#I GOT FUCKING FAST TRACKED GOT ALL MY INTERVIEWS IN 3 DAYS I GOT IT THE JOB SEEM AMAZING I GOT MY DREAM INTERNSHIP CAN U BELIEVE IT
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Im seeing the light at the end of this long ass tunnel that was getting my master's degree : im getting close to finishing my thesis and i just got my dream internship
I fell apart in 2020, rebuilt myself slowly but surely and now everything is falling in place
#it took me 2 and a half years but i've finished the literature review on the thesis a couple weeks ago and i can move on#so this should be finished by the end of the summer#im on the survey all is good#but ! to validate my master i need to do a 6-months internship by the end of january#so i had very little time to find one#my goal is to work in cosmetics/makeup but with the deadline of 'i need to start by the end of july' coming i just apolied everywherr#(everywhere but finance bc i hate it) getting rejected or ignored everywhere#i was one day away from applying in finance when A COSMETIC COMPANY CALLED ME BACK#I GOT FUCKING FAST TRACKED GOT ALL MY INTERVIEWS IN 3 DAYS I GOT IT THE JOB SEEM AMAZING I GOT MY DREAM INTERNSHIP CAN U BELIEVE IT#im starting in 2 weeks bc 1/contracts and internship agreement and shit#2/ setting up the computer i'll work on is done on the other side of the pacific lol so it'll take a bit of time to get to me#i honestly cant believe how everything is falling in place#eno's dumb little posts
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meddle about | ☆
pairing: idol!yeonjun x idol!reader
genre: idol!au, best friends to lovers, some fluff but also a bit suggestive (?) towards the end
prompts: – “you’re blushing”
– “i can feel how fast your heart is beating right now”
warnings: none!
word count: 1.8k
a/n: the inspiration for this came from a wonho photoshoot behind the scenes clip that i randomly saw on ig reels........😟 i hope there aren't any mistakes left in this because i've been lazy and going only by trust when i repost fics asdbhja
☆ = repost from my old blog!!
you and yeonjun didn’t exactly meet…under the greatest circumstances.
as txt’s fame was continuously on the rise, there was no way you had never heard of yeonjun, or the name tomorrow x together. however, it was only when you had your comeback stage at inkigayo that you finally got to see yeonjun in real life, and not just on a screen.
you expected things to go smoothly. yeonjun was going to just take your interview, and then you were going to simply perform with your group on stage, as usual.
realistically speaking, that was supposed to be it- nothing more than a polite, professional interaction, he was the mc after all. you didn’t even think you’d cross paths with him throughout the day again. but the lunch break had something -quite staggering- in store for you:
the inkigayo sandwich. those words still make you shudder.
as an idol, you had to have one, at least once. it was the talk of town after all, even though the combination of egg, crab and strawberry jam- all squished together between 3 pieces of white bread- didn’t exactly sound appealing to you.
you gulped as you looked at the piece of food in your hands; the smell wasn’t that appetizing either, and you wondered how it was possible for them to have such high sales for a shitty product.
you didn’t want to do it, but the thought of wasting your money without at least having a bite was haunting you. you closed your eyes, anticipating the worst outcome imaginable as the sandwich came closer and closer towards your mouth.
“hey- at least remove that paper before you start eating” one of your members said, making you frown. paper? what paper? the ingredients of the sandwich were already weird enough, what did they add that paper for?
confused, you opened your eyes again, a small note had been carefully placed somewhere between the plastic wrapper and the bread. grossed out, you removed it, moving towards the trash can to throw it away, only to get a glance of a phone number written on the back of it, making you stop in your tracks.
‘call me ;) - choi yeonjun’
now, you see- you only knew that the inkigayo sandwich was famous, you didn’t know why it was famous.
you angrily searched for choi yeonjun around the cafeteria, shoving the sandwich towards his chest once you found him “what the fuck is this?” you hissed appaled by his actions. not sparing him a single moment to respond, you instantly got into a rant about how you were ‘put in danger’ by him for placing something (almost) inedible in your lunch.
he stared at you with big eyes and raised eyebrows, panicking that you’d blow this out of proportion even more if he excused himself before you were done blowing off some steam. he knew very well not to argue with a sleep deprived person who was also hungry.
“that actually wasn’t meant for you…” he muttered in the end, biting his cheek.
“oh.”
on the way back to the dorms, you swore you’d never step foot back into inkigayo ever again, or at least not until yeonjun stepped down from his position as an mc.
despite the seemingly traumatic event, you still kept the piece of paper containing his number, jam stain and all. you fiddled it around your fingers as you rolled around in bed, unable to fall asleep. it was way past midnight, and the remorse you felt for not having apologised to yeonjun was keeping you wide awake. you had been too embarrassed to utter any more words after hearing his reply and used the first opportunity -which was a member calling out for you- to leave the room.
the guilt was eating you up, and, in the end, you decided it was best to at least say sorry to him through text. and so you did- not exactly expecting much besides getting blocked by him.
turns out yeonjun found the situation more amusing rather than infuriating. he accepted your apology with ease, and you promised that you’d buy him lunch the next time you visit inkigayo, as emotional compensation.
yeonjun, however, lied to you that day. the phone number in the sandwich was, in fact, meant for you. he heard from his seniors that ‘back in the day’, this was a particularly popular method to start dating between idols. when it was announced that you’d perform on the day he was mc-ing, he found his chance, took it, then pretty much failed miserably. his attempt at getting to know you better was somewhat saved by your apology text. after the whole ordeal, he decided that it was better to take it step by step and develop his friendship with you before dipping his toes into the dating scheme once again.
bit by bit- yeonjun began to reveal his flirty nature. first, he started bringing food and drinks to your company whenever you told him you had to stay up late, practicing overnight. then, he made sure to always compliment how you looked in music videos or album teasers, sometimes even sending coffee trucks to the filming sites to support you. finally, he started bringing you flowers whenever you were done with comeback stages. the change in his attitude was making you question the status of your relationship. still, knowing how risky this all was, you decided it was foolish to jump to any conclusions- although a part of your heart did cling tightly onto the hope that he did this because he saw you as something more than a friend.
it was no surprise to the public eye that the two of you were close friends in the industry. so, when elle korea wanted a photoshoot between a pair with good chemistry, yeonjun ran to his managers, begging to convince some of the higher-ups to recommend the two of you. not a single soul in the company was able to resist him, so he successfully scored the spot. however, you were only informed that you received an offer for the photoshoot, not that yeonjun had been involved in this whole ordeal.
the concept was not quite what you were expecting.
when you heard the words “a pair with good chemistry” you were expecting a fun, bubbly photoshoot, something colorful maybe- not a sensual, romantic theme. you choked on your spit when they showed you the outfit you were supposed to wear, then choked again when you saw yeonjun’s outfit: black pants and a blue satin button-up shirt that had more than 3 buttons left open, exposing the skin of his chest.
and -as if the revealing clothes weren’t enough- there was one more detail left that would supposedly “tie this all together”: a kiss mark. on yeonjun’s neck.
the staff handed you a tube of red lipstick, shoving you and yeonjun in a private dressing room before you could even process the situation.
you stole a look at yeonjun, who pursed his lips, trying to contain his laugh as he made eye contact with you.
“did you know about this?” you asked him with a serious face, pointing the lipstick towards him. why were you the only one baffled here?
yeonjun couldn’t help but let out tiny squeaks as he struggled calm down, your shocked, accusatory expression all too entertaining for him “no” he snickered “why? are you nervous? think you can’t do it?” he crossed his arms.
the attitude with which he said that only earned him a scoff from you “of course i can do it” you said as you walked towards the mirror. once you were in front of it though, you were suddenly way more aware of how sweaty your palms were getting, hands trembling a bit as you put the lipstick on.
yeonjun was never one to shy away from physical touch. you were used to receiving hugs from him, sometimes even having him hold onto your hand or arm, swinging them playfully whenever you walked together. but this? this felt…different.
intimate.
it was like a possible breach within your friendship. and while you weren’t exactly nervous about the situation itself, you were definitely afraid about what was going to happen between the two of you after.
yeonjun was already behind you once you finished putting on the makeup and turned around. the playful smirk he’s had ever since you both entered the room never left his face. he lightly quirked up an eyebrow, provoking you to make the move- curious to see if your earlier statement was the truth or whether they were just empty words. unsure what to do with your hands, your fingers didn’t let go of the lipstick tube, playing with it in a restless manner as you inched closer towards yeonjun’s neck. the citrus fragrance of his perfume still lingered on the skin, and you closed your eyes as you left a quick kiss there, the touch too light to leave a mark visible enough.
“you’re blushing” yeonjun chuckled, tilting his head as he looked in the mirror behind you, clicking his tongue “that’s not right…” he muttered. his gaze was fixated on your face for a few seconds, admiring the pink dusting your cheeks. then, they trailed off to your hands, snatching the item to cover his own lips in that same crimson color. “this is how you do it” he whispered, dipping his head down, arms sneaking around your waist simultaneously. warm breath on your neck, chest flushed against yours, yeonjun could feel your racing pulse underneath his lips as he pressed a long kiss on the hot skin. the chilling sensation running down your spine had your hands unconsciously reaching out for his forearms, holding onto them to keep yourself steady and not slip away from his grasp.
“i can feel how fast your heart is beating right now” he breathed out, fingers tracing lines along the small of your back. seeing that you weren’t pushing him away, his face didn’t leave its close spot to your body. instead- his lips travelled along the skin, pressing featherly kisses along the way- nibbling, lightly biting, the red marks blooming being hidden away by the lipstick covering them.
the mirrors, the vanity lights, even the photoshoot itself, they were all turning into a hazy memory as you were becoming more and more enthralled by him. completely absorbed by his touch on your body, you felt like you wouldn’t be able to breathe properly again until he carried on with the next step. “jun-” the sound of the nickname was enough to send an electrifying jolt throughout his heart. his own breathing was irregular as he stopped, distancing himself a bit from your neck to lift his head up, plush lips and smudged lipstick coming into sight.
“we’re not leaving this room until you kiss me on the lips”
taglist: @huekalover3000
#wave2tyun#txt#txt fluff#txt x reader#txt fic#txt imagines#txt scenarios#txt smau#txt headcanons#txt yeonjun#yeonjun fluff#yeonjun scenarios#yeonjun fic#yeonjun x reader#yeonjun imagines#yeonjun headcanons
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Celestino Vietti and Marco Bezzecchi interviewed by Moto.it (13.11.2020)
translation under the cut, my comments are in between []
Prefacing all of this with: the video actually starts with a (cringe) comedic sketch that i have not translated. The proper interview starts at 0:46
I1: Hi guys, when you where younger who was your favourite rider?
Cele: Valentino Rossi
Bez: Valentino Rossi
I1: and today?
Bez: Valentino Rossi
Cele: Valentino Rossi
I2: What would you say to the Marco and Celestino from the past?
Cele: don’t- don’t get too discouraged when things don’t go well, if you believe in it a bit more you can also do a bit better
Bez: use your brain more and try reflecting a bit more
I2: what got you angry?
I1: i can’t see you anymore
Cele: eh, it’s because here the weather it’s a bit bad and internet doesn’t work very well
Bez (speaking to somebody else): Lindo, can you please get into the truck? Because they can’t see us anymore and here everything is frozen
Lindo: fuck
Bez: we hear them super laggy
Cele: like on CoD
Lindo: I’m coming I’m coming
Bez: oh i have a sandwich with mortadella here
Bez: noo, today it’s with the salami... i thought it was mortadella
Bez: what if I get sick in the corners?
Cele: eh, as long as you keep eating shit!
Cele: think about if they are seeing everything
Bez: [laughs]
I2: what’s the thing that got you angrier on track?
Cele: the contact that made me fall in the fourth corner in Misano
Bez: when I fell in Aragon two laps from the end of the race
I1: a flaw a rider mustn’t have on track?
Cele: being slow
Bez: true
I2: and a trait that a rider must have?
Bez: being fast
Cele: being clear-headed in every situation
I1: Marco, tell us one of Celestino’s flaws
Bez: he’s very prickly
I2: and Celestino, one of Marco’s
Cele: eh, I don’t know
Bez: come on, there will be at least one you know of, Dio bo’
Cele: eh, maybe sometimes when he gets angry, he does so in a bit of an excessive manner, but then he calms down so
Bez: [laughs]
I1: eh... are you in a relationship?
Marco: I am
Cele: not together, not together
Bez: [laughs]
I2: who’s the most handsome? Bez
I2: who’s the funnier one? Bez
I2: who cooks better? Cele
I2: who’s better with girls? Bez
I2: who’s had more relationships? Cele
I2: who’s the most famous? Both
I2: who’s the most talented? [the word used here also means endowed (in the *ehm ehm* nether regions). I sincerely doubt that’s the meaning the interviewer wanted to use, but that’s very much what comes across. If you were wondering why everybody is giggling.] Bez
I2: who makes Valentino angrier? Cele
I2: who will win the MotoGP Championship? Both
I2: who do girls like more? [at first impact] Both
I2: who’s the most sensitive? Cele
I2: who’s more of an asshole out of you two? Bez
I2: who’s better at popping the bottle open on the podium? Cele
I2: maybe without breaking a hand
I1: Now we ask you about Valentino Rossi. So, in how many classes did he win the world Championship? 3, 4 or 15?
Cele: four
I1: 1-0 for Celestino
I1: When does he win his third Championship in the premier class? 20th of October 2003, 21st of October 2003, 25th of December 2003
Cele: uh.... 21st? of October 2003
Bez: I’ll say 20th of October then
I2: it’s the 20th
I1: on which bike did Valentino Rossi won the 125cc Championship? Aprilia, Garelli, Suzuki
Cele&Bez: Aprilia
I1: on which bike did Valentino Rossi won his first championship in the premier class? Honda, Aprilia, Kawasaki
Cele&Bez: Honda
I1: how old was he when he won his last GP in Assen? 38 years and 129 days, 38 years and 131 days, 37 years and 341 days
Bez: wait, don’t answer
Cele: no, it’s the last GP in Assen, when he cut the last chicane with Marquez
Bez: 2015, so five years ago, thirty...
Cele: I say 37
Bez: 37 and something, we don’t remember the days
I1: wrong, it was 38 years and 129 days
I1: what time lap did Vale do to end up in the podium on the 3rd of June 2007? 2,01.695-
Bez: wait, but where?
I1: on the 3rd of ju- eh, now you want to know too much, on the 3rd of June 2007
Cele: how is it too much?
Bez: I mean-
I1: direction, do we know about which track this question is? Thanks
I1: big panic here... Mugello, wet race
I: 2.01.695, 2.01.696, 25.14.000
Cele: well, what are the first two options?
Bez: two minutes and 695 and two minutes and 696 there’s a difference of a thousand of a second
Cele: Orco diaz
Bez: come on, I'll say 696, just to try it
Cele: ok, then i say 695
I1: Celestino won it!
I1: Marco has to do penace
I2: right
I1: Celestino will decide what you’ll have to do. You can decide between singing Maracaibo, do a Valentino Rossi impression or answering an awkward question
Cele: I choose the awkward question
Bez: if it’s too awkward I’ll sing Maracaibo instead
I2: what’s the weirdest place where you had sex?
Bez: i don’t know, at the cinema
Cele: oh, at the cinema [he says it with a mocking tone]
Cele: you’re crazy
Bez: I’m crazy
I1: thank you guys
Cele&Bez: bye
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╰┈➤ Welcome Back to the Channel
part 15; red string of CONSPIRACY
✧.* featuring yn opening up to Kyle about their recent theories
: ̗̀➛ notes - I always get nervous when I post written out parts (esp when it's a smau) but I felt like this needed to be in person for the effect. The next part will be mainly written too so get ready!
tags - college au, superhero au, smau
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It’s got to make sense. It HAS to make sense. If it doesn’t make sense I’ve spent the past week thinking about it and that’s a week wasted that I could’ve used to do something else or literally anything.
My vision blurred as I stared at the cork board, eyes tracing the same track of red yarn from picture to news article to picture to news article to picture-
It was a vicious cycle that had trapped me for what felt like hours but could’ve been minutes. Or days. Time came and went in no consistent interval. I woke up, went to class, came home and stared at this board until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer.
I hadn’t made a video in a few weeks and I’d postponed the interview I had scheduled with Fast Pass with no new date set. Another lost opportunity because I couldn’t get my shit together. This is all I had right now. So I had to be right. Even if the theory made me sound like I’d never had a critical thought in my life.
Which it does. Kyle didn’t even respond after you told him. That means no one believes you. It means your theory doesn’t make sense. This is BUTTERS we’re talking about.
Yeah but if it’s wrong, that means those people are right. Even if they’re just spreading hate on the internet to make themselves feel better, they have lives nonetheless. If I assisted someone who’s actively ruining people’s lives, does that make me just as bad as him?
I shake the thoughts away. I’m not a bad person. I may make questionable choices but what college student doesn’t? It’s a part of growing up. So I have to be right about this. But what does that mean moving forward? What do I do knowing one of my best friends is a super villain?
A stinging feeling begins behind my eyes as I feel the familiar pressure across the bridge of my nose that always happens before I start crying.
Why can’t I figure this out? Why can’t I let this go? Why am I stuck-
A knock at the door startles me from my concentration. My head whips to the door as though it would open on its own to reveal who interrupted my time of focus.
“Yn? Hello?” Kyle’s voice sounds from the other side of the door.
Oh fuck.
I looked back to the cork board which took up the majority of my living room.
Why did I buy this again? I wondered, realizing how much space the board actually took up. The once tidy living room had become cluttered with empty coffee cups and takeout containers littered over the coffee table, end tables, and ground. Bits of red yarn sat on the ground from cut up scraps. Other lengths that had connected discarded evidence sat in a pile on a stool, waiting for the chance to be connected to the ever expanding web once again.
“Are you in there?” Kyle’s voice rang through the apartment again.
I can’t let him in here! He’s going to think I’m some hermit conspiracy theorist!
…Well I kind of am a conspiracy theorist.
Deciding to ignore that realization, I lunged for the nearest piece of trash (a 3 day old Chipotle bowl that I just kept forgetting to walk the 3 feet to the kitchen trash) and tossed it into the garbage can. Speed cleaning the apartment lifted a weight from my shoulders, making the small living room feel less claustrophobic.
Wow, I feel better already. Maybe I should open the blind and run a vacuum through real quick- KYLE!
I spun and walked toward the door, fixing my appearance in the 10 second walk to the door to the best of my ability. Even if I’ve been stuck in my apartment for a week and a half, I didn’t want to look like it.
Unlocking the door, I put on my best “I’m totally fine and mentally stable!” face.
“Hey, kyle!”
If I looked bad, Kyle somehow looked worse. The usually maintained curls frizzed into a blur atop his head and his shirt was clearly on backwards with a Fruit of the Loom logo showing proudly at the base of his neck. His eyes darted around the hallway and into my apartment through the sliver he could see through the cracked door.
The fuck is up with him?
I think while also wearing a shirt backwards after throwing away a week’s worth of take out food and diluted iced coffee as though I was any better off.
That’s not what we’re focusing on right now. I’m perfectly stable, duh.
“You good?” I asked, leaning against the door frame to keep him from seeing my conspiracy board.
Kyle raised an eyebrow, “You’re the one that texted me an essay about your theories then called yourself an asshole.”
“Oh those?” I forced out a laugh, waving a hand to brush off the concerns, “Those were just joke, duh! You took those seriously?”
“They sounded pretty serious to me.” Kyle sighed, running a hand through his ragged hair in a way that somehow didn’t catch his fingers in the mess of curls, “Can I come in? There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
My eyes darted back into the apartment. The giant cork board stuck out like a neon sign saying “A MENTALLY ILL PERSON LIVES HERE!” I couldn’t let someone see me like this. Texting Kyle in the first place was a mistake. He’ll think I’m not thinking clearly, that I’m not someone to be trusted. The work I put into being reliable yn who’s always there to be a person you can lean on will be ruined. No one will ever trust me again.
But don’t you want someone else to know? Just knowing that someone else sees your stress instead of shoving it down until it spills over?
The thought alone of telling someone about these thoughts, of sharing the burden I’d created for myself, cleared the clouds fogging my mind. He can be someone who will listen. He can be a witness so I’m not the only one who knows that I’m struggling.
I stepped back, pulling the door open so Kyle could step through.
“Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess.” I started, hoping to mediate the embarrassment of letting someone into my stress lair.
Kyle shook his head as a small smile tugged at his lips, “It’s no problem, if you’ve ever seen stan’s room-” His sentence died out as he noticed the cork board. You know, the giant one covering my living room wall filled with pictures and newspaper clipping connected by red yarn.
“Oh.” Was all he said.
I shut the door behind him. Kyle jumped slightly at the sound, turning his gaze to follow me as I walked. He doesn’t say a word. Only staring at the cork board, the remains of trash I’d missed on my quick clean, and my own disheveled appearance.
Might as well address the elephant in the room.
“Do you want to talk about the cork board?” I asked, continuing before he had a chance to reply, “Let's talk about the cork board because I’ve been dying to talk about this cork board all day.” Walking up to the board, I pointed to the center where two photos sat: one of the supervillain Professor Chaos and the other of elementary education major Butters Stotch.
“Professor Chaos. His name keeps coming up over and over again. Everyday Call Girl is sending out alerts about this guy,” I move my hand to point at different tweets I’d printed out and pinned to the board, “Professor Chaos takes hostages in a McDonalds Play Place for a birthday party. Professor Chaos attempts to sign himself as the mayor of South Park using a fake charity petition. Professor Chaos hijacks the news station to declare the weather today ‘a 100% chance of Chaos’. This entire corner is just tweets about Professor Chaos!”
Kyle sits down on the couch without a word, eyes still following my every move. I start pacing across the living room.
Why isn’t he saying anything? Is it because he doesn’t believe me?
“So I start to look closer at his actions, his way of speaking, everything that makes Professor Chaos who he is. But it’s around this same time that I start to text a certain person more because we have a philosophy class together.” I return to the board and point to screenshots of text messages.
“Here Butters talks about getting grounded for eating two cookies and here Professor Chaos talks about being grounded for wearing his villain outfit then got grounded for trying to get ungrounded.” I look between the cork board and Kyle, trying to justify my hypothesis with the urgency in my voice, “No one gets grounded as much as Butters. You know that. I know that. Everyone knows that!”
“But that’s not even the smoking gun!” I exclaimed, pointing to another corner of the board, “Last week, Butters missed our philosophy class- which he has never done- and when I texted him, he said he was at a showing of Frozen on Ice with his mom in Denver. But when you look at the schedule for Frozen on Ice,” I pause for effect, “they don’t start shows for this season in Denver until next month. Right day, wrong month.”
“But guess what was going on last week? Professor Chaos attacks main street and is tackled by Super Craig. Landing him with another defeat and some pretty gnarly bruises to boot. The kind of bruises you’d need to miss class to cover up.” I finished with a sigh, glad to finally tell someone the monologue that had been racing through my head for the past week.
I brace myself for Kyle’s response. His eyes are locked onto the cork board and my scribbled sticky notes shouting various exclamations of discovery and panic. With a deep breath, he levels his gaze on me.
What is he thinking? Is he trying to find a nice way to say I’ve lost it? Have I lost it?
“Yn-” He begins but I cut him off.
“I know it sounds crazy, okay? I know it sounds like I’m reaching by claiming the only truly nice person I know is the town’s resident fucking super villain-”
“You’re right.”
Kyle’s response blasts through my clouded mind. I physically take a step back as my face morphs from frantic stress to confusion.
“What did you just say?” I ask, shoulders remaining tense as a hand twists into the fabric of my shirt. Kyle sighs, looking away and muttering something to himself. He raises a hand to his face, rubbing at his eyes before looking back at me.
“You’re right about Professor Chaos.”
The words I hoped to hear, the words I thought would finally take the weight off my shoulders and release the stress that had gripped my nerves, only intensified the panic in my mind.
“You mean you believe me, right?” I started slowly, trying to clarify the simple language mistake Kyle made.
“No, I mean you’re right.”
Before my mind could begin to wrap around the first revelation, Kyle continued speaking.
“I can’t tell you. I’m not allowed to. I shouldn’t even be telling you this. But I know someone who can, or at least someone who has permission.”
I began shifting my weight from foot to foot, holding back the urge to begin pacing again as I ran a hand through my hair.
“You know how cryptic you’re being right now, right?” I said.
