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softlass27 · 3 years

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whoops, this is long after midnight. oh well!

Robron Week Day 6: Family

Fed up with Chas and Paddy fighting in front of Eve yet again, Aaron decides to take her away for the day.

AO3 link here

“Ah, shit,” Robert muttered, frowning at the bread bag in his hands.

Aaron looked up from where he was shoving an extra bottle on suncream into a bag. “What’s up?”

“Bread’s gone mouldy.”

“What, already?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, I’ll nip to David’s and get some fresh – ”

“He’s closed the shop today, remember? Him and Eric have that family do on.”

“Okay, we’ll just have to stop at Tesco or something and buy some sandwiches.”

“Or you could nip to the pub and see if Marlon’ll make us some? Maybe those chicken and avocado ones he’s started doing?”

Aaron sighed and set the bag down. “Seriously?”

“What?” Robert shrugged innocently. “They’ll be nicer than some shop-bought ones.”

“Why do I have to go?”

“Look, if you go now, I’ll get the rest of the food sorted and handle getting Seb ready. Deal?”

“Fine.”

Aaron power-walked up to the pub, checking the time on his phone as he went. It was a bright, sunny Saturday morning – the first warm weekend of the year – so they’d decided to take Seb to the beach for the day.

The pub wasn’t due to open for another couple of hours, so Aaron bypassed the main entrance and went straight for the back door, only to stop short at the sight in front of him. There on the doorstep sat Eve, still in her pyjamas with her knees pulled up to her chin and tears streaming down her face.

“Hey, squirt.” He approached her slowly, keeping his voice soft. “What’s with the tears?”

Eve just shrugged, wiping her nose with her sleeve.

Aaron crouched down to her level, lightly chucking her under the chin.

“Come on, what’s the matter? Has something happened? Someone upset you?”

She hesitated for a moment, before getting to her feet and pushing the door open to step inside. Aaron followed her and was immediately assaulted with the sounds of his mum’s furious shouts coming from upstairs, loud enough to echo through the house. They were soon followed by Paddy shouting back just as angrily, his voice high-pitched and defensive.

Aaron sighed and picked Eve up for a cuddle. “What’s going on?”

“Dunno,” she said into the fabric of his t-shirt, breath hitching. “Mummy’s been cross with Daddy since last night.”

“For god’s sake.” Aaron muttered through gritted his teeth, scowling as her carried her into the back room.

His mum and Paddy had sworn to him that this sort of thing would stop, that if they had to fight, they’d at least make sure Eve wasn’t around to see or hear it. He set her down in front of the TV, where Saturday morning cartoons were playing.

“Okay, I have to speak to Uncle Marlon really quick, then I’ll be right back. Wait here, alright?”

He darted through to the pub’s kitchen, where Marlon was preparing food with the radio blaring. When he caught sight of Aaron in the doorway he jumped a mile and scrambled to switch it off.

“God, make a noise, would you?”

“Yeah, sorry. Can I ask a favour?”

Marlon sighed heavily, putting his peeler down on the counter. “I suppose?”

“Me n’ Robert need some sarnies but our bread’s mouldy and David’s is shut. I was wonderin’ if you wouldn’t mind whipping us up a few?”

“Sorry, you think I have the free time to just make you and your husband a packed lunch?”

“It’s not like the pub’s open yet.”

“I’m still busy!” Marlon threw his hands in the air. “Just because there’s no customers doesn’t mean I don’t have meals to prep, do you know how long it takes to do ratatouille?”

“… I don’t even know what that is. Please, you’ll be doin’ us a massive favour, I’ll owe you one.”

Marlon held out for about five seconds, before rolling his eyes and grabbing the bread. “Fine. How many am I making for?”

“Three.” There was a sudden loud thump from upstairs, the sound of something being shoved or thrown to the floor, shortly followed by the loudest shout yet.

“They’ve been at it all morning,” Marlon grumbled irritably. “That's why I had the radio on so loud.”

Aaron glanced up at the ceiling, thinking quickly.

“Y’know what, make that enough sandwiches for four, actually.”

He left the kitchen without waiting for an answer and returned to the back room.

“Hey, how d’you fancy a day at the beach with me, Rob and Seb?”

Eve’s head whipped away from the TV to look at him, her eyes lighting up hopefully. “Today?”

“Yep, we can go right now. What d’you think?”

“Yes!”

They went to Eve’s room upstairs so Aaron could help her get ready, digging some beachwear and a swimming costume out of her wardrobe and doing his best to distract her every time the sounds of shouting from behind her parents’ closed bedroom door increased in volume.

“Oh no,” Eve froze as Aaron tied her shoelaces for her, looking at him with alarm. “I don’t have a bucket and spade.”

“That’s alright, we can get you a bucket and spade when we get there.”

“Will they have pink ones?”

“I’m sure they will.”

Picking her back up with one hand and grabbing her backpack with the other, he tiptoed down the stairs and made his way back to the kitchen.

“Those sandwiches ready, Marlon?”

“Here you go.” Marlon handed over a tupperware box. “There’s some leftover crisps in there, too.”

“Cheers, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Marlon!” Eve waved her current favourite stuffed bear at him with excitement. “I’m goin’ to the beach!”

“Wow, lucky you!” Marlon grinned at her. “Alright for some.”

Aaron let her slide down to the floor and passed her the tupperware. “Why don’t you go wait by the door for me, yeah?”

Eve nodded and exited the kitchen, holding onto the sandwiches tightly.

“Do, er, do Chas and Paddy know you’re taking her?”

“Nope.”

“Is that wise? Not letting them know?”

“Marlon, they were so busy tearing strips off each other they didn’t even notice me comin’ upstairs and getting her ready to leave with me.” He sighed heavily. “They can’t keep doing this in front of her, it’s not fair. I couldn’t just leave her sitting around by herself, not with all that goin’ on.”

Marlon chewed his lip. “I suppose you’re right. I always tried to keep my relationship problems hidden from April when she was that age – not that I always managed it,” he added with a slightly sad smile. “I wish those two would try a bit harder sometimes. Eve’s lucky to have you for a brother, honestly.”

“Cheers, Marlon. And good luck with your rata-whatever.”

“Ratatouille.”

“Yeah, that.”

He led Eve outside, pulling his phone out of his pocket and tapping on his mum’s contact. It took a few rings before she answered.

“Hi love, now’s not really a good time – ”

“This won’t take long,” Aaron cut her off sharply. “Just thought I’d let you know that Eve’s with me, I’m takin’ her out for the day.”

There was a short silence, followed by a noise of confusion. “Wait, what? What do you mean she’s with you? She’s downstairs watching cartoons.”

“She was, but now I’ve got her. I’ll bring her back sometime tonight.” He glanced at Eve, who was playing with her bear a couple of feet away, and lowered his voice. “Or I can always just let her stay over at mine, if you and Paddy need some more time to hurl abuse at each other?”

“What? No, we’re not – I’m just, I’ve been so tired this week, Aaron, and Paddy was getting on my last nerve, you won’t believe what he said to – ”

“Save it, Mum, I really don’t care. I’m just letting you know where your kid is, in case you were interested. Talk to you later.”

He hung up and slid the phone in his pocket, before taking Eve’s hand and leading her towards the Mill. She talked excitedly the entire way, all traces of her earlier upset gone as she babbled about everything she wanted to see and do at the beach.

They entered the Mill to find Robert and Seb sitting on the sofa, shoes on and ready to go.

“Hey,” Aaron kicked the door closed behind him. “Room for one more?”

Robert’s eyes briefly flickered down to Eve before he looked back at Aaron. They held each other’s gaze for a split-second, before Robert nodded in understanding.

“Course there is.” He got to his feet and grinned at Eve. “Come on then, sooner we get there, sooner we can get started on the world biggest sandcastle.”

Seb whooped loudly and took off outside, grabbing Eve’s hand as he went, the two of them chatting animatedly to each other as they dashed for the car.

“Your mum and Paddy at it again?” Robert asked quietly.

“Yelling loud enough to make the windows shatter. She might need to stay over tonight if that’s okay?”

Robert sighed and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Like you have to ask. Come on, we'd better get a move on before Seb tries to drive off without us.”

The four of them had a great day. They managed to snag themselves a decent spot on the sand, with enough space for them to build what did turn out to be a pretty epic sandcastle. They took the kids paddling and rock pool exploring, Aaron kicked a football about with Seb while Robert helped Eve look for seashells. And when the kids were happy enough playing with each other, Aaron got to stretch out in the sun next to Robert, sighing contentedly as his husband played with his hair with one hand and held a book with the other.

Saturdays didn't get much better than that. Aaron must’ve snapped about a hundred photos on his phone, saving a great one of Robert with his freckles coming out in full force as his new wallpaper.

As the afternoon drew to a close, they packed up their things and wandered along the seafront until they found a nice-looking pub on the seafront, deciding to stop there for their tea before heading back home. Since the air was still warm, they parked themselves on one of the outdoor tables, a young waitress bringing out a couple of children’s menus and crayons for them.

While they waited for their order to arrive, Eve started using the crayons on the colouring-in section of the menu, tongue poking out in concentration, while Seb pulled a few handfuls of rocks and pebbles out of his pocket, pouring them onto the table.

“Dad, are any of these fossils?”

“Let’s have a look.”

Aaron spread them out and the two of them bent their heads over each one, Aaron showing Seb what to look for. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eve repeatedly pushing her hair out of her eyes with increasing frustration, only for the coastal breeze to blow it back in her face again, blocking her view of the picture she was trying to colour.

“Rob, can you get – ?”

Robert nodded and pulled Eve along the bench towards him. “C’mere, let’s get this sorted otherwise you’re gonna end up with a proper bird’s nest.”

He grabbed a hairbrush and a bobble out of one of the bags and started brushing Eve’s hair, doing his best to tame the messy tangle of curls. He’d just finished putting it in a neat-ish plait, when the waitress reappeared with their food. Aaron quickly moved Seb’s rock collection aside so she could put the plates down and Robert picked up Eve’s colourin, carefully folding it and putting it away so she could finish it later.

“Thank you,” Seb said to the waitress when she set his plate down in front of him, keen as ever to talk to adults like he was one of them.

“Fank you!” Eve immediately copied him, even as her mouth was full with a handful of chips she’d already started scoffing.

The waitress smiled fondly at them both. “You’re very welcome.” She glanced towards Aaron and Robert. “Well-mannered, aren’t they?”

“Hm, when they want to be,” Robert said lightly, tucking a napkin into Eve’s collar before she inevitably got ketchup all over her t-shirt.

“You should see them in the mornings,” Aaron added. “Then you might change your tune.”

She just laughed and shook her head. “You have a lovely family.”

Huh.

Aaron froze, eyes flicking to Eve before he looked at Robert, who also had a slightly surprised expression on his face. It was a fair assumption, he supposed – no one would guess he and Eve were siblings, not with their age gap, not when he and Robert were closer in age to most parents than his mum and Paddy were.

“Oh, uh, actually she’s my – ”

“Thank you,” Robert talked over him loudly, mouth upturned in a polite smile. “That’s nice of you to say.”

“Is there anything else I can get for you?”

They both shook their heads and she went back into the bar, while the kids both tucked into their food hungrily, oblivious to what had just happened. Aaron slowly picked up his knife and fork, catching Robert’s eye.

“She thought… ”

She thought Eve was ours.

“Yeah.” Robert popped a chip in his mouth, raising an eyebrow at him. “Is that so bad?”

Aaron stared at him for a moment. He thought of his mum and Paddy, probably still back at the pub screaming bloody murder or giving each other the silent treatment, filling the house with a frosty atmosphere. Or perhaps Paddy had stormed out, hiding in the surgery and leaving his mum to stew, oblivious to anyone or anything other than her own anger.

He thought of how Eve would have spent her day if he hadn’t popped into the pub for sandwiches, and felt his stomach turn. She would have spent it stuck in among the tension, miserable and lonely and probably spending her Saturday bored out of her mind. He shot a glance at her now, sitting across from him with a happy smile on her face, cheeks pink from the sun as she nattered away to Seb in-between bites of her food.

“Nah. It’s not.”

#robron week #rw2021 #my writing #meh i'm not totally happy with this one but oh well #robron

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emberfrostlovesloki · 4 years

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#4 Reader X SickSpencer

Gif credit: @stunudo

Prompt: Reader X SickSpencer - Spencer catches a cold and doesn’t come into work on Monday morning. The reader goes to his apartment to check and see if he is doing alright.

Category: Fluff / Comfort

Content Warning: Language (maybe)

A/N: After watching the episode where Spencer gets tortured I had an infinite need to write something where he gets comforted by someone. This is pretty domestic and fluffy, but it’s what I needed right now. I want to thank @veraiconcos for helping me with the inspiration for this chapter. I hope you all enjoy it. Please like / reblog!

Link to all stories

_y/n_ = your name

_y/l/n_ = you’re last name

_h/c_ = hair color

_b/s_ = brother/ sister

_h/l_ = hair length

_f/c_ favorite color

_Y/n_ walked into the headquarters of the BAU with a pep in her step. She had spent most of the weekend hiking the paths of Ricketts Glenn State Park in Pennsylvania. She had taken the train up after she had clocked out of work and spent the rest of the weekend disconnecting from the world. She found the forested paths relaxing compared to her normal job she was bound to. She had asked if Morgan or Prentiss wanted to join her, but both of her teammates already had plans for the weekend. In total the woman had walked over fifty miles. At noon on Sunday _y/n_ sadly said goodbye to her campsite, and drove herself to the airport. She had arrive at the office before everyone on Monday morning. She hadn’t gotten any work done during her outdoor experience. Because of this she arrived at her desk early in order to make a dent in the pile of paperwork she had left behind on Friday. When she sat down at the white desk _y/n_ noticed that some of the files she was least looking forward to were nowhere to be found. She didn’t think too hard about it for the moment, and just grabbed another file instead. After an hour, the other members of the team started streaming into the bullpen. _Y/n_ noticed that at 8:00 A.M. Morgan, Prentiss, J.J., Hotch and Gideon were all present, except for Dr. Reid. Agent _y/l/n_ looked around the room once more just to make sure that the young man wasn’t actually there, and she was just missing him. Spencer had never been late to work before. He had actually picked her up multiple times when she had texted him in a panic that it was raining and the trains would run late, and she’d probably get fired for being two minutes late. She knew that her fears were unfounded, she also knew that Spencer knew her fear was stupid. None the less he would pull up to her apartment and swing the passenger side door open from the inside. Those had been good rides. When _y/n_ was very sure she had not missed Spencer she walked up to Morgan who was just now walking up to his desk. She leaned against his desk and asked, “Morning, do you know where Reid is? Also, I’m missing some files from my desk, any idea where they may be?” Derek smiled and said, “I can explain both questions sweetness.” _Y/n_ rolled her eye’s at Morgans flattery but still raised her eyebrows, non verbally telling him to continue. Morgan took a seat and continued, “Reid is sick, apparently he caught a cold. About your missing files, your boyfriend stayed late last Friday, last I saw of him he had taken about ten of your case files to his desk, and was filling them out himself.” Before _y/n_ had a chance to process that Derek had called Spencer her boyfriend she replied, “Oh my gosh, is he okay? When did he get sick?” Morgan smiled as she realized what term he had used for her friend. She grabbed one of his case files and started hitting him over the head with it. The athletic agent put his hands over his head and said, “Reid got sick on Saturday. He texted us on Sunday that he had a fever and Hotch told him to stay home.”

Before _y/n_ could ask more questions, J.J. entered the room and said, “We have a case, let’s head into the conference room to talk over the details.” When the team was assembled, Hotcher stood up and started explaining the case. “We’re looking for an unsub that has killed congressman Luke Allen. The murder took place in the senators office last night at 1:00 A.M. His body was found today by his aid, Gracie Suveua. There was no apparent forced entry. The senators most popular contributions on Capitol Hill have been his working and signing the bill regarding Obergefell vs. Hodges in 2015.” The team nodded and agent _y/l/n_ commented, “So we may be looking for a person that has problems with the implications of gay marriage in the Supreme Court: religious extremists, opposing party members or a person from another radical religions that oppose LGBTQ+ rights.” Gideon agreed and replied, “That’s a great start for a profile. Hotch and Derek, would you head over to the sight of the murder. J.J. would you give Penelope our main facts so far and get her to do a database search based off of those criteria. Prentiss, _y/n_ and I will head over to the police precinct to ask some questions and gather information from the force.” After a minute of gathering in their separate groups, the teams went their separate ways to begin the hard work of the new case. Prentiss and _y/n_ weren’t thrilled to be going to the prescient. The officers were mostly of a male demographic, and often ignored comments that both female agents had made before, and turned out to be true later. Nonetheless, the trio whisked away to the station. When they arrived, the Police chief heartily shook Jason’s hand, but chose not to shake Emily of _y/n’s_. The two agents looked at each other, shrugged and moved into the sleek building after Gideon. It wasn’t until 9: 30 P.M. that the team was back to the conference room debriefing the information that they had accrued during the course of the day. After the debrief was over Aaron said, “I think we will be better use to this case if we all get some sleep and pick this up tomorrow. I don’t think that we aren’t at risk of another victim being killed tonight. If we work hard there won’t be a second death to follow the first. Get some sleep and I’ll see you all tomorrow morning.” Each member of the team slowly got up, in their fatigue and moved out of the bright room and back toward their desks. When _y/n_ got to her desk she slumped down in her swivel chair. She pulled out her phone and looked at the message she had missed. She ignored a text from her mom and instantly scrolled down to the text that Spencer had sent her. The message read, “I’m still feeling pretty bad. I’m sorry that I can’t be useful in this case.” _y/n_ observed the text, and thought about how Spencer threw himself into his work 110% of the time and maybe it was batter that he had a break from work, even if he had to feel like shit to get to that place.

