, breathless, and shook his head. “Thanks, Isabel. We’ll talk to you tomorrow. Get some rest.”

She snorted. “With a baby? Please. You were the one keeping me entertained. I’m gonna be up all night. The hubby should be home soon, but--”

Isaac blinked, suddenly very thrown off because, once again-- what? “You’re married? You have a baby?”

There was a pause, and then Isabel sighed. “Jesus christ, Max, get him to bed. If Ed finds out he’s this lost he’s gonna just fuck with him. So. Hard.”

Max groaned and sat up, stretching his arms over his head. “Yeah, that’s the plan.”

“See ya, Isaac. Get some sleep. Maybe things’ll clear up in the morning.”

“I can only hope.” With a click, the line disconnected, and Max took the phone back, gently, Isaac almost thought he’d brushed his fingers on purpose. Their eyes met, and Max ran a hand over the back of his neck, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt (actually, it probably was Max’s shirt, there was no way he’d voluntarily wear this, not according to what he remembered so far anyway). He was still blushing, and Isaac couldn’t get enough of it, couldn’t memorize that shy look on his face as much as he wanted to. He wanted it to stick on the inside of his brain, stay there with him, always. Like a light, a guiding light.

“Come on, let’s get to sleep.”

“Okay.”

[theangelmojo]

4am Wiki Adventures

I typed “Lord Byron” into Wiki. Don’t ask me why. Those early morning hours, you know.

And I knew stuff about him before, but not stuff. Not like the stuff Wiki can, so I was not prepared for the awesome of Lord Byron. 

This guy’s insane, like, he is The King of Le Drama. The biggest drama-llama to ever ding-dong, I stg. He takes extreme to a whole new level. Like, you know those posts where they go “well that escalated quickly”, he is that. 

So I have some facts I’d like to share. Random facts. Hilarious facts. Facts that are totally unnecessary and unimportant to know, but are the thing I am probably gonna think about for the next solid week. 

Hold onto your hats, folks, we’re in for a long ride. 

1. His father was a douche. Only married women for their money, bled them for that money, stuck babies in them and then ditched them. What an asshole.

2. He had Issues with his mom, who was understandably depressed because of her asshole husband, and reportedly called her “short and fat” (assholery is genetic, probs). In return she had Issues with him, but also spoilt him and is part of the reason Byron is well known for being stupid with his money (also genetic, probs). 

THIS CONTINUES FOR A WHILE, SO I’LL PUT THIS UNDER THE CUT TO SPARE YOUR DASH, SORRY

3. He started falling in love with people at a reaaaaally young age. Like, whoa son, steady on chap. His first crush was a distant cousin (Mary Duff) at the age of 8, who he then forgot about till he turned 16 and found out she was gonna get married. Then he remembered her and was like oh heck, how will my heart go on and wrote a big paragraph about it, wherein he acknowledged the fact that his feelings were ridiculous but nevertheless intense and true. 

4. That one wasn’t a sexual love though, apparently, but he also acknowledges that he started developing shall we say certain ‘cravings’ at a considerably young age. He claims this is partly the reason why he writes like he does. In his own words: “Perhaps this was one of the reasons that caused the anticipated melancholy of my thoughts — having anticipated life.”

5. At this point there are a bunch of people who want to claim that his, how shall we put it, ‘young sexual awakening’?? is the reason for his “sexual propensities”. Like, no dude, he’s just bi. Accept it.

(I’d like to cut in here and say that the next fact made me very sad. Very very sad. 4am Me was not prepared for the sudden hit of sadness and started sniffling a lot. Prepare yo’self.)

6. There are reports that he was sexually abused as a kid. One of his abusers was one of his caretakers, Mary Gray, who was later dismissed when he turned 11. She also used this abuse as a way of keeping him silent about the bad company she kept. I mean like, holy shit, that is such a nasty bitch. My god, I hate reading about stuff like this. (4am in the morning and I whimpered “poor baby” to myself, blinking through tears) Then this guy called Lord Gray De Ruthyn, who was also one of his mother’s suitors, also forced himself on Byron. The poor little guy was “deeply disturbed by this” (no shit) and apparently never told his mom, which in hindsight is probably part of the reason for his Issues with her. My god, this guy was so destined to be an angst-writer. Jesus Christ. 

And then some asshole historians or god knows who have the audacity to suggest that these events led to him having sexual liaisons with men at college like what the fuck. How many times do you have to say “he was bi” till it gets through their fucking skulls mother of god --

Moving on.