“Yeah I know.” Kyle's leg began to bounce as his own nerves began to peak through, “I’m walking a very thin line and I’m trying not to get us both into major trouble.” He looked up to me, trying to communicate a message I couldn’t understand.
“With who?”
“Someone with a lot more authority than me. Someone who can explain things more if you come with me.” Kyle urged.
What does that even mean? Let’s not forget that he said we were right. How does he know that? Why does he know that?
My thoughts fought against each other to be the one addressed first but with so many questions, it felt impossible to single out one from the mass. Everything was happening so fast. Everything changed so fast. When did the mood of the room become so urgent? Did it always feel like this?
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to pause the thoughts. Nothing is going to get done at this rate. So I need to take the first step forward.
“Okay… yeah.”I started slowly. Kyle nodded and began to stand but I held up a hand for him to wait, “But only if you promise we can get ice cream afterwards.”
Kyle looked at me with an exasperated expression, “Are you seriously using this to get free ice cream?”
This is what he’s surprised by?
I raised my eyebrow at him and pointed to the chaotic corkboard, “You just told me my batshit conspiracy theory was right and now you want me to follow you to an unknown location to talk to an unknown person. Fuck yes I want free ice cream.”
Kyle considered the cork board for a moment before sighing.
“Fine. We’ll get ice cream.”
I muttered a quick “Fuck yeah.” to myself in celebration before looking back at Kyle,
“Okay I’ll get my coat.”
I grabbed my jacket and followed Kyle out the door, not nervous about where I’d be going, but scared that I wouldn’t like what I found.
taglist [reply to be added]: @sula0kin @lacuna-at-dawn @anglettecolours @cocolena@sukisprettyface @feverish-dove @sweetadonisbutbetter @hand-writxen@mishstuff@sophtophie @triphovia @lacunaanonymoused @inkedintothepaper @toodeepintofandoms@mmmaackerel @sillybilly-123@n0tangeliccc
#im begging for someone to understand the pepe silvia references#i even copied a bit of the structure from charlie's monologue in the episode#welcome back to the channel#south park smau#south park x reader#south park#corporatefrog#tfbw#the fractured but whole
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17.03.2023 | JEDDAH FP1 & FP2
FP1
Okay, so FP1 is not representative because it's daytime and the track is hot and all that, but I like to see the pace and overanalyze, so here are my thoughts…
RED BULL
Max started later in the session and went straight up from P20 to P3. Around 33:00, he set the fastest lap and left a gap with Fernando of only +0.015 seconds which is very, very little. Max then continued to further the gap and reinforce P1 until the end. Something I noticed but may be totally wrong is that he seems to lose a bit of time in Sector 2 while being very good in Sector 3, but I could be wrong.
From the beginning, you can see that Checo has a good pace, even when he went wide on turn 22. The commentators said that he has a new gearbox, and near the end of the session, he said on the radio that he "doesn't have any front-end." But yeah, he maintained a stable pace throughout the session, and in the last minutes, he passed Nando and was P2 with a +0.483s gap.
ASTON MARTIN
I'm really excited for Fernando because his first lap was more than 4s slower than Checo, and the next lap was the fastest. He looked great throughout the session, and I think he's doing pretty well in Sector 1. I think he had a good pace on the Hards, and had it was better when he changed into Softs around mid-session. He finished P3 with a +0.698s gap.
Lance spent some time in the pits, and when he came out, he found quite a lot of traffic. He picked up a good pace at the end and got a P4 with a +0.960s gap (+0.262s from his teammate).
In other news: Stoffel cam!!!
FERRARI
Okay, so Ferrari's lap times weren't ideal, especially considering they both have new power units. How is it possible that they're so far behind? What is the problem? I understand that it's daylight and the conditions are not representative but I really have a high standard for a team like Ferrari.
Carlos finished P7 with a +1.307s gap.
Charles finished fucking P11 (!?) with a +1.501s gap (+0.194s from his teammate)
MERCEDES
I started this session wanting good for Mercedes with Lewis in P1, but as he said, he had problems with the grip, and almost towards the end, his pace was bad (+6 fucking seconds!!!). There was a moment when he was on a fast lap and an AlphaTauri was on his way. In the end, he was slower, almost +6 seconds again ??? I want to think it's the Hard tyres during the day. Lewis finished P6 with a +1.170s gap.
They initially blocked George during his fast lap, but at least he continued to rise in the latter half of the session. I don't think they have a good pace, but I'm giving them the benefit of the doubt because FP1 isn't really representative. George finished P5 with a +1.154s gap (-0.016s from his teammate).
In other news: Mick + Toto cam!!!
ALFA ROMEO
I didn't pay much attention to Alfa Romeo because I was praying Ferrari and Mercedes would pick up some pace. I should have put Alfa Romeo in my prayers because they were bad. Again, I hope it's the temperature.
Valtteri finished P18 with a +2.353s gap.
Guanyu finished P19 with a +2.369s gap (+0.016s from his teammate).
ALPINE
Pierre seems to have a better pace than Esteban but says his brakes are rubbish. Pierre finished P8 with a +1.332s gap.
Esteban didn't have the best lap time, but it doesn't look too bad. Estie Bestie finished P12 with a +1.564s gap (+0.232s from his teammate).
WILLIAMS
Alex in P4 around 24:00 is important to me. It seems he had a good pace, and I can imagine him in the points again this week, but we will have to wait for Qualifying. Alex finished P9 with a +1.413s gap.
I didn't pay much attention to Logan, but I think he can improve throughout the day when it's cooler. Williams doesn't look as bad as last year's, but I need another race to compare the gap between teammates. Logan finished P17 with a +2.305s gap (+0.892s from his teammate).
In other news: James cam!!! Also, was he drinking a Red Bull when he was interviewed, or was it another drink?
ALPHATAURI
I don't have much to say about AlphaTauri, just that apparently they were in the way all the time and that's kinda funny.
Yuki finished P10 (slay) with a +1.493s gap.
Nyck finished P13 with a +1.833s gap (+0.340s from his teammate), being the rookie with the best time.
HAAS
Haas on Ferrari was a hate crime towards me, and all four were in softs??? And then they got worse, thank God (sorry Kev).
Hülkenberg finished P15 with a gap of +1.935s.
Kevin finished P16 with a +1.949s gap (+0.014s from his teammate which is positive for me, get his ass Kevin!!!).
MCLAREN
Oh, McLaren is bad in FP1. Normally, I would think it's unrepresentative, but we already know how Bahrain ended. I wrote in my notes: "both biting the dust I can't believe this" and I can only say… I am a comedian.
Oscar had a gap of more than 2 seconds, which he later improved. Oscar finished P14 with a +1.874s gap (-0.658s from his teammate!).
On the other hand, I didn't pay attention for a microsecond, and Lando finished LAST, P20, BEHIND EVERYONE, with a +2.532s gap… 2 AND A HALF SECONDS. What the hell happened to McLaren that has them this bad?
FP2
Now this session is more representative because of the temperature. I heard that the medium tyres are better in this circuit but something tells me they’re going to use the softs a lot during Qualifying and that's why they did a lot of laps on them, so they could check the pace for Qualifying. I think. I don't know. I'm not really an expert.
RED BULL
Truly the Red Bulls do beautiful laps in Jeddah. Max’s laps are so so pretty, I can't wait to see him in Qualifying. I'm slightly concerned about the sparks, but they look gorgeous at night lol. He almost hit the wall, again, and that worries me a lot. I would hate to see his laps ruined by another accident. Max was P1! Of course.
I also like Checo's laps a lot, the cars are so beautiful at night. I hope he has an amazing weekend. Checo finished P3 with a +0.299s gap.
ASTON MARTIN
I would never have thought Aston Martin would improve so much in a single season.
Fernando had beautiful laps and looks fast in both softs and mediums. I also noticed that despite being fast, he doesn't get as close to walls as Max. Nando finished P2 with a +0.208s gap.
Lance did quite well, he got closer to the top many times but didn't finish as close to Fernando. Lance finished P7 with +0.507s gap (+0.299s from his teammate).
FERRARI
I wrote quite a bit on Ferrari but most of it is angry nonsense so I'll sum it up by saying I can't believe Ferrari looks so slow at a circuit like Jeddah. Disappointing. I look forward to more of them on Saturday and Sunday.
Charles finished P9 with a +0.738s gap.
Carlos finished P10 with a +0.989s gap (+0.251s from his teammate).
MERCEDES
The W14 looks so beautiful at night but being a Mercedes fan is too stressful.
Lewis worries me, P11 is a crime. I know they’re going to be better during the race but I am so looking forward to seeing Lewis win and this feels horrible. Lewis finished P11 with a +0.996s gap.
George was able to get some pace near the end, which gives me hope for qualifying. On the other hand, George insulting the McLaren was way too funny for no reason. George finished P5 with a +0.467s gap (-0.529s from his teammate).
In other news: Toto + Bono + Mick cam!!! I found Toto's interview funny because I only focused on his hand gestures lol.
ALFA ROMEO
I don't have much to say about Alfa Romeo except that Valtteri was last and I want to kill myself. Anyway, Val finished P20 with a +1.449s gap.
Although Guanyu was better than Valtteri, he’s still too low for what I want. He finished P16 with a +1.234s gap (-0.215s from his teammate).
ALPINE
I didn't pay as much attention to Alpine but they look good. They don't impress me. But they look good, I definitely see them in the points at least one of them.
Esteban finished P4 with a +0.436s gap.
Pierre finished P6 with a +0.497s gap (+0.061 from his teammate).
WILLIAMS
Alex didn't have an ideal position but surprisingly I still think he can do pretty well this weekend. Alex finished P14 with a +1.207s gap.
Okay I'm going to tell the truth, I don't care about Logan that much, I only have him as a reference to how good/bad Williams is, but hey. Logan finished P18 with a +1.356s gap (+0.149s from his teammate).
In other news: James cam again!!!
ALPHATAURI
Yuki finished P13 with a +1.173s gap.
Nyck finished P17, being the best rookie, with a +1.318s gap (+0.145s from his teammate).
HAAS
Hülkenberg getting in the way and randomly P4 was funny. He finished P8 somehow, with a +0.578s gap.
Kevin finished P15 with a +1.217s gap (+0.639 from his teammate).
MCLAREN
I repeat, McLaren is bad and it’s worrying. I know we were all like fuck McLaren and all that but I'd really like to see Oscar do well and this car is so bad I wonder what went wrong.
Lando didn't look good at almost any time, there was a point where his laps were more than 6 secs which is criminal. WHAT'S THAT? Lando finished P12 with a +1.118s gap.
Now Oscar :( It’s a shame this car is so bad. At first he seemed to get better but the traffic and pace weren’t ideal. Fuck everyone slowing down my baby including Zak Brown and his shitty car. Oscar finished P19, being the worst rookie, with a +1.361s gap (+0.243s from his teammate).
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Invisible String (2/?)
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female reader (Modern AU)
Description: James Buchanan Barnes, the owner of the most expensive-looking club in town and your new apartment. He was a dick and you hated him. What could possibly go wrong when you, the new girl in town, start bartending at his club to pursue your dreams?
Warning: Sexual assault, mention of an anxiety attack.
Word Count: 1641
It turns out you definitely can't do this. Working in retail sucks, majorly. Customers are so awful to you and other employees as well. You didn't make the products, you don't control the prices, then why should you listen to them rant about it all day?
This job was from 9 am to 4 pm, which reminded you a lot of your previous job. By the time you got home, you were exhausted mentally and physically. Your current schedule was eerily similar to your previous lifestyle, which left you with no time to work on your book.
You felt like you were stuck in an insufferable loop that you just can't seem to escape no matter how hard you try. You thought about Mr. Barnes a lot, too. If only you weren't so egoistic and been a little nicer, then maybe you could have had that job.
With each passing day, you were becoming desperate. The only reason why you didn't run to Mr. Barnes a week ago was your pride. A pride that would not let you bow down to that rude, egoistic asshole.
It's like the universe could hear your thoughts and the devil himself walked through the doors of the store. Fuck, he can't see you here. He's going to think you're some nut job who's chasing stupid dreams after having an excellent degree. At least that's what your parents think.
You were about to run and hide behind an aisle when the voice you knew too well called out for you.
"Hey, do you know where I could find-"
"You," He said, without an emotion. "What are you doing here?"
You pointed towards the badge with the name tag on your shirt and mouthed working.
"Why?"
"Why?" You pretended to think, "I don't know, I interviewed for this other job about a week ago, but the boss was an ass."
"You lied to me," he stated as if it wasn't the most obvious thing.
"Gee, sorry, dad."
"You're doing it again."
"Doing what again?" You questioned.
" Diverging a question with a joke," He answered with an unaffected tone like he was studying you and your reaction.
"You know who I am." he stated. It should have been a question, but both of you were aware of what he meant.
"A vampire?" You mocked. He didn't look like one though, but hey, neither did Edward nor Stefan. But God, those steel-blue eyes could drink you up and you wouldn't complain. Focus.
For the first time you saw an emotion on his face that wasn't unaffected or bored, he was confused. Of course, he was confused, you were referencing twilight to a mob boss (you think, you weren't sure, but that's all you could gather from all the articles you found about him online).
"I need that job," you confessed. " I know it's not very convincing, but I need you to trust me-"
He raised a brow at that and his lips turned into a smirk. God, you wished you could swipe off that smirk from his stupidly handsome face.
"But you don't trust me, " you stated dejectedly and started turning around. "You wanted something? "
In an instant, his hand wrapped around your wrist gently, stopping you in your tracks. You ignored the involuntary shudder that ran through you and immediately yanked your hand out of his grasp.
You turned around and were about to give him a piece of your mind about how he shouldn't just come to your place of work and touch you without consent. He clearly guessed your thoughts and cut in.
"Clint Barton, the manager, he will tell you everything you need to know about bartending and handling the customers."
Did he just hire you? What changed between this and your previous meeting with him?
And just like that, he left. There was a part of you that wanted to say fuck off I don't need your help, but you knew better, so you went to that club later that evening. You found the Manager, Clint. He told you he was expecting your arrival and that made you feel weird because Mr. Barnes was totally opposite the day you met.
Your new job required you to be at work from 8 pm to 3 am, which was ideal for you. You usually reach home and pass out till 4 in the morning and wake up around noon. This schedule gave you a lot of time to work on your book.
You ended up making friends with some other people that work there as well. Wanda was the smart, sarcastic one that you'd have died to have as a friend in high school. Pietro, her twin brother, was also nice, a bit fast and impatient, but he was nice to you. Peter looked very young, but he knew what he was doing and he'd help you out a lot. That kid had a lot of energy and adrenaline, which surprised you every time he'd be done with work way before you.
You didn't see Mr. Barnes frequently. You saw him one time entering the club, and you tried to give him a smile which he ignored and went straight to his office upstairs. And then you decided to ignore him as well. It wasn't like you to be petty, okay, maybe you were being petty, but in your defense, he started it.
You were finishing up cleaning the table and were about to call it a day when a man you didn't recognize, probably wasn't a regular, came in asking for a drink.
"I'm sorry, sir. We're closed." You told him politely.
"Whiskey on the rocks."
You wanted to refuse him again, but you stopped yourself when he came into your sight. He didn't look like the kind of man who'd take your no seriously. He looked just as intimidating as Mr. Barnes, even more, but Mr. Barnes knew his boundaries, whereas this man in front of you evidently didn't. You could tell this by the way his gaze was slowly taking your body in and stopping a little longer at your cleavage.
You wanted to cringe and curse yourself for choosing to wear a top like that in a place filled with drunk men. The smarter part of your brain told you that he can go fuck himself, and you shouldn't think about men when you dress up. Women are entitled to wear whatever they want to and fuck men and people who tell them otherwise.
Carefully, you made his drink and handed it to him. His hand lingered on yours while taking the glass from you, and you wanted to just throw the drink across his face. His gaze remained on your chest even when you fixed your top and coughed twice to call his behavior out.
"What time do you get off?" he asked, eyes still on your chest.
Is this guy for real? , you thought.
"Um, this is highly inappropriate and I think you should leave now because I have to call it a night." you rejected politely, raising your hand towards the door, hoping he'd leave.
He chuckled darkly, his stare still drinking in your body as if you were a piece of meat, and it made you very, very uncomfortable. He obviously wasn't taking no for an answer, and you had no clue what to do. You were the only person left, and you didn't even know who to ask for help.
"Come on, baby girl," he said, walking towards you and forcefully snaking his hands around your waist to settle on your hips. " Don't make this harder than it should be. "
"No!" you yelled, pushing him away and creating some distance between you.
"Hard way it is then," he decided, walking towards you and forcefully holding the hem of your shirt in his hands to remove it. You struggled, yelled, and pushed him off you again. He furiously lunged forward towards you and hit you hard across the face. "Fucking bitch."
"Rumlow!" a voice boomed from behind you, and you hated yourself for being in such a vulnerable state. As much as you tried not to, tears welled up in your eyes and you hated being the helpless damsel in distress.
"Get the fuck out of here." the familiar voice ordered.
"Chill, Barnes. We were just having a little fun," the man known as Rumlow reasoned nonchalantly. "Besides, it's not my fault if she wears clothes like this."
You were all about feminism and how women should be treated equally with respect despite their attire, but at that moment you hated yourself for choosing that deep-neck shirt this morning.
"I'm not going to chill while you sexually harass my employees, so get the fuck out of here," Mr. Barnes warned again.
You closed your eyes and hoped that maybe this was a shitty dream and you'd wake up in your bed and have an anxiety attack because of the nightmare. You hoped that maybe the ground beneath you would open up and swallow you, so you could just not think about this ever.
You heard two sets of footsteps faintly in the background, one dragging its way away from you and the other rushing towards you. Furthermore, you didn't have it in you to open your eyes and meet the ocean blue ones that you knew were waiting for you.
In your head, you had already taken up the blame. The verdict came out the moment his gaze landed on your chest that it was your fault that you wore this shirt. Of course, if you were thinking right, you would have realized that you were undoubtedly the victim here and Rumlow was an asshole who assaulted you, but in your helpless state, your mind decided you were at fault here.
TAGS: @bananapipedreams
#mobster bucky#mob bucky#mob!bucky#mob!bucky x reader#mobbucky x reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky x y/n#bucky x reader#bucky x you#mob!bucky series#bucky series#bucky barnes#bucky barnes series
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Take a Bow (4) - Connor McDavid and Leon Draisaitl
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3,
Warnings: Babies, anxiety/feelings of heightened anxiety, smut
It’s not that Connor hates kids. They just make him uncomfortable.
Like when his aunt had a baby when he was 13 his mom asked if Connor wanted to hold him. Connor was fine when his mom gently placed the baby in his arms. Up until his mom told her to be super careful with his head or else he could snap his neck and kill him. Or if Connor accidently pressed his soft spot it could severely detriment his brain development. It was too much responsibility.
At least that’s what he used to think.
He fell in love with Emilia the minute you walked through the front door with her in the baby carrier. The dogs were excited by the tiny squirming arms inside the carrier, he had to hold Lenny back so he didn’t crush her.
“This is going to sound super cliche,” Connor says as he coos into the carrier where Emilia is trying to open her tiny eyes, “but she is the cutest baby I’ve ever seen.”
“She’s a lot cuter now that her head is a normal shape,” you joke, munching on a cookie Connor had set out for you.
“Can you stop making fun of our daughter’s cone head?” Leon rolls his eyes.
“You didn’t see it, it was terrifying.”
(Connor googles a picture of it later. Babies are fucking weird.)
He helps you up the stairs to the waiting cup of tea on the mug warmer in your bedroom. He lets you get settled, handing you the TV remote and giving you a kiss on the forehead before going back downstairs to meet his daughter (step-daughter? Connor didn’t really know).
“Can I hold her?” Connor asks when he finds Leon and Emilia in the living room.
“What happened to the three month rule?” He raises an amused eyebrow.
Connor had created it after the incident. He didn’t hold a baby that was younger than 3 months.
“I’m feeling brave.”
Leon scooches over so Connor has room to sit comfortably. Leon gently places Emilia in his arms, and gives Connor a pillow to prop his arm on. Emilia’s blinks at him before squirming and stretching her little arms over her head. Connor feels all warm and fuzzy in his chest.
“Hello, Emilia,” he says, with a smile on his face, “I’m your other dad.”
~~~
Connor’s not inherently a jealous person.
Or at least he thought he was. But ever since Emilia came home he’s been feeling it. He loves Emilia, don’t get him wrong. Well, actually, he should backpedal for a second.
Connor is still annoyed at Leon.
He knows he should probably bring this up (because look what happened last time) but he hasn’t because Leon was trying to make things right with you. He obviously was trying with Connor as well, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was an afterthought. Some days were better than others, but everytime Connor thought about how he woke up and couldn’t find Leon in the penthouse he felt like puking.
Emilia eases the pain. He truly does love her like his own. The only time he uses the “she’s your kid” card is when it's 2 am and he’s too tired to get up. But he rarely even does that because Connor’s always been the heaviest sleeper out of the three of you. But other than that, he volunteers for bathtime, plays with her while you’re in the shower, he doesn’t even hate changing diapers that much.The puppies love her too, they’ve transitioned from napping on the dog beds in the living room to the spot on the couch closest to the bassinet to keep an eye on them. He regularly has to stop Lenny from trying to jump in and crush Emilia.
Back to Leon (Connor tends to get side tracked when talking about Emilia). Connor’s still annoyed and he’s been working up to talking about it. But it never seems like a good time. First you were pregnant, and Connor didn’t want to upset either of you. Then it was playoffs and Connor didn’t have any time to think about anything else. Then they got swept and Connor did nothing but eat ice cream for a week like he just had his first heartbreak. And after that…well, he just hates confrontation.
He keeps telling himself that he’ll get around to it, that he just wants to gather his thoughts but he knows he’s stalling at this point. Mostly because -
“So did you do what we talked about last session?” Sophie, his therapist, asks him at the beginning of his appointment.
-his therapist calls him on his bulshit. And he realizes that’s the whole reason he pays her, but it’s still rude.
“About that…” Connor trails off.
She gives him an amused smile, “Connor, you know I don’t like telling you what to do but I strongly suggest you talk to Leon.”
“Sophie, my girlfriend gave birth, we started playoffs and got swept all in the last two weeks,” he says with an exasperated sigh, “I deserve a little time for myself. Isn’t that what you told me last week?”
“I was getting to that,” she says.
Connor almost didn’t show up to his first session. He spent the whole ride over that he his therapist would be a quiet homophobe and who’d sell his story to the presses and ruin his life.
But then he went in and saw the framed photo of Sophie and her wife and their twins. He let out a sigh of relief and felt more comfortable telling her about his life. She didn’t even really watch hockey and she told him that he thought he was a “good player” for his age. Connor always has to stop himself from laughing whenever she tries to compliment his playing style. She’s adorable.
“And what about (Y?N)? Have you thought about what you were going to say to her?”
He knows. He just doesn’t know if you’ll want the same thing.
“I have, a little bit.”
“And would you like to share what you’ve been thinking about?”
“I-uh,” he swallows, “I want another baby?”
“Is that a question?”
“I don’t think so.”
Sophie sends him home with the same homework he had last week: try to slowly figure out what he wants to say when he’s eventually ready to have a talk.
When he comes home, Leon’s standing in the kitchen by Emillia’s bottle warmer. He looks stupid hot holding a baby and Connor’s only mildly annotated about it.
“Hey,” he flashes Connor a bright smile when he notices Connor’s presence, “Can you hold her while I make her a bottle?”
“Sure,” He takes Emilia from Leon before sliding the dimmer down on the light switch. Her eyes slowly open in the dim light and her gumless smile warms Connor’s heart.
“Hello sweet girl,” he coos, watching as she somehow wiggles an arm loose from her blanket, “I love you. I hope you had a good morning.”
He doesn’t expect her to answer, obviously, but she does start to open and close her mouth, indicating she's hungry.
“Leo, you’re too slow,” he taunts playfully, watching as Leon carefully measures out the formula, “she’s starving over here.”
“I can only move so fast,” he laughs.
When Leon finally gets Emilia her bottle Connor relaxes into the dining room chair as she eats her lunch.
“How was therapy?”
Connor told you and Leon that he started going when he came home from his session. Connor didn’t divulge everything that happened in his sessions but it felt nice to have someone ask.
“It was good,” he says, leaning over and resting his head on Leon’s shoulder, “I only cried a little this time.”