Before she could respond to the message that Reid had sent three hours ago Morgan approached _y/l/n_ and asked, “Do you need a ride home? Taking the train right now isn’t exactly safe.”_Y/n_ looked up to him and said, “I think I’ll go check on Reid first. Would you mind taking me to his apartment?” Morgan raised his eyebrows at the statement, and after a moment of silence said, “Sure thing.” The agents moved to the parking lot where Derek’s car sat ready to take off. _Y/n_ had sold her car when she had moved to D.C. to pay the deposit on her crappy apartment. She had always told herself that she would buy a new car when she had the money. Even though she had been working on the BAU unit for over a year she had never bought a car. She preferred the train anyway. When the agent got onto the car Morgan smoothly moved out of his spot and into the empty road. _Y/n_ pulled out her phone and texted Spencer back saying, “Sorry you’re still feeling bad. I am going to come over and see if you’re doing okay. Be there in about twenty minutes.” When she finished sending the text she put her phone in her pocket and looked out the front window at the empty road. After a minute Derek commented, “You really like him, don’t you?” The male agent had his big brother voice on when he asked the question. _Y/n_ pulled her hand through her _h/c_ before responding, “Derek you know how I feel about him. You don’t have to interrogate me. But it might be helpful if you didn’t call Spencer my boyfriend in front of him. You know how he gets when it comes to affection.” Morgan smiled. He knew that both agents had spent a good amount of time together outside of work. He thought that they made a good couple, but also that they hadn’t said anything about their feelings to each other yet. Morgan respected that they were moving slowly, that really was more their style anyway. Derek replied, “I get you. Plus, I wouldn’t want to jeopardize any chance you might have in letting him tell you that he likes you.” As he finished his statement the duo pulled into the front of Reid apartment building. She looked over to her friend and said, “You know nothing may happen. If it’s just platonic I’d get it. But I do love him.” Derek smiled at the fact that she had actually said the words out loud. He responded, “Go get him tiger.” She rolled her eyes and stepped out of the car. _Y/n_ leaned back in to say, “If I get anything it will probably be a cold from our resident genius,” before closing the door, waving and walking into the apartment.

When she was in the apartment she took a moment to enjoy the sleek interior of the building. She was always jealous of the coffee shop that the contained. She had to walk three blocks to get to a coffee shop from her apartment. Secretly she was grateful for this fact, because if her apartment had a cafe she knew she would spend all her money there. She was brought back to the moment when the elevator dinged and opened. The agent waited for the occupants of the elevator to get out, and she stepped in once it was empty. She pressed the cool round metal button that read ‘5.’ The moving contraption stopped twice for other residents to get in the metal box before _y/n_ got out on floor five. When she was outside Spencer’s door she realized that she had never checked her messages before just showing up at his room. She pulled out her cellular device, and saw that he had not responded. _Y/l/n_ thought, ‘Maybe he’s asleep? Or maybe he’s feeling really bad and didn’t want me to come?’ The agent panicked for a moment, considering that Spencer might be too ill to respond. After a moment she calmed down and knocked on the door. It took a minute before she heard light shuffling outside the door. She could barely hear her friend say, “Who is it?” _Y/n_ rolled hey eyes at the question; all he had to do was look out his peep hole. After quietly laughing she said, “It’s _y/n_. Can I come in?” The door opened slightly and _y/n_ could see a small sliver of Dr. Reid. She tried to ascertain his sickness level from the shade of his face. Spencer stood for a minute calculating how risky it would be for him to let her in. He said in a raspy voice, “I might get you sick. You know that 3% of American’s have a 64% chance of getting a cold during the year.” _Y/n_ smiled and replied, “I’m happy you’re still coherent enough to give me statistics Spence, and if I’m going to get a cold I’d rather it be from you, and not some random person on the street. I’m just here to make sure you don’t stay sick for longer than necessary.” Reid reconsidered the odds. How old _y/n_ was, how active she was and her general health. After he finished his assessment the young man opened the door and allowed his friend in.

When she was in the apartment the female agent set her backpack by the front of the door. Spencer had stepped back in an attempt to lower the rate of transmission. While he was doing this _y/n_ looked him over. He was paler than usual, and his cheeks were flushed red. His hair was limply hanging around his cheeks that were more sunken in than usual. Even in his comfortable looking Yale sweatshirt and grey shorts, the man looked miserable. _Y/n_ looked at him sympathetically and said, “Maybe you should take a seat?” Reid replied, “Do I really look that bad?” She shrugged her shoulders and sighed, but didn’t tell him verbally that he looked like a kid who had fallen into a swimming pool in his clothes by accident. She walked over to the coach and Spencer followed her. He sunk down into the dark fabric of the couch leaning his head against the back. She pulled a chair up while he was seated and asked, “Can I feel your forehead?” When the words were out of her mouth _y/n_ realized how strange it sounded, but Spencer didn’t seem to think it was weird - maybe because he was slightly delirious - or he just knew to expect strange expressions that he didn’t understand come out form her lips. So he replied, “Okay.” _Y/n_ stood up from her chair and knelt on the couch next to Spencer and lifted her hand. She placed it on his forehead. His skin was hot. For the moment that _y/n’s_ hand was on his head Spencer enjoyed it. The cool sensation of her hand was relaxing. He wished it stayed there for a moment longer. The genius realized that the concept was completely illogical because the heat of his fevered body would simply begin transferring to her hand. It only took a second for _y/n_ to realize that Spencer was still running a high temperature, and even though she didn’t need to, she slipped her hand under his chin to check the temperature there too. She assumed she did this because her mom had done it when she was a kid. She pulled her hand away again for the second time and got up. Spencer leaned his head back to look at _y/n_ as his friend moved toward his bathroom. He heard the tap turn on, and after a few seconds, she returned to his side with a small hand towel. She was holding her hand under it so that it didn’t drip water on his wooden floors. “When did you last check your temperature, and how high was it?” _Y/n_ inquired as she placed the damp towel on his hot forehead. Spencer breathed a sigh of relief at the coolness of the cloth. He then responded, “I checked it two hours ago. I think it was around 100.72 degrees. She nodded at the reply and then asked, “Have you eaten yet today?” The young genius was notorious for completely forgetting that he needed to nourish his slender body on a regular basis. So she could only imagine that while he was sick, food was the last thing on his mind. He gave the response she expected of, “No. I’ve felt kind of nauseous all day, I didn’t think eating was going to help with that.” _Y/n_ rolled her eyes and said, “Have you ever considered that not eating could make you nauseous too?” The young woman got up and went into the kitchen. She opened the fridge and only found a carton of eggs and a few containers of leftovers. She turned to Spencer and asked, “Why don’t you have any food Reid?” Spencer gave a cough before defended himself by saying, “I normally go grocery shopping on Sunday, but I was sick, so I didn’t go.” _Y/l/n_ understood and said, “Okay. Well I’m going to run down to the corner store and make you some dinner. Do you have a favorite comfort food?” Spencer stood and took a few steps toward her and said, “You really don’t have to. I can take care of myself.” _Y/n_ replied, “I know you can Spence. I just want to be here to show you you don’t have to all the time. Especially when you’re sick.’ Reid bit his lip as he usually did when he was thinking. After a moment he strode to his counter and grabbed the keys to his apartment, and car, and tossed them at _y/n_. She quickly shifted left and grabbed the object being flung at her. Spencer said, “I really like grilled cheese sandwiches.” She smiled and said, “I’ll be back in ten minutes.” Before walking out of his living room and into the hall. She locked the door behind her and moved toward the elevator.

The corner store was limited in it’s selections. But all that really mattered was that _y/n_ had a loaf of white bread, some American cheese, a kind of pathetic looking can of tomato soup, and some orange juice. With these items in her basket the girl moved to the counter and paid for the groceries with cash from her wallet. It wasn’t until she was at the counter paying that she noticed the time. The Digital clock that was displayed behind the cashier glowed in red letters 10:25 P.M. She knew that if she went back to Spencer and made dinner she was going to miss the last train. To the woman it was just a small thought that quickly came and went. She wasn’t going to leave her friend right now. If he was uncomfortable with her staying at his place overnight _y/n_ would get a taxi back to her apartment. Spencer heard the key slide in the door and knew that _y/n_ had returned. He was currently lying down on the couch and didn’t really move that much as she set down a bag on his counter. There was a moment where some glass clinked together, and a second later she was in front of him with a glass of ice water and a glass of orange juice for him. She set them down on the table next to the couch and he said, “Thanks. I’m feeling a little better now.” _Y/n_ smiled and said, “Good, if you want a distraction while I’m making the food you can look over the new case. We’ve been working on it all day and haven’t gotten very far. The files in my bag.” Spencer jolted at the chance of doing something other than feeling miserable, and he got up and found the file in _y/n’s_ backpack. As he walked back toward the couch he noticed that _y/n_ had bought herself a coffee from the shop in the lobby. She shared his taste for sugar filled beverages. Unlike him, she preferred milk in her caffeinated drinks. Spencer grabbed the warm polystyrene cup and took a sip of it while she was digging in his fridge for some butter. Spencer often stole _y/n’s_ snacks or drinks. It was the type of thing that would make her angry for a second and then she would laugh it off for five more. He would always buy her a replacement item, often he would make it a bigger cup of coffee or bar of chocolate than the one she had before. Spencer knew that the young agent was trying to save up money so she could fly down to her _b/s’s_ college graduation in a month. It was the least he could do. After all living in D.C. could be hard on the bank account.

It wasn’t until the soup was on the stove heating up, and the grilled cheese sandwiches were in the pan getting melty that _y/n_ started looking around for her coffee cup. After a minute of futile searching she spotted it in Spencer’s hand. She smirked, moving to the back of the couch, she pretended to look over Reid’s shoulder at the information he was examining. When the man removed the cup from his lips and lowered it toward his leg she grabbed it out of his grasp and said, “Really Reid. This is how you repay me for my help.” Halfway through the sentence and she was already laughing at his antics. She glided to a position in front of him and started bringing the drink to her own mouth when she remembered Spencer was sick. She examined the lid of the cup, and obviously some of his saliva was on the rim of the cup. Reid looked up at her and said, “Sorry I also haven’t had any coffee yet today either.” _Y/n_ sighed and handed him back the cup replying, “You know, I fear that if you asked me to murder someone I would consider it.” Spence smiled up at her. After another five minutes or so the pair were eating a very late dinner at the kitchen table. They were talking about the details of the case. As soon as they had finished eating Spencer asked, “Are you planning on going back to your apartment tonight? The train stopped running a half hour ago.” A blush rose to _y/n’s_ cheeks and replied, “Well. I was wondering if I could just stay here tonight? I need to look through the details of the case again, and do some research. I’ll be quiet.” It wasn’t a super odd request. The pair had stayed up all night before working on cases or having movie marathons, but they had never been at one of their apartments when one, or both of them was going to be sleeping. Spencer looked over to her and said, “Of course you can. I can help you with the research if you want.” _Y/n_ smiled and said, “Thanks for letting me stay. And offering the help, but I think you should get some rest. You aren’t going to get better without sleep.” She smiled at him and began picking up the dishes from their dinner. Spencer helped her put them in the sink and said, “I promise next time it’s my turn to cook. I’ll finish the dishes if you want to take a shower before I turn in.” _Y/n_ considered that she had been in the same clothes for over ten hours and knew that a shower would relax her she said, “that would be great.” She was embarrassed to ask it, but managed to stutter out, “Do you think I could borrow one of your shirts to wear while I work. These aren’t the most comfortable clothes.” Spencer opened his mouth for a moment at the idea and tried to clear his head of the image of her in one of his shirts. The man snapped his mouth shut and his jawline tightened before he responded, “Um, yeah. In my closet on the left hand side are all my t-shirts and sweaters. You can wear any of them.” She said, “Okay. I’ll just be a bit.” She rubbed her hand over his shoulder as she walked in the direction of his bedroom. After a minute Spencer could hear the water running.

The lean agent scrubbed down the dishes and put them in the drainer next to the sink. When he finished with the plates and bowls, he sat back down on the couch with the intention of looking at the case again. His thoughts didn’t allow him to. Instead he was considering how he was feeling. He wondered if it was alright to want these kinds of evenings to happen more often. He knew that he wasn’t that good with women. His few attempts to woe the friends and strangers he had been interesting in had usually gone horribly wrong. Yet, unbelievably a friend had come to check up on him, and was comfortable enough to spend the night at his place. He couldn’t figure out if he had done anything differently with _y/n_ than his other friends. He also was unsure if she felt the same way he did. Maybe she was uncomfortable being here and just needed to stay out of convenience. While Reid was considering the current situation _y/n_ was doing the same. She was running shampoo through her _h/l_ hair and musing over what had happened over the last two hours. She had always wanted, hoped, to get closer to Spencer, but she was afraid that if she moved too fast that he wouldn’t be interested, or worse not want to hang around her at all. She and Spencer did share some of the same hobbies but she hoped that she knew him better than that. She knew how he shied away from physical affection, and how he always seemed so happy when she or Jason told him he had done a good job, and how she knew what his shampoo was going to smell like before she even opened the bottle. She really hoped that her presence, both literally and metaphorically wasn’t making him uncomfortable now. When she was finished with her reverie _y/n_ rinsed out her hair and stepped out of the shower, After another ten minutes Spencer looked up to see _y/n_ in another one of his YALE sweatshirt. It was so long on her shorter body that it covered her like an ill fitting dress. However, Spencer thought she could wear a potato sack and pull it off. He quickly looked away from her to hide his blush.

The duo looked over the cases and _y/n_ hooked up to his WiFi on her computer. After this was finished and _y/n_ had bought herself another coffee (using Reid’s card), she recommended he go to bed. It was already 12:00 A.M. at this point. Spencer relented and headed to his bedroom. Before he went in he said, “Goodnight. If you’ve got any questions you can ask. Just knock on the door.” She smiled and said goodnight back, and told him to sleep well. The agent continued her work for another three hours before she moved to the couch to try and get more comfortable to do her work. The next morning Spencer found _y/n_ laying down on the couch she was clutching a pillow to her chest and had her left leg draped over the blanket she had covered her body with. Spencer dared not walk past her torso in case she was indecent below the leg she had over the blanket. He was feeling much better today, and wished that he could go into work with her, however, it was company policy to wait a full twenty-four hours after a fever to return to work. Spencer knew it was for the safety of his coworkers, but he hated being away from his job. The man knelt down and tapped _y/n_ on the shoulder. She sighed slightly before opening her eyes to see him. She rubbed her eyes and sat up. Spencer quickly averted her eyes as she rose. She looked down at herself and realized that her _f/c_ boy shorts were peeking out from beneath Spencer’s YALE sweater. Her face turned red and she coughed, stood up and pulled the sweater down. She looked at her phone and quietly cursed, “Fuck, I’m going to be late.” Spencer knew that if _y/n_ was fast, and hurried she could catch the train and make it in time. He said, “Go change. If you’re fast you can make the 7:30 A.M. train.” _Y/n_ nodded and grabbed her clothes and ran into his bedroom. She shut the door and didn’t even bother to lock it as she stripped and quickly changed. Reid, who had woken up about thirty minutes before her, and had grabbed some coffee for her and himself. He had meant to wake her up once he had woken up, but he couldn’t disturb her when he had seen her so peaceful. When the woman came out of his room in her usual black pants and satin shirt, she looked ready to fight the crime in the city as she usually did. She put on her shoes and grabbed her things, stuffing them into her backpack. Spencer cleared his throat after she was finished and handed her the coffee. She smiled at him and said, “Thank you so much Spencer, for letting me stay, and the coffee.” Spencer smiled and hesitantly asked, “Would you come back again tonight? In case I need help again. Or feel bad?” It took a moment for the words to register and _y/n_ said “Huh?” And maybe it was because it was from lack of sleep, or her just being awake for five minutes, but the meaning of the words struck her after she had responded. She realized that Spencer wanted, that he really wanted to spend another night like they had had yesterday. She smiled up at him and replied, “Of course I’ll come back tonight Spence. I’d love that.” The word love was not lost on the genius, and he took a minute trying to and express his feeling, saying, “You know I really like you. I mean I appreciate you, or I feel things about you…” _Y/n_ wanted really really badly to hear the words come from him, but she knew that she didn’t have a moment to lose or she would be late. She hated cutting him off, but reluctantly said, “I know Spencer, me too.”

At hearing this Spencer gave a heartwarming smile and leaned down to hug her. She quickly gave him a kiss on the forehead and cheek. She then let go of him, and ran out the door, shouting over her shoulder, “I’ll see you tonight!”

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jemej3m · 4 years

Note

HAVE U EVER THOUGHT OF A BAND!AU?? i love band au's and ur work!!! (not to mention but i think u would write an excellent drummer!andrew)

are you kidding me??? have i ever thought of a band au? bruh i breathe band au’s

also, i wanted this to be soft, so have some childhood friends starting a band out of their mum’s garage :DD

“Can I now?”

Neil ducked his head, trying not to show Andrew his grin. “No, ‘Drew.”

Andrew cocked his head. “How about now?”

Neil turned around and arched a singular eyebrow at the man. “You cannot shove your drum stick through Kevin’s brain, Andrew. Not now: not ever.”

“I hate you,” he muttered. Neil just grinned.

“You say the sweetest things to me, ‘Drew.” With that, he turned and continued to tune his acoustic. Behind him, Andrew was going bright red.

What started as a friendly, neighbourhood band had turned into something else entirely: Neil and Andrew were cramped backstage, tuning and warming up. Kevin was probably talking to his mom on the phone, whilst Nicky was most certainly trying to escape their security detail and go flirt with fans in the event centre’s foyer. He could charm a crowd.

They’d started the band up when they were just kids: Neil remembered Kevin grabbing him by the sleeve and dragging him across the street, where he’d noticed the three Dobson boys setting up instruments in their garage: Nicky on bass, Aaron on keyboard and Andrew on his drumkit.

Neil, having been only 11 whilst the others were 12 or 13, wasn’t as outspoken or enthusiastic about joining them as Kevin was.

“Come on, Neil,” Kevin insisted, dragging him by the elbow. “I’ll sing and you play the guitar. Okay?”

“It might be fun, Neil,” his sister, Dan, insisted, giving him a gentle push out the door. “It’s just messing around in a garage band. Nothing serious.”

