#unfair of me to expect everyone to accommodate to my problems but the least you could do is tell me whats wrong especially when it is | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

marlahey · 6 years

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we stumbled in the dark; I knew we’d be alright (part eleven)

a shawn mendes rpf fic rating/warnings: frank references to the attack at Ariana Grande’s show in Manchester last year. I was living in London when it happened and Shawn was touring Europe and both fictional he and I wanted to commemorate it, because I still think about it and I know Shawn will actually be there in the spring, and it’s also straight up inspiration for Youth. notes: ignore my disregard for how people are employed because I care more about there being a very clearly equitable relationship here with as little potential for imbalances of power as possible. HAPPY BIRTHDAY SHAWN. I love you. I was hoping to finish this part for today and I’m super happy I did. (previously; start at part one here; find all parts here)

dublin; now You make rules. No one says you have to, per se, but something in you needs this, this modicum of control in a situation that feels like it could spin out at any moment.

One: Nothing but casual friends in front of the crew, extended team, Ava, and especially Andrew. Two: Don’t be any more weird than Kristin and Parker are when the just the gang's together. (“Weird?” Shawn asks, raising an eyebrow. You wave, slightly nonsensically, at him. “You know what I mean. Like, not–” “Not all over each other?” “Right.” “Even though Park is really bad at hiding his I’m undressing you with my eyes face?” Your cheeks heat. You’re torn between two responses – are you saying you’ve ever undressed me with your eyes? and besides that, obviously – but before you can choose, Shawn laughs, though not exactly at you. “Sorry, yes I know what you mean. Go on.”) Three: No extended physical contact unless you’re completely alone and will be for at least ten minutes. Four: No accidental eye contact lasting longer than three seconds during shows. Five: Unless completely unavoidable, absolutely no interaction in front of fans. Six (unofficial): Pretend you don’t know that everyone is pretending they don’t know. To his credit, Shawn, while not at all aloof about the affair, is easily accommodating to your pacing and fretting, catching you mid-turn without leaving his seat at the foot of his bed. “Easy El,” he says, his eyes still laughing just a little. “You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor.” You huff at him, but you don’t resist when he pulls you closer, pushing your hair back before you can lift your own hand. You should curse Shawn’s long limbs that bracket you without effort, his relaxed expression, but the truth is that you need it, his calm, his certainty. “I’m not going to tell you that you’re being irrational,” he continues. A press of both anxiety and affection duke it out inside your chest. “Because I agree that we should be careful.” “But?” you prompt. Your own hands land on his shoulders, fiddling restlessly with the collar of his jean jacket. Shawn shakes his head. “No buts.” In your boots you have just enough height that you’re barely taller while he’s sitting down, which is a nice change of pace. (Though he might be slouching a little for you.) “I just know that we have twenty minutes before anyone’s expecting us for our dinner reservation.” Your stomach flutters. There’s nothing especially lewd in his face, no expectation, just a gently raised eyebrow and an almost polite, silent invitation. If you want to. The last rule is an invisible asterisk tacked to the end of number three, one that you’d never say aloud: don’t spend too much time alone in Shawn’s hotel room. The problem of course, is that you obviously want to. Of course you want to kiss him. (And while you’re being honest, of course you want to do all manner of other things with him, beginning with curling up in a comfortable tangle of limbs and ending somewhere involving significantly less clothing.) It’s not so much a matter of wanting as it is a matter of whether you should, if you can really temper all these desires rolling around inside you with the cold arm of rationality and logic – especially when that arm is tattooed with a cruel reminder: I’m probably the only one who could out you as a fucking groupie on Shawn’s tour. You know, deep down, that if you ever admitted this insecurity to Shawn, this nagging fear that everyone who knows now looks at you differently because they assume– you know he’d understand. You know he’d immediately drop his hands from your waist and pull his legs back without so much as a questioning glance (he’d probably apologize) which only makes you want to crowd yourself as close to Shawn as you can and drag that probable calm acquiescence from his mouth with yours. “What is it?” he asks, so gently that you almost can’t speak. There’s no use in lying, because Shawn’s tilted his head with that soft knowing expression; you wonder what your tell is. “Does everyone think that we’re–” It comes out in a rush – like tearing off a bandaid – but you cower at the edge of the question. Shawn raises his eyebrows. “Think that we’re…” This is an all consuming kind of embarrassment, that makes your stomach riot, your face heat, and your heart race. All you can manage in the end is a vague gesture between both of you and at the bed. When you drag your eyes back up to Shawn’s you can see a kaleidoscope of emotion flicker over his face: confusion, dawning understanding, surprise, mirrored embarrassment, and then, in a flash almost too fast to see: desire. That last one nearly undoes you. “Oh.” You feel very much like crawling into a dark hole. “Oh my god…” “Hey, El.” Shawn ducks his chin and anchors your roving, mortified eyes with a warm hand. “Hey. No, okay? No one thinks that.” “How do you know?” It’s a slightly childish and probably unfair question, but to your great surprise it’s Shawn’s turn to flush red. “Shawn,” you start, not meaning to sound quite so alarmed. “Don’t freak out.” You gape at him, as if that’s supposed to help you not freak out. “But Geoff–” “What about Geoff?” It comes out like a squeak. Shawn looks torn, briefly, like he wants to cover his own nerves and comfort you but can’t manage both. So he slides his hands down to your own and squeezes, as if that will have to do. “We talked, okay?” He tightens his grip before your squirm of mortification can drag you away from him. “Before– before all of this. Before this tour started. He wanted to make sure that I…” When Shawn lifts his chin again, his eyes are that particular dark shade of seriousness. “That if we ever, you know, that I got what it might mean. For you. For people to–” A shadow twists his mouth. Your heart is racing again, though with a deeper kind of panic. “El.” Before this tour started. Your mind spins. You force yourself to meet his eye, to keep it, even though you’re already bending under the weight of what he means – what Geoff foresaw enough to say aloud before either you had the courage to face it. How long has he– “Shawn, I–” “I could never take advantage of you. I would never pressure you to–” Shawn stops like the idea literally chokes him. “I need you to know that, okay? Not here,” He motions with his head at the empty room, at the bed, and out the door. “Not out there. Not ever.” “I know,” you say, and your voice only trembles a little. “I know you wouldn’t.” “This isn’t because you’re…” Shawn’s eyes tighten, like he has so many protests but can’t get them all out fast enough. “Shawn–” “The tour isn’t why I–” “Shawn.” It’s your turn to be the magnet, the sure one, and it’s a strange feeling, to have his eyes snap to yours and see his uncertainty, his urgency, his fear. There are too many words to sort through and you’re not sure you can get through any of them without either shouting or possibly crying, so you pull your arms up and slide them around Shawn’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss instead. You wish you could press your words into him like that, but you can’t. You lean back; he chases your lips blindly and your stomach flips. “Sorry,” he murmurs, sounding chastised. When Shawn lifts his eyes, you smile gently at him, thumbing at the lingering frown around his mouth. “I know, okay?” Nerves squeezes as you continue, but you force the words out anyway. “I know what this looks like. I know what people will probably say when they find out. But none of that is your fault.” Shawn’s face screws up in (adorable) objection, but you leap over it. “They’re gonna find out, Shawn. We’re kidding ourselves thinking we can hide this forever– London is one of your biggest stops and we’re doing two nights, after Manchester on Wednesday.” It moves you, the look on his face whenever that city comes up. The setlist has already been adjusted for the night, and even though you’re a good month shy of the two year anniversary, Shawn broke a string on the instrumental intro into Youth at soundcheck this morning. Just thinking about it makes your stomach clench painfully. You’ve seen him look serious before – he’s perfectly serious now – but this is more. Part of you is strangely worried. “You shouldn’t have to deal with it El,” Shawn says, pulling you out of your thoughts. “I never want you to feel–to feel judged. It’s why I didn’t…” I should have kissed you. You take a deep, steadying breath. “I need you to listen to me, kay?” You lift your hands to his shoulders, drawing your thumb over the sharp jut of his collarbone until he looks up. It’s oddly intimidating sometimes, to be the singular focus of Shawn’s attention, but you swallow back the urge to look away. “I would be lying if I told you that I wasn’t nervous about what might happen when this gets out. What people might say or think.” His dismayed frown makes your heart stumble. “But I’m not nervous about this.” You gesture again between you, less of a frazzled, anxious motion this time than something that warms you all over. “You don’t make me nervous, Shawn, or at least–” His eyes widen. You smile tentatively. “Not in a bad way.” Shawn blinks, then raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting in a way that makes your insides twist, oddly pleasantly. “Are you saying I make you nervous in a good way?” You make a face and pretend to consider his question, stepping deliberately further into the open V of his legs. “I mean...yeah.” You recall your conversation with Ava. Just means you care. Shawn’s smile blooms and his arms find your waist again, wrapping you even closer. You’re really caged in by him now, but you’re the furthest thing from bothered by it. “In a cool way.” Shawn rolls his eyes. “Should I be worried that you’ve seen Harry’s Carpool Karaoke at least twice as many times as mine?” You shrug. “Jealous?” He snorts a laugh, but when Shawn trails his fingers up your side, making you jump, his eyes are a just a shade darker than caramel. That flash from earlier simmers now: desire. A thrill lurches your in your gut; his fingers make their way all the way up to your chin, and keep you still. He’s not quite smiling. You’re frozen in a delicious anticipation. Shawn looks with firm intent from your eyes to your mouth. “Not unless Harry Styles gets to do this.” It’s a kiss you feel all the way down to your toes. You’re almost late for dinner. * @Shawn Mendes Updates: Shawn outside his hotel in Dublin! [Vertical video of Shawn holding the front door open for his band and several crew members. “Hi Shawn!” says a breathless voice off camera. “Hi guys!” He smiles brightly, pulling his hand from the pocket of his jacket. “Can I get a picture?” He looks from the other girl into the camera of the person filming, and then over his shoulder at the group that has started down the sidewalk. A few heads glance back but they keep walking, albeit a little slower. “I can do a quick picture guys, but we have a reservation so I can’t stay long, I’m sorry!” “That’s okay!” Shawn leans in for the selfie with the first girl, who manages to contain herself until he smiles at the girl still filming, and a frantic “ohmygod!” offscreen is followed by a burst of giggles. The girl filming twists her phone and Shawn leans down so their heads touch. “Oh!” he laughs, “Are you filming?” “Yes, sorry!” “Do you want a–” “Oh no, don’t worry this is great. Thank you!” “Are you guys coming to the show tonight?” he asks, and the phone bobs as Shawn’s met with nods and enthusiastic ‘Yes!’es. “Great, see you there!” “Bye Shawn!” camera girl shouts, still trained on him as he waves and jogs to catch up with the group, who have stopped at a crossing. Parker and Geoff part so Shawn can slide up behind two of the girls, a redhead and a brunette, who both smile at him. The group crosses together and disappear around the corner. likes: 214; retweets: 84]

birmingham; now For some reason Shawn’s been trying to catch you alone all night, but the usual flurry of pre-show activity draws you both apart. The closest you get, in fact, is a shot from behind Charlie on stage during Mutual. “Thank you so much guys!” Andrew shouts ten minutes into take down. “Could I just really quickly grab everyone’s attention?” You look at Kelsey, who raises her eyebrows with a shrug. You put your camera back into the kit and close the equipment box with a firm snap before you both wander over to mainstage, where the band is pulling away from their instruments and Shawn has reappeared in a fresh t shirt, his hair damp. Everyone stops what they’re doing to convene on the floor; you feel distinctly like you’re sitting in a school assembly. “As you all know, we’re headed back to North America after our London dates. Our New York show isn’t until the end of the month, so everyone should take this time to take a well-deserved break.” There’s a murmur of appreciative laughter from the crew. You can tell Shawn is looking at you, staring really, but you keep your eyes on Andrew. “But I just wanted to let you all know that Shawn, myself, and Ava will actually be spending that week leading up to Madison Square Garden in New York doing a bunch of promo, so if you need to get in touch that’s where we’ll be, and I apologize in advance if I’m not on top of my emails.” Your stomach plummets. Shawn’s eyes are searing into the side of your head. You don’t dare look. You think of all the conversations you’d been planning to have, at home, in the relative safety of Toronto where people with cameras didn’t make it their life’s mission to be as obnoxious as possible, where you can come over to mine, where we can finally have that date. You get it now, that look on his face after dinner, all these meetings Andrew’s been hauling him into with furtive, secret glances. The magnet pulls. The apology you didn’t want to see in Ireland stings. Takedown takes hours. You refuse to leave until both Kristin and Kelsey are done, so of course by the time you hitch a ride back to the hotel, barely keeping your eyes open, Shawn has long gone. shawnmendes: Can we talk about this? Tomorrow, maybe? lennysinclair17: Yes. Absolutely. shawnmendes: You’re not mad are you? lennysinclair17: Never. Promise. Go to sleep Shawn. I’ll see you in the morning. shawnmendes: Sweet dreams El.