Leon chuckles, “Does that mean therapy’s working?”
“Probably.”
~~~
Connor can’t help but laugh when he rewatches the interview of Leon talking about Emilia. He manages to somehow be adorable and sarcastic at the same time. You’re settled against his chest with your ipad resting on your lap and he can feel your giggles as Leon gives his short, glib answers to the journalists' annoying questions.
(Congratulations, she’s very cute.
“I know. She is my daughter after all.”
Your girlfriend’s not going to get mad about that comment?
“She’s gonna get mad if you keep asking questions about her newborn.”)
“I can’t believe you haven’t seen this yet,” Connor says as he runs his fingers through your hair.”
“Neither can I,” you giggle as Leon looks into the camera like he’s on the Office.
Leon rolls his eyes as he emerges from the bathroom, now freshly shaven.
“It’s not that funny,” he says.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Leo,” Connor says, gently hooking his fingers in Leon’s chain to pull him down for a kiss, “You’re very funny.”
“Why did you shave?” you say as Leon turns to give you a kiss, “Your beard looked so good.”
“It was also getting super scratchy,” Connor says.
Leon gets under the covers on Connor’s otherside, “Yeah Emilia’s been distracting me from the beard routine.”
You scoff, “the scratch is the best part, Con.”
“Tell that to the scratch marks on my ass,” Connor says without thinking, and then immediately blushes.
You groan, “Don’t talk about anything remotely sexy when my poor vagina is still healing from pushing out a whole watermelon.”
Leon laughs, “Don’t worry, baby, the beard will be back by the time you get your 6 week all clear.”
~~~
(5 weeks later - after your 6 week all appointment)
“Guess what bitches,” you shout as you enter the kitchen, “I can finally have sex again.”
“Mhm,” Leon hums, feigning disinterest, “And what would you like me to do about that?”
“You’re mean and not funny,” you say lightly hip-checking him, “Besides I have two boyfriends for a reason.”
“Yeah about that,” Connor stretches and yawns, “Emilia kept me up last night so I was gonna take a nap.”
You blink, “I will go to Whyte Av and find some rando to screw in a coat closet, don’t fucking test me.”
Leon grabs your hips and pulls you against his body so your back is flush against his chest before walking forward and pressing your hips into the kitchen counter.
“As if I could pass up the opportunity to fuck this sweet little pussy,” he grinds his hips, pushing your hips further into the counter.
“What have you been cleared for?”
“L-light, non-strenous sex.”
Connor laughs, “Boring, but better than nothing.”
“Davo, take her upstairs,” Leon commands so Connor scoops you up and carries you bridal style to the bedroom.
“Wait wait,” you say when they reach the top, “Where’s Emilia.”
“She’s napping in her crib,” Connor says as he drops you onto the bed, “Leo’s gonna check on her before he comes. So you can turn your brain off for a little bit.”
Connor doesn’t wait to hear your answer, just presses his lips to yours. He fels you moan against him. Connor’s hands slide under your shirt, slowly exposing skin. When he gets it over your head he trails his kisses down your body, unhooking your bra as he does. His kisses move in between your breasts to your belly.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs as he kisses your belly button, “you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”
He hooks his fingers on your shorts, pulling them down your legs. He settles himself on the bed as he spreads your legs to press kisses to your inner thigh.
“Perfect,” Connor says, lightly nipping at the sensitive skin.
The tiny hitch of your breath causes all of his blood to rush straight to his dick, but he can’t bring himself to care. He takes his time, warming you up with kisses to your inner thighs, gently scraping his teeth against the skin. He kisses your pussy before running his tongue through your folds. His tongue gently caresses your clit with his tongue. Your hand comes down in his hair when he sucks your clit into his mouth. Your hips start to move against his face, grinding down to give yourself more friction.
“So impatient,” he hums, fucking one finger in you.
“It’s been six whole weeks,” you say, “I haven’t gone six weeks without sex since I was a virgin.”
Connor chuckles, “Easy baby, we’ll get there.”
~~~
Connor can’t help himself when he sees you changing Emilia’s onesie in her nursery. He walks up behind you, wraps his arms around your waist and rests his head on your shoulder.
“Good morning,” he says, planting a kiss on your cheek, “And good morning to the world’s most adorable baby.”
Emilia gurgles but doesn’t retort. Smh, someone needs to teach her how to be humble.
“Morning,” you reply, buttoning up her fresh onesie, “How’d you sleep?”
“Good,” he responds with another kiss, “Except when you kicked me in my ribs.”
“I take offense to that,” you raise an eyebrow, “I am an angel in bed. And, yes, pun intended.”
Connor snorts, “We both know that's a lie.”
Both Connor and Leon have been victims of your aggressive sleeping style. One of these days he’s gonna tie all your limbs down, and not in a sexy way. But not in a murderous way either, let’s make that clear. In a Connor-wants-one-singular-night-to-not-get-punched-in-his-sleep way.
Oh god, his brain is rambling. Oh god, he does not want to do this.
“(Y/N),” he says before he can talk himself out of it, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.”
“About what?” you ask, holding Emilia close as you sit down in the rocking chair.
“I…” Connor has never been this sweaty in his life, “I want another baby.”
“Oh,” you say, indifferent, “Congratulations.”
His brow furrows, “what?”
“On growing a uterus,” you arch an eyebrow, “Because I sure as hell am not using mine again for like 3 years.”
Connor laughs, “I wasn’t saying right away. But, I just want to know if it’s something on the table.”
“I want another baby,” you say, “And as long as you’re willing to wait, I don’t see why it would be an issue.”
~~~
And Connor definitely feels lighter after his talk with you. And he even impresses Sophie by actually doing his homework for once:
“So did you talk to Leon yet?” She asks after he’s finished giving his rundown of his week.
“No,” he says sheepishly, “But I did talk to (Y/N) about having another baby.”
She has the professionalism to not look shocked, but Connor is getting a little better at reading her. Or at least he thinks he is. He still gets anxious whenever she writes things on her notepad, “and how did that go?”
“Honestly, it was better than I expected.”
“How so?”
He shrugs, “I guess I was just expecting the worst?”
“And why is that?”
He shrugs again, “Isn’t that something that you’re supposed to figure out when you psychoanalyze me at the beginning of every session?”
Sophie throws her head back in laughter, “You do know I can’t read your mind right.”
It sure feels like she can sometimes. Which is why he pays her but still, it’s rude.
~~~
Connor thought he was sweaty and anxious before talking to you. However, when it comes time to talk to Leon he also feels nauseous. Like, he might throw up in the kitchen sink again nauseously. But he’s been sitting on this for a few months now - but what if Leon hates him. What if he doesn't want to be with Connor anymore. What if he asks for a trade?
No, Connor’s spiraling. Leon’s a rational person; he's not gonna hate Connor for talking about his feelings, something Leon encourages because Connor tends to bottle things up until he explodes.
But what if-
No. No spiraling, yet.
“Leo,” Leon hums against Connors chest from his spot on the couch next to him, “You still awake?”
“Yeah,” he says quietly, “But I was thinking about going upstairs soon.”
Connor shuts the TV off, “Um, actually before that can we...talk?”
Leon sits up and stretches, “What about?”
Connor takes a deep breath, “I think - I think I’m mad at you?”
Leon looks a little confused, and Connor can’t say he blames him, “You think you’re mad at me?”
“I-yeah,” he takes another breath, “I know you’ve been trying really hard to reconcile with (Y/N), and that’s great, and I’m definitely not trying to say I take priority over her, but it kind of feels like you’ve put me on the backburner a bit.”
Leon nods, “How so?”
Connor shrugs, “I mean, when you came back and you apologized it was definitely pointed towards her. And it’s the little things, like you always make what (Y/N) wants for dinner and not me. It feels a little bit like there’s a hierarchy here.”
“Do you...feel this way with (Y/N) too?”
“A little bit,” he says, “But mostly with things concerning Emilia, so it’s not as big of an issue.”
Connor realized he feels a bit…scorned, for lack of a better word. Connor was with you first, and that’s not something he feels jealous about but now it’s all coming up. Connor never left you, Connor was the one who held back your hair and wiped your tears when Leon was MIA. Connor was there, Leon left.
...maybe he did need to talk to you some more.
~~~
Connor and Leon spend a long time talking on the couch before they join you in bed. Eventually, Leon puts his head in Connor’s lap as the conversation turns mundane and they just enjoy each other’s presence. It’s been a while since they’ve done that. They end the night with a little make out session that doesn’t lead anywhere more. It was nice.
The next morning Connor’s on baby duty. Not that he minds, it’s always nice to start his day with a smile from Emilia. He changes her diaper and puts a fresh sleeper on her, listening to the little baby noises she makes. When he’s finished he takes her downstairs to the kitchen where you and Leon are making breakfast.
“Good morning, babe,” Leon says when Connor turns the corner, “Do you want strawberries or blueberries on your french toast?”
Leon was making his favourite breakfast. Connor can’t stop the smile from spreading on his face.
“And how’s my favourite girl?” he asks, giving Emilia a little kiss on her forehead.
“A pooping machine,” Connor responds to her, and Emilia laughs at him.
“Did she just-?” you get from your spot on the barstool and run to Connor’s side.
“Her first laugh?” Connor says, “Yeah.”
He tickles her belly in an effort to get her to keep laughing, but she chooses that moment to be a stubborn newborn and frowns instead.
He looks at Leon, “She is absolutely your baby.”
“I smiled when I was a baby!”
“No, Leo he’s got a point,” you say in between funny faces, “your mom said she has one baby photo of you smiling because you would refuse to smile for the camera.”
“I was shy.”
“You’re a robot,” Connor says.
“Like you’re one to talk,” you scoff.
~~~
“Connor please,” you pant, “I don’t know what I did to deserve this.”
Connor holds back a laugh, watching the sweat drip down your face, “I thought this is what you wanted?”
“Leo!,” you yell, catching his attention from across the room, “Tell Connor he’s being an ass.”
Leon does not hold back his laugh, “He’s got a point.”
“I can’t believe I’m getting bullied right now.”
Connor wraps his arms around you and pulls you close into his body, “It’s just some squats, baby, it’s not the end of the world.”
“It is when you keep adding weight!”
“Because you’re stronger.”
You just stare at him and, honestly, Connor feels a little scared.
“Tell you what,” he leans down so he can whisper in your ear, “If you make it through your sets, without complaining, Leo and I will take turns eating you out tears run down your pretty little face.”
“Promise?” you hold out your pinky.
Emilia’s being babysat by her grandparents so Connor feels no qualms when he links his pinky with yours, “Promise.”
“Promise what?” Leon pipes up from his place on the leg press.
“Connor offered up your body in exchange for squats,” you say, shouldering the bar once more.
“And what did Connor say I would do?”
“You’ll find out,” Connor says, waving a hand at Leon nonchalantly.
“I don’t even get to know how I’m being used as a bargaining chip?”
“Nope,” Connor says with a smile, popping the ‘p’.
~~~
Leon learns what the exact terms and conditions are of the agreement about an hour later. And, just like Connor expected, he does not complain.
He even has the audacity to wink at Connor as he’s tongue-deep in pussy. Ugh, he forgot what the butterflies in his stomach felt like when he’s not constantly annoyed with Leon. He can’t help himself, he gets up from where he was giving his jaw a break, and slides his fingers over Leon’s hole. Leon tenses up ever so slightly, he breaks the momentum he had on you, evident by how hard your ankles are digging into Leon’s shoulders.
“Don’t stop,” Connor grunts, slipping one digit past the rim, “You don’t cum until she does.”
He slides his finger all the way before uncapping the lube and lathering his fingers up and adding a second. Connor knows when he hits Leon’s prostate when He lets out a low groan into your cunt.
“Fuuuuuuck,” you whine, writhing against the sheets.
Leon pushes back on Connor’s fingers at the same time your hips start to grind down feverishly on Leon’s face.
“Make her cum, Leo,” Connor says, removing his fingers from Leon’s ass and teasing his hole once more.
Leon’s focus changes completely. His fingers dig into your hipbones, pulling you closer to him so he has a better angle. Your chest is rising and falling quickly, heaving off the bed when Leon finally sucks your clit. You cum with a shout, tumbling over the edge, pussy clenching around Leon’s tongue.
Connor wastes no time, grabbing Leon’s hips to steady him before spreading Leon's cheeks and swiping his tongue in long, broad strokes. Connor’s not the biggest fan of rimming, but Leon loves it. Leon groans as Connor teases him, starts to rut against the bed when Connor’s tongue dips into his hole, loses it when Connor starts to fuck him open with his tongue. He reaches over to jack Leon off, pumping him as he continues to take him apart. Leon goes limp beneath him, reduced to nothing but moans. Connor speeds up his ministries, revealing in the way Connor’s name falls weakly from Leon’s mouth. Leon bucks hard against the bed, cums with a shudder. Connor takes his hand off Leon's cock, and places it on his own but doesn’t quite relent on his tongue, working Leon through the aftershocks' pleasure. It doesn’t take very long for Connor to cum, finally letting up on Leon and effectively ruining his boxers.
“Aw Leo,” Connor says once he can catch his breath, “We have to watch the duvet cover now.”
~~~
“Where is my baby?” Connor teases playfully when you walk through the door, baby carrier in hand.
“Calm your tits,” you say, placing the carrier on the kitchen counter and allowing Connor to take her out, “She’s home, and just woke up from a nap.”
“I wish I took a nap today,” Connor says as he rocks Emilia in his arms. She gives Connor a toothless smile and Connor just wants to smoosh her.
“Has anyone ever told you, you look really good holding a baby?” Leon says, giving Connor a quick peck on the cheek.
“Good enough to have another baby?” Connor asks.
You roll your eyes, “Two years, Con.”
“I’m just teasing.”
And, yeah, Connor finally starts to feel like he’s home again.
#poly fic#connor mcdavid#leon draisaitl#ran writes#connor mcdavid imagine#leon draisaitl imagine#nhl smut#nhl oneshot#connor mcdavid smut#leon draisaitl smut
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What Happens In Vegas... {3}
An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Feyre x Rhysand, Modern AU, fanfiction.
Summary: For Feyre’s twenty-first birthday, her best friend took her to Las Vegas for a weekend of fun she could never forget. She’s going home with a lot more than memories.
@snelbz / @tacmc collab
What Happens In Vegas Masterlist
Fanfiction Masterlist
My Ask Box
I felt like I had just fallen asleep when someone began hammering on my door.
“Feyre? Are you in there?” The knob shook and it sounded like whoever it was was trying to get in. I’d locked it after the incident with Rhys, just in case he wanted to come back and finish the fight we’d started.
I blinked and sat up, looking around the room, bleary eyed. The last time I had looked at the clock, it was 4:17. It had taken me hours to fall asleep, with the loud music below and the knowledge that Rhys was probably giving Belly Chain the night I should have gotten in Vegas.
Another knock had me climbing across the huge bed and hurrying for the door, but as I reached it, I realized I wore nothing but Rhysand’s shirt he’d left in Vegas. Whatever he’d washed it with, it didn’t smell of puke. The man had some serious laundry skills. Aside from my ruined dress and a couple of other tops, it was all I had with me, so it would have to do.
I reached the door and asked, “Who is it?”
“Amarantha. I’m Rhysand’s PA.”
I cracked open the door and peered out. The elegant redhead from last night stared back at me, unimpressed. From being made to wait or the sight of my bed hair, I didn’t know. Did everyone in this house look like they’d just slunk off the cover of a magazine? Her eyes turned into slits at the sight of Rhys’ shirt.
“His representatives are here to meet with you. You might want to get your ass into gear.” The woman spun on her heel and strode off down the hallway, heels clacking furiously against the terra-cotta tiled floor.
I hesitated, watching her disappear around the corner before closing the door behind me. I slumped back against it with a groan before stumbling into the adjoining bathroom. After a look in the mirror, and a cringe, I decided that a shower was definitely necessary.
The shower was amazing.
The cost of the bathroom alone was probably equivalent to everything I owned. I quickly washed my hair and scrubbed my skin, and I was letting myself out. After brushing through my hair and putting on the same clothes I felt like I had been wearing for years at this point, I was wandering into the hallway.
Amarantha hadn’t told me where they were waiting for me, and in a house this big, I wasn’t excited about looking for the right room. When I walked down the staircase, though, there was a group of men in suits, and I figured that I wouldn’t have to look too long.
“Feyre?”
I nodded, my reality settling in around me. I was about to get divorced. Divorced at twenty-one. What a fucking dream.
“Follow me.”
Me. Although there were four of them in the group, he was clearly in charge. He was probably a few years younger than my dad, clearly full of himself, and obviously rich as hell. His suit was pristine, designer, his hair luscious and just trimmed and styled.
“My name is Darren Hybern,” he said. “The band’s manager.”
I noticed he didn’t offer to shake my hand. “Feyre. Sorry I’m late.”
He smiled and his teeth were too white, too perfect. “It’s fine, not a problem at all.” His tone suggested differently.
He led us to a room by the front door, an office of sorts. There was a large table, the likes of which I’d only seen in boardrooms and interview scenes on tv and in movies. He gestured to the men, who’d sat down on one side of the table, a show of power in their impressive, immaculate suits. “Gentlemen, this is Ms. Archeron,” Hybern announced. “Jeffrey Baker, Bill Preston, and Ted Clark are Rhysand’s legal representatives. Why don’t you sit here, Feyre?”
He spoke slowly, as if I were a feeble-minded child. He pulled a chair out from the table for me directly opposite the team of legal eagles, then walked around to sit on their side. Wow, that sure told me. The lines had been drawn.
I rubbed my sweaty palms on the sides of my jeans and sat up straight, doing my best not to wilt beneath their hostile gazes. I could definitely do this. How hard could it be to get a divorce, after all?
“Ms. Archeron,” the one Hybern had identified as Ted started. He pushed a black leather folder full of papers toward me. “Mr. Lunasa asked us to draw up annulment papers. They’ll cover all issues, including details of your settlement from Mr. Lunasa.”
The size of the stack of papers before me was daunting. These people worked fast. “My settlement?”
“Yes,” Ted said. “Rest assured, Mr. Lunasa has been very generous.”
I shook my head in confusion. “I’m sorry. Wha—.”
“We’ll deal with that last,” Ted rushed on. “You’ll notice here that the document covers all conditions to be met by yourself. The main issues include your not speaking to any member of the press with regard to this matter. This is non-negotiable, I’m afraid. This condition remains in force until your death. Do you fully understand the requirement, Ms. Archeron? Under no circumstances may you talk to any member of the press regarding Mr. Lunasa in any way while you’re alive.”
“So I can talk to them after I die?” I asked with a weak little laugh. Ted was getting on my nerves. I guess I hadn’t gotten enough sleep after all.”
Ted bared his teeth. They weren’t nearly as impressive as Hybern’s. “This is a very serious matter, Ms. Archeron.”
“Feyre,” I said. “My name is Feyre, and I do realize the seriousness of this issue, Ted. I apologize for being flippant. But if we could get back to the part about the settlement? I’m a little confused.”
“Very well.” Ted looked down his nose at me and tapped a thick, gold pen on the paperwork in front of me. “As I said, Mr. Lunasa has been very generous.”
“No,” I said, not looking at the papers, “you don’t understand.”
Ted cleared his throat and looked down at me over the top of his glasses. “It would be unwise of you to try and press for more given the circumstances, Ms. Archeron. A six-hour marriage in Las Vegas entered into while you were both heavily under the influence of alcohol? Textbook grounds for annulment.”
Ted’s cronies tittered and I felt my face fire up. My need to accidentally kick the prick under the table grew and grew.
“My client will not be making another offer.”
“I don’t want him to make another offer,” I said, my voice rising.
“The annulment will go ahead, Ms. Archeron,” said Ted. “There is no question of that. There will be no reconciliation.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.”
Ted sighed. “We need to finalize this today, Ms. Archeron.”
“I’m not trying to hold anything up, Ted.”
The other two lawyers watched me with distaste, backing up Ted with sleazy, knowing smiles. Nothing pissed me off faster than a bunch of people trying to intimidate someone.
Hybern gave me a big-toothed, faux-fatherly grin. “I’m sure Feyre can see how kind Rhys is being. There aren’t going to be any delays here, are there?”
These people, they blew my mind. Speaking of which, I had to wonder where my darling husband was. Too busy banging bikini models to turn up to his own divorce, the poor guy. I ran my fingers through my wet hair, trying to figure out the right thing to say. Trying to get my anger managed. “Wait—.”
“We all just want what’s best for you given the unfortunate situation,” Hybern continued, obviously lying through his big, bright teeth.
“Great,” I said, fingers fidgeting beneath the table. “That’s … that’s really great of you.”
“Please, Ms. Archeron.” Ted tapped his pen imperiously alongside a figure on the paperwork and I dutifully looked, though I didn’t want to.
There were lots of zeros. I mean, really a lot. It was insane. In two lifetimes I couldn’t earn that kind of money. Rhys must have wanted me gone something fierce. My stomach rumbled nervously but my puking days were over. The whole scene felt horrific, like something out of a bad movie or soap opera. The girl from the wrong side of the tracks hijacks the hot, rich guy and tricks him into marriage. Now all that was left was for him to use his people to chase me off into the sunset.
Well, he won.
“This was all just a mistake,” said Hybern. “I’m sure Feyre is every bit as keen to put it behind her as Rhys is. And with this generous financial settlement, she can move forward to a bright future.”
“You’ll also never attempt to make contact with Mr. Lunasa ever again, in any manner. Any attempt on your part to do so will see you in breach of contract.” Ted withdrew his pen, sitting back in his seat with a false smile and his hands crossed over his belly. “Is that clear?”
“No,” I said, scrubbing my face with my hands.
They actually thought I’d fall over myself to get that money. Money I’d done nothing to earn, no matter how tempting accepting it was. Of course, they also thought I’d sell my story to the press and harass Rhys every spare moment I got for the rest of my life. They thought I was cheap, trashy scum. “I think I can honestly say that nothing about this is clear.”
“Feyre, please.” Hybern gave me a disappointed look. “Let’s be reasonable.”
“I’ll tell you what…” I stood and retrieved the ring from my jeans pocket, tossing it onto the sea of paperwork. “You give this back to Rhys and tell him I don’t want any of it. None of this.” I gestured at them, the table, the papers, and the entire damn house. The lawyers looked nervously among themselves as if they’d need more paperwork before they could allow me to go waving my arms about in such a disorderly fashion.
“Feyre…”
“I don’t want to sell his story, or stalk him, or whatever else you have buried in subclause 98.2. I don’t want his money.”
Hybern coughed out a laugh. Fuck him. The phony bastard could think what he liked.
Ted frowned at my big sparkly ring lying innocently among the mess. “Mr. Lunasa didn’t mention a ring.”
“No? Well. Why don’t you tell Mr. Lunasa he can shove it wherever he feels it might best fit, Ted.”
“Ms. Archeron!” Ted stood, his puffy face outraged. “That is unnecessary.”
“Going to have to disagree with you there, Ted.” I bolted out of the dining room of death and made straight for the front door as fast as my feet could carry me. Immediate escape was the only answer. If I could just get the hell away from them long enough to catch my breath, I could come up with a new plan to deal with this ridiculous situation. I’d be fine.
A brand new black pickup truck pulled up as I tore down the front steps.
The window lowered to show my guide from last night, Cass, sitting in the driver’s seat. He smirked from behind black sunglasses, his hair tied at the back of his head. “Hey there, child bride.”
I threw a vulgar gesture in his direction and jogged down the long, winding driveway toward the front gates. Toward liberty and freedom and my old life, or whatever remained of it. If only I’d never gone to Vegas. If only I’d tried harder to convince Joey that a party at home would be fine, none of this would have happened. Gods, I was such an idiot. Why had I drunk so much?
“Feyre! Hold up.” Cass pulled up alongside me in his truck. “What’s wrong? Where are you going?”
I didn’t answer. I was done with all of them. That and I had the worst feeling I was about to cry, damn it. My eyes felt hot, horrible.
“Stop.” He pulled the brake and climbed out of the truck, running after me. “Hey, I’m sorry.”
I said nothing. I had nothing to say to any of them.
His hand wrapped around my arm gently, but I didn’t care. I swung at him. I’d never hit anyone in my life. Apparently, I wasn’t about to start now. He dodged my flying fist with ease.
“Whoa! Okay.” Cass danced back a step, giving me a wary look over the top of his shades. “You’re mad. I get it.”
