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hoodharlow · 2 years

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"It's a polo"

AN: this part of an upcoming series I have with Jack and latina nepotism baby. In this chapter they’ve been together for a while. Hopefully in a few days I’ll post when they met (if you know me and my writing you know I write and post eveything out of order lmao) <333 A huge TYYY to @cherryxcreme for being the best and cheering me on and hyping me up to start this series <333 (also I got the picks from screenshotting videos of @jackharlowsource on insta

Requested? No

Warnings: brief jealous!jack and jealous!oc (tw Anitta), smut

Word Count: 2.9k words

“Have you seen the sunscreen?” Jack yelled from somewhere in the airbnb.

“It’s on the bed!” Miriam yelled back from their bedroom.

“The big bottle with the yellow pump.”

“It’s on the bed.” she repeated herself.

“The one I use because according to you is good because the others make me look like a ghost.” he said, entering their room.

“Que está en la pinche cama.” She snapped, pointing behind her.

“Damn, that’s all you had to say, no need to yell at me.” he said, feigning offense. He plopped himself on their bed.

Miriam rolled her eyes and grabbed one of her many garment bags that hung on the clothing rack. She unzipped it and carefully removed her outfit from the garment bag. It was a custom lavender-pink Balmain two piece skirt and top outfit. She bought it last year after seeing it on the runway, though on the runway it was periwinkle instead of lavender-pink. One of the pros of being on a first name basis with designers is that they’re always happy to customize clothes for her.

She shimmied out of her sleep shorts and bent down to pick them up. She felt a hard smack on her ass, making her yelp in pain. She turned around to see Jack rolled over with his hand in the air, ready to smack her ass one more time. He gave her a mischievous grin. Miriam knew that smile all too well.

“Don’t–”

In one swift movement, he picked her up before she could finish her sentence and laid her facedown on the bed. He lifted her hips as if he was going to take her from behind, smacking her ass to the clapping beat of ‘Industry Baby.’

“Jack!” She squealed.

She felt his hand on her back, gently pushing her into the mattress. He leaned forward and kissed up her neck, whispering, “Couldn’t help myself. I love that ass.”

“How long until you have to meet up with your team?” Miriam asked him.

“Two hours.”

“We can do a lot of things in two hours.” She said, looking over her shoulder to meet his eyes. Her gaze dropped down to the tent in his pants.

“You wanna fuck?” He asked her, clearing his throat.

“I mean it’s been a few days.” She said quietly. She tugged her large t-shirt over her head and rolled on her back so he had better access to her.

“I told you to come with me to Boston.” Jack said, hovering over her. He leaned down and kissed down her neck, his hand sliding up her breasts.

“You know I couldn't get off work–oh that feels nice.” she moaned out.

Jack gave her a chaste kiss on the lips then kissed down to her chest. He tweaked one of her nipples while he nipped and sucked her other breast. Satisfied with the lovebites on her chest, he kissed down her stomach to the band of her panties.

He sat back on his knees and pushed her legs open. Her arousal glistened through the lace of her panties. Miriam lifted her hips, so he could remove her panties. Jack slowly pulled them off and tossed them to the side. He did the same with his clothes then climbed back in bed. He licked his lips and placed her legs over his shoulders.

Shamelessly, he kissed her clit, making her moan. Then he wiggled his tongue at her entrance. He moaned out at her taste. To him it was the most delectable thing ever. He took his time with her. Minutes passed when he finally slid his middle and ring finger in her. She gasped at his touch. Her hands tangled in his hair pulling it for relief.

“Fuck!” She moaned out. He sped up his fingers then he slipped them out of her and rubbed her clit, bringing her to her climax.

“Jack!” She repeated his name over and over as she came. Jack licked her release and laid back next to her. Miriam rolled over and placed her leg over his waist.

“I love you.” She said softly. She stretched to peck his lips.

“I love you too, Miriam.” he mumbled against her lips.

Jack pushed her hips so she was directly on top of his crotch. They kissed for what seemed like hours. Teasing touches here and there, only to end up wrapped up in each other’s arms. Jack was hugging her back while Miriam placed her hands on his chest. She slowly moved her hips against him.

“I need you,” Miriam said against his lips.

“Mhm.” He groaned, holding her hips to buck his into hers.

“Want me on top or?”

“Ride me.”

Miriam nodded and kissed him a few more times. She reached between them and slowly stroked Jack. Then she lifted her hips, lining herself over his cock. She slowly slid all the way down his length. She moaned out at how good Jack felt inside her. She rocked her hips against him, getting used to him. She slowly bounced herself up and down while continuing to rock her hips against his. He sat up and brought her closer to him.

“You feel so good, Miriam.“ Jack praised after a few minutes. "Fuck, you ride me so good.”

Miriam’s arms tightened around his neck. Jack bucked his hips upwards to meet her thrusts and she let out a soft moan.

“Feel so good, Jack. Only you can make me–Jack!” she whimpered. She felt his fingers in between her thighs, rubbing her clit.

Her orgasm came out of nowhere. She clung to Jack as she continued to ride him. He still kept thrusting into her through her orgasm. But he slowed down, letting her come back from orgasm only to take her once more. With three shallow thrusts, he pushed himself deep inside Miriam, spilling every last drop in her.

Jack slowly pulled out of Miriam and laid next to her.

“That was…”

“Yeah,”

They both giggled, still out of breath. They turned to their sides and looked at each other. Jack pushed back a few strands of hair that escaped Miriam’s bun.

They went to the bathroom and helped one another clean up. Miriam, dressed in her Balmain two piece outfit, sat on the vanity touching up her makeup and watched Jack change into some cargo pants and a white polo.

“Are you sure you don’t want to wear something more…festival-esque?” She asked him. “I packed a couple of those Valentino shirts with floral designs, you can wear one.”

“What’s wrong with my polo?”

“It’s a polo.”

***

Jack sipped his water watching Miriam mingle. She was with some of her friends while he waited for his queue to go on stage. He twisted the cap tightly watching as Fai Kahdra leaned into her whisper something to her. Miriam pulled away then got on her tippy-toes to whisper back something to him. She took a step back and frowned. Fai showed her his phone, making her frown deeper as she read what was on the screen. She turned Fai’s phone to her sister and Jordyn Woods. Both women have the same frown as her.

“I’ll be back.” Jack said, patting Urban’s knee.

He walked up to Miriam, who was already meeting him halfway. He placed his hand on her lower back, guiding her to one of the private cabanas. “You good?” he asked.

“Yeah, this guy from our friend group, you don’t know him– I don’t even know him that well. He was older than Kat and Joseph by like a year or two. He rarely goes out because he travels a lot since he works in his parents’ business. Anyways texted Fai because I guess his little sister snuck out and joined some random group that drove up here. It’s a mess.” she sighed. “Honestly I forgot about her, the last time I saw her was a few years back for her sweet sixteen– well I saw her family post about it.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Nah, I think Hailey is going to ask Justin to hook them up with passes so the guy can look for the girl.” She waved him off. She inspected his arms. “I think you need to touch up on sunscreen. You’re getting a little red.”

“Shit.” Jack cursed.

“Ten” Miriam said, pulling out a small tube of sunscreen. She squirted some on his arms and on hers as well. She was one of the rare Mexicans that managed to get sunburnt even if she had brown skin.

“Let me get your shoulders.” he said, taking the sunscreen and putting some in his hands. He gently rubbed it on her shoulders. With his thumbed he massaged her, earning a pornographic moan from her. “Keep it in your pants Miriam.”

“You’re really good with your hands.” she murmured, moaning once more.

“I’mma stop before you get me bricked up.”

"But I like you bricked up." Miriam smiled innocently.

"You're the worst." He grinned.

"I know."

One of Jack's managers waved him over, so one of the crew members could put on his mic. Jack lifted his hand to them, asking for a second. He turned to Miriam. "I gotta go."

"I know." She quickly gave him la bendición and kissed him. "I'll see you in a bit."

Jack cupped her cheek and kissed her once more before heading off to where his managers were. Miriam walked over to the cabana where her friends were. She squealed in excitement when she saw Hailey.

"Hi!" She said, tackling her into a hug.

"Hi baby!" Hailey said back.

They caught each other up with everything that's happened in the last two weeks. They haven't seen each other since the Grammys. By the time they finished the MC announced Jack to the stage. Miriam and Hailey join the crowd near the front so they could watch him while her sister, Jordyn and Fai stayed behind in their cabana.

After Jack performed his first song, Miriam got pissed. There weren't that many people to begin with, so it was annoying to see a good chunk of them not paying attention to him. Not to mention, there were only a handful of people singing along to him, including Miriam and Hailey.

A girl in a crocheted tube top turned around and gave Miriam a dirty look. "Could you not sing? You're ruining my video."

"No," Miriam scoffed. "If you didn't want to hear people sing, maybe you should have come to a music festival."

"Fucking bitch." muttered the girl before walking off with her friends.

"Well that was rude." Hailey commented.

"I know." Miriam agreed.

The rest of Jack's set went by smoothly. Half way the crowd got more enthusiastic and sang along to his more popular songs. When it was over, Miriam and Hailey went back to their cabana. While she waited for Jack, Miriam prepped herself paloma with the drinks and mixers. She sipped it, grimacing at the weird taste of the grapefruit juice. She usually added grapefruit soda, the juice had a weird aftertaste.

"There goes what's her face." Jordyn said to Miriam.

"Who?" She asked.

She looked in the direction her friends were looking at and rolled her eyes. Anitta was all over Jack, trying to hug him. But he wouldn't allow her. He would take a few steps back and she would a few more to get closer. When that failed, she tried caressing his arm, but Jack clasped his hands behind his back politely nodding to whatever she was telling him.

Hailey looked over to Miriam, cringing at the sight in front of them. "Not even Justin's fans get that…intense."

"And in broad daylight too, that's just desperate." Katalina snickered. “Not even Daisy gets that excited when she sees your man.”

"Kat, be nice." Miriam chastised her. She glanced at them and frowned at how Anitta was pressing herself onto him. "I'll be right back."

She passed her drink to her sister and made her way to them. She felt something tug at her heart, seeing his bright blue eyes filled with relief when she approached them. Miriam attached herself to Jack's side and wrapped her arm around his back while he placed his arm over her shoulders.

"Hi Anitta." Miriam greeted her.

"Hi, I was just telling Jack that I didn't see him when I was out on stage." Anitta fake pouted.

“I didn't know you were performing, then again I only looked at the names in the big font.” Miriam said, giving Anitta a toothless smile.

Jack covered his snort with a fake sneeze. He knew that she knew that Anitta was on the lineup. When he got back from Boston, he went over to her parents' house to help her organize her spreadsheet and itinerary. He saw how she crossed Anitta's name off the list.

“Bless you, mi vida." She said, rubbing his chest.

"Thanks," he sniffled. He looked down at Miriam. "I'm good to go if you and your friends are."

"Okay," she nodded.

Jack didn't even bother telling Anitta bye, but Miriam did. She looked over her shoulder and wiggled her fingers at her. She had the urge to flip her off but she didn't. It was broad daylight and people around them were already recording her and Jack.

"You're not flipping her off are you?" Jack asked her.

Miriam gasped. "I can't believe you would think I would do something like that."

"I know you Miriam."

***

For only being 5'6, Jack was struggling to get Miriam out of the van. He knew that he wasn't going to be able to get her out walking, so he just picked her up bridal-style. Miriam’s sister held the door open for him as he carried her into the airbnb. It was a big house with a small guesthouse in the back where Miriam and Jack were staying. He sat her down in one of the stools and filled her a glass of water.

"The last time I saw her this drunk was at her 21st." Katalina said. She entered the kitchen carrying her younger sister's food from Jack in the Box.

"Hey that's mine," Miriam pointed at the milkshake. Her eyes brimmed with tears. "Jack, tell her to give it back."

"Como chingas." Her sister muttered, placing her food in front of her.

"Why are you being mean to me? You stole my food!" She cried.

"You got it from here?" She asked Jack, dismissing Miriam’s crying. He nodded in response. "Okay I'm going to the main house. Call me if anything."

Jack waved goodbye to Kat and turned to his girlfriend. She rested her head on the marble counter and dozed off.

"Shit," he cursed. He gently shook her shoulder. "Miriam, you have to eat something before you go to bed."

"No." She huffed. “I wanna sleep.”

“Miriam.”

“Jackman.”

“Fine, imma gonna eat your fries and milkshake.” he said, taking her food.

Miriam lifted her head and pouted. “Hey, that’s mine.”

Jack rolled his eyes and passed her her food. He watched her as she meticulously opened her taco and added a whole package of ketchup to it. She then opened a pack of ranch and dunked the taco. She then pulled out a box of chicken strips and opened another package of ranch. She scooped it out onto the lid of her chicken strips and piled on more ketchup. Before she could ask, Jack handed her a bottle of sriracha. With one of Jack’s regular fries, Miriam only eats curly fries, she mixed her sauce concoction.

When they finished eating Jack helped her to their bedroom. While he picked out some clothes for her, he heard the shower turn on. He placed one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties on the bed for her. He went back to the kitchen and grabbed a cold water bottle from the fridge. He set it down on the nightstand along with some ibuprofen.

He went to check on Miriam and found her sitting on the toilet with a towel wrapped around her body as she brushed her teeth. He took advantage and hopped in the shower. By the time he got out and did his night routine, Miriam was in bed wrapped up in one of her fluffy blankets. He placed his suitcase on top of the bed and rummaged through a pair of sweats. He picked a pair of grey sweats, tossing them on the bed.