If little Neil knew where he’d be, nine years later, he probably would’ve spontaneously combusted out of paranoia and fear.

Adult Neil still got anxious - he always wanted to perform his best - but it’d taken years of gigs and scouts and labels to work them up to where they were now. It was a gradual process, which definitely helped the whole stage-fright thing.

“What are you thinking about?” Andrew inquired, sitting down behind Neil and hooking his chin over Neil’s shoulder. He smiled, leaning back against his best friend.

“Just stuff,” he responded. “How we got here. Where we’ll go.”

“Next stop on the tour is D.C.”

“Funny.”

“Yes,” Andrew agreed, deadpan. “That’s what I’m known for.”

Neil just laughed, getting to his feet. “We’d better get ready before Kevin comes back.”

“Your brother is the worst,” Andrew grunted, following suit.

“At least we’re not related,” Neil grinned, jostling Andrew’s shoulder. “You can’t talk: you’re Aaron’s twin.”

Andrew just pointed a stick at Neil in warning.

The lights were flashing. Audience screaming. Neil opened his eyes out of his reverie and looked to his counterparts: Nicky was rushing up and down the front lines, giving out as many hugs as he could. Kevin was waving and blowing kisses. And Andrew -

He stood behind his drumkit, shirtless and dripping with sweat. He still bore his armbands, brimming with blades and secrets, and in his hands he loosely held his favourite pair of drumsticks, a pair Betsy had bought him, one’s he’d been careful to not break.

Neil’s mouth was dry as he walked over to where Andrew stood. A spotlight blazed from above, shrouding Andrew’s head and illuminating his hair like a golden halo. He looked angelic. He was angelic.

“You were amazing,” Neil said, voice lost under the cacophony of the crowd. His hand was reached out, gently brushing the bare skin of Andrew’s bicep. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore: the post-show euphoria was driving him.

Andrew didn’t need to hear him. He could read lips. Read intentions.

They were ushered off the stage soon after, Neil’s ears still ringing, his fingertips still burning. Andrew tugged on a fresh shirt, a towel around his neck. He had the most laborious job out of all of them, save maybe Kevin. Neil looked away from the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck.

“Good show,” Kevin panted, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. Neil nodded, the exhaustion of playing for four hours settling in. His shoulders ached, fingertips raw with playing both his guitar and the keyboard (Neil filled Aaron’s vacancy when he’d fucked off to college) whilst his throat ached from countless harmonies and backups he sung for Kevin.

Genuine praise from Kevin was rare and prized for their band, and was usually reserved to the few moments after a performance finished. Then he’d go back to his regularly scheduled criticisms and evaluations.

“Wasn’t it?” Nicky grinned. “We are such hot shit sometimes! Anyway,” he slung his guitar off to the side, careless. Neil winced a little. “I’ve got a cutie waiting in my car, apparently.” He winked. “His name’s Erik and he’s built like a wall. I’ll see y’all tomorrow!”

“Jesus Christ,” Kevin said, not unkindly. They were all used to Nicky’s antics by now. He looked back to Neil. “You gonna stay with Andrew or me?”

Neil narrowed his eyes. Was he going to stay with his brother or his best friend? The choice wasn’t exactly hard to make.

Kevin put up his hands. “What? I thought you two’d had a lover’s spat or something, before the show.”

“Kevin,” Andrew warned, voice low.

“You guys weren’t as synthesised as you usually are,” Kevin continued. “Did Neil say something, again? Neil, what did you do?”

“Kevin,” Andrew snapped.

The man took his final warning with a grain of salt and rolled his eyes, peeling off to cool down and head back to the hotel. He left Neil standing in the middle of the corridor, baffled. What the fuck was he talking about? A lover’s spat?

“Don’t think too hard, junkie,” Andrew muttered, fingers hooked into the collar of Neil’s shirt. “He’s just sprouting his usual bullshit.” But Andrew couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Right,” Neil agreed, smiling weakly. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“Shut up,” Andrew tugged him down the corridor with a finger hooked through Neil’s belt loop.

Neil went willingly. He always went willingly with Andrew. There was no one else in the world that he trusted more.

“What do you mean, you’re not a thing?”

Neil paused with his fingertips up to the door, ready to push it open. It seemed as though he had stumbled upon a conversation - perhaps not for Neil’s ears.

“He’s not interested,” Andrew said, sounding exhausted. “And I’m not about to pressure him into something he doesn’t want.”

Huh. Maybe they were talking about a new guy. Andrew didn’t date that often - or very successfully - and he was usually not willing to talk to Neil about it whenever it did happen. Neil wasn’t quite sure why but respected his boundaries nevertheless. He just didn’t know that Andrew went to Kevin about it.

Neil wondered who it was, this time. Roland? He’d been the most long-term thing Andrew had ever attempted. No, Andrew said he wasn’t interested in Roland. Unless he was lying.

Andrew doesn’t lie to me, Neil reminded himself.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kevin insisted. “He’s been in love with you ever since he first saw you. Don’t give me that look, Andrew. Put away your knives.”

“Do you think so?” Andrew asked, voice low. Gravelly. Tainted by disbelief.

Something in Neil’s chest tightened. He sounded…hopeful. Neil was arbitrarily jealous. Who was this guy?

Wait, why was Neil jealous?

He pushed against the door, ignoring the way that the two of them shifted so that it didn’t look like they were engaged in conversation.

“We’re loading up the bus,” he supplied. “Time to get moving.”

And if Neil noticed the way that Andrew walked around him, careful not to brush their knuckles, well.

He didn’t say anything.

By the end of the third week, Neil couldn’t handle it anymore. He wasn’t sure what he’d done, or why Andrew was so adamant in avoiding him, but he hated it. He hadn’t felt this isolated since his early years when his father would shut him in a wardrobe and his mother would scold him for eliciting his father’s ire, before both of his parents died and Wymack adopted him into his strange little family, brought him into the tiny cul de sac where Betsy Dobson and Abby Winfield lived with their own collections of abandoned kids.

“Andrew,” he mumbled as he watched Andrew tuck himself into his own bed. They were sleeping in the same hotel room but they were millions of miles away from each other. Neil felt stiff and confused.

Resigned, he shut the light off.

“Fix it,” Kevin demanded.

“Fix what?”

“Just tell him already. It’s getting nauseating.”

Neil narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Kevin threw Neil’s lyric notepad back at him. “‘Living limbless, lost, lonely, ever since you went and left me’? What do you mean, what am I talking about? I thought you two were already together - now he’s saying you were never interested? What the fuck, Neil. You’ve been practically married for years.”

Neil blinked. “Me and -”

“Andrew, yes, who else?” Kevin continued, irritable as he scrawled down new ideas. “You’re so fucking dense sometimes - ow!”

Neil stuck out his tongue, satisfied with the large black line his thrown pen had left behind. He fished out another pen from his bag and kept writing, letting Kevin’s banter distract him from how painful his chest felt.

The tour was ending. They were looping back to South Carolina. Andrew hardly looked at him anymore, let alone spoke to him. Kevin looked at Neil with pity. Nicky tried to cheer everyone up with icecream.

Neil couldn’t understand why they were falling apart. What had he done? What had he said?

The screams irked him. They sounded less ecstatic and more afraid. Neil was falling apart onstage, overthinking. They’d just played for Charleston, one of their last stops on the tour.

The curtains came down. Neil couldn’t move. The others were already off the stage. Neil couldn’t breathe.

“Neil,” Andrew said. He couldn’t look Andrew in the eye. How was he to explain that Andrew’s estrangement had left him in such a miserable state that he could hardly perform without breaking down?

“Neil, look at me.”

Neil closed his eyes. “Whatever I did - I’m sorr -”

“Abram,” Andrew whispered, before pressing a bruising kiss to Neil’s lips. His eyes flew open, though he didn’t move. It didn’t matter: Not a moment later, Andrew ricocheted back, hand over his own mouth. In his other hand, his favourite drumsticks snapped, falling to the floor in uneven halves.

By the time Neil had opened his mouth, Andrew was gone.

Neil spent the drive to the pub they’d chosen to ride out their performance high in silence. Andrew was stoic and unmoving, silent despite Nicky’s attempts at conversation. When they arrived, Neil felt like he wanted to throw up.

It was bustling at the late hour, but dark enough to slip in unnoticed. Neil followed Andrew up to the bar: at one point, someone shoved into Andrew and Neil felt him press Neil against the marble top, warm from shoulder to shin. Neil wanted to lean back into him. He wanted Andrew to look at him, to talk to him. He wanted Andrew back. He wanted Andrew.

Quickly, he turned around, ignoring the bar tender when he asked if he was sure he wanted a virgin martini. Andrew was right there, pupils blown, cheeks red. Angry.

He was furious.

“Andrew,” Neil insisted. “Why -”

He grabbed the tray of drinks and disappeared before Neil could form a sentence.

And - well. Neil wasn’t known for subordination.

He waited patiently for the others to get drunk and disappear into the crowd, like they always did. Sometimes Nicky dragged Neil with him, if the night was right. Andrew usually just sat, patiently waiting for his family to return to him. His whiskey sips were cautious and slow.

Tonight was different. As soon as they were alone, Andrew stood, knocked back the entire glass and strode towards the exit. Neil let his breath hitch and followed, almost jogging in order to keep up with Andrew’s stride.

“Andrew, this is insane,” he said as they walked down the street, leaving the bar behind. “I’m losing my mind here. Why won’t you talk to me? Why won’t you even look at me? What did I do?”

“Exist,” Andrew snarled, hands curled into fists and shoved into the pockets of his denim jacket.

Neil ran ahead of him, almost tripping over the uneven sidewalk. They’d walked far enough that they seemed to have removed themselves from any remnants of the club, and instead were stood in front of a circular, patheon-esque church and its haphazard graveyard.

Andrew stopped walking and stared. In the moonlight his skin was pale enough to be translucent.

“Tell me,” Neil whispered. “Truth for truth. We promised, Andrew. To never lie, to never leave. Why did you kiss me?”

“You promised,” Andrew corrected him. “I swore I would have your back. Does that have to constitute being attached at the hip?”

Neil crossed his arms, petulant.

Andrew’s sigh was aggravated. “It was never meant to be a problem.”

“What was?”

“You.”

“Andrew -”

Fingers curled in the collar of his shirt, then slipped across the warm skin at the nape of his neck, then tangled themselves into Neil’s hair. Andrew pulled their foreheads together, squeezing his eyes closed too tight. Neil wanted to iron out the crease between his brows.

“‘Drew?”

“Shut up,” the man croaked. “Shut up. Shut up.”

“Andrew,” Neil said, weakly. “I wanted to kiss you.”

Andrew’s nails dug into Neil’s scalp. “No you didn’t.”

“Yes,” his fingers carefully found their way onto Andrew’s jaw, forcing the man to look up at him. “I did.”

Andrew just swallowed, red-cheeked.

Neil pulled Andrew closer, head dropping to Andrew’s shoulder. His heart throbbed like a drumbeat, heavy and insistent and never, ever out of time. “Is that what this is about?”

“No,” Andrew lied.

“I think I like you, ‘Drew,” Neil whispered into the skin of Andrew’s neck. “I think I really do.”

“I hate you,” Andrew managed, sliding his hands around Neil’s waist and holding him close under the Charleston moonlight. “I hate you.”

“I know,” Neil managed, closing his eyes. It made a lot more sense, now.

Between their erratic breathing and racing pulses, a drumbeat formed.

#andreil #pining #band au #drummer andrew #guitarist neil #they're soft and in love #childhood friends #betsy dobson is a good mother #and wymack is a good father #musician au #all for the game #andrew minyard #neil josten #aftg #oblivious neil josten #jem writes

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name-me-regret · 4 years

Text

White Roses For My Sister - Chapter One

White Roses For My Sister Chapter One: Her Name Is Billie

Story Summary: Miles Morales is ten years old when his sister Billie is born, and he thinks it’s the best day of his life. He’s a big brother now, and it’s his job to protect her...

Author’s Notes: So, this happened... I was trying to write the next chapter of HMHH and my mom was watching an old Mexican movie. This sprang up from that movie. It’s not an exact replica of the movie, but I take some inspiration from it. I hope this doesn’t turn into a monster, but I ain’t holding my breath. I’m gonna say a tentative 12 chapters... I hope? 😖

I will add tags as the story progresses, so as not to give too much away.

Read it on AO3.

Chapter Summary: Miles is gonna be the best big brother ever...

- - - - "Settle down, it'll all be clear Don't pay no mind to the demons They fill you with fear The trouble it might drag you down If you get lost, you can always be found

Just know you're not alone 'Cause I'm going to make this place your home..."

~Home - Phillip Phillps

- - - -

Miles remembered the day they brought her home, and he had been ecastatic, and terrified at the same time. He had been at the hospital the day she was born, and as soon as he had seen her face, he'd fallen head over heel in love. It was hard not to love her, but with that love came the fear.

He was scared that something would happen to her, so he had gone a bit crazy baby-proofing the apartment with his uncle’s help before his mom was due to come home with her. Her name was Billie, and Miles thought it was the best name ever. He’d made a name plague for her room as soon as he knew what his parents were going to name her.

Well, his Uncle Aaron has helped him a lot, but he’d traced the name onto the wood.

His mom, Rio had laughed when her and his dad came home with Billie. "Dios mio, Miles," she said looking around, "don't you think you might have gone a bit overboard, muchacho?" The Afro-Latino ten year old shrugged with a sheepish smile as he stood in the living room, where he had covered every sharp surface from the coffee table, to the regular table. He had also wrapped almost every door knob with bubble wrap from a package that had arrived three days ago. So, yes, he might have gone a bit overboard. He sprang forward when his dad walked in behind his mami with the baby carrier. "C-can I hold her?" Miles asked, equal parts nervous and anxious to hold his baby sister. Rio and Jefferson glanced at one another and they must have shared something between them because next thing he knew, his mami had him sitting on the couch. She lifted Billie out of the carrier his dad had set on top of the coffee table, and then she set her in his lap as he instructed him on how to hold her. “Miles, this is Billie Mariana Morales.” “Wow,” Miles breathed out in awe as he looked down at the small wrinkled face of his new baby sister. His very own sister. He carefully lifted his free hand (that wasn’t supporting her head) and ran his finger lightly down her soft cheek. She made a noise that made him gasp, and her tiny tongue poked out of her mouth. “Look at her, just three days old and she’s already showing sass,” Rio laughed. Jefferson grinned. “Just wait till she starts walking, this is going to be a mad house,” the man said. He felt happiness swell up in his chest seeing his boy holding his little girl, his two children; his pride and joy. “Hi, Billie,” Miles whispered, slipping that same finger in between her tiny hand, and smiled when she grabbed on. “I’m Miles, your big brother.” He felt a knot in his throat like when he got scolded and felt like crying, but this was different. This was the kind of crying that he shouldn’t be ashamed of, because it was the kind that was brought on by happiness. “I’m gonna take such good care of you,” Miles promised. “I’ll be the best big brother ever.” -- - - - Miles cried out as he felt the older boy's fist connect with his face, and he staggered back, tripped on the wooden barrier surrounding the sandbox and landed on his butt with a grunt of pain. "Mil's!" he heard Billie sob out, slurring his name due to missing her two front teeth. The thirteen year old forced himself back to his feet, blood under his nose from being hit, sucking on his bottom lip which he'd accidentally bitten. He spat on the ground, blood mixed with saliva. "You're a tough little shit, aren't ya?" the older teen laughed, the stolen tablet in one hand. They'd come to a nearby park so Billie could play with her friends, and she'd come running to Miles crying, saying someone had stolen her tablet. Their parents had bought her a used kid's tablet off eBay this past Christmas. It had a protective case that would withstand drops or if it was stepped on. So, Miles let her have it while at the playground. She'd usually bring it back to him after showing her friends her new game. However, today there had been several older kids hanging out at the park, and the one that had stolen the tablet and punched Miles was at least sixteen or seventeen. They were by themselves, since his mom said he was old enough to take care of his sister, at least watch her while at the park. As her big brother, he had to get it back. It was his duty as the older brother. - - - - Billie was still crying as they walked back home, holding Miles's hand with one of her, and her tablet in the other hand. The protective case had been cracked, but the device itself was unharmed. "Why're you cryin'? I got you the tablet back," he slurred through his swelling lip. His left eye was visibly bruised as well, the skin on his knuckles busted, but at least he'd gotten the tablet back. "Cause Mil's hurt," she cried, tears dripping down her face. Her hair had been styled by their mami this morning into two braids, the french kind, he wasn't really sure. Now he stopped and crouched down in front of her, fixing the hair ties at the end of them. "It doesn't hurt that much, squirt," he reassured her. Billie sniffled. "Y'sure?" she whimpered. Miles nodded with a smile, trying not to wince as it hurt his cut and swollen lip. "I'm sure," he said, giving her an exaggeratedly loud kiss on her cheek. It hurt him to do it, but thought it was worth it as she giggled. He was the big brother, and he was the one that was supposed to worry about her; protect her. He'd promised when she was born that he would be there to take care of her. That he'd be the best big brother ever. So, a busted lip and a black eye was worth it to see her smile, hear her laugh. Although, he wondered what he was going to tell his parents when they got home. He guessed he would just tell them he was doing what an older brother should do.-

#Miles Morales #Billie Morales #Rio Morales #Jefferson Davis #White Roses For My Sister #fanfiction #WRFMS #Spider-Man #Marvel Cinematic Universe #Into The Spiderverse #Alternate Universe - No Powers #No Superpowers

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id-rather-be-an-outsider · 5 years

Text

Sunflower Dreams | pt I

Aaron Davis (Spiderverse) x Reader

word count: 1757 (or about that, I made some tweaks after I copy pasted it here so uh.... rough guestimate?)

summary: when young and educated y/n’s given the opportunity of a lifetime, she plans accordingly. her life is finally starting to be perfect, until suddenly, it’s not anymore. her friendly neighborhood bachelor, Aaron Davis, helps her pick up the pieces, as she unknowingly makes him see that there’s more to life than being a villain.

a/n: I decided to write this story bc Aaron Davis gets no love, which is crazy to me, and because I had a little idea cooking up in my head that I thought would be a good story. I took a lot of inspiration for the protagonist from my own life, but you’re only gonna hear slivers of it for now. I have no idea how many chapters this is gonna be, but like. I hope someone enjoys this, bc I know I will enjoy writing it. also. I wrote this story from my perspective, so when I imagine the reader, I envision her as kinda ambiguous in the ethnic department (I’m mixed but white-presenting), but she can be whatever ya’ll want her to be. lightskin, darkskin, anything. okay. Imma let ya’ll read now haha jk I also gotta say, HELL YEA I USED TREVANTE RHODES AS MY PERSONAL FANCAST FOR AARON DAVIS, THAT MAN IS FWOINE AIN’T NOBODY FINNA TELL ME ANY DIFFERENT FUCK OUTTA HERE

I didn’t make a big deal about moving to New York to pursue my Masters. Already had my Bachelors in Business Administration with a minor in Fine Arts, just got my Bachelors in Education, and now I was ready to chase after my Masters. It only made sense to take the opportunity. How often are you gonna be offered a full ride in exchange for opening your own business in Brooklyn upon graduation, with the funding necessary to do so? Once it took off, I’d return to Tacoma and pay the city my gratitude for making me who I was.

