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#when i saw it was published in 2018 i dropped my phone on my face
jjkeverlast · 1 year
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not me reading a fic from 2018 that basically predicted BTS ‘hiatus’ AND IT SAID 2022 AS WELL. i’m freaaaaaking out. naaauuuuuuur the paranoia i feel currently is out of level—
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radiowrites · 1 year
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I posted 2,064 times in 2022
14 posts created (1%)
2,050 posts reblogged (99%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@goneahead
@talesofsorrowandofruin
@distance-does-not-matter
@smittenbypoetry
@writerscreed
I tagged 2,057 of my posts in 2022
#writing - 1,290 posts
#lmao - 473 posts
#art - 211 posts
#fanfiction - 206 posts
#ghost hunt - 122 posts
#eye candy - 104 posts
#kpop - 85 posts
#fanart - 83 posts
#fma - 40 posts
#music - 35 posts
Longest Tag: 114 characters
#yeah i’ve learned if i want english language fanfic for a korean drama i’m probably going to have to write it haha
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
Ten Random Lines
Rules: Pick any ten of your fics, scroll to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. Then tag ten people.
I was tagged by @radio-chatter! Thanks so much. This one looks fun!
Tagging: @writercorianarose @thedemoninthecorner @dreams-of-kalopsia @shesailsships @eyeliner-vampire @alonelyturtle @goneahead @csakuras and anyone else with fanfics they want to play this game with!
Ah, nothing like finding an error in a years old fic when doing a tag game...
Anyway, on to the lines. I jumped all around with the ages of the fics, and tried to do so with the fandoms, but if you are familiar with my works, you know that Ghost Hunt will dominate the list.
House of Memories / Fandom: Memorist (k-drama)
We’re not that close, she had told him, even if it had been slightly in jest. She had no right to watch over his restless slumber.
2. Day One / Fandom: Ghost Hunt (manga)
Only Mai could recognize the slight hitch of emotion in his voice.
3. Fix Me / Fandom: Ghost Hunt (manga)
“What do I need to do? Give over some blood, recite some spells?”
4. Unchained Melody / Fandom: Tale of the Nine Tailed (k-drama)
The moment broke when the music on her phone changed to something harsh and jarring.
5. The Last of the Real Ones / Fandom: Ghost Hunt (manga)
Luella told Eugene she believed him, of course. Mainly because she knew Oliver wouldn’t mess up his room for a prank. But no, she had not felt it.
6. Rebel Just For Kicks / Fandom: Final Fantasy XV (game)
Noctis pulled the truck to the side and went around the car. Ignis could see the fear-stricken faces of the passengers within.
7. A Noble Vow / Fandom: Pandora Hearts (manga)
She didn’t want to fall into another stupor and risk saying something stupid again.
8. Lost in the Echo / Fandom: Ghost Hunt (manga)
He dropped her off about a block from her home, and they never saw each other again.
See the full post
8 notes - Posted December 11, 2022
#4
2021 Fic in Review
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Tagged by @radio-chatter! Thank you! ^^
Hi, I’m RaisedonRadio & FortressofmyPast on AO3 and FF.net. This is a tradition going on for years! Check out my prior year end posts: 2020, 2019, 2018, 2017, 2016, 2015.
Total Number Of Completed Works: 2
Total Word Count: 4729
Fandoms I’ve Written In: Ghost Hunt (Japanese anime/manga), Memorist (Korean drama).
Looking Back, Did You Write More Fic Than You Thought You Would This Year, Less, Or About What You’d Expected?
Less. This past week I had hoped to finish another WIP, but instead I took the time to digitize a bunch of writing that had been trapped in notebooks. It was actually a lot of fun, there were so many stories I had forgotten about. But, do you know what this means? I ADDED SO MANY WIPs. -_-;; XD
What’s Your Own Favorite Story Of The Year?
I like them both for vastly different reasons.
Did You Take Any Writing Risks This Year?
I wrote for a fandom that only had two other fics in it - one in a language I don’t speak and one a crossover. It was fun because I had to know I was going into it with no anticipation of reader interaction. Truly had to write it because I wanted to.
Do You Have Any Fanfic Or Profic Goals For The New Year?
I’d definitely like to write more. Finish a few of these WIPs hanging around.
Most Popular Story Of The Year?
It’s not right to pit these two fics against each other, they are for very different fandoms, and I literally published the one on December 27th, so…
But I do like to compare the stats for AO3 and FF.net: Call You Mine had 6 reviews/29 favs on FF.net, and 6 comments/34 kudos/9 bookmarks on AO3. That’s a big deal, in the past years Ghost Hunt fics would get much more interaction on FF.net, now AO3 is breaking even.
Story Of Mine Most Under-Appreciated By The Universe, In My Opinion:
I appreciate every comment, kudo, and fav. I know I say this every year, but it’s true. I write for relatively small fandoms and whenever a reader takes the time to say hi, my heart glows.
Most Fun Story To Write:
Call You Mine. I went into it with the desire to make something incredibly fluffy as a birthday gift and I think I succeeded.
See the full post
10 notes - Posted December 31, 2021
#3
First Lines Tag
Thanks for the tag, @talesofsorrowandofruin!
Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line, then tag some of your fellow authors!
I did a similar game to this a long time ago! It’ll be interesting to see if my opening style has changed any.
These are all fanfictions that can be found on my AO3. They were written from 2021 to 2017 are listed starting with the newest.
Some observations I found:
16 of the 20 are under 15 words long.
1 out of the 20 is in first person (but 3 of them could be, if just from the opening line.)
17 of the 20 introduce a character by name.
3 of the 20 open with dialogue.
My favorite? Probably from Rebel Just for Kicks.
Tagging!
@writercorianarose @thedemoninthecorner @dreams-of-kalopsia @radio-chatter @csakuras @scribblesandsorcery and anyone else that has first lines they want to share! Tag me!
1.
At first, Seon Mi didn’t give the last words of Jin Jae Gyu any weight.
- House of Memories, Memorist
2.
It was the weekend.
- Call You Mine, Ghost Hunt
3.
Masako Hara paused at the street corner.
- Waste It On Me, Ghost Hunt
See the full post
12 notes - Posted January 21, 2022
#2
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I think I made like one post about Nanowrimo this month, but just wanted to say whoa! I hit 50k words! I had no idea what to expect going in when I had decided to start barely two weeks before November.
I definitely challenged my perfectionism when it comes to writing first drafts and just getting the words down, and that was my goal.
I’m ready to leave these characters alone for a bit and go dust off a few fanfictions starting in December, ha!
13 notes - Posted November 28, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖
Oh interesting, I've never done this before!
Since 31 of my 45 fics are from the manga/anime Ghost Hunt, that's going to dominate the list, but I'll stick in one different fandom just to prove I do write occasionally for others!
Hello everyone, I am RaisedonRadio & FortressofmyPast on AO3 and FF.net. Here is five of my favorite works by yours truly.
Lin's List
A list of 25 things for Lin to refrain from - and keep Oliver from doing - during their stay in Japan. As suggested by Madoka Mori.
A humorous little oneshot under 1000 words. An oldie that has aged well.
The Last of the Real Ones
Being determined to expose them all as frauds might mean losing a piece of himself along the way.
I will admit, I am a oneshot writer. So here is one of like, two chaptered works in my portfolio (not including oneshot collections).
A piece that focuses on a young Oliver when his paranormal skills start to take over his life.
Same Old Lang Syne
Should old acquaintances be forgotten, and never brought to mind?
A post-series look at if the gang drifted apart. Yes, it's based after the Dan Fogelberg song.
Lost in the Echo
Can you call it a reunion if you’ve never met before?
A look into one of Ghost Hunt's biggest mysteries - the death of Eugene Davis.
And the honorary mention fandom, for a kdrama titled Tale of the Nine Tailed:
Unchained Melody
He’s teaching her to drive, why can’t he teach her to dance, too?
I don't normally fall for non canon couples, but I fell hard for Rang and Yu Ri.
Thanks for reading!
14 notes - Posted May 22, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
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feelingofcontent · 2 years
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DNP Rewatch: What Dan and Phil Text Each Other
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Date video was published: 07/15/2018 (X)
DNP Main Channel Rewatch: 380
The first texting video! And the last main channel video posted during the II tour. (Although we saw their faces a lot in live shows, gaming videos, and on Instagram and stories.)
0:00 - the fact that basically all their clothes on tour also matched the branding was commitment (although much easier for Dan, lol). also, crammed together on the smallest seat in the bus. sure, makes sense
0:28 - lol at Dan’s interpretive dancing? in to back up what Phil is saying
0:45 - that does not seem like the best way to send and save files you might need again
0:50 - lost of gesture mirroring here
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1:01 - “I realized we text each other the weirdest stuff” after seeing two videos worth...huge understatement, hahaha
1:14 - appropriate, and also hilarious emoji choices to represent them here
1:27 - lol at Dan doing the thinking face
1:30 - until the second texting video when they seem to send a lot of animojis
1:32 - both of them just smiling at it
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1:41 - so based on the timestamp of that first one from Dan’s new phone, all the texts they’re showing in this video are basically from 2018
1:45 - of course. great, completely normal start 😂
2:09 - something I love in this whole video is how they both know exactly what tone they meant when sending the texts and are doing that intonation when reading them out loud
2:15 - also, not the first or apparently even second time Phil had dropped his glasses in the toilet. a real day-to-day concern of his
2:20 - absolutely zero personal space in this video
2:15 - I LOVE this look at their collaboration. also laughing at the thought of them leaving jokes for the other to find in unpublished video titles and such
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2:52 - it really isn’t that much better 😂
3:16 - Dan typo number one. also Phil must text from both his phone and his computer sometimes, I’m guessing, but the way his switch from auto-caps being on or not
3:20 - love that they were both thinking of comparing it to Phil’s pizza incident and sent those at probably the same time
3:38 - “we have a noise for that” help 🥺 they’re so strange but they’re so strange together and it’s great
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2:52 - that’s a picture Phil also shared on Instagram, from when he was visiting his family in early March before they left for the tour
4:08 - wonder if this is from the same time when Phil was with his family...also Dan still playing Rock Band in 2018 is something
4:12 - “I still love it when you do typos” god Phil, could you sound any fonder 😭
4:29 - definite Phil-bait
4:34 - in both texting videos, Phil with the umm...sexy Instagram ads
4:49 - ahahaha at Phil’s little shrug
5:06 - they really do share a sense of humor, huh
5:27 - “this is peak Dan and Phil...this encapsulates us” really setting this one up
5:32 - “I’m on my way back to Phil” okay there loud-Dan
5:41 - how when Dan just sends a “..” then does Phil know it’s something else he should ask about
6:00 - christ Phil looks so fond about the rat
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6:06 - but now getting into some texts from during the tour
6:07 - that looks painful
6:11 - Phil looks shocked that he’s going to get his leg out but then immediately checks to see if it will be in frame, lol. “leg out for the lads” didn’t even phase me by this point of 2018
6:24 - am surprised Dan managed to injure himself like that rather than Phil
6:32 - they don’t show timestamps on most of the screenshots, but this one is from mid-European leg of the tour in Helsinki
6:47 - even if they have separate hotel rooms, they’re still figuring out which one to get together in
7:00 - this hilarious tiny window! Dan’s text reactions to it are fantastic. he can’t even.
7:45 - Phil was amused by “nose deaf”
8:06 - the upside down smiley emoji from Phil 😂
8:19 - oh Phil...not good
8:48 - must have been recent as Phil remembers what he couldn’t find
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8:53 - this “dramatic reading” is one of my favorite parts of this video...particularly Phil’s “Tell me every detail”
9:29 - that is loud; tour bus filming must have had a lot of interruptions
9:51 - is this even that funny? they certainly think so
10:13 - absolutely love sassy-Dan
10:26 - that is a large pigeon. this is pre-Steve
10:37 - did Dan just text Phil that emoji when he could see him across the airport or something?
10:56 - they had read this one in the PINOF 9 bloopers. although they said “work them” instead of “stretch them” in that video. I’m guessing the text in this one is the accurate one since it’s a full screenshot
11:05 - love that Dan knows they shared this but has no clue where 😂
11:19 - I know there was hot debate on whether they censored something from above “all the dips,” but I don’t think so. the way Dan seems to text is to send every thought/line as a separate message. we don’t see him use a line break in any other text we see, so I’m thinking he just accidentally had hit enter before typing
11:26 - truly do not understand Phil’s capitalization
11:27 - absolutely love this bit too
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11:41 - another one of those Dan lines that randomly goes through my head
11:50 - awww at the wild Dan-hair and casual filming
12:07 - Dan survived a sequel...although not with the old phones, lol
This is still one of my favorite videos. Although it’s definitely been overtaken by the 2021 texting video. Still in shock that we have a pco-era sequel now. The texting in this one is not quite as weird, lol. Maybe because they didn’t share those with us here, or because they were outside/apart more for the texts in this one, rather than mostly texting each other from inside the same house.
This video was posted mid-American leg of the tour before they went on to Australia and New Zealand, and then around Asia. They were finally back home in London on September 22.
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paroxysmal-distaste · 3 years
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acatalepsy. || prologue
copied and pasted from my wattpad, excuse the old writing.
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playlist.  0.  1.  2.  3.  4.  5.  6.  7.  8.  9.  10.  11.  12. ----- ◈ Chapter 0 - Prologue ◈ ◈ Date Published: 24/12/2018 ◈ ◈ Word Count: 2147 ◈ -----
UNKNOWN DAY IN AN UNFAMILIAR UNIVERSE
"What the hell are we doing in here?"
"Lighten up! You barely leave the house anyways."
"Yeah yeah yeah, you don't need to remind me. Did you bring the flashlight I asked you to bring?"
"I thought you were taking it."
You face palmed.
Recently, there's been a train accident where it's said to be believed that the tunnel was haunted. Everyone thought this was true because apparently there would be less people onboard after going through the tunnel than before. Almost like they were taken by something.
You thought it was bullshit.
The area had already been blocked off, but that doesn't stop your adventure loving friend from dragging you into her curiosities. In a way, you had always admired that about her, but other times you saw it as a flaw. One of those times being now.
"Mags?"
"Hm?"
"Can I go now?"
"No."
You rolled your eyes and frowned, speeding up your pace to keep up with her, "Wait up, will you?"
"Does your phone have any battery?" She questioned, ignoring your comment.
"Just a bit, I don't know if it will be enough though, especially since the flashlight takes up a lot of it."
"Turn it on for a moment, I can't see where I'm going." The both of you lifted up the Caution, Keep Out! police tape as you carefully stepped over the rumble. The atmosphere surrounding the place was giving you the chills, and you shivered quietly.
"Can we speed this up a little? I'm getting the creeps." You stated blandly, subconsciously tightening your grip around your backpack straps. You kicked a squashed can of Sprite to the left of you.
"Give me a hand with this." Mags gestured for you to help her with what seemed to be a large part of debris from the crash.
"Alright, but if it accidentally drops on your foot or something and it breaks, don't blame me." You raised your hands up comically and pursed your lips, before dropping them loosely to your sides. You grunted as your fragile hands attempted to pull off a large chunk of concrete from the side of the tunnel.
"You know, you're acting kind of weird. What's the rush? You don't have somewhere to be, right?" She asked abruptly.
You froze,"N-no, what makes you say that?" Your body stiffened as your friend squinted her eyes at you suspiciously.
"You seem to be in a really big hurry for some reason and you don't usually care when I pull you around on these trips."
You lifted your arms and shoulders, turning your head to the side, "I-I don't know, I think I'm just tired I guess."
"You're a terrible liar! You're meeting up with someone aren't you?" She placed her hands on her hips and neared you, making you back away nervously.
"Pffft- whaaaaaat? No way." You tugged at your turtleneck, "It's getting a little hot in here. Mind if I just-" Just as you were going to push past her, she said something that made you pause.
"It's Miles, isn't it?" The constant shifting of your eyes made her own widen and her lips to curve into a smile. "I knew it! You can't hide anything from me!"
"Shush! I was going to tell you, but I didn't know if I would call it anything yet." You fiddled with your hands in an antsy way, before pushing a strand of loose hair behind your ear.
"Ooo, you have to tell me what happened!"
"He just asked me out, that's all!"
"That's all! What do you mean- that's great!"
Your face reddened as she hugged you, "Stop... you're making it seem bigger than it is."
Mags nudged you suggestively, before walking forward. "I'll drop it. For now."
After a moment or two, a giant hole in the wall was finally revealed, and your friend carefully put a foot in the gap, trying to squeeze their way in.
"I can't get in! I think I'm stuck." She murmured, her voice echoing since half her body was left through the wall and her legs were kicking up and down in panic.
You snickered at her flailing limbs, and you could hear her getting cross at your lack of helpful action.
Something made a clicking sound, and you shielded your eyes from the sudden bright light in your face. It flickered for a moment, and a loud horn sound blew.
"M-Mags." You tugged at the bottom of her jacket, your eyes widening as you noticed that the light was from an incoming train.
"Huh?" She questioned, "I can't see! What's going on?"
Your face paled as you began to roughly tug at her legs, accidentally slipping one of her shoes off. "Dammit! A train's coming!"
"I thought there weren't supposed to be any trains seen this place had been closed off!"
"Yeah, well, it's not going to be stopping anytime soon - let me help you, stop kicking!"
Just as Mags was easing herself out of the hole, something made you pause momentarily.
Something tickled your arm, and instantly, you began to mentally freak out. Whatever it was, if you made any sudden movements, you were sure it was going to harm you.
"Ow! Something bit me!"
Never mind.
A burning sensation began to occur on your palm, and it felt as if your skin was falling off. You tried your best to not yell out in pain, since you and Mags were trying your best to get out of the place alive.
"I'm out! Quick! Hurry up, it's coming!"
You snapped your head to look behind you, seeing the lights coming closer. Turning your attention back to what was in front of you, a few metres forward was Mags with her hand extended, waiting for you to grab it.
The train seemed to get closer every second, and you bolted forward, almost tripping over the tracks.
You finally managed to clasp your hand around your friend's, and she hoisted you up immediately.
It was right on time too, because the train violently broke through the large concrete rumble, and continued going ahead at full speed.
The rubble of rocks flew everywhere, causing both you and Mags to fall backwards and to scoot backwards with your hands.
"Oh my goodness." You ran a shaky hand through your hair, which was now messed up. By doing so, a striking pain ran through your arm again, and it brought attention to what happened earlier.
You breathed in through your teeth, as Mags grabbed your hand gently in worry.
"I think it was a spider, but it must have been a pretty nasty one because it hur- gah! Careful!" You snatched your hand away from her grasp, making her stumble out a 'sorry'.
"Let's just get out of here." You frowned at her before walking out of the subway, her footsteps following quick behind.
You stared at your hand curiously, wondering what sort of bug would produce a large wound and sensation like that.
A radioactive spider definitely didn't cross your mind.
---
You ended up cancelling on Miles, and it made you feel terrible since you were really looking forward to your 'hangout'. He had invited you to go rollerblading with him, since he knew you loved it.
What you told him was that you weren't feeling very well, but you promised you would make it up to him.
That bite from a week before, was no ordinary bite. Your daily life was increasingly difficult, from accidentally ripping papers the second you tried to remove it from your own fingers, to climbing walls.
You did put two and two together, and realise that it must have been during that train episode because that's where you first started feeling weird.
Going out for a walk, you hummed the song that was playing through your headphones and looked around at the lights and streets of Brooklyn.
The moment was short lived though, since what happened next was only made aware to you when you heard an extremely high pitched scream. It must have been pretty loud since your headphones are always full volume, which signalled that something was seriously wrong.
You pulled your hoodie down, and carefully removed your headphones to find out what was happening.
Another villain.
And Kid Arachnid - as everyone called him - was saving the city once again. You had never seen him in action up close, and it only took you a few moments to notice that his abilities were the same ones that you had.
Your fingers began to tingle, and you looked down at them, slightly startled at the realisation. Were you just like him? You didn't know, and a small part of you wished you were. It would be interesting becoming a hero and fighting alongside Kid Arachnid.
A loud yell pierced your thoughts again, and you jumped at the sudden sound.
A car was thrown your way, but a string of webs managed to prevent it from going any further.
You looked up to see your saviour, who was now struggling to fight against the person opposing him.
A strong urge to help was almost forcing you to get up and assist him, but your fears held you back.
The villain seemed to have said something to him that alarmed him, because he ended up grabbing you and holding you up.
"Y/N!"
Wait, Y/N? How does he- His voice. I know that voice. Of course I do, I could recognise it a mile away. A mile...
Miles.
Everything that happened next was a blur, and you still couldn't process it. Before you knew it, you were free from the malefactor but in exchange for the well-being of someone else.
"Miles." You whispered, before running over to where he was laying. Almost instantly, you moved him off of the wreckage to make him feel a little more comfortable instead of having sharp rocks digging into his back.
"Miles- are you o-okay?" You managed to cry out. "You didn't have to do that!" You kneeled down to his level, unsure how to treat him.
"I did anyways though, didn't I?" He grinned and stated in a raspy voice. Of course that was his response.
"I-I should have gone to our meetup- maybe then I wouldn't have disappointed you, and left things like this. I-I-It's all my f-fault and-"
"Y/N. It's not your fault. This was bound to happen eventually." He was cut off when he gave out a weak cough.
Your hands shook vigorously as you placed them over Miles' cheek, using one to pull off his mask.
He smiled delicately when he saw you a little clearer, and he pushed the strand of hair that was sticking out behind your ear. "You always did have those little bits of hair pointing out all the time."
Your laugh made the tears that were brimming your eyes fall down on his chin.
Miles' eyes trailed to his stomach, where a large and deep, bleeding cut was held. There was no way he was recovering from that.
Suddenly, he squinted, and a pressure built into your head. It felt like a headache, but it actually felt nice. His eyes widened at you, and he smiled.
"Y-you're like me."
"W-what?"
He didn't reply, and his eyes were beginning to close.
"Miles. Miles! Answer me!" You tried your best to try to shake him awake without damaging him, but he wouldn't wake up. "M-Miles...?"
You stood up carefully.
This happened way too fast. First you get bitten by a radioactive spider, next your crush, best friend and also the city's super hero dies in your arms.
You couldn't even cry anymore, because you were still processing what had just happened. The villain was still on the loose.
Of course, at this point, you were fully aware that what ever caused Miles to be as skilled as he was, also got you.
It was a spider.
You dug your fingers into your fist until your knuckles turned white.
If there isn't going to be anymore Kid Arachnid, then there needed to be someone else to be there for him. Not to take his place, but rather, in his memory.
An idea started to form into your mind.
Chapter 1 >
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nekoannie-chan · 4 years
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Snow
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Pairing: Brock Rumlow X Reader.
Word count: 1124 words.
Summary: This is your first snow, so you wanna enjoy it.
Warnings: None.
A/N: This is my entry to the @bluehenley‘s Blue’s 21st birthday writing challenge with the “something I love” prompt #5:
“Playing with the snow”.
This story is based on my experience, my first snow was when I lived in Japan in 2017-2018.
My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it. 
I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.
My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.
If you like it please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.
Tag: @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​
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“A snowfall is expected from four o'clock in the afternoon, it is speculated that it will be the strongest of the last ten years,” the news anchor announced.
As soon as you heard those words, you turned to the TV and smiled
"I hope Stark has a robot to clean the track or the place," Brock said annoyed.