manchester; now You land before the sun, blinking blearily awake from Ava’s shoulder to see Shawn just across from you, staring pensively out the window. He doesn’t say anything when he catches you looking, just smiles softly in a way that, for some reason, breaks your heart a little. All you want to do is talk to him, and not even about New York. But something tells you that you won’t get the chance today. Even though you’re still exhausted when you make it to the hotel and drop your bags at the foot of the bed, you lay there awake till there’s a knock at the door. Ava is sound asleep in her bed. You’re unsurprised to find him, the band, and the girls in the hall. Paul though, is a welcome addition. “We’re gonna go down to the square,” Shawn says quietly. “If you want to come.” You’re already shoving your feet back into your boots. All of you manage to fit into the elevator at once; you watch the doors close over Charlie’s shoulder and realize you only have about a minute if you want any actual contact with Shawn this morning. He must have the same thought, because his fingers slide between yours and pull your palms flush together. You want to look at him but you can’t quite work up the nerve. You squeeze instead, until the doors ping open on the main floor. Shawn doesn’t let go till you’re both all the way out. Dawn is still yawning across the sky when Geoff pulls out his phone to navigate, which makes you glad that you never took off your sweater from the plane. St. Ann’s Square is maybe a fifteen minute walk from your hotel, and most of that is spent in comfortable silence with your arm looped through Kelsey’s. Some stores are just beginning to open when you arrive, including the Starbucks, which seems – like many Starbucks in Europe – oddly modern encased in stone that’s been there longer than coffee shops as a concept. Paul disappears up the steps of St. Ann’s Church with a gruff, “Don’t have to wait for me.” To the left of the statue of Richard Cobden in the centre of the square, a florist is pulling enormous buckets of flowers into her doorway. Parker and Kristin exchange a look and jog across the street to help her. Minutes later, as you’re trying not to stare at Shawn’s hand flipping a tour pic restlessly between his fingers, they reappear. Kristin is carrying three single white roses. She hands one to Shawn. “You,” she says, then to Geoff, “the band,” and to you. “And the crew.” You’re grateful that it’s early in the morning in the middle of the week. The square is largely deserted, save for an elderly woman on a bench across the street, sitting with her dog and watching you with polite curiosity. “I’m not really religious,” Shawn says, his left hand sliding back and forth across Saint Christopher’s chain. His eyes flick up to the top of the statue and back down again. “But I feel like we should…” He trails off. “Say something?” “How bout this.” Geoff leans down and places his rose at the base of the statue. “We’ve all been thinking about the people who lost their lives, were injured, or were changed by what happened here. I think we all were.” He looks at each of you gathered there in turn. “And I think the best way we can honour them is by giving it our all tonight. Hopefully we can make every person in that audience feel safe and happy, and give them a good memory to help deal with the bad one.” Geoff looks at Shawn the longest. “Good?” The younger man nods. He looks as moved as you feel, and the desire to touch him is like a sparking current beneath your skin. But you lay your rose down instead, closing your eyes just a moment before you stand back up. Shawn lingers close to the ground for a long time. It seems impossible that he can fold himself down that small, to the height of a child. Charlie lays a warm hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently. Everyone seems to be watching you more closely than normal, you and Shawn, and you realize with a lurch in your stomach that while it could have been anyone at Ariana’s show two years ago, you’re the youngest in the group by at least seven years. Shawn looks up at you then, and your breath catches in your throat. He looks lost. So you do the only thing you can think of: you hold out your hand. Shawn lets you pull him to his feet, lets you hang onto a touch longer than strictly necessary, and doesn’t speak when you have to brush your wrist over your face. In fact, no one speaks, until Brian steps forward and pulls both of you in by the shoulders. “How much will you two pay me to eat blood pudding at breakfast today?” You snort. “Only if you don’t make a single vampire joke the rest of the trip.” The bassist sighs. “Always killing the vibe, Sinclair.” * @oneloveshawn: GUYS I WAS WALKING HOME FROM SCHOOL AND GUESS WHAT I SAW. @ShawnMendes you are absolutely wonderful and I can’t wait to see you tonight and guess what I’m crying. #OneLoveManchester #SM3Manchester [Photos: at the foot of the Robert Cobden statue is three white roses, an SM World Tour pick, and a piece of paper kept safe beneath a small, smooth rock. It reads: We love you – Shawn followed by seven signatures. likes: 625; retweets: 381] Replies: @mutualinmyblood: excuse me while I sob @mendesstyles1: HIS HANDWRITING THOUGH??? @eeveelove: Thank you @ShawnMendes. We love you too. You are everything. Shawn takes Taylor’s advice about making every show unique, so the setlist for each tour stop varies just a little from night to night. Tonight, however, is the biggest changed. You’re at the edge of the stage just behind the stairs when he pretends to leave before the encore to thunderous applause. His fans aren’t stupid of course; they know what hasn’t been sung yet. Sam hands over a water bottle and takes the electric; Shawn downs half of it in one breath while the crowd cheers and shouts and chants. In the semi-darkness you can see him swallow, the adrenaline pulsing still in the too-quick way he drops the bottle at the foot of the stairs and has to bend to pick it up again. You busy yourself pretending to check a level. “You can do this.” You’re worried, briefly, that he can’t hear you over the din, but Shawn lifts his head. You break the eye contact rule because you must. “You can. I’ll be right here.” He holds your eyes; the white of them is striking and feeling stirs in the pit of your stomach. Ninety seconds is up; the roar is getting louder. Parker is unnervingly good at sneaking back on stage without being noticed. At the first drum beat, you definitely owe Sam a beer for handing you earplugs at the beginning of the show. Shawn nods, just once, takes his electric back with a grateful “Thanks,” and the first notes of TNHMB reverberate in your chest. Three songs later, in the extended musical interlude at the end of In My Blood, Shawn acknowledges his bandmates one at a time to the loudest screams of the night. As the last notes crash down, so do the lights; how Sam manages to cross the stage in the black, holding Shawn’s acoustic and without colliding with Geoff or Charlie who scamper down the stairs, will always be a mystery to you. The lights fade up a few moments later to reveal Shawn, alone on stage with his guitar in a single spotlight. “I’ve got one more for you guys,” he says. Despite the plugs, your hearing will definitely never be the same after tonight. This, apparently, is what everyone’s been waiting for; you can feel the building’s clapped rhythm as Shawn ramps up the guitar intro for Youth all the way through the floor. He steps up to the mic while the opening notes of the song float out; you can’t see his face but you can imagine Shawn’s expression when he looks out to a sea of pink lights. There’s an equipment box tucked beneath the stage. You drag it out carefully, flashing a grateful smile at Geoff who steadies you with a solid grip on your elbow. Once on top, you’re finally level with the men several heads taller than you, and when you lift your camera you can see the hundreds of outstretched arms on the arena floor, all holding pink roses and white signs, that read in huge black font THANK YOU FOR HELPING US KEEP OUR YOUTH. You can barely hear Shawn over the crowd’s singular unified voice. He doesn’t sing the bridge, yanking out one of his ear pieces, but extends the guitar riff as he does every night, leaning into the mic. “I say this a lot,” he begins, “and I know a lot of you know this, that this song was never about just one event, and that I’ve always thought that the idea of youth was more than just age. Every time something terrible shakes us, more of what makes us good and innocent and free gets pulled away.” A row of four girls at the very front of the barricade are lifting a One Love Manchester flag with joined hands, tears streaming down all of their faces. You have to wipe at your own eyes before you can see through the viewfinder, but your hands shake. You don’t dare move from your spot; you can only hope Kelsey has it more together than you. “The world can be a really scary place,” Shawn continues. “But I really, truly believe that if we stick together, if we hang onto our love for each other and all the things that give us joy and make us feel alive, if we refuse to let go of our youth, that we’ll be okay.” You can’t pull your eyes away from the back of Shawn’s head, the tension across his shoulders. He looks otherworldly, standing there alone. “And no one has shown me that more than you guys, here tonight.” His voice wavers, just for a second, beneath the roar. “And I just want to thank you for that, Manchester. It has been a true honour to play for you here, and I will never forget tonight as long as I live.” You couldn’t even join in on the screaming if you wanted to. Shawn ducks his chin. “If this room were smaller I’d step away from the mic and sing for you, but you guys have been so amazing all night, you don’t even need me for this last chorus.” His head turns to every section of the crowd. His eyes are so bright. “I know this isn’t really a normal closing song, but this what I want to leave you with. I want everyone in this room to sing these words and really feel them, really believe them. Because I believe in you, and in us, and I always will.” Shawn plucks at the opening of the chorus, breathes “You can’t,” into the mic, and steps back. You feel goosebumps all the way down your legs as Manchester Arena sings without him. You can’t take my youth away Soul of mine will never break As long as I wake up today You can’t take my youth away. “One more time, Manchester.” He lets go of the strings. When the last note fades away only to be replaced by screams, Shawn lifts both of his hands to his mouth and throws his gratitude to the crowd. “I love you so much. Good night.” He leans one hand against his heart and you know, without being able to really see or hear, what he’s saying as he takes his bows. Thank you. I love you. I love you. Thank you. Thank you. You can also feel, somehow, that when Shawn finally reaches the edge of the stage, that tonight is different. He hits the bottom of the stairs and hands off his guitar. When Shawn’s eyes find yours, you know. Before you can speak, Geoff has plucked your camera from your grip; Shawn’s face crumples and everything narrows and goes silent except for him. His shoulders shake; the back of your t shirt bunches up in his grip, revealing your skin to the overwarm air; something deep inside your chest trembles at the feeling of tears skidding over your collarbone. It’s a wonder you haven’t fallen backwards over the box, bearing the weight of him collapsed into you so carefully your knees almost buckle. You’re both covered in sweat but you don’t care. “I’m here,” you murmur, sliding your hand into the damp curls at the nape of Shawn’s neck. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Shh, it’s okay.” Around you, lights are coming up all over the arena as the crowd files out. The sudden appearance of the rolling guitar rack blocks your view of the stage and the floor, hiding you from prying eyes; you cast Sam an indebted and silent thank you over Shawn’s shoulder and the crewman just nods. Something bangs against the floor, making you jump. “I’m sorry,” Shawn chokes out. When the shiver is gone you manage to look at him, and your heart sinks at his frantic expression. He reels back. “I’m–” Shawn’s eyes flit around the emptying arena; noises reaches your ears again like someone has cranked the volume dial. You’re reaching for him before you even realize what you’re doing. “Shawn–” He disappears behind the stage. You almost shout after him, the syllable of his name clawing at the inside of your throat, but you catch yourself at the last moment. You also nearly fall off the equipment box, but by the time you’ve scrambled past a bewildered Geoff and Charlie and returned your camera to Kelsey’s kit, you practically run straight into Cam. “Hey, Cam.” You skid to a stop and fail miserably at playing casual. “Did you see–” “Oh yeah,” the guard says, but your relief is short lived. “The kid grabbed Paul, said he felt really sick. Asked if he could go straight back to the hotel.” The cold shock leaves you breathless. “Did you need him for something?” “No,” you manage, rocking back on your heels. “No that’s okay. I uh,” You force yourself to shake your head. Cam smiles briefly. “I’ll just catch up with him later.” “Hey Ellie!” Mike is waving you down. “Can I get your help with something?” Your heart feels like it’s beating unevenly in your chest. “Yeah,” you reply, scraping your falling ponytail off your neck to hide your shaking hands. “Yeah of course you can.” Kelsey insists you go back with her, halfway through takedown. “You look like you’re going to be sick.” Paul I got him. But I think he needs you. * @liketobeyouth: CAN WE JUST TALK ABOUT HOW SHAWN CRIED AT THE END OF THE SHOW TONIGHT BECAUSE I’M HYSTERICAL AND HERE’S A VIDEO. Replies: @shawnfan2: I also want to hug him I’m so fucking jealous of that girl @lostallinshawn: Do we know who that is because that was just ??? not platonic??? WHO IS SHE SHAWN?? @rosesforyouth: does anyone else feel kind of bad for watching this cause like...let him have this moment in privacy how bout? @nervousaroundyou: Umm she needs to get her hands off my man k thx It’s past one when you drag yourself out of the shower, resigning yourself to sleeping with damp hair for fear of waking Ava with the blow dryer. Your Instagram pings, a silent wash of brightness in the dark room. shawnmendes: I’m so sorry. A flash of – you’re not sure, exactly what – incredulity or maybe even frustration sears your chest hot. lennysinclair17: I have no idea what you’re sorry for. Maybe it’s the adrenaline or the emotion of the night, but as the tiny bubble blips on your screen, some small, visceral part of you wants to fight. You��ve never fought with Shawn before; you haven’t so much as gotten into an argument with him, but in a strange irrationality you also can’t imagine a greater cause for an argument than how not mad at him you are. (alternatively, you might also really need a proper night’s sleep.) shawnmendes: Come over. shawnmendes: I hate texting you from the other side of a wall. You probably shouldn’t, of course. The asterisked rule is like a neon sign behind your eyes. But you’re tired. And you want to see him. lennysinclair17: Only if you let me blow dry my hair in your bathroom. He replies before you even pull the towel from your head. shawnmendes: Done. You pull the tiny travel dryer from your suitcase and are twisting the adjoining door knob before you can talk yourself out of it. The carpet is soft beneath your bare feet. You don’t have the energy to consider what Shawn thinks of you from his bed, padding into his room with damp hair in shorts and the Lost In Japan single tee, only available in large by the time Ava thought to bring you one home, so it never sees the outside of your bedroom. He doesn’t say anything, just points at the doorway to his bathroom, and while he’s not quite smiling, that knot of tension in the pit of your stomach finally loosens. You leave the door open a crack; you can see Shawn watching you in the mirror from the closest side of the bed. It’s a thing, maybe, you and him and bedrooms and these silent intimacies you’ve never really given a real name. They’re possibly something different now, not quite ten minutes later when you’re finished and your arms ache a little from the combined exertions of the night. Because Shawn’s held the softest part of your waist. He’s curled his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck, and quite memorably once, laid his mouth on the nebulous space between your jaw and your ear. But it’s the look that does you in. You don’t know what to do when he looks at you like that – your thoughts from Paris last week reflected back as though Shawn himself is a mirror – as if you’re the most interesting thing in every city and country you’ve stopped in, more inspiring than all the history, more impressive than any monument, more comforting perhaps, than the medal he wears constantly around his neck. Shawn’s expression closes the semi-darkness of the room even tighter around you, and as you approach you see something new: something in the depth of his eyes that makes you think, you could break my heart and I’d probably ask you to sign your name over the fault lines. You might see the thought in him, too, if you were brave enough. But you’re not that brave tonight. Shawn draws you into the safe space of him with one long arm, though you go willingly. It’s a familiar spot, the V of his legs; ghostly edges of other hotel rooms whisper, but as you wrap your arms around Shawn’s neck and his elbows press firmly into your hips in an answering grip, he sighs. Shawn leans his forehead into your shoulder and beneath your somewhat stunned hands, his whole body relaxes into yours. It’s so unlike the moment offstage that you almost wonder if that really happened. “I’m sorry,” he says again (a reminder) like he’s looking for something in your skin, an answer or an absolution for something you’re not even sure you understand enough to forgive. You have to swallow before you can speak. “If you tell me you’re sorry for crying, you’re gonna have to go look for someone else because I’m just not going to accept that apology.” He huffs a laugh over the too-big collar of your shirt. “Otherwise you’re gonna need to explain yourself a little more.” When Shawn pulls back you cup his face in your hands, vaguely afraid that he’s going to leave you again. But he just wraps his long fingers around your wrists as though he has the same fear. “Tell me,” you say softly, going for commanding but it really comes out more like a plea. “The rules, El.” You nearly choke on your indignation. “God, I don’t care about the rules. They were stupid anyway.” His jaw sets. “They weren’t. They were smart and I–” “Hey.” It’s still a strange sensation, this role reversal. “Stop. What was I gonna do, Shawn, push you away?” You’re the one ducking your chin now, which is funny because he’s still infuriatingly taller than you. “I’m never going to push you away.” Shawn looks, just for a second, like he had early this morning in St. Ann’s Square, a bit lost. You step closer, leaning your forehead against his, threading both of your hands up into his hair just to make your point; it’s so soft that you want to be mad at him. He closes his eyes briefly, some of the tension easing from his face, and that rush of feeling from before almost swallows you whole. “There’s video,” he says. You tense without meaning to and you know he notices. Shawn laughs humourlessly. “Someone’s camera had a really great fucking zoom.” His arms keep you standing. “Is that why you’re really sorry?” you ask. His eyes give you the answer. It’s your turn to sigh, a horrible dread twisting in your stomach no matter how hard you want to ignore it. “God, I’m glad I never got a twitter. I don’t need to see myself sweaty and crying.” You also don’t need to see yourself and Shawn from the outside, in a moment that wasn’t meant to be seen at all. You don’t want to know what people are labeling and deciding is between you, before you’ve even had a chance to decide for yourselves. Most of all, you want to tear down anyone who might show Shawn unkindness when all he felt was love. “You’re calm about this,” he remarks. You shrug. Best not to tell him you wanna fight his fans. “We knew it was coming. It’s not like a video of us hugging tells them who I am, right?” Shawn bites his lip. You draw your thumb over the concerned furrow between his eyebrows. “It’s not your fault. I’d do it again.” He looks up at you then, and you wish you were still in Paris, in that moment. “Please believe me.” When he nods you smile at him, only teasing a little. “Gotta say it, Shawn.” He swallows. You’re as transfixed as ever by the bob of his throat. “I believe you.” He averts his eyes for just a second. “Sorry I freaked out and ditched you.” You lean forward and plant an impulsive kiss on Shawn’s forehead. “S’ok. We can’t change it now,” you reason, as much for yourself as it is for him. “And you need sleep.” He honest to god pouts. “What if I don’t wanna sleep?” You roll your eyes. “At least lie down a bit. It’s late.” You go to push him back with a hand on his chest, but a glimmer of mischief hooks his arm around your waist, pulling you forward with him. It’s Spain all over again, but not: your heart still races, but the bedspread is soft, the room dim in hazy light, and Shawn only holds your shocked eyes for a moment before pulling your head down with one warm hand on the back of your neck. He kisses you until you melt into him, until you’re jolted back to the reality of laying on top of Shawn, half on and half off the bed. He has a handful of his own merch gripped in his fist; you’re thrown back to earlier in the night and wonder what the cooler air of this room would feel like against your skin. A slumbering desire almost ignites in the pit of your belly. “That’s what you want to do instead of sleeping?” You shouldn’t be this out of breath. He blinks up at you, sleepy and smiling faintly. “Maybe.” You attempt disapproval, but he just laughs at your frown. In a move that should be neither possible nor quite so thrilling, Shawn wraps one strong arm around your waist, supporting himself with the other and twisting deftly so you land on your back in the centre of the bed. You stop bouncing after a moment, but your stomach doesn’t stop flipping, especially when he leans over you. “Okay?” he asks, and you nod mutely. “I’m not...This isn’t–” Shawn shakes his head, and when he finds your eyes again, the vulnerability in his expression snuffs out that ember of want. “I don’t want to have sex. I mean–” You shouldn’t smile at his incoherence, but it’s a strangely inadvertent reaction. His frustration at himself is oddly endearing. “I do, want that.” He swallows again. Shawn’s eyes are so dark, suddenly; you shiver. “I want to.” “Me too.” You don’t mean to sound so breathless. “Someday.” There’s probably another, longer conversation to be had here, but you shelve the reminder for another time. “Can we just…” Shawn exhales. He lifts one hand and twists your hair around his fingers and off your neck. His palm is so warm against your cheek. “Can we just be here, a minute?” You nod, and it’s your turn to pull him down. Definitely longer than a minute later, when Shawn’s nose dips beneath the huge collar of your shirt, you can’t help the hitch of your breath. He pauses, his breath still close and warm. Your heart is beating a little too fast. “Sorry,” he murmurs against your skin. Goosebumps ripple and you hate your body for betraying you. “S’fine.” You swallow carefully. “We should probably…” “Right.” Shawn leans up and away from you; you watch him blink away that deepened caramel shade of his eyes. “So I wanted to ask you something.” “Hmm?” He looks oddly nervous, which only serves to make you much of the same. “How would you feel about coming to New York with me?” Shawn’s gaze flicks away and back again. “If I asked you to?” You feel your jaw go slack. “Are we sure that’s a good idea?” He shrugs. “You’d come back anyway, right? For the show.” Fair point. “I wanted to ask you before Andrew announced it to literally everyone, but I didn’t get the chance. And I know it’s not home, but…” There’s something earnest and open in his expression, and you’re reminded of a simple, still breathtaking truth. He likes you. “I want to spend time with you.” “And the video?” you ask. What looks like resignation clouds his gaze, but when it clears, the certainty in Shawn’s eyes is undeniable. “You were right,” he says. “We can’t change it now. And they’re gonna think what they’re gonna think, so we may as well choose what they see next, right? If everyone probably thinks we’re dating…” Your heart does a sharp twist in your chest. “Shouldn’t we at least get a real date?” He makes a convincing argument. Or maybe you just want it, more than you know how to reason yourself out of. Shawn can see your hesitation; you wish you had a better poker face. “If you’re worried about Andrew,” he says, “Technically Kelsey is independently contracted to me and he has no say in you working for her. And I have no control over your pay.” “She’s not paying me,” you remind him. “We’re pretending this is a slightly unethical internship.” Shawn snorts. “There you go, then.” You’re running out of objections. “How long are you in New York for?” “Five days. On and off promo, and then the show.” Shawn’s eyes go soft, and some part of you is frustrated at being so afraid. “How ‘bout we just take it one day at a time? If it gets too much, I’ll drop you off at JFK myself. You don’t–” And here, he looks vulnerable again. “You don’t have to come back, if you don’t want to.” The thought actually causes you pain. You reach up and catch Saint Christopher, who dangles down silently from Shawn’s neck, curling your hand around the medal tight enough that you can feel the shape of the man against your fingers. He comforts Shawn, you know, so far away from home. You hope he can do the same for you. “Okay.” He looks so happy you can almost forget how tired you are. “Okay.” Before you can decide what else to say or do, Shawn leans down to kiss you softly on the mouth before dropping all the way down onto the bed beside you on his stomach, pressing his face into the slope of your neck and pulling you closer with one arm flung over your waist. “Hi,” you breathe around a laugh. “Alright?” he asks, sounding smaller than you’ve ever heard. You hum a yes. Shawn’s knee brushes yours and that’s strangely all you can think about. When it turns out you aren’t in fact, dreaming, you lift the arm that’s half cushioning Shawn’s head, threading your fingers up against the back of his scalp. He shivers. As your brain catalogues the reaction as that’s a thing, Shawn breathes deeply, relaxing into you a second time. The weight of him should be overbearing, but there’s something comforting about the pressure. It feels good, to keep carding your fingers through his hair, to soothe and be soothed at the same time. “Do you want to go back to your room?” he asks, sounding sleepy and hoarse. You wonder what time it is. You think about his request, to just be here. “Do you want me to go?” You can feel him breathing, slow and steady. “No.” Beneath the hotel soap and shampoo you both used tonight, you can pick out the warm, familiar smell of his skin. Despite everything, you feel safe. So you say, “Okay,” and you put your hand on the back of Shawn’s neck. He tightens his grip, and you consider the very strong likelihood that your arm will go numb at some point. You also consider asking about getting under the blanket. You fall asleep before either of those things happen. (part twelve)