As I was saying, it was a quiet departure. Thank God I’m a minimalist, otherwise I would’ve had a LOT more items to bring with me. My boyfriend and I packed all my belongings and made the trek across the US after saying goodbye to my family and friends. He was driving. We held hands all the way there. Sometimes speaking, sometimes not.

When we got to my new home, I already had a parcel of mail waiting for me from my university. After we took up the first load, we sat down on my empty floor and opened it. It welcomed me home and had a map, coffee shops and fun places circled for me to go visit. It was sweet.

By noon we had everything in my unit thanks to a friendly neighbor named Aaron Davis and his nephew, a funny kiddo named Miles who reminded me of why I came to New York in the first place, and by the evening we had everything unpacked. We walked to a Starbucks and had coffee and sandwiches, now sitting on my bed with our stomachs full. The window was open, the faint beeps and honks of traffic coming from far below.

We curled up into each other. “I fucking hate this,” I said. “It’s not fair.”

“I know. I do too. And you know I would stay here with you if I could, but I’m still having no luck finding a job here.”

“Fuck finding a job, I’ll be the breadwinner of the family,” I laughed, even though I was serious. He knew I was.

“I can’t burden you like that financially. I promise, as soon as I land an interview, you’re gonna be the first to know. And as soon as I get hired, I’m showing up on your doorstep.” He kissed my forehead. “I don’t say it near enough, but I love you, and I’m so proud of you.”

“I love you too. And thank you. It’s like, my entire life is falling perfectly into place, all but- well- except for you.”

“We’ll get there, I promise. For now, just finesse every man or woman here who will buy you dinner, and try to have fun.” He rubbed my back, continuing, “You’ve never dated anyone but me, so... take it as your opportunity to learn about what you like, and once we’re together again, we can find a way to fit any new and quirky tastes you find you have into the relationship. But-“ His hand moved down quick and slapped my ass, squeezing it and illiciting an ‘ow’ of protest from me- “This is still mine, so no fucking, or else I’ll be doing more beating than just beating that pussy up.”

I laughed and said, “You fuckin’ freak.”

“Yea, but you like that shit.” He said confidently.

“Shut the fuck up, why you gotta be so loud about what we do when the window’s open?” I gave him a light punch, then whispered in his ear, “But aye, like, I won’t deny it.”

“Good, because that would’ve been real awkward after I’ve been in them guts for four years straight.” Then he lowered his voice. “Speaking of which, I’m trynna be in them once more tonight and tomorrow morning.”

“I dOn’T hAvE aS HiGh Of A sEx dRiVe As YoU!” I mocked him in my best Spongebob voice. “Always lyin for why?”

He pulled me on top of him and kissed me, his way of telling me to shut up nicely. “Shhhh, I’m just trynna make the most of the time we have left before I have to go back to Tacoma.”

“But you don’t have to go,” I said, “You can stay here-“

He cut me off with a series of kisses, “I already-“ “-bought-“ “-the tickets-“ “-so I actually do kinda have to.” He wrapped his arms around me, petting my hair. He always said I had the softest curls he’d ever touched.

“I just wish you could stay,” I whispered. “We’ve already made it through so much, each of us on our own and then together, I just-“ I cut myself off. The tears welled up in my eyes, threatening to spill over. “-I just-“

“Baby, say it. If your overthinker brain is gonna torture you with this, I wanna hear it so I can put those thoughts to rest.”

“I just keep thinking that something’s gonna happen to you and I’m gonna lose you. The very idea of that terrifies me, and makes me want to weep-“ I go cross eyed as I watch a tear fall from my eye and trail down my nose- “-because I don’t know how to live without you. And I mean that in a couple ways.”

“Well... I’m not leaving you forever. I’m coming back here as soon as possible, I’m gonna talk to you on Discord every chance I get, I’m gonna call you every day, and I’m gonna go to sleep every night dreaming that I’m here with you. For all we know, I could be coming back here in less than a month.” He tilted my chin up to look in my eyes. “Even if I’m not physically present, I’m always gonna be here. You’re never alone.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

In the morning, we slept in late and cuddled until he absolutely had to get up. We both hopped in the shower and he put on his airport clothes while I pulled on a pale, lemon yellow sweatsuit with a white gold chain to match. Gotta let these hoes know, I outdress them even on my bummy days.

The ride to the airport was a back and forth between us kissing at red lights and screaming out different lyrics from XXXTentacion, Post Malone, JUICE WRLD and whoever the hell else we felt like listening to as we drove, much like we did since the beginning of our relationship.

When we got there, we took our time saying goodbye since he didn’t have to stress too much about baggage check. We said we loved each other, once I couldn’t see him anymore I called him and we talked while I drove back to my new home and he waited for his flight, and then he was called to board so we got off the phone, but not before he promised me that he would call me as soon as he landed.

When I got home, I stopped by the mailbox to see if I had anymore mail and simultaneously checked my Instagram, seeing a flurry of notifications. Suddenly, his mom called me.

“Hi mom, what’s up? Are you okay?” I said as I scrolled through my Instagram, trying to make sense of all the digital confusion.

She sniffled.

“Mom, what happened?”

“Check the news, babygirl... have you not seen it yet?”

“Uh, no, I haven’t, but I’ll check it out right now,” I said, putting her on speakerphone.

She started sobbing, saying “I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have called you like this, but I wanted to be the one to tell you.”

And that’s when I saw my worst fears in a news article:

NYC - Sea Bound Plane Crashes, No Survivors

A horrific accident has happened today, and experts are still struggling to find out how - a plane headed to Seattle malfunctioned mid-flight, claiming the lives of everyone on board. Many of the victims have already been identified by their families, not by looks, but by the identification on their bodies at the time of the incident. Below this article are photos of the bodies. If you think you can identify one of them, contact...

I couldn’t finish reading. I scrolled and saw the bodies, all of them mangled and torn apart, almost unrecognizable as humans. Hearing his mom say ‘he’s dead’ over and over again as I stared at the pictures made me lose my stomach.

Up came all of my breakfast, and whatever Starbucks I hadn’t yet digested from the night before.

“Mama, I love you, but I have to call you back later-“ a pause as I threw up again. “I’m physically sick. I’m so sorry,” I sobbed the last sentence, and after hearing a teary goodbye from the other end, hung up. I’d dropped my mail the first time and only now noticed that it was covered in my mess. I didn’t care. I started crying, which was a mistake, because it only made me throw up more, this time nothing but bile.

“Hey, are you okay?” I whipped around, facing Aaron Davis, the friendly man from the day before.

“I- I’m sick.” I said, and immediately burst into tears. “Please help me.” Those three words rarely ever left my mouth, but even I know when I can’t do something on my own. He put his keys in his pocket and reached out to me.

Mere minutes later, I was in my unit, crouched over the toilet, heaving. Aaron had guided me there, holding my hair out of my face as I continued to puke. He called management and told them what happened, and he told me they were already cleaning it up.

“Listen... I know it’s not my place to say anything, seeing as I’m just your neighbor, but...” He rubbed the back of his neck as he was crouched beside me. “I overheard the phone call. And I overheard the conversation you had with your boyfriend last night. He loved you.”

“I know he did.” I said, because it was true.

“I just... look, if you need anything, I’m here. I know you‘re hurting a lot right now, and I know you may want nothing but for everyone to leave you alone, especially the new dude who isn’t minding his business, but if you need anything, I’m here. And Imma check up on you. You’re not alone. You’re never alone.”

I laughed, but it held no real warmth. “He said that last part to me yesterday night.”

“He was right. And still is.”

#aaron davis #spider-man #spiderman #into the spider verse #spider man: into the spider verse #Miles Morales #aaron davis x reader #college au #sunflower dreams #fanfic

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stunudo · 6 years

Text

Infiltrated: Part 4

A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction

Featuring: Hotch x Female Reader/ George Foyet x Female Reader

Setting: Season 4

A/N: A/N: So I got an unsub fmk-type ask and this came from that. This is going to be darker than any other series I have done. Hope you guys like it! The reader character has a name because she is protecting her identity.

This got away from me, but I hope you like it. Xoxo Stu

Warnings: Blood, violence, moral repugnancy, and general unsub behavior. Also smut.

Series

Your name: submit What is this?

You were late, really damn late. George wasn’t on the platform which he had arranged for you to meet him. You searched the exits and entrances, you doubled back in case he was being overly cautious. He was just, gone. You had never missed a meet up, never lost him in a crowd and most certainly hadn’t kept him waiting. Without precedence, came uncertainty, with the Reaper uncertainty meant repercussions or death.

For the first time in almost a year, you truly didn’t know how he would react. Fear began to solidify on the recesses of your mind. Not only were you worried about the kind of damage he would take out on you, you wondered what would happen if he just disappeared. If he left you hanging and alone with only the FBI to keep you focused. This was not supposed to happen.

Your mind began to spiral, you found your way back to your car. You stared at the dashboard, looking over each dial and meter, wondering exactly what your next move was. It wasn’t the abandonment, it was the swinging guillotine. At any second a single motion could snap the cord, effectively separating you from yourself. The agent from the accompliss, the woman from the murderer, the past from the future, the victim from the temptress.

It was nearly five minutes before he spoke, he was waiting for you, naturally. Silent in the backseat.

“Drive, Y/N.” His voice was even, but your exhale was ragged with relief. You hadn’t meant to cry, but the frustrated tears burned like gasoline, ignited by the realization until you couldn’t see in front of you.

“I’m sorry, god, fuc--ging Hemmings was late and I had to get my, my car. I thought, Christ, I thought you were gone.” You stared at him in the rear-view mirror, he was impassive about the sniveling mess you had become.

“Whats this about Y/N?” He leaned forward, his cologne filling your senses. “Were you scared, hmmm?” He held back, hovering as you pulled yourself together. You built back the walls, slowly with added discomfort, playing on his assumptions and preparing yourself for penance. “Drive, I’m done waiting on your shit.”

This isn’t what he was planning on tonight, he hadn’t expected this. Not from Y/N, his muse was stronger than this. He had bought her toys and tools, hoping the build up would have her writhing beneath the glint of his blade. He wasn’t prepared for the way her tears affected him, disgusted and enthralled him. She had been working and he had been idling away the hours until he could push pious Agent Hotchner over the edge.

Y/N needed to get her head together and George decided he had another mission on his plate. She pulled out of the parking lot and into traffic, listening to her breathing regulate was the only way he could mark time as the mile markers ticked passed them along the Interstate.

“Take the next exit, doll.” George’s voice was gruff from disuse. She quickly changed lanes, finally glancing back at him as she checked her blind spots. He couldn’t help it, his lips creeped up at the sight of her watching him. Then she bit her bottom lip and his thoughts fell to his lower brain. “’Atta girl, you bring the gifts I left you?”

“They’re in a bag in the trunk.” She slowed down, waiting for him. George groaned, looking for any sign of motel along the random frontage road.

“The next hotel you find will suffice, Y/N.”

You hadn’t said more than a few sentences since checking in at the hourly motel next to a truck depot. George was more determined to keep you secure than he was to get a rise out of you tonight. You held your chin up as he tightened the strap on your wrists. He kicked the chair you were tied to abruptly, sending your head rocking.

The gasp caught in your throat as he circled you, never breaking his glare. The ropes burned against your skin, the strips of lace forgotten as your bare body was restrained. Your knees were pinned on the outside of the front legs, your folds exposed and coated in anticipation, the air sending shivers through you, pinching at your bindings.

George had retreated to the suitcase, he found the empty leather sheath he had taunted you with and brought it along. He stood squarely in front of you. The bite of leather stung across your cheek, he whipped the triangular casing across your face. You hissed, bringing your face back up to look at him. His eyes darkened, he hit you across the other cheek, harder.

George chuckled deep in his chest, he trailed the leather down your neck, over his brand between your tits and let it drop on the seat of the chair between your twitching thighs.

“Now we’ll get to see which I want to put away first, my dick or my blade.” You bit your lip at his lingering threat, he moved his face over yours watching you mirror his movements, waiting for him to kiss you or kill you. He could do both or he could do neither, it was his game and you were at his every disposal.

The knowledge of releasing yourself to him was freeing, he had been the center of your life for so long. It wasn’t a secret, unfulfilled need, he was here owning you. He accepted his power over you and that made it less crazy, easing the obsession into something. Not a relationship, but an agreement. George Foyet, the Boston Reaper, had changed your life and as you waited for him to take his next step you knew that by letting him take this piece of you, it granted you your next step.

The familiar warmth pooled around the shallow nick on your shoulder. George was spattering fresh cuts along your arms and what little of your back he could access. The tension sent the wounds to ache as you rolled your muscles against his attacks. Each flinch sent the chair shaking, the loose knife case swaying closer to the edge.

George dragged his nose along your neck, letting your blood smear along his jaw and hands. It had started to dry in places, the air making it itch along with throb in irritation. His cologne had faded with his efforts, now it was just your want and blood lingering in the air. He was struggling to pace himself and you were growing weaker.

“Stop holding back.” You murmured, which came off more of a whine. He did not like that. He grabbed your hair, right at the scalp. Pulling your head back against the back of the chair. Your throat open and exposed, you couldn’t help but swallow as his whisper tickled your ear.

“Oh, the only way we’re both walking out of here tomorrow is if I keep holding back.” His voice was gentle, your stomach tightened at the sincerity.

“Tomorrow?” You asked alarm sinking in.

“You see, I may need a contingency or two. So after I fill that tight pussy, you’re going to give me some blood, Y/N. The kind that I can keep for a rainy day.”

You didn’t know how he was going to use your blood as a diversion like he had his own in Boston, but you nodded, against his hold on your hair.

“Okay, doll, let’s get to work.” George shook your head like a wooden dummy. You let your jaw fall open and gave a glassy eyed stare, pulling a dark appreciative laugh from him.

FBI Headquarters

Your team had finished its surveillance and were working on the final trap for the gun runners the next week. Evidence collection was tedious, but it saved the time on the paperwork later. You were heading out for a real lunch break, away from the same cubicle and twelve faces of your teammates when you stepped onto the elevator.

It had been a week since you had seen Hotch and Strauss on your way to meet George. You fumbled with your blazer, making sure the healing bruises from the restraints were covered. Hotch glanced at you and did a double take. Fucking profilers.

“Agent Turner, how’ve you been?” Hotch’s face seemed to soften.

You did your best to hide your surprise, “Doing alright, just stretching my legs.”

“Going to Marco’s for lunch?” He almost smirked.

“I was thinking Ivy Terrace, why? You free?” You let it hang there, when he looked down you knew you had overstepped.

“Y/N-”

“Aaron?” You challenged, making him look directly at you instead of staring down the elevator doors.

“I never should have let that happen, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” You hit the emergency stop button on the navigational panel. You spun stepping into his bubble once again. “Listen, I’m not going to touch you. But you want me to and I enjoy it. And as I recall, you enjoyed me touching you.”

Hotch sighed, letting his head tilt and giving you the saddest look you had seen from him. “I’m a Unit Chief, Agent Turner. This is not the kind of supervisor I am.”

“It’s a good thing I am only consulting on your unit and not your direct report.”

“That’s not the only problem.” He was a skilled prosecutor, you could spend all afternoon volleying his counterarguments.

“There’s only a problem if you’re looking for one.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“What’s that?” Hotch’s face shifted as he saw the discoloration along your wrist.

“Don’t change the subject, Hotch.” You straightened and stared back at him.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. But there won’t be anymore store room trysts.”

“I’m sorry, too.” You released the emergency knob. “Do you have any idea how many store rooms there are in this place?!”

The day and a half in the hotel room had faded from your skin, the last of the cuts healed over into a dull raised scar that you felt whenever you adjusted your bra strap. George had gone completely silent. No texts, no gifts left in your car or notes in the classified section. Give a guy a pint of blood and he just leaves you to civilian life.

The calendar was mocking you, hence you ripped it off the wall. It was today, eleven years ago that this whole mess began. It felt like it was yesterday and you grabbed the bottle of bourbon from above the fridge to keep the memories at bay. You shouldn’t have been this easily sidetracked, but dates stuck in your mind like the details of a crime scene, overly focused details and then, WHAM! panoramic clarity.

Your team had taken down the arms’ dealers in two calculated attacks. Hemmings took two to the vest, dumb ass. But your Chief and Strauss were chummy and pink faced in his office after the collar. One less fucking thing to worry about. Which was precisely your problem, not enough to occupy your time. The empty hours reminded you of your empty life. And how truly alone you were.

Stupidly, you grabbed your phone. You slurped down two long chugs before finding the recent calls menu. You stared at the uninspiring names of your teammates before finding one from the end of last month. The phone rang and you cleared your throat, trying to play coy.