Hands on hips, he looked back toward the house. Ted and Hybern stood on the front steps, staring after us. Even from this distance the dynamic duo did not appear happy. Evil bastards.
Cass hissed out a breath. “You’re fucking joking. He sicced that ball sucker Ted onto you?”
I nodded, blinking, trying to get myself under control.
“Did you have anyone with you?” he asked.
“No.”
He cocked his head. “Are you going to cry?”
“No!”
“Fuck. Come on.” He held out his hand to me and I stared at it in disbelief. “Feyre, think. There are photographers and shit waiting out front. Even if you get past them, where are you going to go?”
He was right. I had to go back, get my bag. So stupid of me not to have thought of it. Just as soon as I had myself under control I’d go in and retrieve it, then get the hell out of here. I fanned my face with my hands, took a big breath. All good.
Meanwhile, his hand hovered, waiting. There were a couple of small blisters on it, situated in the join between thumb and finger. Curious.
“Are you the drummer?” I asked with a sniff.
For some reason he cracked up laughing, almost doubling over, clutching at his belly. Maybe he was on drugs or something. Or maybe he was just one more lunatic in this gigantic asylum. Batman would have had a hard time keeping this place in check.
“What is your problem?” I asked, taking a step away from him. Just in case.
His snazzy sunglasses fell off, clattering on the asphalt. He swiped them up and shoved them back on his face.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. Let’s get out of here. I’ve got a house at the beach. We’ll hide out there. Come on, it’ll be fun.”
I hesitated, giving the jerks on the front steps a lethal look. “Why would you help me?”
“Because you’re worth helping.”
“Oh, really? Why would you think that?”
“You wouldn’t like my answer.”
“I haven’t liked a single answer I’ve had all morning, why stop now?”
He smiled. “Fair enough. I’m one of Rhysand’s oldest friends. We’ve gotten drunk and out of control more times than I can remember. He’s had girls angling to snare him for years, even before we had money. He never was the slightest bit interested in marriage. It was never even on his radar before. So the fact that he married you, well, that suggests to me you’re worth helping. Come on, Feyre. Stop worrying.”
Easy for him to say, his life hadn’t been skewered by a rock star.
“I need to get my stuff.”
“And get cornered by them? Worry about it later.” He held his hand out, fingers beckoning for mine. “Let’s get out of here.”
I put my hand in his and we went.
—————————
I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but the beach house we pulled up to wasn’t it. It was right on the water, the house lining the sand. It wasn’t as massive as the mansion we were just at, but it was pretty big. Much bigger than my parents’ house, anyways.
“What do you think?” Cassian asked, putting his car in drive in the driveway.
“It’s….nice,” I answered, at last, unsure of how to judge a house strictly from the outside.
“Nice?” Cassian laughed. “This is my favorite place in the world...and you tell me that it’s nice?”
I laughed, purely because of his exasperated expression. “Well, I have to see the inside first.”
“Fair enough.” He shrugged before helping himself out then walked up to the front door. I stayed close behind, afraid that the paparazzi would be hanging just around the corner.
The inside was much more marvelous than the outside. It was simple but sleek and modern. Plenty of space surrounded me, and between that and the beach just outside the backdoor, I was growing calmer by the second.
As I admired the line of instruments lining the walls, I asked, “How many instruments can you actually play?”
Cassian shrugged. “A few.”
I snorted. “Right.”
“What kind of music do you like?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.
I shrugged. “A little bit of everything, mostly country.”
He groaned. “That’s, like, worst case music to like being married to a rock star. Do you even like hardcore?”
The smile I gave him as I walked into his living room was pained. “Sorry.”
Cassian’s house was clearly a bachelor pad/den of iniquity. I’d had a vague notion to make lunch to thank him for taking me in, but there wasn’t a single speck of food in the house. Beer filled the fridge and vodka the freezer. Oh, no, there was a bag of oranges used as wedges to go with shots of vodka, apparently. He’d ruled out touching those. Coffee, however, was something they both agreed was essential. After drinking three cups in the space of an hour, I felt a lot more like my old well-planned, caffeinated self.
Cass dialed for pizza and we watched TV late into the night. Mostly he found his joy in mocking my taste in pretty much everything: movies, music, the lot. At least he did it good-naturedly. We couldn’t go outside because a couple of photographers were waiting on the beach. I felt bad about it but he’d just shrugged it off.
This is my everyday life. It’s nothing new to me.
He paused on the country music channel as we were eating our pizza.
“What about this song?” he asked. “You like this?”
Miranda Lambert strode on screen in a cool ’50s frock and I grinned. “Miranda is a badass.”
“I’ve met her.”
I sat up straight. “Really?”
He chuckled. “You’re impressed I’ve met Miranda Lambert but you didn’t even know who I was. Honestly, woman, you are hard on the ego.”
“I saw the gold and platinum records lining the hallway, buddy. I’m thinking you can take it.”
He snorted. “Can’t you at least pretend to worship me?”
I bite into another slice of pizza. “Nope. Sorry.”
With a scoff, Cassian began to surf through the channels. Football, home shopping, Jeopardy!, and me. My face on tv.
“Wait,” I said.
He groaned. “Not a good idea.”
“No, just…” I held up a hand, and that seemed to have do it. He didn’t change the channel anymore, but I was fully aware that he was watching me.
The reporter showed up on the screen, talking about everything and nothing in between. I couldn’t help but try and grasp the concept of what she was saying, although the words really didn’t sink in.
“Rhysand Lunasa’s new wife-.”
“Is that all I’m going to be seen as from now on?” I muttered, not really sure if I said it outloud or not. “Rhysand Lunasa’s new wife?”
Cassian didn’t respond. Or, maybe he did and I just didn’t hear him. The footage of me at the airport streamed across the screen and I frowned. I looked so scared, so off guard, so nervous. And I was, that wasn’t the point, but I figured the first time I would ever be on t.v. would be because of a great accomplishment, not because I was accidentally married to a rockstar.
Cassian rested a hand on my shoulder and I looked at him. “Rhys is the favorite, darlin’. He’s pretty, plays guitar, and writes the songs. Girlies faint when he walks by. Team that with your being a young ’un and you’ve got the news of the week.”
“I’m twenty-one.”
“And he’s twenty-six. It’s enough of a difference if they hype it just right.” Cass sighed. “Face it, child bride. You got married in Vegas by an Elvis impersonator to one of rock ’n’ roll’s favorite sons. It was always bound to cause a shitstorm. Given there’s also been some crap going on with the band lately… What with Tamlin partying like it’s 1999 and Rhys losing his music-writing mojo. Well, you get the picture. But next week, someone else will do something wacky and all the attention will move on.”
I shrugged. “I guess so.”
“I know so. People are constantly fucking up. It’s a glorious thing.” He sat back and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. “Now smile for Uncle Cass, cause like I said, this will all blow over in a week or so. You know you want to.”
I smiled halfheartedly.
“That’s a bullshit smile and I’m ashamed of you. You’re not going to fool anyone with that. Try again.”
I tried harder, smiling till my cheeks hurt.
“Damn. Now you just look like you’re in pain.”
Banging on the front door interrupted our merriment.
Cass raised his brows at me. “Wondered how long he’d take.”
“What?” I trailed him to the front door, lurking behind a divider just in case it was more press.
He opened the door and Rhys charged in, face tight and furious.
“You piece of shit. You better not have touched her. Where is she?”
“The child bride is otherwise occupied.” Cass cocked his head, taking Rhys in with a cool glance. “Why the fuck do you even care?”
“Don’t start with me. Where is she?”
Calmly, Cassian shut the door and turned to face his friend. I hesitated, hanging back around the corner.
Cass crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You left her to face Hybern and three lawyers on her own. You, my friend, are most definitely the piece of shit in this particular scenario.”
“I didn’t know Darren would go at her with all that.”
“You didn’t know because you didn’t want to know,” said Cass . “Lie to everyone else out there, Rhys. Not me. And sure as fuck not to yourself.”
“Back off.”
Cassian sighed. “You need some serious life advice, friend.”
“Who are you, Oprah?”
Coughing out a laugh, Cass slumped against the wall. “Hell, yeah. Soon I’m gonna be giving out cars, so stick around.”
“What did she say?”
“Who, Oprah?”
Rhysand just scowled at him. He didn’t even notice me spying. Sad to say, even a scowling Rhys was a thing of rare beauty. He did things to me. Complicated things. My heart tripped about in my chest. The anger and emotion in his voice couldn’t be concern for me. That made no sense, not after last night and this morning. I had to be projecting, and it sucked that I even wanted him to care. My head made no sense. Getting away from this guy was the safest option all round. “Rhys, she was so upset she took a swing at me.
“Bullshit.”
“I kid you not. She was nearly in tears when I found her,” said Cass.
I banged my forehead in silent agony against the wall. Why the hell did Cassian have to tell him that?
My husband hung his head. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“Seems you didn’t mean for a shitload to happen.” Cass shook his head and tutted. “Did you even mean to marry her, dude? Seriously?”
Rhysand’s face screwed up, his brow doing the wrinkly James Dean thing again. “I don’t know anymore, okay? Fuck. I went to Vegas because I was so sick of all this shit, and I met her. She was different. She seemed different that night. I just… I wanted something outside of all this fucking idiocy for a change.”
Cassian pouted. “Poor Rhysie. Did being a rock god get old?”
“Where is she?”
“I feel your pain, bro. Really, I do. I mean, all you wanted was a girl who wouldn’t kiss your ass for once and now you’re pissed at her for the same damn reason. It’s complicated, right?”
“Fuck you. Leave it alone, Cass. It’s done.” My husband huffed out a breath. “Anyway, she’s the one who wanted the fucking divorce. Why aren’t you giving her the third degree, huh?”
With a dramatic sigh, Cass gestured towards me. “Because she’s really busy hiding around the corner, listening. I can’t disturb her now.”
Rhysand’s body stilled and his blue eyes found me. “Feyre.”
Huh. Busted.
I stepped away from the wall and tried to put on a happy face. It didn’t work. “Hi.”
“She says that so well.” Cass turned to me and winked. “So did you really ask the mighty Rhysand Lunasa for a divorce?”
“She threw up on me when I told her we were married,” my husband reported.
“What?” Cass dissolved into laughter, tears leaking from his eyes. “Are you serious? Fucking hell, that is fantastic. Oh, man, I wish I’d been there.”
I gave Rhys what I hoped to be the meanest look in all of time and space. He stared back, unimpressed.
“It was the floor,” I clarified. “I didn’t throw up on him.”
“That time,” said Rhys.
“Please keep going,” said Cass, laughing harder than ever. “This just gets better and better.”
Rhys didn’t. Thank God.
“Seriously, I fucking love your wife, man. She’s awesome. Can I have her?”
The look I got from Rhys spoke of a much more reluctant affection. With the line between his brows, it was closer to outright irritation. I blew him a kiss. He looked away, hands fisted like he was barely holding himself back from throttling me. The feeling was entirely mutual.
Ah, marital bliss.
“You two are just the best.” A chiming sound came from Cassian’s pocket and he pulled out a cell phone. Whatever he saw on the screen stopped his laughter dead. “You know, you should take her to your house,man.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Rhysand’s mouth pulled wide in a truly pained expression. I didn’t think it was a good idea either. I’d happily go through life without setting foot inside the house of horrors ever again. Maybe if I asked Cassian nicely he’d fetch my stuff for me. Imposing on him further didn’t appeal, but I was running low on options.
“Whoa.” With a grim face, Cass shoved his cell at Rhys.
“Fuck,” Rhys mumbled. He wrapped his hand around the back of his neck and squeezed. The worried glance he gave me from beneath his dark brows set every alarm ringing inside my head. Whatever was on that screen was bad. Really bad.
“What is it?” I asked. “Oh, you, ah… you don’t need to worry about it.” His gaze dropped to the phone again, then he passed it back to Cass. “My place would be cool, actually. We should do that. Fun. Yeah.”
“No.” For Rhysand to be so nice to me it had to be something truly bad. I held out my hand, fingers twitching from impatience or nerves or a bit of both. “Show me.”
Rhysand didn’t budge. “It’s not important.”
“Show me,” I snapped.
Cassian frowned as he looked at Rhysand. Rhys, on the other hand, was staring daggers at his bandmate, his friend.
He handed the phone to me.
My cheeks instantly heated as I glanced down at the picture on Cassian’s phone, the picture that was all over the web.
I was looking at a picture of the tattoo of Rhysand’s name on my ass, a picture that I didn’t even know had been taken.
I tensed, my heart falling into my stomach. It couldn’t be. It didn’t make sense. I had no idea how it had happened, and the thought of a picture of my asscheek ending up all over the internet had me ready to puke.
“Excuse me,” I breathed, shoving the phone into Cassian’s chest. The second he took it, I was hauling ass down the hallway, into the bathroom, where I slammed the door shut behind me.
I locked it and sat on the edge of the Jacuzzi, trying to slow my breathing, trying to be calm. There was nothing I could do. The picture was already out there. This was no death and dismemberment. It was a stupid picture of me in a compromising position showing more skin than I liked. But so what? Big deal. Accept it and move on. Despite the fact that everyone I knew would likely see it. Worse things had happened in the history of the world. I just needed to put it in context and stay calm.
“Feyre?” Rhys tapped lightly on the door. “Are you okay?”
“Yep.” No. Not really.
“Let me in?” I gave the door a pained look. “Please.”
Slowly, I stood and flicked the lock. Rhysand wandered in and shut the door behind him. No slicked back, styled hair today. His dark hair hung down, framing his face on one side. He had three small silver earrings in one ear playing peekaboo behind his hair. I stared at them because meeting his eyes was out of the question. I was not going to cry. Not about this. What the hell was even wrong with my eyes lately? Letting him in had been dumb.
With a heavy frown he stared down at me. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Yeah, it is. I should have looked after you better.”
“No, Rhys.” I swallowed hard. “We were both drunk. God, this is all so horrifically, embarrassingly stupid.”
He just stared at me.
“Sorry.”
“Hey, you’re allowed to be upset. That was a private moment. It shouldn’t be out there. We were in a private room. This should never have happened, but people get offered a lot of money for this sort of thing.”
I nodded, knowing this sort of thing happened to them all the time. He must have thought I was having a meltdown for no reason. “Can I… can I see it again?”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “You sure that’s a good idea?”
“Not really.” I chuckled, but there was no humor in the words. They sounded slightly unhinged.
Rhys handed me his phone regardless.
The image I was looking at this time was a different angle, more zoomed out, but there could be no doubting what it was, even on the small screen. There was a lot of skin on account of my being bare from the waist down. My naked butt sat front and center in all its pale glory. The party dress had been pushed up and I stood, bent over a table while a tattoo artist worked hard inking my rear. My panties had been cinched down, barely covering the basics.
At the other end of the frame, our faces were close together and Rhysand was smiling. Huh. So that was what he looked like when he smiled
I remembered it then, the buzz of the needle, and him talking to me, holding my hands. At first, that needle had stung. “You were pretending to bite my fingers. The tattoo artist got mad at us for messing around.”
Rhys tipped his chin. “Yeah. You were supposed to be keeping still.”
I nodded, trying to remember more but coming up empty.
I blinked, trying my damndest to keep my chin from wobbling but I knew I was about to have another round of tears. “Rhys, I- I’d really like to be alone for a few minutes…”
He made a growly noise and suddenly his arms wrapped around me, pulling me in against him. He caught me off guard and I stumbled, my nose bumping into his chest. It hurt. But he smelled good. Clean, male, and good. Familiar. Some part of me remembered being this close to him and it was comforting. Something in my mind said “safe.” But I couldn’t remember how or why.
A hand moved restlessly over my back.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “so fucking sorry.”
The kindness was too much. Stupid tears flowed.
“I’d hardly even shown anyone my ass and now it’s all over the Internet.”
“I know, baby.” He rested his head against the top of mine, holding on tight as I blubbered into his T-shirt. Having someone to hold on to helped. It would be okay. Deep down I knew it would be. But right then I couldn’t see my way clear. Standing there with his arms around me felt right.
I don’t know when we started swaying. Rhys rocked me gently from side to side as if we were dancing to some slow song. The overwhelming temptation to stay like that with my face pressed into his shirt was what made me step back, pull myself together. His hands sat lightly on my hips, the connection not quite broken.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Of course.” The front of his shirt had a damp patch, thanks to me.
“Your shirt’s all wet.”
He shrugged.
I ugly-cried. It was a gift of mine. The mirror confirmed it, demon-red eyes and flushed fluoro-pink cheeks. With an awkward smile I stepped away from him, and his hands fell back to his sides. I splashed my face with water and dried it on a towel while he stood idly by, frowning.
“Let’s go for a drive,” he said.
“Really?” I gave him a dubious look. Rhysand and me alone? Given the marriage situation and our previous sober encounters, it didn’t seem the wisest plan.
“Yeah.” He rubbed his hands together, getting all enthused. “Just you and me. We’ll get out of here for a while.”
“Rhys, like you said out there, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“You want to stay in LA?” he scoffed.
“Look, you’ve been really sweet since you stepped through that door. Well, apart from telling Cass about me puking on you. That was unnecessary. But in the preceding twenty-four hours you dumped me alone in a room, went off with a groupie, accused me of trying to get it on with your bandmate, and sicced your posse of lawyers onto me.”
He said nothing.
“Not that you going off with a groupie is any of my business. Of course.”
He turned on his heel and paced to the other end of the bathroom, his movements tight, angry. Despite it being five times the size of the one back home, it still didn’t leave enough room for a showdown like this. And he was between me and the door. Because suddenly exiting seemed like a smart move.
“I just asked them to sort out the paperwork,” he said.
“And they sure did.” I put my hands on my hips, standing my ground. “I don’t want any of your money.”
“I heard.” His face was carefully blank. My statement prompted in him none of the disbelief or mockery it had in the suited bullies. Lucky for him. I doubt he believed me, but at least he was willing to pretend. “They’re drawing up new papers.”
“Good.” I stared him down. “You don’t have to pay me off. Don’t make assumptions like that. If you want to know something, ask. And I was never going to sell the story to the press. I wouldn’t do that.”
“Okay.” He slumped against the wall, leaning his head back to stare up at nothing. “Sorry,” he told the ceiling. I’m sure the plasterwork appreciated it immensely. When I made no response, his gaze eventually found me. It had to be wrong, or at the very least immoral, to be so pretty. Normal people didn’t stand a chance. My heart took a dive every time I looked at him. No, a dive didn’t cover it. It plummeted.
Where was Joey to tell me I was being melodramatic when I needed her most?
“I’m sorry, Feyre,” he repeated. “I know the last twenty-four hours have been shit. Offering to get out of here for a while was my way of trying to make things better.”
“Thank you,” I said. “And also for coming in here to check on me.”
“No problem.”
He stared at me, eyes unguarded for once. And the honesty in his gaze changed things for me, the brief flash of something more. Sadness or loneliness, I don’t know. A kind of weariness that was there and gone before I could understand. But it left its mark. There was a lot more to this man than a pretty face and a big name. I needed to remember that and not make my own assumptions.
“You really want to go?” I asked. “Really?”
His eyes were bright with amusement. “Why not?”
I gave him a cautious smile.
“We can talk over whatever we need to, just you and me. I need to make a couple of calls, then we’ll head off, okay?”
I nodded. “Thank you. I’d like that.”
With a parting nod, he opened the door and strode back out. He and Cass talked quietly about something in the living room. I took the opportunity to wash my face once more and finger comb my hair.
“Give me the keys to the truck,” said Rhys, squaring off against Cass.
He winced. “I was joking about giving away cars.”
“Come on. Quit bitching. I rode over on the bike and I don’t have a helmet for her.”
“Fine.” With a sour face, Cassian dropped his car keys into Rhysand’s outstretched hand. “But only ’cause I like your wife. Not a scratch, you hear me?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Rhys turned and saw me.
A hint of a smile curled his lips. Except for that first day on the bathroom floor, I’d never seen him smile, never even seen him come close. This bare trace of one made me light up inside. My knees wobbled. That couldn’t be normal. I shouldn’t be feeling all warm and happy just because he was. I couldn’t afford to have any feelings for him at all. Not if I wanted to get out of this in one piece.
“Thanks for putting up with me today, Cass,” I said.
“The pleasure was all mine,” he drawled. “Sure you wanna go with him, child bride? This prick makes you cry. I make you laugh.”
Rhysand’s smile disappeared and he strode to my side. His hand sat lightly against the base of my spine, warm even through the layer of clothing. “We’re out of here.”
Cassian grinned and winked at me.
“Where are we going?” I asked Rhys.
“Does it matter? Let’s just drive.”
#snelbz whiv#snelbz tacmc collab#the shara tag#snacmc#feysand#what happens in vegas#acotar#acomaf#acowar#acofas#acosf
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Useful and practical advice for everyone starting college
So... Yes, I graduated! To celebrate this, I thought it would be a good idea to pass on some knowledge to those new students starting college this year (I feel like a Senpai). If it was difficult for me, I cannot fathom how much difficult it's going to be for you guys starting this year with all the things happening around the world. So good luck and I hope this really helps you out!
Try to get along with everyone. Look, prior to entering college I was asocial AF. It's not that I was shy, I just didn't like hanging out with people. However, my time in college taught me that interaction IS a very important part of life. I will be forever thankful to my classmates, who approached me on my first day (I entered college mid-year with no experience in business or economics. I was completely clueless). They were very nice to me and tried their best to explained how the school works, what classes we will be taking, what the professors and exams are like and such. Without their help, I would have had a harder time trying to get used to college. Truth is, you WILL need help at several points in college. And if you're not on good terms with anyone, who will be willing to help you? No one. So don't be a jerk and try your best to be nice and genuine with everyone in the class.
Help your classmates. Just as you will need help, your classmates will also need help. Don't wait for them to ask you for help. Offer to help them if you can! This can help you make friends or find new study buddies. Do not underestimate the power of helping others. When you help people with something, it is very likely that they will help you back when you need to. They might even recommend you for a job or internship position just because you helped them.
Find one or two study buddies. Study buddies will make studying more bearable. The study material that you will get in college is nothing compared to high school. So having a few study buddies that can help you make summaries, explain and work together on assignments will make studying much easier! I remember I had a study buddy for one of my minors in which we had to learn 16 chapters. We divided the summary workload and took turns explaining the chapters we each summarized. We literally cut the study time in half because of this!
Keep in contact with your classmates and professors. Chances are you will be separated for some time during minors, study abroad programs or internships. But that doesn't mean you have to lose contact with them. I'm not saying you have to chat with them every day. But contacting them once in awhile is good. I have been able to help some of my classmates with some subjects and applications. I have also become one of my professor's running buddies. So keep in touch because you never know what good you can give and what good it might bring you!
Be persistent. I have had instances were my school coach has ghosted me AND the school completely. Putting my internship and thesis at risk. Shit happens. And when you see things taking a turn for the ugly, fight back with all you got to get things back on track. The truth is, college is a business. And it will continue with or without you. A bit toxic, yes. However, it is up to you to not let things go south! Take action. Contact your professor when needed. Contact the administration. Contact management. Be persistent!
Plan as soon as possible. Don't wait for the first class to get your curriculum and then plan a week later. Download the curriculum BEFORE going to that first class. Plan BEFORE going to the class. Bombard your professor with questions regarding the curriculum on the first day. Make changes accordingly. Execute that plan ASAP. Your worst enemy is time. But your best friend is also time. The sooner you start, the more prepared you will be for your exams. Read more about how I plan here.
Don't say "yes" to everything. Yes, I am guilty of this one. I learn fast. I'm young. I have lots of energy. I can do whatever I put my mind to. WRONG. This kind of thinking led me to severe burnout. I was helping my parents in their business. I was doing a full-time internship. I started my own business and had 9 clients. I was training for a marathon. Shit went down horribly at some point. I'm glad I went through that burnout because it taught me the importance and necessity to be balanced in life. And that my ability to say no is sometimes more important than my ability to say yes.
College is more than just learning theory. Look, classes are not the thing you should focus on solely in college. If there's anything more important than classes, I would say is your ability to network and leverage this to get experience in the field. That is what college is about. College opens so many opportunities, not because of what they teach, but because of the resources that you are able to get. I'm not saying go slack on your classes, but keep in mind that a lot of times, people don't hire because you have a perfect GPA.