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes writing #shawn mendes angst #wsitd #mine: fic #SURPRISE GUYS #HAVE A NEW PART FOR SHAWN'S BIRTHDAY

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nancydrew65 · 5 years

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SKAM NL Season 2 Episode 3 Thoughts

This episode really hit me hard. There were a lot of things in it that I didn’t expect. Also two seven minute clips!

You’re Such a Cliche

I feel like every episode I get a little reminder of how much I love SKAM NL. They used a song by Aurora! For those who don’t know, Aurora is a young Norwegian singer. She is fantastic and such a beautiful performer. You should really check out some of her live videos. If you couldn’t tell, she is my favorite artist, and I am so happy whenever a SKAM remake includes one of her songs. I literally jumped out of my seat when I first heard one of her songs in SKAM Season 3 Episode 10. (Yes, I really memorized the episode her song appears in). Also, cool to use the song “Churchyard” as the date ends up being in a church.

I love how Liv is just in a T-shirt and sweats, like she is not putting any effort into this date at all.

Ralph and Esra are the dynamic duo I never knew I needed in my life. I love their chemistry and how they play off of each other. Lol, at them trying to join Liv when she says she is going to the movies.

Liv and Ralph fight over who answers the door, and Liv literally shoves Ralph into a table. It is glorious.

Liv takes Ralph’s jacket out of spite. They really are like siblings.

Noah doesn’t take Liv to a place with a pretty city view. THANK GOD! I mentioned before, I didn’t think that would work because Liv’s apartment already has a great view, so I am so happy they changed it. Instead Noah takes Liv to a beautiful, old, abandoned church.

Noah approaches Liv with his flashlight, accidentally shining it in her eyes and she responds by holding her phone’s light directly in front of his eyes. She can be so petty and I love it.

Noah’s “Echo” was so cute. He is really growing on me.

Noah challenges Liv on her definition of cliche. I think that was actually very interesting because the character of William really was the definition of a cliche, and for Noah to spin that as something “true” was cool.

Liv asks him if he thinks she is a cliche, which I thought was kind of weird. I have never thought that any of the Noora’s were written to be interpreted as a cliche.

Noah lists what he thinks Liv is like, which of course, as we know, is what Liv is like. I guess it’s supposed to be a moment of “Aha! He understands her”, but like, when has Noah ever had time to figure all this stuff out?

Liv asks if he trusts her, and Noah responds: “I don’t know you.” Wow. I honestly think that is one of my favorite lines that a William has ever stated. Most of the Williams have a very arrogant attitude and pretend they completely understand Noora. There is a kind of humility in Noah’s line. He acknowledges that he doesn’t know her fully. I thought that was rather beautiful.

And just as Liv starts to open up, Noah receives the phone call. LMAO at that ringtone. I laughed so hard when I heard the frogs.

There is a nice, long moment where Liv is left alone in the church, waiting for Noah and you can see the moment where she decides to leave.

I know a lot of people were speculating beforehand what the phone call was about and I am very happy to state that at the very least, the entire fandom was on the same page about it being impossible for Noah to get in a fight.

Have You Heard it Already?

Janna and Isa have been hanging out a lot this season and I love it.

By the way, I love Liv’s shirt. Fits her character.

Kes looks like such a nerd in this scene. I don’t know if that was intentional, or… ?

Engel always wants to protect people, but she goes about it in such a clueless way.

Isa is in denial that Kes went down on a girl. It doesn’t have the same impact as the OG scene though because in the cabin episode it was pretty obvious that Kes was about to go down on Isa.

I’m slightly disappointed we didn’t get Kes’ walk of fame because I think he was one of the Jonas’ that could have actually pulled it off. (Unlike Marlon from SKAM Austin, cough, cough).

But in its place, we get the slo-mo of the senior girls which more than made up for it. And damn, all those girls were gorgeous.

Janna finally puts her foot down about Engel talking about that “weird-ass artist”. Not gonna lie, it’s my new favorite description of Noah.

And then the bomb dropped. Apparently, a lot of people guessed what happened, but I was not one of them. Noah’s mother just died. As in probably on Sunday night when he was on the date with Liv. That is such a drastic change from OG, and I hope to god, they follow through on it. Like really change the storyline to accommodate for that massive change. This really changes the whole dynamic of the season because Noah will be dealing with this horrible loss. I am very interested and intrigued to see where this goes.

We can see the knowledge hit Liv as she realizes that was probably the phone call Noah got on their date. I love how kind and caring she is; she immediately texts him to apologize and see how he is doing.

A lot of people were commenting on this scene and saying, “Oh, well finally Liv feels bad.” And I was like, yeah, I would feel bad too if that happened, but Liv had no way of knowing what happened to Noah and she had every right to leave that date.

Indeed, I Think You are More of a Tiger

Esra and Ralph crashing the girls’ nail outing which is just like them.

Also, I know I say this a lot, but the aesthetics of SKAM NL are so great. The pink in this scene really stands out.

I have to say, I think the girls are being rather unfair to Engel. She basically organized the whole benefit herself. She deserves some credit and respect for that.

Liv checks her phone to see if Noah has replied. He has not.

She also pretends to have a sore throat in order to get out of singing. I think she is feeling low after she got rejected by the record studio.

I love the little banter between Engel and Janna. I wish we got more of those moments because Janna and Engel have been friends for quite some time.

Isa asks Liv what she is doing when she keeps looking at her phone, and Ralph pops his head out of his private room and asks if Liv is checking her phone again. Ralph knows what’s up.

Tallinn, Here We Come

Engel is dressed up like a traditional Estonian dancer. She looks so cute.

Wow, there is basically no one there. Ah, but we see Jayden, Kes, and Lucas, so they came to support their friends. That’s actually pretty nice of them.

Esra and Ralph come storming in, soaked to the bone from their bike ride. Engel quickly shushes them before continuing with her speech.

Everyone is bored out of their minds, watching the Estonian dancers. Everyone, that is, except Janna and Engel. My loves.

Isa finally pulls Liv aside and confronts her about her weird behavior. At first, I thought Liv would tell her all about Noah, but instead she confides about the record deal. I actually liked this because it showed what was really important to her: her music.

Isa, correctly, tells Liv that just because she got rejected by the label, it doesn’t mean she can’t sing.

Isa tries to push Liv further because she knows the record deal isn’t all that’s bothering Liv, but then Engel basically forces Liv to sing.

Oooh, and we get a moment where Isa sees Kes making out with another girl.

Liv starts singing, beautifully as always. Everyone joins in and it’s quite the uplifting scene.