7. Onto the more interesting and hilarious facts. His first male loves were found at Harrow, where he found a fondness for a bunch of lads, all named John. John FitzGibbon, John Thomas Claridge, John Edleston, John Cam Hobhouse. Must have been real confusing trying to navigate all these Johns, but one thing he knew for sure is that he definitely likes boys too. 

8. Proof of him liking them boys is him pouring all his fucking money on them. This guy was such a freaking Sugar Daddy. Jesus. He left £7000 in his will to a 14 year old boy he met in Athens who taught him Italian. I mean, the sum of money got cancelled, but still. Come on, By. This isn't even the only time he shoved his money at a guy, no siree, but we’ll get to that part later.

9. The most likely reason he left England was because of his reportedly incestuous relationship with his half-sister Augusta Leigh. Ugh. Okay, this one grossed me out, but he like, had children with her too, apparently. Around this time he also got married to Annabella Millbanke and had a kid (Ada Lovelace!!) with her, but their marriage was too shit and she thought he was insane so she left him. All this scandal forced him to leave due to all the rumours circulating, plus the fact that he was majorly in debt too at the time. No surprise there.

10. Once he left England, he never came back. He went to Belgium. Then to Switzerland, where he met another John -- John William Polidori, who became his physician, and there he also befriended Percy Bysshe Shelley, and Mary Shelley (née Godwin). He had another affair with another lady, this time Clair Clairmont, who was Mary’s stepsister. Got her pregnant too. 

11. This lovely bunch of drama-llamas then got rained in, and due to the shitty weather they were stuck indoors for 3 days. During this time they read a bunch of cool horror stories, which then inspired them to write their own. Yes guys, this is where Frankenstein was born, but not only that -- John William Polidori also wrote The Vampyre (with a Y) which is The Start of the romantic vampire genre. That’s right folks -- thanks to this guy, we have Twilight. (But in all honesty, his story is far better, go check it out.)

12. Byron is super clever. No surprise there, but an example of this is that he learnt the Armenian language and culture well enough over a couple years to write books on it. He was passionate about Armenian culture and history, dude, like he proper went for it, and his writings and teachings inspired a wave of Armenian poets and writers. Not bad, Byron. Not bad.

13. Dude falls in love every-freaking-where, and not casual love, oh no -- he falls madly in love every fucking time. Where does he get the energy? God only knows. This time he falls for this 18 year old Countess, Teresa Guiccioli, and ends up eloping with her. Thing is, she’s married. (Byron NO)

14. Byron likes animals to the degree that Damian Wayne likes animals (sorry for the Batman reference, but I can’t help it, it’s who I am), ergo: he loves them. In one of Shelley’s letters, he describes the house as such: “Lord B.’s establishment consists, besides servants, of ten horses, eight enormous dogs, three monkeys, five cats, an eagle, a crow, and a falcon; and all these, except the horses, walk about the house, which every now and then resounds with their unarbitrated quarrels, as if they were the masters of it… [P.S.] I find that my enumeration of the animals in this Circean Palace was defective… I have just met on the grand staircase five peacocks, two guinea hens, and an Egyptian crane.” Get on that, Dami. You’ve got a long way to go to reach this level.

To add to this fact, he also had a Newfoundland dog called Boatswain (???) who he loved so much that when the animal contracted rabies, he nursed him “without any thought or fear of becoming bitten and infected.” (cue: 4am Me hysterically sobbing about this). Also, even though he was in debt at the time, Byron commissioned a funerary monument to be built for Boatswain at Newstead Abbey, which was the only building work which he ever carried out on his estate. The thing was bigger than his own grave, and in his 1811 Will (what is this guy with Wills), he requested that he be buried with him. Also, he wrote a 26‐line poem called "Epitaph to a Dog" in honour of Boatswain. That is some serious dog-love there, you have to give him that, and as I said before: he never falls casually in love, only ever madly.

ANOTHER THING. I’m just gonna quote this straight from Wiki cos I can’t put it any better: “Byron also kept a tame bear while he was a student at Trinity, out of resentment for rules forbidding pet dogs like his beloved Boatswain. There being no mention of bears in their statutes, the college authorities had no legal basis for complaining. Byron even suggested that he would apply for a college fellowship for the bear.” Byron, my man, that is So Extra. (“What’s that? I can’t have a dog here? Well, no problem, I’ll just get a bear.” “BYRON, Byron what the fuck. Where did you even get a bear? Bears aren't indigenous to England.” “He’s very intelligent. Loves to read. Heck, lemme get him enrolled here.” “Byron what the fuck.”)