"Is it going to snow!?" you asked with excitement.
Before anyone could say anything, you left the living room to the dining room. 
"I don't understand why he gets so excited,” Brock murmured. 
"I’ll never understand how Y/N is in love with you, Rumlow you're a party pooper," Nat replied.  
She had come to hear your boyfriend's comment while he rolled his eyes, it was just snow, and it wasn't the big thing, it happened every year, besides you were no longer children.
"When will it start snowing?" you asked Nat excitedly.  
"He said after four o'clock in the afternoon, so be patient," she replied.  
"I can't, I need to see it now,” you said and pouted
“It’s just snow…?”
“I’ve never seen it before, it's my first time, in my country it doesn't snow," you explained.
"Have you never seen or been in the snow?" the spy questioned in disbelief.  
"No, can I make a snowman and play? “ 
"Hmm... Yes... I guess... but first you have to let enough snow accumulate," Nat replied.
"How long is it gonna take?"  
"Perhaps at night, as there is a sufficient amount."  
Nat left soon, however you didn't stop seeing out the window, the snow was starting to fall, you took out your cell phone and started recording it, and you thought it was amazing, although now you had several questions, would it have any flavor? Would the temperature be cold? Would it be difficult to walk in it?
"Babe, what are you doing?" Brock asked when he saw you in the window. 
"Recording the snow falling," you answered without looking at him.  
Brock sighed, he couldn't understand the emotion that caused you, if it was normal.
"Why are you recording it? It’s something normal, you look like a little girl," Brock complained. 
 "In my country, it doesn't snow, it's the first time I've seen it," you clarified.
Brock was stunned, he knew you weren't from the United States, you'd joined the team two years ago, and however, the two winters you hadn't been in the country. 
"So it's the first time you've seen snow," he said to himself.  
You ignored the comment and kept recording, Brock kept thinking for a few minutes, 
"Do you wanna make a snowman later?" he proposed. 
 "Really!?" you asked excitedly.  
You stopped recording, you separated from the window, you went to where he was and you hugged him
“Yeah, yeah.”
"Brock, you know you're not fooling me with that bad boy facade,” you whispered with your face against his chest.  
"You know it will cost you," he seductively mentioned.
You laughed softly, you didn't care, in the end, you were going to have fun paying for it, too. By nine o'clock at night everything was completely covered in snow, you were ready to go out when Brock saw you.  
"Where are you going?" your boyfriend questioned you.  
"To play in the snow."  
"You can't go out like this without covering yourself up, you're going to get sick," he scolded you as he took your arm to stop you.  
"But..." 
"No ‘buts’ missy or you don't go out."
Brock let you go, he went to the coat rack near the door, you winced, within a few seconds, he came back with a snow jacket, gloves, scarf, and boots for both you and him. 
"We're going to need them," he said with a smile as he gave you the clothes. 
He helped you put on your jacket and scarf, you took it by your hand and they came out, you were practically going as fast as you could, the moment came when you let it go and started spinning as you raised your face to feel the snow, you decided to try a flake... although it had no taste, then you tried to run, but it was difficult, you hadn't even noticed that there was a part where the snow wasn't firm and you fell, Brock hastened to see if you were, he found you lying there laughing.
“If you lie down, extend your arms and then move them up and down, you can make an angel," your boyfriend suggested.  
You looked at him a little skeptical, however, you laid down and did what he had told you, for a moment you felt a little silly, then he extended his arm and took your hand to help you up, you left it and once you were already standing you turned to see the figure you had made, in the end, he had been right if it was the angel’s silhouette. 
After a while, they started gathering the snowballs to make the snowman, for a moment you thought that the cold would seep through the gloves, but it wasn't, although if you felt the cold on your face even though it wasn't annoying, Brock took some branches of a tree that had fallen off from the weight of the snow.
The snowballs you did were huge, you had tried to climb on each other without success, and it was very heavy. 
Brock approached and accommodated them, then gave you the branches and a carrot to place on the snowman’s face, after which you admired the finished snowman. 
"Do you want a picture with the snowman?" asked Brock.  
You jumped in and stood next to the snowman, Brock took several pictures, you crouched down and formed a little snowball without him noticing, you got up and threw it at him, and the snowball fell exactly into his face.
"What the fuck!" Brock exclaimed surprised.  
You dropped a naughty giggle and threw another one at him.  
"Ah... so you want to play, " Brock mumbled.   
Now he was the one who threw a snowball at you, which you didn't expect, following snowballs throwing at each other while running, sometimes trying to hide, you kept laughing until almost a bike passing through the place runs you over. 
"Careful idiot!" yelled Brock at him as he got you out of the way.
"Isn't it dangerous to go on a bicycle with all this snow?" you questioned.  
You just finished the question when you saw the bike boy fall off the slippery floor, laughed, and continued your snowball fight until Brock tackled you by throwing you on the snow-filled floor.
“I won!” he said jubilantly.
“Thanks.”
“Why?”
“For everything, I love you, Brock.”
“I love you more.”
He kissed you.
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dickshardblog · 4 years
Text
For Russia With Love: The Tara Reade Story?
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There are three women I know of now whose name is pronounced Tar-uh Reed. Tara Reid is an actress who starred in the Sharknado franchise. Tara Reed is an artist and designer. She designed my favorite coffee mug.  And now I've learned that there is a Tara Reade, who used to work for Joe Biden.
When I heard about the allegation that Tara Reade made against Joe Biden, I was deeply disturbed. Were Biden's hands on shoulders, close-ear talking, hair petting, and hugs something more than just an overly-affectionate guy with boundary issues and a lack of understanding of personal space? It had always looked uncomfortable, but innocent, to me. And, if it's innocent, I find it strangely endearing, despite the fact that I don't personally like to be touched by strangers.
He's not just overly familiar with females. For every picture of Joe Biden petting a little girl's hair, there's another of him with his arms around a man, gazing into his eyes, or practically kissing his ear. I could do a Google image search and come up with some pretty compelling visual evidence that Joe Biden is in love with several men. He's not. At least, I don't believe so. Some people are huggers. And Joe Biden is a hugger extraordinaire.
I think the world no longer tolerates that, but I also think it is both innocent and changeable behavior. Unlike Trump, Biden does have some sense of self-awareness, can listen to criticism, and make changes.
I'll be honest:  I really don't want the allegations to be true. I do have that bias, and I will freely admit it. I always have that bias. No matter who it is. Like any regular person, I don't want sexual assault to happen. I would hope we all have that bias. I hope that none of us would wish a woman had been sexually assaulted so we could have some ammunition against a political opponent. But I know better. There are plenty of people who really hope Biden did exactly what Reade says he did. And we all know it does happen, of course.
Tara Reade's story, when I first heard it, sounded credible. In a public, yet deserted hallway, Biden pinned her to a wall, groped her, kissed on her, and asked if she wanted to go somewhere else. When she reacted negatively, he said, "Come on, Man, I heard you liked me." Shit. That sounds like Joe Biden, I can hear him saying that. So, it sounds bad. I agree that we should listen to women. We should take them seriously. We should look into their allegations and dig until we find the truth. I let other people do the investigative journalism. I found their articles, checked their sources and compiled a pretty decent collection of truths that form a pretty cohesive picture.
Here's the truth that I have found:
In 2009, Reade wrote an article commending Biden's work on the Violence Against Women act. The same year, she wrote another article claiming that she'd left DC because her husband had received a job offer to manage a Congressman's campaign in the Midwest, and she'd moved with him.
From late 2016 to early 2017, she had a Twitter account using her newly married name, Tara McCabe.  She used this platform to praise Biden on multiple occasions.  She retweeted him saying, "My old boss speaks truth. Listen." This Twitter account also featured a lot of anti-Russia, anti-Putin sentiment.
Then, in 2018, she writes in an Op Ed for Medium which praises Russia and Putin, that she left Washington because she "saw the reckless imperialism of America and the pain it caused through out the world," and because she loved Russia with all her heart. In this article she describes Putin as a "compassionate, caring, visionary leader."
She wrote several pro-Russia, pro-Putin articles during this time, gushing over him, saying, "President Putin has an alluring combination of strength with gentleness. His sensuous image projects his love for life, the embodiment of grace while facing adversity. It is evident that he loves his country, his people and his job … President Putin’s obvious reverence for women, children and animals, and his ability with sports is intoxicating to American women … And like most women across the world, I like President Putin… a lot, his shirt on or shirt off.”
Then in 2019, she's all in for Bernie Sanders. She wrote another article, with yet a different reason for leaving, this one with the harassment allegation attached. "Then, I went to Senate personnel for help. No one helped me. I resigned or I would say, I was forced to resign."  The report she says she filed doesn't seem to exist.
When she started attacking Biden publicly, she also resumed denouncing Putin. Putin was bad again. When the media dug up her old articles praising Putin, she deleted them. Too late, of course. They can no longer be found where they were originally published, but copies were made. She now claims they were part of a novel she was writing that was set in Russia. They were clearly op-eds, not notes for a novel. No novelist I know of publishes their novel notes as op-eds while they're working on the book.
There are a whole lot of other inconsistencies, people she says she told about the incident denying any knowledge, her brother pointedly changing his story, an old neighbor of hers coming forward to say she wouldn't trust a word Reade says, and countless other glowing red flags.  But this blog is already so very long, and I haven't even gotten to the meat of what I want to talk about yet. This has all just been background, the evidence I followed to form my theory of what is going on with this. And I want to get it down before I read it somewhere else.
I've got a theory! It could be Russia!
Okay, hear me out. Here's what I think might have happened:
Sometime in late 2017 or early 2018, Reade somehow becomes involved in communications with Russia, a political operative, maybe even someone in the government. Hell, perhaps even Putin himself, a highly unlikely prospect, of course. But not outside the realm of possibility. I wouldn't be surprised to hear that Putin maintains a stash of burner phones and carries on flirtatiously with American Women in his spare time. It's the stuff of spy novels, sure. Yeah, it's far-fetched, but allow me my fantastic imaginings. I am a fiction writer, after all.
But a Russian political operative of some kind becomes romantically involved long-distance with Reade. Of course it's not a real relationship, not on the Russian side. They are just using American citizens as sleeper agents they can prompt to stir up shit when it would cause the most damage.
Reade is manipulated to turn against Joe Biden and encouraged to back Bernie Sanders. Now, an aside at this point. I like Bernie. I would vote for Bernie, I'd love to see him as President. I don't believe that Bernie Sanders or his campaign are involved in any collusion with the Russian government in any way, and both he and his campaign openly discourage Russian meddling. None-the-less, there still exists evidence that Russia has interfered in ways favorable to Sanders and his campaign. Russia doesn't want Bernie Sanders as President, but some of Sanders more rabid supporters are very easily influenced by carefully placed fake news stories and are extremely useful at stirring up political infighting on the left. Alright, back to my theory.
At this time, she's also advised to stop praising Russia, so as not to raise any suspicion. And, finally, to drop that allegation bomb on Joe Biden right when it would do the most damage. Hopefully to allow Bernie Sanders to overtake Biden for the nomination, but, failing that, at least send Joe limping into the General.
Yes. In a nutshell, I think the Tara Reade allegation is simply more Russian meddling of the same sort that has been going on all along. I think, in some form or another, she is a Russian agent. Maybe there is no spy novel romance going on. Perhaps she's just being paid. But this whole thing stinks of Russia, and Russia's fingerprints are all over it.
But, hey, what do I know? I'm just a fiction author with a good imagination
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hg80summer-blog · 3 years
Text
Untitled or (The flute of Azathoth)
(This story is conceived and finished during the Fall of 2018)
Newspapers as a dying medium had struggled for a while by now, and the descent into the complete and utter abyss of extinction seemed to be accelerating in a jaw-dropping velocity. There was no wonder why her press was struggling financially, every newspaper outlet was, hers was just more severe. She was now standing in the line, waiting for her coffee, and that bastard of a teenager standing in front of her was texting on his phone while blasting loud and obnoxious music out of that headset around his neck, which kinda defeats the purpose of a headset. She was beyond annoyed, of course.
“Kid.”
The kid raised his head up, saw this middle aged red-haired woman standing right in front of him.
“What?”
“Would you mind turning off the music.” She said, tried to be as kind as possible, “This is a coffee shop, not a public park, nor it is the subway, though you really shouldn’t be doing this kind of stuff in those places either.”
The kid turned off the music, visibly fuming, but didn’t say a word.
She smiled. Proud of her own work, of talking a kid out of his annoying and selfish behavior. The line before her had shrunk, and now finally after a 20 mins long wait, which for sure would be the reason that she would be late for work again today, it was her turn to order the coffee.
The guy behind the counter was visually disgusting. Obviously of his teenage, pimples and blemishes were all over his cheeks, two bloodshot eyes suggested an intense binge the night before, or the influences of pots. Droopy nose, dull gazes, and a messily worn uniform, all permeated the sense of purposelessness and a faineant. She chuckled to herself, found that description of the cashier formed by her own head to be extremely amusing.
“Miss!” The teen was almost shouting at that point. “What can I help you with today?”
“Um...” She came back from her daze, “A cup of coffee will do. Lots of cream lots of sugar.”
As she held the hot coffee with both of her hands to help combat the chilling weather of the recent days, the front door was pushed open and a gust of breeze rushed into the store. Then the door just stayed open, and the cold air just kept pestering her scarfed neck. Finally, after a few moments of tolerance, she turned her head to see who was so irresponsible to not even close the door on their way in.
It was a sickly obese man sitting in a wheelchair, trying to get through the narrow doorway of the coffee store. The staff came to his help, but his scooter was just way too big to fit in. His oily face was filled with anger and the expression of dissatisfaction and discontent, his floppy arms were flying in the air, and his mouth was uttering the voice of complaint. Those who had suffered greater for a better cause, and now there is this fat guy standing in front of the coffee place wailing at the waiter because the door was too small for him and his enormous scooter. She tittered at the concept, took another sip of the coffee.
They didn’t put enough cream in it. It was bitter. 
* * *
“So. Are you free tomorrow?”
She raised her head.
“Hilbert.” She sighed.
“Are you that disappointed to see me?” The man languidly leaning on the glass panel of her cubicle was wearing a grey sweater, and always had been wearing a grey sweater.  Ever since the first day she met him, he was wearing a grey sweater. He pushed his glasses up with the back of his hand, “What are you working on right now?”
“Editing the report of that one ghetto.”
“How is it.”
“It’s um… it’s alright.”
“It’s interesting. It’s not… great?”
“Well, you know.” She turned her gaze back onto the screen.
“Listen, you care for a drink?”
The blue light illuminated her face, drenched her expressionless features with a somber tone. The cubicles of their publishing house were all so small and squishy, and dark as well for some reason, the light just couldn’t reach here it seemed. She often compared this place to that torture chamber in Edgar Allen Poe’s short story, where a pendulum axe was hanging above the stomach of the tortured inmate, and as time run off it would slowly descent and brings the inevitable doom to the poor soul, presenting the most gruesome death to any spectator too sick to not turn their eyes away. Weren’t they the readers? The idea popped up in her head just as her gaze locked on the statistics provided in the article that she was editing. The article was riddled with grammatical errors and faulty statistics, to the point of near incoherence. The writer of the piece was this overweight old fart, who practically lived in the publishing house since he owned no property whatsoever besides all his stationeries, the old fashioned typewriter of his and a seldom working printer, along with all those borderline trash hoarded in his own dorm room. He divorced a decade ago, lost his house to his wife, estranged with his son and daughter, and had been diagnosed to be severely diabetic. Though he had one thing to be proud of -- being the oldest employee of this publishing house, working here for at least twenty-something years. She found that funny, very funny. The old fart had lost all his abilities to write an adequate article for the press, but the house would never fire him just because he was the most senior member of them all. The reader was the sick one. She realized. When the reader read that short story, they were the one expecting the axe to cut the man in two, and even though in that story of Poe’s, the man escaped, but if theoretically the axe did come down and the man did got split into two parts, the reader would not turn away from the gore, because they yearned for it.  
“I presumed you don’t have anything to do this afternoon.”
“No.” She then realized he was still there. “I am free.”
“Care for a drink in my place?”
“How is your work?”
“It’s um… it’s alright. I need to review a play before I could go any further though, so that is bummer.”
“Tea?” She pulled out her draw, “Got some bags here. I could get you a cup if you want.”
“No thanks… listen…”
“Ey.” The receptionist, April, walked to her cubicle, with a commanding tone of voice and an everlasting despise on her face, “Someone was at the door. He said he came to see you.”
Obsequious sycophant, the harlot blew our boss under the desk. But it was rather a pleasant surprise. She had no relatives around this state, let alone with this city, nor did she have any friends laying around, so someone coming to visit her during work was actually a change of pace that she was not expecting.
“He said his name was John.”
The bench in the front door bore quite a bit of history actually. This press house was fairly old after all, but before its time, the building was actually a police station for the local towns. The bench was there for those who were arrested to have a rest before being dragged into whatever room that was needed for them to be dragged into. Unlike those things, the bench remained.
“I got you some tea.” She said.
He took the cup with the coaster, took a sip, and an expression of disgust emerged on his face.
“You never liked my tea, uh?” She said. “You never liked it, not even for a day.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You said that quite often, actually.” She sat down on the other end of the bench, “How is ma?”
He frowned at the question, took another sip of the tea. It was bitter. She knew it. She made it that way, and she wanted to say she made it that way unconsciously, but it really was not that convincing, not even to herself.
“She was feeling better.” He said. “She is feeling better.”
“Like how? Has she gone back home yet?”
“She is feeling better.”
“Is she still in the hospital?”
“You should be asking her that instead of me.”
“What do you mean I should be asking her?” She said, unintentionally raising and heating up her voice.
“I mean you should go ask her how she is.” He said, then he took a huge gulp of the tea, swallowing it with a painful and totally not exaggerated countenance.
“You do not like the tea. I see.”
“I did not say that.”
“You did.” Anger brewed within her, and slowly but surely she was edging on the cliff of an outburst. “You hate my tea. You always had. Now stop jumping all over the place. I know how much of a busy gentleman you are, and coming to visit me was merely the byproduct of a trip or something. How is ma doing? Answer me!”
“DON’T YOU TALK TO ME LIKE THAT!” He suddenly yelled out, almost spilling the rest of the tea, “I AM YOUR BROTHER!” Acerbate, his eyes bloodshot, and veins walled off his forehead like the defense lines from the battle of Stalingrad. He composed himself in mere seconds though, then made a deep breath, “Do not raise your voice at me.” He said, trying to be as calm as possible.
Silence dawned.
She stared out the front door. The long cold breeze blew through the empty but littered street. The press house located at the unheeded corner of the city, so of course vacancy and dead silences were the prevalent frequenter. The winter was longer than before, and harsher. The blanket in her house couldn’t even provide enough warmth for her to fall asleep without being bedeviled by nightmares and long dreams, which was why she was planning to go shopping for a quilt this afternoon to get her through the winter.
“Have you cleared the payment of your house?” He suddenly asked.
“Yes.” She said, still gazing at the street.
“So you own a house now.”
“An apartment, to be exact.”
“How is it?”
“It’s um… it’s alright.”
“It’s interesting. It’s not… great?”
She turned her gaze at him, and didn't answer.
A short pause. He looked at his watch, “Shoot, gonna go. The plane is flying in two.” He stood up. “Thanks for the tea.”
“You are welcome.”
He walked out of the building with festinate steps.
She picked up the cup he left behind, not a drop of tea was left behind.
As she was walking back to her office, or cubicle, she was stopped by the receptionist sitting at the front desk, once again.  
“Ron wants to see you. Like right now.”
She definitely swallows. She thought to herself.
“Thanks, April.” She said with a smile on her face. “I am going, right now.”
When she came back from her boss’s office, she saw Hilbert was still standing around her cubicle.
“Why are you still here?”
“Tea break. Where else can I go in this dreadful place.”
Truly it is a dreadful place. Not just this place. The city in general. What a hell hole. What an absolute hellhole. A place where gun shooting can happen so regularly it became one of the mundane. A place where sunlight was toxic and rains were acidic, umbrellas became a necessity on every day of the year. A place where morality is nothing but a piece of shredded newspaper flying across the empty blocks, so the homeless people will stab those who offer alms and helping hand, and bosses will force their female, or male who give a rat crap, force their female employees to suck their phallic one, and fat people would roam around the street while someone else starve to their lurid death. This place is dreadful. Truly dreadful. She could feel her spine split open from the middle, and raised into the sky like the skeleton of the birds' wings, so she could crash through the window of their press and leave this place once and for all.
“It’s alright.” She said, sat back down in her cubicle, and started to pack things up. “I need to finish my work now, you should get going as well.”
“Yeah… yeah… of course.” He said. After a small pause, he turned and about to leave.
“Hey. Hilbert.” She stopped him.
“Yes?”
“Where are we gonna meet for the drinks this afternoon?”
* * *
His house was as dilapidated as ever, with its shoddy door frame and chintzy carpets, molded corners and peeled off ceilings. Just like before.
"Is Bourbons on rocks okay with you?" He pulled out some glasswares and a bottle of Bourbons, cheap.
"I am alright. I don't drink no more."
He was pouring the liquor, and her words paused him, "When did that happen?"
"Happened a long time ago."
He resumed pouring a glass, clearly for himself, "Well, what can I help you with then?"
"A cup of hot coffee will be alright."
"Sugar and cream."
"Yeah."
The backyard still had that one tree in the middle. It had shed all its leaves, and what remained of it was only a wizen skeletal contour of its former self. There was a working table right underneath it, clearly, a birdhouse was in the making.
"Dickinson kept bugging me about this birdhouse. Really don't know where the obsession for birds came from." He said, walked up to the table. "It's almost finished by now."
"I can give a hand." She really did not want to, but the fact that he brought up Dickinson and the birdhouse kinda made it no longer a viable option.
"That would be so nice of you."
The squirrel on the street looked anemic, lack of food source might have already taken a toll on it. What a pathetic sight. It just oozed with dreariness, which made it quite fitting for this place. This abhorrent city, abhorrent place, where the winter is so goddamn long.
“Someone is getting laid off, let me tell you that.” He said, cutting down the pine board as he was speaking. “Someone is gone, that is all I know. The house was not profitable, they had to kick someone off. For sure wouldn’t be that geezer sitting in the back of the office all the time being as unproductive as possible. Bunch of schmucks, am I right?”
She didn’t answer. She simply helped him attach the board onto the tree with some deck screws, then she just stood aside, watching him nailing down every single one of those holes.
“I need to visit ma.” She uttered.
“Oh? You planning to take out the rest of your yearly vacation leave already?” He said, “You know there is still Christmas.”
“I don’t need to take out anything.”
Just as he finished cutting the corner of the birdhouse floor, he realized. “Oh my lord…” He moaned, then he drank all the remaining Bourbon in the glass in one gulp, “What have they done? How could they…”
“I need to visit ma.” She interrupted him, calmly, “Would you be so kind and drive me to the airport this Sunday?”
“Sure, when are you gonna be back?”
She handed him a bunch of finishing nails, “Nail them.”
He did. Then he just stood there, looking at her. She remained unmoved, stared back at him with a gaze just as bleak as ever. “Are you serious?” He asked.
She handed him the last bit of nails.
“You are for real. Are you just gonna leave all these behinds?”