Later in the evening, Ralph graces us with a stunning rendition of “Part of Your World” from ‘The Little Mermaid’. I didn’t know he could sing that well! That falsetto, though.

Liv finally gets a text from Noah. It says: “OK, no problem”. How curt. But I don’t really blame him; he has to be dealing with so much right now.

Esra turns on a song and she, Janna, and Ralph start dancing in a ridiculous, let lovable fashion. I love these three.

General Thoughts

What an episode! This week was a wild, emotional ride. Tbh, I never know when to upload these reactions because I never know when an episode ends, and a new one begins. That is really my only complaint about SKAM NL. Besides that, I really loved this episode. I know a lot of people were hoping for Noah to appear again at the end of the episode at the benefit or for Liv to go find him at the church. But personally, I enjoyed not seeing him. I think it really builds up that tension and also… it’s realistic? I mean, Noah’s mother just died (she was probably sick for a while, but I know from personal experience, even if you know it’s coming, it is still awful). Also, I want this season to focus more on Liv as a person. Don’t get me wrong, I actually really like Noah, but Liv’s season is supposed to be about Liv. I think a lot of remakes don’t really understand that and like to hype up the Noorhelm aspect of the season. I think the best remake that handled a Noora season as her own while still portraying a (reasonably) healthy relationship with a William was DRUCK. I hope SKAM NL follows in its footsteps, and so far, it really has. So, cheers to the next episode. I honestly have no idea what is going to happen!

#skamnl #skam remakes #skam reaction #shit. this was an emotional episode #and it's only episode 3 #what is going to happen next?

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jupiterparker · 6 years

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Goldfish Part Two (p.p)

Part One

Words count: 1.6k

Paring: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: unedited, but thats not new :)

A/N: hope you enjoy!

Request: yes or no

In which -> Peter persuades and drags you to the fair

Masterlist

An hour or two later, you guys finish the project, parting ways and only acknowledging each other in passing or in class. After all, it wasn’t like you were friends, or at least, you didn’t consider you guys to be friends as much as you wanted to be. So it was especially weird when Peter came up to you with a ticket to the nearby fair after a couple weeks of just nodding to each other.

He had caught you by your locker, and seemed pretty nervous about it. It had looked like he had been pacing back and forth for sometime, as that’s what he had been doing when you turned the corner.

Looking up at you, he finally stopped pacing, and ran his hand though his hair, taking a deep breath to calm down. Once he deemed himself calm enough, he asked “So… Y/N, do you want a ticket to the fair?” You weren’t excepting this at all, but you were definitely confused why Peter was approaching you with a ticket.

“Uhh, sure, are you selling them? How much?” You asked cautiously, lighting scratching your head as you were trying to think if he has mentioned this previously to you and if you just forgot like usual. Nah, probably not, considering that all you did was wave and say hi in the hallways to each other.

“Oh! No, no” Peter replied frantically, shaking his head, “It’s just an extra ticket that I had, that I was curious if you wanted.” You raised an eyebrow, finding the whole thing suspicious, as after all, why would someone give a stranger something free without wanting something in return.

Biting your lip, you weighed your options before finally replying back “Um, then in that case, I’ll take it. But you are sure you don’t need it, right?”

“Yeah! 100 percent, no more like 200 percent!” Peter replied, almost screaming. You winced slightly at the level of enthusiasm, but at least you knew that he was sure.

“Okay then… maybe I can convince my sister to come with me” you let him know, so he could be assured that the ticket wasn’t going to waste.

But it turns out, letting the ticket go to waste was never in his plans, as he clarified saying “Oh, sorry, I didn’t make myself clear, I was hoping that you could come with us”.

“Us as in?” You asked, unsure about who you would be spending the day with.

“Ned, MJ,” he replied back and you fought the urge to smack yourself. Of course that who would be coming, they were his friends, but he wasn’t done yet, “maybe Liz?”

“Oh..” you whispered, as you didn’t really know how to reply, especially to the last part. Liz was coming. And you didn’t understand why that caused a rush of sadness over you. In fact, Liz was super nice to you… and Peter it seems.

But Peter was still waiting for a response, so you snapped out of it shaking your head slightly replying “Sure, that will be fun, when are you guys planning on going? I can meet you guys there.”

“Oh tomorrow after school, and I can take you, its no problem” Peter offered, wanting to make sure you would come. But seeing your hesitation and guilt (because you didn’t want extra work to be done to accommodate you) he added on “Im taking Liz anyways.”

Oh Liz again, are they on a date? Now you really didn’t want to take the ride, so you asked him “If you are sure, I don’t want to intrude on anything”.

“Huh? Oh no, you’re not, don’t worry” Peter assured, smiling at you.

“Sure then-” you started, but stopped once you thought of a way to get out of the ride, “oh wait, I have to go home anyway to make a snack for my sister, but I’m close by the fair anyways, so I’ll just meet you all there?” Peter looked a little glum at that, but nodded anyways as he couldn’t really argue with that.

Ready to leave school, you closed your locker and left, only thinking about how glad you were to have avoided that, as you weren’t really close with all of them yet, even Peter.

Once you reached the fairground, you called out them to grab their attention “You were right where you said you would all be, huh.” Everyone looked in your direction, and you raised your phone up so they could locate you better.

“Of course, where else would we be?” Peter joked once you were closer.

You rolled your eyes at him, and noticed that you were the last one to arrive. “I didn’t make you guys wait did I?” you asked feeling guilty.

“Not at all, I’m glad you could make it!” Liz said, before anyone could even respond, reaching forward to give you a hug. You leaned forward too, accepting the hug as you glanced over at the rest of them.

“So where are we headed first?” You asked everyone, not sure if they already had a game plan or not. It was also your first time at a fair, but you weren’t letting anyone know that.

“We were talking and had some ideas, but what do you want to do?” Peter asked, curious about your response. Unfortunately for you, that meant you had to spill your little secret.

“Well, you see” you started, rocking back and forth, a little nervous, “I’ve never been to any fair, so I have no clue” you confessed, with did startle them a little bit.

Thankfully for you, they just moved on from that, not really teasing you about it. Unknown to you, that was mainly because of Peter, as he had noticed your uncomfortable expression while talking the group, and was currently pinching Ned to stop his laughs and jokes from coming out.

Peter’s eyes lit up once he realized what that meant. “Okay then, its has been decided. Drumroll please!” He paused, flicking everyone off when no one did a drumroll and looked at him like he was being stupid, which he was in your opinion, “Okay, you guys are all spoil sports then. But we are going to the fair games first!” Everyone but you groaned at that, but still followed Peter to the fair games.

On your way there, Ned had moved away from Peter to go walk with Liz and MJ because he didn’t want more pinching, which resulted with you walking along side Peter. Which was a very long walk cause apparently it was on the complete opposite side from where they were.

The walk there was awkward to say the least. Which made sense to you, considering the fact you guys hadn’t really hung out since the project anyways. But right now, you were hoping that he wouldn’t bring up the whole ‘not ever going to the fair before’ thing now that it was just you two.

“So” Peter started, a sly smile creeping onto his face. You groaned at this as you knew luck was not going to be on your side forever, “You’ve never been to the fair before? May I ask why?”

You looked at Peter quickly, your face showing a mild surprise. You were expecting something that was a lot more of teasing, but he seemed genuine about his curiosity. “Just never found time, my sister doesn’t like the idea of the fair, and as a family we would never go to places unless she also liked them” you explained slowly, very aware of the fact that Peter was staring at you throughout the full explantation.

“Your family would take your sister’s preference but not yours? Doesn’t seem fair” Peter commented, his mood a little sour as he did feel bad for you.

Noticing his change in mood, you nudged his shoulder telling him “Hey don’t look so glum, I’m here now aren’t I? Also while it might seem unfair, my sister is the pickiest in the family, and I enjoy seeing her happy. Besides, the fair is literally one of the only things we differ on.” At your explanation, Peter let out a little snort, which caused a sense of relief to arise in you. After all, you would feel terrible if you were the reason why Peter was in such a bad mood in such a bright place.

At this thought, you looked around the fair in slight awe. Sure you’ve seen it from your apartment, but being in the fair, surrounded by such bright and vibrant colors and the smell of the fair food was a complete different experience.

And then you were brought back to the present by Peter with the sound of a camera click. You turned to see Peter looking into the camera display, grinning like a madman. Where he got the camera you had no idea. But as you two continued walking side by side, you strained your neck to look at your picture. However, Peter turned it off before you could look, giving you a smirk, “Its rude to look at other people’s things without permission you know.”

Sighing you waved him off and chose to ignore his comment, instead asking, “So what are we going to do at the fair games then?”

“Win” Peter replied, but the look in his eye told you that there was a catch.

Rolling your eyes, you said“I know that smartass, win what?” as you were curious about the real reason why he had chosen fair games.

Peter smiles at your question, and you knew that you were going to regret asking that. He took your hand and dragged you to the first game, ignoring the calls from his friends and told you, “Some goldfishes.”

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#peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker one shot #peter parker x you #spider-man #spider-man imagine #spiderman #spiderman imagine #spider man #spider man imagine #the avengers #the avengers imagine #avengers #avengers imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #mcu #imagines

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hereiamhereigo · 6 years

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The Nanny Chapter 6

Chapter 6 [Harrison Osterfield X Reader]

The Nanny

Pairing: Harrison O x reader (Tom in a starring role)

Warnings: Cuss words (sorry, I ain’t no lady)

Plot: Y/N is the nanny for the Downey family. She loves her job and can’t wait to see what the future holds for her. Maybe a boy with breathtaking blue eyes?

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4| Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Y/N helped get Exton’s homework finished and helped make sure everything was cleaned to help take care of everyone’s kids. Y/N was not sure if everyone’s nannies were coming or not, but most of the time they did not. Only a handful of the cast had young children, so Y/N never minded.

Robert and Susan had an entertainment room that was attached to a movie theater. Y/N had stocked the room full of movies, snacks, drinks, toys, anything that could be needed.

Once everything was ready, she got both Exton and Avri fed and ready for a night of fun. There was no filming the next day and no school the next day. Most likely, this would be a full night of fun, with the adults staying up until the late hours of the nights, early hours of the morning. Once fed, Y/N took both Exton and Avri into the room where they would be hanging out for the night.

“What game do we want to play first? Hungry hungry hippo? Go fish?” Y/N asked.

“Hungry hungry hippo” Avri suggested, her usual preference. Y/N looked at Exton and he shrugged, not having much of a preference.

Y/N and both of them started playing, waiting for the other kids to show up. It took about an hour before the Hemsworth kids came in. They loved playing video games, so Y/N got them all set up while continuing to keep an eye on both Avri and Exton. Soon everyone had shown up and Y/N was busy keeping an eye on everyone. Luckily, there were several older kids were were able to assist her, although she tried hard not to rely on them.

Y/N looked at the clock, seeing it was nearing midnight and the kids were still going strong, although some were starting to get tired. Y/N had set up some of the guest rooms to accommodate kids that might fall asleep and she started to place them in there, letting their parents know as she did so.

While she was looking for Chris H or Elsa, she catch sight of both Tom and Harrison, they tried to wave her over, but she quickly walked away like she had not seen them. She needed to keep an eye on the kids. This was definitely not the time nor place to slip up.

The fourth time she wandered into the party looking for a parent, Harrison blocked her path.

“Hi, I know I’m not from around here, but I’m pretty sure its poor manners to ignore someone trying to talk to you” He said.

“I know, I am really sorry, but I am working tonight, not a guest. I have to go and find Chris Pratt. His little one fell asleep and I am the only Nanny tonight” Y/N said, craning her neck to try and find Chris.

“How about I accompany you as you try and find him?”

“That's fine, just please help me. There are like nineteen kids unattended in that room with one poor teenager watching them” The pair started to walk around the property, looking for anywhere that Chris may have gone. People were scattered everywhere, making it hard to find anyone.

“Why are you watching so many kids alone?”

“It's usually not this many kids at once, usually just like ten at a time plus I usually get a helper.”

“Please tell them they are paying you more for this.”

“I kinda feel like I owe them this, at the bare minimum.”

“Listen, I am sorr-”

“You don't have to keep apologizing. You and Tom are both off the hook, but I have to be really careful. Susan and Robert are watching everything I do. I have to be on my A game.”

“Well let’s help keep you on your A game right? I see Chris over there” Harrison said, pointing to where Chris was off talking to Robert. Y/N walked up, waiting for a pause in their conversation.

“Hi Chris, I’m Y/N the Downey’s nanny. Your little one passed out, and he’s asleep in one of the guest rooms.”

“Oh thank you, I’ll get him on the way out.”

“Of course, have a good night” Y/N turned and headed back towards Harrison.

“Thank you for helping me with that, but you can get back to your night. You don’t have to hang out with me” Y/N said, trying to get back to her work.

“Of course and I know I can, but I want to hang out with you. You seem like you could use the help. Could Tom and I maybe help you?”

“You don’t have to. The kids can be a handful and I want you to enjoy your night. You are here as a guest, not an employee.”

“I really don’t think it’s fair that you are so understaffed and I would like to assist you. At least until the odds are in your favor” Harrison insisted.

“Okay fine, but you are just there to have fun with the kids. No working like I’m doing, deal? I better not catch you cleaning anything.”

“I barely do the dishes at home, why would I do them here?” Harrison said as they weaved through the crowds.

They eventually ran into Tom- he was with Mark Ruffalo and Benedict. Y/N knew she had been away for too long and needed to hear back in case there were kids that needed to be laid down. She turned to let Harrison know where she was headed.

“Well let’s grab Tom and go inside” he said.

“I need to go back in now, I’ve been gone long enough as it is. One of the older kids is watching the younger ones for me, so you just come in when you feel like it. I don’t want to interrupt. Can you let Mark know this youngest is sleeping in one of the guest rooms? I have a feeling his other ones are about to crash soon too.”

“Uh, Okay. Will do but I think you should tell himself yourself” Harrison said, trying to keep her by him for just a few moments longer. Y/N quickly walked up to the trio.

“Hi Mark, your littlest one is sleeping in one of the guest rooms. I suspect the others will be joining in soon. Just wanted to let you know.”

“Oh thanks Y/N and thanks for watching all of the kids so our nanny could take the night off. It was nice of your to volunteer.”

“Oh of course. Anything to help everyone else relax” Y/N said, quickly disappearing into the crowd before the confusion could take over her face. Volunteered? More like volun-told.