15. Skipping ahead a little, he ends up in Genoa, right, and gets Bored. Probably because of lack of pets. Possibly because he’s not Fallen Madly In Love with anyone recently, though he’s still technically ‘with’ the Countess, let’s be real -- this boy isn't good with commitment. So, he gets bored and this is where he starts getting involved with the movement for Greek independence from the Ottoman Empire. He realises he still has his lady with him but cannot join this military movement whilst she’s still around, so he ends up shipping her back to her dad (dick move, Byron). 

Then this guy called Edward Blaquiere tries to recruit him, and Byron realises he has no fucking clue what he’s meant to be doing. In his own words: "Blaquiere seemed to think that I might be of some use-even here;-though what he did not exactly specify". Get it together, Byron, FFS. He boards a ship called Hercules (ha ha) to go to Greece, and the poor Countess lady weeps while waving him goodbye, but then Hercules has to return to port, so that dramatic farewell wasn’t nearly as dramatic as he’d probably been hoping for. Oh well.

Moving on -- 

(-- okay, to be honest, I kind of glossed over the whole part with his involvement in the war. I mostly picked out the parts that stood out to my 5am Brain, which were mostly to do with money or the boys he was eyeing. No offence meant in the way I’ve interpreted things. I fully blame the fact that I should have stopped reading Wiki five hours ago, but didn’t, and also I have a dumb sense of humour.)

16. Byron chucks money at the Greeks. Where did he get this money? No one knows, but he gives the Souliots £6000. Then, to be fair, he gets fed up of them asking for more and more money. He cuts off the Souliots and tells them to get stuffed. 

At some point he sells his estate, Rochdale Manor in Scotland, which gets him some £11,250, which means Byron has something like £20,000 altogether, all of which he plans on giving to the Greek cause. “In today's money Byron would have been a millionaire many times over, and the news that a fabulously wealthy British aristocrat known for his generosity in spending money had arrived in Greece made Byron the object of much solicitation in a desperately poor country like Greece.” Byron, old chap, that is super generous of you but what the fuck. I kept thinking to myself, reading this, what the fuckkkk?? Like, the cockles of my heart were warmed, but my brain couldn't comprehend it. May I remind you, he got into this because he was B O R E D, and now he’s throwing all his money at this ??? What even a r e  y o u  B y r o n ? ? ?

I don’t mean to make any judgements here, but this is then where Byron draws some Attention to himself again. Throwing all this money around -- it’s no surprise that suddenly all the different Greek factions start to fight over him, and in my 5am Brain, all I could see was Byron being like “kids, pls, stahp” and getting all exasperated with it. In Wiki’s much better written words: “he complained that the Greeks were hopelessly disunited and spent more time feuding with each other than in trying to win independence.”

17. As a little ‘aside’, whilst all of this is happening, Byron falls in love. Again. Madly. To another boy. This time his Greek page, Lukas Chalandritsanos, who he spent some £600 (equivalent to about £24,600 in today's money) over the course of six months on, and wrote his last poems about his passion for. Holy hell, Byron, control yourself please. And then Wiki slams down the coldest line to all this drama and goes: “but Chalandritsanos was only interested in Byron's money” -- and I’m sorry, I almost peed myself laughing. Omg Byron, that is cold. 

18. Spoiler alert: Byron dies young. He dies at 36, just before setting sail on an expedition. On 15 February 1824, he falls ill and then, my friends, comes the usual, in the form of the typical historical medical fuck-up remedy of bloodletting. When I read this I legitimately SMH, because how many books have I read where they use bloodletting to try to cure someone and SHOCK HORROR, it ends up killing them? Poor guy gets made worse by it, makes a partial recovery, but then catches a violent cold which then more therapeutic bleeding (insisted on by his doctors) ends up making worse. It is suspected that this treatment, carried out with unsterilised medical instruments, may have caused sepsis, and then he dies. 

Sometimes, looking back on historical medicine and treatment methods... I realise how lucky we are nowadays, to know better. Things like this also remind me that despite how much I’d like to go back in time to see history and stuff, it’s probably not a good idea. Not only because of this, but also the lack of plumbing. And hygiene. And sanitation. And wifi -- omg no internet, no thank you.