“Like what? What will I be leaving behind, Hilbert.” She raised her voice ever so slightly, and the tone of anger would not go unnoticed.
He still seemed determined to convince her, but after a ponder or two, he stayed silent. He couldn’t even come up with an excuse. The sheer incompetence of it bemused her.
There was no proper answer besides silence, so he nailed down the floorboard with the rest of the nails.
“Would you hand me the roof?”
She did. He put the roof to the side with some more deck screws.
The birdhouse was finished. They stepped back a little, observing their work.
“Well, you would at least be leaving something behind now.” He said, tittered.
She found that humorous. She truly did, but she didn’t laugh, not even a chuckle.
On their way out, Hilbert invited her to dinner, and a play. It was the play he was supposed to do a review on, and it would be performed in the local theatre on Thursday night. He said he got two tickets from the press, but he had no one to go with, so he was thinking of selling that ticket to earn some extra cash. Now that she was leaving, he wanted this to be to their farewell event. As she was imaging burning the theatre down, she accepted the offer.
The play’s name was John.
* * *
She walked out of the theatre with a face of complete shock. It was a mind contorting catharsis. She felt sick, so she bent down and tried to puke out whatever the dirt and smut that was in her, but she hadn't eaten anything since yesterday, so she gagged on dirty airs, and choked on her own cold dark pride. Now she felt better, and her eyesight was now expanded for at least thirty degrees more than normal. Limbs felt duplicated, like many copies of them were behind each and every single move she made, shadowing her actual limbs with poor imitations. The play resonated. She could feel the play, and the storyline was giving her romantic kisses on her cheek along with the winter wind like she was being loved in the most intimate way that was possible. Making love. The play had made love with her.
She stood straight. The street was clean, people were walking out of the theatre, discussing the masterpiece they just saw.
Hilbert was standing next to her.
“Wow.” He said, seemed to be dazed by what he just saw.
“Indeed.” She answered. “I felt kinda sick.”
“Oh… I am so sorry.”
“In a good way.”
“Oh. It’s… alright.”
It's not alright, it’s great! She screamed in her heart.
“You need to head home then if you are feeling sick.”
“I will. Thanks for the play and dinner.”
“You are welcome. You have a way back right?”
“Yeah… buses.”
“I will see you around…”
She lolloped along the street for a bit, then she called a cap. Dragging herself onto the car became a harsh and relentless mission, but she did succeed at it. The taxi driver was this benign old man, with a green cap and a grey sweater on. He asked her if she was alright because she looked pale and sick. His face was furrowed beyond belief, but his voice was so mellow and chummy, and his expression so elder and kind. Befuddled by the nice old man, she told him the destination and closed her eyes shut pretending to be asleep. When the taxi got to her house, and as her feet were stepping out of her car, the driver gave her his blessing by telling her to have a good one, even though it was already two in the morning.
She got home, poured herself a glass of whiskey, and laid down her bed staring right at the ceiling. The alcohol ran through her throat like a double-decker bus operated by an inebriated Scottish man, and they burnt. She felt enlightened. The play she just saw sang songs within her head, and her mind became its backup singer. She had never felt so understood, no one had ever given her this feeling of absolute empathy, like the one who wrote this play actually knew her personally and knew her entire life up until this point. She gave a standing ovation when the curtain was drawn, and even now when she was already on her bed in her own soon to be former house, she still wanted to give the play another standing ovation. The script of the play had literally zero paid off, but the sense of loss and bloatedness and purposelessness and loneliness of life it had provided literally synchronized with her most inner emotions, like two magnets left near each other would just crash into each other with full forces, or two teens in their nonage with their unhinged hormones sucking each other’s face off in their embrace, or that one meteoroid leaped into earth during the extinction of dinosaurs.
She was drunk. She knew that, because she could see her own pallid volitant soul gyrated to the ceiling, ululating the sound of liberation. It flew all over the place, every corner of the room, and even tripped over the glass which still had some remaining whiskey in it. Elated by its presence, she cackled, then burst out in braying laughter. She would continue to lay on her bed, downing glasses after glasses of whiskey, and laugh and cry herself into sleep. She would do that because, for the first time of her life, she felt understood.
* * *
April looked just as beautiful as ever, with all the makeup and ludicrously expensive headgears. She was so young, and the blossoming youth could be seen from her ample bosom and ripe torso. She still got such a bright future ahead of her. She thought, so she walked up to the front desk. April saw her walking towards her, and gave her a giant PR smile. She smiled back, and thanked her for all the help she offered all these years.
As she cleaned out all of her belongings and cleared out her cubicle, sentimentality flooded her mind. She would miss this job, no matter how bad it may be from time to time, maybe she would miss this city as well. This job, this press house, was the epitome of a good chunk of her life, pleasant or not. Life was just too floaty and vacuous for one to insist it to be something enjoyable. All the bitterness she had gone through in this less than six feet square cubicle, now only amounts to a faint, lingering sweetness aloft her tongue. She smiled at the past, put the last of her possession, a Japanese peace Lily, into the cardboard box.
She was about to turn off the computer, and leave this house for one last time, but then she decided to read the newest draft of their newspaper, to see her final contribution to this press house. The last of her presence in this place that represented so much for her.
There was her work. The report about a slump near this area, written by that well-respected senior, edited by her.
Then she scrolled down a bit. Another article emerged.
The Cynical Banality -- A Critique of John
by Hilbert Johnson  
The latest trend among the circle of artsy, pretentious writers had slipped further into the depth of inanity it seems. The newest sensation, John, by Annie Baker, was truly the greatest piece of theatre work I have ever seen, due to how revealing it is, that through simply watching the play we can truly and intimately feel the cynicism of those writers and how little respect they held for both writing and the art form of theatre.   
The play followed a vacation of a damaged couple, and through piles amongst piles of useless dialogues and set up, we got to an ending that is so shocking, the only proper emotional response I can contribute is a simple sigh and a “meh” if I was having a good day. This is probably the most time-wasting theatre experience I have ever been through, and with my whole heart and with all my respect to anything holy above, I mustered all of my strength just to not walk out in the mid-act, and after the play had ended, I wish I could scorn myself for holding up the integrity of being an audience, because clearly, the creator of the thing has no intention of holding up anything.
Anton Chekhov’s principle of firing a gun in the third act if the gun was presented in the first act, had been defenestrated in the most violent way that is possible. The number of guns this play had thrown out was truly mind-boggling, and of course, none of them even made a spark by the end of the play, let alone firing any of it. The amount of subverted expectations become mere statistical numbers by the second act, and none of them can induce any emotional response besides simple ennui. Set up led to nothing, and half of the stuff the script had offered was useless beyond belief. The story threw out countless dots to encourage the readers to connect them by themselves, but by the end none of them had any pay-off and audiences and readers just left wondering why they wasted their time with it. It was like if there is this breadcrumbs trail in the forest, it is interesting so you follow it, and the trails just lead you to more forest, and more forest, and finally the end of the trail is just more forest and nothing else. It is an infuriating experience. 
Besides the problem of having no paid off, the story was also clogged with useless assets that have no use whatsoever. To demonstrate the point, there is this entire scene in the play dedicated to a reading of the work from HP Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu, with no particular reasons and contributed nothing to the story. Why Lovecraft? Why not Edgar Allen Poe? Why The Call of Cthulhu, why not The Shunned House? No one would know the answer to those questions, because it doesn’t matter. It is like the writer just put some useless trash in between the actual story, just so it is different than the “normal” and “mundane” stories of the others. The play felt wider than an ocean but shallower than a piss creak, but somehow those high tier critiques now consider that quality of one that is a compliment. Maybe I am too stupid to realize the symbolism these informations, but isn’t it equally problematic when your play had nothing but symbolism?
Which leads me here. Not only the content I must criticize, but I also need to criticize the mentality of it as well. Critics say the play had perfectly captured the nature of human life, and the loneliness it had offered, praised it to be one of the best plays that year had to offer. How the play subverted the expectations of the audiences, bringing them to an emotional rollercoaster. How the play successfully captured human’s inner nihilism.
If such a story and writing concept were executed in a short story, I would not even have said a thing. But to put it in such a drag out script, was truly an insult. The play felt like it was written to subvert the audience’s expectation, for the sake of subverting the audience's expectation. It was breaking the golden rules of storytelling, for the sake of breaking the gold rules of storytelling. It was being special, for the sake of being special. It has this immunity of criticism since whenever anyone points out the flaws within the story of the storytelling techniques, it could be brushed under the rug by simply saying it was the intention of the script so it could mimic the meaninglessness of real life. It failed at every level of providing a joyful or anything remotely close to an enjoyable experience for the audience, then turned its head and said it was doing so intentionally. It felt like a work created by the most high-end writer, just so he or she could break more new ground and receive more praise from all of her also high-end colleagues, the top five percent of the population. But this play was also genius enough to pander to the bottom five percent of the population, by presenting nihilism as its topmost quality. According to anecdote, when the play premiered at Paris, viewed by normal theatre-goers, all of them walked out in protest, but when the play was put on the San Francisco Prison, all of the prisoners gave it a stand-up ovation for how close and real the play had represented life itself.
How benevolent of an idea. In that case, whenever criticisms was brought up, this anecdote would just be the last nail of the coffin for the critique. Who you would want to side with, the poor and oppressed prisoners from San Francisco, or the smug, overprivileged theatre-goers from Paris? Case closed.
Truly cynical. To make a play so intentionally abhorrent for any normal viewer, and so pandering to those who are the most vulnerable along with those who are on the very top. It is truly disgusting to see the current mentality of creating art had regressed to a point where a Pulitzer Award-winning writer would write something like this, just to poke and enrage the normal viewers, then slap them across the face and scorn them for not understanding true hardship of human life, and being a privileged arse.
Art is based on real life, and above it. Imitating real life with art in this fashion, truly could only be described as pathetic. 
If I am being as cynical as the writer, I would answer the previously asked question like this:
Who actually, wholeheartedly, wants to side, or go along with the prisoners in San Francisco, rather than those so-called fancy theatre attendees from Paris. Sure, everyone would say they would go for the prisoners, and condemn how privileged those theatre-goers are, but are we honest to ourselves? Between the Id, ego, and superego, which part of us is speaking when we said we would side with the prisoners?
I don’t want to be so cynical, I truly don’t. But when faced with a play created for the top five percent and the bottom five percent of the population and no one else, created to break all the established rules for the sake of breaking established rules instead of breaking traditions because it would help the storytelling or the style of the work, created not to express a message to or provide any entertainment to the public but rather to scorn and educate them for being one of the mundane, created to be as artsy as possible and as high end as possible, I don’t really know the way to keep my cynicism in check. I am just a mundane guy, who went to a theatre expecting something, anything that is not a cynical piece of esoteric mock, and before I can do anything about it, my money and my time were wasted into the thin air in return of absolutely nothing.
I still haven’t mentioned how western-centric this play is, how any other culture that values practicalism and collectivism instead of romanticism and individualism of the westerners would despise this play with their most core value, and how racially insensitive it is for it to be exclusively enjoyed and judged by western audiences, but I have had enough. If I keep talking about this thing, the seed of migraine in my head will be out of control.  
This is true cynicism.
It has some terrific writing techniques, and the restraint and subtlety of the writing were all beautiful, but it can’t amount to all the other issues I have with the script, not even close.
I gave it a strong two to a light three, out of ten.
John, by Annie Baker, 3/10
By Hilbert Johnson
  * * *
Look at this fat bastard. Oily and greasy, how in all the bloody but holy hell can he get a job? She thought to herself, as the waiter standing in front of her was waiting for her to order something. What a waste of resources. Truly morality had got itself into some sort of unremitting horror, just so this creature can serve in an overpriced airport cafe.
“Nothing. Thanks.” She said.
“What you two want for drinks then?” The waiter asked, clearly empty-minded at this moment.  
“Uh I would want some sweet tea, and for the lady here, a cup of hot coffee, lots…”
“Black.”
Hilbert paused for a second. “Make it black then.”
The waiter walked off, and a cup of sweet tea and coffee were put on the table.
“So that’s it.” Hilbert said, taking a sip of the sweet tea, “No way to convince you.”
“You do not have to. Nor is there a necessity for you to do so.” She said, took a sip of the coffee.
Bitter.
“How about the apartment? You just clear your debt for it.”
“Sell it. Or rent it. You don’t have to worry.”
“You sure you don’t want to eat anything before you got on the plane?”
“No. I am fine. You can get something to eat if you want.”
“No.”
“Then we can just have a drink can’t we?”
Pause. Silence. Just the noise of her sipping her coffee.
“I want to apologize.” He finally spoke.
“Not necessary.” She then followed it up with: “For what?”
“I am so sorry about that play that night. It was truly not my intention… I don’t know better.”
“It was a pleasant night.”
“It was truly awful to waste our time like that. I don’t know what the play was about. I should’ve done some more research on it before inviting you…”
“I am actually kind of hungry.” She suddenly uttered. She waved for the waiter, this time the waiter was no longer fat and ugly, but still possessed the same uninvested attitude and disgusting demeanor for a waiter to have. “May I have a slice of the cheesecake, the plain one.”
“Yea, and what the good sir wants?”
“Huh… refill my tea.”
The cheesecake tasted like anesthetic, and it was also bitter.
“I just want you to know, I did not intend for the play to be that... indescribable.”
“It is alright.” She said, finishing the cheesecake with her fork.
“So uh… this will probably be the last time we have a meal together, in a very long time.”
“You want some cheesecake as well?”
“No… thanks.”
“The play was very good.”
“You really don’t have to say that… I felt guilty enough as it is…”
“My plane is almost here.”
“I will walk you to the…”
“You still have work, Hilbert. Thanks for all these years.”
“For sure.”
“Take care.”
“Yea.”
She left, leaving him alone, sitting in the airport cafe.
The cup of black coffee she ordered was not finished.
* * *
The old man laying on the bed looking unfamiliar and strange, elder as well, like some kind of eldritch monster. The bed was made with a clean white sheet, and the flowers next to the bed were all withered and shriveled. The Filipino nurse came in and took those flowers out of the vase, and replaced it with fresh white lilies. That corner of the room looked so clean compared to the rest like it was just created out of thin air minutes ago, like no one had ever walked into that corner of the room ever before. She walked around the room, confused, walked back to the front desk. The receptionist there looked like even more of a whore than April, which was quite an achievement considering the environment they were now in was not the most casual place for one to be working in, she was expecting some kind of professionalism at the very least. The nurse pushed her away because she was blocking the hallway, she stepped back a little, asked the receptionist, who was also a nurse.
The receptionist spent forever going through her computer, then she pulled out a bunch of paperwork and asked her to sign.
She was confused, she asked her the question again. The nurse stared back at her with the most intense gaze like she had just accused her of murder.
Murder.
Like an unclogged sink, she now realized why.
* * *
Rustling leaves and moaning sky, darkening the land with argentine clouds, screaming winds and blinding rainstorm. Somehow the moving company was still working even under such harsh conditions. Laborers and workers carried out those old familiar pieces of furniture and threw them onto the truck with the most apathetic attitude one could have ever have, but who could blame them, not a single person would be glad to work amidst an incoming storm, but uncultured man do uncultured job, who could blame anyone for it? She walked past those people, walked directly into the house. One of the workers stopped her, said the house was under construction and unrelated personnel should stay away, she said I am more related to this house than I would ever want to admit to myself and the police would be on their way if you keep blocking my way. The worker, of course, stepped back.
He was sitting on one of the wooden antique chairs of theirs, in the middle of a practically empty living room, seemed like the movers were doing their job quite efficiently. He was reading a book. Atlas shrugged. What a surprise. Men love it. They goddamn love it. Hilbert once read that book as well, and he wouldn’t shut up about it for the next three months. Truly one has to treat themselves with godhood to think of themselves worthy of the position of Atlas where he could have just shrugged away all of his weight. She had never read the book.
He rose his head and saw her standing at the door, with a black bedraggled umbrella on her hand.
“Holy moly! Why are you here?”
“Why did you lie to me?”
“When are you back? You should have told me about it.”  
“Why did you not tell me?”
“Why would you be here anyway? I really didn’t expect you to come.”
“Answer me.”
“You want some tea?”
“John.” She was gnashing. “Answer me.”
“There is still some coffee lying around.”
A short silence.
“A cup of coffee would be nice.”
“I don’t have much sugar though, and I think those creams have certainly expired…”
“Black.”
There were two wooden antique chairs in the living room now, and a small wooden teapoy between the two. A cup of coffee and a cup of sweet tea were placed on the teapoy, along with the book Atlas shrugged.
“When was ma gone?”
“Two weeks ago.” He took a sip of the tea. “Ah… perfect for a rainy day like this. A cup of hot sweet tea.”
“Why did you not tell me?”
“Do you know ma was extremely proud of us?”
She didn’t answer.
“Of course you don’t. Why would you? She kept telling me not to bother you. She didn’t want to bother you. She said to me, don’t bother her because her job working for that international trading company must be straining.”
“Why did you not tell me?”
“She said not to bother you.”
“What?” Truly enraged, she was progressively getting angrier as the conversation continued, “You didn’t tell me ma is gone, because she told you not to bother me?”
“Well, she didn’t want to bother you! You have a busy job.”
“So you didn’t tell me my mom is dead!? When exactly did she die again?”
“Uh… the funeral was this Monday…”
“Funeral? What funeral?”
“Funeral for ma. Everyone was there…”
“And you didn’t tell me my ma is dead! And you didn’t tell me about the funeral?”
“She said not to bother you… I listened to her.”
“What are you, mad?” She stood up in rage. “You didn’t tell me my mom is goddamn dead because she told you not to bother me?”
“Yes exactly!” He was vexed as well, for some reason, he was clearly in the wrong here so god knows what could possibly be fueling his fury. “Exactly, I didn’t tell you ma is dead because she told me not to! And by god! It took some amount of repetition to get this across that thick goddamn skull of yours!”
“We met on Tuesdays! We talked in the press house! And even then you still lied right to my face!”
“I didn’t lie to you. She told me not to bother…”
“You lied to me! You sultry little squid piss lied! You told me…”
“I DIDN’T LIE TO YOU! SHE WAS FEELING BETTER! SHE IN ALL HELL GODDAMN WAS!”
The scream was ugly, intense, and truly horrifying. Every other screams before this one shivered in its presence.
“I couldn’t drink tea no more.” He sat back down. “They all tasted bitter.”
“Me neither. I couldn’t drink coffee, because sugar and cream just make it more bitter…” She sat back down also.
Silence. The storm outside bellowed.
“I enjoyed some theatre art recently.” He suddenly voiced. “Have you heard of a play called ‘John’?”
Just when she was about to answer, a mover walked in.
“Sir, the furniture is all loaded on the truck now.”
“Sure, have a break, wait till the storm blows over.”
The worker gave her a gaze, then walked out of the house.
What a fat piece of trash. She thought.
The End 
1 note · View note
nadiawrites14 · 4 years
Text
voice of gen z
word count: 2784
for english class. tw for school shooting and police brutality mention
AN INTRODUCTION.
“GEN Z is too afraid to ask a waiter for extra ketchup but will bodyslam a cop.”
Dated June 5th, on Twitter. Many of us sit holed up in our rooms, laptops resting in our crossed legs as we scroll through social media, or the blue light of a phone screen on our face as the world around us is sleeping. Many of us are also the ones organizing, the ones leading, the ones fighting. News spreads that in Dallas, Providence, and in many more cities, teenagers were the ones organizing, the ones fighting. Teenagers were the ones turning viral memes into protest signs, organizing protests and sharing methods of resistance through apps like TikTok and Instagram. It echoes the methods of the Hong Kong protestors, using technology to battle their government head-on. 
Teenagers who dance along to songs such as Megan Thee Stallion’s “Savage”, as well as teens who live in the world of ‘deep-fried’ memes, whose bizarre absurdity reach ungodly levels of abstractism, are the ones leading in this young revolution. Teenagers are the ones who chant ‘no justice, no peace’ in filled city streets; teenagers are the ones working to create graphics and share information, a new form of armchair activism. K-pop fans fill conservative hashtags with videos of their favorite performers, burying rhetoric and dismissal of the protests with dances and songs. In hours, #BlackLivesMatter trends. It’s hard to believe that these new pioneers and leaders in activism and technology are children who are scared to give class presentations, share Juuls in bathrooms, and find humor in the most strange and ironic of places. While the old term goes that ‘the revolution will not be televised’ in many ways, this growing movement will be televised, publicized, expanded, through its own means and methods.
I.
We are the generation of school shootings. 
December 14th, 2012. My mom tells me, as I hobble out from the red doors of my elementary school in Stamford, Connecticut, that something very bad has happened. I don’t understand. Nobody does. I see the faces of startled adults. I don’t remember the rest of that evening, or the day that followed it. Every time I think about Sandy Hook, the senseless school shooting that left 28 dead, I think about the multicolored walls of my school’s hallway, my sneakers on the white linoleum, the fear in my mother’s voice and in her eyes. That day was the first day I began to accept that I was a child in the United States of America in the 21st century. That day, and the brutal and confusing months that followed it, solidified something in my peers and I. Not just in Stamford, or even Connecticut, but within all young American students. The people in power didn’t care that a gunman marched into a wealthy and predominantly white Connecticut neighborhood and slaughtered kindergarteners. Because as I grew older, I saw the patterns, the televisation of suffering and permitted slaughter among my peers, our youngest, our posterity. This was normalized to us, just another school shooting, another period of brief outrage followed by inaction. The slaughter of children, the preventable slaughter of children shouldn’t be normalized. But it was.
February 14th, 2018. A gunman kills 17 students in Florida. As I’m waiting in a doctor’s waiting room with my mother, I lean over and tell her, “On Monday, all my teachers will talk about is school shootings.” I was wrong. School was another silent funeral march, my teachers quiet and solemn as they assigned us our work and progressed with their work. At dinner with my dad, I tell him, “It’ll never change.”
That isn’t entirely true. Leaders are found in teenagers who now walk through haunted hallways with clear backpacks. They are the face of a new movement, a march for our lives. Many are summoned to Washington and elsewhere a month later to organize, to fight. On March 27th, a day meant for students to walkout and protest the preventable slaughter of students, my school barricades the doors.
No legislation is passed. Nothing changes. The resistance lulls and fades, despite a number of school shootings following the tragedy at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School. Gen Z is a symbolic Sisyphus, haplessly pushing a boulder of pleas up a mountain of indifference.
II.
Suzanne Collins published the Hunger Games on September 14th, 2008. It finds its way into the hands of teenagers of all shapes and sizes years later, and it has its cult following. Maybe the televised murder of children strikes a chord within the audience of young adults, as does the story of a growing revolution and a coup against a selfish government.
Gen Z gets its hands on theory at a young age, through Wikipedia and the uncensored vastness of the internet that we are handed. We are denoted as the generation born with the phones in our hands, but all I can remember is having a technology class from a young age, where we were measured on our abilities to type and memorize a keyboard. Our ability to cite and surf and stay safe in the face of danger. This wealth of information at our fingertips molds us.