Have a plan to be smart with your money AND stick with it. I had a plan to be smart with my money. And I did so for 3 years. But in my fourth year... I fucked up. Guys... stick to your financial plan and avoid goddamn headaches. Learn about budgeting,
Do not pull all-nighters. If anything all-nighters made me perform worse. Also, they completely messed up my sleeping schedule, which in return messed up my entire schedule. As a result, I would stress out because I was behind schedule and I did not have the energy to catch up. Guys, do not underestimate the power of a good night's sleep.
Time batching will be your best friend. Having a set day to do similar tasks is honestly, one of the best ways to work. One day I would do all my homework for the week. The other day I would only study. One day I would do all of my house chores etc. It's much simpler and effective this way.
Having a study routine will actually help you to pull a miracle. A lot of people swear by a morning or night routine. I swear by a study/ work routine. For real... why aren't work routines more common? Once I start my routine, my brain knows its time to work and study and will not get distracted. You can read about my study routine more in detail here.
You will get fat pretty fast, so exercise. You will not have a lot of time on your hands. You no longer have breaks to play sports, you don't need to go to gym class, you probably have a car now. Your sedentary life will pretty much begin in college. And because you have the money you will start eating out or order takeout. So EAT WELL AND WORKOUT. I realized that the weeks I ate healthily, were also the weeks I was more energized. So do these 2 things religiously.
Don't be too uptight. Relax and have fun. If you're the type A, teacher's pet kind of student... don't be afraid to loosen up a little bit. After my burnout episode I understood the importance of having fun once in awhile. Turns out that going to parties, clubs, having girls night out is a fun experience and you'll look back at those memories with fond!
Start applying for internships as soon as possible. THIS. Honestly. Apply early. Finding an internship position isn't hard. But finding the right internship place that will allow you to grow and learn and at the same time get along with the culture is MUCH MUCH MUCH harder! So take your time finding an internship. Go to as many interviews as you can. Don't accept the first internship position because it's the first you got. Look at it objectively and talk to others that work in that company. I had the opportunity to work for 2 days under the guidance of another intern before saying yes. Ask for a similar opportunity so you can test the waters before accepting the internship offer.
Taking care of yourself is harder than you think. Develop a routines. Stick to those routines. Develop a personal hygiene routine. A workout routine. Eat healthy. These things are easier said than done. Constantly work on these things. If you let one fall, others will start falling too. Self care is a work in progress so never stop improving yourself no matter how many deadlines you have!
Older students are a godsend. If you want to hear a goddamn unbiased opinion, please refer to an older student. The administration or professor might tell you a process or application goes a certain way, but the older students that went through it, know better as they literally had to go through it. The advice they will give you will be more practical than the advice the professors can give you. So listen to them carefully. They will also be able to help you with tips for exams, summaries or explaining. So be friends with them too!
Get a mentor. I was lucky enough to find 2 excellent mentors in my college journey. I became good friends with one of my professors, and she was the one that taught me all I know about personal investing. Honestly, she was the real MVP. Amazing professor, explanations were top notch, and really enjoyed her work. The second one, was my thesis coach. She helped me built my business and her expertise in the field helped me a lot in starting up. Don't be afraid to ask your professors or experts in the field to help you get started! Sometimes, they are eager to pass what they know unto someone. You got nothing to lose!
#studyblr#college#student#studyspo#study blog#notes#study motivation#productivity#studygram#study tips
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The Road You Didn’t Take (7/7)
day 7 of @michaelguerinweek : “I’m only here to establish an... ali-bi.”
Happy bi visibility day!
ao3
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6
Michael woke up to the feeling of fingers on his jaw, tilting his head towards a pair of lips that kissed his nose and his cheek and eventually his lips when he made a noise to show he was awake.
Alex’s tongue slipped past his lips, bringing him to life nice and slow. If he woke up every morning like this, it would truly be heaven. Alex’s hand dragged over his side and pulled him as close as he could as he kissed him. Michael pressed against him and wanted to never move.
“You gotta get up,” Alex murmured as he broke the kiss. Michael whined, reluctantly opening his eyes. Alex was right there and looking all too beautiful for just having woken up. “You’ve got an interview. Go shower and make yourself look nice, I ordered food.”
“Can’t I just stay here?” Michael pleaded. Alex hummed, his thumb dragging over his bottom lip.
“No,” he said simply, “You need to get ready.”
“You’re a tease,” he complained.
“Mmm, is it teasing if we both know I’ll deliver later?” Alex asked. Michael nearly melted which only earned him two more kisses before Alex patted his hip. "Get up."
It took a lot more effort than he would ever imagine, but he managed to get out of bed and not fall over when he did so. Alex got out of bed much easier and stretched in all his half-naked glory. Yeah, this couldn't be real. There was no fucking way.
"Stop staring and go take a shower!" Alex laughed, "You gotta impress these people so you can get buff like you so desperately want."
Michael dragged himself to the bathroom and found himself smiling so wide that it hurt for no goddamn reason. Well, there was a reason. Because apparently he got to hook up with Alex now. That was something he could do. He didn't know what exactly that meant in the long run or if this was something they were going to keep doing, but he knew Alex promised more and he had an interview and he was on top of the world.
He'd been wanting something better for so long and finally he was getting that something better.
He came out of the shower as quick as possible, still drying himself off as he walked out. Alex was sitting on the desk, sipping coffee and looking at his phone. Michael hadn't seen him have a phone since the moment he stepped in his car on Friday.
"Look, see," Alex said, showing his phone to Michael as he came close. It was an instagram post on a Fever Dream fan account saying that Alex was seen in Mississippi. "Told you."
"That only has, like, 200 likes, did you search your name or something?" Michael laughed.
"I gotta know where they think I am so my band doesn't try to track me down," Alex said, " I left a note saying they could keep the name and their share of the royalties, but I'm not coming back.i still don't trust them to not make it harder."
"I'll keep you hidden," Michael promised. Alex smiled, leaning over to kiss his damp cheek.
"Thank you, but it'll come out eventually. I just need more time, you know?" he said. Michael nodded.
The delivery girl came as Michael texted Isobel good morning and a short promise to tell her about what happened. She sent back a series of emojis that seemed to show how scandalized she was. He just rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to Alex. He rested his head on his shoulder they ate, refusing to sacrifice any semblance of closeness. Alex didn't seem to mind.
It was easy to be comfortable with him despite it being so new. Very new. He technically just met him two days ago and already he wanted to glue himself to his side. He'd never met anyone that made him feel like that. He refused to give it back.
"You know, if I get this job, I bet they'd be okay with you staying with me," Michael suggested casually. Alex laughed.
"Thanks for the offer, but I think I should get an apartment," Alex said. Michael sort of felt like that was a rejection, but he tried really hard not to. "Let's date first."
"Date," Michael repeated, "Going on a date with Alex Manes.That sounds like something teenage me manifested."
"But last night wasn't?" Alex laughed. Michael lifted his head.
"I was never bold enough to ever even consider that might happen. Still processing."
"Let me help you process some more," Alex offered, his fingers pressing into Michael's jaw to pull him in for a kiss. It was more than welcome.
They sat and kissed for a long time, just making out like they had all the time in the world. In some way, they kind of did have all the time in the world. Wasn't that something?
"Alright, let's go so you're not late," Alex said.
They made their way towards the front desk and that same kid was back for his night shift. He paled a little when he saw Alex again, but Alex just smiled slyly and walked right up him.
"We're gonna check out," Alex said. The kid nodded and started to pull up the paper they needed to sign.
"So, where are y'all headed?" he kid asked.
"Florida," Alex answered easily. Michael didn't question him, choosing to stay quiet until they got into the car
"Florida?" Michael asked.
"I'm only here to establish an alibi," Alex stated with a sigh. Michael smiled and shook his head.
"Fair enough."
Alex took his hand again as they followed the GPS directions towards the farm. The closer they got, the more neevous Michael felt, but he tried to hide it as best as he could. He just needed to stay calm. Alex was going to wait at a coffee shop that was a few miles away and look online for an actual hotel to stay at until he found an apartment. They were going to start a life here. A new one where they were happy and unbothered. Or that was the plan.
"You're going to do incredible," Alex promised as the got to the coffee shop. Michael was too nervous to make a comment on whether he believed that or not. Alex grabbed his face and kissed him enough to take away some of it. "Call me when you're done?"
A stupid, giddy smile found Michael's face. "I don't have your phone number."
"Whoops," Alex laughed. He took his phone though and typed it in before giving it back. He gave him another kiss before getting out of the car and going inside. Michael took a deep breath before heading towards the farm.
He was greeted by an older couple who were immediately welcoming. They explained that the heavy lifting was getting a little more difficult in their old age and their son was leaving for college and didn't have plans on coming back to the farm, so they needed someone to help out. He promised he was down for anything and they liked the sound of that. They showed him to the little airstream that was on the far end of the property that even had its own driveway towards the main road. It was small, but it was enough and it would be the first time he had his own space. He wondered if he and Alex could fit in the bed.
They showed him around the farm, the different barns, the different fields, and introduced him to the animals. Anything he wasn't sure how to do, he promised he could learn. Which he could. He'd always been a fast learner. He found himself getting giddy as he pet the cows and got a look at the tractor. It all was so appealing to him. Why hadn't he done this before? He remembered being so deadset on being an agricultural engineer that it hadn't even crossed his mind to do something similar. This felt similar.
Not only did it feel similar, it felt like the start of something new. It felt like he was finally going to be able to be himself. Truly and purely and he was excited.
Damn, it felt good to be excited.
"So when can you start?"
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The Past was Hell
Summary: The story of Abigail joining the gang and subsequently bonding with John. This is a divergence of canon fic where she left an ab*sive family, most characters are in canon besides Jenny, who in this fic has been with the gang since she was very young and Grimshaw, who has 4 sons and is in a relationship with Dutch. Also took some liberties with Arthur and Eliza’s relationship. Enjoy :)
Warnings: mentions of abuse, rape, and incest (obviously not in a condoning way). Vague talk about being a prostitute under the age of 18, but none of that actually takes place in the confines of the story. Just like in canon, Abigail in underage at the start of her relationship with John. Lastly, in this fic, Abigail is religious so religion is vaguely mentioned several times throughout the story, so skip if that isn’t your jam. Overall a very heavy story so keep that in mind before reading.
Word Count: 6488
Here’s the fic on ao3 for your reading pleasure if you prefer consuming content on there. https://archiveofourown.org/works/29766132
Abigail opened her bedroom door quietly and staggered to the kitchen. She saw her brother, but not her mother or father. Good.
“Where is father?” she whispered. He could be in the house and who knows the wrath he would force upon her if he found out she was out of her room and worse, talking about him.
“Passed out in the parlor. I don’t know what mama gave him but he’s sure to be mad about it when he wakes up” Rick, her brother, told her.
“I’m going to make biscuits then. Haven’t eaten in three days. I hope he won’t wake up before I finish ‘em.” Abigail turned her back from him and started towards the drawer with the bowls in it, but Rick grabbed her arm and turned her around quickly.
“Abigail,” the gravely serious tone of his voice frightened her, “You need to get out.”
“Why?” she asked, laughing lightly. “I haven’t offended you, have I?”
“I’m being serious. It’s gotten worse and worse with father and you. He takes you multiple times a day now, don’t think I haven’t noticed. Besides, he beats you so badly you can hardly walk anymore. You can’t keep saying you’re waiting until your wounds heal. He’ll kill you before then. Now’s your chance. Leave.”
Abigail knew Rick was right. She wouldn’t have another chance like this. She wondered if him and her mother had conspired together and she had purposefully put something in their father’s dinner. It would have been the most considerate thing she had done for Abigail for a while.
“Come with me then.” Abigail grabbed Rick’s hands.
Rick shook his head.
“No I have to stay here and look after mama. I’m not a target like you are. Here, I’ll prepare a basket of food for you. You go get some stuff packed and then leave immediately.”
Suddenly the two teenagers heard the sound of a head hitting a wall and a gruff “Fuck!” come from the parlor. Abigail froze in terror. Their father was awake.
“Go. Now!” Rick practically shooed Abigail out the door and proceeded to throw her shoes out the door behind her. Great, these had heels on them. Between that and the great pain in her side from where her father had beat her earlier, she was not going to get far. She was determined to try, though. If her father caught her attempting to escape, there’d be Hell to pay. Besides, the thought of never being taken advantage of again was a big enough motivator of its own. So Abigail ran as fast as she could, the splintering feeling in her side disregarded, praying every step of the way. She was going to need it.
It was dusk of the second day that Abigail had left her home that she had decided she needed food. She had walked into a little town and she swore that she was getting so hungry that she could smell the food that was inside the townsfolk’s houses. Abigail pulled a bobby pin out of her hair without thinking and walked towards one of the houses swiftly before stopping in her tracks. What was she doing? Was she really about to rob somebody’s home? Was she going to walk in and invade someone's privacy like that? Abigail’s father, when he wasn’t spending time being an abusive bastard sent straight from the fiery pits of Hell itself, was a very successful businessman and she never ever had to even think about robbing a house before. But I’m hungry, she thought, before putting the bobby pin into the lock and working to get the damn door to open.
Abigail realized she had enormously miscalculated her criminal abilities when she opened the door and was greeted by a man holding a shotgun to her face. Of course these people were still awake! It couldn’t have been past 7pm, not that Abigail had been completely sure of the time since she had left her home. She would have scolded herself for being so utterly foolish if she wasn’t focused on the immediate danger the man and his shotgun posed.
“Who the Hell are you?” The man yelled. Abigail flinched. She was more than used to being yelled at, but not by men that weren’t in her bloodline.
“I said” the man repeated “Who the Hell are you? Answer me now, girl!” he waved the gun in her face.
“I’m sorry sir, I’ll just leave. I really am sorry.” is all Abigail could make out before the man was dragging her in the house.
“Oh no you don’t. You don’t just break into my house and then get to leave Scott free.”
A woman who Abigail presumed must have been his wife walked into the room cautiously. It was clear she had been hiding and was listening to the heated exchange.
“Honey, she’s just a kid. Look at ‘er.” the woman reasoned with the man.
The man did not lower his gun.
“Oh fantastic, a delinquent is trying to rob me, that’s SOOO much better!”
The woman rolled her eyes.
“Gerald, honey, show some compassion. Let me just talk to her.”
“Compassion,” Gerald emphasized, “runs in your family and look where it got ‘em. Your Gran Gran died from armed robbers just two weeks ago.”
“Why were you coming in here?” The lady addressed Abigail directly.
“Because,” Abigail sniffled, “I’m hungry and I don’t have any money. I don’t know where to get any food. I wasn’t going to hurt you, I swear”.
The woman noticed Abigail kept holding on to her side and upon further inspection, her face looked pretty bruised up, although the bruises seemed to be fading slightly.
“Are you hurt?”
Abigail nodded.
“Who hurt you, sweetheart?”
“My father.” Abigail was crying by this point and continued to issue apologizes for entering the home uninvited.
The lady looked at Gerald as if to say “I told you so” and started guiding Abigail up the stairs.
“Come. We have an extra bedroom. You look exhausted. I have some soup left from dinner, I’ll bring it up. I’m so sorry all this happened angel. We can talk about this in the morning. For now, rest. No one can hurt you here.”
It had been several hours since then. The lady’s name had turned out to be Betty and she was true to her word and brought Abigail a bowl of potato soup and then another after she had finished the first bowl. Betty was one of the kindest souls Abigail had ever met, she felt safe with her. Gerald wasn’t all so bad either. He just had his guard up, rightfully so. Before Abigail had gone to bed, they had told her that she could stay with them as long as she liked. However, after about 3 hours of sleep, Abigail awoke and realized that if she stayed here, she’d have to tell them exactly what her father had done and worse, she’d have to say who he was. Despite all the horrible things he had put her through, she still had a sense of loyalty to him. She could never do that to him. His whole career, Hell, his whole life would be over. Besides, she couldn’t just leech off these people. Abigail decided around 4am that she had to leave. She tiptoed down the stairs and went through the kitchen, stuffing as many rolls as she could in her dress before sneaking out the back door. She didn’t know where she was heading, only that she couldn’t stay where she was.
It was pitch black outside and although Abigail’s eyes adjusted rather quickly, it was still hard to make out exactly where she was going. Before she had completely exited the town, Abigail’s feet crunched on something. She looked down to see it was a newspaper. The Western Times, it read in big letters. Abigail picked up the dirty newspaper and thought that maybe this could be her out. Her father read the local newspaper every day and she knew there were always people putting out ads in there for job listings. Maybe somebody needed a nanny or a housekeeper or someone to sew for them or- well she’d see later when the sun came up and she could see better. Yet again, Abigail found herself praying that things went her way.
As luck would have it, someone actually had put out an ad for a housekeeper! Some man named Mr. Greensboro. She hadn’t heard of him before but he apparently lived a short way away from the town she had passed earlier and if she was fortunate enough, she could get there before he hired someone else. Abigail was aware she looked ragged and dirty, something one wouldn’t like to see in a housekeeper, but perhaps the man would take pity on her. Abigail needed money and a place to live in order to survive. She really needed this job.
Things were going Abigail’s way yet again! She had met with the man and after about an hour and a half interview, he hired her. She was ecstatic. Mr. Greensboro was a kind man, although his selection process was kind of odd. He had asked her if she knew her bust size and if she was a virgin.His face contorted in an odd way when she regretfully told him that while she had never engaged in consensual sex, she had been taken against her will more times than she could count. He apologized to her for asking, saying he only asked just to know if she was married or would have an unexpected pregnancy while working for him. Seemed a bit of an odd way to ask, but she let it go. Beggars could not be choosers and she most assuredly was a beggar now.
Abigail had just shut the door to Mr. Greensboro’s sizable cottage when she heard some women calling to her from the side of the house.
“You there!” Abigail turned her head and saw a woman with a Nigerian accent calling to her. She was beautiful, with short black hair and soft brown eyes. “You came here for the job, didn’t you?”
Abigail glanced between the woman speaking and the two girls behind her. One had pale, freckled skin and strawberry-blonde hair and the other looked a little older than the other women and seemed more worn by life as well. She had skin weathered from the sun and wispy brown hair pulled into a braid.
“Uh yes, I came for the job. I need the money.”
“How old are you?” The speaker of the group came closer.
“Sixteen but I can work hard.”
“Not like he wants you to. He’s a bad man, does bad things to us. We have people that we have to take care of. We all have kids to feed and we’re already in too deep. Trust me, you’d be better off being a working girl on your own terms.”
After several more moments speaking with the women, Abigail was convinced. She left with her head hung down low, disheartened. Why were all the men in this world such creeps? It was heartbreaking to know that she would most likely have to make a profession from having to do the thing she was running away from: being touched by men she didn’t want to touch her. It wasn’t fair. All the girls in the town she came from were going to be housewives and socialites and she was going to be Abigail the Whore. Abigail never hated prostitutes, she just always thought herself to be above them. That’s what privilege does, she supposed, makes you so far removed from poverty that you can’t imagine that people are doing what they have to do to survive and that doesn’t make anyone better or worse than anyone else.
Abigail was contemplating all of this several days later as she hid behind a tree near a path running through the forest. She was thinking how wrong this was. She was only 16, but she was hungry, she had no choice. Her thoughts subsided instantaneously when she heard hooves gallop across the path. She was sure what she was about to do was a very shady way to pick someone up, but there weren’t any prostitute hangouts nearby that she knew of. She had no idea how to do this. It didn’t matter how she did it, she decided, as long as she got it done.
Abigail peeked out from behind the tree she was hiding and saw the person that was riding through was a man. That was great for her, she was getting fed tonight. If all went well, that is. The man was handsome enough, with greasy, rather long black hair, brown eyes, a mustache and stubble, and whatever Abigail referred to as “angry brows”. He was riding a small white Arabian.She took a deep breath and stumbled onto the road.
“Mister! Mister!” she waved him down, not that it was hard to get his attention when she was blocking the path.
“Yes?” he asked impatiently, cocking his brow.
Abigail froze. She hadn’t gotten to this part in her mind yet.
“Do you need company for the night?” It all spilled out of her mouth so quickly that she wasn’t even sure what she was saying.
The “angry brow” man laughed. “Y’all are getting a bit desperate, aren’t you? Advertising out in the forest? That or you ain’t a real lady of the night.”
Was she really that bad at this?
“I’m not one yet, you would’ve been my first, errr, client. I’m just hungry, you know?” Abigail admitted.
She could tell the angry brow man was sizing her up. She tried to look more tall and confident and he chuckled at her yet again.
“Sorry ma’am, I got me an old lady. I do have some boys, though. They’re sloppy as all Hell and have no manners, the lot of them. Tell you what, you come back to camp with me and I might have a business proposition for you.”
It took a lot of convincing for Abigail to get on the man’s horse and leave with him. What if he was a murderer or something? But in the end, she was hungry.
Angry brow man chuckled when Abigail hesitated. “Some whore you are.”
The words stung. It was silly at this point, really. She knew she would have to get used to it but that didn’t make it easier and it certainly didn’t make her feel like it was right. Despite everything that happened to her, she still felt like a child. Probably because she was; plain and simple.
“Here, you can hold my gun. That way, I try anything you don’t like, you can shoot me.”
Abigail took the shotgun gingerly. “I don’t know how to shoot a gun, never held one.”
Angry eyebrow man chuckled again. “Probably not the best thing to tell someone you’re afraid of, for future reference.” he paused as he helped her up onto the horse. “You don’t come from the streets, do you?”
“I told you that I’ve never been a working woman before.”
“Yes I know, but I meant that you aren’t poor.”
Abigail laughed. “Look at me, do I look like I have any money? If I did, I wouldn’t be out here.”
“Usually how it goes. You weren’t poor before, though.”
“Sure. this horse is rather aggressive.” the white Arabian, despite having been calm with just its owner on it, was trying to buck Abigail off. It was quite a strange thing for Abigail, she had seen a horse become upset when a person besides their owner rode them alone, but never had she seen a horse be so aggressive when it was carrying both its owner and an outsider.
“Ah well, The Count doesn’t take kindly to strangers. He won’t even let my boys ride him. It’s nothing personal, trust me.”
“Your horse has a name?”
“Of course. All of our horses at camp have names. Do you rich people not name your horses?”
“I don’t know about rich people, but no, I’ve never met a horse with a name. We just call them by their breed and color where I’m from.”
“Seems a bit barbaric.” The angry brow man told her, huffing. She couldn’t quite tell if he was offended because of the way they treated their horses or that he wasn’t assimilated with he presumed to be “rich folks” culture. It wasn’t exactly a secret, just by looking at him, that he wanted to have an austerity look about him. He wore a velvet vest with gold chains hanging from his sides and steel boots Abigail had sworn she had seen at a speciality store for almost $60. And then there was the fact that he had this White Arabian, which was about $2000 for the horse itself, not including any equipment. He sure did have equipment for the horse, too. Gold saddle and everything: the works. Yet, he spoke of the rich as if he was far removed. It was odd but she didn’t have much time to figure the man out before he started talking again.
“My name is Dutch, Dutch Van Der Linde. And yours?”
“Uhhh, Abigail Roberts. Your name sounds like royalty.” Abigail was yet again taken aback by the contrast between the way this man presented himself to who he really seemed to be.
Dutch laughed. “I wish. If I was any sort of royalty, people wouldn’t live like you. We’d all be a huge family, this nation. Everybody would earn their keep, but nobody would ever go hungry.”
“You’ve got dreams, Mister Dutch. You sound more like a cult leader, though, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“You know, strangely enough, you’re not the first person to tell me that. I don’t mind. America is one big cult that makes you think the difference between the good guys and the bad guys is clear cut. Well let me tell you, the answer isn’t as clear as people would like it to be. Lines get blurred among all people.”
Abigail didn’t care much for this philosophical talk. She had never been to school or learned how to read, philosophy went right over her head. And she didn’t quite appreciate being talked to about things that made her feel dumb.
“So, you said you have boys?” Abigail changed the subject, partially to be spared of looking like a fool and partially because she was both interested and worried about what she was getting into. “How many?”
“Uh I can’t give you a count straight off the top of my head. I don’t know, maybe a dozen? At least?”
Abigail was extremely taken aback. This man had 12 kids? Abigail had never heard of a man that had both 12 kids, wore ostentatious clothing, and still talked about the US like it wasn’t doing them justice. Nothing about this man made sense so far.
“You have 12 sons? And you’re just going to give me to them? I’ve never heard of a father that does things like this.”