Y/N headed straight back inside, putting all the kids that had fallen asleep into a guest room with their siblings and started cleaning. The room was a bit of a disaster, and Y/N would definitely be cleaning tomorrow as well, but she picked up as much as she could. She put away anything that wasn't being used, trying to get all the kids to go into the theater to watch a movie. There they were all together and doing one activity.

She had put away all the video games and was trying to clean up the game room when Harrison came in.

“Hey, how can I help?” Harrison said, reaching towards some games.

“I said no helping, but you can go sit with the kids and watch the movie with them while I pick up. I’m gonna clean tomorrow.”

“I mean, give me the hard job huh? Alright I can do that, but let me help a little.”

“No Harrison, please just go sit with them. That helps so much.”

“Alright, you got it.” Harrison walked in where the kids were, getting himself comfortable. He kept an eye, making sure to take the kids to bed as they fell asleep or getting them snacks and drinks as needed. He did a little work, but he didn’t need to let Y/N know. He knows she was overworking herself and she did not need to.

Y/N picked up everything, putting the room back in the way it was. She was actually able to clean everything except for vacuum. She figured that would be quick enough to do tomorrow. The cleaners did come down here, but she liked to clean it more frequently since she and the kids used it a lot. She thought it was strange no one came in needing anything, but she just figured they all fell asleep.

She walked into the theatre, expecting to need to take all the remaining kids to bed. Instead, all the kids were gone, the lights were on and the theatre was clean. Like spotless. In one of the seats on his phone, sat Harrison.

“Oh hey love, you need any help?” Harrison asked.

“Harrison, you didn’t need to. I could have done this.”

“I know, but I wanted to, so I did so. Plus, I think it’s unfair that you were expected to do this all by yourself. You would have been up all night doing this.”

“I would have gotten it done, but thank you.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Y/N rolled her eyes at Harrison who was smirking.

“Thank you.”

“You are more than welcome. Now what time are you done?”

“When all the kids are picked up. So probably a few more hours. I usually just stay here with a book so they know where to find me if they need me.”

“Can I stay with you? Or are you invested in a good book?”

“Of course you may stay. We can put another movie on or play a game, whatever you would like.” Y/N said, standing up to pick whatever Harrison wanted.

“Can we just talk? I feel like I haven’t really gotten to know you all that well darling. I would like the opportunity to get to know you.”

“Uh yeah, that’s fine. Whatever you would prefer. What do you want to know?”

“Well tell me about you. Where are you from, your family, how you got the job?”

“Uh, I am from (hometown). I have a mom and a sister. I got the job through a nanny service since the family I had been nannying for before didn’t need a nanny anymore.”

“How come they didn’t need one anymore?”

“Mom had another one and decided to stay home with the two little ones and they couldn’t afford me. It happens often when someone stays home and I kinda figured it was going to happen. Still sucked, but I was not blindsided. Tell me about you, Mr. Osterfield.”

The conversation went back and forth, with limited interruption from the families coming to pick up their kids. Once everyone had picked up their little ones, it was just a handful of guests left. The Downey’s had no problem with anyone needing to spend the night doing so, or staying later to sober up.

Y/N did get up to check on both of the Downey children several times throughout the night. Harrison never once complained or said made any comment about it, knowing this was her job. Eventually Tom popped in to collect Harrison.

“Hey Harrison, you ready to go? I’m pretty exhausted and we have a night shoot tomorrow.”

“Yeah, definitely. Let’s go.” Harrison got up, along with Y/N before everyone headed to the door. Y/N turned everything off and turned off the lights as they left the room. She walked them to the front door.

“Bye guys, have a good night/morning and I will see you both later.” She said as they headed out the door.

Both boys said their goodbyes and headed out to Toms rental car, getting in to head back to the car.

“Spill.” Tom instructed as soon as they were in the car.

“Mate, she really opened up to me, I think I really got somewhere.”

“Good, we just need to make sure you stay there.”

“Yeah we do and I have a feeling we gotta keep this under wrap. She was stressed tonight, did you know she was the only nanny for all those kids?”

“Are you serious? Jesus, that’s a lot of fucking kids. She got through it alright with the help of her hero.” Tom said, sending Harrison a smirk.

“Listen you little div, I think I really like her, but I’m not sure. We will see”

End of Chapter 6

Tag List: OPEN:

Means I can’t tag you

@spider-mendes @rsublett @multifandomlove2002 @the-claire-bitch-project @hazismyboo @frankhaleesi @maggiepalma @erynachoenthusiast @minibog @blingyellow @lyssilinn-marvel @imyourdadssideblog @highladyjel @cloverrover

#harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield x reader #tom holland #thenanny #the nanny

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chasholidays · 7 years

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Holiday prompt: "We're both in the same small claims court and I got into a huge fight with the person suing me but you stepped in to hold me back before security got there" Bellarke, please, but you can choose which of them does which role. Thank you for all your writing!

Sometimes, Clarke thinks she’s not really suited to being a foster parent.

It’s not like she’s bad at it, in most ways. She’s responsible, a good provider, and she knows that Madi is happy, which is obviously the most important thing. If nothing else, Madi is better off with her than she was before, and that’s not nothing.

But Clarke isn’t always the best role model, which is why she’s spending her morning in small claims court, scowling at everything. On the one hand, she might have–very slightly–overreacted to Katie F.’s mom at the soccer game a few weeks ago; on the other, she doesn’t think that it was really so bad that she deserves to get sued for it.

Madi thought it was hilarious, but not in a way she wanted to emulate. So at least there’s that.

She’s on her phone, texting Wells about how unfair it is while he just copy/pastes the same reply–in her defense, you nearly bit her–when Bellamy sits down next to her and says, “So, what are you in for?”

Bellamy is one of those people Clarke likes and always wants to see more of. Part of that is completely shallow; he’s probably the single most attractive guy she’s ever met in her entire life, and she’s never against more eye candy in her life. But he’s also smart and funny and if she had time these days to have crushes, she’d probably have one on him.

Instead, between work and Madi, she sees Bellamy maybe once every two months, when she drags herself out to socialize with her larger friend group.

So at least small claims court has one thing going for it.

“I might have gotten in a fight at one of Madi’s soccer games.”

Bellamy lets out an actual cackle. “Holy shit, of course you did. What happened?”

“Her kid fouled Madi and didn’t get a red card, she said Madi started it, the ref and her mom sided with her, and I might have gotten–carried away.”

“You don’t say.” He shakes his head, smiling. “She’s seriously suing you?”

“I’m still getting used to soccer mom culture. I think it was supposed to be an empty threat to show me she was serious, and I told her to go ahead, so then she had to or else she’d lose credibility in front of the other moms.”

“Yeah, that all checks out. I was wondering how you’d do with other parents.”

Bellamy teaches high school, at the school where Madi will be next year, no less, so of course he has a lot of opinions on parents. The fact that he’s always told her she seems to be doing a good job has been a comfort to her, honestly.

“It’s been mixed.”

“Clearly.”

She elbows him. “Shut up. What are you doing here?”

“Remember that sketchy guy I decided to rent my spare bedroom to?”

“The one who always smelled like weed and never seemed to be home? Don’t tell me that went wrong.”

“Yeah, we’re all shocked. He broke his lease, so I’m looking forward to finding out if he actually shows up. I’m not convinced it was even worth it to bring to court, but it’s summer vacation, what else am I doing?”

“So, you’re bored enough to go to small claims court?”

“Everyone needs a hobby.” He shifts a little, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So, how’s Madi doing? Aside from getting fouled in soccer.”

“Good, I think. She’s looking forward to starting high school in the fall, but I think less because she thinks it’s going to be good and more because she was ready to be done with middle school.”

“Yeah, I don’t blame her. Middle school sucks. She’s coming to Arcadia, right?”

“She is. I assume you won’t have her for a couple years.”

“Yeah, not until she’s a junior.” He clears his throat. “But I’ll look out for her, obviously.”

“Obviously. How is your summer going? I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“You haven’t,” he says, grinning. “I get it, you’re busy. But we miss you.”

“I miss you guys too. Madi wants to have a cookout soon, so look forward to that.”

“You’re sounding sarcastic, but that sounds awesome.” He clears his throat, like he’s about to say something else, but the clerk calls, “Blake vs. Murphy,” before he can.

“Sounds like you’re up.”

“Sounds like.” He stands and stretches. “Good to see you, good luck with getting sued.”

“Good luck suing. Talk to you soon?”

“Definitely.”

She watches him go, feeling a little hopeful in spite of herself. When she decided to take Madi in, he’d had a boyfriend, and she had sort of assumed that he’d never be a romantic option. The two of them broke up, but she had Madi after that, and she didn’t see much of him. She did think they might have been flirting, and that was definitely an encouraging interaction. If she asks him out, he might say yes, and that’s something to be excited about.

A boyfriend would be nice.

Given she’s in small claims court, the good mood can’t and won’t last, but she’s not expecting it to shrivel up and die quite as quickly as it does. But that’s how the world works: one nice chance encounter with a guy she likes turns quickly into a less chance and much less nice encounter with the woman who’s suing her.

“I didn’t think you’d show up,” says Mrs. Fuller.

She has a first name, Clarke knows that. Clarke’s heard it, even–Melissa or Rebecca or something, an ordinary name that her friends shorten to Mel or Becky.

Clarke has been told to call her Mrs. Fuller, which means that Clarke will call her Mrs. Fuller until the day she dies. Which is, perhaps, another reason for her to not be a parent.

But Mrs. Fuller started it.

“Well, I wanted to make sure we resolved the issue,” says Clarke, bright. “And this was how you wanted to resolve it. I’m just trying to be accommodating.” Killing with kindness isn’t exactly her forte, but it seems worth a shot. “How’s the emotional distress?” she adds.

She’s only human.

Mrs. Fuller huffs and calls someone to complain about what a hassle the whole thing is–like it wasn’t her idea to sue Clarke for not even actually biting her in the middle of a fight she started–while Clarke googles what to do when you’re in small claims court. Which she already researched extensively, but every little bit helps.

As she expected, the mediator is less than impressed with the case. Emotional distress is one of those things that’s tricky to prove, and while Clarke was the one who escalated, she was far from the only participant. The fact that no official charges of assault were pressed also helps, and the moderator definitely tells Mrs. Fuller to let it go.

Which she doesn’t, so Clarke has to spend an additional ten minutes in front of a judge, who tells them they should maybe just avoid each other at soccer games from now on and dismisses the case.

It would be the perfect ending if, as they were walking out, Mrs. Fuller didn’t say, “Maybe if your child wasn’t such a bad seed, you wouldn’t need to be brawling.”

This, Clarke knows, is the root cause of her problems as a parent, the issue that will keep her from ever getting along with women like Mrs. Fuller. It’s not that she doesn’t fit in; she knows she does. She’s an upper-class white woman from a good family, and if these women knew her as Abby Griffin’s daughter, they’d like her. But they know her as the woman who got her orphan foster child into their school district, into their childrens’ honors courses and social circles. There’s already a strong culture of my child is the most precious and no one else’s matters as muchwith zero awareness that everyone feels that way about their children, but Madi’s position as an outsider makes her more of a target for ire.

These people think Clarke’s daughter doesn’t matter, and that is, ultimately, going to be why she’ll never stop fighting with them.

“What was that?” she asks, mostly to give Mrs. Fuller a chance to reconsider the statement.

“If your girl hadn’t been so close to Katie then maybe Katie wouldn’t have accidentally hit her. This is a common problem for less experienced players, and since it’s her first season–”

“My daughter,” says Clarke. “Madi is my daughter.”

“I didn’t think that was even finalized.”

“And?”

“And I didn’t want to get ahead of myself. I doubt she’ll last much longer.”

It devolves pretty rapidly from there. On a base logic level, Clarke knows that getting into a fistfight in a small claims court where it’s just been decided that she doesn’t have to pay for pissing this woman off is incredibly stupid, but on a much baser, instinctual level, this woman is saying bad things about her daughter, and Clarke hates her.

So it’s a really good thing Bellamy is still around to help out.

She doesn’t know it’s him at first, just a firm hand on her arm disconnected from any individual person, and she half-whirls to yell at him before she realizes what’s happening. Bellamy’s not actually looking at her, his eyes fixed on Mrs. Fuller, but he’s allied with Clarke even as he’s also holding her back.

“Hey, Mrs. Fuller, right?” he asks, and she frowns.

“Mr. Blake?”

“Nice to see you, hope Aaron and Katie are doing well. I just need to grab Clarke, sorry. We had a lunch date when we were done here.” He turns his attention to her, concern written all over his face, although she doubts anyone else would be able to tell. “You ready?”

It is, in all ways, a better choice than trying to fight this woman. “Yeah, all set.”

Bellamy shifts his hand to her lower back, guiding her out, and not to be shallow or anything, but she’s seen Mr. Fuller, and Bellamy is about fifty thousand times hotter than he is, so she’s hoping Mrs. Fuller is feeling really jealous right now.

“I didn’t know she had another kid,” Bellamy remarks, once they’re alone. “That’s something to look forward to.”

“The kid honestly isn’t that bad,” Clarke says. “Most of them aren’t. I assume they’ll grow up shitty but for now their parents are still trying to teach them to do as they say, not as they do.”

“That’s something.” He clears his throat. “I’d say sorry for stepping in there, but I figure you’re happy you didn’t get arrested for assaulting someone in a courthouse.”

“Yeah, appreciated.” She glances at him sidelong. “Did your case really take that long?”

“No, we were done pretty quickly. I was waiting for you.”

She has to smile. “You were worried I was going to start throwing punches?”

“That too. I did want to ask if you wanted to grab lunch, though.”

“Yeah?”

He huffs a laugh. “I know you’re busy, but, uh–I’ve been missing you, honestly. I was thinking we could try to see more of each other.”

“Like a lunch date?”

“For a start. Or it can just be a lunch date,” he adds. “Doesn’t have to go anywhere.”

“That seems like kind of a waste.” She sways closer into his side, and when he drops his hand from her back to his side, she takes it. “I’m kind of busy these days, but if you don’t mind a weird schedule and a kid–”

“I can live with a weird schedule and a kid. Maybe just try not to get sued during the school year,” he teases. “I can’t actually come bail you out every time.”

“One time!”

“So far. I know these parents, remember? I doubt this is going to be an isolated incident.”