Dystopian fiction is popular among young teens and young adults. Titles like Divergent the Giver, Harry Potter, the Maze Runner, all influence the devouring young readers. We are raised to see atrocity, in a place where atrocity is accessible to us in every way, shape and form. We are exposed and we are no longer innocent as we rise to 6th, 7th, 8th grade. Girls wear makeup for the first time and scream at the sight of bloodstained underwear. Boys become privy to the joy of video games and self-exploration. In this time, the internet truly consumes. There is no more script taught in classrooms, whiteboards have been replaced with Prometheans, and chromebooks are becoming normalcy.  
In 7th grade I receive my phone. The niches and underground media I discover shape me. I find acceptance, friends, in places where I had lacked them before. As my classmates begin to enter into weeklong flings that end in Instagrammed tragedy, I take a quiz online to find out if I’m gay. I begin to think for myself, and I find independence and a voice on internet circles.
By the time we are promoted to high school, something has shifted. Something is different. Something’s coming, something good. Gen Z keeps calm and carries on.
III.
Donald Trump is inaugurated on January 20th, 2017, to much outrage, but also to much support. In my town, there is a protest around his building that overlooks much of our city center. It’s peaceful, energetic, and beautiful. A Planned Parenthood sticker is on my bedroom door, and I have accepted that maybe, just maybe, I’m into girls.
In 2018, we are in high school. Little fish in a big pond. I don’t have friends in my grade, but stick closer to my premade friends in the Class of 2021. My teachers are lovely, kind, and supportive, and I shine in this new environment. Politics is a force in my life as I begin to write, and as I begin to form opinions and do research. 
It’s easy to say that all of Gen Z is progressive, but this isn’t true. It’s actually very incorrect. The internet is a miraculous tool, one that can provide and produce and create new forms of communication and spread new ideas. But it is still an ocean that is widely uncharted, and young teenagers will fall into holes constructed by right-wing superstars. The racism and homophobia circulated by 4chan is on the internet for anybody to see. New popular figures and icons pledge their vote to Trump. Right-wing rhetoric overtakes in the forms of Ben Shapiro, Pewdiepie, 4chan, Reddit. There’s a neutrality to all things, but the dogwhistles and the normalization of prejudice are dangerously overbearing. As the 2016 election divided our country, it divides the new generation. A divided house cannot stand, and that is for certain. 
It is around this time, in my Freshman summer, where the politics makes a crescendo. I have broken 1K followers on my Instagram art account, where I draw fanart for a variety of musicals and plays. I discover Shakespeare, and lose myself in Hamlet. I am happy with my identity and with myself, and as the 2020 election nears, I stay informed on current events, common issues, the things that need changing.
Sophomore winter. My dad and I take two-hour drives spanning Connecticut, and we talk. He says, “You know, your generation’s fucked. You’re the ones who are going to have to cope with our mistakes.” I tell him I know. I tell him about my feelings towards racial injustice in America, the battle for a higher minimum wage against growing costs, issues in healthcare, housing, poverty, climate change, all thrown aside and discarded. Our generation, of course, when most of our white and male politicians are dead and buried, will have to deal with the repercussions of rising sea levels and global temperatures, volatile weather and crippling natural disasters, all overlooked due to blatant ignorance. “You guys are going to have to fix all of this.”
“I know.”
I’m sick of the battle being placed on the backs of teenagers. I’m sick of our faces being the fight for climate change, the faces of Greta Thunberg and Emma Gonzalez and young revolutionary congresswomen being mocked and heckled by throngs of keyboard warriors. I’m sick of the battle our leaders and representatives should be fighting being placed on our backs, when we are already our own Atlas. Ignorance is dangerous, biting, and overwhelming. We look back to the images and words we were raised upon, the story of the Hunger Games and the broadcasting of school shootings for us all to see. 
It is 2020. Happy new year! I watch from my living room as the ball drops. A brief Twitter moment about a newly discovered disease pops up in my recommended, I brush over it. Photographs of Australian fires are surfaced, and we joke about what a fantastic start it is to the year. 
Sisyphus reaches a fork in the road.
MMXX.
At around 11PM on Wednesday, March 11th, I send a strongly worded letter to the principal and local superintendent. The coronavirus has picked up worldwide, and has made its way into the states. Johns Hopkins has an interactive map that shows bubbles above cities where cases have been reported. Stamford, Connecticut Dead: 0
Recovered: 0 Active: 3.
New York’s cases are on the rise. On that same day, I began to realize the severity that would soon overtake us. I spent the afternoon first at what would be our last rehearsal for our school musical, James and the Giant Peach, and then I went to the library. I did my homework, read The Cripple of Inishmaan by Martin McDonagh, then bought a Subway cookie from the mall. I always keep a copy of King Lear in my backpack, and as my dad pulls up to the sidewalk I gloss over Edmund’s first monologue.
It’s the last normal day for a while.
March 12th comes in like a lion. In my first period class, civics, a classmate yells out, “Trump 2020!” A period later, my friend pulls me aside in the hallways, and asks if I heard that school was closing. 
“It can’t be true,” I said.
“Schadlich just showed us.”
I take my route to my next class, and find the hallway a chaotic mess of energy and camaraderie. What was meant to be kept under wraps has been instantly transferred across the student body over Snapchat stories and texts. People dance, sing, hug. It’s branded as a “Coronacation.” Broadway announces its closure, and I walk out of the front doors for the final time in my sophomore year.
Once again, ignorance overtakes. Within months, the death toll skyrockets, spikes, as we stay holed up in our online classes. My focus wavers, but I press on. Many other students resort to simply neglecting their work, choosing to take this time to focus on their own health or fill up their new time with their own hobbies. Teenagers find solace in each other, through social media and through the connections we’ve built online. As ignorance mounts among our leaders, teenagers jokingly refer to Covid-19 as the famous “Boomer Remover”. It trends on Twitter. Graduation, prom, is cancelled. The generation whose childhood began with 9/11 is once again cut short by a tragedy of preventable errors. Gen Z is subject to adapting once again to an unfamiliar environment, and we undertake.
Protests take over the streets, screaming against government tyranny. The deaths crescendo to nearly 100,000. A video surfaces of a young black man, Ahmaud Aubery, being publicly killed on a road while jogging. Ignorance continues as cases spike, and the political climate is ripe for change. On May 25th, a black man from Minneapolis named George Floyd is killed in a brutal act of suffocation by a policeman. More names resurface -- Breonna Taylor, Tony McDade, Joao Pedro. Names neglected to injustice are once again in the limelight -- Trayvon Martin, Tamir Rice, Philando Castile, Eric Garner, Mike Brown, Terence Crutcher, Atatiana Jefferson, and more. 
Sisyphus has had enough of pushing the boulder, and Sisyphus takes to the streets. It is the perfect storm. A storm fueled by ignorance and the preventable death of thousands, by decades of injustice, by the mere political climate in the United States of America. Gen Z, our generation, my generation, has lived the darkest hour. We were born at the cusp of a millenia, in an awkward position where society has begun to find its footing in an unfamiliar time. A time of domestic and overseas terrorism, shaped by 9/11 and a countless number of school shootings and slaughtered people of color. Where the new generation has accessibility to the injustice and wrongs committed by those before and those above, right at our fingertips. We have new ways to organize, new ways to televise, new ways to fight. In our armchairs and in our streets, wearing masks as we hold up our hands in surrender.
Generation Z marches. They lead. They throw tear gas back at officers with no hesitation. They create chants, organize through grassroots, and find a chorus of support online. 
Generation Z leads. As politicians and leaders sit in ivory towers, like President Snow in Panem, our generation cries for change. We witness and feel the repercussions of their ignorance in our daily lives, from cuts to education to the publication of school shootings to the absence of American atrocity in our history textbooks to a pipeline that directs BIPOC and low-income students to prison or the military as they step off the graduation stage. Each year, our winters get warmer as our summers turn boiling. The preventable pile of corpses rises in front of us, and we have been taught to sit by and let it occur while the world burns. 
No longer.
Sisyphus steps aside and allows the boulder to descend down the mountain. They are bruised, bloodied, their palms calloused and scuffed and their feet lacerated and sore. Up ahead, shrouded by clouds, is the mountaintop. Sisyphus wipes their mouth, finds their footing, and begins the march.
A CONCLUSION.
We have a future.
It’s awfully dim right now. Barely a light at the end of the tunnel. We began a dead march towards it from the moment we were born into this decaying way of life, held together with glue and string by leaders with fumbling hands and staunch indifference. Our backs are tired, and we are barely adults. Generation Z is tired of fighting a fight that shouldn’t be theirs. How desperately we still crave childhood joy and humor and innocence. 
Change is necessary. It is something that is especially necessary in our time. We can no longer let people die because they can’t afford food or medicine or housing. Students cannot go into school wondering if it will be their last day. Black people should not fear for their lives while wearing a hoodie, driving, jogging in their neighborhood, shopping, or sleeping in their own homes. Elderly white men which encompass most of our political elite can no longer sit on their hands as their population suffers.
The voice of Generation Z screams louder than anything else. It screams in its silence, its activism, its useless martyrdom and battle. Change belies itself within our voice, and it has gone unheard for too long.
Change is the voice of Generation Z.
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abbacchiosbelt · 4 years
Text
In Your Hands | 707 x F!Reader x Yoosung
original date this story was published on AO3 — 5/16/2018 
summary — A present from Seven should never be trusted.
I. Black Bow
II. TBA
18+ under the cut!
It was a great day. You finally had a day off work, and Yoosung was done with homework for the day. It wasn’t often that you got to spend time with him lately. Spending time with Seven was even rarer. Still, you appreciated the time greatly that you got to spend with your boyfriends. Today, you were making a trip to Yoosung’s dorm.
Yoosung quickly came to get you once you arrived at his building, more fidgety than usual. He could barely make eye contact with you after greeting you with a hug and kiss. He even dropped his keys while trying to unlock the door to his dorm. You spotted a package on the bed as you walked in, wrapped in a neat black bow. A present?
“What’s this, Yoosung?” You said, pointing at the present. Yoosung stammered for a moment.
“It’s uh… a gift…” He said, going to retrieve it off the bed. He didn’t hand it to you immediately. What was in this thing?
Yoosung fiddled with the package, still unable to make eye contact with you.
“Seven said… you have to wear this.” He finally choked out, shoving the package into your hands.
“Have to?” You said, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, he said if I can’t get you to wear it, I get punished.” Yoosung still wouldn’t look at you. What was in this damned package? Of course, Seven knew he could get you to do anything he wanted by “threating” Yoosung.
“Fine, fine. Anything for you.” You said, putting your hand under Yoosung’s chin and tilting it towards you. You placed a kiss on his chin before looking back at the package in your hands. It was light, despite the fancy packaging. You carefully unwrapped it, pulling out a lacy black and white costume. You sighed loudly. Of course, Seven would do this. You pulled out a note from under the costume with Seven’s handwriting. (Send me a pic when you get this, my sexy maid~) You looked up to find Yoosung staring at you in anticipation.
“Personally, I think you would look cuter in this.” You said, winking at Yoosung. “But Seven wants what he wants.”
Yoosung flushed at your compliment and looked like he was about to say something before you began undressing in front of him. Yoosung’s shyness and complimentary nature made him fun to be with. His shy nature, however, put on it was in the bedroom, made him fun to play with. Unlike Seven, you preferred to gently tease him.
The outfit fits you nicely, accentuating your curves. It was rather short, stopping up much further than anything you would normally wear out. Yoosung came up behind you, arms wrapping around you.
“You look wonderful, honey!” He said, placing a kiss on your neck. “But. Um. Seven said we have to send him a picture now?”
“Weirdo.” You said, shaking your head. You pulled your phone out, holding it towards Yoosung. “Mind taking it for me?”
“Ah, of course!” Yoosung replied, taking your phone. Yoosung quickly snapped a few pictures before handing your phone back. You sent them off to Seven, who almost immediately replied. Yoosung peered over your shoulder to look at the messages.
707: You look better than I do in that thing!~
707: I want you to clean Yoosung’s dorm
707: And I’m not joking!!
“Ugh, that Seven.” You shook your head but couldn’t help but be amused. His weirdness was what made you love him. Yoosung’s dorm room wasn’t that dirty, but it certainly wasn’t your responsibility to clean it. You wondered for a moment if Yoosung was in on it, but Seven’s response seemed to surprise him too.
“Um, I mean… It’s up to you. M-maybe you could scrub the floor?” Yoosung said, seeming unsure of himself.
“Is that a Yoosung suggestion or a Seven suggestion?” You replied, putting your hands on your hips. You weren’t meant to be a docile maid. Yoosung flushed.
“Ah, Seven sent it to me just now. You could just do what you want?” Yoosung said sheepishly. You noticed he was acting particularly shy today. You wondered what Seven had told him his punishment would be. It would be easy enough to get Yoosung going though, which was exactly your plan. You smiled at him. You had a plan.
“Yoosung, honey, could you get me a drink first from down the hall? Please?” You said, doing your best fake pout.
“Of course! I’ll be right back.” Yoosung said, springing off the bed. Perfect. You quickly slipped your panties and bra off, shoving them inside one of Yoosung’s dressers. You still had a couple of minutes before he returned since the vending machine down the hall was always slow. What could make this even better? Your eyes wandered until you saw your makeup bag. You dug through it to find your favorite red lipstick and applied it, taking one final look at yourself in the mirror before Yoosung returned. You used to feel bad about yourself, but constantly being showered with compliments by Yoosung and Seven (and to be honest, all the RFA) boosted your self-esteem. You felt amazing.
A moment later Yoosung returned your favorite drink in his hand. You gave him a curtsy as he came in, noticing him blush again when he saw your lipstick.
“Oh wow, you look incredible…” He said, eyes slowly moving up and down your body. “Um, did you still want this?”
“Thank you, Yoosung. And nah, just put in the fridge for now.” You said.
He nodded at your words and quickly put it away. Before you could start, you heard a familiar ringtone come from your phone – a facetime request from Seven. You answered and were greeted by his smug face.
“Hello beautiful~,” Seven said, blowing a kiss at you. “Now that’s what I call a maid.”
“Whatever you say, Seven.” You said, rolling your eyes.
“Hey now, that’s not how to treat your master. Aren’t you going to behave?” Seven replied. Ah, so he wanted to play that game today. Things weren’t strictly defined in the bedroom for you three, but you and Yoosung tend to lean to the submissive side of things. Seven was a switch, but he often found fun in teasing you and punishing Yoosung.
“Yes, sir~” You replied in a singsong voice, mocking the one he had used earlier.
“Is Yoosung dead?” Seven said, noticing he hadn’t said anything. Yoosung quickly popped up behind you, grinning widely. “Ah, that answers that. Now then, down to business!”
“Yoosung,” Seven said, pausing for dramatic effect. “Since you succeeded in your mission, you get a present today.”
“A present?” Yoosung replied. Seven grinned (oh no), although it looked more akin to fit on the Cheshire Cat.
“Today, darling Yoosung, you get to be the master. Amazing!” Seven said, apparently amused with himself. You heard Yoosung sputter behind you, unable to get any actual words out. The thought of Yoosung being in charge excited you. It wasn’t a side of him you got to see very often.
“Startinggggg… now. Have fun!” Seven said. You watched him lean back in his chair, smug look still on his face. “Oh, and don’t forget your safe word!”
“Ah, of course not!” Yoosung said quickly. “How about our usual, LOLOL?”
You nodded at him, chuckling a little. You still found his choice of safe word funny, but it worked. You felt excited as you waited for Yoosung’s instruction, a familiar heat building in your stomach.
Yoosung seemed hesitant still, his hands nervously fiddling. Maybe he just needed a little push from you.
“What would you like me to clean, master?” You said, picking up the prop feather duster that had come with the outfit.
“Let’s start… let’s start with the desk. Mind the computer.” Yoosung said. His voice wavered a bit, but he sounded more confident.
“Of course, master! Anything for you.” You replied. You heard Seven clapping from your phone. You rolled your eyes, though you weren’t sure if he could see. Excitement washed over you as you started to clean, hoping that your lack of panties might push Yoosung over the edge. He was still quiet behind you as you lightly dusted his desk, making an effort to bend over ever so slightly.
Nothing yet. You turned to face Yoosung, who was staring at you intently.
“Hm, something wrong, Yoosung?” You said, taking a step towards your phone. It might be time to employ Seven again.
“Ah, nothing! I’m just not sure I’m good at this.” Yoosung replied, pushing his hand through his hair. He looked troubled.
“Aw, honey.” You said, giving him a sympathetic look. “Just try for a little bit longer, okay? Here, how about you sit down, and I’ll get you a drink.”
Yoosung nodded in response, quickly taking a seat at his computer chair. Time to put Seven into action again. He had been surprisingly quiet as he watched.
You took a step towards the fridge, your back now to your phone. You took your time bending over to get a drink, slowly flipping your dress over your ass and exposing yourself to Seven. You were surprised Yoosung hadn’t caught on to the fact that you were wearing no panties, but Seven certainly did. You winked at Seven through the camera as you stood back up, drink in hand.
“Ohoho~ What’s this? A twist?” Seven said, loud enough to get Yoosung’s attention.
“What are you talking about, Seven?” Yoosung asked.
“Hm, why don’t you ask your sweet maid to bend over for you?” Seven replied. You saw him lean back in his chair, hands behind his head. You noticed even he looked a little flushed. He must have been practicing some serious self-restraint.
“Um, please bend over.” Yoosung said, sounding unsure again. A loud boo came out of the phone and you saw Yoosung’s face fall.
“Seven!” You hissed, flipping off your phone. “Be nice.”
“Ooh, she’s out of control, Yoosung. Let me help you out.” Seven cracked his knuckles and gave you that grin again. “Bend over for him, now.”
You complied with Seven, hoping it would motivate Yoosung. You bent over slowly, your dress flipping over your ass and exposing you to Yoosung. You heard a gasp from behind you and a snicker from your phone.
“Aww, look at our maid Yoosung. She’s not very professional, huh?” Seven said. You saw one of his hands dip below his waist, although the rest of him was cut off at this angle. “Now what do you think we should do to her?”
Yoosung was quiet for a moment before he decided. You picked up your phone before walking over, hoping to adjust it to give Seven a better view.
“On my lap, now.” His voice had a dark edge to it that was usually missing. Seven whistled loudly at Yoosung’s reaction. Yoosung curled his fingers at you, beckoning you to sit on his lap. You made your way over, putting Yoosung’s drink down on his desk and finding a place to set your phone down. You were about to sit before you felt Yoosung’s hands grip your hips, fingers digging into them.
“Across me.” He stated. You felt a shiver run through your spine as you laid across Yoosung’s lap. You could feel the bulge growing in his pants already. You swallowed, saliva thick in your throat. Yoosung began to run his fingers up your thighs, so lightly that it tickled. You suppressed a giggle as his hands caressed your thighs.
“Hm, you think this is funny?” Yoosung said. He must have felt you shuddering on top of him. His fingers worked their way up to your ass, caressing it as well before he gave it a rough squeeze. “What a naughty maid you are, wearing something like this…”
Yoosung’s hands squeezed your ass again, followed by an experimental slap. Yoosung had never tried spanking you, but Seven had certainly shown you two the ropes. You and Yoosung were usually on the receiving end. You wiggled in his lap, trying to egg him on. Before you could speak Yoosung’s hand came down on your left cheek, much harder than before, a loud slap filling the room.
You heard Seven whistle again from your phone. You tilted your head to look, Seven’s flushed face filling the screen. You wished you could see the rest of him right now. Yoosung’s hand rubbed your left cheek, admiring the handprint he had left.
“Hey, Seven, how many do you think we should give her?” Yoosung said, hand still rubbing your ass. You could already guess what he was going to say.
“Why would I say anything but seven?” He replied. You tilted your head up again to look at your phone, watching as Seven adjusted the view. You could finally see the rest of him in the frame, his shirt pulled up on his chest and his pants already unbuckled. He was palming himself through his boxers.
You heard Yoosung inhale sharply above you, his bulge twitching underneath you. His hand came down on your right cheek this time, the loud slap filling the room again. You felt a familiar warmth in your stomach, coiling and twisting as you continued to grow wet. You felt like you were dripping now, and you wanted nothing more than for Yoosung to fill you up. But you’d have to be patient this time.
Yoosung traced his fingers along your inner thighs, dangerously close to feeling how wet you were. You squirmed on top of him, a small moan leaving your throat.
“Oh?” Yoosung said, fingers finally working their way to your wet heat and sliding against them, parting your lips. You moaned again, wishing desperately for him to push a finger in. He ran his finger up your folds again, dragging it slowly. “Such a naughty girl!”
“Yoosung, please…” You whined, pressing yourself against him. He immediately withdrew his fingers and you groaned.
“Who’s in charge here?” Yoosung said, hand making contact with your ass for another slap. That made three.
“Wow, Yoosung, are you sure you haven’t been hiding something from us?” You heard Seven say. Yoosung gave you another spank in response and you squealed, the pain from the last fresh still strong.
“Are you okay?” Yoosung said quietly, his hand moving to gently tilt your chin up.
“I’m good.” You replied firmly, pressing yourself against his bulge. Yoosung took that as confirmation, his hand quickly moving back to your ass and spanking you again. You felt his free hand thread its way through your hair, gently pulling your head back. His other hand roamed your ass, dipping between your thighs again.
“Oh god, I can’t wait anymore.” Yoosung said, voice husky. His fingers moved to your wet heat, rubbing the outer folds again before slowly inserting one of his fingers in you. You cried out in pleasure as his finger easily slid in, followed by a second finger. Yoosung pushed his fingers in and out slowly, teasing you.
“Y-yoosung, please.” You said softly. “I need more.”
“Since you asked so nicely, my naughty maid.” Yoosung took his fingers out and you whined, but he gently moved you off his lap and pushed you onto the bed.
“Hey, hey, don’t forget about me!” Seven said. “I’m gonna tell you what to do now.”
Yoosung nodded in agreement, moving to adjust your phone again so Seven could get a clearer view.
“Aw, our naughty maid! She’s so sexy~” Seven cooed, making you blush. “Touch her, Yoosung.”
“Gladly.” Yoosung replied, moving back to the bed. Yoosung’s face was flushed, his eyes taking in your body. He pushed your dress up again, moving your thighs apart in the process. You core was throbbing now, waiting for any sort of relief. Yoosung pushed two fingers in again, thumb moving to brush your clit. A loud moan left your throat and you arched your back in response.
“I can’t believe how beautiful you are,” Yoosung said, fingers still working you. “you’re perfect.”
You moaned in response. Yoosung was too cute sometimes. And in a situation like this… but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Your hands gripped his bedsheets as he continued to work you at a slow place.
“Don’t you think it’s time for a treat, Yoosung?” Seven said, his voice husky now. “I want to see you eat our naughty maid out.”
Yoosung groaned in response, more than ready to do what Seven asked. His removed his fingers from you, your hips involuntarily bucking.
“Patience, honey.” Yoosung said, familiar sunshine voice back for a moment. He moved his head towards your thighs, planting chaste kisses on them. You bucked your hips again and he began to deepen his kisses, throwing in a few nips as he worked his way towards your pussy. He stopped for a moment, breath hot on your outer lips. You pressed yourself into him and he moaned, finally moving his tongue in you. Yoosung started slowly, tongue lapping at you as his hand moved under your outfit to grip your hip.
You reached down to wrap your hands on either side of his head, lightly tugging at his hair. Yoosung quickened his pace, his hand moving down to lightly brush your clit. You mewled, your hips bucking again. You feel your stomach lightly coiling, hands tightening their grip in Yoosung’s hair.