The journalist let the call ring through to voicemail, whatever, his loss. It was only a Tuesday night and phone sex wasn’t your strong suit. Christ, Y/N, stop dwelling on the negative. You continued to page through your contacts, rolling your eyes at some and groaning in embarrassment at others.

It had taken the equivalent of five stiff drinks before you finally called who you had wanted to call in the first place. The only person who, just, got it.

“What if we never find him?” You asked as if it were a soul-baring sleepover secret. Just between friends in the latest of hours on the cusp of exhaustion would anyone admit these truths to one another.

“Y/N?” Hotch’s voice was crinkled, you had woken him up. “Foyet wants to be caught, he wants the notoriety.”

“But the only way we find him is--”

“If there are more bodies.” Hotch agreed in shared disappointment. “How many have you had?”

“Enough.”

“That’s good. Do you want to talk about it?” Why was he being so nice?

“I want to do more than just talk, Aaron.” He listened, waiting for you to elaborate or confess. You knew he wouldn’t play along. “I’m sorry, it’s a bad day and I chose you as a distraction. It’s not fair.”

“I’m not so easy offended, Y/N. I am happy to distract. Did you know that your Unit is getting a budget surplus after your last case? Might even get you better stake out vehicles.”

“Lucky us, now we just need Kevlar big enough to wrap Hemmings in, head to toe.”

Hotch laughed, he honestly laughed. It was like sunshine on the edge of a rain shower. You stayed on the line for an hour, just talking about anything that came to mind. He tried not to, but his son Jack came up more than once. The longing in his voice was painful and you took one last swig of whiskey to avoid the parallels of his pain and your past.

You said your good nights, leaving you to fall asleep on an unexpected even keel.

Walking into work the next morning, you held an extra box in your arms. If there was an acceptable gift for “Sorry I drunk dialed you on a school night and you had to talk my depressed ass away from the bottle”; pastries from your favorite Danish Bakery would be it. You pushed the call button to six and waited. You gulped an extra deep breath for courage and stepped out towards the BAU bullpen and froze on the spot.

Across the room and at every desk were commanding officers from every branch of the military, they were in full uniform, making the entire floor seem like an invasion. You took a tentative step forward and surrendered, you nearly sprinted back into the waiting elevator.

@benedictcumberbatchstolemyheart @a-unique-girls-heaven @gummiishark @rottendaisies @sunnygubler @lovebodymindstuff @archaic-zugswang @darkheartednerdwithglasses @mikri-oneiropola @princesswagger14 @justwinchesterme96 @profiler-in-training @kennybud @onlyalittleteenwolfobsessed @conversations-with-you-61065 @dontshootmespence @moonlit-void-to-the-far-unknown @cynbx @cherry-loves-fanfic @hotchnerfuckmeup @illegalcerebral @omallieallie @creativecody16 @kandii395 @tiny-potato-lives @april1535 @gabriellewritermua @daisydukes34 @fandomsxo @sonhadoraativa @nea90sweetie @mimiashton

#Criminal Minds #Infiltrated #Hotch #Foyet #Reader x Unsub #Hotch x reader #Foyet x reader #CM #criminal minds fanficitons #reader unsub #smut #blood #violence #cm fanfic #hotch fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #dark and twisty

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peterjonesparker · 7 years

Note

Are you interested in any oyher Spiderman characters? (Homecoming and/or not?)

oh hello!! honestly, i really loved all the characters in spiderman: homecoming. and i’m gonna be so extra right now and like…give mini headcanons for all my babes. so i’m sorry in advance. but like…

we have our decathlon team babies

so like…liz is totally the mama bear. she’s the only senior on the team because she was one of the founding members her junior year and her friends were all too busy focusing on their other extracurriculars and college apps so it was just a bunch of little freshman she’d managed to convince to join the team

and liz did so much research and trained the team and asked her cousin who won a decathlon competition when he was in high school what was helpful for their team

so she takes over and gets mr. harrington to work with the team and she shapes the team into one that could win

and they’re all her babies like let’s be honest

charles and abraham are the twins that are attached at the hip but never stop fighting. they’re the dynamic duo and what abraham doesn’t know, charles does. they’re best friends and they hang out all the time and they obsess over star trek and have a secret rivalry going on with ned and peter because they are the star wars kids. and they’re sworn to hate each other until the end of time. (but also charles and abraham will freak out when the trailer for the last jedi gets released and immediately text the group chat nerds in space to ask peter and ned what they thought.) and abraham has to smack charles on the head when the boy catches his friend staring at sally for too long and charles just mumbles something about how she had something on her shirt and it’s fine.

and then you have sally and cindy. who are just like…so done with the team half the time. like, you’ve got peter, ned, charles, and abraham who just spend all their time obsessing over space themed movies. and flash just constantly berates everyone. michelle is lowkey kinda scary. (they are also lowkey in love with her but shhh.) and liz is like…well, liz is their mom so they love liz. but even mr. harrington is a mess. but sally and cindy make the best of it because they love each other and they love decathlon and they watch a week’s worth of jeopardy together every sunday and they quiz each other in cindy’s mom’s car on the way to school. and they talk about sally’s small, minuscule crush on charles (”really, sally? charles??? he’s a nerd!!” “you think i don’t know that and am also disappointed in myself!!” “oh my goodness but you guys would be so cute who am i kidding”) and they talk about cindy’s very large crush on betty brant (”cindy, she totally checked you out just now!!” “wHAT? omg, how is my hair??”). and they talk about which classes they’re taking so they can be in most of the same classes and they talk about college and their hearts lowkey break when they think about how cindy wants to stay in new york and sally wants to go to the west coast but they’ll be bffs forever so they have hope. (”we have skype, it’ll be okay, yeah?”)

and then you have flash. and flash has got so much shit going on like wtf dude. his parents are super wealthy and try to support him and try to be there but they’re always traveling for work and he’s basically been raised by his nanny. so it’s his nanny who pesters him about this massive crush he has on someone on the decathlon team because each day she picks him up from decathlon practice he’s always raging and sighing and looking sad. and flash just vehemently denies this. because that’s ridiculous, please don’t suggest something like that. but she knows him so well. she’s raised him. she just doesn’t realize that it’s fucking peter parker. peter parker who he terrorizes because he doesn’t want to deal with how he’s feeling. peter parker who has a great ass that he couldn’t help but slap that one time before nationals on the way to the pool. peter parker, who’s a dork and definitely not worthy of flash’s attention but has it anyway. so, maybe he’s not dealing healthily. but he’s got a silent war raging in his head and he doesn’t want to have to tell his parents that he’s bi because once his dad had made an offhand comment and it decided things for him. so flash just…rages and hides behind his wealth and intelligence and snaky comments. because he doesn’t wanna deal with anything

and omg i’ve talked about peter and mj and even ned a bit so i won’t write about them here but i love my babies so much okay???

we also have our peter parker protection squad

may parker, the loml. who’s characterization i can never get bc we have civil war may and then also homecoming may. but may parker who is a hero in her own right because we all know about that scene where she saves a little girl and doesn’t mention it that got cut from the movie. (rip me, honestly.) and like…can we talk about may?? because she seems like such a groovy, fun loving person. and she was married to her husband ben. they were totally wild in college or something. just…always doing crazy shit and laughing and having sex and just enjoying being with each other. and then they get married and get jobs and live together, being happy little hippies. (maybe they partake in some substances, idk, you never know.) and then her husband’s brother and wife die and they’re taking in peter parker. and may falls in love with this little boy because he’s so…good. and she and ben raise him as their own and try to give him an exciting and happy childhood and encourage his interests in science and his friendship with ned. and then he tells them he’s joining the decathlon team and there’s a field trip and he’s so excited about life. and then he acts all dodgy and then ben dies. and like…may is heartbroken. because ben was her person. and peter’s stopped talking to her. but then he gets the stark internship (which he didn’t tell her about, so rude) and then he’s happy and if he’s happy then she’s happy because she takes every good thing she can these days because they are so far and few between. so she takes every little piece of happiness she can find in life. like talking to mr. delmar and chatting with his daughter she’s she in the shop. like the woman who sells flowers on the corner on her way to work. like the cute couple that works at the supermarket by the apartment who give her recipes like ones for walnut date bread. and even like tony stark, who for whatever reason has become peter’s mentor of sorts and who makes him happy. and if someone makes her nephew happy, they make her happy

and dad!tony. who gives his spider son anything he wants and invites him upstate every so often so he can train with the avengers and learn to control his powers. because even if he isn’t going to be an avenger, he’s still going to be your friendly neighborhood spiderman. and he throws peter parker a birthday party in the summer at a fancy restaurant he’s bought out for the night. and all of peter’s little high school friends come and tony’s happy to give this to peter because the kid just needs to be a kid and needs to be happy. and don’t think tony doesn’t notice the way peter’s eyes follow that girl michelle all night. the girl who’s also asking him all these questions about the sokovia accords and his decision to move upstate and how he almost let a bunch of avenger and alien tech get stolen and about wakanda and if he’s ever been. and tony just wishes peter good luck at the end of the night and smiles because the boy is so confused. (if peter doesn’t realize it yet, oh goodness, good luck to this boy, honestly.) and tony pulls some strings to make sure that peter gets into mit and then finds out that he didn’t even need to because peter’s already a great candidate. and when he helps peter move into his dorm and sees michelle there, who just so happens to go to harvard down the block, well, peter just smiles and wishes peter good luck again

happy hogan disappointed me and doesn’t get to have a whole paragraph. but he can REDEEM HIMSELF later on because peter is a smol bean and needs protection and happy starts answering his calls and listening to his voicemails. and maybe happy laughs occasionally at the lame jokes peter makes, but that’s bESIDE THE POINT

and then just like...our small mentions

aaron davis exists in mcu and mentioned his nephew MILES MORALES. like, dude, idek what they’re gonna do with miles morales but i am soooo hype. idek. i am just so excited. bc donald glover was inspired as aaron davis. (“i like bread!) he was such a cool character and i wanna know if he becomes the prowler. and i wanna see him with his family and talking to his little nephew about how he met spiderman twice and he was like…a chill dude and he’s doing his part to keep their home safe. and miles morales is probably like…the biggest fan of spiderman and dresses up as him for halloween and then one day he gets bitten by this crazy huge spider while visiting his favorite uncle aaron and he starts developing superpowers? like omg this is his greatest dream come true? and then he starts going out in hopes of finding spiderman so he can team up with the dude that once saved his uncle. and then one day he’s trying to stop a mugging and spiderman comes and is just like…”what??” so they stop the muggers and then they go to a rooftop and spiderman is super confused like, “what? you have my powers?? how did this happen?” and miles is just like, “omg! you’re the spiderman! you’re my hero! omg! hi, i just want to help!!” and then maybe we get an older and younger brother dynamic between the two? idk i’m just excited to see what happens because they have to put miles morales in mcu. it’s decided

also i don’t think she’s gonna be in mcu but i love my baby gwen stacy. my smart beautiful dorky bean gwen. and i love when she’s put into fics. and she was put into this fic as liz allan’s love interest and it was inspired and i fell in love. so. yes. #putgweninfic2k17

not sure if this is what you were asking for but here it is anyway!

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monroe-militia · 7 years

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Charloe Tattoo Soulmate AU (Ficlet)

So a long time ago I made a post with the idea of a Charloe soulmate AU where if you get a tattoo, then it shows up on your soulmate too. At the time, I didn’t think I particularly wanted to write it, but that I just liked the idea of the shit-storm that would occur the instant that little Charlie had the Monroe tattoo show up on her arm and how much the shit-storm would escalate the older she got.

Turns out, I did want to write it because now I’m 6k into a fic where the blackout still happens and Ben still hides his family from Monroe and he still gets killed and Danny still gets taken, but Charlie goes to find Miles and get Danny back with Monroe’s tattoo on her arm and an uneasy knowledge that he’s supposed to be her soulmate.

This isn’t all of what I have written, but I don’t know if anyone will be interested in the story and I don’t know how long it’ll be until I end up posting this as a fic on FF and AO3, so for now here’s a ficlet that’s the first part of it.

Charlie had known that Sebastian Monroe was her soulmate for years. He had been a family friend when she was a little kid, young enough that she couldn’t even remember having met him. But then two years before the blackout, his family had died and he had gotten a tattoo with his last name on it. At the same time Charlie, three years-old, had started howling and crying with pain that her parents hadn’t understood, until they had rolled up her sleeve to discover a matching tattoo spreading across her skin. Charlie could remember it appearing, but she hadn’t understood why at the time. After that, the name Monroe was never uttered in their house again. Her mother and father had shut him out of their lives completely, horrified that he was marked as soulmate to their three year-old. They had vowed not to let him so much as see her again until she was an adult and even then, they were skeptical about whether or not they should hypothetically let him see her if she was curious about him. Miles hadn’t been thrilled with the connection either, but he had known Monroe for a long time and he knew his friend was going through a hard time. Miles hadn’t been okay with the tattoo, but he had blocked it out and was able to get along fine pretending that his best friend wasn’t marked to his niece as he kept Monroe separate from his family life.

When Charlie was five, mere months before the blackout, she had found out that when a tattoo mysteriously appeared on your skin it meant that your soulmate had gotten a matching one. Her family was at the grocery story, when Charlie had wandered away and down the next aisle to look for some candy to stick in her parents’ cart with the hope that they wouldn’t notice. She was eying the selection when she overheard a middle-aged woman and a teenage girl talking halfway down the aisle. Charlie had meant to mind her own business, but then the older woman had asked the other what her tattoo meant and the girl had responded that she wasn’t sure, it had just shown up one day. Charlie had all but forgotten about the bag of Skittles she had just grabbed as she turned her full body to listen to the conversation.

“Well, you know what that means,” the older woman had said with a friendly smile. “Maybe you can ask your soulmate what it means when you find them.” Charlie had marched right over there, stuck out her arm, and pulled up the sleeve of one of the endless long shirts her mother made her wear as she told them, “I have a tattoo. Does that mean I have a soulmate?”

Her father had come barrelling into the aisle and looked horrified by the sight of Charlie showing her tattoo off to a couple of strangers. Her mother had come around the corner a moment later carrying Danny and looking just as disturbed. They had completely abandoned their cart full of groceries looking for Charlie, which meant she was in big trouble. At the time, she had thought she was just in trouble for wandering off and talking to strangers, so she had turned to parents and asked them the same question.

She held the arm with her tattoo up higher as she asked, “Does this mean I have a soulmate?”

Her parents were horrified and hadn’t wanted to tell her anything, which of course had only made her want to know more. They bought her the Skittles in an attempt to distract her, but they only managed to convince her to hold her questions until they made it to the car. Finally, they explained that some people have soulmates and when one soulmate gets a tattoo, it appears on the other in the same place too. Charlie hadn’t thought to ask who her soulmate was. They hadn’t told her.

For years, Charlie had remained perfectly in the dark about who her soulmate was. But when the Monroe Republic came into existence, Charlie got curious. Her parents still didn’t say a word, until after they had heard the stories of what Monroe had become, then they explained the truth to her and Danny so that they would understand the importance of keeping her tattoo completely hidden. Charlie had never shown her tattoo to anyone else after that day. For years, she had lived in constant fear of what would happen if someone saw her tattoo, but she had never put much thought into Monroe as her soulmate. She knew all about how terrible the militia was and she couldn’t imagine being the soulmate of anyone who had anything to do with it, let alone General Monroe. As a kid, she had believed in soulmates and wondered about who she could possibly be fated to spend the rest of her life with. When she found out that Sebastian Monroe was her soulmate, she had stopped taking the word seriously. It had to be some kind of sick mistake, or else there had to be some large-scale misunderstanding about what the connection meant. Charlie had almost managed to live a normal life, until the militia had shown up in her village, killed her dad, and taken her brother.

Charlie was no longer afraid of having anything to do with Monroe, although she knew she should be. She was furious and, no matter what the risk, she would tear down Monroe and his whole damn militia to get her brother back.

Her father’s last words had told her to find his brother in Chicago, so she had taken off with Aaron and Maggie, who she still couldn’t believe her father had risked telling about her tattoo. She met a guy on the way who had saved her and she had fallen headfirst for him so fast that she hadn’t even realized he was militia until they had reached Chicago and Miles had pulled Nate’s sleeve up to show his branding. Charlie was disgusted that she had wanted so badly to fall for someone else and prove the soulmate system wrong that she had let herself be so blinded.

Miles had completely denied who he was until she had introduced herself and told him that his brother was dead, but then he had asked to talk to her alone and admitted he was her uncle.

He took her to a large room in the back, so that they could talk privately while the others waited by the bar. Charlie was trying to work up the nerve to explain what had happened, when he caught her completely off-guard.

“Prove it.”

“Prove what?” She asked with a frown. “That my dad’s dead? He died in my arms after telling me to come here and find you. Isn’t that proof enough?” It wasn’t like she was going to bring part of his body as a souvenir, just in case he asked for confirmation.

“No,” he said as he stared her down. “Prove that you’re my niece.”

“How do I know that you’re my uncle?” She demanded, although she knew that it was a stupid question. She had seen how he’d reacted when she’d said her dad was dead and her dad had told her that Miles would be exactly where he was. When he didn’t dignify her with a response, she sat down on a large cement step and opened her bag.

“What are you doing?” He asked her.

“Getting a picture,” she responded. “Of my family before the blackout.”

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “If Ben’s dead, militia could have stolen pictures and sent you because you look enough like Rachel and enough like Charlie did last time Monroe saw her.”

Charlie didn’t like the way he was referring to her as if she were an imposter. She liked the way he was talking about the last time Monroe saw her even less. It made her skin crawl thinking about him being around her when she was little, back when everyone had been just as oblivious to the fact that he was supposed to be her soulmate as they were to what a monster he would become.

“So, then how am I supposed to prove it?” She demanded, although she was pretty sure she knew where this was going.

“Show me the tattoo,” he responded calmly. “If you’re really Charlie, then you’ll have it.”

She hesitated for a moment, then muttered out, “Alright, fine.”