“Stop staring at me.” Jack said as he set his suitcase down. He looked over to Miriam. He knew that smirk and was not in the mood tonight.

"C'mon Jack, don't be like that. Give me some of that sweet, sweet semen." Miriam whined as she tried to undo the towel wrapped around his hips.

Jack pushed her hands off. "No."

"Why won't you love me!" She cried.

"What did I say about singing your ex's songs?”

“Not to do it when you’re naked.” she mumbled.

Jack dropped his towel and pulled in his sweats. He hung the towel where Miriam put hers and he turned off the bathroom light, joining her in bed. He laid on his back so she could lay her head on his chest.

“Jack?” she asked him in a quiet voice.

“Yeah?”

“In the morning can you give me some of your sweet, sweet semen?”

“Only if you're not hungover.”

#jack harlow smut #jack harlow one shot #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow series #jack harlow oneshot #jack harlow imagines #jack harlow fan fic

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dustedmagazine · 3 years

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Dust Volume 7, Number 1

Phicus

Another year, another volume of Dust, which means we’ve been collecting these brief, pithy reviews for seven years now. This time around, we sample the usual cornucopia of genres, from ambient death metal to Iranian punk to noisy skree to shoegaze-y lookalikes to polyglot global dj grooves, with the usual stops in free jazz and improvisatory environments. Contributors include Jonathan Shaw, Bill Meyer, Ian Mathers, Jennifer Kelly, Bryon Hayes and Andrew Forell.

Aberration — S/T (Sentient Ruin Laboratories)

Aberration by Aberration

Not sure what “ambient dark death metal” is, but recently formed band Aberration claims to play it. The “ambient” bit may be a nod to the drone that sometimes resonates deep in the mix of the three songs on this 10” EP. Other than that, Aberration’s music sounds pretty typical of the death metal created by bands on the primitive, murky end of the genre’s sonic continuum. Some of the musicians are in other, more established projects: John Hancock plays guitar and provides vocals in the widely admired death doom outfit Void Rot, Dylan Haseltine plays bass and sings for the blackened death metal (mostly black metal, it seems to me) band the Suffering Hour. Those bands have much more specific musical identities, and their intense records express the players’ clarity of vision. Perhaps Aberration wants to live up to its name, presenting something unprecedented, an unpleasant mutation — and hence, perhaps, the decision to release the vinyl version of the EP on an unusual format. That’s sort of fun. The music is not. But that’s nothing new in death metal, and to be honest, these songs don’t warrant the announcement of a new sub-subgenre. They are just fine, if you like your death metal atavistic, cavernous and claustrophobic. But an aberration? Nope. Maybe a weeping pustule. In death metal, isn’t that enough?

Jonathan Shaw

Steve Baczkowski / Bill Nace — Success (Notice)

Success by Steve Baczkowski/Bill Nace

Dallas is synonymous with a sort of excess that begs to be perceived as success. Old TV shows, memories of oil, nation-splitting politics, you name it; it’s bigger, badder and gaudier in Dallas. A tape of a free improv show that was recorded at a Dallas bookstore might not fit your preconceptions of longhorn accomplishment, but go ahead and tell that to Steve Baczkowski and Bill Nace. If they answer at all, they might let you gently know that it’s your problem, and then pop in the tape. This 42-minute-long recording will hook you by the belt, take off into the stratosphere, drag you through an asteroid belt, and deposit your cindered remains by the bar (yes, The Wild Detectives serves liquor as well as literature) before the tape reverses. That still leaves plenty of time savor the duo’s mastery of transition, from stout-sounded duel to fading filigree framing the sounds of the cash register opening and closing. Yeah, that’s the sound of Success.

Bill Meyer

Aidan Baker — There/Not There (Consouling Sounds)

There / Not There by Aidan Baker

Unsurprisingly, 2020 doesn’t seem to have slowed Aidan Baker (Nadja, WERL, Caudal, Hypnodrone Ensemble, and many more) much at all. Of the many records released under his own name, the recent There/Not There stands out for being a surprisingly accessible entry to his personal metal/drone/ambient/shoegaze melting pot, even given the opening 20-minute title track. “There/Not There” marries some whispery shoegaze songwriting with a beautifully monomaniacal repeating drone. Over the course of the track, it does slowly transition until we get to a crescendo as intense as any Baker’s done, but even more so than normal the unwary might get lured in by the low key, blissful opening and the frog-boiling slowness with which the tension is ratcheted up. One of the other two tracks is really just a way to section off the real noise-squall coda of “There/Not There” but then “Paris (Lost)” offers a more concise, quieter storm version of the same framework. Like a lot of Baker’s work, it sneaks up on you, but when it hits it hits hard.

Ian Mathers

Ballrogg — Rolling Ball (Clean Feed)

Rolling Ball by Ballrogg

The Scandinavian combo Ballrogg changes direction once again on Rolling Ball. Founders Klaus Ellerhusen Holm (clarinets) and Roger Arntzen (bass), who are both Norwegian, started out reinvestigating the folksy jazz vibe of Jimmy Giuffre, then sought out a new home on the range by adding slide guitarist Ivar Grydeland. Now, incoming Swedish guitarist David Stackenäs and his rack of pedals have redirected the trio into a technology-enhanced future. Not the sci-fi imaginings of Sun Ra, but a future more like 2019 might look if you stepped straight into it from 1959; in some ways quite familiar, but in others, different enough to be disorienting. The Giuffre-esque and country elements are still there, but when punctuated by minimalist-influenced compositional flourishes and illuminated by the diffuse, digital flicker of Stackenäs’ effects, it suddenly becomes clear that those Viking cowboys didn’t put a key in the ignition before they drove out towards the horizon.

Bill Meyer

Bipolar — S-T (Slovenly)

BIPOLAR "Bipolar" EP by Bipolar

For a band named Bipolar, with a single called “Depression,” this EP sure is a lot of fun. Two of the band’s mainstays are apparently Iranian emigres, now seeking the more permissive environs of Brooklyn. (The only hint of that exotic origin is in “Sad Clown,” where there might be an imam exhorting the faithful, but who knows? I don’t speak Farsi.) One of them sometimes plays keyboard with the Spits, and in fact, the Spits are a pretty good reference point for these hard, fast, bratty songs. “Virus” pummels a relentless pogo beat, the one-two of the drums rocketing ever faster, the shouted all-hands chorus in tumbling sync. “Fist Fight” is even more exhilarating, with its blaring, roiling guitar blast and adrenaline-raising refrain, “It’s a fist fight. It’s a fist fight.” There’s nothing profound here, but it’s a good time.

Jennifer Kelly

Bosq — Y Su Descarga Internacional (Bacalao)

Y Su Descarga Internacional by bosq

Bosq, a globally omnivorous DJ formerly based in Boston (real name Benjamin Woods), recently moved to Colombia, perhaps to get closer to his source material. The Colombian influence is certainly strong on Y Su Descarga Internacional, which opens with a scorching “Rumbero,” featuring the Afro-Colombian star Nidia Góngora. Dorkas, another singer from Colombia, follows immediately with “Mi Arizal,” an intricately textured dance track which erupts with fiery bursts of Latin brass. Justo Valdez, whose Son Palenque did much to define the Cartagena sound in the 1960s and 1970s, drops by for two of the album’s best tracks: a rollicking “Mambue” and the hand-drummed, bass-thumping hand-clapping “Onombitamba.” And yet the album doesn’t just document the singers and artists of Bosq’s new home. Kaleta, a Benin-based Afro-beat artist who has worked with Fela Kuti and Eqypt 80, takes the lead on funk psych “Omo Iya” and the stirring, horn squalling “Wake Up.” Bosq knows how to pick collaborators, and there’s not a dud track on the disc, but wouldn’t almost anyone sound like a genius in company like this?

Jennifer Kelly

Deuce Avenue — Death of Natural Light (Crash Symbols)

Death of Natural Light by Deuce Avenue

If you are a lurker of the cassette underground, you may remember a West Virginian outfit called Social Junk appearing in the mid-aughts. This duo offered up crackling melodic scree, blown out murky fuzz and semi-coherent mouth sounds like an industrialized version of The Dead C or a new wave outfit newly recovered post-coma. Noah Anthony, the male half of Social Junk, has since moved on to releasing solo material under both the Profligate and Deuce Avenue monikers. The latter is the more recent project and is quite minimal compared to his other work. With Death of Natural Light, there are no cold wave rhythms and vocals à la Profligate. What’s left is a dank, steamy vapor. Contrails of filter-swept hiss slowly develop into a more enigmatic and darkened tonal palette. The ominousness continues to thread its way into the second half of the cassette, fittingly entitled “Blood Turns Black”. Loops of nocturnal jump scare fodder coalesce into rhythms that provide skeletal forms to foil the menace of the more oblique textures. Those who enjoy their horror in slow motion will latch onto these sounds like a facehugger to… …well, a person’s face.

Bryon Hayes

Fleeting Joys — Despondent Transponder (Only Forever)

Despondent Transponder by Fleeting Joys

Let’s start with the obvious. Despondent Transponder sounds a lot like MBV’s Loveless, with wild sirening guitar tones, waves of noise-y feedback, thunderous drumming and sweet, fragile lyrics engulfed in the swirl. “Go and Come Back” has the same fluttering guitar melody as the great “To Here Knows When,” while “Satellite” blusters with the dopplering, dissonance-addled grandeur as “I Only Said.” Fleeting Joys — that was Rorika Loring singing and playing bass and John Loring on guitar and vox — never made any secret of their love of MBV. Despondent Transponder was an homage right from the start. The album was the debut for this Sacramento-based twosome, released originally in 2006, then as now on Loring’s own Only Forever label. And yet, while no one will ever top Loveless, from an ear-bleeding psych-noise daydream perspective, this one has its own particular beauties. “Magnificent Oblivion” surrounds a lullaby-pure melody with a reeling, caterwauling mesh of inchoate sound; guitar notes stream off in bending contrails as Rorika murmurs sweetly into the mic. “Patron Saint” lurches to motion on a Frankenstein bass riff, but softens the brutality with calming washes of vocal hypnotism. It’s all super beautiful and, anyway, even after the reunion, there aren’t nearly enough MBV albums. Plenty of room for a band that sounds so similar.

Jennifer Kelly

Get Smart! — Oh Yeah No (Capitol Punishment)

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Push play: driving staccato guitars, rubbery bass lines, lockstep drums, declamatory vocals and it’s the mid-1980s all over again. Lawrence, Kansas trio Get Smart! — Marcus Koch (guitar, vocals) Lisa Wertman Crowe (bass, vocals) and Frank Loose (drums, vocals) — have that timeless mixture of English post-punk and American indie down. Then see that 33 years after it was recorded Oh Yeah No finally sees the light of day on the back of the band’s reformation. Time and the cycle of musical fashions are fickle beasts and in this case the wheels turn in Get Smart!’s favor. They sound both of their time and thoroughly in tune with the steady flow of recent guitar bands mining this lode of choppy, melodic indie. The Embarrassment, Big Dipper, Pylon and other regional heroes are being rediscovered and reassessed and, here’s the thing, Get Smart! are really good at what they do and this six-track EP is both a testament and, hopefully, a taste of what the future may hold.

Andrew Forell

Rich Halley / Matthew Shipp / Michael Bisio / Newman Taylor Baker — The Shape Of Things (Pine Eagle Records)

The Shape of Things by Rich Halley

If the bolt strikes twice, it’s probably not lightning. The Shape Of Things is the second successful meeting between Rich Halley, a tenor saxophonist based in the Pacific Northwest, and the current members of the Matthew Shipp Trio. The album is, like its predecessor Terra Incognita, a congress of strengths. Shipp’s trio follows the pianist easily into one of his classic roles, that of supplying sonic foundation and harmonic framing for an extroverted saxophonist. Halley fights right into the spaces that they create, rippling easily over the trio’s turbulent surfaces. He works within the broader jazz tradition, sounding equally at home patiently sketching a lyrical line and blowing raw, acidic cries. This ensemble plays achieves a state of centered abandon which feels wilder than Halley’s recordings with West Coast musicians, but fits right into the spectrum that contains Shipp’s work with the David S. Ware Quartet and Ivo Perelman.

Bill Meyer

A Hutchie — Potion Shop (Cosmic Resonance)

Potion Shop by A Hutchie

Hamilton, Ontario-based producer Aaron Hutchinson has his fingers in many pies. He nimbly dispenses free jazz, hip hop, outré pop and even more enigmatic forms of song. Potion Shop is his debut LP, although he is a long-time fixture in the Steeltown music scene. This immersion in a small, tight-knit domain has led to many fruitful collaborations. Hutchinson features many of his compatriots in these recordings, in which his music snakes alongside their vocal stylings. Mutant 21st century soul singlehandedly played by Hutchinson is a foil for the slam poetry of Benita Whyte and Ian Keteku, the latter of which the producer warps with a vocoder. Sarah Good’s vocals morph into those of a ghostly chanteuse among smeared strings, while the soulful Blankie swims beneath narcotic R&B beats. When imbibing these intoxicating concoctions, you will be immersed in a warmth of familiarity tempered with the unsettling yet exciting sense of the uncanny. Like absinthe, the disquiet is illusory while the intimacy is authentic.