19. So, to end it all, Byron’s English friends are shocked to hear he’s died, and his Greek friends all mourn him as a hero. 

20. Now, to describe how Byron looks... according to Wiki, he was: “5 feet 8.5 inches (1.74 m), his weight fluctuating between 9.5 stone (133 lb; 60 kg) and 14 stone (200 lb; 89 kg). He was renowned for his personal beauty, which he enhanced by wearing curl-papers in his hair at night.” Ha ha ha, ha... 

Then he’s also famous for having Foot Issues, namely a deformity of his right foot. Whether he’s clubfooted, a consequence of infantile paralysis, or dysplasia -- what’s agreed is he had Foot Issues. The Foot gave him a limp, and “caused him lifelong psychological and physical misery, aggravated by painful and pointless "medical treatment" in his childhood and the nagging suspicion that with proper care it might have been cured.” At this point, in my head I went ‘awww, poor baby’, and felt sorry for him (I still do), but then I read on, and.

Byron was his usual Byron-like self about it, so I couldn't help but giggle.

Firstly, he nicknamed himself ‘le diable boiteux’ (French for "the limping devil", also the nickname given to Asmodeus by Alain-René Lesage in his 1707 novel of the same name). 

Secondly, although he often wore specially-made shoes in an attempt to hide The Foot, he refused to wear any type of brace that might improve The Limp. Byron, seriously, wear the brace. A Scottish novelist (John Galt) said he felt his oversensitivity to the "innocent fault in his foot was unmanly and excessive" because the limp was "not greatly conspicuous". 

[He first met Byron on a voyage to Sardinia and did not realise he had any deficiency for several days, and still could not tell at first if the lameness was a temporary injury or not but by the time he met Byron he was an adult and had worked to develop "a mode of walking across a room by which it was scarcely at all perceptible". The motion of the ship at sea may also have helped to create a favourable first impression and hide any deficiencies in his gait, but Galt's biography is also described as being "rather well-meant than well-written", so Galt may be guilty of minimising a defect that was actually still noticeable]

Byron. Oh Byron. I feel sorry that he was so self-conscious of his foot deformity, don’t get me wrong, but I can’t help but also giggle imagining him doing all this. It’s so dramatic. This boy. 

In short, simply from reading the Wiki article on Lord George Gordon Byron, I feel incredibly fond of, exasperated by, entertained by, and confused by this hugely influential, incredibly dramatic and complex historical figure.

I already love reading poems and quotes by him, but knowing more about him now... I am also inspired by him. Even from just a Wiki article, even from just reading this one source about his life at a questionable time of night -- I feel like I understand better why people have coined the term “Byronic hero” in honour of him. 

[The Byronic hero presents an idealised, but flawed character whose attributes include: great talent; great passion; a distaste for society and social institutions; a lack of respect for rank and privilege (although possessing both); being thwarted in love by social constraint or death; rebellion; exile; an unsavory secret past; arrogance; overconfidence or lack of foresight; and, ultimately, a self-destructive manner. These types of characters have since become ubiquitous in literature and politics.]

I see Byronic heroes all over the place. In all my fandoms, in all walks of life. From the classic Heathcliff to the likes of the Hunchback of Notre Dame (sobs), to The Phantom of the Opera (sobs), to Lestat from Interview with a Vampire, to Batman (LOLs), to fucking Edward Cullen from Twilight (gags).

The drama-llama lives on in all types of characters, in so many fictional worlds. As someone who lives to read and loves to write, I am completely unsurprised that stumbling across a Wiki page such as his has moved me so deeply, because in so many ways it was like reading a fanfic (albeit the driest, flattest fanfic I’ve ever read in my life). In so many ways I saw so many of my favourite characters written in his life, and by golly, it’s just fantastic to think that he actually lived in our world, isn't it? To think that and know that is both wonderful and strange. 

So, without anything left to add to this long, ridiculous post, I apologise for rambling on about a dead poet and contributing absolutely no new information to what is already known about him. I am aware all I’m doing is regurgitating old facts and basically oohing and ahhing over them, like an idiot. All I can say is I’m glad for Wiki, and Jesus Christ, I’ve got to start going to bed earlier than this. 

Auf wiedersehen. 