She unzipped her jacket and carefully slid her left arm out of the sleeve to reveal the large tattoo spread across her forearm, depicting the militia symbol with the name Monroe written in all capitalized, bold letters below it.

“Happy?” She asked.

He gave her a small nod, although he didn’t look particularly happy.

“So, why would Ben send you here?” He questioned.

“The militia took Danny,” she told him. “I need your help getting him back.”

Charlie never even considered getting a tattoo of her own until after she met Nora, when Miles flipped out at the sight of her tattoo. He was mad both that she was a rebel and that she was the reason he’d had an American flag tattooed on his right shoulder blade for months.

“What? No ‘wow, Nora, I’m glad we’re soulmates’? You’re just going to complain because I care more about helping people than hiding from the militia?” Nora demanded.

“The rebels are idiots,” Miles insisted. “They have no idea what they're up against. They're not going to stop Monroe. They're a minor inconvenience for him at most and they're all going to end up dead. Sorry, I don't want you ending up dead with them.”

“No, you just want me to end up dead trying to get her brother back,” Nora retorted.

Charlie interrupted before things could escalate into a real argument.

“Where did you get your tattoo?” She asked Nora. “Do you think I could get one on my wrist?”

“No way,” Miles insisted before Nora had the chance to answer. He completely forgot how mad he was at Nora in favour of lecturing Charlie. “You’re not getting a tattoo and you're especially not joining the rebels.”

“I didn't get any say in the last one,” Charlie argued. “If I have to have his name on my arm, then he should have to have an American flag on his.”

“What is she talking about?” Nora questioned as she turned to Miles, who at least looked like he was considering allowing it, if only to torture Monroe.

Charlie answered by pushing her sleeve up to reveal her tattoo.

“I know someone who could do it, but it’ll hurt,” Nora told her.

“Good,” Charlie said. “I want it to hurt him.”

“You’re not going to let me stop you, are you?” Miles asked.

“I’m really not,” Charlie agreed.

Miles stood a few feet away as Charlie was tattooed by Nora’s friend. He cringed each time she winced with pain.

“I didn't think you were going to make it through the whole thing,” he pointed out when her tattoo was finally finished.

“It still needs something else to ruin his,” she insisted.

“You sure you don't want to stop?” Miles asked her.

“I’m sure.”

Rachel didn't look up as Monroe entered her room. She couldn't bear to look at him, especially since he had told her about Ben’s death.

“I thought you’d like an update about your kids,” Monroe commented in an indifferent tone. “Especially after all these years.”

Rachel’s head whipped up. “If you did anything to them-”

“Relax,” he told her. “Your kids are fine. For now at least. Danny’s on his way here. I wasn't sure about Charlotte at first, when no one saw her in their village, but it turns out she’s alive still and she’s got an attitude.”

Rachel felt her stomach drop as he unbuttoned his sleeve and rolled it up to reveal fresh tattoos that looked sore. There was a large American flag just above his wrist and the word ‘SUCKS’ was crudely scrawled underneath the Monroe of his original tattoo. Rachel would have found it funny if Monroe didn't have Danny and wasn't after Charlie.

“She’s with Miles,” he told her.

She craned her neck up and shot him a confused look. She didn't know how he could know that if the tattoos were the only sign he had that Charlie was still alive. She hoped it wasn’t true and that Charlie was safe, somewhere far away from Miles.

“That’s his writing,” he clarified. “I’d recognize it anywhere.”

#NBC Revolution #Charloe #Charlie Matheson #Bass Monroe #Ficlets #Personal #Also I have no fucking clue what to name this au #Because I've been sitting on this too long to not post something #But I'm not ready to start posting a new multichapter fic without finishing it or one of my current ones first

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irarelypostanything · 7 years

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The Harvard Homewrecker, Part IV

For our high school graduation, the valedictorian reminded us that everyone would eventually be dead. He talked a lot about human hatred, and disease, and nuclear war. The rest of the speech was optimistic, but all anyone remembered were those first few sentences.

Then our high school salutatorian spoke. “I’m going to talk about love,” he said, “and cures for diseases, and...the opposite of everything else Jon spoke about. By the way, my name is Jon. Both of us are named Jon.” The second Jon’s speech was met with rounds of applause that continually increased in both volume and duration.

After his salutatorian speech, Jon (again, the second one) was required to present the CSF trophy to the member with the highest GPA. Tony won it. I can’t remember the explanation.

There were graduations everywhere that day. I don’t even remember all the things that happened. Aaron presented a senior video, and Katherine won one of the highest honors, and then Emma and Alonzo and Colin won numerous scholarships. And somewhere, just a few miles out of San Francisco, Zach almost met his future wife.

Part IV

“Do you feel like time is moving really quickly?” I asked Tony one day, a little after our college graduation.

“What do you mean?” asked Tony. “Time has always been moving at a constant speed.”

“That’s not what I mean.” “Oh, that’s right. According to Einstein-”

“What I mean is that life events are happening really quickly. My coworker just bought a house. Someone brought up marriage the other day when talking about her boyfriend.”

“Well, we are at that age.”

“Are we, though?”

Rena, David and I went right into the workforce. Most of the people I knew from Davis either stayed for grad school, or applied to various medical school programs. In my first month of work, they asked me to help hire the next round of people. That they asked me to play any part in this was beyond crazy.

“So after my senior design project helped cure Type 2 Diabetes,” said Zach, “I decided to direct my talents into another side-project. It was like Google, for porn.”

“That second thing is the most brilliant idea I’ve ever heard,” I said. “I have never visited a porn site, but I can only imagine the potential. Now, on an unrelated note...how do you feel about loyalty?”

“I don’t believe in it, period. You do your job, and if you don’t do a good one then you step aside. The lack of loyalty cuts both ways - if a job doesn’t satisfy you, you quit.”

“That’s the realest thing I’ve ever heard anyone say,” I said. “The other responses people gave me were so full of shit. I’m going to recommend that they hire you immediately.”

A few months passed. If it sounds like I’m rushing, it’s because that’s what it really felt like. Tony joined a start-up, and the boss was such a dick that Tony started his own company and bought out his boss’. All of this was just to fire him. That’s how much of a dick he was.

Zach’s talents were quickly recognized by everyone except his manager. He also bought a house. He was also accepted into grad school. Then, out of nowhere, his girlfriend called him.

“Remember that time we had unprotected sex?” she asked.

“Which time?”

“I don’t know, but I’m pregnant.”

“Shit.”

And just like that, a year passed.

I still had the same coffee mug, and I still drank the same flavor of beer at the same bar, and I still lived exactly where I was before. Also, I still didn’t get pointers at all. Seg faults were my life.

“How was your wedding?” I asked Zach once, out of the blue. Last I checked, he had proposed.

“What wedding?” he asked.

“Um...how’s the baby?” I asked, as if that were a logical transition from my last question.

“I told you,” he said. “She lost it.”

“Is that why you didn’t marry her?” I asked.

“I mean, that’s not the reason we’re not together anymore. A lot of things have happened.”

“You don’t say.”

Zach quit later, but not...immediately after. I don’t know how to make time go slower. I don’t even know at this point how much time had passed.

He wrote me a letter. All it said was You can stay there if you want, Evan, but I don’t recommend it. You’re in the kind of city that people leave.

I don’t know what happens to everyone in the story after that, because now we’re all caught up with the present.

#spilled ink #prose #short story

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lifeonashelf · 6 years

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CAT POWER

When I started working as a clerk at Rhino in 2001, one of my floor managers was a guy named Aaron, a real cool cat who was a few years older than me and a fellow writer (poetry, mostly, but working on his elusive first novel, if I recall correctly). At the time, he probably also fit the textbook description of an alcoholic—hey, it was a record store; most of us who worked there fit that textbook description. But Aaron wasn’t one of those slovenly, discernibly reckless drunks. He was a good-looking dude whose unruffled mien suggested that when he got wasted, he got Elegantly Wasted, and whenever he came in the morning after a bender, the luggage under his eyes was accompanied by a knowing smirk which intimated he had way more fun than you did last night and possibly woke up next to a foxy companion whose name he could only vaguely recall. Naturally, since I was a budding writer with aspirations of being an Elegantly-Wasted alcoholic, I looked up to the guy.

After Aaron left Rhino (I was promoted into the managerial spot he vacated, so he did me a solid there), he switched to bartending at a spot called the Second Avenue Alehouse, where we continued to have positive dealings. Since one of his duties was booking bands to perform at the pub, he slotted Happyending into the schedule several times. Second Avenue was in Upland—only ten miles away from almost everyone I knew at the time—and the place drew healthy business with or without us, so our Alehouse gigs were all reliably well-attended. We were also allowed to play for as long as we wanted, an attractive proposition since our repertoire had ballooned to something like 50 originals and 15 or so covers at that point. Since we obviously thought we had a lot of good tunes to offer, executing a Pearl Jam-esque thirty-song set was much more appealing to us than whittling our wares into a tidy thirty-minute package to be efficiently shoe-horned into rosters with like six other bands at the more traditional clubs where we performed. Plus, Aaron always made sure we got paid—generously, I might add, for an outfit of our limited stature—and kept us plied with free beer all night. Unsurprisingly, the Second Avenue Alehouse ended up being my very favorite venue that ever hosted Happyending.

[Our experiences there were infinitely preferable to some of our more ill-starred outings, such as one disastrous gig at a Cask ‘N Cleaver steakhouse (yes, really) in Orange County, where our entire audience consisted of my dad, the restaurant’s staff, and the consequently aggrieved lady who booked the show: an amateur promoter named Linda, who we had done a few previous gigs for despite ascertaining she was fucking insane. Linda was in particularly rare form the evening of that fabled Cask ‘n Cleaver show. While we were chatting with her upon our arrival at the eatery, she erupted into a lengthy tirade about how the government was putting chemicals in Hostess Twinkies which allowed the CIA to use said snack cakes for nefarious mind-control purposes. She was wholly sincere—and rather frightening in her fervor—so I didn’t have the stones to tell her that the only post-hypnotic suggestion I’ve ever received while eating a Twinkie is that Twinkies are goddamn delicious and I should eat five more of them in immediate succession. Anyway, Linda was incensed that we had failed to lure vast throngs of people to come watch us play in the lounge of a two-and-a-half-star chain restaurant located in a city where we didn’t know anybody. As our scheduled set-time drew near and the establishment remained completely empty, her fretfulness morphed into a vehement lambasting. “Where is everybody, Taylor?” Linda growled, to which I summed up the utter idiocy of the booking by shrugging and telling her, “Linda, this is a Cask ‘N Cleaver.” Nevertheless, we played reasonably well to that room full of vacant white-clothed tables—the candles ornamenting each one gently flickered as I threw power-chords and throaty yells at them, almost like a swaying sea of lighter-hoisting admirers; if we had any ballads in our set, we might have found ourselves in the midst of a poignant moment there. I also definitely noticed the bartender rocking out while he idly wiped down all the mugs behind the bar, ostensibly preparing his glassware just in case the zero people sitting at his counter started ordering pints. However, what I remember most about that night is how dejected we felt driving home from the gig… Not because my father was the only person who showed up to see us, mind you, but because we realized we had inadvertently walked out on the sizable tab we accrued for the hearty appetizers-and-all feast we devoured before our performance. I assure you our malfeasance was wholly unintentional (the food was really quite good; the joint handily earned its 2.5 stars). We simply forgot all about the bill because we were so focused on making a quick exit from the premises after we finished packing up our gear—as I said, Linda was livid; we were justifiably worried she might assault us with Scopolamine-laced Twinkies if we stuck around to give her the chance. In any case, I never returned to that Cask ‘N Cleaver (apparently, the dearth of clientele wasn’t limited to the nights Happyending performed there because the location has long since closed) so it’s entirely possible there is an outstanding warrant for my arrest in the city of Fountain Valley.]

My memories of hanging out with Aaron after each of our Alehouse performances are just as fond as my memories of the shows themselves. We closed the pub down every time we played there, and our host was always game for a few after-hours rounds once he cleared everyone else out; more than once, we ended up lingering to drink and smoke and shoot the shit until four or five in the morning, which naturally proved to be a fertile milieu for some extremely pleasant and memorable conversations (actually, I can’t really remember them, I just remember they were pleasant). Anyway, aside from that, the main reason Aaron has turned up in this essay is because in addition to being a real good dude, he was also a big fan of Cat Power.

I hadn’t yet heard any of Cat Power’s music when she first came up in palaver with Aaron at Rhino, so it was through him I learned that moniker is the stage name used by a highly-regarded singer-songwriter named Chan Marshall, who he assessed as follows: “She’s a fucking trainwreck, man. But I love her.” He then went on to tell me about some of the various Cat Power gigs he had attended over the years, which he succinctly described as “iffy”—he was being overly polite, I think, considering the particulars he then shared.

Aaron told me he was present for at least one show where Marshall abruptly ended the set after a few songs and walked off stage without explanation (which was evidently a common occurrence at the time), and another which was cancelled moments before it was set to begin because she didn’t feel like playing at all (which was evidently also a common occurrence at the time). Yet Aaron sounded positively tickled as he described these episodes to me, as if an aborted Cat Power concert was still a rewarding event to witness—to hear him tell it, Chan Marshall’s histrionic refusal to perform somehow endeared her to him more, perhaps even perversely validated his enthusiasm for her work because her erratic conduct reinforced the brittle-diva mythos she had cultivated. Since he had already accepted the “will-she-or-won’t-she” cliffhanger as part of the whole Cat Power mystique, even when Marshall was too much of a mess to operate, she was still satisfying some aspect of his fandom. And he clearly wasn’t dissuaded by either of these experiences; the very next time a Cat Power gig was announced in our area, Aaron bought a ticket for that show, too.

In a very real sense, Chan Marshall was playing hard to get. But Aaron kept chasing her because he was optimistic that someday, if he persisted, she was bound to eventually put out and play songs at one of her concerts. I’m fascinated by the singular impact this prolonged ear-tease fostered for him. Imagine: when he finally did get to watch a complete Cat Power performance, that gig must have been momentous by default, simply by virtue of it actually happening. And make no mistake, the effusiveness of Aaron’s gushing suggested he would remain a steadfast fan for life; though the wearisome cycle he described made me initially reckon that Chan Marshall was either a pretentious wanker or a narcissistic wacko, the more I think about it, she might actually be a genius.

[When I told my friend Paul I was working on this piece, he shared a strikingly similar reminiscence of a Cat Power performance he went to in Claremont several years back. According to him, that show started 45-minutes late because Marshall kept sending out a roadie in her stead to fastidiously tune and retune her piano several times; Paul also added that when Chan finally took the stage, she was essentially dragged there by one of her handlers and never once used the piano which had been so painstakingly fussed over.]

To this day, I still know almost nothing about Chan Marshall or her music, beyond Aaron’s insinuation that she apparently doesn’t like performing it in front of people. I do have one Cat Power selection in my library—you wouldn’t be reading this if I didn’t—though the sole reason I own You Are Free is because one of the tracks features a guest appearance from Eddie Vedder, and that is the only song on the album I can recall ever listening to (I didn’t even purchase this disc, actually; mine is an advance promotional copy that was given to me when it was released in 2003—in a precisely literal sense, I could say to this CD, “you are free”).

Despite writing nearly 2,000 words up to this point, I still have not cued up a single song off You Are Free. I decided to take an atypical approach to this essay because I wanted to examine this particular offering in a more concentrated fashion. Although I’ve spent a lot of time heckling Cat Power thus far, my casual mockery isn’t motivated by any authentic malice—I’ve been doing it mostly just because I’m a dick sometimes. The truth is, I have lofty expectations for this record. Marshall’s work comes enthusiastically endorsed by multiple people I know, and the credentials she has cultivated since Aaron first told me about her (widespread critical acclaim, concert appearances at which she presumably actually performed, etc.) have made me far more curious about Cat Power now than I was 12 years ago. So I’m ready to give Chan Marshall my undivided attention. And just to make sure I’m listening closely, I’m going to tackle You Are Free one track at a time:

Okay, so the first song on the disc is called “I Don’t Blame You”. It’s essentially just a rudimentary piano melody with an austere vocal on top of it—it reminds me of all the songs in Tori Amos’s catalog I don’t like, mostly. Marshall’s voice sure is lovely, though. Delicate. Subdued. Lamenting. And the piano has obviously been meticulously tuned.

Up next is the quasi title-track, “Free”. This cut kicks off with a cycle of four stabbing power chords, so I’m anticipating that it maybe-possibly is going to rock. A few bars in, I’m slightly reminded of Elastica, which is totally fine with me because Elastica is awesome. Now an atonal second guitar part has joined the fray in the background—sweet, the song is building. Chan keeps repeating the same riff over and over again, but this motif is bound to make a huge impression when the drums kick in and the chorus arrives. Yep, there we go: a crunchy guitar just dropped in to double the chords, and… Oh… So, that only happened twice; now we’re back to the lumbering refrain she’s been playing this whole time. Okay, here come the drums… Wait, those aren’t real drums—they sound like the percussion pads on a child’s keyboard, and it’s not even a “beat,” really, just some clunky tap-tap kick-snare thing. Something’s bound to happen soon though, I can feel it. “Everybody / get together / free.” There aren’t a whole lot of lyrics in this song. Okay, any second now, the dynamic payoff is going to… Wait… It’s over? What the fuck, Chan? One dopey riff for three and a half minutes, “everybody, get together, free” like eight times, and that was it? Shit. That was anticlimactic.

Thankfully, “Good Woman” is much better. The warm guitar tone sells it: slow, chiming notes on reprise, but there’s some emotional atmosphere behind them. R.E.M. has built countless great tunes around this same minimalist approach, and it’s working just fine here. I also dig the fiddles randomly scissoring through; they sound like they’re playing the chords to an entirely different song, but that’s kind of neat and it works. This is super-droney and super-gloomy, but in a good way. Chan Marshall really does sing beautifully. Maybe I like Cat Power. My promo copy didn’t include a lyric booklet, but this track is making me sad, so I’m assuming it’s about something sad. That’s cool, I love sad music. Hey, there’s Eddie Vedder. He sounds sad, too.