Bryon Hayes

Imha Tarikat — Sternenberster (Prophecy Productions)

STERNENBERSTER by IMHA TARIKAT

Imha Tarikat’s principal member Ruhsuz Cellât (stage name of Kerem Yilmaz) breaks with black metal orthodoxy by musically engaging his family’s Muslim heritage. That’s a provocative move in an artform dominated by glib nihilism, rampant anti-religious sentiment and (somehow sometimes all at the same time) ardent claims of Satanist faith. And that distinction at the symbolic level likely doesn’t come near the intensities of being of Turkish descent, living and recording in Germany, in a scene that flirts (and at its extreme margins actively identifies) with fascism. Beyond those ideological and social dimensions is the music. Imha Tarikat demonstrates facility with tremolo riffs and song forms that twist and snake even as they hammer and pummel. But Cellât’s unusual vocal style cuts against convention’s grain, and it’s immediately apparent as album opener “Ekstase ohne Ende” commences. There’s a lot of grunting and hollering, but rather than contorting his voice, shrieking and croaking in mode of most black metal vocalists, Cellât goes for more straightforward intensity. He often shouts, and the lyrics frequently come in bunches, explosive and punctuated bursts of verbiage, but he makes no attempt to distort the lyrics or his voice. I wish my grasp of German were even halfway close to fluent, in order to report on the lyrics’ thematic content with some coherence — because Cellât clearly wants the words to be heard.

Jonathan Shaw

Jon Irabagon / Mike Pride / Mick Barr / Ava Mendoza — Don’t Hear Nothin’ But The Blues Vol 3 Anatomical Snuffbox (Irrabagast Records)

I Don't Hear Nothin' but the Blues Volume 3: Anatomical Snuffbox by Jon Irabagon

Never mind the blues; if you don’t exercise caution, when you’re done playing this loud-at-any-volume recording, you won’t hear nothin’. The latest installment in tenor saxophonist John Irabagon’s series of one-track, meta-blues recordings starts out with a spray of sound as bracing as Saharan sandstorm, but quickly solidifies into a veritable wall of sound. At the outset, Irabagon and drummer Mike Pride engage in a high-speed dance of charge and countercharge which, if heard without accompaniment, would sit comfortably on the same shelf as your Mars Williams and Mats Gustafsson records. But when you put guitarists Mick Barr and Ava Mendoza on the same stage and tell them both to start shredding, the effect is somewhat akin to putting the pyrotechnic specialists in charge of the circus. Subtlety, dynamics and even the oxygen you breath all disappear as everything catches fire. If any of the participants here have effectively bent your ear, you ought to listen all the way through once. By the time it’s done, you’ll know in your heart whether you ever need to hear it again.

Bill Meyer

John Kolodij — First Fire / At Dawn (Astral Editions)

First Fire • At Dawn by John Kolodij

Where there’s fire, there’s often smoke, and while this tape claims alignment with Hephaestus’ element, it’s more likely to evoke thick clouds. As the capstans turn, the murk of “At Fire” accumulates gradually, filling the room with an increasingly dense atmosphere. By the time you notice flashes of flame, it’s too late. “At Dawn” brings to mind a lesser conflagration — maybe the embers of the previous night’s campfire. John Kolodij (who has, until recently, recorded mainly under the name High Aura’d) pushes his heavily processed guitar sound into the background, where it lurks with a bit of birdsong, and leads with an unamplified banjo and acoustic guitar. Fiddler Anna RG (of Anna & Elizabeth) further bolsters the melody while some sparse percussion played by Sarah Hennies heightens the sense of moment. Once more, a mass of disembodied sound rises up as the piece progresses, but this time the effect is the opposite; instead of getting lost in sound, the listener finds a moment of peace and light.

Bill Meyer

Lytton / Nies / Scott / Wissel — Do They Do Those In Red? (Sound Anatomy)

Do they do those in Red? by Paul Lytton, Joker Nies, Richard Scott, Georg Wissel

“Do they do those in red?” The title may speak to the particular peculiarities of this combo, which is formed from several pre-existing duos, Joker Nies is credited with “electrosapiens,” which seem to be self-constructed electronic instruments, and George Wissel applies various items to his saxophone to modify its sound. Georg Wissel’s synthesizers come with some assembly required, and it would appear that Paul Lytton, best known for playing drum kits and massive percussion assemblages, confines himself in this setting to the stuff he can fit on a tabletop. What, you think your saxophone is prettier because it doesn’t have anything red jammed into a valve?

Moving on to the music, while the sound sources are heavily electronic, the interactive style is rooted in good old-fashioned free improvisation. Lytton’s barrage sounds remarkably similar to what he achieves playing with a full drum kit, and Wissel’s lines may be more fractured, but his alto sound has some of the tonal heft and agility that John Butcher exercises on the tenor. The electronicians’ bristling activity brings to mind a debate between opposite sides of the electrical components aisle at the hardware store, but it’s a lucid one, thoughtfully expressed on both sides.

Bill Meyer

Ikue Mori Satoko Fujii + Natsuki Tamura — Prickly Pear Cactus (Libra)

Prickly Pear Cactus by Ikue Mori, Satoko Fujii, Natsuki Tamura

Pianist Satoko Fujii and trumpeter Natsuki Tamura spent February 2020 touring Europe with their combo Kaze, which they’d augmented with the electronic musician, Ikue Mori. As lockdown wore on, they kept the connection going via Zoom chats between their abodes in Kobe and New York. After Fujii shared her experiences of trying to mic and stream her piano online, Mori suggested that she send some recordings. Mori edited what showed up and added her sounds; Tamura contributed additional elements to nearly half the tracks. Some of them are balanced to sound like live recordings, with Mori’s neon squelches and high-res, bell-like tones gathering and dispelling like real-time reactions. Others feel more overtly constructed, with the piano situated within a maelstrom of sounds like a view of a TV set turned on in a room with a party going on.

Bill Meyer

Phicus — Solid (Astral Spirits)

Solid by Phicus

Phicus is the Barcelona-based assemblage of Ferran Fages (electric guitar), Àlex Reviriego (double bass) and Vasco Trilla (drums). The line-up looks like a power trio, and if you heard them two seconds at a time, you might think that they were. Reviriego and Trilla each play in ways that convey a sense of motion, and Fages’ bent notes and serrated harmonics are just the sort of sounds to cap off a display of guitar heroics. But if you note that each track is named for an element or chemical compound, and that the album is called Solid, you might get a clearer idea of their concerns. This music is all about essential relationships, and its makers are more interested in making things coexist in productive ways than they are in re-enacting rituals borrowed from jazz, fusion or free improvisation. That means that even the sharpest sounds don’t hook you, nor do the fleetest charges carry you away. Phicus isn’t interested in settling for the familiar. But if you’re ready to observe that thing that looks like a duck making sounds that ducks never make, you’ll find plenty to ponder on Solid.

Bill Meyer

Quietus — Volume Five (Ever/Never)

Volume Five by Quietus

Quietus songs unfurl like cream in coffee, spiraling curlicues of light into dark liquid drones amid clanking blocks of percussion. The songs expand in organic ways, picking up purpose in the steady pound of rhythm, strutting even, in a loose-limbed rock-soul-psych way you might recognize from Brian Jonestown Massacre’s “Anemone” or Grinderman’s “I Don’t Need You to Set Me Free,” but quieter, much quieter, and seething with submerged ideas. The words are mumbled, croaked, submerged in surface hum, but when pushed up towards the surface, arresting. “This life can be sunlit hills turned all to their angry sides,” murmurs Quietus proprietor Geoffrey Bankowski in the relatively concise “Reflex of Purpose,” which sprawls anyway, notwithstanding its 2:36 minute duration. The music’s better, though, when it’s allowed to find its slow way forward, unconforming to any pre-existing ideas of how long a pop song should be. I like the closer “Posthemmorrhagic,” the best, as guitars both tortured and prayerful intertwine, and Bankowski breathes slow, moaning poetry into a close mic, and the song revolves in three-time like the last dancer on the floor, not just tonight but forever.

Jennifer Kelly

Ritual Extra — In Luthero (Dinzu Artefacts)

In Luthero by Ritual Extra

In Luthero was performed inside an empty water cistern, and the ensuing reverberations act as microscopic versions of the grander ebb and flow within which French-Finnish trio Ritual Extra operate. Percussionist Julien Chamla’s cymbal scrapes and tom hits form a backdrop of bomb blasts and shrieking, missives from some war-torn locale long since vacated by the populace. Steel structures seem to groan and collapse as they are rattled by percussive ordnance. This bleak setting is given a sense of color by Lauri Hyvärinen’s acoustic guitar. A stew of string scrapes diverges into discrete plucks, which morph into strums. The metronomic chords are enriched as they bounce around the walls of the cistern, folding in on themselves through echo, becoming a mechanical mantra. Tuukka Haapakorpi’s voice rises from the ashes, soaring polysyllabically yet wordlessly. As In Luthero begins to take shape, these vocalizations are almost inhuman: whispers and gurgles that come on in waves. Later, more anthropoid utterances take shape, yet fall just shy of coalescing into a discernable language. Across 24 minutes, Ritual Extra musically narrate the pre-history of humankind, the primordial essence from which everything good — and bad — about us originated.

Bryon Hayes

Subjective Pitch Matching Band — Twenty-One Subjectivities in Six Parts (Remote Works)

Twenty-One Subjectivities in Six Parts by Subjective Pitch Matching Band

Chris Brian Taylor has trod a serpentine path on the journey that culminated in the creation of his first large ensemble electroacoustic composition. His roots are in punk and rave — he still DJs house and techno — but he recently shifted his gaze toward improvised electronics. Rather than stifling his ambition, COVID-19 and the ensuing lockdown encouraged him to think big: he would cast a wide net and compose a piece of music for as many people as he could get to participate. He reached out to friends, relatives, and internet acquaintances to assemble his orchestra, and borrowed the melody and chords from Pet Shop Boys’ “Being Boring” to act as the foundation of the work. Twenty people responded from a variety of musical disciplines, and all agreed to participate remotely. The composer gave each player audio cues to work with and encouraged the performers to respond subjectively. They could either stay true to the pitches provided, harmonize against them, or play ornamentally. Taylor collected the resulting tracks and structured the resulting thirty-minute piece of music based on what the respondents provided. Dense yet graceful, the composition unfolds like a slow-motion blaze. Flames of sonority form a sinuous body from which sparks of discrete sound leap heavenward. There is nary a moment of silence, as Taylor weaves a plethora of long tones together to form an undulating core over which stabs of piano, guitar and percussion materialize momentarily. Naivete didn’t keep Chris Brian Taylor from aiming as high as he could with this piece, and we are the benefactors of this ambition, rewarded with a rich and complex sonic brew to enjoy.

Bryon Hayes

TV Priest — Uppers (Sub Pop)

Uppers by TV Priest

TV Priest works the same corrosive, hyper-verbal furrow as Idles or, in a looser sense, the Sleaford Mods, spatter chanting harsh, literate strings of gutter poetry over a clanking post-punk cadence. The vocalist Charlie Drinkwater snarls and sputters charismatically over the clatter, a brutalist commentator on life and pop culture. The band is sharp and minimalist, drums (Ed Kelland) to the front, guitar (Alex Sprogis) stabbing hard at stripped raw riffs , bass (Nic Bueth) rumbling like mute rage in the back of the bar. And yet, though anger is a primary flavor, these songs surge with triumph as in the wall-shaking cadences of “Press Gang,” the blistering sarcasm of “The Big Curve.” This is a relatively new band, their first and only tour cut short at one gig by the lockdown, but the songs are tight as hell on record and likely to pin you to the back wall live. “Bad news, like buses, comes in twos,” intones Drinkwater on theclearly autobiographical “Journal of a Plague Year” against an irregular post-everything clangor, loose and disdainful and hardly arsed to entertain us; it’s as fitting an anthem as any for our lost 2020. But when band gets moving, as on the chugging, corroscating “Decoration,” it’s unstoppable, a monstrous thing bursting “through to the next round.” Sure, I’ll have another.

Jennifer Kelly

Voice Imitator — Plaza (12XU)

Plaza by Voice Imitator

Voice Imitator, from Melbourne, Australia, rips a hard punk vortex through its songs, ratcheting up the drums to battering ram violence, blistering the guitar sound and scrawling wild metallic vocals over it all, with nods to noisy post-hardcore bands like the Jesus Lizard and McClusky. “A Small Cauliflower” takes things down to a seething, menacing whisper, Mark Groves, the singer, presiding over an uneasy mesh of tamped down dissonance and hustle. “Adult Performer” is faster and more limber, all clicking urgency and sudden bursts of detuned, surging squall. All four members—that’s Per Bystrom, Justin Fuller, Groves and Leon O’Regan—have been in a ton of other bands, and the sounds they make here have the rupturing precision of well-honed violence. If you like Protomartyr but wish it was lots louder and more corrosive, here you go.

Jennifer Kelly

Sam Weinberg / Henry Fraser / Weasel Walter — Grist (Ugexplode)

Grist by Sam Weinberg / Henry Fraser / Weasel Walter

Ornette Coleman once called a record In All Languages; these guys ought call one Any And All Possibilities. Saxophonist Sam Weinberg, bassist Henry Fraser and drummer (this time, anyway) Weasel Walter are scrupulous student of improvisation in all its guises, and they’re ready and able to use what they know. You could call it free jazz, for they certainly know how that stuff works, but they’re under no obligation to swing; that’d be a limit, you see. This music bursts, darts, expands and contracts in a sequence of second by second negotiations of shape and velocity.