Yoosung moved his mouth towards your clit, tongue flicking across it. A loud moan ripped through you. The coil in your stomach grew tighter as Yoosung worked your clit. His fingers moved back inside of you, causing you to cry out again.
“Oh god, Yoosung, please, I’m so close!” You managed to say, voice shaky. Yoosung quickened his pace in response, working you just the way you like it. Your hips were pushing against him now, working with his pace as he finger fucked you. A few more moments and pleasure ripped through you, coming like waves. You clamped your thighs tightly around him, unable to contain your pleasure. Yoosung continued to work you as you orgasmed, his fingers slowing down as you released your thighs from his head.
“You did such a good job, honey.” Yoosung said, placing kisses on both of your thighs. He was always one for praise. Your legs were shaking now, still riding the high from your orgasm. You eyed Yoosung’s body, still clothed, his bulge obvious.
“I think it’s your turn now.” You replied, sitting up. You looked at your phone, only to find the screen empty and the FaceTime call ended. “Uh, did we… hang up on Seven?”
Yoosung looked confused, turning to look as well. “No?”
A moment later a rapid knock came from the door. Seven suddenly burst through the door, not even waiting for Yoosung to answer. His face was flushed, phone hanging loosely from his hand.
“Hey, you should really lock that.” Seven said, before turning his attention towards you. “My naughty maid, I couldn’t leave you just to Yoosung!”
“Hey, how did you get up here anyway? And how fast did you drive?!” Yoosung said. You looked between both of them, not caring about the logistics at the moment. All you wanted was them.
“That’s a secret. For now, we have business to attend to.” Seven replied, eyeing you. He locked the door behind him and walked towards the bed, surveying the mess Yoosung had made of you.
“I think our maid has some spankings left, right?” Seven said, a smirk growing over his face. “Help me out, Yoosung.”
49 notes · View notes
resilientmama · 4 years
Text
Coping
Obviously I did not stick to my intended schedule. 
I got sick, Taylor has been sick, I started remodeling a bedroom in our home and I’ve been dealing with some emotional issues.
The deployment blues have been real. Thankfully we’ve gotten to see him at least once a week, but that is not nearly enough compared to the amount of time we’re going to be missing him in our home.
The amount of support I’ve gotten, publicly and privately, has been amazing. 
I appreciate everyone who’s reached out to me, especially those that have extended an apology for believing the slander without a backstory.
Veering back to my topic, coping.
My most asked question is how I possibly do this, day in and day out. Even though court has stopped for awhile and things are moderately calm, the alienation and aftermath of it are still with me and my husband every single day.
I think for the first six months I didn’t cope with anything. I just ignored it.
I gave birth to my son, Logan, almost exactly a month after my last court date. I just threw myself into being a new mom. I struggled with postpartum depression. And then that never went away. Finally I explained the last two years events to my psychiatrist and it was obvious no depression was caused from birthing my child. 
I was diagnosed with PTSD.
I know some people are going to say stating my medical diagnosis is idiotic. But its really not. Mental health is important. Its not something anyone should be ashamed for discussing or advocating for. 
I was abused, am still experiencing a long term abuse I don’t have control over, and I think everyone should be educated about it.
Everyone hears PTSD and associates it with current or former service members. But often victims of physical, emotional and sexual violence are who are affected by this disorder.
I do take medication for this, and it helps. I do have bad days. I have sad days. But talking about why I feel this way has helped me the most. 
What is PTSD like for me? 
Its fixation. One small thing could go bad in my day, like waking up late or forgetting to put the clothes in the dryer from the night before and I started beating myself up. This internal emotional abuse lead to fixation. I fixated on everything that’s happened, events that started in 2011 all the way to things that happened in 2018. The fixation was debilitating. I wouldn’t leave my house. I wouldn’t answer anyone’s phone calls. Taylor works out of state a majority of the time, and often we’re on opposite schedules. So the days I couldn’t talk to him, I would talk to no one. I found solace in revolving my life around Paxton and Logan. Thanks to the Life360 app it had been pointed out to me that sometimes I was going 5-6 days without even leaving my house. I had became a shell of a person. I was struggling in my college classes, sometimes dropping them for lack of motivation to even participate in online forums that were required. I hid from everyone.
I made myself sick.
I was either stone faced and silent, or viscous and hateful.
Then I saw a quote posted on Facebook. 
“Don’t judge others because they sin differently than you. God won’t be asking you about their sins, he’ll be asking about yours.”
I am by no means a religious person, but this quote spoke to my heart.
So I decided to make a change. I started talking. I refused to even say my alienated children’s names for the longest time. We removed all of their photos from our home, I cleaned out their room. I mourned my children like they had passed away. But I stepped away from my grief and started focusing on the good memories I had and the hope for a brighter future for all of us. 
I woke up one day with a different state of mind. I took baby steps. I started speaking more positively about myself and others. I didn’t wince when someone brought my children up to me in conversation. I started being friendly to everyone instead of shying away from even being acknowledged by anyone other than family and friends. 
I’ve been working diligently at this behavior for a few months now. And I can honestly say this is the closest to happiness that I have felt since the allegations started two years ago.
So what was the key to me coping? Not hiding anymore.
I started writing rough drafts for blog entries. I didn’t have the courage to publish them, but it was a start. 
When I got to the mental state that I felt all around healthy, I took this plunge. 
In my opinion, its one of the better decisions I’ve made.
I’ve hurt a lot of people during my grieving process. And I’m hoping those people see the things I write and maybe gain some insight as to why I treated them the way I did. I’m not seeking forgiveness via a public internet forum. The people I need are actively participating in my life, but maybe it will help the people who were active understand where things went wrong.
Just because I have made the conscious decision to change my state of mind from negative to positive does not mean I expect anyone else to follow suit. 
The reality of that not being possible has been shown to me, as recently as yesterday.
And this is my peace I have to speak on the matter.
I do not expect someone with their own issues and internal hurt within their heart to respect me for finally finding my voice. I don’t experience the individual day to day struggles that anyone reading my blog experiences. I didn’t believe life would turn to rainbows and butterflies the day I hit share on my Facebook. I do expect adult behavior. I expect to be able to share my story, share my healing and the things I am advocating for without being made fun of. If we focused more on improving our own lives and mental health, along with our children, we wouldn’t be swimming in this constant sea of toxicity. And not for one minute do I appreciate being made fun of on social media for doing something constructive and positive with myself after I was beat down by the same three individuals for two years straight. And if you have been a victim of parental alienation yourself, shame on you for participating in shaming the advocacy and awareness of something that does affect you daily. Things that happen in the dark will always be brought to the light. If the truth being told is an issue for anyone, don’t be a participant in immoral actions and you won’t feel the humiliation and guilt by association. Forgiveness is always an option, but you have to give to receive.
Thank you to anyone who is reading this. Watch for another post tonight on the subject of Malicious Mother Syndrome. And after many inquiries, I will begin telling you Taylor’s story next week. It’s going to take two posts yall!
Be positive, be happy, be loving.
WE ARE ALL WORTHY OF RESPECT AND BEING GENUINELY HAPPY.
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hopewritcs · 5 years
Text
shipwrecked. one.
pairing: tony stark x f!reader 
word count: 6.7k
summary: au based on the film overboard ( both the 1987 and the 2018 versions influenced this ).  y/n is a widowed mother of four children, who works constantly to make ends meet, and relies on her friends and family to help out with her children.  all the while she’s still working toward her own goal of publishing a novel.  y/n is working at a “last minute emergency” party on a yacht where she meets tony who seems to believe that since it’s his boat, he can order her around like any other person who works for him.  let’s just say their first meeting does not go well, as it ends with y/n in the water and a laughing tony topside on the yacht.  their second meeting?  oh, thanks to a bump on the head and a case of amnesia, it’s all going to go according to plan ( she hopes ).  
notes: welcome to chap 1 of a new multi chap series, i’ve been rewatching the overboard movies & iron man 1 and taking notes so i have a very good idea of how the fics plot will go, but i don’t know how many chapters it’s going to be yet. know that i use the term “au” since it’s going based off of another film concept and it takes place before iron man one to begin.  there will be appearances of other iron man characters & film events, i don’t claim any of them.  all i claim is the take i have on the plot, and the side ocs ( the readers friends & children ).  
also this takes place circa 2008 since that’s when iron man 1 happened, and the reader is around tony’s age.  
oh, and because it felt weird to explain the readers kids ages and birth order in the fic i’m putting it here in the notes: joanna is the oldest and she’s 12 going on 13.  she’s followed by the twins dean and kate who are 9.  the youngest is 6 year old leo.  ( all the kids names are taken from characters in the overboard movies )
okay this was a long note, but i hope you enjoy !! let me know what you think, i’m excited for this one tbh ! 
warnings: mentions of death, cursing, drinking, falling overboard 
masterlist: here
marvel tag list: n/a ( if you want to be added to any tag list, let me know !! )
You were leading a group of people towards the yacht, clipboard in hand as you directed them on where to go.  The whole party had been a last minute frantic call to the company.  You believe you could overhear emergency and party and your best alcohol please from the phone before it was handed off to you to take.  
You were supposed to pick up the kids from school, and you were supposed to spend the night watching movies with them as you had promised.  But Lenora, who was the owner of the party planning agency ( who happened to also be your very best friend since elementary school ), told you to take the gig and go handle it yourself.  She was sure that this party would be a good payday for everyone. 
If you were being honest, you could use the money.  Even if you knew that you’d be going home later that night to a couple of upset faces, you needed the money more.  Even if it broke your heart to break theirs after everything you’d gone through.  So, you agreed after Lenora had told you she would pick up your kids and watch them for the night with her partner.  
You’d only been working for Lenora for a couple of months since you moved back to your hometown, but you’d been one of the few people to help her set up shop after you both had graduated college.  So even though you hadn’t been working at Let Lenora Handle It™️ for a short amount of time, you knew the business better than most of her long term employees and she trusted you with more responsibilities because of it.  
“No!  Grace, that table’s not supposed to come off the truck yet.  Not until we learn what the host needs for supplies.  It’s a yacht, I think they have a table.”  You shouted towards the group of workers beginning to haul things off of the company van.  You sighed and put your head to the clipboard as you walked over to them.  “Grace, I need you to go to the kitchens and see what they need from us for food and menus.  Joey, could you figure out what we should bring off of here other than the, uh,” you glanced back down at the checklist you’d scratched out when you were on the phone earlier, “masquerade decorations.”  You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.  
Who the hell threw an emergency masquerade party on a yacht?  
Actually, what even was an emergency masquerade party?  
The team members were getting out of the cars and you gestured toward the yacht and told them to go, following behind them as your phone buzzed in your pocket.  You sighed once you saw the face of your eldest, Joanna, flashing on your phone and knew you needed to take the call.  “I’ll just be a minute.”  you assured your workers as they nodded and went off to do their duties.  Taking in a breath you put the phone to your ear, “Hi sweetheart, did Lenora get you all settled in?”  
You could hear the commotion on the other end, bickering voices you knew well coming through the phone and one out of breath Lenora telling them to quiet down.  I hope it’s all okay, you thought.  
But it was worth it.  
“Joanna?”  you repeated when you didn’t hear an answer.  “Sweetie can you hear me?”  
“Mom.” All four of your children whine at the same time, which makes you laugh.  
“Not that we don’t love Aunt Lenora, but you promised us movie night.”  Joanna commented, and you could hear the sadness in her tone, even if it was masked with the annoyed voice you heard.  
“And ice cream!”  Leo cried out in the background, though he’s muffled by the sound of the twins arguing.  
“I’m sorry, I’ve got to work.”  You kept your voice level because, even if it hurt you to hear your kids upset, they needed to understand that your job was important and it was something you needed.  
Frankly, it was something you all needed.  You’d been working two ( sometimes three ) jobs after your husband died before you moved back to your hometown in costal Oregon.  Luckily Lenora’s company had been doing amazingly well, and she could afford to take you on as a “second in command”.  She’d said she could hire you, and you’d expected to be a regular employee but she’d given you your own office and told you that the whole place wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t helped her all those years ago.  You wanted to argue with her, tell her she could have done it on her own, but you appreciated the gesture.  Plus, it didn’t hurt that the money she was paying you was enough that you were able to work just there, though you did take the occasional shift at the bar downtown like you had back during college.  
“I know mom.” Joanna replied with a sigh.  “It’s just--”
You knew where she was going, even if she hadn’t trailed off.  It had been a while since you’d been able to spend a lot of quality family time together with all the hours you’d been working.  And that had proved difficult to explain to kids because even if they understood what you were saying, they still felt like they were losing time with you and they hated it.  
As the oldest, Joanna had taken on a lot more responsibility around the house after your husband died.  She helped you by making sure her siblings got their homework done while you’d worked longer hours, helped the babysitters you’d gotten ( because Joanna may have been the oldest, but she wasn’t old enough to be left alone with her siblings at the time ) understand what they needed to do, and had been by your side as you cooked dinner most nights to give you a helping hand.  
At the end of the day, Joanna was still twelve and still just really wanted her mom around.  
And you just really wanted to be there.  
“I know, I’ll make it up to you guys.  We’ll do a whole day just the five of us next weekend, how does that sound?” You were tapping your foot anxiously, not wanting to make a promise if you weren’t sure you could keep it, but you also didn’t want to upset the kids any more than you already had.  
Before you got a response, you heard someone whistle from the yacht, “Excuse me! Ma’am?  Hello!  Are you the party planner in charge?  Could I get a word?!”  You turned your head to look up at the man standing in his swim trunks on the deck, waving wildly in your direction as he gestured for you to come to him.  His other hand was around a flute of champagne, which he pressed to his lips and took a sip from as he waited.  When you didn’t budge, he called out again, “Yeah, honey, I’m not paying you to stand around and talk on your phone.  This is an emergency.  Let’s go.”   
“I’ve got to go.  Listen to Lenora, eat your veggies, and don’t stay up to late.  I love you guys and I’ll see you later tonight.”  You quickly hung up your phone and stuck it back in your pocket before quickly walking up the ramp to get onto the yacht’s deck.  
“Finally.”  the man raised his arms before dropping them dramatically to his sides, a bit of champagne dropping out of the flute to one side.  “Took you long enough.”  
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the way he’d been speaking to you before holding out your hand and introducing yourself, “Sorry, sir.  My name is Y/N Y/L/N.  Is there something you needed?”
He eyed your hand for a long and awkward moment before you dropped it down to your side and then he looked back at you, “Yeah.  I said masquerade, not whatever that is.”  He vaguely gestured toward the company’s van where the other workers were pulling out the decorations and getting them organized.  
“Believe me, when it’s all set up it’ll look different than it does in the box.  I promise.”  you nodded your head confidently.  You’d always been happy with the end decorating outcome, and knew that it always seemed like there wasn’t enough to completely transform a place, but everyone was always surprised and happy with how things turned out.  
“I’m trusting you with this.”  The dark haired man took another sip from his champagne as he studied you with his eyes.  You knew there was a silent don’t fuck this up hidden in his words and his gaze, so you nodded.  “If you need help, just ask for JARVIS.”  Then he was off, brushing past you and calling out that he was going to go relax.  
“Who’s, uh, JARVIS?”  you called back, your voice dying down as you noticed he was already gone and out of earshot before you had finished what you were saying.  
“That would be me, ma’am.”  spoke an artificial voice which caused you to jump slightly.  
“Excuse me?”  you questioned, turning around to see a small panel on the side of the yacht light up.  
“I’m Mr. Stark’s AI.  If you need anything I can be of assistance.”  
You nodded numbly in the direction of the panel, humming.  As you walked off to help the rest of the staff begin decorating the deck, you mumbled to yourself.  
“This is the weirdest job I’ve had in a long time.” 
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It was proving to be a long process, getting everything ready because there was a lot of ground on the yacht.  You’d been managing getting everyone to put things in the right order when you wandered off course.  But you had left the main deck area to enter into the actual rooms on the boat itself, wanting to see if there was anything that you’d need to do for the inside, except that meant finding your employer, and the yacht was much bigger and more confusing to navigate than it looked when you first arrived.  
Finally you found him, but it was at the same time as an older bald man did.  He beat you there, leaving you standing awkwardly in the doorway and looking in from your corner.  The man strode into the room, slamming the door completely open as he dropped something that sounded like a stack of papers onto the table--you couldn’t see what it was from where you were standing. 
“Tony!” The bald man exclaimed, attempting to get the dark haired man’s attention.  “Tony!” he repeated and only got a spared glance from the man.  Finally he grabbed the remote and turned the television off.  
This caused Tony to turn to look at him, pushing his sunglasses down his nose as he looked miffed by the interruption.  “Can I help you Obi?”  
“You can explain why we’re throwing a party in the middle of nowhere Oregon when we should be heading back down to Malibu for a shareholders meeting!”  Even if you couldn’t see the man’s face, you could tell from his posture and his tone that he was pissed off.  To you it felt like he’d given the man in question a similar speech multiple times before and this was only the latest in a long line of such scoldings.  
“Relax, Obi, that’s not for another two weeks.”  Tony shrugged him off, taking the remote back from the man’s hands and turning the station back on.  
Obi once again grabbed the remote before flinging it to the other side of the room, “It’s in three days!”  
Tony sat up in his seat, shaking his head.  “No, I specifically remember it not being the first week of the month.”  
“Tony, it’s the middle of the month.”  
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.” 
“Really?” 
“Cut the crap.  The board is sick of you pulling all these weeks away and long benders of time off the grid.”  Obi took a seat on the couch across from Tony and continued speaking, running a hand across his head.  “They’re saying you’re not taking being CEO seriously.  You’re thirty-eight, Tony, and every night the tabloids are talking like you’re still in your twenties.  You need to grow up.  Or the board might do something about this.”  
“Hard to have the company without the guy who’s name is on all the papers there.”  Tony took his sunglasses off and put them down on the table, sitting up straight as he looked right at Obadiah.  “First of all, I still have the majority of the stock.”  he paused, you muttered the word arrogant under your breath just low enough as if you’d breathed, and held his hand up ( which only made you assume the other man had motioned to interrupt ), “Second, who cares what or who I do if I get the job done at the end of the day?  Aren’t the results worth it, or are they mad about the product we’re putting out too?”  
“It’s not the product they’re worried about, Tony.  It’s the fact that you’re the face of the company.”  
The man was still speaking, but you’d figured you should back out and try attempting to find Tony later to discuss the details you were missing.  You’d already overheard more than you should have of a conversation you had no right hearing.  Even if you did agree the other man was acting childish for supposedly running a multi billion dollar company.  
Sighing, you made your way back onto the deck and looked around.  “Excuse me, JARVIS?” you called out tentatively, shocked when one of the windows of the yacht turned into a computer screen and flashed.  It was quite advanced technology, and you didn’t know if you could get used to something like that.  
Then again, you were only here a couple of hours at most, yeah?  
“How may I be of assistance ma’am?”  the accented artificial voice answered back.  
“For the party he’s throwing, did he say if he wanted the entire top of the ship, including this room, or just the main deck decorated?”  You awkwardly shuffled on your feet, not sure where you should be directing the question to.  
“I believe Mr. Stark is planning for the party to be out on the deck, but I could send him your way if you’d like.”  
“If he’s not busy that would be helpful.  Thank you, JARVIS.”  
You didn’t get a response from the AI and instead moved back out onto the main deck of the boat.  The rest of the workers had already finished getting the big objects moved about and you thanked them and sent them on their way off the boat to head back to the offices, you were sure that you were mostly done there with the decorating.  Whatever was left, you could handle yourself.  You took the box of golden string lights, stepped up onto the ladder, and began weaving them around some of the decorations when you heard footsteps coming up behind you.  
“JARVIS said you needed me for something.”  His voice didn’t surprise you since you’d heard him coming, but the tone was much more pleasant than what you’d dealt with yourself and overheard earlier.  
You turned to look at him from where you stood on the ladder and nodded kindly, “Yes.  Did you need the rest of the boat decorated as well, for example the main room, or is just the top deck fine?”  
“I’m paying you to figure out the questions like this, aren’t I?”  Tony mused, rolling his eyes and brushing past you, knocking his arm into the ladder you stood on, on his way to the outside bar and getting himself a glass of whiskey with ice poured.  
You got knocked down to the ground loudly from the jolt he’d caused and turned to look at him from where you sat on the floor.  One thing you noticed was a small scar, looking like he’d injured himself somehow on the back of his leg where the swim trunks he was wearing stopped--it looked oddly like the shape of a crescent moon.    
“Not that I don’t mind a pretty face staring at me, but can I help you with something?”  
You turned your attention up, but he was still facing away from you.  He was, however, looking directly at you in the mirror hanging just above the bar.  Biting your lip and brushing the fallen hair out of your eyes you stood up and walked toward him.  You’d had it.  “Actually there is.  Why are you a child?”  You spoke out of turn, you knew your anger was boiling over and it was awful to react like this on a job--but this man was pushing your buttons.  You shook your head, shaking your hand before correcting yourself, “Actually, that’s an insult to children.  I have children, they behave better than you.  So what exactly is your damage, sir?”  
Tony turned toward you and looked at you as he took a long sip of his drink.  He was quite surprised with the level of frustration he’d gotten out of you, the amused smirk on his lips telling you what he thought of your little outburst.  It only made you angrier.  
“That’s a long list, honey.  Do you have the time or do you want the short and sweet version?”  He put the glass down on the bar and looked at you.  
“Are you serious?!  You just knocked me off of a ladder, and you don’t even turn back just pour yourself another drink?  Don’t you have any sense of empathy, or do you just run around on that high horse that no one can touch.  Oh, look at all those people down there.  Poor them.  I should do something.  Oh, you know what?  I’ll throw an emergency party!  What the fuck even is an emergency party?”  
You didn’t care that your voice was raised or that you were making a ( likely ) fool of yourself if anyone overheard the conversation.  Thankfully no one was around on the deck so you were safe.  Or, you thought you were--the truth was the boat’s security footage had audio as well and the staff monitoring the security feeds?  They were having a ball listening to you tell off their boss.  It was something they wouldn’t dare do.  
“An emergency party is a party because I want one.”  
“Oh, cause that makes it better.”  
“I hired your little company because I wanted a good theme and a nice time, not some woman with an attitude telling me my place!”  Tony waved his hand dismissively in your direction as he looked around the deck.  If he had taken a moment, he’d have cared that the place actually looked halfway decent.  “I want you off my ship.  Now.”  
“Fine,” you resolved, crossing your arms against your chest and staring at him still, “pay me for the decorations and our time and I’ll be on my way.”  
“No.  I’m not satisfied with the work, I absolutely will not pay for this half assed job.”  
“Half assed?  Half assed?!  Oh, you wouldn’t know real work if it bit your ass!”  You put your hands down on the bar and looked at him, scoffing as you shook your head.  “I will be on my way, once you hand over the check for the work I did.”  
“Fine.”  
“Fine.” 
Tony turned around and moved across the deck, you watched him as he moved and turned to follow him when he took the half finished decorations box and tossed it off the ship.  
“Are you kidding me right now?  You can’t throw my things off the boat!”  You charged forward, leaning off the edge of the boat and watching as they ebbed in the gentle water.  At least they weren’t going far, but that was still a good amount of decorations.  “That’s unacceptable.  I did the work, we did the work.  You owe us.”  