Now we’re on to “Speak For Me”. Yeah, I can get on board with this—perhaps those first two unexceptional tracks were flukes? This is a perfect spot on the album to encounter a decent mid-tempo number that actually feels like a fully-formed song, with chord changes and a chorus and everything. This reminds me a bit of Neko Case, and I figured out a couple entries ago that I love Neko Case. I wonder if the Girl With the Neko Case Tote enjoys Cat Power. I should text her and ask her. There’s a nifty plinking piano line and a few layers of textured guitars along for the ride, so this track has a lot going for it. Good tune.

“Werewolf” is a rather glum exercise, but I like the sparse arrangement and the way the lazily-picked campfire acoustic sits way down in the mix and the pair of melancholy violins moaning on top of it. Marshall’s pipes are the clear centerpiece here, though; now that I’ve heard her run through a few modulations I’m getting a better sense of what all the fuss is about. I can’t tell if this song is about metaphorical werewolves or actual werewolves, but from the sound of things I’m reasonably certain it’s about werewolves who are non-metaphorically depressed. I’d probably be depressed if I was a werewolf, too. I can totally relate to this one.

Now I’m listening to “Fool”, which sounds exactly like what I assumed Cat Power would sound like when I didn’t know what Cat Power sounded like. This track isn’t doing much for me. The only instrumentation here is an elementary replicating guitar line; while there’s nothing wrong with “simple,” “Fool” veers much closer to “dull.” There are a couple of harmonizing vocal stratums present to beef up Marshall’s quaver and infuse the track with some nuance, but there’s nothing especially special about this one, I’m afraid. The promotional blurb on my CD notes that “You Are Free marks Chan Marshall’s first album of original material in nearly 4 years…” “Fool” is only four minutes long, and shouldn’t have taken any capable musician much longer than that to write—I can’t fathom what Chan was doing for the rest of those four years.

“He War” marks the record’s mid-point and would, I assume, be the last tune on Side A if I was listening to this on vinyl. That makes this a significant cut in terms of placement, though it’s not particularly significant in terms of quality. Actually, this is the first song I’ve heard on You Are Free that I’m having trouble distinguishing from other songs I’ve already heard on You Are Free—it basically just marries the repetitive chugging of “Free” to the loose groove of “Speak For Me”. I’ve heard enough sparks of excellence thus far to discern that Marshall is a skilled songwriter, but this is another one of those instances where Chan merely stumbles into a single serviceable riff and continuously recycles it for the entire track. This album is starting to frustrate me; I still have the haunting hum of “Werewolf” in my head and I keep wishing Cat Power was consistently as good as that track suggests. Marshall’s voice remains great, but “He War” doesn’t conjure up a very exciting backdrop for it. Instantly forgettable, this one. I hope Side B is stronger.

The second division begins with “Shaking Paper”, which is indeed stronger than the last two numbers. Marshall is still only playing one phrase, but it’s a good one, and this tune at least has a legitimate snapping drum beat carrying it along. There’s also a feedback-rich binary guitar track lending some effectively menacing ambiance. This one, I get.

“Baby Doll” is another somber narrative in the same tonal vein as “Werewolf”, and I like this one a lot, too. Marshall’s husky front-and-center vocals here are exquisite. She hits a couple of plainly-audible flubbed guitar notes, and I totally dig that she left the mistakes in; the emotional urgency of the track benefits from those spontaneous human touches. This song sounds like something you’d hear in a pivotal film scene—Jennifer Lawrence driving down a lonesome shadow-swept highway in a torrential rain storm looking gorgeously despondent at the end of the second act, perhaps. I’m not sure if that’s exactly what Chan Marshall had in mind when she wrote this; You Are Free came out in 2003, so she was probably picturing Kate Winslet instead. Nevertheless, “Baby Doll” is more evocative and potent than anything else I’ve heard on this disc. If all of Chan’s stuff was this strong, I would definitely consider going back and deleting all of the snarky jibes in this piece—but, you know, I’m not going to do that.

Alas, the title of the next song serves as an apt rejoinder to my supposition that maybe I’m starting to genuinely dig Cat Power: “Maybe Not”. I wasn’t craving yet another Chan-at-the-piano exercise, let alone one that is essentially a lackluster reworking of “I Don’t Blame You”; I think she may be playing the exact same chords, even. The blurb on my CD’s insert proclaims that “You Are Free is most assuredly not easy listening,” which now reads more like a warning than a sanction. I’m always suspicious when publicists whose job is to promote an album use “challenging” as a buzzword. That just seems like a democratic way of saying, “this record sounds terrible at first, but maybe it will grow on you if you listen to it a whole bunch of times.”

In a sterling example of what could only be kismet, one of the first lyrics I discern in the next cut is the phrase, “having difficulty.” And I am: “Names” is so drearily monotonous that merely lasting through it is a grueling task. It’s the longest track on the album, stretching to nearly five minutes (though it feels much longer; I had to pause the song in the middle for a cigarette break). Yet again, Marshall is milking a single dowdy and dismal piano melody all the way through the tune. Which means that “Names” sounds exactly like “Maybe Not”, which means that it also sounds exactly like “I Don’t Blame You”, which means that I’m bored. Even the vocal performance is uninspired—this track evidently bores Chan Marshall, too.

“Half of You” is half a song, more of an interlude than a lude. At least it’s pretty. It’s got drums, too. Actually, just one drum, resounding over the soft acoustic flutter like rolling thunder, or like a heartbeat, maybe. Similes.

Hey! The intro to “Keep On Runnin’ ” sort of reminds me of a slower rendering of the intro to Metallica’s “The Unforgiven”. Now, that’s a killer song. Kirk Hammett’s climactic solo on that number gives me goddamn chills. That dude’s one of the greatest lead guitarists ever, hands down. Metallica got all kinds of shit for making such a blatantly commercial record after cranking out four underground thrash classics in a row, but as far as I’m concerned, Metallica (more commonly known as “The Black Album”) is a truly remarkable piece of work that has aged splendidly. And not just the obvious tracks, either—give “My Friend of Misery” and “The God That Failed” another spin sometime soon; fucking fantastic stuff (“Don’t Tread on Me” still blows, though). That album also features the song “Of Wolf and Man”, which is about non-metaphorical werewolves (the lyrics don’t specify whether or not they’re depressed). Granted, “Of Wolf and Man” is kind of cheesy, but it’s still a solid cut with some excellent chugga-chugga riffing; in the pantheon of hard rock songs about lycanthropy, I’d rank it slightly higher than Ozzy Osbourne’s “Bark at the Moon” (which I have to assume is about metaphorical werewolves since actual werewolves howl at the moon rather than bark at it—though this distinction is somewhat puzzling since Ozzy had himself made-up like a non-metaphorical werewolf for the cover of the album and the song’s video). Anyway, The Black Album was a keystone disc for me that opened up a whole lot of sonic doors and proved to be a tantalizing viaduct to the more brutal metal I would soon become obsessed with. Since I heard “Enter Sandman” long before I heard “Fight Fire With Fire”, I wasn’t even cognizant that Metallica was toning down their sound—besides, I was too busy being floored by this aural juggernaut with walloping drums and an insanely cool riff progression to care (fun fact: “Sandman” was the very first song I learned to play on my very first guitar, a red Peavey Predator which I of course still have). Oh… “Keep On Runnin’ ” just ended. Shit, I wasn’t paying attention. It was… okay?

“Evolution” is a glaringly unsuitable title for a song that is practically identical to three other tracks on this disc. For all of their elemental equivalencies, “Evolution”, “Names”, “Maybe Not”, and “I Don’t Blame You” could have been recorded in a single sitting—hell, they could be alternate takes of the same tune which Chan Marshall simply superimposed different lyrics over. I’ve run out of clever ways to indicate when she’s playing the same plain melody ad nauseam for the entire song. Instead, I will merely note that “Evolution” features Marshall playing the same plain melody ad nauseam for the entire song. The best endorsement I can give this redundant ditty is that it marks the end of an album I have not enjoyed listening to very much.

So, there’s a really terrific EP buried amidst the hour-long straggle of detritus and tedium that comprises You Are Free, and there’s just enough testimony to support Chan Marshall’s classification as a worthy artist. However, I didn’t find the record “challenging” as much as I found it inconsistent and wearying. Marshall’s voice is sincerely magnificent, and I have no doubt she’s talented, but she seems to struggle with channeling her energies into songs which demonstrate both of those things at the same time. It’s possible she’s just one of those artists whose entire body of work needs to be absorbed to cultivate an inclusive appreciation—regardless, I have little desire to labor through five more Cat Power albums searching for a few additional tunes as good as the stronger tracks I’ve heard here. I highly doubt I will want to listen to You Are Free again for another 12 years, so I’m not sure there’s even a reason for me to keep my copy of it. Still, in the interest of thoroughness, I did replay the disc from start to finish while reading over what I’ve written here so far. End result: I’m still mostly meh about You Are Free, but now I’m totally in the mood to hear Metallica.

I also ended up texting The Girl With the Neko Case Tote to ask her feelings on Cat Power; as I guessed, she is a fan. Interestingly, her estimation of Chan Marshall’s work is markedly similar to mine—she’s just far more forgiving than I am of the bouts of ennui between Chan’s intermittent bursts of excellence. She also informed me that Marshall’s history has been dogged by recurring struggles with alcoholism. This data probably should have caused me to reconsider the way I’ve been making light of her eccentric fitfulness in this piece, but instead it makes me wonder why her music isn’t more interesting when she has such an artistically-suitable vice to inspire her (I told you I was a dick sometimes). Deducing that booze is at the root of Cat Power’s gig cancellations and wildly uneven songwriting doesn’t necessarily make me enjoy her work any more or less—though her conduct does disqualify her from being an Elegantly-Wasted alcoholic and shift her more into the realm of a too-wasted-to-play alcoholic, which is a far less appealing breed to me.

Anyway, I asked my secret soul-mate’s permission to quote her response because it provided a nice balance to my own conclusions. This is what she typed:

“Here’s the thing with Cat Power tracks, they are either stunning… OR they’re… sort of eh matte mess because they sound half finished or undone or loose at the seams.”

This seemed to be right in line with Aaron’s assessment from 12 years earlier. Which makes me suspect that acknowledging Cat Power is terrible a lot of the time is an integral part of being a Cat Power fan. When I shared how unimpressed I was by Chan’s brand of prosaic, single-idea song-writing, she added:

“Baby listen, she’s drunk. And she’s Cat Power. So we forgive her and just stop listening to her songs for a while. Until I or we (Royal) become drunk and take her records off the shelf… And appreciate her humanity in all its stand-up and stumbling glory… She reminds us of someone we know, or someone we sometimes have been.”

The Girl With The Neko Case Tote may be onto something there. This entire installment has been crafted under the influence of mere coffee, so I might be missing the point because I’m missing a key ingredient of the Cat Power recipe. I wouldn’t be any kind of reporter if I didn’t pursue every possible avenue of our story here, which is why I’ve decided to do some field research: I have just opened a beer, and I’m going to proceed to get heavily intoxicated while listening to You Are Free one more time before I write the conclusion to this essay…

[a couple hours later] Okay, I’m drunk now and I played the disc again. Here’s what I found out: Ritual Brewing Company’s “Love & Malt” brown ale is mighty tasty. Still, the tunes I didn’t already enjoy on You Are Free only sound marginally better to me when I’m smashed—except for “I Don’t Blame You”, which sounds approximately 41% better. However, after I was done listening to Chan, I went ahead and cued up Metallica’s Black Album, and “Nothing Else Matters” sounds waaaaaaay better when I’m drunk (“Don’t Tread on Me” still blows, though).

So now I’m loaded and I have no idea how to finish this piece (which, consequently, likely explains why many of the songs on You Are Free sound as slapdash and half-formed as they do). Reading back, I’m realizing this entry has been a rather vicious one. That’s not something I’ll necessarily apologize for—hey, I did my due diligence; I’ve listened to the record three times now, and by every objective criterion it’s more not-good than good. But after conscientiously ruminating on why the Cat Power apologue resonates as so uninviting to me, I think an explanation may have dawned on me: Chan Marshall is unstable, often disappointing, and she spent many years squandering her tremendous potential because of her self-destructive habits…

She does, indeed, remind me of “someone [I] sometimes have been.” And that evocation isn’t a particularly welcome one, because I’ve never liked that person a whole lot.

Goddamn. That’s a non-metaphorically depressing epiphany right there.

November 28, 2015

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6/25/17, 5:30am - idk

Another long two weeks on the books. I really like this update schedule, it’s like just long enough that I don’t forget everything that happened lol.

I had a really weird dream sometime this week. It was kind of amazing, so I feel like writing about it for a sec. I was on some like cobblestoney/brickey kind of streets. A little bit Doctor Who London meets Chapel Hill I suppose, and all around me people were starting to riot. I think it was a feminist riot like I had encouraged Cullen to do months ago, and people were starting to shoot at each other. I was like duck this and took off running, but as I made my way down these outdoor escalators by a target I got scooped up by a group of five girls. Each of them grabbed a hold of one of my limbs and held me down and the last had a bat and was ready to smash my junk to pieces. I was like crying or something screaming not to hit my balls because they were still fragile lmao. When all seemed lost and I was about to take a beating one of the girls got bit by a fucking zombie on the neck and started gushing blood. All the girls freaked and I knew it was my time to get the fuck out of there so I bolted like hell. I ended up finding a laundromat tucked into a corner of this outdoor mall and so I decided to build myself a barricade there. I let in a little girl and her family, and they helped me move the washers and dryers, stacking them up (I guess I was superhuman or they weighed like nothing) to build a giant barricade at the entrance. We were safe from the zombies for a while, but some government agency started taking them down outside. What looked like an enormous leech made its way inside, and I held it up to see that it had a big mouth and teeth in the center of its belly. One of the zombies tried to make a big enough crack in the washers to get in, and I held up the leech who ate the zombie whole. But the government or somebody was trying to get us to come out of our hiding spot, saying they only needed one of us. When the family decided they were going to get rid of me because they didn’t know me I decided that this was bullshit because it was MY hiding spot, and furiously threw the leech out of the place. It landed in the middle of a small platoon of guys and exploded, turning them all into zombies. Then I was like holy shit this got even weirder and I woke up lol.

____

So anyway, Sunday I managed to get a nap in before heading out to pick up frankie. we talked for a while while fonzi was getting ready and all headed out to this food truck rodeo. We had some of the most delicious shit. Not gonna elaborate too much, but there were these pork belly bun sandwiches that exploded with a crackling of meat flavor and rounded with the savoryness of the fat in every bite. Holy shit I could eat them like every day of my life lol. We spent a good couple hours there, started doing this meme where Fonzi decided that Frankie looked like a celebrity from new york because her hair is all blonde too now. Since Sean and Angel didn’t come to meet us, we decided to hang out at angel’s for a bit. Just chilled and talked for a while while we deliberated whether or not to go swimming. When we finally decided to it was sunset, so his pool was closed, and then we tried to go to my pool but it was padlocked. Pretty damn disappointing, but we walked around catching fireflies and listening to music, which was nice. I took frankie home, but missed a turn and then a road was closed so we ended up detouring through chapel hill, and I decided we needed to stop and take a walk through the arboretum. Ended up going to one of the little grassy openings and in this big oak(?) tree up above us the fireflies must have been mating. In that particular tree they lit up every couple of seconds, making it sparkle in the night. There were so many fireflies that it was like a constant twinkling, like moving christmas light strung up between the leaves. It was beautiful. But not romantic in any sense unfortunately. lmfaooo she called me out asking if I was going to try to make out with her while we walked into the garden and I tried to play it off coyly like “who me? You were the one who kissed me last I remember.” and she had forgotten about this time that I may have actually imagined in my head so who fucking knows. The long and short of it is it seems like there isn’t an ounce of me that she’s attracted to. So that might work really well if I randomly decide to take her up on her aloof offer to move in with her in Boston one day. Who knows. I stll don’t know what I want to do.

Mon - work. Tony told me at the last minute I wouldn’t have patients that weekend, so I had to work mon and weds and take a hit on tuesday to follow through on my date with Katy

Tuesday I kicked some fucking assssss in doubles. Carried my buddy Will hard to get some experience for BMR. And Katy came after she got off work! I got to introduce her to ashleigh, it was sick. I was so fucking happy to have her there and so excited to get laid and so tired from burning out from doubles that I got demolished in singles and took off. Butttt unfortunately katy wasn’t feeling well so she fell asleep on me like Immediately when we got home. Was nice cuddling up with her though. Was torn for a while because I felt like I should be trying to hang out with Ashleigh and Aaron instead. Decided not to because she wasn’t feeling well and I should try to make her feel better because I’m a sappy fuck.

weds - work

thurs - had another really low key day with Katy. kinda just hung out until she got off work and then we just slept again. Bleh.

Luckily since I got the weekend off, it left me free to see Tony and Morgan for their birthday!! It was a fucking awesome weekend, showed up just in time friday night to smoke and go to dinner with everybody. Everybody fucking cheered when I came in the door, it’s like nothing ever changes with us I love all of em so much. Finally got to meet Tony and Morgan’s S.O.’s, and I like them both a lot. Once we were all a little stoned and being a little awk Laura made this hilarious offhand remark “ok, welcome to the conference. These are your friends.” that both became a great in-joke and also made me feel less terrible for being socially inept when I got high as balls for the first time in forever lmfao. Dinner was insanely good, we got like a whole bunch of small dishes at this place Pasteur or something, ate family style and got to try so many different dishes. I remember steak tar tar and this rib that was like eating caveman bacon on a stick being incredible. Also fried pickles and all sorts of stuff. Had a couple beers there, went to a bar and bought tony a tequila shot, got home, pulled the liquor out of my car and everybody got toootally fucking wasted. I don’t remember all that much, a little bit of a nostalgia fest with Alex for a while. Tony made the clutchest move ever ordering us a pizza super late in the night. But not too much later after gorging myself I puked my guts out and crashed on an air mattress with Erica lol. Was probably drunk enough that I might have tried to make moves otherwise, even though she has a bf now apparently you know me -_- . She’s lookin suppper fit nowadays. I think she’s still uniquely the only girl I’ve rejected in my life. Back when I was just a pure little kid and didn’t want to do anything sexual without it being special yet. Fuckin weird typing that now lol it doesn’t sound like me at all.