Bill Meyer

Chris Weisman — Closer Tuning (Self-Released)

Closer Tuning by Chris Weisman

Chris Weisman is a Brattleboro, VT songwriter, in the general orbit (not a member but seems to know a bunch of them) of the late, great Feathers and one-time member of Kyle Thomas’ other outfit, the fuzz pop band Happy Birthday. A shunner of all sorts of limelight, he is nonetheless very productive. Closer Tuning is one of five albums he home recorded and released in 2020. You might expect a certain lo-fi folksiness and there is, indeed, a dream-y, soft focus rusticity to the tangled acoustic guitar jangle, the blunt down home-i-ness lyrics. And yet, there’s a good deal more than that in Closer Tuning. The chords progress softly, gently but in unexpected ways, a reminder of Weisman’s jazz guitar training, and the sound is warm and enveloping and every so slightly off-kilter, as if filtered through someone else’s memory. Cuts like “Petit Revolution,” with its close shroud of harmonies, its eerie, antic guitar cadence, feel like Beach Boys psychedelia left out in the garden to sprout, or more to the point, like Wendy Eisenberg’s brainy, left-of-center pop puzzles. “My Talent” is hedged in with blooming bent notes and scrambling string scratches, but its center is radiant, weird, astral folk along the lines of Alexander Tucker. “Hey,” says Weisman, in its slow dreaming chorus, “I gave my talent away.” Lucky us.

A.A. Williams — Forever Blue (Bella Union)

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There’s a dim and shadowy corner where heavy music, orchestral music and post-rock all meet, and A.A. Williams’ music resides there as naturally as anyone else’s. That’s what you might expect when you get a professional cellist who fell hard for metal as a teenager and then started writing songs after finding a guitar on the street. After an EP her first LP is the kind of assured, consistently strong debut that balances calmly measured beauty with the kind of crushing peaks that give that sometimes hoary quiet/loud dynamic a good name. At its best, like the opening “All I Asked For (Was to End it All)” and “Dirt” (featuring vocals from Wild Beasts’ Tom Fleming), Forever Blue is as gothically ravishing as you could hope for, and by the time it ends with spectral lament “I’m Fine” it might tempt even those not traditionally inclined that way to don the ceremonial black eyeliner.

Ian Mathers

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omgjasminesimone · 4 years

Text

Masters of Sex Part 2

Bryce x MC

Follow up to this story as part of my 500 followers follow ups celebration.

Word Count: 2500

A week after Bryce and Casey’s hate sex session, Casey is approached by the last person she wants to talk to in the hospital hallway.

“Hi, Dr. Valentine, right? Can I talk to you for a second?” The pretty hospital pharmacist who slept with Bryce several months ago, who Casey thought was basically her boyfriend at the time, asks.

Casey gestures at the lab results she’s going over. “I’m actually really busy.” Casey claims.

“It will really just take a second.” The other woman insists, smiling gently.

Casey resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Fine.” She says shortly.

“Would you like to talk in the cafeteria?”

“Here is fine.” Casey insists, tapping her foot impatiently.

The pharmacist, Kelly, according to her name tag sighs. “Okay then. I just wanted to apologize. I didn’t know you and Bryce had anything going on, I definitely wasn’t trying to step into an existing relationship.” Kelly says softly, keeping her voice low so the doctors, nurses, and patients passing through the halls don’t hear them.

“You can have him if you want. Me and Bryce are done.” Casey replies, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

“Really? That’s not what he said when I ran into him at the gym yesterday. He said you guys were going to try to work it out.” Kelly reports.

Casey rolls her eyes. Why would Bryce send this woman here to talk to her? Did he think this was going to help?

“Well, I guess he got his wires crossed, because we’re done. So, feel free to continue to sleep with him.” Casey insists. Casey turns on her heel and walks away before Kelly can respond. She’s fuming as she heads to the on-call room where she knows Bryce is likely napping between surgeries.

She opens the door, and there he is, asleep on the small cot. She closes the door loudly enough to wake him up.

Bryce starts as he wakes, reflexively checking his pager before he realizes that’s not what woke him up. His bleary eyes drift up to Casey. “What-” He starts, but Casey quickly interrupts.

“Why did you tell the pharmacist that we were trying to work it out?” Casey asks, tone harsh.

Bryce furrows his brow in confusion. “That’s not what I told her. I said I wanted to try to work it out.”

“Why would you even tell her anything in the first place? Did you want her to report back to me? Make me think that all of a sudden you’re going to act like you’re in a relationship?”

“Why would I have asked her to talk to you? It clearly just pissed you off.” Bryce retorts.

“Then, again, why did you tell her anything?” Casey repeats impatiently.

“Because, at the gym, she asked if I wanted to come by her place last night. And I told her no, and explained that you were mad at me for the last time I hooked up with her, even though we weren’t officially together, and then I said that I’m not sleeping with anybody else, because I want to work it out with you.” Bryce explains.

Casey leans against the wall, arms crossed. “Well, don’t deprive yourself on my account. I’m done Bryce. Sleep with whoever you want.”

“I only want you. And I’m going to prove it to you.” Bryce responds with resolve.

“What do you think you could possibly do to prove that?” Casey challenges.

“Well, step one is the celibacy. And then…. I’m still working on the other steps to get you back.” Bryce replies, smiling tentatively.

Casey rolls her eyes, turning towards the door. “Don’t hold your breath.”

“Mark my words Casey, I’m going to make you fall in love with me, again.” Bryce calls after her.

...

“What the hell is this?” Casey asks when she steps into her room a week later.

“Isn’t it romantic Casey? Bryce filled your room with roses!” Sienna exclaims, collapsing onto Casey’s bed, which has been covered in rose petals.

“Who let him in here?” Casey complains.

“Come on Case, the guy had $800 of roses in a wagon, I couldn’t turn him away.” Elijah claims.

Casey picks up a rose from one of the many bouquets on her floor. “What a waste of money, he should have given me a Visa gift card.”

“Jesus, your heart is ice cold.” Elijah replies, shaking his head.

“I told him this wasn’t going to work.” Jackie adds, moving a bouquet from Casey’s desk chair so she can sit.

“I don’t even like flowers. Shows how much he doesn’t even know me. What am I going to do with all of these?” Casey questions.

...

“Jackie told me you didn’t like the roses.” Bryce says, leaning against the desk as Casey uses the head nurse’s computer to look up her patient’s symptoms.

“You shouldn’t have wasted all that money.” Casey chastises.

Bryce shrugs. “I’m not worried about the money. I’m a surgeon after all.”

“A surgical intern.” Casey retorts.

“Same thing.”

“Very different salary.”

Bryce laughs at that, smiling at her. Casey quickly looks away. Damn him and that perfect smile.

“Did you throw them away?” Bryce asks, rising from his leaning position when he sees Dr. Avery coming down the hall. He’ll have to head off to assist with her hernia repair surgery soon.

“No, Sienna made them into potpourri balls. You know she’s crafty. Sold them at the farmer’s market. She made like $200.” Casey answers.

Bryce laughs again. “Did she split it with you?”

“Yep, $100 richer. But that could have been $800 if you’d just given me the cash.”

“But I’m not trying to buy you Valentine, I know you’re priceless” Bryce replies with a wink before walking away.

...

Casey wakes with a splitting headache in an unfamiliar bed two weeks later. She glances at her bed mate. Shit. It’s Henry Johnson. A psychology fellow from Edenbrook. She’d gone out to Donahue’s the night before, danced and flirted with Henry, and when she was drunk enough, went home with him.

She vaguely remembers the sex. Unremarkable. Nothing like with Bryce.

Double shit, Casey thinks as she sits up, looking out the window. Of course, Henry has to live in the same apartment complex as Bryce.

It’s not that much of a surprise, a lot of the hospital staff live here because they heavily advertise at the hospital and offer a slight discount. But it’s bad luck none the less.

Casey checks Henry’s clock. 8:10 AM. Bryce should probably still be at the gym from his morning workout. She’ll just sneak out really quick, and not even have to see him.

Casey slips out from under Henry’s arm, sliding back into her dress from last night. She catches her reflection in Henry’s bathroom mirror. Make-up from last night still on and smudged, her curls looking a mess. She sighs, preparing herself for her walk of shame.

She gets into the elevator, glad to see no one else in it. She impatiently presses the button for the lobby. But the elevator stops on the 10th floor, and of course Bryce Lahela is standing there.

He seems surprised to see her, but quickly schools his expression as he steps into the elevator.

Casey can’t believe her bad luck.

“Long night?” Bryce asks. He tries to say it with levity, but there’s underlying jealousy and anger there. Casey rolls her eyes.

“I don’t owe you anything. We’re not together. I can sleep with whoever I want.”

“I never said you couldn’t.” Bryce responds, somewhat testy. He takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. “What kind of pie do you like?”

Casey looks at him incredulously as the elevator reaches the lobby. “Pie?”

Bryce nods. “I’m baking you a pie today. That’s step 3. The way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach.”

Casey walks out of the elevator, heading for the T stop. Bryce follows. “Why are you doing this? I told you we’re done. Maybe one day we can be friends again. But as far as a relationship goes, I’ve clearly moved on.” Casey gestures to her outfit from last night.

“If it was any good, you wouldn’t be sneaking out of his apartment at 8 in the morning.” Bryce insists. Casey can’t really argue that point, so Bryce continues. “We’re good together Casey, and I’m going to prove it to you.”

Casey ignores that, splitting off from Bryce to head up the street. “I don’t like pie!” She calls over her shoulder.

“Liar, everyone likes pie!” Bryce shouts back.

...

The next day, Casey walks into the kitchen after her shift and finds her roommates all eating cherry pie around the kitchen table.

“Bryce brought it over a little bit ago.” Sienna informs Casey as she pulls up a chair.

Jackie cuts Casey a slice, handing it over.

Casey chews thoughtfully.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Elijah questions.

“Hmmm...It’s not bad, but not amazing either.” Casey decides.

“Come on Casey, you can tell he worked so hard on this. Don’t you see the indentations in the crust?!” Sienna presses.

Casey shrugs, taking another bite. “He shouldn’t quit his day job.”

...

3 weeks later, Casey comes down with a nasty, highly contagious bug. She doesn’t want to infect her roommates, so she checks herself into a hotel south of Boston. She’s absolutely miserable, and pretty sure that she’s dying. She’s almost fallen into a fitful sleep when she feels a hand pressed against her feverish forehead.

“Ahh!” She screams, rolling away and fighting to get from under the twisted covers.

“Casey! It’s just me!” Bryce reveals, hands raised in a non-threatening manner.

“What the hell Bryce? What are you doing here?” Casey asks when her heart rate has slowed down.

“I heard you were sick.” He replies simply.

“How’d you even get in here?”

“Hotel concierges don’t ask a lot of questions when you just say, hey, I’d like an extra key to this room please, Casey Valentine’s.” Bryce answers.

“That’s terrifying.” Casey mutters.

“Well, in her defense, I look extremely non-threatening.” Bryce insists.

Casey rolls her eyes. “Why are you here though? I’m in this hotel quarantining myself so I don’t get anyone else sick.”

Bryce waves off her concerns. “I have an extremely strong immune system. Haven’t been sick in like 15 years. So, I came to take care of you.” Bryce reaches to the nightstand. “Here, take these.” He hands her some medicine. “And drink this.” Some Gatorade.

Bryce gets up from the bed, moving over to the couch and opening a textbook he pulls from his backpack. “Now get some rest. When you wake up, I’ll make you some soup.” Bryce instructs.

“You really don’t have to do this.” Casey insists, eyes drooping from the sheer exhaustion of being so sick.

“I want to. Sweet dreams Casey.”

...

3 days later, Casey has recovered. And she hears from one of the surgical interns that Bryce is sick. She knocks on the door of his apartment. It takes him a while to answer the door, wrapped in a blanket and looking absolutely miserable. His expression immediately brightens when he sees her though. “Casey! What a pleasant surprise!” He greets, stepping aside so she can come in.

Casey can’t help but give him an ‘I told you so look. “So, I guess your super immune system failed you?”

“This is some bug you caught Casey. Takes a lot to take me down.” Bryce insists, slowly lowering himself back onto his couch.

“Have you eaten anything?” Casey questions.

“I can’t keep anything down.”

“I know, but you have to eat something anyway.” Casey insists, pulling some warm vegetable broth soup from her shopping bag. “I also brought medicine, and fluids.” She reveals, sitting beside him and handing him the soup.

“.... Did you think this would be the circumstances that would get you back to my apartment?” Bryce asks, chuckling weakly, but that quickly turns into a rumbling cough.

“I had thought the only thing that could get me back here is more hate sex, but I owe you one.” Casey quips.

Bryce laughs, taking a few small spoonfuls of the soup. He sets the soup to the side, leaning down to rest his head in Casey’s lap. Even she doesn’t have the heart to shoo him away when he’s so sick, especially when he’s sick because he took care of her.

“Sweet dreams Bryce.” She murmurs as he falls asleep. She turns the TV on mute, watching it with subtitles.

…

A few weeks later, Casey collapses to the floor of the supply closet as soon as she closes the door, tears wracking her small frame. She can’t believe she lost her. She ran so many tests, desperate to find why the young girl’s cell counts were so low. But she ran out of time, the child dying while Casey held her hand.

She knows who it is when the door opens, her suspicions confirmed when he gets onto the floor beside her and gathers her into his strong arms. She cries into Bryce’s chest, clinging to him desperately.

“Shh…. what’s wrong?” Bryce tries to comfort when her sobs show no sign of subsiding.

Casey just shakes her head, hugging him tighter as she continues to cry. Eventually, she’s all cried out. And then she tells Bryce about losing her patient.