Tony made a face like he couldn’t hear you as he called for the captain to begin moving the boat out onto the sea before he would get passengers for the party later on.  The boat started moving away and you shrieked, turning to look at him.  Before you could say anything he knocked into you again and you tumbled off the edge of the boat.  
“Real mature!” you screamed, once you’d bobbed back to the surface, as the boat moved farther away from you.  
“Sorry, I can’t hear you.”  Tony cupped his ear, taking another sip of his drink and he even waved you off as the boat moved father away.  
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You’d managed to gather up the box Tony had thrown overboard and you hauled yourself back to your feet.  Your phone was shot from being in the water, so you tossed that and the box into your car and drove off towards Lenora’s.  You turned on the radio to the station you’d been listening to and blast it, damn whatever anyone else thinks as you drive by with the windows down.  
Pulling into your friend’s driveway, you were greeted with the door opening before you had a chance to even turn the car’s engine off and the faces of your kids running towards you with excited grins.  
“Hey guys.”  You grinned as they charged for you, all four of them reaching to hug you at the same time.  You couldn’t quite make out everything they were telling you but most of it seemed to be we get a movie night now because you were in fact home much earlier than you expected to be.  
“Why are you soaked, mom?”  Dean asked, raising his eyebrows as he pulled away from you quickly, shaking off his face as if he himself was now soaked from coming into contact with you.  
“Oh, it’s no big deal.”  you shrugged your shoulders, making eye contact with Lenora as you said so ( she didn’t by that it wasn’t a big deal ) and just shook your head slightly.  You’d tell her in a minute, but you didn’t want to tell the kids.  “Hey, now that I’m here why don’t you guys go inside and check out Lenora’s movies and find something for us to watch.”  
They nodded and ran back towards the house, leaving you outside with your friend.  The pair of you watched in silence until the door closed behind the kids and you met in the middle of her lawn.  
“Y/N what happened?”  she asked, blinking as she took in your soaked attire.  
“Let’s just say we’re not getting paid, the guys a jerk, my phone’s dead, and I need to borrow some clothes.”  You hummed, your lips forming a straight line as you practically frowned with the residual anger that was still storming through your body.  You let out a breath, puffing your cheeks as you did and Lenora pulled you in for a hug.  
“Let’s get you changed and see if we can’t fix your phone problems.”  she tugged your arm and led you back to the house, both of you brushing past the kids who were raiding the DVD collection that Lenora had amassed over the years.  Once you were in her room, she pulled out some clothes for you to change into.  “You okay?”  
You took the clothes into your hand and moved to her bathroom in order to change, speaking to her as you moved, “Me? I’m fine, Len.  Don’t worry about it.  I’m just mad that asshole wouldn’t pay me.  We did the job for him.  He was like a petulant arrogant... jerk.”  You came back out of the bathroom, running your fingers through your wet hair before pulling it up into a bun.  “Like, he really just... I overheard him talking with someone who he works with or who he employs or whatever and he was like ‘Well they can’t run anything without me, my names all over it’ blah blah.”  You trailed off, shaking your head as you fumed with anger and annoyance.  
Lenora nodded her head as she followed your train of thought.  “Okay, let’s get you a glass of wine and the pizza should be here.  We’re going to have an old fashioned sleepover night.  The seven of us, some pizza, movies, and really bad charades.”  She chuckled, taking your hands from your side and waving your intertwined hands between the two of you.  “Look at me.  Hey.”  you turned your attention back toward your friend and she grinned at you.  “It’s gonna be okay.  We’ll make up the payday with another job.  Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”  
“You’re really the best friend I could have ever asked for, you know?” 
“Yeah, well, you’re mine too.”  
You two made your way back into the living room where the kids were piled on the floor, holding DVDs in their hands and arguing over which one should be first.  It was a fight between National Treasure, Atlantis: The Lost Empire, Holes, and Spy Kids.  You and Lenora looked between the two of you as you walked to her kitchen and got everything ready for dinner.  
By the time pizza came, the kids had agreed on Spy Kids first and you all settled in on the couch.  Leo curled up onto your lap as best he could and the twins sat on either side of you while Joanna took control of the single chair next to the couch instead.  
And you eventually let yourself relax and have a good night, focusing on the movies and the company and letting the pain of the previous encounter go.  
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Tony Stark was having a good night.  He didn’t let anything phase him as he went about the party he threw happily mingling and drinking.  He’d had a couple of people who managed to come, a small affair, but it was well done.  He would admit that later, if he could remember it.  He was definitely extremely drunk as he made his way through the party goers.  
There weren’t many people there--it was a couple of pretty women who he had seen and just invited, along with Obadiah ( who was soon going to “call it a night” and go off to his room on the boat ), Happy ( who was working with the captain of the ship and wasn’t actually attending the party, but he could watch from the security feeds), and Rhodey ( who Tony had convinced to fly over to Oregon for the “emergency” that turned out to be just another excuse for the man to get drunk ).  
But a party was a party, and Tony Stark was definitely the center of gravity at this one.  The night was young and Tony was really feeling the groove with the masks he’d gotten from...somewhere. 
Where had the masks come from?
Where did he get all the decorations from?
Your face flashed through his mind but he couldn’t remember your name.  He did remember being angry with you and there being a fight, though.  
He shrugged it off and went about the rest of his night, eventually taking one of the women to his room.  He’d even called back to Rhodey, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t!” as he stumbled down the boat to where his suite was, arm dangled around the shoulders of a blonde.  
A couple of hours passed and Tony woke up tangled in the sheets, naked.  He got up and shook his head, running a hand over his face as he turned to the woman sleeping peacefully on the bed.  He wasn’t going to get back to sleep, and unfortunately his yacht didn’t have a lab for him to escape to work on, so he decided to improvise.  
Tony got up, pulling on a pair of boxers and sweatpants and then he headed back topside.  He was less drunk than he had been earlier, but still felt the buzz of alcohol coursing thought him.  “JARVIS is anyone else awake?”  he asked when he got to the main level of the yacht, making his way through the party mess and going outside onto the deck.  He stood outside and looked around, it was still late ( or too early for the sun to be up, at least ).  
“All other guests have retired to their rooms, sir.”  
Tony nodded his head and went around to the bar, pouring himself another drink and gulping it down as he looked out onto the ocean in front of them.  They were moving slowly as the night ran on ahead, and he moved to the side to look out onto the current.  He tended to do this whenever he was on the yacht, despite several comments from JARVIS that he really should stay away from the edge of the boat.  
Tony always shrugged off the comments from the AI because he could definitely catch himself if he were ever going overboard.  
He wasn’t going to be caught at sea.  No sir, not Tony Stark.  
Unfortunately for him, the AI had been right.  Standing at the edge of the boat was asking for trouble.  
A rough bump in the otherwise calm ocean below had caused him to drop the crystal glass down onto the floor, crashing onto his leg as it went down.  He made a face at the action and moved to grab something to fix his injury ( he’d had worse when he was working on his cars or some of the inventions, a small cut on his leg from broken glass was nothing ) when he slipped on the spilled alcohol.  The force knocked him backwards causing his back to hit the ledge and he went overboard with a shout of “help” and flailing arms.  
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A couple of days later, you and the kids were back at Lenora’s for the weekend.  Sometimes she would stay with you if her partner was out of town, but her place was just bigger and more comfortable for all of you to spend time in, so you’d elected to stay with her and do weekend activities with the kids there that weekend.  
It was a good thing to have this in your routine, since it had originally started when you first moved home and it was like a constant wave of nausea from the nostalgia you were feeling.  This was where you’d met your husband, he’d been your high school sweetheart, and it was so hard to move home.  But it was also best for everyone, you hadn’t been able to afford your old house in your old neighborhood.  And here you had your husband’s family house, it wasn’t anything big but it was a place that you knew well and it could fit you and the kids.  
Coming to Lenora’s had been a way to stabilize yourself, you’d needed to be around someone in the mornings when the feelings would hit you hardest, and now it had just become a new tradition.  You think the kids happened to like coming to Lenora’s often because they liked her pets: a dog named Champ and a cat named Tabitha.
You went into the kitchen to begin making breakfast for the kids and your friend.  It was a quiet morning, the sun having just risen, and you turned the radio on in the kitchen quietly.  You didn’t want to wake anyone up just yet, but knew they would all be up soon with the food once it got cooking.  
You figured pancakes was the way to go for everyone, a couple with berries in the mix, a couple with chocolate chips, and a couple plain.  Lenora would appreciate not having to make breakfast, and your kids always loved pancake breakfasts.  
A wave hit as you mixed pancake batter, like a mist of sorrow just brushing over you as you remembered making pancakes with your husband and the kids.  Your heart plummeted for a moment as you closed your eyes and took in a deep breath.  
No, you were okay.  
You let out the air you’d breathed in and nodded to yourself, going back to the fridge to get the berries you would need and the cabinet to get the chips.  You busied yourself with the pancakes and singing along to the music playing on the radio that you got lost in the moment, not hearing when everyone else was waking up around you and coming into the kitchen.  
“Do I smell pancakes?” Lenora called out as she followed the brood of kids into the kitchen.  You’d spent many nights at Lenora’s over the years, so the kids always felt like it was a second home.  Joanna immediately went to grab the plates from the cabinet as Dean and Kate were grabbing juice from the fridge.  
Leo snuck up behind you and pressed his head against your leg as he yawned out a soft good morning into your pants.  You ruffled his hair and bent down to press a kiss to the top of his head as you grinned at him and said, “Morning sweet pea.  How did you sleep?”    
“M’kay.”  Leo shrugged his shoulders as he rubbed his eyes before following his siblings to the kitchen table and taking a seat.  
You were about to greet Lenora when the radio station suddenly paused the music, cutting off the sounds of Prince filling the morning air, and a newscaster was speaking.  
“Sorry to interrupt your music, folks.  It’s an unusual morning in Elk Cove, as the man found down by the beach story is getting even weirder.”  
You turned your head up at that.  “The what?”
“Oh, yeah! They found a man out at sea yesterday morning.  Apparently he was pretty beat up, must’ve hit his head or something.” Dean commented from the table, nodding his head.  
Lenora took out her phone and must have either been responding to a message or checking out the story the kids were saying.  You went back to paying attention to the stove to know when to flip the pancakes, but you did lean over to turn up the news cast.  
“Looks like he’s still a John Doe.  Doctors have confirmed that he’s got a concussion and a couple of cuts along his legs from the fall into the water, but is otherwise healthy.  He does however seem to be suffering from a case of amnesia, and cannot remember who he is or what he does.  Unfortunately, there was nothing identifying him when the fishermen found him yesterday.”  Your attention was pulled away when Lenora tapped your arm, holding out her phone for you to look at.  
You gasped, “Lenora it’s him!” Sure, the face in the photograph was a bit beat up and bruised, but that was unmistakably the man who you’d dealt with the other day.  
“Yesterday the police were approached by someone who was believed to know the man, a yacht had been in the area for a night out, but unfortunately the man could not identify him.  The police are looking for any information they can on this man, having reached out to the state police to see if they can help.  If you recognize the man, please do contact the police or the hospital.”  
You shook your head, “I bet it was that man he was arguing with.  Just leaving him unidentified in the hospital!  I know he wasn’t that great of a guy, kind of full of himself, but to leave him there alone and not knowing who he is?”  You made a face, shaking your head at the thought.  Even if you didn’t think the man was particularly great, you couldn’t imagine what he must be feeling being all alone and having no clue about what was going on with him or who he was.  
Lenora turned down the radio and looked over your shoulder at the article once more.  She put her hand on your shoulders, spinning you around to face her with an excited expression.  
“Len?” 
“This is fate!  We can go to the hospital and get Mr. Rich Jerkface to give us the money he owes us!”  she exclaimed, nodding her head with a grin on her face.  
You raised your eyebrows at her, “Major problem.  If he doesn’t remember who he is, I don’t think he’s going to remember who I am and the fact that he owes us money.”  You shrugged your shoulders, sighing.  “There’s nothing we can do.”  
Lenora took her phone back and began typing on the keyboard, shaking her head.  “No, fate is giving us this.  And we’d be crazy not to take it.  We’re getting our money, Y/N.”
“How are we going to do that?”
“Hear me out.”  Lenora started before pulling back and looking at the kids who were all listening in on the conversation.  Lenora decided she might as well tell everyone her plan, since it involved them all, and she looked at you when she spoke.  “He owes you money and he’s got amnesia.  His business partner or whatever left him there and won’t be there for him.  Why don’t we go and get him?”  
“And what are we going to say?  Hey the John Doe from the news owes me money and I’d like to take him home to collect?  Be serious, Lenora.” 
Lenora shook her head, pointing at you.  “Even better.  We pretend he’s your husband.  It’s perfect.  I’ve got a friend who can make everything we need, documents and pictures.  He won’t even know.  And you can make him do the housework for a couple of weeks and we’re even.  He literally threw you off a boat Y/N.”  
You bit your lip, turning back to flip the pancakes you’d had on the stove and thought about it for a moment.  It was a crazy plan, and there was a chance it wouldn’t even work out.  You could be caught immediately.  
But, he was alone there.  And you wouldn’t want to be alone like that.  
And he did owe you for the work you’d done.  
“Fine, make the call.  But we’re going to need a couple more things than just papers and pictures.”  You agreed, sighing as you shook your head.  Of course you’d gotten yourself into this mess.  
“We need clothes!”
You were shocked when Kate spoke up from the kitchen table and you turned to look at the kids with wide eyes.  
“What?” you asked, blinking at them.  
“Well, he needs to buy that he’s our dad, right?  It’s kind of obvious we need to go and get clothes and stuff too, mom.”  Kate shrugged her shoulders, nodding her head at you.  
“Katie’s right!  I’ll get my friend working on the documents and pictures we might need and then we’ll take a trip to go and get some clothes.  Then you go down to the hospital and the kids and I will go back to your house and set it all up.”  Lenora nodded her head, dialing on her phone and leaving the room as she spoke to whoever it was in a hushed tone.  
You watched, silently amazed as she spoke to her friend.  
“Mom, the pancakes are burning!” 
That brought you back into the moment and you flipped the pancakes off of the burner before putting a couple of new ones back down on the pan.  
“Are you guys going to be alright?  You’re going to have to call him dad and everything.”  
The kids nodded at you.  “Yeah, we’re okay.  We’ll help.  How bad could the guy be anyway?”  Joanna asked.  
“Oh, you have no idea.”  You shook your head.  
Once you finished the pancakes, Lenora handed you a makeshift script she’d written and told you to call the hospital.  You rolled your eyes, but you made your way back to her room for some privacy and dialed the hospital.  
“Hello, I’m calling about the John Doe I saw on the news?  It’s my husband, Tony Y/L/N.  He was out swimming the other night and I didn’t hear from him and the kids and I we’ve been so worried.”  You managed to make yourself sound choked up at the thought of it all, even feeling your eyes got hot with the prickling of tears.  “Is he--is he alright?”  
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waywardnerd67 · 5 years
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Fangirl Dreams: The Honky-Tonk
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Summary: Jensen and Zac plan a special party for (Y/N) in celebration of one of her lifetime dreams comes true. Characters: Jensen Ackles, Zac Levi, Reader Pairing: Jensen x Reader x Zac Warnings: Fluff/Smut Word Count: 3157 A/N: As always this is unbeta so all mistakes are mine. Likes, comments and reblogs are splendid and I will love you doubly for them! Enjoy!
Check out: Fangirl Dreams Masterlist
(Y/N) was enjoying a rare evening where Jensen and Zac were both home. She had her head resting on Zac’s lap as he played video games while Jensen was laying on top of her his head just below her breasts. Jensen had arrive home from Europe and jet-lag was not being kind to him as he slept snoring softly. (Y/N) was checking her emails on her phone when her literary agent number popped up on the screen.
“Hey Maggie, how is everything going?” she asked gently shaking Jensen to get up. He groggily sat up while Zac muted his game.
“Great news (Y/N), I have the first proof copies of your book in my office.” She said as (Y/N) shot up off the couch excitedly.
Her eyes widening as Jensen and Zac stared up at her, “You’re kidding? That is amazing!” she asked her heart thumping in her chest.
“I will overnight a few of them to you and then I will need to start working with your manager to schedule a book tour and talk show circuit. The publisher wants to get you as much press as possible with this. I will be touch with you about all of that later on, but for now congratulations you are officially a published author.” Hearing the words was surreal to (Y/N) as she said goodbye.
She stared speechless down to Jensen and Zac who were both anxiously waiting for her to say something. “Don’t keep us in suspense pretty girl.” Jensen said.
A wide smile spread across her lips, “It’s official. I’m a published author!” she yelled as both men got up hugging her.
Zac wrapped his long arms around both her and Jensen squeezing them tightly, “Gorgeous this is wonderful! We need to celebrate.”
Jensen nodded in agreement but (Y/N) shook her head, “Not yet. I don’t want to celebrate until I know that it is out in bookstores. That is all I have ever wanted is something I wrote to be sitting on the shelf of a book store.”
“Party pooper.” Zac pouted letting them go.
“She has a point, Zac. The moment we know it is out of the public then we will celebrate.” Jensen said kissing the top of her head. “For now, Zac and I can celebrate you in our own ways.”
(Y/N) looked up to the two men who sandwiched her. Before she could do or say anything Zac was picking her up over his shoulder while Jensen smacked her ass following them upstairs to their bedroom. The rest of the night she spent in a world of blissful celebration thanks to the two amazing men in her life.
Over the next several weeks, Jensen and (Y/N) were getting ready to go back up to Vancouver with only a few days left for the three of them to spend together. The last weekend for them to be in Austin, (Y/N) was looking over her social media seeing all the fans from the show tagging her in posts which was not unusual. However, it was a post from Zac that she was not expecting to be tagged in.
He was in a Barnes and Noble in Austin smiling widely as he held up her book. The caption of his picture saying, “@waywardauthor Look what I found! Congrats my friend I always knew you would make your dreams come true. To infinity and beyond, (Y/N)!”
Her cheeks were hurting from the smile on her face seeing the post. She chuckled reading the little code phrase they came up with for saying I love you in public. She took a screenshot of the post and then a message from Jensen popped on the screen.
“It’s official, so tonight we celebrate for real. There is a surprise we left for you on the bed. Be ready by six tonight. I love you.” His text said as she hurriedly went upstairs to their bedroom.
Sure enough, there was a box with a green bow on it sitting on their bed. Opening it, (Y/N) found a simple white and tan dress, tan cowboy boots and a card. Curious as to what those guys were up too she opened the card seeing Zac’s handwriting.
“(Y/N) you are invited to the rootin’ tootin’ hoedown! Put on your cowgirl best and join us in the barn at six o’clock sharp. Your two studs will be waiting for you.” She started laughing rereading the card again.
The rest of her afternoon went by quickly having a meeting with her literary agent and her manager. They finalized a schedule for a book and press tour already having letting the producers know at Supernatural.
A few minutes before six o’clock, (Y/N) started walking down to their large barn which held some farming equipment Zac had bought. The closer she got to the building she could hear country music playing and then she saw her boys standing by the barn door.
Her jaw slowly dropped seeing the two of them stand there. Both of them in dark brown cowboy boots, jeans, and button down plaids. Top of both their head were large cowboy hats that they were tip down to her as she approached them.
“Howdy cowboys.” She said as they both leaned down kissing her cheeks. She looked up at them both wide eyed panic flooding her.
Zac slipped his arm around her shoulders pulling her into his side, “Don’t worry gorgeous, tonight the three of us are allowed to be ourselves in the safety of our barn.”
Jensen opened the barn door the three of them walking inside to see everyone who was in the loop on their relationship. Jared, Gen, Misha, Vicky and Clif were all dressed up in their country best talking in a small circle. A few of the Supernatural crew and a lot of their friends they regularly hung out with. (Y/N) slipped her arms behind each of their waists as Jensen’s hand trailed down her back.
“We can just be together?” she asked looking up into his deep olive eyes.
Jensen smiled nodding, “Exactly. No worries about anyone seeing us all together. Just us and family tonight.”
She felt Zac’s lips press against her temple, “Celebrating you accomplishing your dreams.”
The night was one of the best in (Y/N)’s life. She could freely mingle with her closest friends and the loves of her life. She was looking around for Jensen and Zac when she heard someone tapping on a mic. Jared and Gen came along side her as everyone looked up to the makeshift stage of hay bales.
“Oh crap.” (Y/N) whispered running her hand over her eyes.
Jensen was standing with his dad’s guitar while Zac was holding the microphone, “Hello everyone. Jensen and I wanted to take a moment to say thank you for coming out to celebrate our girl, Mrs. (Y/N) Ackles. There are not words to express how incredibility proud of her for turning her dream into a reality.”
“We wanted to celebrate her in a special way with everyone close to us and embarrass her a little.” Jensen said as she held her thumbs up to them making everyone laugh. “We wanted to give her something we knew she would love. Here’s to you pretty girl.”
As soon as Jensen began playing the first notes, (Y/N) felt her face burning remembering the first time she heard him singing this song.
November 2018 – Nashville
(Y/N) was standing on the side of the stage watching as Jensen walked up in front of a crowd of screaming fans. Her phone buzzed in her back pocket just as Louden Swain began playing ‘Like a Wrecking Ball’ by Eric Church.
“Come backstage.” Her head snapped up as she made her way backstage.
Among the ladies of Supernatural was Zac standing nearly a foot taller than any of them. She was shocked to see him, and her stomach started churning. Kim Rhodes made her way over to her smiling, “I just love your best friend. The way you guys all met and are so close is amazing.”
“Yeah he’s full of surprises. Hi Zac.” She said as she walked over with Kim.
“Hey there, I thought I would surprise you and Jensen since I was in Nashville as well.” He said hugging her a little tighter than friends would.
The girls eventually left them alone to grab some drinks and (Y/N) noticed Zac slowly moving them further back away from everyone. His hands were gripping her hips tightly as he grinded against her. Between Zac touching her and Jensen’s rhythmic voice the ache between her legs was getting to be too much.
Looking around to see everyone watching Jensen on stage, (Y/N) placed her hand on top of Zac’s sliding down between her legs. His head nuzzling into the crook of neck. She leaned her head back against his shoulder, “Fuck I need you. I need you both.”
“That old house is gonna be shaking. I hope those bricks and boards can take it. But I won't be surprised if the whole damn place just falls. I'm gonna rock you baby, like a wrecking ball.” He sung at the same time as Jensen their voices collectively making her weak in the knees.
Present Day – Austin
“And that old house is gonna be shaking. Rafter and rocking foundation quaking. Crash right through the front door, back you up against the wall. Love you baby take it right there baby rock you baby, like a wrecking ball.” Zac and Jensen finished the song together as everyone started clapping for them.
They came down off the stage chatting with a few people as they made their way to her. (Y/N) hugged each of them kissing their cheeks before making her way up to the stage. She picked up the mic tapping on it getting everyone’s attention.
“I just wanted to thank everyone for coming out here to celebrate my book being published. It really means the world to me knowing I have everyone’s love and support not only for my book but for my life as well. Jensen, Zac you two have thoroughly embarrassed me,” everyone started laughing, “and made me feel incredibility special tonight. Thank you and I love you both with all my heart. Now everyone enjoy the rest of the evening.”