It’s true, and depressing, and not what Clarke wants to be thinking about right this minute, when she’s holding hands with a cute guy she likes, on her way to a date, with the promise of more dates to come.

So she just knocks their shoulders together. “What I’m hearing is that you think I need backup.”

“Definitely.”

“And you’re volunteering.”

He grins. “It would be my pleasure, yeah.”

“How was court?” Madi asks when she gets home.

“Good. I didn’t have to pay any money, that was cool. And I think I got a boyfriend.”

“You found a boyfriend at small claims court?”

“It’s Bellamy, so I already knew him. He just became my boyfriend at small claims court.”

“You know you’re like the opposite of a role model, right?”

“I know. You know that too, right?”

“For sure.”

Clarke grins, leans over to kiss the top of her head. “So we’re good, right?”

Madi smiles. “Yeah, we’re awesome.”

Clarke has to agree.

#miriadeltherogue

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autoirishlitdiscourses · 3 years

Text

Discourse of Sunday, 16 May 2021

It might be hidden in the future. I just finished grading the final please only do this a great deal more during quarters when students aren't doing a solid job of accomplishing many important qualities of the more productive contributions/to papers, I think that this is a Fountain sung by Corp. But I think that it isn't, because under any circumstances engage in a plug for Zotero which is more productive question is a worthwhile and important topics to discuss 2 before 1, because, after all, you had thought closely in it. However, I imagine, and made a post about grad school. If you have unusual, stressful, or very very difficult things to talk about how you arrange a time on Wednesday prevents you from reciting, obligates you to increase the specificity of your introduction and conclusion do some of the recording of your discussion. Were clearly a bit too quickly past issues that you have any questions, OK?

You make some very good job digging in to the people from the course Twitter stream for the Croppies Yeats, The Stolen Child 5 p. If he doesn't want a video recording online, for instance. Taking more explicit stand on the final, but he did say explicitly that I think, but without pushing their interpretive insights far enough in other audio equipment to record your attendance/participation score will probably involve providing at least 46. Here are some mostly comparatively minor errors, punctuation, and I'll accommodate as many students who try to force a discussion is going to be excellent. 4%, and I think that It was an excellent lecture/discussion performance for the movie, actually. Good luck on the English Language; Giorgio Agamben's Homo Sacer. I said, graceful. My 6 p. However, you really mop the floor with the writings of American modernist novelist William Faulkner; the paper's relevance to the group's discussion during the week in section. Realistically, you've done a number of excellent observations in your final grade for the rest as backups in case they ask you to, as one of my head this afternoon and have already picked a wonderful job of this comes down to paying more attention to why will not get a higher grade on the section a total of ten minutes to talk about what you want to deal with. Trying to avoid a assuming that the writing process is a comparatively difficult poem to others, please let me know if you start making regular meaningful contributions to the course's large-scale structure I'm tempted to make a two-minute warning by holding up the anxiety of influence entirely; 2 provide additional information you are perfectly capable of doing this. 1:1. Pdf, OpenOffice/LibreOffice or Microsoft Word document, and that your basic idea is sound and may very well done! In that series, the actual purpose of the pages in question. 79%, a productive move for a productive logical path can be said about presentations of women in this piece of writing—and to focus your paper in on Wednesday! I think that one thing, you gave in section and the discussion that engages the rest of your paper has problems large enough to make decisions about exactly what you mean; I do at least twelve lines would be to make sure you carefully evaluate whose viewpoint we're getting in Nausicaa and whose thoughts are often primarily just due to the overall goal is to engage in a lot of other things you may want to post it to say for sure. The Plough and the next thing what does all of these guidelines with you that there are certainly other possibilities. Let me know. However, I suppose that you'll get there, I hope that this unusual event that someone writes an A-range for you to recite. I'm trying to say that your ideas will have the midterms by then. I think that it can also refer you to reschedule, and that you've done a genuinely excellent work at some point for virtually everyone after graduation. Too, the two tendencies in Irish literature in Celtic countries is actually a pretty sharp section, not Chicago-style citations in footnotes. Alas, there's your declaration of how she usually is, despite the odd misstep here and there are no meaningful differences—there are endless others: think closely about what home means in the outside world, people are reacting to look closely for evidence. This may or may not arise to give a fair number of points for section attendance and participation is 555 9 points. Give a stellar, passionate, exactly, I think that one thing that's like to discuss and haven't had enough of a problem, and I've read it with a judgment, and you provided a structured discussion that followed, or at least Western, love as being worth 10%, vocabulary, like I said from Yes, yes it's OK to ask you to give a more likely he is. Well done on this question, for instance; you have any questions, OK? Otherwise, bring it to one of the claim that you're capable of this is a perfectly acceptable topic. Yeah, I can attest from personal experience it can be hard to motivate you to read from Butcher Boy; Stephen Dedalus's rather morbid and misogynist fixation on the make-up, if you do all three and a student to bump up by providing a good move, because I used your own very sophisticated and that what you want to sign up for yourself is itself a thinking process, but you're the one you sent me an email no later than most people think, to be Irish.

Ye gods and little fishes! Pokornowski's midterm review session that will help your grade, and I understand it, but that a potentially difficult situation if anyone else cries unfair! I hope that they should not be surprised by the end of section; got the class, and I'm looking forward to seeing your recitation tomorrow. You might think. What We Lost Paul Muldoon, Quoof, McCabe TBD, Godot 58-59, Godot Lucky's speech.

The performance that was sent by e-mail me and say quite what it means and how we have discussed your grade here by much. Plan for Week 3:30 is perfect. Having someone else standing with you through finals week! That being said, also reciting a companion piece would certainly be a useful fallback plan. Again, very good reading of the section for the compliments, and what will be paying attention to the text that you never knew; changed hell to heaven to heaven to hell; changed It seems _______________ is to be on the syllabus. A chicken. I think that you understand everything that's going on as soon as possible, OK? I think it will prepare you to push your paper never quite come out and take a look at. You build your evidence in a number of first-come, first-person pronoun that often make a more profitable way to put this would be very polite to avoid. So I told him that what would have been avoiding presenting conclusions in favor of writing too much difficulty; there are only ways of seeing things through rose-colored glasses?

He also recited Yeats's September 1913, like I said, section III, from the same time, the Clitheroes are less admirable characters in order to receive a non-passing grade; made an excellent paper in several ideas for review purposes. You changed would juggle to juggled in line 1571; dropped as a British colony, Ireland used the British and Irish Currency. I am handling expectations for you?

3:00 or 3. Let me know if you want to tell her.

#Irish literature #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains

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along-the-way · 4 years

Text

Almost had an anxiety attack at like 11:15pm, wrote this while listening to Hozier

I stood out in the rain tonight. Just let it hit the top of my head. I tried to breathe in the damp air but it was like my lungs were closed for business. I was really cold. But I didn’t want to go back inside. I only did because I didn’t want my mom to worry. The stupid Ring alarm beeps every time I open an exterior door.

I haven’t felt this scared in a long time. Not “scared” necessarily. Just incredibly unsettled. It’s like holding on to a railing of the building that is collapsing. But it hasn’t started collapsing yet. But my brain mistakes a stray hair for a crack in the walls. The vibration of a cellphone becomes an earthquake. The last time it was this bad was maybe a year ago? Maybe as far back at before I was on meds? I used to lay in my dorm bed, every night not doing anything. Maybe watching a movie for 15 minutes and getting distracted by whatever was making me anxious. Just laying there, wrapped in blankets. Too scared to find people to be friends with, sometimes too scared to go to class, a lot of times too scared to eat. And that was today. Too scared to get out of bed. Too scared to get myself food until like 7: 00pm. Too scared to call someone who might understand. Too scared to even leave my room.

And I hate to admit that.

How do I tell the kid from school who said they admired how I was so open about my anxiety that I couldn’t get out of bed today? This kid wrote me an anonymous letter and bought me a fucking candle. I can only joke about being anxious so much before it starts to hurt that no one asks me if I’m okay. Because I’m not and sometimes I think people don’t actually believe me or care. But that might also be a side effect of the anxiety. I don’t want to be that self-diagnosing bitch saying it’s paranoia but it feels like it.

How do I convince my mom that it’s no one else’s fault? I tried to talk to her about how I’m feeling and it just becomes about her. Every time. I told her I’m trying not to be crazy, not to ask for validation or affirmation all the time and she just shrugged and said, “well, we are crazy. We’re the same.” and I just. I wanted to scream. I don’t want to be like this. This is why I can’t keep friends. This is why I struggle with school and work. Because I learned to need constant reassurance that I’m not a failure from her. Obviously not just from her, that’s unfair. But I watched her all my life like that. I don’t want to have to ask everyone I care about to tell me constantly that they care about me too. I want to be sure enough of myself and trust people enough to not have to. It’s just really hard to try to unlearn that when she’s in my ear telling me that it doesn’t get better. That I need to find people who accommodate this. But that’s dumb. Isn’t it? Half of the problem is I don’t know how to explain to people how I'm feeling and what I need. I never learned how to actually ask for what I need from people so it only ever happens by accident.

How do I get up tomorrow and not have another day like today? I have to do something different. I have to wake up trusting that the world isn’t crumbling. I mean it is to some extent but my relationships aren’t crumbling. I need to do something that keeps me busy. Thinking about something mundane and simple and repetitive. God they’re going to murder me if I start a puzzle.

I just feel like I’m missing everything. I end up spiraling and paralyzed. That’s literally what it feels like and I wish I was exaggerating. It’s like putting a Rumba on hyper speed but trapped in a corner and like the Rumba isn’t sure if it has a knife taped to it or not so it just has to assume it’s creating maximum damage. That’s maybe the worst analogy I’ve ever written. But really. It’s restlessness and aching and paralysis with a dash of shallow breathing. And nothing is distracting enough. Talking to you is. Talking to Lexie and Val is. Talking to Michael and Will is sometimes. TV doesn’t do it. Writing does it sometimes. Scrolling mindlessly works for about 5 minutes but then I just start feeling worse about myself. But I just end up laying here. Holding on to a pillow really tight makes the pressure in my chest hurt less. Falling asleep on accident is a nice gift. I can’t feel all the shitty things if I’m asleep! But that’s avoidance. Like diagnosed avoidance technique.

I’m missing the last summer I can really spend at home before I have to find where my next temporary home is. Everything just feels fucking temporary. If there’s no physical school next year, I’ll end up breaking my lease and finding somewhere else to be for a year, but just a year. Then back to Skippy Groves for a year. Then who knows where. New York is too expensive. Chicago is better. LA is scary. Seattle isn’t right anymore. I’d literally sacrifice my right boob rather than keep living in St. Louis. But no matter what, it’s going to be temporary. I’ll have a “home-base” but I’ll hopefully be out all over the place working. But then I’ll never be anywhere for more than 4 months at a time. Probably closer to 2 most of the time. I want to actually have roots again someday. Something permanent. I don’t like temporary. I never have.

I’m missing the revolution of art apparently. If I get one more notification about a virtual project to apply for I’m going to scream. I want to take a breath. I’m not expected to do anything except work and take care of myself and this is the first real long break I’ve had since the summer after freshman year. I want to breathe. Take a second to not be constantly moving forward. It’s exhausting. I do like the idea that I’m like a shark that has to keep swimming forward. But what if I want to be one of the high sea turtles from Finding Nemo instead? Just ride the current for the summer? Because as soon as I go back to school, I’m in charge of two huge student organizations, applying for fellowships, working three jobs, being a senior and taking a full load of classes because I’m dumb. I have to do so much when I’m back and I want to breathe. I want to write my play and edit my other play, work, and sleep. That’s all.

I’m missing seeing my dad because I’m too anxious to be social and too scared of getting him sick. I miss him so much. I miss just sitting and watching movies with him. I never paid attention to them, I just liked hanging out with him. He’s like my best friend now and I don’t get to see him. He listens really well. And he doesn’t try to give advice, he just listens and I need that.

And meanwhile mom is bitter and broken and scared I’ll turn out like her and I don’t want that either. I can’t say that to her. But I don’t want that at all. I want to be my own person. She keeps saying she just wants me to be able to be happy again. And to her that means laughing and smiling all the time. But I guess that’s not happy to me, that’s appearing happy. And I can do that really well. I know how to appear like I have it together and that I’m extremely happy. But it’s exhausting. So I stop trying. But that scares her. I couldn’t tell her about how bad last night got because she’ll just cry. I’d have to back track and say never mind, I’m overreacting or she’d just call my dad in tears and say I’m suicidal when she hasn’t even listened. She heard a buzzword and would start to panic, saying she failed as a mother and how she “doesn’t know when I lost my joy.” That’s her favorite thing to say. And I could tell her when, not exact dates but the when and the who. But that would open up a lot of other conversations I don’t want to have with her. And we know she doesn’t react well to the idea of me even moderately not wanting to live.

And I’m not suicidal. No plans, no methods. Just passing thoughts. The shortest moments. I know how to sink into those and last night I did. But I know to stay in bed when that happens. Don’t go upstairs, don’t go into the gym or the workshop. Just stay in bed, pull the blankets tighter, try to breathe. It’ll hurt less when I wake up and it always does. Give it a few days and they’ll be gone. They always go away. And despite the current pandemic, things are good. I do have good people in my life. I have dreams and all that mushy stuff. I’m not doing poorly in my chosen path. So that’s okay.

Tomorrow is going to be better. I’m going to run maybe. I’m going to eat at least twice. I’m going to write a page. I’m going to do my laundry. I’m going to make a cake. I’m going to find something that makes me smile. I’m going to write like this again because this was nice. I guess I did fall back into “journaling” how my teachers all said I would. I hate when people tell me to do something and I refuse out of spite then they end up being right. But I think it’s better if I just accept this one at face value.

Goodnight. Sleep tight.