Bryce wipes her tears away with his calloused thumbs, smiling sadly at her. “Do you want to know what I do when I lose a patient?” He questions.

Casey nods weakly, and Bryce stands, pulling her to her feet as well. He takes her hand, and gently leads her out of the supply closet, into the stairwell, and then up to the 6th floor. He walks her though the hallway and stops in front of the window of the nursery.

Casey looks at the newborn babies, all different shades and sizes. She can’t help but smile when she gazes at them, all bundled up in blue and pink hospital gear.

Bryce steps up to her back, speaking quietly behind her. “When I come up here, it reminds me that life goes on. It’s horrible to lose a patient, especially a young one, but you have to remember that you did all you could. And you’ll learn from this. And hopefully be able to save the next one. There’s always a chance to start over new Casey.” Bryce concludes.

Casey leans back into Bryce’s embrace, observing the room full of new beginnings.

…

After thinking long and hard about it, 4 days later Casey sends a text.

Casey Valentine: Do you want to get dinner? So we can talk about starting over new?

Bryce replies seconds later.

Bryce Lahela: Name the time and place, I’m there.

Tags: @octobereighth @akrenich @lovehugsandcandy @regina-and-happiness @brightpinkpeppercorn @choicesarehard @lizeboredom @desiree-0816 @hellooliviaolivia @dreaming-of-movies @friedherringclodthing @weaving-in-words @fairydustandsarcasm @goldenjellyfish12 @pessimystic-fangirl @mimikoasahina @srta-give-me-my-jax-rl @god-save-the-keen @caroldxnvxrs @cora-nova @emceesynonymroll @choicesgremlin @anxious-arliah @cordoniasmost @lahelable @ohsnapitzlovehacker @pixeljazzy @blk-girl-emoji

#bryce x mc #bryce lahela x mc #choices fanfiction #500 followers follow ups #open heart

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

Text

Title: Convince Me To Go {10}*

AU Chris Evans x Reader

Warning: Cursing, Angst, Smut, Tears, NSFW

Words: 2.5k

Summary: When we run away, we’re usually running from something. This time you may have run toward it instead.

Note: Welp. 🤷🏾‍♀️ I hope you enjoy this.

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

He wasn’t in the bedroom when you walked in so you walked back toward the living area. His back was turned at the kitchen island.

“What would you prefer the kitchen island? I mean that could get kinky.” You got behind him and kissed across his back.

“What’s this?”

“What’s what?” you continued kissing around his back not trying to look at what he was talking about.

“This.” Still, you didn’t look you were too lost in the beauty of the man before you.

“You know you’re beautiful right. You should always be naked.”

“Are you engaged?” that was all it took for your ears to ring and your stomach to fall. They were words you didn’t expect to hear and it caught you off guard.

Snorting you gave him a bewildered look. “What? That’s--.” The twinkle of a ring caught your eye. It was your ring. “Where did you get that? Have you been going through my bag?”

“No. Everything fell out, including this. Are you engaged?”

The question was flat out, plain and simple, no way of going around it. you couldn’t lie your way out or fumble around. You took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

“Yes.” The look that washed over his face made you feel like an asshole yet again. He looked angry but also hurt.

“Wow. This whole time. The club, the diner, the candy store, the hospital, here—in my bed, just now? This whole time!”

“Calm down, let me explain.”

“Explain? What is there to explain? You’re engaged and have been this entire time and it didn’t matter to you, so you hopped in my bed for one more hoorah and wild ride before the big day. What was this a bachelorette thing?

“Do you hear yourself, that’s crazy. No, and it’s not like that. Let me explain.”

He stopped pacing and sat back on the stool and looked at you waiting for you to miraculously explain this away. You turned to the fridge took a beer, opened it and took a few gulps.

“Okay, yes I’m engaged. No this wasn’t a bachelorette thing and I didn’t hop into your bed as a last hoorah, or last ride. I didn’t plan any of this. I didn’t plan that bar, I didn’t plan getting mugged, or running around this city, I didn’t plan you. I didn’t plan anything. I--,” you groaned rubber your face and paced back and forth.

It was time to come clean. When you stopped you took another few gulps of the beer.

“Two nights ago, I went to my rehearsal dinner. It was filled with everyone who is anyone and I’d shaken so many hands and smiled for so many pictures I was exhausted, and it all felt so—empty. So I snuck away into an empty room. At this rehearsal dinner while I was hiding in comes my fiancé with his ex-girlfriend. They quickly begin making out in the same room I’m in. I should have said something, I should have called him out, but I didn’t. I stood there, hid and just watched. Making out turned into her dropping to her knees and giving him head right there. Anyone could have walked in. He finishes she tries to go further and he stops her. Only when she leaves do I come out and he’s mortified and so apologetic and remorseful and swearing left and right it had never happened before, he’s sorry, and everything in the book guys say when they’re caught. I didn’t know what to think or do so I ran. I got in a cab went to grand central bought a ticket for the next bus leaving didn’t ask where it was going. I didn’t plan any of this. I ran to get away to think to wallow in the reality of my life. I’m supposed to marry a man who may or may not have been fully unfaithful but has been majorly unfaithful. A man who I was resolved in marrying, a man my parents love. A man who through our marriage solidifies this real estate dynasty I find myself in the middle of. Then here you are this asshole nitpicking me because I dress well and next thing I know we’re running around having a good time and I’m--. You take a breath and a swig of beer. His expression is unreadable.

“I didn’t plan for any of this to happen. I didn’t plan to come here and for us to—I didn’t plan this.”

The silence in the room was deafening and you desperately wanted him to crack a joke about you or something to take away from the fact that the drapes of reality were pulled and all the light was shining in.

“rehearsal dinner. They usually have those the night before the wedding. When is the wedding?”

You closed your eyes and shook your head, but you didn’t answer right away. Almost a minute passed before you spoke.

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Valentine’s day, how romantic,” his voice was flat, emotionless.

“Don’t be like that,” you began before he interrupted you.

“So what now?”

“What now? What do you mean?”

“What’s next after all of this. We just spent two days together fancy face, two days.”

“I know. Two incredible days,” you repeated.

“I went to school for architecture, thought I was going to be really big doing it. I did a few small jobs here in Boston. Through one of those jobs I met a girl—Kelly, she was the daughter of some big name in architecture or something of the sort. She started liking me, before you know it we’re dating. A year goes by I find my love for contracting, I get the training and knowledge and experience. She’s supportive enough but always pushes that architecture career. Year two, I get some jobs under my belt, develop a company, a brand, I get pretty good by year three. She throws an ultimatum, either I take her seriously and our relationship or she walks. She’s a great girl, I thought I loved her. So, I get serious, move out to New York with her get back into architecture, get some experience, a job or two under my belt. Now I’m being taken seriously, Kelly’s happy so’s her father. There is talk about setting me up with my own firm and all the clientele, the big names, it’s a lot of glitz. Soon I’m busy as hell and I get told shit or get off the bucket. So, I shit, I ask Kelly to marry me, she says yes. She’s planning this huge fancy wedding, the stuff where the china alone was almost fifty grand, it was nuts. Slowly I didn’t recognize myself, I didn’t like who this new man was. One day Kelly says to me she’s happy that I finally got serious about life and realized who mattered in the world and money ran it and everything. That was my wake up, I didn’t want to be run by money, I didn’t want to be thought of that I mattered because of money. I had this epiphany in the nick of time but too late, seven hours before you saw me in that bar—at the altar at our wedding, I told Kelly.”

Your jaw dropped. You had no idea what to say. What could you say?

“So when you saw me, I guess I was wallowing, but it wasn’t over a woman or love, it was over how far gone I was, how close I came to making the biggest mistake of my life.”

Closing your eyes you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“What now?” You didn’t know, you were as confused now as you were two days ago.

“I don’t know.” He stood and came around to you then lifted you onto the counter.

“Look at me. What do you want?”

“It doesn’t matter. Everyone is expecting me and If I’m not there my parents—.”

“Fuck your parents, fuck everyone else. Look at me. What do you want?” tears filled your eyes and a fear you’d never known before gripped you. The tears rolled down your cheek as did his. He sniffled and shook his head. “Fancy face—what—do—you—want? God, what do you want?”

“I don’t know!”

He came closer and invaded your personal space and you felt the tug on your heartstrings.

“Yes, you do. You know what you want. You know it but you’re too afraid to say it. too afraid to go after it too afraid to take it when it’s right in front of you. Do you want me?” More tears rolled down your cheek and you touched his jaw.

“Prince charming, we have two days. I can’t throw everything away for two days.”

Your words hurt. Again he felt like he wasn’t worth it like he wasn’t good enough.

“I don’t have the luxury of just saying fuck everyone and everything and running off and doing whatever I want. Your life and my life are completely different. If this wedding doesn’t happen neither does this merger if this merger doesn’t happen then millions of dollars gone.”

He dropped his forehead to your shoulder. “Money again. Is money everything you care about?”

“Of course not.”

“Do you want me? I don’t have millions of dollars, I don’t come with some earth-shattering wealth and companies that are worth billions, I don’t have private jets, or fancy outfits and cars to offer you, I don’t have a penthouse in the sky with doormen and drivers and I probably can’t afford a Harry Winston diamond, I won’t be able to take you out on my yacht or keep you decked in Chanel, Fendi, Prada and Loubitons every single day of every year but I can promise to love you for the rest of my life. I can promise to listen to you, respect you, honor you, be faithful to you one hundred percent, I can promise that I’ll always be a man of integrity and goodwill and I will work every day doing honest work to keep you comfortable. I can promise that what I lack in wealth I more than make up for in love, devotion, and passion.”

You were officially destroyed. The sweetest words you’d ever been told came from a man you’d know forty-eight hours instead of the man you were engaged to for the last three years. Nearly everything in you said stay with him but there was that voice in your head the sound of your mother’s voice that pointed out why you couldn’t. staying here with him and leaving everything you knew was a terrifying thing. You’d never been brave before, you never needed to and the level of bravery this was asking a level you didn’t know if you possessed. Pressing your lips to his you kissed him, it was a sorrowful kiss that tasted like tears, yours and his. It was probably going to be the last time. Your foreheads rested against each other.

“Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it, fancy face. Anything you want.”

You whimpered losing the small amount of strength you had left. You couldn’t say the words, so you kissed him instead. You wrapped your legs around him and brought your hand down to feel him. he groaned but didn’t protest or step away. Instead, he kissed you with fever and peppered kisses of adoration across your body before he connected your bodies again.

In the dark kitchen, the two of you spoke with your bodies. They both spoke of the same thing, desire, yearning, need passion, and so many other things that got lost in the love you made. He anticipated every need you had and you reciprocated every emotion he expressed. Soon you were moaning and panting together expressing the feelings that neither of you could eloquently express with words. With the end of one round he carried you to the bedroom to begin another and another and another. It was as if he knew what this was, knew it was the end, knew it was the last he’d probably ever see you, or touch you and he wanted to make the most of it.

Once all was calm again your limbs were entangled in the bed. His head was buried on your chest as he held you close. He knew you couldn’t hold on to something that didn’t know if they wanted to be held. He also knew that he could tell someone how strong they were until he was blue in the face but unless they saw that strength and every other incredible trait it was useless. So with that knowledge, he found himself at the impasse. He had to convince her to go and pray he was strong enough to do it and get through it. He couldn’t expect her to blow up her life because he could. He could feel her hesitance to go, he knew she wanted to stay, half of her did.

“People can change. They can make stupid mistakes for stupid reasons and then go on to be perfect.”

“what?”

“Your fiancé, you should give him a chance.” The words tasted like antifreeze on his tongue.

“You were right. You do have to go. You have a lot riding on this wedding and a lot of responsibilities. You’re doing the right thing.” He could hear your heartrate rapidly increasing. “You’re right, two days isn’t enough to blow up your entire life.”

“You suck at this.” He could hear the tears in your voice. He angled his head up and kissed you one last time. He took the time to delve his tongue into your mouth to roll it with yours and suck your bottom lip before he pulled back. He could taste your tears. It would be a kiss he wouldn’t forget.

“I’m gonna take a shower.” He got out the bed and walked to the door. As he opened it he stopped with his bare ass to you. He didn’t trust himself to look back.

“Be happy fancy face. I love you.”

He walked out and quickly closed the door. You sat in his bed stunned and just cried. You knew what he was doing. He was giving you your window. After a few minutes of tears, you stood and put on his pajama pants and the shirt. After dressing you stopped and sat at the edge of the bed and cried again. The war in you waged on and with it came your indecisiveness. When you walked out the bedroom to the living area to your purse you scanned the room to make sure you weren’t forgetting anything. You stopped again and walked to the bathroom door. With your hand on the doorknob, you hesitated. Your tears rolled down your face again as you pressed your forehead to the door. You didn’t know if you could do either one, leave or stay.

When you finally walked to the door you wrote a note then left.

Prince Charming,

You’re worth it. I’m not. Thank you for the best forty-eight hours of my life. You are an unbelievable lover, but you’re an incredible man. Live well and always remain who you are, never compromise him for anyone. Not even me.

-Fancy Face

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#convince me to go fic #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x black reader #chris evans au

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antiquecompass · 4 years

Text

Untamed Spring Fest Day 5: Fresh

Where there is a fresh start:

Nie Zonghui didn’t get to spend as much time with his family as he liked. While most of the Nies huddled in various parts of the Northeast, he had gone west as a young man and settled down in Seattle. He loved it there, and was sad to leave his home of fifteen years, but something in his heart had always called him back east and now it was time.