She walked off stage into the arms of the two that meant the most to her. Jensen leaned down whispering, “How ready are you for this night to be over and the real fun to begin?”
Before (Y/N) could answer she felt Zac’s fingers grazing up her leg until they brushed against her soaked panties, “Oh she’s ready maybe we should just sneak off to the house.”
She bit her lip to keep from moaning, “That would be rude plus I want you both in here on the hay in nothing but those hats.”
Both men groaned, “Fuck.” (Y/N) giggled kissing them both.
Once Jared and Gen finally left the three of them sat on the hay bales sighing collectively. (Y/N) was leaning her head against Jensen’s shoulder with her eyes closed when she felt Zac’s hands running up her legs to her panties pulling them down. Jensen’s arms circled her waist gathering dress around her waist.
“Zac…” she moaned as he left small kisses along her slit.
Jensen was pulling down the top of her dress revealing she was not wearing a bra, “I knew it. Zac, you owe me twenty bucks.” His thumbs circling around her nipples as Zac’s tongue pushed past her slick lips.
“Oh god.” (Y/N) reached down with one hand pulling off Zac’s cowboy hat and raking her fingers through Zac’s soft hair. Slipping her other hand around the back of Jensen’s neck.
Zac lifted her legs over his broad shoulders spreading them slightly as he flicked his tongue over clit. Jensen’s full lips were making their way down her neck sucking gently on her skin. Her body was trembling needing more from both of them but when she tried to move both men held her in place.
(Y/N) groaned feeling one of Zac’s long fingers push inside her slowly, “Oh no gorgeous, you’re staying right here where we can see you come undone. Jay, what do you think one for each of us?”
She felt Jensen nodding as he laid her down on the hay bale looking down at her, “Definitely one for each of us before the real fun begins.”
(Y/N) let out a strangled breath as Jensen took one of her nipples in his mouth and Zac’s mouth returned to her clit while adding another finger to pump into her. She was already wounded up from being able to be affectionate to them both all night. She felt at any moment she would burst closing her eyes tightly.
“Look at me pretty girl.” Jensen whispered, “I want to see those beautiful (Y/C/E) eyes when Zac make you come. You’re so close, aren’t you? Just let go pretty girl.”
Her body began quaking as her release hit her, “Shit!” she cried out feeling Zac smiling as he ran his tongue over her one last time.
Trying to catch her breath she watched as the men switch spots. As they stood up, her eyes went wide seeing their hard lengths straining against the denim trapping them. When Zac was close enough to her she stroke his length making him hiss harshly.
“Please guys… I need you inside me. I can’t…” Jensen lapped over her sensitive clit making her back arch.
Zac knelt beside her kissing her deep the taste of bourbon and herself bringing out a low groan deep from within her chest. “You can gorgeous. I want to see Jensen bring you over the edge now.”
He kissed her again, but she could hear him unfastening his belt and pants. “Fuck, fuck, Jen-Jensen.” She called out as he pushed his tongue in and out of her.
(Y/N) did not wait for Zac’s pants to be undone before shoving her hand down his boxers grasping his cock stroking it. “Shit! Jay, she really wants our cocks.”
She looked down to see Jensen’s dark eyes staring up at her as he lifted his head. His ginger beard covered with her juices, “Alright pretty girl, I’ll make this quick.”
“Jensen!” she cried out as two thick finger plunged into her while his tongue mercilessly pressed and flicked over her clit.
“Jesus gorgeous, keep stroking me like that.” Zac grunted as her hand moved at the same pace as Jensen’s fingers within her.
“Oh fuck, I’m c-coming!” she yelled letting go of Zac’s cock both her hands smashing Jensen’s cowboy hat pressing his face against her riding out her second orgasm.
Panting, (Y/N) glance over watching Jensen and Zac strip out of their clothes. Hard cocks springing out of their boxers and her body clenching wanting them both. Shakily, she stood up pulling her dress over her body. When she looked to both men again they were each fisting their cocks their hungry eyes traveling her naked body.
“Jay, how did we get so lucky to be in the presence of this beautiful woman?” Zac asked as they approached her.
Jensen stood in front of her leaning down to kissing, “I ask myself that very question everyday my friend.” He answered as she felt Zac pressing his lean body against her back.
“Well gorgeous, where do you want us?” he asked kissing her shoulder as his length slipped between her legs rubbing against her folds.
Jensen’s cock was pressed against her stomach as his teeth grazed against her jaw and chin. Originally, she had been fantasizing all night about riding one of them cowgirl while she sucked off the other. In this very moment sandwiched between the two of them she needed them both deep in her at the same time.
“Just like this.” She whispered taking Jensen’s arm and hooking one of her legs over it while leaning back against Zac to keep her balance. She looked up to see Jensen’s raised eyebrow slowly descend as she stroke his cock rubbing the tip down her slit.
Zac held her hips backing away so Jensen could push inside of her. Her fingers digging into his meaty shoulders, “Son of a bitch.” He grunted as she giggled.
“Your Dean is showing.” She whispered leaning forward capturing his lips before he could say anything.
Jensen pumped into her a few times before she reached behind her wrapping her fingers around Zac’s shaft, “Now you big boy.”
He brought one of his hands up to her mouth pushing two fingers inside of it. (Y/N) sucked on the salty digits running her tongue all over them, “Shit (Y/N)…” he moaned as he pulled them from her and pushed them against her puckered hole.
“Please Zac… need you.” She said as he stretched her with his fingers. Jensen as grinding against her trying not to work her up as much as he was.
“Ho-ly fuck…” he muttered against her shoulder as he pushed inside of her.
(Y/N)’s body was shaking from being completely filled by both men. “O-Ohh…” she breathed out as they began to move against her.
They were thrusting at the same time each of their heads resting on either of shoulders. (Y/N) pushed off their hats so she could wrap her arms around each of them. She felt Zac lifting her other leg holding it up just behind her knee. “Fuck!” she cried out as they both plunged deeper within her.
Their whimpers and grunts were a melody that would plague her dreams for a long time. She could feel both of them nearing their releases as their paces picked up. Her body was so tight, and she felt like she was splitting at the seams. Jensen was first to come deep within her biting down on her as he did causing a chain reaction.
(Y/N) came crying out their names and tears slipping down her cheeks from the overwhelming orgasm flooding her. Zac’s body trembled against her as she felt him coming his release slipping down her thighs. Both men pushed into one last time burying themselves deeply into her. Their bodies pressing her like a vice before Zac pulled out of her first letting her leg down. His arms wrapping around her waist as Jensen slipped out of her with a low whimper setting her other leg down.
Her knees immediately gave out and Zac held her up chuckling, “We turned her into jello, Jay.”
“You grab her, and I’ll get everything else.” She heard Jensen say watching him unsteadily bending over giving her a great view of his bare ass.
Zac scooped her up walking off towards the door, “C-Clothes?” she asked as he shook his head.
“Jensen is grabbing them. No one is going to see us and I give you second before you…” was all she heard as she drifted off into unconsciousness.
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lalunaunita · 5 years
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The Purrfect Crime: Chapter 1
I’m very pleased to share that this old WIP is finally done!! I started writing it back in 2018 (I think) and when the WIP Big Bang @wipbigbang revved up for 2019, I knew it was a perfect piece for me to finish. Per the Bang rules, I’ll publish the last chapter on my posting date of August 17th. I’ll be updating every week until then.
This story is based on a 1991 children’s book of the same name by Andrew Helfer. When I heard about it, I thought it was such a great (and cute) plot that I wanted to try writing my own version! Major plot points and storyline are all credited to Andrew Helfer. New story text and new subplots are by me. Copies of the original book are available and the ISBN to find the book is 0307126218. Many thanks to @haveievermentioned for remembering this book and bringing it to my attention.
Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7    Music Fanmix by @pennywaltzy
Rating: Teen
Summary: All kinds of cats in Gotham are disappearing! When several expensive animals are stolen, Batman's top suspect is Catwoman. But is there more to these thefts than meets the eye?
The Purrfect Crime: Chapter 1
Forty squirming, squealing kids threw popcorn and chattered at each other in the rows below Bruce Wayne at Gotham City’s Circus Charity Night. Charity Night at the Circus had become a tradition in the Wayne household over the last few years. Shortly after adopting Dick Grayson, the young man had requested these circus outings for the children at his old orphanage. Bruce had readily agreed.
He always turned it into an event—playing at an exclusive park, followed by dinner, then the show under the Big Top. Curiously, Dick never attended. Bruce didn’t press him. He knew all too well the pain childhood memories could bring.
Bruce and his date sat wisely out of range of the concessions-turned-missiles. She turned to him, the elegance of her black velvet dress belying her giddy excitement.
“What’s your favorite part of the circus?” Tatiana asked him, tossing her lustrous dark hair over one shoulder.
“The big cats,” Bruce replied. “They’re so gorgeous and powerful.”
“Oooh, must be something of a kinship, I suppose,” she teased, batting her eyes flirtatiously.
Bruce tried not to roll his as he focused his attention back on the three rings below. Tatiana was an extraordinary beauty, just the kind of woman Bruce Wayne should be seen with around Gotham. Unfortunately, she was also an utter bore.
Music swelled and the children quieted as a spotlight focused on the Ringmaster in the center of the tent.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it is our privilege to bring some of the finest creatures in nature to you. Watch carefully, and don’t be fooled! Our trainer would have you believe these lions and tigers are tame as house cats, but they are not to be trusted! Remark the ferocious gleam of their fangs and the sharpness of their claws. Please do not tempt their murderous appetites with a stray finger or hand! And now… on with the show!”
The crowd jumped to their feet to get a closer look at the cats, applauding the Ringmaster’s speech. All eyes were on the thick red curtains that led backstage, but minutes went by and no cats of any kind paraded forth. The pregnant silence was interrupted by shouts behind the curtains.
Bruce casually pressed a button on the side of his cell phone and it rapped forth an irritating, high-powered ringtone. He gave an exaggerated sigh for Tatiana’s benefit.
“Hang on, it’s the Board. I’ll be back in a minute. Hello…?” he said, affecting frustration as he pressed the phone to his ear.
Bruce stepped into the aisle, pretending to converse as he quickly made his way out of the stands. He stuck to the shadows, slipping around to the back of the big top. Outside the main tent, dancers, acrobats, and clowns walked to and fro, prepping for their acts or chatting with each other.
The argument had crescendoed; Bruce could hear the Ringmaster desperately shushing whomever was shouting. Bruce hid himself in the darkness between two tall wooden crates. He discovered he was fortuitously close to a seam in the main tent’s canvas. He put his eye to the opening and caught a glimpse of Commissioner Gordon’s familiar face. Commissioner Gordon stood straight as an arrow and looked down his nose at a rather unkempt man in suspenders and a stained undershirt.
“We’ll find your cats,” the Commissioner assured him. “There aren’t that many places in Gotham to hide lions and tigers. Or that many places to sell them. My men are on it already.”
“They better be! Those animals are expensive. If my cats aren’t back by tomorrow, I could lose my job!” the unpleasant man screeched.
The Ringmaster put a placating hand on the man’s arm, but he shrugged it off. Bruce watched as the Commissioner cast an observant eye over his surroundings.
“Now, just to be sure I have everything down correctly, these are the cages for the big cats?”
He indicated four or five surprisingly small wheeled trailers arranged in a semicircle. They looked like old fashioned animal cracker boxes, although they did have the addition of thick rolled draperies that could be let down over the iron bars to fully enclose their tiny spaces. Bruce could see, and even smell, that they hadn’t been cleaned in a while.
“Yes, yes,” the trainer replied impatiently.
“And you did not take them out prior to their performance?” The Commissioner frowned under his moustache as he looked at his notepad.
“No! I already told you that!”
“And you do not have any kind of yard or pen for them to stay in—other than the cages?”
The man didn’t notice the steely glint in Commissioner Gordon’s eye as he shook his head. “They stay in the cages if we aren’t training or performing. Seriously, are you even taking notes?”
“I have to ask to be sure, Sir. Police procedure.”
Bruce grinned as the Commissioner turned away from the man and focused on the Ringmaster, completely dismissing the trainer from the rest of the conversation. The man’s mouth opened and closed a few times and his eyes bulged. But the Commissioner resolutely refused to meet his eye. With an exasperated sigh and a few muttered curses, the trainer walked away to go scold his assistants at the cages.
“As I said,” Commissioner Gordon continued, still standing tall in his most imposing posture, “I already have people looking into all possible locations that can hold big cats. We’re checking all cargo transports out of the city and taking every precaution to find your animals. In the meantime, detectives will be interviewing your employees—to see if anyone saw anything.”
Bruce heard the unspoken notion that the detectives would also be interviewing the employees as potential suspects. The Ringmaster picked up on it too, but nodded frantically.
“Whatever it takes to get George his cats back. He’s difficult at the best of times, but he knows how to train the big cats. We simply don’t have a show without them!”
As the Commissioner made his exit, Bruce leaned back from the circus tent canvas. George might be good at training, but it seemed that he and his staff were terrible at caring for their precious animals. Dirty cages and no room to run or play? He’d had no idea the Gotham City Circus kept their animals in such squalid conditions. Maybe there was a way to put in an anonymous tip… but there was no guarantee an honest city worker would look into the case. Issuing citations wasn’t likely to fix the problem. There had to be a solution, though. He’d think on it.
Later that evening, Bruce cruised the streets of Gotham after dropping off Tatiana at her penthouse. The woman is part octopus, he thought sourly as he recalled his struggle to extricate himself from her amorous embrace at her door. He’d pleaded an emergency board meeting and made tracks, leaving her beautiful pouting lips and sultry eyes behind.
Bruce stopped at a familiar intersection to wait out the red light. He looked up at the building on his left and noticed Commissioner Gordon’s light still on in his office.
Five minutes later, the Batman tapped softly at the Commissioner’s window. The silver-haired man looked up, startled, then smiled. He slid open the window and moved aside to allow Batman to descend on silent feet. The line of his grappling hook whizzed quietly as it retracted into his utility belt.
“You’re up late, Commissioner. Everything okay?” Batman asked as the two shook hands.
Gordon ran a hand through his wavy hair, sighing. “Just working on a weird one, Batman. Cats. Missing cats. With all the missing people in this town, you’d think that would take priority, but here I am, trying to track down animals like a dog catcher. Or a cat catcher, as the case may be.”
“I heard about the no-shows at the Circus. Are you saying there are more missing?”
Commissioner Gordon laughed without humor. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. A lot more, in fact. We’ve gone past ‘hundreds’ and are closing in on a thousand or more. I don’t know if we’re looking at some kind of predator or—”
“Are there signs of predation? Claw marks or other clues of struggle? Any blood, bones?”
The Commissioner shook his head. “No, thank heavens. God knows I’ve got my cat Ruffy secured at home, though. I was letting him out to roam every once in a while, but now I keep him indoors. I’m a little spooked about him getting grabbed.”
Batman nodded, thinking. “That’s a good idea, Jim. If you aren’t seeing any signs of violence, it seems more likely this is theft.”
“That’s where I was leaning too, Batman. I just got a call from the Southminster Cat show; one of the show cats has been taken. The night watchman didn’t see a thing. I’m going to follow up in the morning and talk to the owner. You want to join me?”
“I’ll bring the coffee, Jim. See you there.” With that, Batman stepped onto the ledge of the open window and disappeared into the night.
Commissioner Gordon couldn’t help it; he leaned out to see which way Batman had gone. But just like every other time, he never caught a glimpse of the Batman after his dramatic exit. He sighed. There was nothing more he could do for the case tonight. He closed the window, packed up his briefcase, and headed home, where he hoped Ruffy would still be waiting.
Dick was laid out on a comfortable Italian leather couch, flipping idly through a magazine when Bruce came through the den.
“And how was the lovely Ms. Aurbach?” he asked, lifting his eyes only marginally from the page.
“Grabby,” Bruce replied.
He loosened his tie and removed his cufflinks, dropping them into the pocket of his slacks. Alfred never failed to check his pockets before washing.
Dick closed the magazine and leapt to vertical, an effortless motion his acrobatic background afforded him. “Oh, really? That doesn’t usually vex you.”
“Who says I’m vexed?” Bruce retorted, just as Alfred entered with a tray.
The nascent argument was forestalled by a late night snack the butler had prepared. The trio settled in around a deeply stained and well-polished coffee table. Alfred poured tea from a silver service and passed the cups around.
“I trust Ms. Tatiana is well,” the butler began, “and that the Circus was a delight.”
“Actually, Alfred, someone stole the lions and tigers. But yes, the rest of the night was fine.”
Dick nearly spat out his tea and eyed Bruce incredulously. “The lions and tigers? Seriously? That’s kind of... specific. And heavy. It would be heavy.”
Bruce sipped his tea with perfect form, ignoring Alfred’s approving glance at his lack of slurp. “That’s not all. Tomorrow I’m meeting Jim Gordon to interview the owner of a missing show cat at the Southminster Cat Show.”
“Stolen as well?” Dick raised an eyebrow.
“I hate to make assumptions…”
“I know you do. I’ll wait for your conclusions upon examination of the evidence,” Dick replied, rolling his eyes. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Just be on call. You have anything else going on this week?”
Dick shrugged. “It’s summer break, Bruce. Other than a couple hot dates, I’m free.”
“Not too hot, I hope.”
“Alfred’s run background checks on them already. Well-bred young ladies from Gotham Academy, not a rebel among them. I’m just trying to be a normal teenager, Bruce. Promise.”
Bruce popped a water cracker topped with gruyere cheese into his mouth and leaned back, chewing. He swallowed. “I know, Dick. I’m glad. It’s not always easy with me, I’m aware.”
Dick grinned. “Easy is boring, anyway. I’m here if you need me.”
“Thanks,” Bruce replied.
He stifled the urge to ruffle his ward’s hair. Dick wasn’t a child anymore; he was a young man of sixteen. He was often impulsive, but he had matured greatly over the six years he’d been Bruce’s ward, both as Dick Grayson and as Robin. Bruce was grateful for their friendship and partnership, though he couldn’t deny Dick kept him on his toes. Thank goodness for Alfred’s impeccable timing and mitigating influence.
“Well,” said the butler, breaking the silence as he gathered the tea service and stood, “I’m off to bed. And you should consider the same, Master Bruce. You have an early morning in the office—”
“And an even earlier meeting with Jim Gordon,” Bruce finished, standing and dusting off his knees. “Thanks, Alfred. Good night.”
“Good night, you two.” Dick settled back onto the couch with his magazine as the older men left the room.
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henryandalex · 5 years
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MALEC ADVENT CALENDAR 2018 | December 5th by @hourglassmermaid | ao3 | twitter
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Once Bitten, Twice Shy
The streets of New York are illuminated by a soft winter’s glow. A light dusting of snow covers cars and buildings in a frigid blanket, but the brisk wind flowing through the city uproots it into a silvery tornado that twinkles under the street lights. Magnus watches the way the snow puffs up and falls back to earth, his breath ghosting out in icy huffs.
He adjusts his scarf so it covers his nose, fixes his earmuffs to try and drown out the bar crawl behind him, and stuffs his gloved hands into his pockets. He’s chilled to the bone, and by this point, the only thing keeping him on his feet is his patented blend of five shots of espresso and Christmas cheer (the Irish cream in his pocket flask).
The chorus of drunken chatter dies down as Magnus ducks into his favorite corner liquor store. He nods at the clerk and heads directly to the wine section. His eyes dart from bottle to bottle as he mouths out the brand names silently to himself, trying to settle on something inoffensive that will please the majority.
He can’t remember what Isabelle likes; it’s been so long since they last found time to go out for drinks after their lectures. And so much has happened since… It’s been awhile.
He wants to bring something that she’ll enjoy. Not something she’ll pull a face at and banish to the back of her refrigerator. He vaguely recalls her sipping on a red one night while they were trading horror stories from their freshman Gen Chem lab sections. She got so into her dramatic retelling of the time she had a student break their buret during a titration that she spilled her glass all over the lab reports they were supposed to be grading. Magnus’ stomach drops at the memory.
His finger traces over the embossed letters on a bottle of nice Merlot. Full-bodied flavor. Notes of black cherry and currant. Elegant. Very Isabelle. Hopefully she likes it — or at least doesn’t hate it. But it’s better than arriving empty handed.
Magnus checks the time on his phone. He’s really pushing it on arriving fashionably late and drifting into blatantly late with each new tick, but he needs to check on something before he cashes out and journeys back into the tundra.
His feet guide him towards that familiar aisle, and his hands reach out towards that same spot on the shelf. Muscle memory is an incredible phenomenon. Magnus turns the bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon over in his hands. He hasn’t had a glass of this in almost a year now.
He thinks of candlelit dinners and hushed whispers between silk sheets. Picnics on the beach and movie nights spent in an oversized armchair. The crackle of a warm fire and the feeling of soft fur against bare skin.
He squeezes the neck of the bottle a little tighter.
He remembers broken glasses and slammed doors. Tear stained papers and missed calls. An abandoned key in his kitchen drawer and the sound of a plane flying off into the distance.
There’s no point in buying the bottle. Isabelle assured Magnus that he wouldn’t be there tonight. In fact, that’s the only reason why Magnus agreed to make an appearance.
He pays for both bottles at the counter anyway and tucks the brown paper bag under his arm before heading out into the bitter night air. Magnus justifies the purchase by telling himself that maybe Isabelle drinks the same wine as her brother, but his heart knows the truth better than his misplaced excuses.
He takes refuge in the lobby of Isabelle’s building, shutting out the cold behind him. Magnus glances around at the chipped beadboard, scuffed linoleum, and peeling paint. It’s all so familiar and yet so foreign simultaneously — a place he once knew but where he no longer belongs.
He presses the button next to Isabelle and Clary’s names, and someone buzzes him inside a moment later. He climbs up the rickety stairs until he reaches their floor. Magnus wanders down the hallway and double checks the text Isabelle sent him with her apartment number. It feels wrong that he no longer knows it by heart. The worst part of everything was losing Isabelle.
Neither of them have admitted it, but it’s true nonetheless — their new normal. Even though Magnus and Isabelle were friends long before he and Magnus ever met, Magnus lost her when he lost him.
Magnus hesitates as he winds up to knock on her door. She invited him here. She wants him here. He sucks in a deep breath and turns the knob.
“Magnus!” Isabelle’s uncharacteristically high voice squeals. She stumbles as she pulls him into a hug. “You made it! Come in, come in!”
“Merry Christmas,” Magnus greets, patting her on the back. “This is for you by the way.” He hands her one of the wine bottles.
“Merlot? You remembered!”
The relief pouring off of Magnus is palpable. “How could I forget?”    
Isabelle takes his arm and shimmies through the crowd of her friends and some of their colleagues who are all dancing to “All I Want For Christmas is You” and scream-singing along. Magnus spots Isabelle’s bullheaded adopted brother laying it on far too thick for a few disinterested women and Clary’s tangle of fiery red curls as she kneels down on the carpet, helping Simon’s band set up for the party. She waves at him from across the room, and Magnus flashes her a smile and a head nod.
Isabelle leads him towards the drink table and shoves a glass of eggnog that smells deceptively more like rum than nutmeg into his hands. She pours a glass for herself.    
“A toast,” Isabelle slurs, raising her glass so some of the liquid sloshes out of the top. “to old friends.”
Magnus clinks his glass against hers and winces as he takes a tentative sip. It’s strong, even for him.