[queen-ofthe-bikers-soa-blog]

Anything for my Outlaw. Juice Ortiz fan fiction. Chapter 5.

tag list: @omgbullslove @mwesterfeld1985

So since I’m uploading today instead of Wednesday I won’t be posting another chapter this week. I will be posting a preview for chapter 6 on Wednesday. I hope you guys like this chapter because I was a little iffy on this chapter, I felt like it was really cheesy and cliche but oh well. Leave me feedback please!! 

Last night was the first day that Juice and Lena had gotten away from the charter in Indian Hills. They had been spending the last few days getting to know the members and partying with them at night. Sure it was fun to interact with other people other than the SAMCRO members, but Lena had really been hoping to spend more time with just Juice. Lena and Juice took turns making the surprising long drive from Indian Hills to Las Vegas. They had went to a few clubs, had A LOT of drinks, and after the third club Lena had no memory of what happened, or how they had even gotten back to their hotel room.

Lena rolls over onto her back, groaning in pain, feeling a pounding in her head like she’s never felt before. She slowly tries to sit up, whimpering and laying her head back down on the pillow, not daring to open her eyes because she knew that the whole room would be spinning out of control. She feels Juice shift next to her, he didn't have as much to drink as Lena did, but he was surely feeling the hangover.

“You okay?”

Juice grumbles next to her. Lena finally opens her eyes, instantly regretting it.

“Oh my god. I feel like I’m about to throw up. Don’t move or I might.”

She moves closer to Juice, closing her eyes again, trying to fall back asleep and sleep this horrible hangover off. Juice turns the tv on, going through the channels until he finds a nature documentary. Just as Lena feels herself falling back into her sleep someone knocks on the door.

“Are you serious?”

She whines, stuffing her face into the pillow. Juice gets off the bed, putting his undershirt on quickly and going to answer the door. Lena can vaguely hear Juice talking to whoever is at the door, but she didn’t care enough to actually pay any attention to what he was saying. The door closes and she waits for Juice to get back into bed with her but all she feels is him sitting on the edge of the bed.

“What are you doing babe?”

Lena asks, carefully picking her head up and turning to look at him. His back is to her and he’s looking down.

“Juice, what’s the matter?”

“Do you remember what happened last night before we came back to the room?”

Juice asks, still not looking at her. He curses under his breath and rests his face in his hands. Lena thinks for a while, nothing coming to her head. She moves a stray piece of hair out of her face and that’s when she sees an all black ring on her finger with a medium sized black diamond on her fourth finger. She stares at it for a while, not recognizing it, or where it came from. Suddenly it hits her that it's a wedding ring.

“Holy shit. No. No, we didn’t. Holy shit. We got married?”

“I don’t remember! The person at the door was room service giving us a newlywed breakfast and then I saw the ring on my finger.”

They both sit there in silence, trying to rack their brain of any memories they had of last night, and the apparent wedding they had.

~ ~ ~

“God damn you look beautiful.”

Juice says, coming up behind Lena and wrapping his arms around her waist. He starts to kiss her exposed shoulders, making his way over to her collarbone, nipping her skin. Lena laughs, pushing him off of her.

“Hey, hey you’re the one that wanted to go to the club instead of stay in our room and play.”

He rolls his eyes and sits back on the bed, watching Lena finish getting ready. He couldn’t help but admire how the dress she’s wearing is hugging her in all the right places, how unbelievably sexy she looked in thigh high boots. He definitely wasn’t going to be able to keep his hands off of her all night, and he knew he was going to have a problem with guys looking her.

“Juicy, come on I’m ready now.”

She says, smiling at him. He gets off the bed and gives her a soft kiss on the lips. She looks up at him and shakes her head.

“No more of that until we come back to the room.”

It had been a few hours of club hopping and Lena had her share of drinks, Juice had a few too but definitely not as many as his girlfriend. The more shots she had, the more touchy feely Lena had gotten with him, and Juice was starting to lose his composure, he was tempted to take her to the back of the club where nobody could see and take her right there, but one of them had to be responsible. There was a girl that was hanging around Lena and Juice since they had arrived at this club, she was just as drunk as Lena, if not more. They were whispering into each other’s ears, and Juice was trying to figure out what they were saying. Finally Lena nods her head, giggling and looking over to her boyfriend.

“What’s so funny?”

“Kristen thinks we should go to one of those little chapels and have a shotgun wedding like she did.”

Juice laughs at how drunk his girlfriend was, and he knew that she was going to be hurting tomorrow morning when she woke up.

“A shotgun wedding is when the bride is pregnant and gets married. Not what getting married in Vegas is called.”