Dutch lit a cigar, balancing it in his mouth while he kept his hands on the reins of The Count.
“Well, I’m not exactly a ‘by the book’ type man. And besides, I fear I might have led you astray. I have four sons, but my gang is a sort of a found family sort of thing.”
Abigail's mind went fuzzy in terror when she heard the word “gang”. A gang? Oh God, what had she gotten herself into?
“What do you mean, gang? Do y’all go around and kill people?” Abigail thought of jumping off the horse at that point. Either they were to kill her when she got there or she’d be party to murdering others. Abigail didn’t care how hungry or hurt she was: she was not going to go around and start killing people for sport. This life felt like Hell, but she surely was not going to sign her spot in everlasting Hell. It simply was not worth it and besides, the thought of looking someone in the eyes and killing them made her sick, even despite her religious convictions.
“Sort of, but only bad men.” Dutch retorted, sensing she was getting worried and trying to calm her.
“Didn’t you just say the line between good and bad people is not clean cut?”
Dutch laughed nervously. Abigail could already tell he didn’t like to be questioned.
“You’re a good listener, aren’t ya? I’m not used to that. But not to worry, these people really deserve it. And we don’t usually let the women do the killing. Besides, it’s not mainly about the killing. More about taking from the rich and giving to the poor. Like Robin Hood. Do you know Robin Hood?”
Abigail nodded. She wasn’t so sure about his overall sentiment, however. Nothing should give someone the right to take another’s life. That was God’s job and to an extent, the law. “And so who are the poor, hmm?” Abigail was pretty sure that she already knew the answer to that one.
“Well us, mostly.” Dutch admitted nervously.
Abigail scoffed. This man sure was a prize. He felt bad for his lady. She probably had to listen to this all day.
“Mister Dutch, I understand I’m not in a position to be making demands, but with all due respect, I’m not sure I’m gonna want to service these boys. What if they hold a knife to my throat or something?”
“They’re not like that. Look at how society has caused you to judge. You don’t even know my boys and you are already thinking bad things about them. Now-”.
Abigail didn’t fancy hearing any more of this man’s straw man spiel. She could tell that he had a silver tongue, but it wasn’t working on her. “Is it that big of a stretch when these men have murdered people?”
Dutch tutted her impatiently. “Killed, not murdered. There’s a difference. Besides, they treat ladies real nice. They don’t hurt ‘em. Especially a doll like you.”
The last sentence made Abigail uncomfortable to no end. “If they treat ladies so nice, why don’t they have women already?”
Dutch seemed to not have a response to that. The trip continued largely in silence. Abigail kept trying to decide if she wanted to jump ship or not, but ultimately decided against it.
Eventually, they made their way to a clearing behind a forest. Abigail could see at least a dozen tents and lean-tos. It was lively with music and laughter. But it was not lost on her that she could smell a stench from dozens of meters away.
“This is our place, Abigail. You will be safe here. No one will hurt you.” Abigail remembered hearing those same words from Betty and suddenly wished that she had just stayed there.
Dutch helped her off the Count and practically dragged her to a soap box to the side of the camp. It was a bit overwhelming for Abigail, she was trying to take everything in. It was rather hard, however, when several pairs of eyes were on her.
“Everybody, listen here!” Dutch yelled. It didn’t take much, however, there was already a crowd gathering to catch a glimpse at her. Abigail guessed they didn’t have outsiders in their camp often. Abigail looked through the group of what she assumed would be leering faces. To her surprise, no one looked especially mean or murderous. The face looked curious, some even looked concerned, but none looked particularly dangerous. Abigail found herself wondering if Dutch had overstated the harm that his “gang” had done. There were several women with kind expressions, some even seeming to be younger than her, and this made her feel at ease. Not that women had stopped what had happened to her in the past.
“This is Abigail. Poor thing, I found her off the side of the road on my way back here from my meeting with Colm. Update on that: it did not go too well and for the time being, I think we should post at least two people on guard duty at all times. Nothing to be concerned about, though, we will pull through no problem. But I digress. Abigail here has been a victim to the ruthlessness of American capitalists. The ‘rich man’ raised her and then tossed her aside, poor and defenseless. And they think we’re the ones needing our throats sliced-” Dutch droned on and on and Abigail tuned him out, silently thanking herself for not sharing all her life details with him, for her surely would have repeated it all to everyone to prove his point. Abigail snapped back to reality when she heard Dutch order the boys to “meet their new lady”. Again, being referred to that way made her very uncomfortable.
A gaggle of men stepped towards her before a scowling woman with graying hair stepped forward, clanked two bowls together and yelled, “Dutch Van Der Linde, what the Hell do you think you’re doing? She must be scared out of her mind and you want her to meet the boys already? You’re insane.” The group of men laughed at the sight of the woman scolding Dutch.
The woman with the scowl walked towards Abigail and her expression softened as she held out her hand to Abigail “I’m Susan. Guess I’m the mother of sorts to all these fools. Let’s go set you up an area for you to live and be comfortable. Trust is important in a space like this and you can’t trust us if you don’t feel safe with us.” Abigail took Susan’s hand and walked with her towards the north side of the camp.
“These men are idiots, don’t understand feelings. But don’t mind them, they don’t bite, and it’s okay to yell at them if they overstep their boundaries.” Abigail nodded, knowing full well that she would never be comfortable yelling at those burly men. “Here’s where the girls sleep. There’s Jenny’s tent, Tilly’s tent, Mary Beth’s tent. Bessie sleeps in her tent with Hosea and I sleep in my tent with Dutch. I’ll send Uncle into town as soon as I can to get you a proper tent, but I’m sure any of the girls wouldn’t mind sharing in the meantime.”
Abigail’s head was spinning. All these names and information was a lot to take in at once.
“Uncle? Who’s Uncle is he?” she asked
“Oh that’s just his name.” Susan answered, matter-of-fact, as if men named Uncle were a normal occurrence.”
Susan spent the next few hours introducing Abigail to the women. First she met Bessie, a sweet woman who appeared to be quite a few years older than Susan. Bessie was kinder than Abigail remembered any woman ever being towards her, offering her candy and giving her constant words of assurance. Abigail immediately felt a daughterly sort of bond to Bessie, feeling that Bessie would never let any harm come to Abigail. After speaking with Bessie, Susan brought Abigail to speak with Mary Beth, Tilly, and Jenny. Mary Beth and Tilly seemed to be around her age, maybe slightly younger, but still had a youthful joy that Abigail had lost long ago. Jenny was clearly several years older than the other two but still seemed young enough to be Susan or Bessie’s daughter. All three girls were very kind to Abigail, but Mary Beth seemed to warm to her the quickest. She quickly invited Abigail for a “sleepover” in her tent, showed her all the books she had, her new journal that she worked in daily, and pointed out all the men in the gang that she had a crush on. Susan scolded Mary Beth for “overwhelming” Abigail, but Abigail felt herself smiling and being grateful for her friendliness. Tilly was sweet but cautious, telling her some of the camp rules and showing her where they washed clothes and did other camp chores. In what seemed to be an attempt to relate to Abigail and make her feel at ease, Tilly told her the story of how she had been rescued by Hosea from a nasty gang. A part of Abigail wanted to tell Tilly her own story, but felt it was too soon and that she wasn’t ready just yet. Jenny smiled at Abigail a lot but didn’t say much besides introducing herself. All in all, the ladies seemed very nice and Abigail enjoyed their company.
At nightfall, Dutch approached Susan gingerly, as if she was a dangerous animal, and asked if Abigail could meet the boys now. Susan agreed as long as Abigail was okay with it. Abigail, still feeling terrified of the gang members of the opposite sex but not wanting to anger Dutch, nodded and went with Dutch to the camp fire where all the men were huddled together singing some song with vagina euphemisms.
Most of the boys stood up when they saw Abigail and Dutch walking towards them. Two men, however, an old man who was very clearly drunk, and a lean man with extremely greasy hair, stayed sat down. Dutch went through all the men and introduced them all. The names spun around in her mind. Reverend, Davey and Mac Callender, Bill, Pearson, Dutch’s sons Henry, Frank, Robert, and Thomas. The list of names went on and on until there seemed to be only two more people to introduce. The old man, who Abigail was told was “Uncle”, had passed out, and the other man who had been sat at the camp fire had slunk away to his tent. The last two men introduced themselves as Arthur and Hosea.
“Don’t worry about these two, Abigail. They’ve both got women.” Dutch informed her.
The man called Hosea rolled his eyes and told Dutch in a strict voice that there was more towards this gang than an orgy house and Abigail was allowed to have friendly relationships. With the way Dutch seemed to almost cower at Hosea’s words, Abigail wondered if Hosea was the true leader here. Abigail would be very happy if that was the case, Hosea both looked and sounded more kind and sensible than Dutch.
The other man spoke up, trying to dissipate the escalating tension between the two men before him. “Hello miss Abigail, I’m Arthur. Like Dutch said, I have a girl and a son, actually, his name is Isaac and he’s the best little boy anyone could ask for. I bring him to camp sometimes and you’ll see he’s the cutest buckaroo in the world.” Arthur beamed while talking about his son. Abigail knew far too well that being a father didn’t automatically make you a good person but she couldn’t help but feel safe with Arthur. He was big and muscular, but spoke with such kindness.
The four of them sat down at the campfire and talked for an hour or two. Abigail enjoyed herself more than she had in a long time, listening to Hosea recount his heists in his youth and embarrassing stories about his three “kids”, Arthur, John, and Jenny, who had been with the gang the longest. Her sides hurt from laughing when she heard the story of Arthur trying to teach John to swim.
“Speaking of John, where is he? He didn’t introduce himself to you tonight. That’s not like him, to be shy.”
Arthur scoffed, “he’s not shy, just a bastard. Thinks he’s too good to have to introduce himself like everyone else. He thinks that way because you treat him special, Dutch.” Arthur’s brows furrowed as he focused on crushing the cigarette butt beneath his shoes.
Dutch opened his mouth, presumably to argue, but Abigail was too tired to hear any more arguments.
“I’m sorry, y’all, I better go to bed. Mary Beth is waiting on me.”
Abigail walked to Mary Beth’s tent and was greeted excitedly by the girl. Mary Beth wanted to share stories and gossip all night long; Abigail politely obliged. However, the excitement seemed to be all too much for Mary Beth and she collapsed of exhaustion within the half hour. Abigail didn’t have the same luck falling asleep, not at all. She gave up on the idea entirely after a few hours and crawled out the tent silently to get some fresh air. Abigail assumed no one would be up at this hour but as she was pacing around, she saw John sharpening a knife at the second camp fire at the back of the camp. She didn’t want to disturb him, he clearly hadn’t wanted to introduce himself to her in the first place, so she started walking back to the tent. Her attempts to go unnoticed failed when she got too close to one of horse and spooked it, causing it to winnie loudly. John turned around to see the commotion and noticed Abigail.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I’m heading back to Mary Beth’s tent, just needed to clear my head for a moment.” Abigail apologized. John stared at her blankly and she awkwardly began to step backwards towards the tent.
“Come sit.” he said flatly, as if he was reciting a line to himself.
Abigail was taken aback and unsure of what to do. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to talk to John, especially alone. But, acutely aware that she was alone with this man and knowing what men in her life did when they were angry, she walked over to the campfire and sat next to him on a log.
Abigail hadn’t seen John’s features properly until now, but seeing him in the light from the fire, he took her breath away. He was beautiful. Rough and tumble, sure, but still beautiful. He had deep brown eyes that had a softness to them, giving away that he wasn’t all so tough as maybe he wanted to be. He was clean shaven and had a slight smirk that didn’t seem to drop. He had various scars on his face and Abigail wondered exactly what trouble this man had gotten into.
“Uhhh hi.” John greeted, bringing Abigail to reality and making her realize that he knew she was staring.
“Oh, yes, hi. Sorry about that.” Abigail was thoroughly embarrassed.
“It’s fine. Used to it. I’ve always been ugly.” he told her solemnly.
“No no no, that’s not it at all. I- well, I don’t know.” Abigail cursed herself when she started to blush, knowing that she had a habit of turning tomato red.
John noticed that she was blushing, it was hard not to, and seemed to realize why she was actually staring. His smirk grew a bit and he sat up a bit more. The smirk, however, didn’t last very long when he started to speak again.
“I think it’s fucked what Dutch is doing. Making you be a whore just for you to survive and all,” he said seriously before quickly addinh, “Not that I care who you fuck. Fuck everyone for all I care.” John’s eyes darted to Abigail nervously.
Abigail laughed despite the overall sentiment of his original comment. “ I didn’t think you cared, John.”
John seemed satisfied in her answer and continued with what he had been saying. “You know, I heard you telling some of the guys what had happened to you with your dad in all and well, don’t tell anyone this, but I understand. I went through it too, being exploited before my dad died. And Dutch picked me up and ain’t never made me do what he’s making you do. And it’s just like, how are you supposed to heal when this is your life now?” John struggled to get his words out; it was clear that he was having a hard time being vulnerable.
Abigail nodded, not knowing what else to say. She knew what he was saying and she agreed. She also appreciated his words, she knew it was hard speaking about trauma with total strangers. They sat in comfortable silence for a while before John blurted out, “You know, it’s a shame. You’re so pretty, you could be an actress instead.”
Abigail giggled at the words that came out of nowhere. Was this flirting? She wasn’t quite sure, she had never been allowed to speak to men outside of her family.
“I- well thank you. That means a lot.”
John seemed frustrated with the response he was getting, so he continued.
“No, I’m serious. They should put your name up in lights in those fancy cities with the picture shows.”
“You’re real sweet, John Marston. You don’t seem to be the type that should be running with a gang.”
John scoffed. “You don’t know me like that, Miss. I’m a bad man. Maybe an evil man. Although Arthur says I’m too stupid to be evil.”
“You are no such thing!” Abigail gasped.
John’s smirk had now grown to a full grown smile. He was basking in the attention he was getting from Abigail.
The two of them spent a few moments playfully arguing over whether John was stupid in which John told her of some stories that were compelling to his argument that he was, in fact, stupid. After the laughter dissipated, John started digging in his pocket nervously. His face lit up when he found it. He pulled out a pearl necklace.
“Hey, I was wondering if maybe you’d like this. I’d usually sell it but I noticed that you’re not wearing any jewelry and I think you would look nice in jewelry so maybe you could take this and put it on your neck.” John rambled, scared to death of being laughed at for the gesture.
“Yes, I know how necklaces work, John. Maybe you are stupid.” Abigail smirked. When she saw John’s face fall, she added, “I would love the necklace. Thank you for thinking of me.” She took the necklace from John and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek, causing to duck his head so Abigail couldn’t see that he was the one blushing now.
“Well then, since we’re friends now, I was wondering if you’d want to go to a saloon and get something to eat sometime. It’s better than Pearson’s cooking, at least.” John fumbled through the sentence.
“I think if we’re going to go on a date, we should do something a bit more romantic than going to a saloon. Maybe we can have a picnic on one of those hills down the way. I saw them on the ride up here.”
“Well I didn’t mean it like that. But I guess if you want to…” John shrugged and tried to seem nonchalant but couldn’t contain his smile.
The past was Hell, but Abigail was starting to think that maybe the future wouldn’t be so bad.
#red dead redemption 2#rdr#rdr2#Red Dead Redemption#John Marston#abigail roberts#marstongail#john x abigail#susan grimshaw#arthur morgan#tilly jackson#Dutch Van Der Linde#hosea matthews#mary beth gaskill
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hello! i know you’re on a break and you don’t have to write this but i just thought of this and i’m a little obsessed with the idea so i thought i’d share! Imagine Olympian Steve and Billy, like snowboarder Billy and ice skater Steve (who could also be non-binary or gender non conforming) ?? and they are both super dedicated and they meet at the olympics one year and just hit it off, start dating in secret beacuse they don’t want the press that comes with being a olympic couple (part 1)
(part 2) and the only people that know are close friends but then when they show up for the olympics a few years after they met something happens to one of them, my thought is Billy totally crashes and gets hurt and steve doesn’t even know until after he preformed and he’s sitting with his coach and a reporter is giving an update on billy’s condition and steve overhears it and just breaks down, and people are filming him just sobbing his eyes out... (part 3) Steve ends up getting in the top three but they can barley stand on the podium they are so freaked out nobody’s telling them anything and he can’t even pull the significant other card to go see him because then he’s outing them and it’s very awful meanwhile Billy, whose doing pretty good just like a broken arm or something, is sitting in a hospital bed watching steve preform and being very proud and hen promptly freaking out because steve is suddenly bawling... (part 4) finally steve is able to go see billy and they are literally so relived to see he’s doing ok but they are both big time emotional and the internet is already theorizing about why steve was so freaked out so they decide to come out about their relationship and steve just plans on like casually mentioning it during an interview but billy decides to be extra and proposed to steve on live tv, they end up crying a lot more but obviously say yes (sorry this was so long)
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This request has awakened my deep seeded LOVE of Shaun White. He was one of my first famous people crushes back when he was mostly skateboarding and let me TELL YOU the most recent winter olympic games, when he made his come back, and he almost didn’t get gold, but then he DID and the announcer went “the flying tomato flew again tonight!” I LOST IT!!!1
Plus I like the winter games more than the summer ones 🤷♀️
The beginning is loosely based off the fact that the Olympic Village is apparently just like, one big orgy the whole time lmao
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“Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing.”
Billy, of course, knew who Steve Harrington is. His eyes had been glued to the screen in the PT room as he watched Steve compete, sakting beautifully in the Men’s Individuals to earn silver and make it look easy, helping the U.S. team to earn overall gold.
Granted, Billy had walked away with golds in slopestyle and halfpipe, and he wanted to celebrate.
Steve turned to Billy, dark eyes flicking over him.
“No thank you.” They turned back around, finishing their drink and placing the empty cup on the bar top.
“I’m, sorry?”
“I said no thank you.”
“No thank you to what?”
“To having sex with you.”
“I never said anything about having sex?”
“You slid over here, called me pretty, and gave me hard bedroom eyes. You wanna plow me, and I’m just not in the mood.” They went to push past Billy, put he took their wrist, holding loosely.
“Look, I’m sorry. I really did just come over to talk. I respect the hell out of you. You’re incredibly talented and just came onto the scene. I mean, this is your first Olympics, right?” They glanced at him through their lashes, nodding slowly. “I took me, like two games before I even got bronze. You’re a fucking good athlete. Just wanted to say.” He let go of their wrist. They bit their lip.
“You wanna buy me a drink? Keep telling me what a good athlete I am?” Billy grinned as they slip back into their stool.
-
Billy threw himself onto the couch, head resting in Steve’s lap. He groaned loudly, tracking Steve’s face for some kind of response.
He groaned again, louder this time. Steve bit their lip, trying not to laugh as they watched the tv.
He groaned one more time.
“Oh, gosh, Billy. Didn’t even notice you down here.”
They had stayed up all night that first night they met in person, had talked for hours about how they found their respective sports, what growing up was like.
Steve came from a little town in the Midwest. A little town in the Midwest that bred hockey players like nowhere else. Steve’s father had put them in hockey when they were young enough to stand on skates, but then Steve started showing a rapidly growing interest in figure skating, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Billy was always a skateboarder at heart. He grew up in California, bumming around the Venice Beach skate park with his friends whenever they could, skipping school to grind rails. And then his dad got married, and uprooted the whole family, moving them a few states over to fucking Utah. Billy figured snowboarding was close enough to skating that he could figure it out. So he did. And he loved it.
He and Steve had moved in together three years ago, almost exactly a year into their relationship. Steve wanted to begin working with a new coach, so Billy packed up his boards, and moved his shit back to California, Billy training most days at Mammoth Mountain.
“My body hurts.” He had been training hard, they both had, as the games were fast approaching.
“I mean, do you want me to actually help, or do you want me to help?” Steve’s long fingers were trailing along Billy’s chest. Billy just groaned.
“I gotta go ice. You can help later.” He tugged Steve down to press a kiss to their lips, heading off to fill the bathtub with ice, sink down low into it.
The opening ceremony was in less than two weeks, and Billy was fucking excited. He was in peak shape, had been perfecting his backside triple 1440 nosegrab.
He stretched out his sore muscles in the ice, made a mental note to get in with his PT tomorrow.
-
It had been a grueling week.
Billy had Steve had barely seen one another in between training and PT appointments and competing.
And of course the Men’s Figure Skating Final took place a few hours after the Men’s Slopestyle Final. Billy had already secured gold in the halfpipe.
Steve was sitting in their skates, stretching out before heading out to the ice.
They cleared their mind, going over their program again and again.
They got ready to take the ice.
They flew through their program, hitting every jump, every spin beautifully, trying not to cry as they left the ice.They knew they had fucking nailed it.
They stood, waiting for their marks.
“Steve! Steve! Have you heard about Billy Hargrove’s fall!” Steve’s head whipped around, staring at the reporter. “Aren’t you two friends?”
“Stevie, don’t pay them attention.” Their coach was trying to steer them away from the gaggle of cameras.
“No, I gotta, what happened to Billy?” They were trying to push back to the reporters. “What happened to Billy?”
“He fell in the slopestyle final! Had to be taken off in a gurney!” One of the reporters shouted back. Steve crumbled, let their coach take some of their weight.
“Steve, focus on your run.” They were shaking as they were led back to the bench, had tears streaming down their face.
“But, is Billy okay?” They didn’t even listen as their score was announced, as the crowd went fucking crazy for their gold metal.
And all Steve wanted was to get to Billy, to see if he was okay.
They were dragged on shaking legs to the podium, their face went, their hands trembling.
They had to stand there, listen to the U.S. National Anthem without fucking collapsing. They didn’t even give a fuck that they were ugly crying on international television.
And they couldn’t just say get me the FUCK to my boyfriend.
-
Billy was sitting in a hospital bed, his arm in a plaster cast
He had fucked up his elbow, completely dislocating it as he fell onto the hard snow. He was livid with himself for fucking up his slope style, was guaranteed at least bronze, but had come in sixth due to his nasty spill.
But he watched from the medical center as Steve skated so fucking perfectly in the finals, had set a new record for themself, the highest score they had ever gotten with an absolutely gorgeous program.
But something was, something was wrong with the way they stood on the pedestal, their tears were not celebratory as they appeared to be working themself into a panic.
And all Billy wanted was to get to Steve, to see if they were okay.
-
“Bill, oh my fucking God.” Steve just about threw themself onto Billy’s bed. They were fucking sobbing into his lap.
“Stevie, I’m okay. I’m good.”
“All they, all they said was the you were hurt, had to be taken off the course in a stretcher.”
“Yeah, I smashed myself pretty hard. But I’m okay. They fixed it.” Steve’s eyes were still all watery, made them looker even bigger.
“I just, I wanted to fucking scream at everyone to let me get to my boyfriend.” Billy trailed one hand down Steve’s face, just delicate fingers touching soft skin.
“We could tell people, if you want.” Billy had been extremely private about his sexuality throughout his career. He still had trouble coming to terms with himself, still had trouble getting his thoughts and feelings out from under his father’s thumb.
“We don’t have to.” Steve, on the other hand, had been sick of getting misgendered in interviews, had come out publicly with an Instagram post, a cute mirror selfie in a full face of makeup, a little yellow sundress Billy loved, and caption that just read They/Them.
“I want to. Want to tell the whole world how much I love you.”
-
Steve’s idea was just to mention it casually in an interview.
They had a string of interviews after their gold medal win, after they broke a personal record today.
But Billy had another plan.
He’s had the ring for close to eight months at this point, was just biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment.
And as he sat there, watching Steve smile so pretty at the reporter, he realized.
Now’s the time.
“You were extremely emotional on the stand after accepting your gold medal. Walk me through what you were feeling.”
“To be honest, it didn’t even register that I had won, and broken a personal score record. Someone had just informed me that my boyfriend had gotten hurt during the slopestyle finals, and I didn’t know if he was okay.”
“Your boyfriend? Billy Hargrove, then.”
“Yeah. I just heard he was in the hospital as I was waiting for my scores and I just kinda, kinda lost it.” Steve’s eyes trailed over to meet Billy’s, standing in the studio behind the camera.
He was holding the ring tightly in his hand, the one that wasn’t in a bulky cast.
Now or never.
“So, you and Billy Hargrove are currently in a relationship. How long has that been going on?” Steve gestured at Billy to join them on the couch. One of the crew members gestured for him to join them on the couch.