“And I believe congratulations are in order?” Magnus says, choking down the burn. “Future Mrs. Clary Fairchild.”
Isabelle beams, her whole face dissolving into the most beautiful smile as she wiggles her fingers to flaunt her custom engagement ring. The rose gold band accented with a delicate pattern of tiny diamonds and princess cut white sapphire almost shines as bright as the love shared between these two exceptional women.  
Isabelle recounts in vivid detail how and where Clary proposed as they drift towards the entryway to her balcony, the doors propped open to cool down the tightly packed room.
“We were at her new gallery opening, and—”  
“Magnus.”
The rest of the world melts away and Magnus’ senses are flooded with nothing but Alec. He smells of the same sandalwood cologne Magnus gave him last year for his birthday. The rough sound of his voice as he breathes out Magnus’ name takes Magnus’ breath away, and somehow, he looks even more gorgeous than the last time Magnus saw him. His hair’s a fluffy mess, he sports some soft stubble on his chin, and the light green of his service uniform brings out the piercing green of the hazel eyes he has locked on Magnus.
“Alexander.”
Magnus has lived through this exact moment so many times before it’s like he’s playing out a distant dream or an old memory. The overwhelming sense of deja vu breaks him of his daze as if he had been splashed with ice water.
Magnus tugs at the hem of Isabelle’s blouse, leaning in close to whisper, “I thought you said he wasn’t going to be here.”
Isabelle pulls away. “Ya know, I think I hear Clary in the kitchen! She probably needs help with the devilled eggs!”
Magnus reaches out to her as she hurries towards the kitchen, gulping down the rest of her eggnog as she disappears into the crowd. Magnus leans up against the french doors, trying to slow down his heartbeat to a rate that wouldn’t alarm his PCP. Once he’s satisfied that he won’t pass out in front of his past lover, Magnus plasters on a brave face and steps out onto the balcony.
“Aren’t you cold out here?”
Magnus, we need to talk.
“I’m wearing layers under my uniform.”
What’s on your mind, Angel?
Magnus nods. “I see now why your sister didn’t take my coat.”
Alec shakes his head, gripping the metal railing a little harder. “Yeah, she told me she had a surprise for me.”
“That definitely sounds like Isabelle.” Magnus walks over to the edge of the balcony and rests his elbows on the railing beside Alec. He’s close enough to touch, but Magnus gave up that privilege a year ago. “What are you doing here? I didn’t think you’d be home for another year.”
I want you to come with me.
“I’m on leave for the next two weeks.” Alec shifts around so his back is pressed against the railing and tilts his head towards the sky. The flurries swirl around in the air and cascade down onto the porch. A few isolated snowflakes land in his dark hair and glimmer in the moonlight. He looks like an angel.
I’m not going to put my career on hold to follow you.
“It’s nice that they let you come home for Christmas.”
“Yeah,” Alec agrees. “How’s your semester going? Izzy told me you just got published in the Journal of Biochemistry, so uh, congratulations.”
“She knows about my paper?”
“Why wouldn’t she?” Because they only ever talk anymore when Magnus is carrying a fresh cup of coffee back to his office, and she’s heading into her lab.
“We… haven’t had much time lately to catch up.”
“Yeah, she’s been busy.” Alec swipes his tongue over his top lip, and Magnus feels the phantom warmth of his kiss, the soft, plush feel of his mouth against Magnus’.
A silence lingers between them, far more chilly than the weather. What do you say to the person who once knew you better than anyone but now might as well be a shadow?
Alec shifts his weight from foot to foot trying to circulate some warmth throughout his hulking form and stumbles on the slick landing, accidentally elbowing Magnus in the side and banging his wrist on the railing. He apologizes profusely as Magnus helps steady him; his breath tickles Magnus’ skin and sends a shiver down his spine.
Alec nurses his arm, rubbing over the spot where he collided with Magnus. “Damn, do you have a brick in your pocket?”
“No, actually. Believe it or not,” Magnus teases. He reaches into his coat pocket and draws out the brown paper bag.
Alec raises his scarred eyebrow at the package, and Magnus’ heart thumps against his ribs. Alec knows of his vices better than most, finding Magnus slumped over on the kitchen floor, open bottle of whiskey on his right and unusable data on the left, more times than Magnus cares to admit. Sometimes Magnus thinks that Alec’s the only reason he finished his PhD, helping him through panic attacks over failed experiments, going into the lab with him on weekends and sitting quietly while Magnus worked, and encouraging him every step of the way when Alec believed in him more than Magnus believed in himself. But that was in the past. Magnus has it under control now. Mostly.
Magnus crumples the paper to give Alec a peek at its contents. He flashes Magnus one of his gorgeous, crooked smiles, and Magnus’ legs almost give out from under him. Coming here was a bad idea.
“My favorite.”
“Do you want some?”
They pop the bottle with the corkscrew on Alec’s Swiss Army knife and pass it between them like high schoolers beneath the bleachers during a football game.
“I always thought this wine suited you,” Magnus says.
“Really?” How so?” Alec asks in between sips.
Magnus smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and leans farther out onto the railing, looking off into the night sky. “Classic. Bold. Pairs well with a nice steak.” He laughs to himself. “Dry on the surface but sweet underneath.”  
“You know,” Alec says, swallowing down another swig. “You look incredible tonight.” He pauses.  “You always do.”
Magnus motions for the bottle. “You as well.” He takes a sip.
A strong gust of wind whistles through the air, harmonizing with the distant sirens and horns below, and the party rages on behind them. From the sounds of it, Simon has started his set and is playing a Punk Goes Pop style cover of “Last Christmas.”
At the same time Magnus says, “I’m sorry about what happened,” Alec says, “I was out of line last year.”
There’s nervous laughter and awkward glances and fumbling around. Alec grips at the back of his neck. “It was selfish of me to expect you to drop everything to come with me. I’m sorry.”
Magnus plays with the cold metal of the silver ear cuff he’s wearing. “It was an amazing opportunity, and I’m sorry that I made you feel guilty for accepting it. Do you like Berlin?”
“Not nearly as much as I loved being at home with you in New York.” He steps into Magnus’ orbit, but Magnus is the one caught in his gravity.
“Alexander,” Magnus warns.
“I know we’re not together, and I know it’s my fault, but screw it, I need you to know,” He takes another step, brushing his fingers against Magnus’ cheek, and Magnus leans into his warm caress. “that I never stopped caring about you.”
“I waited for you. I didn’t mean to, but I did.”
“You didn’t have to,” Alec whispers. “I never expected you to—”
Magnus curls his fingers around Alec’s and gives them a gentle squeeze. “You’ve had my heart for so long that I couldn’t imagine it with someone else.”
Magnus hears the shudder in Alec’s breath and his sharp gasp and is relieved to know that he’s not the only one who forgot how to breathe.
“I love you.”
Alec leans in and presses his lips to Magnus’ and for the first time in almost a year, Magnus feels at home. Magnus’ eyelids flutter shut, and he kisses back with all that he has, revelling in how very right, how very safe it feels to be back in Alec’s arms.
Magnus doesn’t open his eyes when they part.
“I love you too.”
It’s a promise. A promise that this time things will be different — they’ll be different. And Magnus is ready to try.       
“Merry Christmas, Magnus.”
“Merry Christmas, Alexander.”
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thebrochtuarachs · 6 years
Text
Arranged: Chapter 1
Modern AU. Set in 2018. Where Claire and Jamie are arranged to be married.
A/N: This story has been floating on my mind for a while now and I finally had the time to put it down in writing. Still trying to get out of my writing rut and writing these are good practice not only for skill but of the mind. I love this story and kind of excited to see where it heads to. :) Chapter 2 is ready, just polishing it a bit. As always, comments and suggestions are always welcome! 
AO3
Chapter 1: The Announcement
Laughter echoed throughout the house as Claire Beauchamp entered her home having just arrived from university. Her family lives in the suburbs of Edinburgh, in a historic Georgian house that has been passed down in her family for generations. She followed the chatter to the formal living where she found her parents and guests alike.
“Claire, you’re home!” Her dad, Henry, chimed upon seeing her in the archway.
“Just arrived!” She approached her parents and gave them a kiss on the cheek then turned to their guests. “Uncle Brian, Aunt Ellen” she went to the other side of the couch to give them each a kiss as greeting. “We’re not to meet until this weekend. What’s the occasion?”
“Och, lassie, should there be reason to visit family?” Brian Fraser said and Claire happily shook her head.
“Claire, dear, join us a bit for tea” Her mom, Julia, offered and she accepted, setting down in a seat of her own.
The Beauchamp’s and Fraser’s have a long, intertwined family history that begun in the 18th century. The story of how both families got together was when one Brian Fraser, laird of the Broch Tuarach estate, a farmer and printer back in 1743 met one Lambert Beauchamp, archaeologist, historian and author, to discuss a publishing deal for what would become a classic series of best-selling historical drama fiction books.
The success of the books brought mutual benefits of both families over the next two hundred. Lambert Beauchamp became a household name in the literary world and now, Claire’s family looks after his literary legacy, investing in the community’s education and art scene, while pursuing their professional career as a lawyer, for Henry and accountant for Julia. On the other hand, the laird Brian Fraser’s reputation rose within the publishing community and after a series of Beauchamp hits, more and more authors wanted to publish with him that he eventually built its own company in the early 19th century and is now one of the prominent and sought after publishing house in the world; Today, the Frasers, Brian and Ellen, manage it while still maintaining their farming business in the highland estates.
They’ve heard and read many stories and traditions that both families built up to keep their wonderful relationship going over the next two centuries. One of which was “gratitude dinners” (this was how it was written in their family bibles) where both families get together for a hearty meal once a month just to remind themselves of how far they’ve come and how they couldn’t do it without each other’s families help.
It might’ve been just professional for previous generations of Beauchamp’s and Frasers but Henry, Julia, Brian and Ellen, were different. They actually liked each other. Henry and Brian grew up in these dinners and eventually, built a genuine friendship and became best friends. When they married their respective significant others, they were each other’s best man at their wedding and lucky for them, their wives forged a friendship of their own that just confirmed for both men how right of a decision they’ve made in choosing their mate.
As their business grew, so were their families. Brian and Ellen had their firstborn, William, almost immediately after they married; Henry was Willie’s godfather. Their second, Jamie, came two years later and Julia became his godmother. Three years later, their first daughter was born, Janet (or Jenny as she’s fondly called by the family) and Julia was actually the person who delivered her as both women were visiting the Fraser’s highland estate when she went into labor. The doctor talked Julia through the process on the phone and thank God, it went as smoothly as it can. A year later after Jenny, their youngest came, Rabbie, completing the family.
On the other end, when Jamie was two years old, Claire was born to Henry and Julia and naturally, they both chose Brian and Ellen to be her godparents. It was a difficult pregnancy that almost resulted with both mother and child to not make it but thanks to modern surgery, both survived. However, the doctors advised the Beauchamp’s against having more children at the risk of Julia’s health and both happily decided that Claire will be it for them and it was more than enough to give everything to, who would be, their only child.
With all the success and trials their group have gone through together, it made their little quartet a joy of a relationship - not to mention, really good for business.
They continued their casual conversation for a few more minutes until the door bell rang again.
“Ill get it.” Claire offered, standing up immediately to the task. She proceeded to the kitchen first to drop off her mug in the sink before opening the door.
“Jamie!” She greeted her childhood friend. “What are you doing here? It’s been a while since I last saw you! Your parents told me you were in a six-month travel, looking for authors for your company? Is that right?”
“Claire, its nice to see you, lass.” Jamie greeted back while giving her the briefest of hugs. “My parents texted me to go here for dinner. I guess next week wasn’t soon enough, no?” He said as he released her and they both headed to the living room to where their parents were. “Aye, I was. I just got back last week, actually. I’m just starting to settle down at the house.”
“Jamie, lad! It’s always nice to see you!” Julia greeted her godson as soon as she saw him. “And just in time for supper! Everybody if I can invite you to the formal dining room, our dinner is served” Claire’s mom motioned towards the next door. Henry stood up and Jamie shook his hand then greeted his parents.
Dinner was a normal affair. Henry and Brian sat at both ends of the table with Julia and Claire on one side, Ellen and Jamie on the other. Claire’s parents asked Jamie of his trip and he was happy to report a lot of potential authors he’s met that he think will be good books to be published. Claire shared some of her experiences as a first-year medical student. Henry and Brian, updated a bit about their respective companies and the rest of the evening went by with a little gossip here and there.
As they ate their dessert, Henry tinged his wine glass with his fork to get everyone’s attention and raised their glass for a toast. “We have this family dinners as a reminder of our long family history but more importantly, we have this family dinners because we are family.” Everyone nodded in agreement. “Nothing is more important than family and we do everything we can to protect what we love, no matter the cost.”
There was a sudden tension on the room that had both Claire and Jamie turn to each other, silent asking, “Do you know what is going on?” Jamie shook his head in answer and so did Claire.
“So it is my honour to announce, with the blessing from both sides of the family, that I give my daughter’s hand in marriage to you, James Fraser.” Henry said, looking directly at Jamie’s face in acknowledgement.
“Cheers!” Henry finished and both their parents clinked their glasses with a smile on their face but Jamie and Claire sat frozen on their seats. Shock and disbelief was painted on Jamie’s face while Claire’s was looming in anger.
Somebody has some explaining to do and now!
228 notes · View notes
bloomingednae · 5 years
Link
"Okabe...who was I to you?"
Eight years have passed since the achievement of Steins;Gate world line; from research to moving on, both Okabe and Kurisu realize that the time passed between them has only widened the distance; and brought them closer than intended.
A reflection on the what-ifs, regrets, forgiveness, and second chances, and how sometimes, too much time apart can bring people closer than ever before.
[set in S;G world line, in which Okabe never confesses to Kurisu at the end of the OVA].
(Chapter 1 up, at last! This fic is also on AO3, follow the link above to read on AO3, or click on the ‘read more’ link below for chapter 1 here. Each chapter is mostly inspired by a Panic! At the Disco song, save for about one or two which will be by different artists, so be sure to be on the lookout for the lyrics that inspire each chapter’s theme. ~)
Chapter 1: The Calendar
“Don’t wanna call it a second chance, But when I came back, it was more of a relapse, Anticipation’s on the other line, An obsession called while you were out Yeah, it called while you were out.” ~ The Calendar - Panic! At the Disco
October 15, 2010
"Then forget about it," he started, closing his eyes a bit. "No good will come from chasing alternate world lines."
"I know," she said, shutting her eyes in slight frustration, clutching the maid tray closer to her chest. "I intend to forget it all."
He opened his eyes slowly, keeping a downcast expression to hide his disappointment.
"I see."
She turned her heel on him and walked away, unbeknownst to him the confusion and reflected disappointment in her own eyes.
All the same, she missed his downcast expression, mixed with an unexplained bittersweet sadness.
-----------------
September 29, 2018
“I...see.”
His breath hitched for a split second before he exhaled, hands rubbing his face with one motion before he steadied his gaze on her again.
“So even after all this time…”
“Please, don’t take this the wrong way,” Kurisu began. She fidgeted with one of her hands on her lap, the other clenching and unclenching into a fist on the table near his own hand, and she sighed before speaking.
“I...you-”
“Your heart belongs somewhere else.”
Kurisu’s eyes shot up at him, but before she could speak, he gently raised one in a ‘stop’ motion, silencing her once more.
“Kurisu, there’s a look in your eyes...I don’t know how to explain it. It’s distant, as if you’re constantly daydreaming elsewhere.”
“Every time you look at your phone when he messages you,” he continued, “your eyes would light up. They become colored with this emotion I’ve never seen you have; it’s a mix of irritation and joy, but the bottom line is...it’s different.”
He sighed as he grasped his glass, unable to drink its contents. With a silent chuckle, he looked up to Kurisu and he shook his head slowly.
“There’s a fire in your eyes that I could never ignite.”
In that moment, Kurisu felt all of the air from her lungs escape her, a silent gasp in her breath as he revealed the cruel truth in front of her. She shook her head, in an attempt to deny what has already been admitted.
“Seth, you know that’s not true-”
“I can’t understand Japanese,” he interrupted quickly, “but I do see the same name come up on your messages every now and then. And while I trust you, I can’t deny the fact that you may honestly be feeling something different with each message.”
Kurisu shook her head. “I’ve never said anything that implied otherwise in those messages,” she responded. “Granted, we talked a lot three years ago around the time I first started seeing you, but that was because we had that paper to publish together.”
He chuckled, and he shook his head sadly. “Oh, Kurisu, if only you could see your own true emotions; it’s your greatest attraction...and downfall.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but slowly closed them as she watched him in careful regard, his eyes staring at hers fleetingly. With a bittersweet smile, he sighed in defeat, placing his hands on his lap as he kept his steady gaze on her.
And all at once, she braced herself for what was to come next. With a hard heart, she took in his words with full force.
“...I hope he sees the ‘you’ that I couldn’t.”
-----------
It was midnight by the time the lights to the small apartment living room lights turned on, signaling her roommate’s return home. She listened as keys were placed loudly on the kitchen table, followed by a drop of a heavy book bag; in the next few seconds, the familiar sound of those footsteps came down the hall and stopped right outside her bedroom door.
Dreadfully, Kurisu buried her face into her pillow once more as her bedroom door opened, flooding her dark room with a blinding light from the living room. She tried to stay as silent as possible, even as she heard a sigh coming from the entrance of her room.
“What happened?”
Kurisu groaned; as much as she appreciated Maho’s straight-forward personality, it was something she didn’t need at the moment. She shook her head in resistance, not responding, even as Maho entered her room and sat at the edge of her bed. Maho poked her leg in response and Kurisu could only recoil away from the touch, curling more into a fetal position to clutch her dolphin stuffed animal even closer to her chest.
“Don’t ignore me. I know what happened. And I know it was big enough to impact you if you’re clutching to that poor dolphin with your life.”
Kurisu shook her head, mumbling into her pillow.
“It’s over.”
Maho rolled her eyes. “I know that, dummy. But how and why?”
Kurisu sat up slowly at her question and squinted at her with tired eyes.
“This isn’t an experiment, Senpai.”
“And I’m not just your roommate,” Maho responded sharply. “I’m your friend, and I know you’re thinking more into this than you usually would.”
“Granted,” Maho continued, “this is your...first time breaking up with someone so…and well, I wouldn't  know any better, but...”
Kurisu buried her face into the dolphin’s plush body at the impact of the sentence and Maho shook her head.
“Sorry. That came out too blunt.”
Kurisu didn’t bother to correct her that everything she said came out too blunt. She sighed as she slowly looked at Maho again, weariness in her eyes.
“I’m okay,” she responded. “It stings, but...I know I can get over this.”
She tucked a stray hair in her face behind her ear before continuing. “He had this silly notion that someone else was of my interest, and I guess he got tired of waiting for me.”
Maho hummed at the response, but didn’t say a word as she let Kurisu continue. Kurisu sniffled a bit as she spoke.
“In all honesty,” she said, as she clutched the dolphin even closer to her, “I’m not hurt at the situation...that much. For some reason, I couldn’t see myself being with him so long term; it didn’t feel right.”
Kurisu inhaled slowly as she deliberated on her next few words, shakiness in her tone as she spoke.
“I’m hurt and afraid at how true he may be, after all.”
Maho crossed her arms. “Is that why I saw an airplane ticket confirmation for Japan on the printer earlier?”
Kurisu winced at the thought of Maho finding her impulsive spend, but she decided to let it go. She nodded slowly, face palming as she did so.
“...I don’t believe in second lives, destiny, fate, or pre-existing encounters. We’re scientists, Senpai, and it’d be ridiculous to do so.”
“But,” Kurisu continued, “I...need to get to the bottom of this.”
Maho remained silent in thought, quickly picking up the implications of Kurisu's words. She crossed her arms, expression filled with doubt.
“Is this the whole world line thing you tried to explain to me, the one you heard from him?
Kurisu nodded. “I still don't get it. I mean, theoretically I do, but I don't understand...the subjectivity of it all. It's so unsure and experiences can be interpreted differently, to the point that you start to wonder what's real anymore.”
Maho shook her head. “Nothing good comes from trying to mix in fantasy and reality.”
Kurisu turned to Maho quickly, shaking her head. “That’s the thing; is it really fantasy?”
She fidgeted with one of the fins on the dolphin as she spoke, averting Maho’s eyes when speaking the next few words.
“Something...or someone, keeps drawing me back to Japan. I’m strung to something like a string that keeps pulling me back. I’m captivated by the lights and the sights of the streets in Akihabara whenever I visit. And I’m hung over by the familiarity of that room, as stupid and small that place is.”
“So that’s why I’m going back,” Kurisu said firmly. “I’m scared to know if what he says is true, but…”
Her voice trailed off as Maho nodded, listening to each word that Kurisu mentioned. Maho sighed as she pressed her hand against one side of her temple, in clear exasperation.
“Obviously, whatever I say wouldn't effect you much. Even if I told you again and again that no other world lines exist with scientific proof, you won't stop searching no matter what," Maho said plainly.
"However," she continued, "There are things that you should be able to see with a plain eye, Kurisu, and I wonder if you’re actually just stupid.”
Kurisu’s eyes shot up as she made eye contact with Maho, opening her mouth to speak, but Maho automatically cut her off.
“Well, whatever. If you want to find the truth out yourself, you’re more than welcome to. Because I know you, Kurisu.”
Maho turned to gaze at the younger individual, a serious gaze in her eyes. “You’re one to find out the truth for yourself rather than others tell you.”
Kurisu looked at her puzzledly for a second and Maho sighed in return, facing her gaze away.
“Go. And see for yourself,” Maho said. “Just,” she continued, “don’t…overwork yourself over it.”
Kurisu nodded slowly, in acknowledgement. The words of her senior didn’t quite make sense to her, but...she trusted them. And it was the only thing that pushed her forward at that moment.
“Thank you, Senpai.”
Maho smiled for a second before looking out towards the living room. She paused for a second before speaking.
“So...any reason you’ll be giving them to be going to Japan this time around?”
Kurisu paused before nodding slowly. “Suzuha-chan’s birthday just passed….Amane-san invited me but I just missed it…”
Maho scoffed. “I did tell you to go, you know.”
Kurisu pouted in response. “Look, I thought I had everything in control, so…”
Maho side glanced her for a moment, before chuckling slightly. “You don’t really need a reason, really. I guess I just ask because...you know that they’ll ask, since it’s not for a conference or class reason; I mean at least...someone...will ask.”
Kurisu tried to shake off the implication behind the ‘someone’ Maho referred to by shaking her head and sighing.
It was the reason she was going to Japan, and something she didn’t need to think about at the moment.
She stretched for a moment before glancing at her clock, frowning as she met the blaring numbers of “12:47 AM” on the display. Maho seemed to pick up on her concern of the late time and stood up as a signal to exiting the room.
Maho turned to Kurisu one last time before stepping out, glancing at her with a gaze in earnest.
“Don’t hesitate to call me, if something comes up.”
Kurisu noticed the way she omitted, “in Japan”; Maho often left the option open for Kurisu to call her at any time at any place, even within the states. Deep down, Kurisu had a great appreciation and respect for her senior, which eventually blurred the lines into letting her accept that Maho was indeed one of her closest and best friends.
She smiled in return. “Thanks again, Senpai.”
24 notes · View notes