He corrects her, Lena giggles and shakes her head.

“Oh! I’m not pregnant so we can’t do that.”

“Well you two could still get eloped! Show your mean brother that you love tattoo boy and you’re not going to give him up.”

The brunette slurs. She looks at her hand and takes a ring off her finger, handing it to Juice. He stares at the all black ring then look back at the two drunk women.

“We haven’t even been boyfriend and girlfriend for a week. I’m not going to marry her.”

“Why not? Like she said show my brother that you're not going to give me up!”

Lena shouts. Juice curses to himself, not wanting to even have this conversation.

“Lena, come on I think we need to go now.”

“No! I want to stay here with my friend!”

Juice gets up and stands in front of Lena.

“What’s your friend’s name?”

She looks over to the girl and shrugs her shoulders. Juice picks Lena up and tosses her onto his shoulder, carrying her out of the club.

~ ~ ~

Juice had taken Lena to a diner that was still open, trying to get some food into her, hoping it would get her to sober up enough to make sense. Lena takes a sip out of the coffee cup and puts it down onto the table.

“I wouldn’t mind marrying you.”

She says quietly, but loud enough to where Juice can hear her. Juice sighs, not wanting to have this conversation.

“Lena, you really think it’s a good idea to get married? Your brother beat the shit out of me already enough for a lifetime. Can you imagine what he would do to me if he found out we eloped in Vegas?”

“I understand that. But you need to think about this., what if something were to happen to you, god forbid. What if something happens on a run, or if something happens when you're in the middle of doing club business, when you’re riding from the grocery store to back home. They wouldn’t let me see you if you go into the hospital because I’m not immediate family.”

Juice sighs, rubbing his temple. She was making valid points and he knew that she was going to win this argument.

“And Happy would have to accept that we’re together and that we love each other. He can’t do anything if we’re married. I love you and I want him to know that nothing is going to stop me from being with you.”

“You really want to marry me? The outlaw biker with tattoos on his head, and deals guns with his outlaw biker friends, has enemies and is all around no good for someone like you?”

Lena smiles and nods her head, taking Juice’s hand and holding it.

“You're forgetting that I grew up with a brother who was in and out of juvie, who used to take me along with him when he was running the streets. I used to be his getaway driver when he had to go take someone out. I get this life better than anyone else and I'm fine with it.”

Juice smiles at Lena, getting out of the booth and pulling the ring the drunk girl gave him at the club. He gets on one knee, right in the middle of the diner. Lena laughs and covers her face in embarrassment, looking down at him.

“Lena Contreras, will you marry me?”

“Yes I will marry you, Juan.”

~ ~ ~

“We are not getting married by Elvis!”

Lena laughs, elbowing him playfully. Juice sighs and turns the page of the book the wedding chapel provided for them to plan it. He closes the book and puts it to the side.

“What are you doing?”

“Look, I know that I wasn’t all for us getting married right now, but now that it’s happening and we’re here… I’m excited. And honestly, it doesn’t matter if Elvis marries us, or if Britney Spears marries us. I just want to be your husband.”

Lena kisses his lips softly and gets off the chair, walking up to the little old lady who is running the chapel. She looks up from her book and smiles at Lena.

“You and your boyfriend make a decision honey?”

“Yes, we’ll just do the standard wedding.”

“Good choice. We’ll take you back here so you can fix yourself up. Alex will take your groom so he can fix himself up as well.”

Lena looks behind herself and smiles over and Juice who is walking back to a room to go get dressed.

About an hour later someone knocks on the door, Lena gets up and goes to answer it, the little old lady walks in and takes a look at Lena.

“You look beautiful, darling. You ready?”

Lena nods her head, taking a look at herself in the mirror. For once she actually did feel beautiful, and she was about to marry Juice… someone that was just supposed to be a one night stand, but turned out to be the love of her life.

“I've seen plenty of brides and grooms come in and out of this wedding chapel in my years. And when you walked in here with your boyfriend I could tell you two were in love. I have a feeling that you two were meant to be together.”

“Thank you. My brother hasn't been very accepting of our relationship so to hear someone say that is comforting.”

Lena follows the lady down the long hall, her heart beating faster with every step and the butterflies in her stomach growing bigger. When she said she wanted to go to Vegas with Juice a few days ago this wasn’t her intention at all, hell she didn’t want to get married until she was almost 30, not 22. The two of them stop in front of two large wooden doors, and the lady hands Lena a bouquet of flowers.