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dxmedstudent · 7 years

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So, I'm a med student and I'm currently living and in the same rotation with this absolute GUNNER (Who is also genuinely smart (top of the grade) and hardworking, but is also a snake) and I cannot STAND HER. It's really affecting my mental health negatively. Any tips on how to focus on myself/ stop comparing/ stop letting her take all the opportunities? The doctors LOVE her since she's so sweet, smart and... tall blonde white girl. It sucks for all of us in her rotation and she doesn't care

My commiserations. Placements sometimes have limited possibilities, and it can suck when things aren’t shared equally. And although your seniors probably aren’t judging you half as much as you think, it still feels like you’re being compared. I used to hate placements when it was just the two of us the absolute most, because it felt too much like it would always be ‘the eager one’ and ‘the one who isn’t putting in as much effort’. I’ve been both, and it sucks etiher way. To answer your actual question, it’s hard to completely avoid people, but you can manage how you all interact with the Ms Snakes in your lives. I do hope you’re not in the same house or flat (hospital accommodation, right?), because that sounds like no fun. I’d suggest planning group-wide social events (that way she may be around, but Snakey’s never the only person you’re stuck with. Remember that you have other colleagues. You have friends. And whilst I’d say it’s probably uncalled for to badmouth Snakey to your clinical group (bitching can backfire, and it doesn’t build a nice working environment for anyone, so I’d really advise against it. If you have to say anything about Snakey to your peers, try to keep it to making neutral observations. Observations that perhaps some people are getting more exposure than others, or whatever. You don’t want to make the entire group descend into infighting, and you don’t want to come across as the one obsessed with Snakey to the point that people assume you are rivals in a cartoon series. But when it comes to talking to your friends? Knock yourself out. Blow off as much steam as you want. Let them know how much it’s really bugging you. Naming someone isn’t even relevant, it’s the sheer act of just expressing your frustration that can keep you sane. And don’t forget to give yourself alone time where you don’t need to deal with them. Remember that you have lots of great features, perhaps they just aren’t the same ones as Snakey. It’s easy for all of us to fear that we’re the worst student. That everyone knows more, does better, and is generally destined to be amazing whilst we’re left behind and undeserving of even being there. It’s a common feeling; impostor syndrome is almost ubiquitous in medicine. The secret is that all of us, at some point, feel like we’re not good enough to be here. But like a protagonist in a shonen anime, we keep on taking the punishment and keep fighting through the self-doubt. So trying to limit your exposure to people who rub you up the wrong way can be a really good idea. But there will be times when you have to deal with them, or at the very least have to ensure you don’t totally lose out. But you also don’t want to be rude or confrontational, because that doesn’t usually help things very much. So here are some of my tips for devious niceness: In terms of work, the thing about Ms (or Mr) Snakes is this; most people are OK, but a small minority try to sabotage others. So don’t give them the chance. Your consultants/seniors/FY1s will usually want one peson to be the ‘contact’ for the group; don’t let that be Mr Snakey, if you can avoid it. I’ve had friends being told completely the wrong time/venue for teaching by the snakes in their group. So instead of letting them have all the power, or hog information, kindly suggest that it might spare Snakey (or the docs) the effort of contacting you all individually if the senior or FY1 just puts all of you in a whatsapp group (or you could even make it, if you wish) so that relevant info like teaching times etc can be shared. On the plus side this also makes it a bit easier to let people know if things are cancelled, running late etc. This prevents them from telling you one time/date etc and telling everyone else another. Or keeping things to themselves. This important because the junior docs supervising you don’t really want to be remembering who’s done what; they have more important things to worry about, like patients not dying. They don’t really care if one student took slightly more opportunities than the others. It’s not that we don’t hate unfairness (everyone hates Snakes), but unless something major is going on, we’re usually too distracted for it to trigger our radar. So work with what you have. Anything that makes their life more easy will be readily accepted. Make their life easy. A little bit of planning and chatting with your peers can go a long way. It sounds like your placement doesn’t have rigid timetables. I’ve noticed they usually work better when people know where they should be, and if I have been on a placement which sort of says ‘well, just turn up to clinic or ward, IDC, you can be the one to add structure. If there’s a problem with making sure that you all get to clinic, or clerking etc because she (or someone else) is always hogging clinic, because they are always there first, politely draw out a timetable (Microsoft excel is a wonderful thing) and suggest to the group (perhaps even in front of the seniors responsible for you) that everyone gets a chance. I find this quite useful even when there isn’t a problem with specific people, just because there are often more students than opportunities, so if you don’t plan out where you will all be, then you’ll forever be turning up to find 5 people at the same clinic, etc. If you’re worried about a little snakey sabotage, you can always be sneaky and mention your idea to the rest of the group first, so that by the time it has to be mentioned to Ms Snake. You can’t really draw up a timetable for cannulas or procedures. They just sort of happen when they happen. But you can ask the juniors for more opportunities. You can try to put yourself forward whenever an opportunity arises. Snakey can’t take them all! It might mean asking around more, but your seniors will respond you your making an extra effort. It’s pretty difficult to put yourself forward for things, but it gets easier with time. And sometimes it really is the best way to get opportunities. Another thing is a bit of team work. Some of your colleagues will be really shy. But you can speak up for them, even if it’s hard to speak up for yourself. Sometimes it’s easier to say “Um, Charlotte hasn’t had a chance to do a cannula/take a history yet, I wonder if she’d like to try” might help. Or a loud “Ah, Kiranpreet, weren’t you saying you really need to get an ABG signed off?” can be great. Within a group, you pretty much all know how well you are all doing on getting your competencies signed off, and actually a bit of team spirit rather than ‘me me me’ helps. By working with the group, you in turn encourage others to work with you, and anyone who doesn’t play along in the spirit of friendship would start to look much more odd. Mos people do this just because they are nice; you’ll probably have helped your colleagues lots of times without really having an ulterior motive. But here you’ve got an added extra; if everyone plays nice, then putting yourself forward for everything begins to look a lot less… acceptable. And that’s what you all want; playing fair to be the done thing. If you were feeling really bold, you could even go a step further and just say “Ah, Snakey McSnake, I think you picked up last cannula?” when they offer to do their umpteenth procedure in a row whilst the rest of you are twiddling your fingers. That’s a bit riskier (and cattier) but it might be all in the delivery. Say it innocently enough, like it’s a statement, not an accusation. After all, part of the problem is that you and your colleagues are a bit too polite to put yourselfves forward. The aim here isn’t to pick a fight, so it’s only something you can really do if you can keep your cool. It needs to be effortlessly casual, almost as if you don’t really care. Of course, most of us aren’t Oscar winning actors who can pull something off like that. If you really thought that the person would be receptive to it, you might even consider something radical like having a chat with them. Perhaps they don’t even realise they are grabbing all the opportunities, and perhaps they don’t realise they are a bit too overeager to answer all the questions. Not everyone who is irritating is necessarily out to make others look bad; I’ve known people who pretty much look and act like gunners (perhaps they are really socially inept), but when you speak to them as individuals, they end up being a lot less… nasty than you expected. In fact, they were nicer than plenty of other students. I just don’t think they’d really realised how their keeness came off. Sometimes talking helps, sometimes it doesn’t. But I don’t feel any answer would be complete without the suggestion that you try to deal with it like grownups. Unfortunately, sometimes handling it the grownup way isn’t possible.I hope this helps! Finally, there’s one thing to remember. This too shall pass. You really won’t be stuck with them forever, or even for very long. You’ll get plenty of chances to work alongside people who understand the meaning of teamwork. I really hope this doesn’t ruin the med school experience for you. Most people aren’t Snakes after all. Hope it works out for the better!

#askdx #ask dx #snakes #gunners #people who are mean #play nice everyone

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dust2dust34 · 7 years

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Pieces of Always: February 2034 (FICoN ‘verse)

Life continues after Forever is Composed of Nows.

by @so-caffeinated (and @dust2dust34)

Summary: Thea shows up to help with a school project, but brings a little more honesty than Felicity is ready for.

An ongoing non-linear collection of family moments for the Queens. (You do not need to have read FiCoN to enjoy this, but it will spoil the end. Please see the first installment for additional author notes. Thank you @jsevick and @alizziebyanyothername!)

A/N: Please see the first chapter for an important Author’s Note. The effervescent @so-caffeinated is fully in the driver’s seat and she’s kicking all the ass, so please go send her your love!

A/N: Janis and I have started a Redbubble account for FICoN! The first thing we have up is our Ellie the Elephant tattoo that we got a few months ago - check it out here! (Her awesome husband helped to make it more Redbubble-friendly.) More will be coming soon! If you have any ideas for something you’d like to see, let us know!

(read on AO3)

February 2034

Truth be told, Felicity should never have expected it to take this long for the truth to come out. Any reasonable person would have anticipated their secrets coming to light long ago. But it’s been years, decades even, and she’s grown complacent as time has worn on.

She’s also, apparently, forgotten that her sister-in-law is both sharp and crafty.

Thea Queen is more than capable of keeping a secret, but she’s also more than capable of waiting for the opportune moment to out it.

Traitor.

It had all started innocently enough. Nate has a school project on genealogy and - Nate being Nate - he hadn’t been content to make due with the information and photos on his sisters’ family trees from years past. No, he needed to do his own work from the ground up with raw data and new photos. It really hadn’t mattered that the information gathered and presented would be exactly the same. Not to Nate.

So, he’d started with census data. Oliver’s side of the family is the easy half of things. The Queens and Deardens have been well-documented public figures for a very long time. And Nate traces back to the early-1800s with ease. Felicity’s side is a bit harder… especially her father’s half. It’s not like he’s ever been around. Felicity has a vague memory of her paternal grandparents, but it’s her mom who fills in the gaps the most. Nate doesn’t seem to pick up on anyone’s discomfort with the conversation - he’s so very naive sometimes - but it’s not an easy talk for any of the adults involved.

Frank subtly rubs Donna’s back as she relays as much as she knows for her grandson’s sake and Felicity’s glad for it. Frank’s been at her mom’s side for just over a decade now - has stuck around longer than her own father, now that she thinks about it - and while Felicity’s surprised they haven’t gotten married, for all intents and purposes he’s her stepfather.

It’s strange, she thinks, to know that isn’t true in the other universe, the one the first Ellie came from. She wonders what else is different, how many other changes that magical little four-year-old inadvertently caused. But, ultimately it doesn’t matter. Her mom seems happy here and it sounded like she’d been happy in that other timeline as well. And that’s the part that counts.

Donna has a few pictures she brings with her, ancient things tucked away in a box somewhere that she long ago left to collect dust. Some, Felicity hasn’t seen in ages. Some, she’s never seen at all. And, in spite of herself, she finds she’s enraptured by the yellowed pictures of her grandparents and great-grandparents on both sides. It’s not them exactly, who pull at her attention. It’s the echoes of her own children she can see in their faces. It’s Ellie’s smile on her grandfather’s lips and Jules’ angular cheekbones on her great-grandmother’s face and Nate’s eyes looking back at her from her grandmother’s picture. And really, how could she be expected not to be pulled in by that.

It’s jarring, leaves her thinking about people she hasn’t given a thought to in decades, but that part isn’t the problem. No, the problem is the next day when Thea shows up with a sly smile and huge bag that Felicity doesn’t have the foresight to question.

Regret, on that front, comes quickly.

“I already talked to Grandma,” Nate points out as Thea navigates her wheelchair over to the coffee table.

“Oh, I know,” Thea assures him. “But Grandma doesn’t have the good stuff. She’s all facts and formal photos. You come to Aunt Thea for the real stories.”

That should’ve been another big clue, but at this point Felicity is more concerned about her husband’s secrets than her own. Oops?

“Besides,” Thea continues. “Jules and I had a lunch date today so she could spruce up my wheels more.” She gestures dramatically at the partially painted side of her wheelchair.

It’s new, the wheelchair. Thea had put off getting one for longer than she probably should have, but the need for more help than her cane had been a hard admission for her to make. It had been a decision she’d made at Christmas, when she realized the only way she and Roy were going to be able to enjoy the trip she was giving him was if she had a bit more mobility. She’s not completely reliant on it - not yet - but she’s using it more often than not and she seems equal parts relieved by how much more she can do and frustrated at her own needs. In her own typical, off-handed way, Jules had offered to help her make it a little less sterile, a little more her own, and the two of them had gotten to work planning out a way to make Thea’s chair a bit more fashionable.

Felicity isn’t sure she’s ever seen her husband as grateful to anyone as he was to Jules after finding out what she’d done.

“I’m here,” Jules announces, tromping into the room in paint splattered jeans and a battered KISS shirt. She has a bucket of spray paints in hand.

“You are not doing that in my living room,” Felicity says immediately, eyeing the paints and her 19-year-old daughter in turn.

“Obviously,” Jules replies, rolling her eyes. “We’ll take it out back in a bit. You check out the new ramp yet, Aunt Thea? Dad and Uncle Roy played carpenter. Don’t worry. It’ll hold. Will and I jumped up and down on it a lot just to make sure.”

Felicity quirks her head to the side at that with a hint of a grin tugging at her lips. What a mental image that is… their 19-year-old daughter and 25-year-old son jumping up and down on a ramp. It’s equal parts thoughtful and childlike, two qualities that Will seems to bring out in Jules. She’s glad for both.

“I have not checked it out yet,” Thea tells her, looking every bit as amused as Felicity feels. “But I will. That dad of yours had turned into quite the handyman, huh? Ramps everywhere.”

“Not everywhere,” Nate counters, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He can be so serious, sometimes, so literal. “Just the ground floor.”

“Well, that’s probably enough,” Thea tells him, leaning in conspiratorially. Nate looks relieved at that, like he’d thought his aunt might be upset she couldn’t traverse the entire house, but he’s also clearly still unhappy about her restricted access to their home.

Limitations on Thea’s mobility seem to bother Nate more than anyone else. More than Thea herself, even… at least judging by the face she presents to them all - Felicity’s not entirely convinced she’s as accepting of the changes to her body in private as she is aloud. But, Nate is such a feeler, such a sensitive kid, and he wants the whole world to shift to accommodate his aunt rather than see her struggle. He wants everything as unchanged as possible. Reality is a lot harsher than that and it forces him to catch glimpses of how his Aunt Thea’s body fights back against the effects of her condition and decades of treatments she’s put it through. Nate mostly handles this by metaphorically sticking his head in the sand, but sometimes he’s visibly frustrated and defensive instead and Felicity hasn’t been able to figure out how to help him through it.

It’s going to be so very hard on him when Thea inevitably loses her struggle. It’ll be unthinkably hard on all of them, but Nate…

“Where’s my Ellie-bug?” Thea asks, looking around and snapping Felicity back to the present where her sister-in-law is alive and coping relatively well. A swell of guilt rises up at her thoughts a moment before. It’s unfair to Thea to fast-forward to the end of her journey. It’s unfair to all of them, really. They have her here now and treating her like the embodiment of what’s happening to her is a disservice to everyone.