So he walked over, settled right in next to Steve.
“Since the last winter games, actually. That’s when we first met.” Billy grinned at Steve, leaned over to kiss them on the cheek. His palms were sweaty.
“Congratulations to you both!” Billy took a deep breath.
“It’s been really great! We live together and everything. Have a chubby little cat. The whole nine.”
The reporter laughed along with them, Billy’s leg was shaking.
“It’s easier dating an athlete, I think. They understand the rigor you got through training, how you put your body through Hell because you’re passionate about it.” Steve was using their hands to explain. Billy took a deep breath.
“So, you two have been completely quiet about your romantic relationship for these four years you’ve been together. Why did you choose to keep private, and why are you going public now?”
“Well, it was really hard for me when I heard Billy got hurt. I couldn’t just pull the significant other card to find out more information.”
“And we chose to stay private for a multitude of reasons. We mainly just wanted our careers to be the focus of our media attention and not our relationship.” Billy and Steve had spoken extensively about what they were going to say in the interview. Billy was incredibly private, didn’t really want to get into the whole my father physically abused me for being gay and I still have trouble accepting myself thing on public television. So they glossed over it.
“But things are going well?”
Now or never.
Billy’s heart was pounding in his ears. He could barely hear Steve over the sound of his own blood rushing. Was just able to tell when he finished speaking.
“It’s been a wonderful few years. In fact, it’s been so good, that, uh, I want it to never stop.” He took a deep breath. And slid off the couch.
Steve gasped as Billy settled on one knee on the floor, they had tears in their eyes when Billy smiled up at them, presented the pretty gold ring.
“Sweet Thing, you are the best thing to ever happen. You are kind, and compassionate, and so dedicated. I love everything about you, from how graceful you are on the ice, to how silly you are when it’s just the two of us. You are so perfect to me. I want my life to be exactly like these past four years have been, full of love, and laughter, and those snicker doodles you make just because you know I love them.”
Steve was openly bawling, clutching hands with the reporter.
“So, Stevie. Will you marry me?”
Steve launched themself at Billy, kissing his face, breathing yes yes yes into his skin, just barely remembering to mind his sore arm.
Billy took shaky breaths as he slid the ring on Steve’s finger.
-
Steve was tucked under Billy’s arm as they headed back to his room.
“I thought we had decided to just like, casually come out. I can’t believe you fucking proposed on live t.v.” Steve was staring at their ring.
“Been thinkin’ of proposals that are good enough for you for months. Figured, you know, might as well.”
“You coulda given me a Ring Pop in an alley outside of a biker bar and I still woulda said yes.”
“Yeah, but that clip has probably already gone viral. Now you can watch it whenever you wanna feel soft.” Steve scrambled for their phone, nose practically pressed against it as they looked for the clip.
Billy just laughed, shaking his head as he unlocked the door.
#yikes writes#steve harrington#billy hargrove#steve harrington x billy hargrove#billy hargrove x steve harrington#harringrove#harringrove fic#harringrove ficlet#harringrove drabble
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Behind The Album: OK Computer
The third studio album from Radiohead was released in May 1997 by Parlophone Records. This would mark the first album that Nigel Godrich worked on as their producer. The band would self produce the entire album themselves, which they have done on every record since. In 1995, Brian Eno asked the band to contribute a song to a charity compilation for War Child entitled Help. They were scheduled to do the recording in only a day, which led to the track, “Lucky.” Godrich would say of the recording. “Those things are the most inspiring, when you do stuff really fast and there's nothing to lose. We left feeling fairly euphoric. So after establishing a bit of a rapport work-wise, I was sort of hoping I would be involved with the next album." This track would form the foundation of what would become OK Computer. In early 1996, the group took a break from touring because they found it a bit too stressful. Thoughts now turned to a new record with the mindset of distancing themselves from anything similar to The Bends. Drummer Phillip Selway would say, “There was an awful lot of soul-searching [on The Bends]. To do that again on another album would be excruciatingly boring.” The label gave the band a rather good sized budget for recording equipment for the new release. A number of producers were considered for the album, but they kept coming back to Godrich as an advisor on equipment. Eventually, the band hired him as the producer. Ed O’Brien said of the album, “Everyone said, 'You'll sell six or seven million if you bring out The Bends Pt 2,' and we're like, 'We'll kick against that and do the opposite'."
In early 1996, Radiohead began proper recording of the LP at Canned Applause Studios in Oxfordshire, England. Issues immediately came up as the band had difficulty staying focused on one song all the way to completion. Selway would talk about this later, “We're jumping from song to song, and when we started to run out of ideas, we'd move on to a new song ... The stupid thing was that we were nearly finished when we'd move on, because so much work had gone into them." Although the members of the group were considered equals, the voice of Thom Yorke always represented the loudest one in terms of musical direction. Godrich would talk about his role within the group in an interview. They “need to have another person outside their unit, especially when they're all playing together, to say when the take goes well ... I take up slack when people aren't taking responsibility—the term producing a record means taking responsibility for the record ... It's my job to ensure that they get the ideas across." His permanent role on each Radiohead album would lead to the producer being called the sixth member of Radiohead. After only recording four songs, the band left the Canned Applause Studio for a variety of reasons Including the fact that the studio had no bathrooms or dining rooms. They decided to take a break from recording in order to support Alanis Morissette on tour, which gave them a chance to try some of their new tracks live. Around the same time, Director Baz Luhrmann asked the band to contribute a song to his film, Romeo and Juliet. “Exit Music for a Film” would be played as the credits rolled during the movie, but they did not give Luhrmann permission to place the track on the movie soundtrack. Yorke would later observe that this song became very important to the album. It “was the first performance we'd ever recorded where every note of it made my head spin—something I was proud of, something I could turn up really, really loud and not wince at any moment."
In September 1996, the band began recording again at a mansion in Bath, England owned by actress Jane Seymour. Jonny Greenwood would say the environment represented a much more pleasant change for the group. It “was less like a laboratory experiment, which is what being in a studio is usually like, and more about a group of people making their first record together." One quality that the band enjoyed during the sessions came in the fact that they took full advantage of the natural environment of the mansion. “Exit Music for a Film” utilized some natural reverb courtesy of a stone stairwell. They recorded Let Down” in an empty ballroom at 3 o’clock in the morning. The group worked at its own pace as Ed O’Brien observed later. “The biggest pressure was actually completing [the recording]. We weren't given any deadlines and we had complete freedom to do what we wanted. We were delaying it because we were a bit frightened of actually finishing stuff." A majority of the album would be recorded live with no overdubs because Yorke hated them. The band completed the rest of the album at the studio in Saint Catherine’s towards the end of 1996. In January 1997, the strings for the album were recorded, then they spent the next two months mastering and mixing the album. Actually, the mixing of the album only took a couple of days. Nigel Godrich would later comment, “I feel like I get too into it. I start fiddling with things and I fuck it up ... I generally take about half a day to do a mix. If it's any longer than that, you lose it. The hardest thing is trying to stay fresh, to stay objective."
Several artists would influence what would become the finished product of OK Computer. First and foremost came the 1970 album Bitches Brew by jazz great, Miles Davis. Thom Yorke would tell Q what he saw in that recording that made up his vision for this album. “It was building something up and watching it fall apart, that's the beauty of it. It was at the core of what we were trying to do with OK Computer." Other artists that helped to inspire the record included Elvis Costello, REM, PJ Harvey, the Beatles, Can, and composer Ennio Morricone. Jonny Greenwood would describe OK Computer as an attempt to recreate the sound on all these great records, but they missed the mark. The band would expand their instrumentation for this album to include electric piano, Mellotron, cello and other strings, glockenspiel and electronic effects. Spin would say this about the release, “A DIY electronica album made with guitars." The lyrics to the album focused on themes much more conceptual when contrasted with The Bends. Yorke would sing about a wide variety of topics including transportation, technology, insanity, death, globalism, capitalism, and more. The singer would say, “On this album, the outside world became all there was ... I'm just taking Polaroids of things around me moving too fast." He also took inspiration for some of the lyrics from a selection of books including Noam Chomsky, Eric Hobsbawm's The Age of Extremes, Will Hutton's The State We're In, Jonathan Coe's What a Carve Up! and Philip K. Dick's VALIS. Despite the abstract nature of the lyrics on the record, many critics have looked upon OK Computer as a concept album. They argue that there exists a singular theme running throughout the record, but the band has consistently denied any attempt at making such a release. Jonny Greenwood commented, “I think one album title and one computer voice do not make a concept album. That's a bit of a red herring." They did pay particularly close attention to the order of the tracklist taking almost two weeks to complete it.
The album opens with “Airbag,” which highlights the drumming of Phillip Selway. The track had been inspired by the work of DJ Shadow. The band would later admit that they represented novices in this attempt to base a song on DJ Shadow due to their lack of time with programming. Yorke had actually read an article in a magazine entitled “An Airbag Saved My Life.” Another book that helped to create the basis for the song lyrics emerged in the Tibetan Book of the Dead. Yorke had always been obsessed with the idea that any time you get into a car you could possibly die at any second. The second track “Paranoid Android” stands out as one of the longest tracks in the band's entire catalog. Two songs inspired it from classic rock, “Happiness Is a Warm Gun” by the Beatles and “Bohemian Rhapsody” by Queen. The lyrics are meant to reference the alien from Douglas Adams’s A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Yorke got the idea after watching a woman lose her mind after a drink spilled on her at a bar in Los Angeles. “Subterranean Homesick Alien” referenced “Subterranean Homesick Blues” by Bob Dylan. The lyrics are meant to refer a person who is abducted by aliens, then returns home to realize his life is in no way any different. The beginnings of the theme for this track actually began for the singer in private school when he had an assignment to recreate a British literary movement called Martian poetry. Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare inspired the lyrics to “Exit Music for a Film.” This should come as no surprise as the band had specifically created the song for a remake film. Yorke would use it as a chance to simply recap the entire narrative in the song because Zeffirelli’s version of the film greatly affected him at the age of 13. “I cried my eyes out, because I couldn't understand why, the morning after they shagged, they didn't just run away. It's a song for two people who should run away before all the bad stuff starts.” The singer had tried to replicate Johnny Cash’s Live at Folsom Prison as he sang along to his acoustic guitar. “Let Down” represented an attempt by the band to recreate the sound made famous by Phil Spector and his wall of sound. Yorke would later comment that the lyrics are “about that feeling that you get when you're in transit but you're not in control of it—you just go past thousands of places and thousands of people and you're completely removed from it.” The singer would look upon such lyrics as perfect symbolism for Generation X, which had strongly influenced the direction of it. “Karma Police” contains two major sections that alternate between piano and guitar, which originally came from “Sexy Sadie” by the Beatles. The title of the song was an inside joke between the band during the previous tour. If something bad happened to someone, they would say that the karma police were going to get them. The short Interlude “Fitter, Happier” became something that the Radiohead frontman wrote in 10 minutes while on a break. The voice came from the Macintosh Simpletext software application. He would later describe the words as a “checklist for slogans from the 1990s.”
“Electioneering” turned out to be one of the band’s heaviest rock oriented songs probably ever with lyrics that were inspired by the Poll Tax Riots. Another source of inspiration came in the book Manufacturing Consent by Noah Chomsky. “Climbing Up the Walls” has been described by Melody Maker as “monumental chaos.” The track was arranged by Johnny Greenwood for 16 instruments based on composer Krzysztof Penderecki's “Threnody to the Victims of Hiroshima.” No Surprises” would be initially inspired by “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” by the Beach Boys, but they really wanted to replicate the mood of “What a Wonderful World” by Louis Armstrong or the soul music of Marvin Gaye. Yorke would say the song’s narrator is “someone who's trying hard to keep it together but can't.” The track that started it all “Lucky” was actually inspired by the Bosnian War. Yorke wanted to illustrate the actual terror of that conflict on the charity album, Help. Another theme that he drew upon emerged in his own anxiety about transportation. Critics have likened the guitar on the song to 1970’s Pink Floyd. The final track on the album “The Tourist” was specifically arranged by Jonny Greenwood to create a bit of space on the LP. The lyrics originated from Yorke witnessing tourists in France trying to see as many sites as possible. The title of the album came from the 1978 radio series based on The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy when character Zaphod Beeblebrox says, “Okay, computer, I want full manual control now." They had first heard the line while listening to the series on the bus for their tour in 1996. Yorke would say this about the title later. It “refers to embracing the future, it refers to being terrified of the future, of our future, of everyone else's. It's to do with standing in a room where all these appliances are going off and all these machines and computers and so on ... and the sound it makes." The artwork would be created by both Yorke and Stanley Donwood using a computer. The Radiohead singer would observe this about the art, “It's quite sad, and quite funny as well. All the artwork and so on ... It was all the things that I hadn't said in the songs."
Leading up to the release of the album, the band got very little support from Capitol Records because they did not have too much faith in the commercial potential of it. Much of the pessimism came in the fact that the record did not have any singles to put on the radio. Ed O’Brien would call it the “lack of a Van Halen factor.” The singles that were released from OK Computer included “Paranoid Android,” “Karma Police,” and “Lucky.” All of the singles charted in the top 10 in the UK, while they also did very well making the top 20 on the US charts. Their official website was created in order to promote the record, as well as some non-traditional promotional techniques by the record label. One such idea came in their decision to take out full-page ads in popular British newspapers and magazines with only the lyrics to “Fitter, Happier.” Another promotion sent out floppy disks to people in the press, which included many Radiohead screensavers. Upon its official release, OK Computer would debut at number one on the UK charts, while in the US the record made it to number 21. Please note that this was the highest American debut for the band. By September 2000, the release had sold 4.5 million copies worldwide.
Critics loved the album across the board. Writer Tim Footman would comment, “Not since 1967, with the release of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, had so many major critics agreed immediately, not only on an album's merits, but on its long-term significance, and its ability to encapsulate a particular point in history." Many critics saw it as a very important album. Mojo wrote in their review, “Others may end up selling more, but in 20 years' time I'm betting OK Computer will be seen as the key record of 1997, the one to take rock forward instead of artfully revamping images and song-structures from an earlier era.” The New Yorker would congratulate the band on taking many more risks artistically then their contemporaries like Oasis. “Throughout the album, contrasts of mood and style are extreme ... This band has pulled off one of the great art-pop balancing acts in the history of rock." Most of the reviews that were slightly mixed seemed to focus on the fact that when compared with The Bends, this record did not contain as many catchy songs. The release would go on to win the Grammy for Best Alternative Album, but did not win Album of the Year. The praise for the album seemed to inundate the band a little too much. Also, Radiohead did not agree with the universal assessment that they had made the greatest progressive or art rock record since Dark Side of the Moon. Thom Yorke would say, “We write pop songs ... there was no intention of it being 'art'. It's a reflection of all the disparate things we were listening to when we recorded it."
The legacy of the album came to be represented in a variety of ways. First, the release of OK Computer coincided with the election of Tony Blair. Some writers have pointed to the pessimism on the record as a sign of things to come. Stephen Hayden would write, “Radiohead appeared to be ahead of the curve, forecasting the paranoia, media-driven insanity, and omnipresent sense of impending doom that's subsequently come to characterise everyday life in the 21st century." Second, the arrival of this album directly coincided with the decline of Britpop. The Oasis album Be Here Now did not attain the commercial or critical success that What’s the Story Morning Glory had received in 1995. Third, OK Computer directly influenced a new generation of artists including bands like Bloc Party and TV on the Radio. The album has landed on many lists over the subsequent years as one of the best releases of the decade and all time. Yet, not all retrospective reviews have been kind to OK Computer as it has also landed on some lists as one of the most overrated records of all time. A New Musical Express column criticized the release as the exact point when Radiohead stopped being good, but instead started to become important.
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Little Sidekick
(Bakugo x Reader)
Warnings: Cursing, sfw
Prompt: Y/N takes up an internship at the Ground Zero agency. With her luck, she ends up a sidekick to the Pro hero himself- Bakugo.
Prelude: While this chapter is smutty free I can guarantee you the future ones wont be ;) Now I haven’t written anything in a FAT minute so forgive ya girl for the grammar errors you see. I’m a marketing major not a literature one. Just horny and motivated enough to write a full-blown fic on a fictional character, that I am currently obsessing over. Hope ya sluts enjoy :*
Y/LN= Your Last Name
| Chapter 1
In a desperate last-minute attempt to leave your toxic home, you took up a hero exchange program in Japan that you found online. While this wasn’t exactly the smartest thing you’ve done, it definitely didn’t stop you from applying to a sidekick position in an agency called “Ground Zero,” not aware that you’re getting more than what you had originally bargained for; you secretly packed a bag with a few necessities and slipped out of the prison you called home.
~
“Good morning Ms. Y/LN, to start you off we’re going to be putting you in a training simulation to better analyze your quirk and combat skills. This is to see which hero you’d be most compatible with as a sidekick.”
It was your second day at the agency. You spent a week settling in the apartment that the agency offered you for the internship program. It was a humble setting, nothing flashy which you had preferred anyways. You finally step foot in the agency yesterday mainly going over the basics and signing paperwork, today you assumed was going to be a bit more hands on.
You were used to this type of routine, being top class in your high school years meant a lot of colleges were constantly throwing themselves at you. Which in turn led to a lot of situations with you in training and battling on other heroes. Especially with your father owning and running multiple agencies, you were constantly being forced to get stronger, it was practically expected of you to become a high-ranking hero in America and take over his business. Something you honestly didn’t care much for. Maybe it was the constant pressure being put on your shoulders to become a hero but after so many years of being subjected to that, you’ve come to secretly dislike the hero industry in your own twisted way. You only took this internship program because you were unknown here, there were no expectations of you, no one constantly breathing down your shoulder; here you were nothing but a nameless sidekick and that thought alone brought you some peace.
You stepped into the training simulation. It was an all-white room but seemed endless. On one wall there was a glass window where you supposed they watched you from but couldn’t see through from your side. You were wearing a one-piece track suit with lines running all throughout the outfit. The suit was ingrained with tech that would monitor your breathing and usage of your quirk.
“Hello Y/LN” you heard through the speaker phone “if the training gets too intense for you or if you want to take a break just yell out STOP and we will immediately halt everything. I also forgot to ask since I didn’t see it on your application: what is your hero name?”
That question lingered in your head for a minute or so. In America you were forced into living a persona behind the title of a false name. Everything in the hero industry was so theatrical, from the costumes, to even the name you represented yourself with. It was all so scripted and fake. You refused to take any part in that this time, here in Japan you’re starting with a clean slate. So, with that in mind you sternly responded:
‘Y/N. it’s just Y/N.” and thus the training began.
About 15 minutes went by with no trouble or fuss. Your air quirk allowed you to move fast and efficiently. You’ve dodged every attack thrown at you by the fake automated dummies and even destroyed a handful with such ease and precision. You were taught a variety of attack and defense forms, all with and without the use of your quirk. You also knew how to dual sword fight; but since the training has been so pathetically easy you haven’t even found the need to use your swords yet. Picking up on this attitude, the speaker came on once again.
“It seems like the simulation is a bit too easy on you Y/N, were going to be skipping up a few levels and see how you do on level 7: which is where most of the pro heroes train at.
You only responded with a nod. A smirk slowly creeping in your face. About time they got serious. You were hoping for a challenge, you couldn’t deny the bit of pride you felt effortlessly blowing through this training. With that, more mindless dummies appeared, all in different shapes and sizes this time, some even carrying weapons and shields. There was one dummy in particular that caught your attention. It had four arms all holding a sword. You immediately drew your swords out and instantly ran over to it; all while you smoothly cut and sliced through all the others in your way.
Once you reached the four handed dummy, it instantly became a dance among swords hashing and daggering at one other. Even though you were outnumbered by two swords you kept the upper hand by being faster. But with every given slice the dummy was beginning to match your pace and speed, it was becoming slightly more difficult to stop every single hit; so, you cartwheeled back to give yourself some space.
You jumped to one of the corners of the walls staying off the ground to think of plan. You figured if you kept going back and forth with the dummy it would get you nowhere and eventually just tire you out. Frustrated by how the dummy was able to match your speed you prioritized cutting off two of its arms. That way it be more manageable than trying to defend yourself against four swords attacking you simultaneously. You instantly retreated back once you had given your failed plan an attempt. Back on the corner of the wall, you were losing more patience.
Maybe I should wait for an opening and cut its head off, maybe with my quirk I can push it back and have it fall, you thought to yourself. Maybe I’m just overthinking this, it’s a fucking lifeless dummy.
With that you activated your quirk and blew air towards the dummy with such force it rolled back. You took this opportunity to jump on it, but it immediately drew out one of its swords to defend itself; it forced you to quickly rotate midair and land it behind it. This gave you about 3 seconds to rack your sword across its neck before it was able to even register you were behind it. Its lifeless head fell onto to the floor and about a minute or so its body just disappeared altogether. The room was slowly returning to its white appearance and all the evidence of a battle scene was replaced shiny tiles. The lady walked through the door “wow Y/N that was great! You don’t even seem to be worn out. I’m sure you could’ve even reached level 8 easily but we gathered enough data already. Why don’t you come into my office so we can go over the details of who you’ll be paired up with”
You’ve trained tirelessly for years on end, of course this simulation was going to be a breeze. At least compared to what you’ve faced in the past. You shuttered at the thought, quickly trying to think of something else. You thoughtlessly followed her as she led the way, you looked around the impressive building with curiosity; it wasn’t the fanciest one you’ve seen but it must have been one of the biggest. After heading up in an elevator and making a few more turns you ended up in the speaker’s office taking a seat across her. A bit of guilt creeping up since you had completely forgotten her name.
She pulled out some papers giving you more things to sign and fill out. She briefly reminded you of the benefits that the agency was going to be offering you: an apartment complex 5 minutes away from here, a flexible schedule and fixed meet up times, and a small allowance for food and necessities.
“Do remember this program is for a year, while we can’t guarantee you a permanent position after that, if you do show promising resolve, we can offer you a contract making you an official member of the agency. This program is highly competitive though, we have about 8 other exchange heroes that we will be working with this year. And out of the 8 only one or possibly two, candidates will be accepted.”
“yeah that’s fine,” you casually responded.
You weren’t planning on staying here forever, regardless you were hoping by the end of the year you would land a spot in Shoto’s agency. You’ve always secretly admired the half and half hero after watching an interview of him speaking about his father. You couldn’t help but relate to him and what he felt; on top of it he seemed like a genuine and down to earth person. The opposite of what you’ve usually seen among heroes. You were absolutely intrigued and fascinated by the icyhot hero-
You were pulled away from your thoughts when the door behind you was slammed open. You jumped slightly from the noise and sharply turned with an irritated look on your face to see which asshole would just barge in like that. When you did, your eyes met with a pair of red curious ones. The man who barged in had spiky blonde hair protruding out in every angle, that would’ve been his most noticeable feature if it weren’t for the fact that he was fucking huge. His presence alone held such intimidation and power and that tight black shirt with a red X on it did little to no job in hiding every curve and muscle from his body. From the sharp V line on his lower abdomen, to his biceps which made your head look small in comparison, you were certainly caught off guard but pulled back into reality when the woman broke the silence.
“Y/N, this is Bakugo, Katsuki, also known as Ground Zero. You will be his sidekick from this moment forth.”
.
.
.
There was a moment or so of awkward silence that made the air around you feel heavy.
“tsk. Like hell I need a sidekick. I don’t need dead weight on my fucking shoulders, set her up with shitty hair, or dunce face.”
“Now, now Bakugo. We discussed this with the PR team already, don’t be difficult. We need to bring up your ratings. Having a pretty sidekick can distract the audience from that explosive personality of yours. We’re already in a rough spot from your last meltdown.” Speaker lady said with the calmest tone you’ve heard her use since you’ve met her.
“I was in the middle of a fucking battle how else would you have liked for me to get the public out of the way eh?”
“threating them with an explosion and cursing them off definitely wouldn’t have been my first choice.”
“tsk. Whatever. I’ll have to train her then. Wouldn’t want a liability on my hands now.” He looked over to you “Ya heard me freakshow?”
You bit your inner lip, drawing a tiny ounce of blood. There was a lot of information to digest here but fuck this, you thought. You ignored him for a few seconds, unraveling everything you’ve just heard. The balls on this guy. Who the hell did he think he was? Last thing you needed was to deal with some asshole trying to down talk you. You stood up and pushed your chair back. You looked up at him with unsettling coldness. You weren’t having any of this shit today.