Nie Mingjue was finally, finally, retiring from actively working in the field for Springfield Security. While he had an entire staff he loved, adored, and trusted, two of them were also leaving field duty to take over the ever-increasing duties of running the biggest security firm in the Northeast. It was a big hit, taking DeAndre and Bianca out of the field, but they would help ease the burden on the other end, and would have more time to focus on training, recruitment, and teaching--all things Springfield Security would need in the loss of Mingjue, DeAndre, and Bianca as active guards.

Zonghui was a veteran in the field, experienced, praised, and a good trainer. Mingjue hadn’t asked him to come back the last time they spoke, but Zonghui could hear the unspoken question in his words. Mingjue was stepping down, stepping back, focusing on his personal future and his family and he needed a Nie in the field. Call it superstition, call it a stupid. Unfounded fear, but Zonghui understood it.

So Nie Zonghui was going home.

**********

Huaisang threw a massive welcome home party, because of course he did. To be fair, it wasn’t so much a party as a very large picnic, and the dress code was certainly far more relaxed than the last business event Zonghui attended. Huasiang still managed to look like his outfit cost thousands of dollars, even in the shortest pair of ripped jean shorts Zonghui had ever seen on a person, and a plaid shirt that looked more Seattle than Boston.

“Everyone can see your tattoos and I’m pretty sure at least some of your bottom,” Zonghui said.

“My asscheeks are perfectly covered,” Huaisang assured him. “And they can look, but only Xuanyu can touch, and they know that.”

“Where is Little Sparkle?” Zonghui asked.

Huaisang frowned. “Work. Teaching children about puppets. He’ll be back by the time dinner is officially served.” He toyed with the plastic red and white checkered tablecloth in front of them. “I’m sorry, it all feels a little cheap, but Mingjue’s been desperate for an excuse to show off his new pro-grade grill and even Meng Yao couldn’t deny him this time. So, ribs, hot dogs, hamburgers, various types of chicken, and a low country boil. So much corn. So many baked beans. So much bread. So much pie. I can’t believe I had to, at my age, buy kegs again.”

Zonghui patted his younger cousin’s head and laughed at the death stare he got in return.

“I missed you, Piglet.”

“Welcome home, Deadpool.”

Only Huaisang called him that, an old nickname because of Zonghui’s expertise in wielding dual knives, and because he’d given Huaisang his first ever set of comic books. No one had called him that in years, but he had a feeling he’d be hearing more often now, and not just from Huaisang.

It was strange to make a fresh start by going backward. But this wasn’t the Nie Residence he’d grown up with and all of them were in their 30s now. And even if he had come back to the Commonwealth, he’d come back the right way, on his own terms, under his own decision, having accomplished a successful career without the Nie reputation and name.

He’d been the one to help set up Springfield Security’s initial contracts, floating the names of clients he knew he needed protection back east. He’d never imagined those first initial clients would turn into the massive thing Springfield Security had become, but he wasn’t surprised.

“Did we lose you?” Huaisang asked.

“No,” Zonghui said. “Just thinking.” He guided his cousin back towards the house. “So, what’s this about corn?”

**********

Nie Zonghui was a calm, patient man who was often praised for his composure. He was not the type to stumble into, and then onto, another person. It was only his fast reflexes that kept him from spilling his drink on the stranger.

His words died in his throat as he tried to apologize. All he could see were cornflower blue eyes, long golden hair, and a smile that was too perfect to be real.

“Not that I don’t like where your hands are, but I do usually ask a guy for his name first.”

Zonghui immediately stood up and apologized. “I am so very sorry. I truly didn’t see you sitting there.”

“It’s okay,” the man said. “In your defense, I was mostly under the table.” He dove back under and then emerged again, Xuanyu’s puppy in his arms. “This little rascal got loose and I wanted to grab him before Xuanyu got upset. Huaisang gets mean when Xuanyu is upset.” He shifted the puppy in his arms and grinned. “I’m Carson, by the way. I’m guessing you’re the man of the hour? Zonghui, right?”

“Yes,” Zonghui said with a nod.

Carson laughed. “Well, hell of a first meeting, Zonghui. I can’t wait to see what happens at work on Monday. Let me get this little guy back in the house.”

“Of course,” Zonghui said. “It was nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Carson said.

He walked past him, smelling of something minty and fresh that made Zonghui turn his head to watch him leave.

“Oh no,” Mingjue said. “Oh no.”

“What?” Zonghui asked.

“You like him,” Mingjue said.

“I don’t know him,” Zonghui said.

“And he just turned to check out your ass,” Mingjue said. He shook his head. “Fuck. First Aaron marries into the family and now Carson too?”

“I don’t know him,” Zonghui repeated, desperate to head off a Nie Family Planning Extravaganza. “Please don’t start planning a wedding now.”

“Too late,” Mingjue said. “Summer for you two, of course.”

“Mingjue,” Zonghui shook his head. “Stop. I’m not going to date someone I work with.”

Mingjue scoffed. “Okay, we’ll see,” he said. He held a bottle out. “Want to try the new pale ale?”

“I suspect you have ulterior motives in this,” Zonghui said as he took it. “Remember, I still have the video of us doing the Go Ninja rap and dance routine from Huaisang’s eleventh birthday.”

Mingjue cursed. “And to think, I was happy you came back home.” He wrapped his arm around Zonghui’s shoulders and pulled him towards his grill. “Missed you, asshole.’

“I’m here now,” Zonghui said.

And even though it wasn’t Boston, and even though it wasn’t the Nie Residence he remembered, he liked it here, on the farm, and with the members of Springfield Security he’d already met. It wasn’t Boston. It wasn’t Seattle. It was a new home and a new community and Zonghui was new to it, but he felt like he would love it here.

His eyes strayed to the door, where Carson had appeared again, the sun making his hair shine.

Yeah, he felt like he would love it here.

#verse: lahl #fandom: the untamed #my ridic writing #untamed spring fest #fic: i will become what i deserve #nie zonghui

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arcticdementor · 4 years

Link

Can you believe ...?

Perhaps no question has been repeated more times in reaction to more events this year than that one.

The most recent major outrage in the Jewish community, now several news cycles behind us, came on the Shabbat before Yom Kippur—the holiest day in the Jewish calendar—when many American Jews seemed dumbfounded by what was to me predictable news: Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, progressive superstar, had pulled out of an event honoring Yitzhak Rabin, the Israeli prime minister assassinated because of his efforts to make peace with the Palestinians. Rabin was, as Bill Clinton said at his funeral, “a martyr for his nation’s peace.”

…

But it wasn’t AOC who was mixed up. The savvy politician had read the room and was sending a clear signal about who belongs in the new progressive coalition and who does not. The confusion—and there seems to be a good deal of it these days—is among American Jews who think that by submitting to ever-changing loyalty tests they can somehow maintain the old status quo and their place inside of it.

Did you see that the Ethical Culture Fieldston School hosted a speaker that equated Israelis with Nazis? Did you know that Brearley is now asking families to write a statement demonstrating their commitment to “anti-racism”? Did you see that Chelsea Handler tweeted a clip of Louis Farrakhan? Did you see that protesters tagged a synagogue in Kenosha with “Free Palestine” graffiti? Did you hear about the march in D.C. where they chanted “Israel, we know you, you murder children too”? Did you hear that the Biden campaign apologized to Linda Sarsour after initially disavowing her? Did you see that Twitter suspended Bret Weinstein’s civic organization but still allows the Iranian ayatollah to openly promote genocide of the Jewish people? Did you see that Mayor Bill de Blasio scapegoated “the Jewish community” for the spread of COVID in New York, while defending mass protests on the grounds that this is a “historic moment of change”?

Listen, it’s been a hell of a year. We all have a lot going on, much of it unnerving and some of it dire. Moreover, many of these stories only surface on places like Twitter; they don’t make it into the pages of The New York Times or your friends’ Facebook feeds, which is where most Americans get their news these days. Reporters don’t cover these stories adequately, contextualizing them, telling readers which ones are true and which ones aren’t, which ones matter and which ones don't.

So it makes sense that many smart, well-intentioned people are confused. Or rather: Looking for someone to explain why an emerging movement that purports to advance the ideals they have always supported—fairness, justice, righting historical wrongs—feels like it is doing the opposite.

…

To understand the enormity of the change we are now living through, take a moment to understand America as the overwhelming majority of its Jews believed it was—and perhaps as we always assumed it would be.

It was liberal.

Not liberal in the narrow, partisan sense, but liberal in the most capacious and distinctly American sense of that word: the belief that everyone is equal because everyone is created in the image of God. The belief in the sacredness of the individual over the group or the tribe. The belief that the rule of law—and equality under that law—is the foundation of a free society. The belief that due process and the presumption of innocence are good and that mob violence is bad. The belief that pluralism is a source of our strength; that tolerance is a reason for pride; and that liberty of thought, faith, and speech are the bedrocks of democracy.

The liberal worldview was one that recognized that there were things—indeed, the most important things—in life that were located outside of the realm of politics: friendships, art, music, family, love. This was a world in which Antonin Scalia and Ruth Bader Ginsburg could be close friends. Because, as Scalia once said, some things are more important than votes.

Crucially, this liberalism relied on the view that the Enlightenment tools of reason and the scientific method might have been designed by dead white guys, but they belonged to everyone, and they were the best tools for human progress that have ever been devised.

Racism was evil because it contradicted the foundations of this worldview, since it judged people not based on the content of their character, but on the color of their skin. And while America’s founders were guilty of undeniable hypocrisy, their own moral failings did not invalidate their transformational project. The founding documents were not evil to the core but “magnificent,” as Martin Luther King Jr. put it, because they were “a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir.” In other words: The founders themselves planted the seeds of slavery’s destruction. And our second founding fathers—abolitionists like Frederick Douglass—made it so. America would never be perfect, but we could always strive toward building a more perfect union.

I didn’t even know that this worldview had a name because it was baked into everything I came into contact with—my parents’ worldviews, the schools they sent me to, the synagogues we attended, the magazines and newspapers we read, and so on.

…

No longer. American liberalism is under siege. There is a new ideology vying to replace it.

No one has yet decided on the name for the force that has come to unseat liberalism. Some say it’s “Social Justice.” The author Rod Dreher has called it “therapeutic totalitarianism.” The writer Wesley Yang refers to it as “the successor ideology”—as in, the successor to liberalism.

…

The new creed’s premise goes something like this: We are in a war in which the forces of justice and progress are arrayed against the forces of backwardness and oppression. And in a war, the normal rules of the game—due process; political compromise; the presumption of innocence; free speech; even reason itself—must be suspended. Indeed, those rules themselves were corrupt to begin with—designed, as they were, by dead white males in order to uphold their own power.

…

Critical race theory says there is no such thing as neutrality, not even in the law, which is why the very notion of colorblindness—the Kingian dream of judging people not based on the color of their skin but by the content of their character—must itself be deemed racist. Racism is no longer about individual discrimination. It is about systems that allow for disparate outcomes among racial groups. If everyone doesn’t finish the race at the same time, then the course must have been flawed and should be dismantled.

…

In fact, any feature of human existence that creates disparity of outcomes must be eradicated: The nuclear family, politeness, even rationality itself can be defined as inherently racist or evidence of white supremacy, as a Smithsonian institution suggested this summer. The KIPP charter schools recently eliminated the phrase “work hard” from its famous motto “Work Hard. Be Nice.” because the idea of working hard “supports the illusion of meritocracy.” Denise Young Smith, one of the first Black people to reach Apple’s executive team, left her job in the wake of asserting that skin color wasn’t the only legitimate marker of diversity—the victim of a “diversity culture” that, as the writer Zaid Jilani has noted, is spreading “across the entire corporate world and is enforced by a highly educated activist class.”

The most powerful exponent of this worldview is Ibram X. Kendi. His book “How to Be an Antiracist” is on the top of every bestseller list; his photograph graces GQ; he is on Time’s most influential people of the year; and his outfit at Boston University was recently awarded $10 million from Twitter CEO Jack Dorsey.

…

And just in case moral suasion is ineffective, Kendi has backup: Use the power of the federal government to make it so. “To fix the original sin of racism,” he wrote in Politico, “Americans should pass an anti-racist amendment to the U.S. Constitution that enshrines two guiding anti-racist principals [sic]: Racial inequity is evidence of racist policy and the different racial groups are equals.” To back up the amendment, he proposes a Department of Anti-Racism. This department would have the power to investigate not just local governments but private businesses and would punish those “who do not voluntarily change their racist policy and ideas.” Imagine how such a department would view a Jewish day school, which suggests that the Jews are God’s chosen people, let alone one that teaches Zionism.

Kendi—who, it should be noted, now holds Elie Wiesel’s old chair at Boston University—believes that “to be antiracist is to see all cultures in their differences as on the same level, as equals.” He writes: “When we see cultural difference we are seeing cultural difference—nothing more, nothing less.” It’s hard to imagine that anyone could believe that cultures that condone honor killings of unchaste young women are “nothing more, nothing less” than culturally different from our own. But whether he believes it or not, it’s obvious that embracing such relativism is a highly effective tool for ascension and seizing power.

It should go without saying that, for Jews, an ideology that contends that there are no meaningful differences between cultures is not simply ridiculous—we have an obviously distinct history, tradition and religion that has been the source of both enormous tragedy as well as boundless gifts—but is also, as history has shown, lethal.

By simply existing as ourselves, Jews undermine the vision of a world without difference. And so the things about us that make us different must be demonized, so that they can be erased or destroyed: Zionism is refashioned as colonialism; government officials justify the murder of innocent Jews in Jersey City; Jewish businesses can be looted because Jews “are the face of capital.” Jews are flattened into “white people,” our living history obliterated, so that someone with a straight face can suggest that the Holocaust was merely “white on white crime.”