Saturday was river day, bought some beer and hiked with it about a mile to this river and spent most of the day there smoking drinking and chatting. It was fucking gorgeous out there, and everyone looked great together laying around on this rock. Got to know Dana and her gf much better, and tony’s gf. I think I drank like 5 or 6 beers floating around in the river, it was a lot of fun trying to ford across (it had poured that morning so the water was flowing pretty fast) without spilling any beers lol. Towards the end of us hanging out in the lake me and Laura floated around in this raft morgan had brought, and alex was reeling us in and casting us back out again like he was our dad. Such an excellent day. Until then I hadn’t told anyone about my vasectomy because I didn’t want to take attention away from everyone else, seeing how it had become such a talking piece on our family vacation and how much of my conversation with frankie had revolved around it. But I mentioned it in the river and said that it was because once I found out it was reversible I felt like the onus of birth control shouldn’t be put on the woman. Everyone was just like “huh wow that’s fucking awesome I totally agree,” and I like swam away for a bit instead of discussing it further. But when we were hiking back up to our cars Mike told me “yknow you might’ve started like a revolution back there with the vasectomy thing.” I was pretty fucking drunk and a little high so I honestly wondered if he was just fucking with me for a second, but I really appreciate that he said that after all the shit I got from my family. So that was a long ass afternoon of being out in the sun, and everyone got exhausted and fought to stay up but seemed like after we got back at some point everyone took a turn of getting too high and getting zonked out on the couch. I took a nap in Tony’s bed until his dad got there and got to see him for a bit. More great food was cooked, but I felt bad that I was so tired because I kinda wanted to rage again, especially since some new people came to hang that night, but not people that I knew. As a present Tony got the fire pit from their old house, and it was really neat to have another fire and sit around it with everyone. Sunday Tony and Morgan and some people cooked an enormous breakfast for everyone. Hung out with Mike and Erica and all talked about how good we look now lol. Eventually we said our goodbyes, I stuck around after everyone had left to chill with Mike and Tony for a while because I had nothing to do back at home. Katy decided she didn’t want to chill. I had waited on my dad for a long time to see him for lunch and so I didn’t smoke too much but got a little inebriated and watched nearly a whole season of Silicon Valley with Mike and Tony and his gf and Mary. Sun - came back at 4, got home at 7, idr that night. Mon - Stayed up until like 6am watching Doctor Who, had to go to chapel hill for a JKCF function at 9, barely slept at all but met some new cooke friends so that was cool. Went to raleigh w/ will to play melee, got suuuper fucked. Went 0-2 in singles AND doubles, the worst placing I’ve had in... well ever, but it’s been months since I’ve had one that bad. Tues - Had a redemption tournament at Geeksboro. Got second place, actually won a little money. Disappointed that I threw away a few games that might’ve given me first but had a lot of fun. Katy told me she was sick that morning, and since she had been no fun to hang out with the last week and she bailed on our plans for Sunday and that day I decided to break things off with her. She was confused and hurt, of course, but I was just like “this is bullshit you’re treating me like I’m not a friend” and we hashed things out about her worrying about me having too strong feelings and that we’d just be friends who have sex and watch cartoons and stuff. So we’ve still been snapping every day but I still haven’t seen her in a while. I’m glad we’re still friends though, I was feeling helllla fucking self conscious for a hot minute.

Weds - I hung out watching Doctor Who most of the day, but went out to the bar Ashleigh was working to hang out for a while. She introduced me to her friend who was kinda plastered and seemed like she was leaning for a kiss on our introductory hug. So I was like woooooooh baby I love gboro people I can’t believe I have to play catchup at fucking 11pm lmao. Chugged a few free beers for this Shocktop promotion, and since I hadn’t eaten anything I got just tipsy enough that I could flirt with her without feeling like a Total asshole. We were chatting about some music and stuff, went inside and danced for the tiniest bit, and then she basically kissed me three times. Nothing egregious or any tongue or anything because I was still wary of her being a little off her ass, but I realized I got a text from ashleigh saying “come talk to me.” I was like “oh what’s up?” and she said “well it doesn’t matter now, it’s just that she’s married, they’re in a rough spot but I didn’t realize it was That rough.” ha haaaaaaaaaaa goddamn just my luck lol. She ended up puking on the side of the bar, I made better friends of a few of the regulars and played pool with them, I hung out with Aaron when he showed up at the end of the night and got to hear about the drama between him and his old roommate, and I sang a bunch of karaoke. Another fucking wonderful night, fshoooo. Got a philly cheesesteak and passed out, was super hungover the next morning lmao.

Thurs - got off work early story of that girl that I posted Fri - work, getting ready for bmr, finally got my spare setup in the office at work I’m so fucking happy it doesn’t make enough noise that it disturbs the patients. I’m gonna be a god one day lolol.

Also just as a benchmark I’m 4 episodes into season 8 of doctor who now. Comin along nicely. Def the hardest I’ve binged on a show in a longggggggg time.

OH and last I learned how to solder on weds. Finally did the work on that controller mod and it fucking brokkkkeee kinda tragic, I had to throw out the guts of the controller that I learned to play the game on. I thought I was going to be fucked for a while, but luckily Will had my back and lent me one of his spares that works even better than the one I had before. Might have actually been lucky as fuck despite being out $50 on the microchips and soldering kit lmao.

Anyway my life is amazing, I’ve been doing personal finance numbers in my head a lot but I think that’s because I’m just reassuring myself that I don’t have to worry about money much anymore. Eating well, still not doing much french fries, trying to quit soda. Started doing pushups+situps+pullups before my showers, so maybe I’ll be a little fitter, even. Life’s pretty great. So fucking excited for BMR2 next weekend, hopefully I’m gonna kick some ass. Gonna be a muchhh nerdier update next time I get on here lol.

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snarksicleblog-blog · 7 years

Text

Grimsby

By Danaë Brandt

Click.

A pale naked man looked up at the worn-out contraption.

Digital Board: 3 001 768 288 Served.

This naked man’s name is Carl if you must know. That however, is unimportant. He was but one, of countless “hopeful” (and just as naked) applicants, queuing up the narrow hallway to Mr. Grimsby’s door. He breathed a sigh of relief. I’m next. Bout’ fuckin time. He took a step forward toward the red tape on the floor, and stopped. He watched Frat Boy, the guy he had been standing behind, lower his head, clench his butt cheeks, and make his way towards the office door. He stopped just as he was close enough to smell the nauseating green lead paint. The only object around that was new enough to gleam. His left thumb went from tan, to red, to purple as the right pressed into it, suffocating the life out of his manicure.

Where the hell is the guard? Carl thought. He had gone on coffee break a while ago. He would have shoved this idiot in there already. He turned his head to glance over his shoulder, keeping his eyes levelled as to not catch anything below the belt. He could not see where the line ended anymore. The flickering lights were dying along the mile-long corridor, plunging the unfortunates at the end of line into complete darkness. One could be excused for thinking they were trying to gain entrance to the most in vogue underground club in the U.S. instead of a meeting with the terribly trivial Mr. Grimsby. One could also wonder why this place was so under-staffed, or why one man would be in charge of all the applicants in North America. After all, they were in the most notorious of places. Seems positively, unequivocally, really truly… Anticlimactic.

The people in line started sneering at the apparent cowardice of the Head of Gamma-Something-or-Other house.

“Gutless moron,” someone whispered at first.

“Yeah asshole? What happened to that smart-ass attitude?” asked a woman in a nasal voice.

“Not so tough without your polo shirt, huh?” said far way voice. Not the best heckler in the bunch.

“Where your bros at?” added another. Many applicants in line started joining in. The deluge of taunts made its eventual way to the folks so far back, they had never seen the front crowd. Soon enough, they were also mocking the pathetic guy at the door. Then, in a steady and decisive voice, Carl, the man right behind him, let out the last one Frat Boy wanted to hear.

“Pussy.”

The young boy turned around raising both his arms, like a priest during Acclamation… Or a frat boy after a keg stand.

“Oh yeah? Fuck you!”

He turned back swiftly and, in a hyperventilating fit, reminiscent of a child about to dive into glacial water, Frat Boy twisted the silver doorknob and stepped in. The line erupted in cheers. They were glad to be rid of the aggravating boy. Their long wait had been made even more unbearable by Gamma-Douche’s loud and incessant whining. From what Carl had gathered, Frat Boy had driven his Camaro into a minivan, killing a family of five. His parents had managed to bail him out. Clean record and all. Five months later, plastered Frat Boy got himself into yet another accident. Needless to say, a meeting with Mr. Grimsby was unavoidable. Mr. Grimsby could not be bought by daddy dearest. Or by Carl for that matter…

Click. Digital Board: 3 001 768 289 Served.

Carl’s head snapped back to the front. Already? The Digital Board had been so slow, Carl had found himself counting his eyelashes to cope with the painful wait. This time however, it had not been a minute before it was the next person’s turn. His turn. He slowly walked up to the office door and turned the heavy plain knob, inhaling longer than he would, hoping it would slow his frantic heartbeat. With a forceful exhale, he pushed the door.

Mr. Grimsby’s office reflected a life of bureaucratic exactitude. There was one desk in the centre of the room, opposing chairs, the white walls were bare, and the file cabinets neatly locked with the endless contracts he has drawn over the years.

“Take a seat,” said the little man, his attention fixated on the form in front of him. He scribbled with frantic movements of the wrist, his skeletal elbow anchored, steadying his writing arm with the precision of a printer. His green visor blocking his sure to be weasely face, framed his glossy bald head. Once he finished, he tossed the pen into the bin by his bare legs. Carl heard it hit the metal brim, then the floor. He got down to pick it up and toss it himself. He didn’t want to take any chances with the clerk, even if he looked like weakling. Surely he couldn’t be. The bin was already half filled with dried up ballpoints. Mr. Grimsby’s crossed his legs, giving Carl a front row seat to his— THUD.

“Ow! Mother-f—“ Carl cursed after slamming his head on the edge of the table.

“Shall we we proceed sir?” Mr. Grimsby suggested with an impassive expression. His spidery fingers twisted the form to face Carl. His beady eyes unwavering behind his Mat Steel Windsor eyeglasses, “You will need to sign these papers to be permitted passage. Sign on the first dotted line at the bottom of the first and last pages, and write your initials on the the others as you read.

“There must be thousands of pages,” Carl complained.

“Indeed. Isn’t convenient we have all the time in the World? Once you finish reading, and I do suggest you read every page carefully, we can then discuss your options.”

“My options?”

“As to how you shall be spending your time here.”

“I have a choice?”

“We all make choices don’t we? It is what has landed you here in the first place, sir,” his neatly filed fingernail tapped the dotted line. Mr. Grimsby reached for another ballpoint in his drawer, and started scribbling on another form. Carl looked down to the papers:

Nether World District - Perdition Application Admission (NB - 1318)

Permanent Resident (North American Damned)

Carl read through the numerous Hell Residency Situations. It all looked pretty standard. With escalating gravity, the road to purgatory would be lengthier and more torturous. To be expected. Carl identified with situation 329: You have lived a life of sin by committing fraud in the 2010 Synthetic CDO case, trading insider secrets with your competitors at Citigroup, causing your investors to lose their material possessions, emotional stability and in some cases, caused them to take their own lives. You have spent more time pursuing selfish pursuits, causing you to miss eight of your son’s baseball games, two of your other son’s dance recitals and all of your twelve anniversaries—

“I always sent Beth flowers!” Carl muttered.

“I’m sure she appreciated being sent flowers from your secretary. The one you were having an affair with.”

“So? She was a pill-popping washed-up socialite. I was done with her. She wasn’t a better parent anyway.”

“Very astute of you sir. She is scheduled to arrive here six years and two months from now. She still has quite a few wild oats to sow. Your children’s future is still to be decided.”

“Hmmph,” Carl rolled his eyes and signed before finishing the ten page long situation, “Nice first name… Barney,” he mocked as he signed he last page, noticing the small engraved name plate on the desk, “I have to say, I didn’t expect Hell to be so… civilized.”

“How so sir?” Mr. Grimsby asked going over the application and making sure he wouldn’t be cheated by a con-man. He had also worked as a clerk in law firm way back in the day. He had been the type dot all the “i”s, cross all his “t”s, measure the dots above both “i”s and “j”s, making sure they were always perfectly aligned. He also doubled-barred all his zeroes, because God forbid his unfaltering compulsion for order, could be perverted by simpletons. It’s that obsession for the penny-ante that had landed him there in the first place.

“Well look at us? You’d think we’re at the DMV.”

“I’m afraid the Department of Motor Vehicles was established after my time.”

“Where’s the fire? Where are the hook wielding demons? Where’s the big dog guarding the Gates of Hell? This is all I was supposed to be “afraid” of? A scrawny immigration officer in a shitty poker cap?”

“Shall we proceed to the options of residency available to you?”

“I was at least expecting some fucking second-rate James Earl Jones declaring “I am the Gate Keeper” or some shit,” Carl continued. He sat back comfortably in his chair. He had eaten bigger steaks than the pathetic paper pusher sitting opposite him.

“This is not about living up to your expectations of Hades sir. It’s about tailoring your punishment to your worst nightmare… You are now insignificant, and, for all intents and purposes, I am the Gate Keeper.”

“Sure thing sir. Whatever you say “boss”.”

“As you qualify for an extensive list of punishments, you must purge your soul through a minimum of 300 years process—“

“Say Barnster, what landed your sorry ass down here?” Carl interrupted.

“It is of no importance,” he answered, his face as stoic as ever. He had not lived a selfless life. His nit-picky attention to the insignificant, had poisoned his promising accounting career, his family life, and finally his soul. His death had been dramatic in its own pitiful way. His employer had found a mistake in the books. One Mr. Grimsby refused to admit. It had been a mere difference of a few dollars. Nothing worth offering a challenge for. Mr. Grimsby had often likened himself to the misunderstood Third Vice President, Aaron Burr. This would be a farfetched comparison, praising Mr. Grimsby all too much. One could argue for delusions of grandeur perhaps, but most would note an unmistakeable inferiority complex. His employer, his own Alexander Hamilton, had been a skilled marksman, and petty Mr. Grimsby well… He had been vain… And legally blind.

“So you are just some poor sap who died before confession. That explains it. I want to see your manager.” Now that was a new one.

“My manager? Sir?”

“Oh don’t play innocent Barnacle, I want to meet the the Top Dog.”

“I am not familiar with that title.”

“The Big Cheese.”

“Sir we need to sign—“ Mr. Grimsby started before flinching when the other man slammed his fist on the desk.

“Listen here Barnicus—“ Carl stood up fast, his large frame casting a shadow on the Gate Keeper.

“Was that meant to be an insult?”

“I want to meet Satan.”

“Satan?”

“Yes Satan! The Devil, Lucifer, the Morningstar, God’s whiny eternally grounded teenage son. He’s the one that runs this place right? I’m the man to run this dump back to its former glory.”

“Unless you know one of the original demons, you have no connection to Mr. Morningstar. No common damned soul meets with the Head of State here,” Mr. Grimsby explained. His expression static.

“And have you met him?”

“I have a key position in his administration now don’t I?”

“So who’s a guy gotta blow for a job down here? I saw some of the mandatory punishments I got to go through. I’m sure as hell not going through phase two. Phase seven and eight, I can manage. I draw the line at becoming anybody’s money shot.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t how it works, sir,” Mr. Grimsby spoke, with his straight lips starting to twitch at the corners. He was amused.

“Oh come on man, is there anything I can be of use to the Big Guy? I have a array of skills that should be more than useful down here. You need to slice up some bitches? I took anatomy in first year of College. You need to get people to talk? I’m a master extortioner. Just ask Chris Christie. That fat old blockhead stood like a whimpering idiot behind the T Man, all because I got him drunk enough to take pictures with a half naked Ru Paul. You need to teach a slut a lesson? I’ll—“ Mr. Grimsby held up his right hand, and rubbed his temples with the left.

“Please sir. You’re making this process needlessly long. I am behind with the line-up, and I would hate to underperform after turning in my best numbers to date.”

“Please Barney…”

“Mr. Grimsby, sir,” he said, grinning at the large man, cowering at the idea of losing his manhood. Idiot, he already had.

“Mr. Grimsby,” Carl repeated.

“Fine, I’ll show you the way to his office. Forgive me if I don’t follow you. I have no time.”

“Of course, of course. Thank you Mr. Grimsby.”

“Very well,” Mr. Grimsby snapped his fingers. A golden door, carved itself into the bare wall behind the desk. The carvings drew a modern man’s body, in a fitted suit, tossing a coin into the air. His head was that of a large bull. “Send my regards to Mr. Morningstar.”

“Is there anything I should know?”

“If I was welcomed in his administration, I’m sure a strong man like you would have no problem doing the same. Have at it.”

Carl entered the dark corridor, and closed the door at snail-like pace. As soon as it closed, the door disappeared, manifesting a new, and decidedly less ostentatious door in its stead. A horned red skinned demon wearing a security cap entered, holding a steaming white coffee mug with a powder blue logo saying “Jesus is my Bitch!” He looked back the the door, with a puzzled look.

“Did you open The Door?” the demon enquired.

“Indeed.”

“Who went in?”

“A new resident.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“He tried to show you up didn’t he?” the demon ventured, and Mr. Grimsby shrugged, “You’re a sick bastard you know that Grimsby?” he remarked in a matter-of-fact tone.

“After over a Century down here… I am loathed to finally admit. I am petty. Send in the next one.” Carl follows the long narrow corridor, plunged into blackness. He made his way slowly, weary of what would be at the end. His eyes adjusted slightly, spotting flickering lights somewhere ahead…

Silence. Digit Board: 3 001 768 289 Served

#fantasy #short story #hell #fiction #prose fiction

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