“My name is fucking Y/N.”
His mouth slightly gaped, it almost looked like he wanted to respond but couldn’t form any words. You assumed he wasn’t used to people talking back? You could careless at the moment, you took his delayed reaction to walk out and slam the door closed. You felt offended and belittled. So, they partnered me up with that punk not based off of my skill or anything but because I’m simply a pretty face that can distract the crowd from his unhinged personality? The fuck. A wind whirl of emotions went through you. Wasn’t this in some way demeaning, maybe even sexist? I’m being reduced to my looks now; this was definitely a first for you. His words rang in your head “dead weight” “liability,” “shitty hair,” “dunce face;” he not only spat on you but on his coworkers as well? Man, if that’s how he talks about his peers you could only imagine what he had in store for you, seems like “freakshow” was your new nickname already. A chill ran down your spine, maybe coming here was a bad idea.
No. no. no. You quickly stopped your train of thought. I’m not going to have this wannabe scare me off on the first day. I left America for a reason, I can deal with this, I can deal with him-
Your thoughts were interrupted once again.
“Oi, I wasn’t finished talking!” he stomped his way behind you and pulled your arm back, forcing you to face him.
“well I am.” You responded sharply with an attitude rolling off your tongue.
“Like hell you are.” He growled, gripping your arm tighter this time, tugging you closer to him. The muscles on his biceps becoming veiny from how tight his grip was. The air stiffened and everyone outside the office walked slowly pretending not to notice you both. This time with more courage and vigor you pushed his shoulder, which to your embarrassment did little to nothing considering he didn’t even move an inch.
“What’s your problem?” you asked genuinely confused from why he was acting out, the pain on your arm becoming harder to ignore. He held an intense gaze with you, it was now registering how small you were in comparison to him. With his free hand he pushed the hair on your shoulder to the side gently, throwing you off completely. He leaned into you, insanely and uncomfortably close with his hot breath hitting your ear. Chills were running all throughout your body and you couldn’t bring yourself to move way this time. It was if you were completely frozen.
“Don’t go thinking you’re hot shit just cause you reached level 7. I’d hate to put you in your place so soon on your first week here little sidekick.” The pet name rolling off his tongue. You practically choked on air, not sure with what to respond with, still frozen. Slightly terrified, now slightly turned on; you made a feeble attempt in creating some space only to be pulled in closer. Now he had both of your arms pinned to the side.
“Not so brave now eh?” He pushed his body onto you, you practically felt like you were sinking into him. A light unintentional blush crept in on your face and he smirked at the sight. He pulled your chin up forcing you to meet his eyes, glaring down at you with a smug look on his face. He was taunting you.
“Our training sessions will be every Thursday and Friday after 4. Make sure you’re on time little sidekick, I’d hate to have to go look for you and trust me, the last thing you’d want is to play a game of hide and seek with me.”
With that he let go of you and shoved you off to the side. You regained your balance by grabbing on to the table near you, trying to register what the fuck just happened. Everyone was looking at you. While Bakugo walked out of the room, you stood there absolutely floored. It was until a tap on the shoulder brought you back to your senses.
“You good? I wouldn’t worry much about Bakubro, he’s just like that.” A rather handsome red head stood in front of you. He was slightly bigger than Bakugo but around the same height. There was this energy radiating off of him that felt really comforting and soothing. He smiled at you and you caught sight of his sharp teeth, but gentle look on his eyes.
“I’m Kirishima. Welcome to the agency.”
~
#bakugo smut#bakugou katsuki#bakugou smut#bakugo x reader#bnha#bakugo#my hero academia#bnha boys#bnha smut#pro hero bakugou#ground zero#katsuki bakugo x reader#mha fanfiction#mha bakugou#mha boys#mha kirishima#mha bakusquad#kirishima
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How to Kill a Great Film in 2021
Good Films die every day in Hollywood. Contracts are written and thrown away, writers can be hired and fired as fast as old drafts can be thrown away and rewrites can be made days before production. And when that doesn’t stop a project from being a success, Producers can cut funding at the second to final lap around the track, locations can change, or in more recent cases, the entire world can change.
But let’s pretend this pandemic isn’t currently still in effect and fast forward to 2023, when cinemas are open again (sadly not for the Cinerama Dome) and a new movie is released once a week and regardless of how much we enjoy it, we get to talk about it. In this fantasy land, let’s talk about the 5 ways you can kill a good movie before, while, or after Production…
Relationship between Director and Producer
Whenever the release of a certain cut of a film that isn’t what the Director intended on releasing makes its way to Theatres, the thing that comes to most people’s minds is ‘Studio Interference’. If you’re an aspiring filmmaker, writer or just a fan of Cinema in general, you’ve heard all of your favourite Filmmakers talk about how much they hate their Producers, you hear horror stories about the un creative old rich man trying to be creative, forcing their bad ideas onto a project and thinking they have creative control because they’re funding it. And a lot of those stories are true, but is that really all? Are Studios really that mean? Even so, there was still a moment where the Producer sat down with the Director and said ‘I like your project, let’s make it.’ So they can’t be that terrible.
The truth to this problem lies at that meeting. Whatever the problem is that the studio, Director or Crew will find themselves knee deep in down the road, its source will be born on the desk where that meeting takes place. The Producer may have bad, unoriginal ideas and is just out to make bank on your project, and you may be an unknown indie-filmmaker just trying to find an outlet for your talented voice, but as different as these two forces are, they need each other to survive. A Producer needs a film to be successful in every theatre in the country in order to keep their business alive, and the Filmmaker needs to successfully capture their vision onto screen so they can share it with audiences around the globe, and that won’t happen without Studio Funding, and the Film won’t be made without a Filmmaker.
So what happens if you don’t get along, if the Producer changes their mind on the casting for the main character, or the third act of the script? Do you just say ‘Yes’ or ‘Fuck off!’? It’s up to the Filmmaker, but either answer won’t produce a good Film.
Another thing you’ll probably find in common with any Director whose movies have suffered a great deal of box office failure to what they claim is Studio interference, is that they hate producers, they say mean things about them during interviews and they establish bad relationships with Hollywood, and more often than not, their line up of upcoming projects grows thinner and thinner as the years go by.
A Filmmaker shouldn’t be surprised when they have a hard time getting their films made when this is how they treat the people funding them. As attached as you are to the movie you’re making, getting your film properly released involves your key role in a game that must be played, and played extremely well. If you have a disagreement with somebody, is the most wise next step to scream in their face? No. If you’d like somebody to see your point of view, it’s done only by a genuine back and forth dialogue, allowing both parties to level with one another, acknowledging each other’s perspectives and reaching a common goal they can both agree on.
A Filmmaker can still receive these requests and still say no and still have a great relationship with their Producers, it all comes down to the trust you establish with your collaborators, and yes, they are collaborators.
Not Getting Final Cut
Reason number two is exclusively caused by reason number 1; Getting the Final Cut for your film means that you alone have creative control over what the version of the movie you’ll one day be showing to audiences will look like. If you’re passionate about how you're going to eventually show your story to an audience, this is pretty important, as failure to do so will result in a version of your film reaching audiences that you did not play much of a role in.
Nobody wants somebody to take something they’ve made and turn it into something else entirely. If you’d like to see a prime example of this, watch Natural Born Killers. One of the most talked about Tarantino films isn’t even really a Tarantino film. ‘You don’t fuck with my material’, Quentin Tarantino told Oliver Stone when handing over his original script, to which Oliver and his team responded by taking his characters and plot and flipping it on its head, creating a new film that doesn’t even come close to resembling what Tarantino originally wrote, to which Tarantino responded by requesting his name be taken off of the writer’s credits.
How the Director Controls a Set.
When a Film is made, hundreds of people are involved other than the Filmmakers, Producers and their cast, there’s also a massive crew who must be considered. If you’re a Director, all of these people are working for you, which means you’re also responsible for feeding them, managing how fast or how slow they work, and their overall mindsets while making a movie and if you at any point assume that these decisions play a key role in the result of the final product, just walk into any retail store and see what happens when a Staff is treated poorly by its managers.
I’m glad I brought up Quentin Tarantino, because the Writer/Director has a very interesting rule on all of his sets: No Cellphones. At the door of a Tarantino set, a ‘Checkpoint Charlie’ will retrieve your device and give it back to you at the end of the day or in case of emergency. On Top of that, there are speakers planted on set, blasting music, chosen by Tarantino for the cast and crew to listen to while working. What results is a very chatty cast and crew, forced to engage each other in between takes or set ups, rehearsing lines and enjoying and embracing the atmosphere rather than trying to escape it. QT also has another very interesting rule: No Sleeping. But breaking this rule won’t result in death, only something worse… Floating around the internet is a photo of Brad Pitt and other Cast members of past Tarantino Films with a giant purple Dildo held against their sleeping faces on set. Morale is key.
Marketing
When shooting's wrapped, editing is almost complete, and everyone involved is very excited and thrilled that the release of their movie has met and maybe even exceeded expectations, now it’s time to release it. But to make sure that goes smoothly, you’ll need to advertise it so that people will know about it.
Which means it’s time to make your trailer. Making a trailer involves just as much writing as the birth of the Final Draft of your Screenplay.. The Filmmaker has a chance here to control how the future audience of their movie will perceive their story, how they absorb it and how they will use that information to make a decision on whether or not they’ll leave their house to go see it.
Here’s another place where studio interference may come into play. Say you’ve got a 3 hour long Western Drama that you’re trying to advertise, but the studio says that since this is a slightly more niche genre of cinema, and given the runtime it would be more wise to make the trailer feel rather fast paced and action packed, containing loud and fast music and sounds of gunshots and screaming! That way when people at home view it, they’ll feel excited, their hearts are racing because you've tapped into a very common human emotion that everybody on the planet could respond to: excitement.
Sure, this approach may sell a lot of seats on opening night, but what will the rest of opening weekend look like? Chances are, pretty blique. Because your Western Drama may indeed be a beautifully executed masterpiece filled with tension and tear jerkers, but the problem you’ll now face is that all of the people who went to see your movie left their houses because they’re big fans of high octane action films and that’s exactly what they were expecting when they came to see your movie. But that’s not what they got, so now they’re upset.
One thing that a lot of Producers today won’t admit is that a Film may not be for everybody, and that’s okay. Because rather than marketing to a broad selection of people who may or may not like your movie, your Audience will do a better job at championing your Film if you chose to only Market to the people who will want to go see it. Even if these numbers are fewer, if those people really enjoy your movie, they’ll do the rest of the marketing for you, which will get you an even bigger fanbase, which can maybe even turn into a cult following. The long term success of what you release will have a major effect on your ability to control future releases. The battles you fight now will win you the war of your career as a filmmaker.
As frustrating, controlling and sometimes crazy Hollywood can be to its Talent, at the end of the day, it's only an outlet for voices looking to speak out, it’s a malleable mechanism used by all of us, and without us it wouldn’t survive and vise versa, so we coexist. Any Film can be a great Film, but aspiring talent may not like to hear that talent will only put words on a page or a subject in frame, the true impact of what you create comes down to something as simple as knowing how to talk to people who aren’t like you, a method also referred to as ‘empathy.’
By Ezra Crittenden
#goodfilm#good movies#2021#kill#justiceleague#quentin tarantino#tarantino#zack snyder#drama#movies#movie#horror#comedy#thriller#romance#theatres#covid#success#opinion#nintendo direct#filmmaker#canada#america#usa
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Little Rose ch. 5
Warnings: cursing, angst, fighting, overdose, flashbacks(if that’s a warning?), a happy ending..
A/n: I wrote down what this chapter was supposed to be focus on, but I got to writing and the focus changed. This fanfic has really fucked up the original timeline of the band, but it’s fanfic so you gotta do spin offs. Not sure how long, I’ll keep writing for this fic. I love this universe along with my others, I’ve created since bringing my work to the public. I’ll stop talking now. Hope you enjoy! :) sorry i missed any grammar errors, what should be warning. I was starting to have a migrane as I was finishing editing.
I loved being on tour, seeing the world, watching my brother and his band doing what they enjoy so much. This tour was different from any other before, Erin, my sister-in-law is pregnant. Axl had updated me about her and my peanut, Erin had braxton hicks the last couple months. Peanut loved kicking the hell out of her ribs all through the day and night, heartburn from hell, swollen ankles, sore feet. Poor Erin was exhausted and she wasn’t even due for another 3 weeks. Axl had been on edge, worrying that he would miss the birth of his first child. Their manager told him that we would be back in LA around a week before she was due. It had helped him some but he was still on egg shells, Axl’s behavior was affecting the band. They never seen him so worrisome before, sure that time I had the flu and food poisoning at the same time. We’re all still so young, none of us really knew what to expect with his daughter on the way.
Duff was in the shower, I was sitting at the table that was in our room, looking over dates. Some many shows and interviews, I don’t see how they function this shit especially on tour. “Hey Pumpkin, what are you doing over there?”, Duff said. I looked up to see a white towel low on his hips, “Just passing time. Get dressed, you’re dripping all over the floor”, I said. “When is baby Rose due again?”He asked. “Huh oh uh”, I flipped through the planner. “September 24th, if she’s not stubborn. Poor Erin is miserable right now”, I smiled, thinking of Erin all swollen belly, waddling around, mental cursing Axl for making her pregnant. “Izzy and I are betting against Slash that Axl will faint when he’s in the room with Erin”, Duff grinned. “Don’t do that. They’re both scared having their first kid”, I sighed. “I’m sorry I already put 30 bucks on Axl fainting and Erin crushing his hand”, Duff stuck his tongue out. There was a knock on the door, Duff walked over to answer it.
“Hey Izzy”, Duff said, shutting the door. “Hey Izzy, sleep good?”, I asked, shutting my planner. “We need to talk, Jane”, Izzy gritted his teeth. “What now?”, I sighed, trying to read his body language for signs of withdrawal. Izzy was gonna speak but he fainted, He hit the floor hard and started jerking around. “Izzy!”I ran over to him and tried to get him before he hit the floor.
I looked over at him, his lips were blue, he was fighting for air, his heart was beating hard as I felt his chest. “Shit!”I started to panic, I looked at Duff. He was stunned and rubbing his chest. Possible overdose and panic attack, great. “Duff, baby. I need to breathe okay? Breathe with me”, I said. “1,2,3 and breathe out on 4. Duff, I need to call the front desk and have them get the paramedics here”, I said calmly. Duff walked over to the phone, “Izzy, come on wake up”, I looked for bloody track marks or a needle stuck in his clothes. “Ma'am, I need you to move for me. Your friend needs help”, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around to see a tallish, dark haired behind me. “Yeah, sorry”, I said, walking over to Duff. He tears in his eyes, his breathing was out of rhythm again. “Duff, baby I need you to focus on me, okay? Izzy is gonna be alright. Hey look at me”, I whispered, rubbing his arm. “Miss?”, a tiny femme voice asked. I tore my attention from Duff, “Yeah?” “What’s your friend’s name?”She asked. “Izzy Stradlin, 26, April 8th, 1962”, I realized what she was doing. “Okay thank you. What happened? You two didn't take anything right?”
“He came into our room, said he needed to talk to me about something, he collapsed before he got to me and said what he needed. We didn’t take anything. I’m just gonna save you and your partner trouble. Izzy is on heroin and some sorta pills”, I said, looking at Izzy being pulled on the stretcher. “Alright, thank you. I’m sorry you two witnessed his overdose”, She gave a small smile. “Thanks. I have to tell my brother what happened and we’ll be at the hospital”, I said as Izzy was pushed out of the room. “What the hell?!”, I heard Axl yell. “Janiee!!”He rushed into the room. “What happened to Izzy?”, Axl yelled. “Knock it off, you’ll trigger another panic attack for Duff. Izzy collapsed when he came in here, apparently it’s an overdose according to the medics. Axl, I’m so scared”, I cried, Axl pulled me into his arms. “Shhh, it’s okay. We’ll go see Izzy when we can. I’m not gonna let him join the 27 club a year early or ever”, Axl brushed my hair.
The doctor finally told us what happened to Izzy, he swallowed his entire pill stash, overdosed into a coma. Highly recommend we cancel our show this week. “You can go see him, but one at a time”, the doctor said. “Janie, you go”, Axl gave a weak smile. “Alright”, I turned the knob and shut the door behind me. Izzy laid still on the bed, wires stuck in him, IV bag by his beside with other machines. His face was pale like a ghost, he looked skinnier than usual. “Izzy, it’s me Janie. Can’t believe you overdosed, I thought you were wanting to get clean. You were over the heroin shit and you started pills. Please wake up Izzy! I need you just a bit longer, you’re my big brother. Who else is gonna listen to me when I’m pissed off at Duff?”, I held his hand. Machines just beeped and oxygen was flowing in his nose. “I read where coma patients can hear what’s going around them. I hope you can hear me because I want you to know that I love you very much. Please get better soon. I’m gonna go now, Axl will be pitching a fit if he doesn’t get to see you”, I smiled. “Normally you would bitch if I hugged you without asking, but tough shit”, I walked up his bed, to hug him. I held Izzy to me the best I could. His heart was still beating fast, but was slower than this afternoon. His bourbon, smoky, vanilla scent was comforting as always but I was the one having to comfort him.
“You okay?”, Duff asked. “Oh yeah, I just hate seeing him like that”, I said. “I’m gonna see him now”, Axl whispered. I slid down the wall and brought my knees to my chest. Duff pulled me into his lap, “Is he gonna be okay? He looks so pitiful, Duffy”, I asked, holding his hand. “He’s a fighter, little scrappy but yes, he’ll be okay. I know you told him to get better, he always listens to you. Izzy bitches about it but he does it anyways”, Duff whispered. “Yeah”, I smiled a little
“Now, Janie, I have a friend coming over. Please don’t bother us, I don’t want the little sister crap.”, Bill said. “Alright Billy, I’ll stay out but I wanna meet the poor soul that decided to be friends with you, chicken legs”, I rolled my eyes. “Fine, you can say hi but then you go to your room or go talk to Amy”, Bill groaned. The doorbell rang, “I got it”, Bill said, racing to the door. “Hey, glad you could make it.”, Bill said. “Hey. Sorry it took so long, mom wasn’t at home. She doesn't like my brothers to be alone”, a voice said. “I understand that. I have three siblings”, Bill laughed. Bill’s friend walked in as Bill shut the door. “This is my younger sister, Janet, but we call her Janie for short”, Bill said, rolling his eyes. “Hi”, I blushed. “Hi yourself. My name’s Jeff, but everyone knows me by Izzy”, the brown headed boy said. Izzy was looking at me, I felt weird and pulled my sweatshirt sleeve down. “Alright, Janie. Leave now”, Bill said.
Another flashback
I was searching for Bill, he was nowhere to be found. “You promised me that you would bring me home, Billy”, I cried even more. My boyfriend had broken up with me because he wanted Jackie Anderson, head cheerleader. I passed the bleachers heading towards home. “Janie?”, I heard a familiar voice. I turned around and saw Izzy with the stoners(his buddies) and Pam Macy hanging on his arm. “Hey, what happened? You’re crying”, Izzy threw his cigarette bud down and walked towards me. “Eric broke up with me. Said I wasn’t good enough and that I wasn’t a cheerleader, he wanted to be with the head cheerleader instead.”, I tried to hold my tears back. “I’m sorry Janie, he was an asshole anyways. You’re a good girl and any guy would be lucky to have you. It’s his lost and Bill and I hated him.”, Izzy reached up to pet my hair. “Thanks Iz. I’m gonna go home now”, I tried to push by him. He had my wrist, “Come on, I’ll take you for food. My treat”, Izzy smiled. “What about Pam?”, I asked. “You’re my favorite girl and you’re heartbroken, I gotta pay attention to you now”, Izzy smirked.
“You’ve never listened to the Stones? Janie!”, Izzy threw his head back groaning. “I’m sorry that my step dad thinks that rock n’ roll is devil’s music”, I said. The bell rang, someone had walked in. “Janie! There you are!”, Bill said, rushing to our table. “Bill, lay off. I found her”, Izzy said. Bill looked at my face, “What happened? You were crying” “Eric broke up with me today for a cheerleader”, I said almost crying. “She passed the bleachers and I saw her. I decided to bring her for food”, Izzy said. “Thanks Izzy. I’m sorry about Eric, he was just an asshole anyways”, Bill pulled me into his chest. “Izzy said the same thing”, I said. “I know, I was at the meeting”, Bill laughed. I looked at Izzy and smiled. He winked at me.
That was when I realized Izzy was the older brother I always wish I had besides Axl. He was protected and took care of me, I love him for it. “Janie”, Axl said. “Yeah?”, I looked up at him, Duff was holding his hand out for me. Management had come to me about Izzy overdosing well fainting in my room. They wanted to know if I knew what caused Izzy to swallow his entire pill stash. I decided to turn on the radio for a while, sure enough ‘Paint it Black’ came on. First Stones’ song Izzy showed me, it was in his car when he brought me to smoke weed with him near Chicago.
It had been 96 hours since Izzy was in a coma, he finally woke up and we all rushed to the hospital to see him. “Janie, you go in first”, Axl said. “Why? He’s your best friend”, I sassed. “Lady’s first”, Slash grinned. “Fine”, I walked in. There was a nurse taking Izzy’s vitals when I walked in. “Are you family?”, The blonde nurse asked. “Baby sister”, Izzy answered before I could think of something. “Oh well. I’m done here for now, you can come see your brother”, She smiled. “Thank you”, I said. “Hey Kid, just woke up from a killer nap”, Izzy joked. “Jeffery Dean! You fucking overdoesed because you decided to swallow your pills like candy. Don’t joke about that, you could have actually died. You know what? Fuck your joke, you had us worried to death. Izzy, you fell in mine and Duff’s room in front of us. You came in and said you had something to tell me. Duff barely closed the door before you collapsed on the floor”, I was fuming. “I’m sorry Janie. Management told me to get rid of them, housekeeping found one of my stashes. I panicked.”, Izzy said. “So instead of flushing them like a normal person you popped them like Tic Tacs like some manic?”, I rolled my eyes. Izzy stayed silent. “Your turn Ax”, I said walking out.
Axl and the boys walked in and I decided to go get a coffee from downstairs. I walked up to the nursing station, “Uh hi. Do you have any idea when Izzy Stradlin is being discharged?” “Hi, what’s the birthday?”, a petite brunette smiled. “7-8-62”, I nodded. “Looks like he needs a doctor to talk to him about his overdose and a last check up then he should be released maybe this evening”,She said. “Are they gonna send him to rehab?”, I asked. “Looks like it might be possibly, he was in a coma for 4 days”, She said. “Are you his girlfriend?”She stood up. “No, more like the baby sister he never had”, I gave a small smile. “Janie?”, Steven said. “Yeah? Izzy okay?”, I walked over to him. “Izzy’s fine, but we need to talk to you”, Steven said. “Okay”, I followed behind. “Listen, this is your sister, friend and now girlfriend talk not our assistant right now”, Steven stopped, before we reached Izzy’s room. I nodded my head. Everyone was sitting down, Izzy was lying down. “Hey”, I shut the door.
“What happened four days ago was hell, we almost lost Izzy. After, you left Izzy told us how you yelled at him for his drug stash. We’ve made the decision to go to rehab together”, Axl said. “That’s great, but you have a kid on the way.”, I said. “We’re going after she’s born, pretty sure Izzy is going first anyways. We’re gonna go to the same place together”, Axl reassured. “Not to be a bitch, but why was I brought into this. This is a band thing not the singer’s sister and the band”, I looked at Izzy. “You’ve been here since the beginning, we value your opinion”, Slash finally spoke up from leaning on the wall. The doctor came into the discharge Izzy, the band went different ways. “Seeing Izzy overdose in our room, you run to him with fear in your eyes. I realized that I don’t want that to be me and you freaking out”, Duff said. “Not sure what to say, but I really hope you guys get clean and stay clean. I don’t want to lose my boys so soon”, I hugged him. “You can’t get rid of me that easy, Janie”, Duff held me. “Good, I don’t want to get rid of you yet either”, I said, inhaling his scent.
Izzy got discharged and we flew back to L.A. before Erin gave birth. Almost 5 days that we got back, Erin gave birth to the new addition to the Guns N’ Roses’ family. Sarah Aless Rose-Everly, 7lbs and 4oz.
#guns n roses x reader#duff mckagan x reader#oc!reader#izzy stradlin x reader#axl x reader#guns n roses imagine
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