“Alright. Your boyfriend is making his way over here. He’ll walk you down the aisle and then you’ll go on with the ceremony. Do you have a witness?”

Lena shakes her head, her nerves getting the best of her.

“That’s fine. We’ll provide one for you two. Oh, here he is.”

She points over to Juice walking up with the man that took him to go get dressed. He’s dressed in a navy blue button up shirt with black pants. When he makes eye contact with Lena his whole face lights up. It was strange, once Lena looked at Juice it was like all her nerves were gone, she felt confident in her decision.

“I love you. I love you some much Lena.”

She fights back tears and smiles.

“I love you too Juan. Are you ready for this?”

Lena asks, taking his hand in hers. Juice kisses her hand and holds it against his chest.

“I’m ready.”

~ ~ ~

“It was your idea!”

Juice says, getting up off the bed and pacing around the room.

“You’re the one that agreed to it! You could have told me no! Shit, what are we going to do? Stuff like this happens in movies, not in real life! Who gets totally shit faced and gets married to someone that they’ve only been in a relationship with for a few days? I don’t remember if we had vows, what the hell my dress looked like. Who was our witness? This is a fucking mess.”

Lena puts her face in her hands, trying not to freak out. Juice looks at Lena on the bed, seeing how much this situation is stressing her out. He gets on the bed next to her and rubs her back.

“Hey, we’re married now, so that means that your problems are mine. Sure we’ve only been dating for a few days, and we just got eloped in Vegas, but I love you and I want to stay married to you.”

“You want to stayed married? Why? You’re the one that said my brother has beaten the shit out of you more than enough, why would you subject yourself to another ass kicking?”

Juice shrugs his shoulders.

“Like I said, you’re worth the risk. I’m sorry for putting getting married on you, I could have said no if I really wanted to, but I didn’t because I want to be with you forever.”

Lena smiles and rests her head on his chest, laughing to herself.

“I cannot believe we actually got married. I’m officially Lena Ortiz.”  

[le-ciel-estbleu]

it sucks that i can’t have my dream wedding.  

my dream wedding would be my ‘family’ all together, happy, actually wanting to be together. but there is no happy family, they don’t want to be altogether and no one likes who i’d be marrying. or even me for that matter. i won’t have a wedding to keep up appearances. we don’t really have a relationship, lets be real. i wish we did, but we don’t. 

we moved back to massachusetts a few years ago now, and we moved into my parents house for about 4 months. it was an awful 4 months, and i wish we had had anywhere else to move into before ever moving with my parents, however temporary it was. that’s where the wedge with my brother came into play. I don’t know what happened, but all of a sudden, he turned on matt and i. all of a sudden even to him we were burdensome even though the way he kept his living quarters was atrocious. we had a horrible lifestyle back then, but god forbid. So my brother started hating him, then it seems me and then us together, and then everyone it seems even my extended family had something to argue with him about, even the most menial of things, and on the internet to boot. I don’t know what we ever did, other than be ourselves, and i have never been anything but. my family knows that. i have always been unapologetically myself, but does that really matter now? Now the reason we’re at odds, is obviously going to be the one thing they want out of the way, the one thing that wont conform to what they like and want. 

for these reasons, and i am sure many more.. i will not have my dream wedding. i want my dad to walk me down the aisle because he wants to be there, and he wants to be handing me off. i want him to be there because he’s happy, and he isn’t happy now. i want my sisters to help with the wedding because they’re so excited to help with our special day. but they don’t, because they want to help with my special day, not ours. they don’t like him, they’re not celebrating him. they’re celebrating me. but when you come celebrate our union, you aren’t there to celebrate one person. your there to celebrate both people. that’s the reason your there, otherwise it’d be a fucking birthday party. or a simple celebration for one person. A wedding is to celebrate the union of two people, two coming together. there’s no room for play acting or facades. if you don’t like the two people getting married, don’t come. it’s a waste of everyones time. i can have a small DIY wedding with people who do care. it’ll be different than i wanted, but it’ll be. though, it could be very small because we don’t have many friends. i don’t know, i guess when it comes down to it, if love is what brought you there, love is really all you need. Though to be fair, in my girlhood dreams i just really want some sort of celebration. 

hell, we could just elope. at this point.. why even waste our time? nobody likes us. we don’t have a relationship with much of anyone except in our immediate life. 

not what i envisioned for my life, but i’m not the one who chose this.