This is no longer a fringe view. As the philosopher Peter Boghossian has noted: “This ideology is the dominant moral orthodoxy in our universities, and has seeped out and spread to every facet of American life— publishing houses, tech, arts, theater, newspapers, media,” and, increasingly, corporations. It has not grabbed power by dictates from above, but by seizing the means of sense-making from below.

Over the past few decades and with increasing velocity over the last several years, a determined young cohort has captured nearly all of the institutions that produce American cultural and intellectual life. Rather than the institutions shaping them, they have reshaped the institutions. You don’t need the majority inside an institution to espouse these views. You only need them to remain silent, cowed by a fearless and zealous minority who can smear them as racists if they dare disagree.

It is why California attempted to pass an ethnic studies curriculum whose only mention of Jews was to explain how they, along with Irish immigrants, were invited into whiteness.

It is why those who claim to care about diversity and inclusion don’t seem to care about the deep-seated racism against Asian Americans at schools like Harvard.

It is why a young Jewish woman named Rose Ritch was recently run out of the USC student government. Ms. Ritch stood accused of complicity in racism because, following the Soviet lie, to be a Zionist is to be nothing less than a racist. Her fellow students waged a campaign to hound her out of her position: “Impeach her Zionist ass,” they insisted.

It is why the Democratic Socialists of America, the emerging power center of the Democratic Party in New York, sent a questionnaire to New York City Council candidates that included a pledge not to travel to Israel.

It is why Tamika Mallory, an outspoken fan of Louis Farrakhan, gets the glamour treatment in a photoshoot for Vogue.

And this is why AOC, the standard bearer of America’s new left, didn’t think Yitzhak Rabin was worth the political capital, but goes out of her way, a few days later, to praise the Black Panthers. She is the harbinger of a political reality in which Jews will have little power.

It does not matter how progressive you are, how vegan or how gay, how much you want universal health care and pre-K and to end the drug war. To believe in the justness of the existence of the Jewish state—to believe in Jewish particularism at all—is to make yourself an enemy of this movement.

…

If you’re nearing the end of the essay wondering why this hasn’t been explained to you before, the answer is because, yet again, we find ourselves in another moment in Jewish history at a time of great need and urgency with communal leadership who, with rare exception, will not address the danger.

I understand why people have been blind to this. Life has been good—exceedingly good—for American Jews for half a century. Many older communal leaders seem to lack the moral imagination to see this threat. It’s also hard for anyone to hear the words: They’re just not that into you.

So when I try to discuss this with many Jews in leadership positions, what I face is either boomer-esque entitlement—a sense that the way the world worked for them must be the way it will always work—or outright resistance. Oh please, wokeness isn’t important anywhere but in silly Twitter microclimates. When you explain that no, in fact, this ideology has taken over universities, publishing houses, the media, museums and is now making quick work of corporate America, you hit another roadblock: Isn’t this just righting some historical injustices? What could go wrong? You then have to explain what could go wrong—what is already going wrong—is that it is ruining the lives of regular, good people, and the more institutions and companies fall prey to it, the more lives it will ruin.

…

Last month, I participated in a Zoom event attended by several major Jewish philanthropists. After briefly talking about my experience at The New York Times, I noted that if they wanted to understand what happened to me, they needed to appreciate the power of that new, still-nameless creed that has hijacked the paper and so many other institutions essential to American life. I’ve been thinking about what happened next ever since.

One of the funders on the call launched into me, explaining that Ibram X. Kendi’s work was vital, and portrayed me as retrograde and uncool for opposing the ideology du jour. Because this person is prominent and powerful enough to send signals that others in the Jewish world follow, the comments managed to both sideline me and stun almost everyone else into silence.

These people may be the most enraging: those with the financial security to oppose this ideology and demur, so desperate to be seen as hip; for their children to keep their spots at the right prep schools; so that they can be seated at the right tables at the right benefits; so that they are honored at Brown or Harvard; so that business does well enough that they can renovate their house in Aspen or East Hampton. Desperate to remain in good odor with the right people, they are willing to close their eyes to what is coming for the rest of us.

Young Jews who grasp the scope of this problem and want to fight it thus find themselves up against two fronts: their ideological enemies and their own communal leadership. But it is among this group—people with no social or political capital to hoard, some of them not even out of college—that I find our community��s seers. The dynamic reminds me of the one Theodor Herzl faced: The communal establishment of his time was deeply opposed to his Zionist project. It was the poorer, younger Jews—especially those from Russia—who first saw the necessity of Zionism’s lifesaving vision.

Funders and communal leaders who are falling over themselves to make alliances with fashionable activists and ideas enjoy a decadent indulgence that these young proud Jews cannot afford. They live far from the violence that affects Jews in places like Crown Heights and Borough Park. If things go south in one city, they can take refuge in a second home. It may be cost-free for the wealthy to flirt with an ideology that suggests abolishing the police or the nuclear family or capitalism. But for most Jews and most Americans, losing those ideas comes with a heavy price.

#bari weiss #tablet magazine #anti-semitism #cancel culture

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the-witch-of-plum-hollow · 4 years

Text

Winter’s Chill, Summer’s Heat

pairing: Steve x OFC, kind of Bucky x OFC

Warning: Bucky is an absolute jackass, Swearing, body image issues.

word count: 8382

summary: Emma Carver is a mutant with the Avengers, crushing hard on Bucky but doesn’t see what’s right in front of her. Which is ironic, because he’s a pretty big dude. It starts with some angst but there’s some fluff in the end.

For @morsmordrethings 1k writing challenge! (Go easy, I haven’t written in like a year.)

She lay on his bed, curled up and holding in her tears. She was sick of sobbing, sick of feeling the skin on her cheeks dry from the salt in her tears. Her dress crinkled with every movement, almost as a reminder of how foolish she felt.

“Stupid,” Emma muttered under her breath, “you’re so stupid.”

Strong, warm arms curled around her again, holding her without comment. She could feel his breath on her shoulder, slow and calm. She closed her eyes again, willing sleep to come and take her away and let her pretend none of that evening, that day or even the last few months had happened.

***** ***** *****

It had all started so well. Tony’s annual Holiday party was days away and she still hadn’t gone out looking for a dress. However, that morning, over breakfast Natasha snorted into her coffee and looked at her.

“I love how you think I hadn’t picked something out for you a month ago.”

“Yeah, I should’ve seen that coming, huh?” she started at Nat.

“No shit,” Nat muttered, draining her cup.

Of course Nat not only knew her measurements but picked out an outfit that would most likely be fabulous. Last year’s 6-hour shopping fiasco was not to be repeated. (It’s not her fault that she hated shopping or that it was difficult to shop with Pepper AND Nat, two women who could wear potato sacks and look glamorous.)

“I should pretend to be surprised, but I think we know I’m not. Can I try it on tonight?” Emma asked, pouring herself more coffee.

“Absolutely not,” Natasha said, spinning around from where she had placed her cup in the sink, “you won’t know until the day of and that’s final. Trust me, you’ll love it.” She left the kitchen with a wink and headed down to the gym for her training.

Emma looked over at Wanda, who shrugged and went back to her tea and toast. Steve was reading the morning paper next to Sam, who was on his phone and Bucky was at the table with a bowl of cereal. Ah, Bucky. Emma looked over at him and gave him a soft smile when he made eye contact, only to have it returned by a small, half smile. Well, ok then she thought to herself. They had danced around each other for months, almost a year. Flirting and stolen glances and one, furtive kiss 4 months ago in a storage room before Bucky had gone on a 2-month long mission and then nothing but light flirting since. Nothing got in the way of a budding romance like their job. She sighed and leaned her elbows on the island, both hands wrapped around her coffee.

Steve looked up from his paper at her sign and watched Emma as she stared into space for a minute. He took in the curve or her jaw and the way her lips turned up just a bit at the corners and had the sudden urge to draw his perfect teammate. Sam nudged him when he stared just a little too long and he rolled his shoulders back just a bit, clearing his throat.

“Got anything planned for today?” Steve asked her.

“Not particularly,” she began, “flight training again at some point, and I need to wrap some presents. How about you?” She turned to Steve and straightened up, leaving her hips to push against the countertop.

“Something similar, I suppose. Tony mentioned that he tweaked the calibration on the weight machines. Feel like seeing who can bench more again?”

“Not again,” Sam groaned. Steve had found Emma Carver at a gym in Boston, conning pretty rich boys out of their trust fund money at weight-lifting contests. Thinking she was getting arrested, she shocked him even more when she literally flew off. Sam chased her down and 4 months later she was part of the team. After Tony bitched about having yet another super powered person in their midst, and after she and Steve broke two weight machines, he designed a set of machines specifically for Steve, Emma, and Bucky.

Emma grinned and nodded before taking a sip of her coffee. Steve smiled back and looked over at the table.

“Buck? You in?”

“Don’t think it’d be fair,” he shrugged, lifting his left arm and flexing his metal fingers around, “but I’ll come down and spot the two of you anyway.”

“Yeah Cap,” Emma giggled, “safety first!”

Sam smirked at Emma when Steve rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve shook his head, “I’ll see you both down there in 30.”

He folded up his paper and got up, nodding at Emma as he walked away from the kitchen and headed back to his room to change. Sam got up behind him and mock saluted Emma, leaving the kitchen to the sound of her laughter. Wanda left soon after and Emma was left alone in the kitchen with Bucky. The silence was deafening.

“So, Bucky,” Emma started, gripping her mug so he couldn’t see her hands tremble, “looking forward to Tony’s party this year?”

“Not really,” he grumbled, “I hate these things. Too many people, and the music is too loud.”

“Oh…” she replied. Emma leaned back on the counter, placed her mug down and propped her chin up with her right hand.

“Got your suit yet?” she began again.

“Yeah, Tony made sure we all had suits. Again.”

Emma blew at a piece of her hair that had fallen over her eyes and fell silent. She stood up and went to turn around when his voice stopped her.

“Heard you didn’t have to pick out your dress this time.”

She turned and smiled at him.

“Nat was kind enough to relieve me of that torture, but I have no idea what it looks like. I don’t even know what my shoes look like, or how I need to do my hair,” she said with a roll of her eyes. She turned back to the counter and rinsed out her mug, never hearing Bucky come up behind her.

“I’m sure you’ll look gorgeous, pretty girl” he murmured, his breath warm on her neck, making her gasp. His arms briefly caged her against the counter and his chest was lightly pressed against her back. She closed her eyes tilted her head slightly but before she could react further, he had placed his finished bowl in the sink and was walking back to his room. She could feel the loss of him immediately and let out a soft sigh, one he probably heard because of his damn super soldier ears. Emma sucked in a deep breath and steeled her shoulders. No better way to get rid of this frustration than to go lift a ridiculous amount of weight and sweat it out. Mainly because drinking was not really an option at 8am.

By the time Emma headed down to the gym, Steve was there and warming up. Luckily, it wasn’t that full for a normal morning, but there were enough people in the gym that she didn’t know to make her rethink agreeing to this. Steve saw her clenching her hands and jogged over to ease her anxiety.

“Hey, it’ll be fine,” he assured her, “Nat is just training some of the lab techs in hand to hand and Bucky & Sam will be with us. I think she’s almost down to just the one girl anyway, ok?” He knew how strangers put Emma on edge. She spent so long on her own, that even with her gifts, other people made her nervous. Plus, with her body type, she got self-conscious. She wasn’t slender like Pepper or petite like Natasha. It didn’t matter that she could throw a Fiat through a wall.

Emma nodded to Steve and rolled her own shoulders back. He smiled and threw an arm around her shoulder, pulling her in and planting a kiss in her hair.

“That’s my girl,” he grinned. Emma didn’t know what was more surprising, getting called Steve’s girl or the blush that chased the smile on her face. He quickly let go and walked her over to Natasha, where she was down to teaching a lone blonde on the mats across the room. She stopped what she was doing when they walked up, knowing that meeting her pupil would ease Emma’s mind.

“Emma, this is Aimee,” Nat said, gesturing to the tall blonde across from her, “she’s one of the lab techs that they want trained in field work. You just missed Hakim, he’s the other one I’m training.”

The two women smiled and exchanged pleasantries, shaking hands. Aimee grinned at Emma.

“I’ve studied your blood before, you’re amazing” she gushed.

“Thank…you?” Emma laughed.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. That was so weird,” Aimee was beet red and slapped a hand over her face, “I work in the genetics department and I’m part of the team that works in conjunction with the med labs. I’ve analyzed your blood a few times. Your powers are amazing, you’re such an inspiration.”

Emma blushed and looked at her in surprise, missing how Steve and Nat watched her with pride.

“Wow, thank you,” Emma stuttered, “That is incredibly kind. I’m really not that special though. I was just born kind of weird and I learned how to make the best of it.”

Steve rolled his eyes at her.

“Ok, well let’s get back to the weights. Don’t want to leave Sam and Bucky waiting.”

Emma nodded and walked back over to the weights near Sam, where he was prepping to help her warmup.

“Bucky Barnes? Like the former Winter Soldier?” Aimee perked up.

“Yeah, he’s over there near Sam,” Nat pointed, “Why, wanna gush about his blood too?”

“Oh no,” Aimee blushed, “I just think he’s really handsome.”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s great,” Steve muttered, “I’ll let you get back to your workout. Nat, Aimee.”