“She went for a run with Dad,” Nate says, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse inside the canvas bag Thea is drumming her fingers against on her lap. “She’ll be back soon, I think.”

“Good,” Thea grins. It’s an impish smile and for an instant she looks like the teenager Felicity first met all those years ago. “She won’t want to miss this. I come bearing gifts. Jules, pull up a seat. I do believe you’re going to enjoy this.”

That’s more than enough to pique Jules’ curiosity and the smile on Thea’s face sends a premonition of dread through Felicity. Her sister-in-law is up to something.

“I’m going to tell you a story,” Thea says as Jules sits. She and Nate both eye their aunt with rapt attention. Felicity is every inch as interested, but a whole lot more wary. It’s well-founded. “Once upon a time, your parents got married. It was lovely. Well… aside from a scuffle we tried to keep from them, but that’s a story for another time.”

Felicity can’t help but snort and roll her eyes at that. Scuffle is a bit of an understatement, but hey… everything had gone off without a hitch in the end. Or, well, actually there was the one hitch, but it was the intended one, so that was sort of the point.

“But, what was-” Nate starts.

“Another time,” Thea cuts him off, waving dismissively. “Trust me, this is better.”

“Okay…” he says warily. And, bless him, he’s sitting there with his tablet in hand ready to take notes.

“So, your parents were getting married,” Thea continues. “And I put myself in charge of a lovely little video montage for the reception. Cute little snippets of their adorably sappy life together, which we projected down onto the tables like centerpieces.”

“I’ve seen that,” Nate tells her, sounding slightly disappointed.

“Patience, my man,” Thea insists. “I’m setting the scene, here.”

“Sorry. Go on,” he nods, sitting back and watching her. Jules, expectedly, keeps quiet and soaks in everything being said.

“As part of my incredibly selfless and generous efforts, I tracked down as many pictures as I could,” Thea continues. This is when the warning bells in the back of Felicity’s head get loud enough she can’t quite ignore them anymore. “Your grandmothers were a huge help, but so were old news clippings, the Lances, old college roommates...”

“Thea, what does this have to do with genealogy?” Felicity asks, a dangerous tone to her question.

Unsurprisingly, Thea just grins wider, looking as chipper as can be. “Understanding our background better is genealogy, right?”

She’s stretching things, but Felicity lets it slide… for the moment.

“Part of the point of a family tree is seeing just how human your ancestors were,” Thea says, looking back to the kids. “It’s not just names and dates. It’s how they lived, too. It’s knowing that your dad’s great-great-great uncle panned for gold, but was so bad at it that he quit and opened a tavern instead. It’s knowing your mom’s great-great grandmother invented a part still used in railroads today, even if her husband got all the credit.”

“She did?” Nate asks, wide eyes turning to his mom with more excitement than she’d have expected. But then Thea’s always been good at building up a story.

“Yup,” Felicity replies with a smile. “Somewhere my mom has a box of things that belonged to my dad. There’s a letter in there that his great-grandmother wrote to the local paper, calling them out for crediting her invention to her husband. Of course… her husband was more than willing to call it his own. And both of these things tell you everything you ever need to know about my father.”

She’s learned bits and pieces about her dad over the years. Her mom has given her a glimpse now and then, little windows into what her dad was really like. As best as she can tell, her father is a greedy, manipulative, brilliant man who will use anyone and everyone around him to his own benefit. Given her high profile job and marriage as well as her extreme wealth, Felicity suspects her mother thought that her dad would try to find a way to insert himself into her life and exploit his relationship with them. But she hasn’t seen her father since she was a little girl. That he’s steered clear of them shows that maybe he has one redeeming quality, anyhow. She doesn’t need him in her kids’ lives.

“See? Family trees are great,” Thea’s chipper voice chimes in. “They’re even better when they come with art.”

Let it never be said that Thea Queen Harper doesn’t know how to make a dramatic presentation. With great flourish, she tosses the top of the box aside, grabs the photo on top and slaps it down on the coffee table.

For a long moment, everyone is utterly silent as Felicity’s cheeks flush and her skin pales simultaneously.

“Oh. My. God,” Jules announces before cracking up in riotous laughter. “Oh… Oh that’s…”

“That’s not mom,” Nate says. His poor little voice is so uncertain.

“Thea,” Felicity admonishes.

“Family history’s important,” she replies brightly.

“Oh my God, mom, the ankh and everything.” Jules is positively cackling with amusement. She can scarcely catch her breath and her eyes are tearing up through her laughter. For all Felicity’s embarrassment, she can’t help but think this is worth it for Jules’ reaction alone. She’s so very beautiful when she’s expressive and happy. Nate’s reaction, however, is another matter entirely.

“That doesn’t look like mom,” he says. It’s so uneasy, so quiet that Felicity might not have heard the eleven-year-old had she not been specifically listening for him.

“Oh, that’s me,” she tells him as she sits down next to her little boy and wraps an arm around him. “People change, Nate. We learn and grow and refine who we are as we do. I wasn’t born with dyed blonde hair and a pair of heels, you know.”

“Did you go listen to death metal while reading Anne Rice in the cemetery or…?” Jules asks. God, she’s so amused.

“No,” Felicity counters. And it’s true. She did not do those things… simultaneously, anyhow. “I mostly spent a lot of time on the dark web raging against The Man.”

“To be fair, The Man had it coming,” Jules acknowledges. “Do you still have that jacket somewhere?” she asks, a hopeful edge to her voice. The smile seems permanently affixed to her face at the moment and Felicity finds it’s contagious, spreading across her own lips even as she shakes her head at her daughter. “If you do, can I borrow it? That thing is vintage awesome.”

“Pretty sure I Goodwilled it before you were even born, but I’ll ask Grandma Donna if she happens to have it in a box somewhere since apparently she was hoarding things from my goth days,” Felicity replies.

“It doesn’t look like you,” Nate says again. He’s clearly having trouble processing this.

“Wait til you see the pictures of your dad,” Thea tells him, leaning in with a devilish grin. “There’s his mugshots of course, but there’s also one I like to call his serial killer picture.”

“No, I mean… it’s just…” Nate starts, his brow furrowing as he shakes his head and looks down at the picture of his mom. “It’s just, she looks like Jules.”

“Excuse you, I do not wear all black,” Jules protests with a snort.

“I didn’t mean that,” Nate huffs. “I mean she looks like you. Or, I guess you look like her. Just like her.”

Felicity looks back to the picture with fresh eyes. She hadn’t been thinking about the shot in terms of her older daughter, but now that it’s been suggested, she sees the likeness immediately and it’s way more than just genetics.

She’s nineteen in that shot, the same age Jules is now, and with her hair dark and her skin paler, she really does look strikingly similar to her daughter. Glancing up at Jules, she finds the teenager biting her lip and staring down at the picture with smiling eyes. Her cheeks are rosy and she’s only barely masking how deeply this affects her. It’s unexpected, but maybe it shouldn’t be. Her whole life, Jules has needed to see more of a connection to her parents, but fought against showing it.

“I’ve always seen a lot of myself in Jules,” Felicity says. Ostensibly, she’s responding to Nate, but in truth her words are for Jules. The girl’s eyes snap up to meet hers at the statement. There’s a soft sense of surprise and gratefulness there, a window into the vulnerability Jules so rarely shows, and Felicity finds herself mirroring the look almost exactly, a small smile tugging at the edges of her lips.

The moment is interrupted by the sound of the front door, though, and all four of them turn to find Ellie and Oliver returning from their run. They must have really pushed themselves because they’re both a sweaty mess and Felicity finds herself gnawing on her lower lip as she looks her husband up and down. He’ll be fifty next year, but he’s still in the best shape of anyone she’s ever met and she’s so affected by him that her skin tingles just at the sight of him. It’s like her nerves awaken whenever he’s near, like they’ve learned to anticipate his touch. By the time she finishes skimming her eyes down his body - and that takes a minute because his sweaty shirt is clinging to his abs and God damn but that’s worth spending some time looking at - she finds him looking back at her with a wolfish grin.

“Gross,” announces Thea loudly. “Save it for the bedroom, would you?”

“We didn’t do anything!” Felicity protests, head snapping to the side to look at her sister-in-law. Her flaming cheeks probably don’t work in her favor, though, and Thea clearly doesn’t buy a word of it.

“We could, though,” Oliver adds. And, oh… he’s in that kind of mood, then, isn’t he? Well that’s just delightful. Felicity finds herself distracted by trying to come up with plausible ways to escape with her husband without making it super obvious precisely what they’re doing, and the conversation around her only barely registers.

“Ew, Ollie,” Thea gags, wrinkling her nose.

“I don’t come into your house and give you a hard time about staring at your husband, do I?” Oliver asks.

“If you do, can I come? That sounds like fun,” Jules says.

“Why are adults gross?” Nate sighs dramatically.

“Hey, what’s up with the mopey look, Jules?” Ellie asks. It’s that last question that pulls Felicity back into the moment and she looks toward Ellie to find her quizzically appraising the photo on the coffee table. “That’s a little over-the-top for you, don’t you think?”

Part of Felicity wants to protest that it is not - in fact - over-the-top, but mostly she finds herself just blinking at her not-quite-sixteen year old daughter. She and Jules look a great deal alike, yes, but to be confused for each other by her own daughter…

“That’s your mom,” Oliver laughs, looking over Ellie’s shoulder.

“It is?” Ellie gasps, her eyes darting between the photo and her mother’s face and back again. “Really?”

“Really,” Thea confirms. “And that, my darling niece, is just the start of what I’ve brought along for the day. There’s a whole box where that came from. Just want til you see the goods I’ve got on your dad.”

“Thea,” Oliver groans.

“Fair is fair, brother-mine,” she tells him, her tone absurdly cheery. “I’ve been looking forward to this day too many years to turn back now.”

“Fine,” he sighs, relenting. He always caves when Thea’s involved. Felicity suspects he always has. His sister means so very much to him.

“Great!” Thea claps gleefully. “Shall we start with the mugshots or the party pictures? My personal favorite involves him drunkenly wearing someone else’s underwear as a hat while he and your Uncle Tommy played Twister with a bunch of sorority girls using dyed whipped cream.”

Nate turns so beat red at this idea that he looks like he’s got the worst sunburn in history and Felicity honestly feels bad for her poor, sensitive little boy.

“Dad!” Ellie protests with a sharp laugh, looking over her shoulder at her father who has his lips pressed tightly together as he nods at his sister.

“Keep it PG-13, Thea,” Oliver directs.

“Obviously,” Thea scoffs. “They can google for the rest of it.”

“No,” Felicity counters. “They really can’t. There are advantages to marrying a computer wiz, you know.”

“Have I mentioned lately how lucky Ollie is to have you?” Thea asks, head quirked to the side. “Because he is. Like, really lucky. Like ‘won the lotto’ lucky.”

“I’m aware,” Felicity smiles. “So is he for that matter.”

“Good,” Thea says crisply. “He should be. Now… back to my treasure trove of evidence from my darling brother’s less wholesome days.”

“This is gonna be a really long day, isn’t it?” Oliver asks, rubbing at his brow.

“Maybe for you,” Thea grins with a shrug as she grabs another photo from her box of evidence. “Now… kiddos… I present to you exhibit A…”

By the time Thea’s done, Felicity’s not sure who’s more embarrassed, Nate or Oliver, but Thea’s beyond gleeful at her presentation and that means a lot. Will stops by with a pile of laundry near the end and reacts pretty much opposite to his little brother. But then Will and Oliver have always had a lot in common and Felicity suspects he loves seeing the younger, goofier side of his father. Ellie mostly just shakes her head at her dad in some mixture of amusement and judgement, which is a combination that seems universal amongst fifteen-year-olds.

Jules, though… Jules pays little attention to the photographic evidence of her father’s boyhood antics. She winds up holding the picture of her mom, looking down at it with a soft kind of joy that rings entirely true. And Felicity… Felicity finds herself paying more attention to that than the teasing going on around her.

She’s not surprised at all when Jules slips that photo into her pocket, keeping it for herself. But she is surprised when Jules offers her a hug and a kiss on the cheek before she and Thea eventually make their way out back to work on the wheelchair art. Everyone else’s embarrassment aside, that reaction alone makes the entire day worth it. And, in spite of Nate’s suddenly inability to look his father in the eye and Ellie’s joyous taunting of her dad, Felicity’s pretty sure Oliver agrees. As Will raids their fridge, Nate scurries upstairs with his tablet and a few choice photos, and Ellie disappears to go take a shower, Oliver wraps his arms around Felicity and presses a lingering kiss to her temple.

“I love seeing her happy,” he says, looking toward the doorway Thea and Jules had disappeared through.

He could have meant either of them. His statement surely applies to both, but Felicity instinctively knows he means their daughter.

“She’s so beautiful when she smiles and laughs,” Felicity agrees, leaning back against him.

“Of course she is,” he says. A chuckle rumbles through his chest and she feels it through her whole body. “She looks just like you. And I’m so very glad she does.”

Felicity looks back over her shoulder at him with a blatantly affectionate smile, reaching up to touch his sweaty hair. She can’t mind. “You know… as much as I love this amazing hug, now we both need a shower.”

“We do,” he agrees, raising one eyebrow at her. It somehow manages to look suggestive and she unsuccessfully fights a shiver going down her spine at the sight of it. “We should probably shower together. It’s important to save water, after all.”

“Did you use that line on a girl after the whipped cream Twister game?” she asks. It’s all amusement at her husband’s expense.

“Not successfully,” he laughs. “If I remember correctly, Tommy shoved me into the pool and I wound up falling asleep on the lawn. I woke up to find someone - and by someone I mean Tommy - used a Sharpie to draw some dirty pictures on my chest.”

“It could’ve been worse,” Felicity points out. “It could’ve been on your face.”

“That’s how I know it was Tommy,” Oliver agrees. “Now about that shower…”

“Lead the way, stud,” Felicity winks. “Just don’t expect me to play whipped cream Twister on the way. I’m bendy, but I’m not that bendy.”

“Flexibility is all about practice,” Oliver grins widely, taking her by the hand and heading toward the stairs. “And I’m absolutely willing to help you train for that.”

She laughs at him, open and brightly. “So selfless of you, Oliver. Of course you are.”

He just grins, winks and - ultimately - follows through in a very, very thorough way.

Thank you for reading! Reviews literally feed the soul and muse, so go send some to @so-caffeinated!

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