2 hours later Aimee was long gone but Tony, Nat, Thor, and Clint had joined Sam and Bucky to watch Emma and Steve lift increasingly ridiculous amount of weight. Wanda had even wandered in at one point but left to get ready for a lunch date with Vision.

Emma and Steve had decided that the bench press was going to be the decided factor. Both were currently getting ready for their maximum weight yet; 2100 lbs. Thor stood ready to spot Emma and Bucky was behind Steve.

“Whenever you’re ready, kids,” Tony reminded the pair. Emma smirked at Tony and, wiping the small amount of sweat on her brow she repositioned herself under the weight and took a deep breath. She looked over at Steve and nodded. Moving carefully, they both lifted their weights and set them back down once. Then twice. Then again.

“holy shit,” Clint muttered.

Emma looked over to Steve after the 5th rep and neither one looked like they were ready to stop but Emma was getting a bit hungry. Her stomach growling was fucking with her concentration.

“Tie?” she grinned at him.

“Tie,” he grinned back, scooting out from under the bar and sitting up. Emma stood and held her hand out to shake his as the team clapped around them, Thor slapping a massive hand across her back while Clint whistled.

“Well done, Emma!” he bellowed.

She laughed and gave Steve a limp high-five as they both congratulated the other.

“Ok guys, that was fun and all, but I’d like to go eat a whole deli and then sleep,” Emma cut through the group, “Maybe shower first.”

“Shower, then meet in the common room. I’ve got a deli coming in,” Tony smirked at her.

“Tones, I’d hug you but I’m gross,” Emma smiled at him, “See you guys in like 20 minutes!” She and Steve headed toward the doors leading for their showers, joking about using cars next time. Clint wasn’t far behind them, heading for the other showers, debating with Thor whether or not Emma’s powers have a cap on them. The rest of the group filtered out, leaving Sam with Bucky.

“So, Buck,” Sam began, “Are you asking Emma to Tony’s party or not?”

“What?!” Bucky whirled around to face him, “Why would you ask that?”

“Come on man, we all see it,” Sam chided him, “looking at her when she thinks you’re not, the flirting. I even know about the kiss.”

“The kiss never should’ve happened,” Bucky mumbled.

“Wait, what?”

“It never should’ve happened. Come on man. Look at her. Look at me. I don’t belong with someone like her.”

“Buck, man, I thought we had gotten past all this self-loathing bullshit,” Sam started.

“I am past it. This is reality. She’s not the right girl for me. I thought she was but she’s not. I’d drag her down. I thought maybe if I kept trying, things could work but I’m just kidding myself. I can’t give her what she deserves.”

“Ok man,” Sam sighed, “then you had better let her down easy. And soon. That girl is gonna fall for you whether you like it or not.”

“She’s in love with me?” Bucky looked to where you had headed, worry etched across his face.

“Not yet, man. But Emma shows all her emotions, that’s how she is. And you had better fix this quick before it hurts more than it needs to.”

The next couple of days flew by with training and meetings. Everyone was kept busy with one thing or another and Emma barely saw Bucky. She was fairly sure he wasn’t avoiding him, but she couldn’t be certain. She was just as busy as everyone else. Before they knew, it was the day of Tony’s famous (or infamous) Holiday Party. Nat had given Emma enough information about her dress and outfit to get her prep done and that was it. So, at noon, she showed up at Natasha’s door, freshly showered and ready for…whatever Nat had planned for her.

“Hello, little doll,” Nat grinned wickedly at Emma as she opened the door, “are you ready?”

“I mean, I was before you answered the door like Vincent Price,” Emma muttered, letting herself get ushered into the suite. Nat just laughed and shut the door behind her.

“It’s going to be fine, darling,” Wanda called from the bedroom, “I will handle your hair and makeup. You are going to look lovely tonight.”

“I don’t want to seem ungrateful about all of this,” Emma began, “and I know we usually get ready together for these things, but why are you two doing all of this for me? Why is this party so special?”

Natasha and Wanda exchanged a look. Wanda gestured to Nat to say something.

“Honey,” Nat grabbed Emma’s hands, “everyone in this damn place as seen how you and Bucky have looked at each other over the last handful of months. We’ve also seen how he still hasn’t pulled the trigger.”

“Awesome. So not embarrassing at all,” Emma grumbled.

“Sweetie, we think that maybe you should be the one to make a move,” Wanda stepped over, “Maybe not say something directly, but at least make him understand what you want. What better time to do that than at Tony’s party? You can look like a dream and show him another side of you.”

Emma tilted her head and considered what they were saying. They made solid points, but she was looking forward to hanging out with everyone this year.

“Alright, deal. Let’s get me dolled up,” Emma agreed, laughing at Wanda’s small squeal and Nat’s smug face.

A few hours later, Wanda was putting the finishing touches on Emma’s hair when she looked down at her and noticed the crease between her eyes.

“Emma?” she crouched down in front of her, “Darling, what is wrong?”

“What if this doesn’t work out?” she whispered.

“You mean, what if Bucky is a lot more of an idiot that I had realized and rejects you?” Nat asked, peering out at you from the bathroom door. You just nodded slightly, mouth in a tight line.

“Then we stay together, drink, and then I use you as a way to finally get Steve out on the dance floor,” Nat grinned. You and Wanda laughed at that, setting your mind at ease. You should’ve known Nat had a backup plan if things went awry.

You were distracted once again by Wanda, gently taking your face in her hands and turning it to her.

“Natasha, I believe I am finished,” Wanda smiled and took a few steps back, her smile spreading when Nat walked over and linked her arm through hers.

“Perfect,” Nat agreed, “go ahead.” She motioned for Emma to head over to the mirror.

Emma walked over and gasped. Wanda had given her the perfect look. Slight cat eye, contoured cheeks and a beautiful red lip that complimented her skin perfectly.

“Wanda,” Emma said softly, “this is…. Honey, you’ve out-done yourself.”

Wanda beamed and looked over to Nat.

“I believe it’s your turn.”

Nat grinned and spun on her heel, making a beeline for her closet. Emma held her hands hovering over her eyes in anticipation while Nat rummaged around for the shoes.

“Ok, my little doll, are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be!” Emma replied and Wanda giggled.

“Open your eyes, darling,” Wanda whispered in her ear.

Emma lowered her hand and was at a loss for words. Natasha held up a deep green taffeta dress that was somehow modern and classic Dior all in one. The sweetheart neckline draped into an off-the-shoulder look and the hem flared out to about tea length on Emma. She was thrilled. It was the perfect dress and paired with the matching kitten heels in Nat’s other hand Emma was actually giddy.

“Oh girls, I don’t even know what to say,�� Emma walked over and gently ran her fingertips over the skirt of the dress, “it’s amazing. Where did you find this? I’ll need to run back to my room really quick though, I’m definitely not wearing the right bra for that!”

“Don’t tell anyone but I enjoy vintage shops. This was an easy find and I had it altered for you. Plus, look! I had them add pockets!” Nat showed her.

The girls laughed and Emma laughed even harder when she turned around to find Wanda already holding up the corset style bra she needed. They absolutely though of everything.

In the ballroom, Steve and Sam were by the bar taking advantage of Tony’s excellent taste in liquor. Sam was getting increasingly agitated. He knew Bucky hadn’t spoken to Emma since the weight-lifting incident and he also knew Bucky was just dumb enough to say something during the party. The more he thought about the more he worried. That’s it, Wilson, you’ve gotta say something.

“Hey, Steve, you got a minute?”

“Sure Sam, what’s…. wow. Oh my god.”

Sam looked up to see Steve completely taken by whatever was over his shoulder. He turned around and smiled. Nat, Emma, and Wanda had made their entrance, but unbeknownst to Emma, Nat and Wanda had drifted off to the sides, giving her a cheesy movie star entrance. Emma stood at the doorway, in her holiday green dress and hair half up and softly curled over one shoulder. Sam looked back to Steve, who was still gazing at Emma with a soft smile slowly appearing on his face. That can be either really good or really bad, Sam thought.

“Think he’s seen Emma yet?” Sam nudged him.

“Think whose seen Emma yet?” Steve replied absentmindedly.

“Bucky. Do you think he has seen Emma. I haven’t even seen him in here,” Sam prodded.

“Oh, um…no. I haven’t seen him yet either. He said he’d meet us here though,” Steve coughed and turned to face the bar. Sam looked at him and smirked.

“You should ask her to dance, man,” he suggested.

“Who? Emma? No, I’m not…. she’s not…There’s no…” Steve sputtered.

“Real smooth, Cap,” Sam nodded, “Get it together though, she’s headed this way.”

Emma walked up to Sam slapping Steve on the back as he coughed.

“Steve! Are you ok?” Emma hurried over, the click of her heels speeding up.

“Yeah, fine, bourbon down the wrong pipe is all,” he choked out, red faced. Emma looked over to Sam, who nodded, holding in a laugh.

“Ok, you had me worried there,” she smiled, “I thought we were gonna break the streak of nobody dying at one of Tony’s parties or something.”

“No, we’re safe,” he coughed again and straightened up.

“You look gorgeous, by the way,” Sam told her.

“Thanks, Sam,” she blushed a bit, “Nat and Wanda handled everything. I just showed up.”

“Yeah, but you are wearing the hell out of that dress,” he grinned at her, taking her hand and giving her a twirl. Her skirt flared out around her and swirled around her legs. Steve watched as Emma laughed and spun around. She looked like something out of his dreams. He waited until Sam was done with her to say something.

“You look stunning, Emma,” Steve said softly, smile growing as she blushed once again.

“Thanks, Steve,” she replied, “I guess I clean up pretty good, huh?”

“Better than good,” he grinned, “you look like a pinup.”

“Please, if you think this is good, you should see the getup I’ve got on underneath all this just to hold everything together,” Emma shot back and immediately slapped a hand over her mouth. Sam burst into laughter as it was now Steve’s turn to blush.

“Sorry!” she squeaked, “I’m sorry, I’m nervous and I may look good but I’m still the same idiot underneath. Just don’t let me accidentally break anything like last year.”

“It’s fine, Em, don’t worry. Now, go mingle. Don’t stand over here the whole night,” Sam nudged her on, “I mean, I’m fine as hell but nobody is saying anything about Steve.”

Emma laughed and gave them both a quick peck on the cheek before she walked off in search of her other teammates. Sam looked over at Steve and picked up his drink from the bar again.

“Something you’d like to share with the class, Cap?” he asked his friend.

“Not really, no,” Steve answered, watching Emma weave her way through the crowd, “you were right though.”

“I usually am. What about this time though?” Sam asked over the rim of his glass.

“I should’ve asked her to dance.”

Emma flitted from group to group, saying hello to a few SHIELD agents she knew and a handful of the medical personnel she had met. She even ran into Aimee and met her girlfriend, a quiet girl from HR named Rosa. She gave Tony and Pepper a quick hug and got a chance to chat for a minute with Bruce. She must have been there for an hour, moving all around the room and there was no sign of Bucky. Emma was getting a little frustrated but decided not to let that get to her. Snatching a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, she sauntered over to where she saw Clint and Nat at the other end of the bar from where Steve and Sam had been.

“Ladies,” she drawled as she slid over next to them, “How are we tonight?”

“Look at this fancy lady right here!” Clint exclaimed.

Emma and at laughed at Clint’s exaggerated wolf whistle and googly eye.

“Aww, Mr. Barton, you just know how to make a girl feel real swell,” Emma twittered, making him laugh into his beer.

“How’s the night so far Em?” Nat asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Silent. Target definitely not acquired,” she grumbled.

“Well that’s bullshit,” Nat retorted, “He’s got to be here somewhere.”

“Girls,” Clint broke in, “target fucking acquired.”

Emma and Nat followed his pointing finger over to the windows, where Bucky was standing alone, nursing a drink. Emma’s jaw dropped a little as his head turned to the side and she got a good look at his jawline. His hair was pulled back at the base of his neck and his tux was deep gray with black accents. Emma was a bit speechless, but she squared her shoulders and glanced at Nat.

“Now or never,” she told her. To her surprise, Nat linked arms with her and steered them toward Bucky.

“Did you think I was going to let you go alone?” she asked her, “I’ve got you.”

The pair headed toward Barnes, unaware at how many people were watching the interaction. Most of the team wanted to see how this would go down.

Bucky glanced up when he realized someone was headed his way and relaxed a fraction when he realized it was only Nat and Emma. The pair looked like the embodiment of Christmas with Nat in her slinky red velvet and Emma in her shimmering green taffeta. Bucky gripped his glass a little tighter when he realized exactly what type of dress Emma had on.

“Hey Barnes, having a good night?” Nat asked him in her smokey voice. She snuck a look at Emma, who had tried to make her face as calm as possible.

“It’s a night” he said through clenched teeth. Nat furrowed her brow in the slightest.

“Barnes?” she asked. He just stared at the floor, gripping his drink.

“Bucky?” Emma asked, stepping forward. She laid a hand on his arm only to have him jerk it away.

“Is this some kind of joke?” he hissed.

“What? I- “Emma stuttered.

“Is. This. A. Joke.” he ground out.

“Barnes, what the fuck is your problem?” Nat snapped at him.

“Do you think it’s funny to taunt me? Dressing like that, in a style I’ll never see in person again. Is that entertaining to you?”

Emma took a step back, stunned while Nat took one forward. Steve had heard Bucky over the crowd and had started to make his way to them, Sam following. Even Clint and Wanda were edging closer.

“Bucky, that’s not at all what this was,” Emma tried to assure him.

“Bullshit,” he spat out, “You’ve got this trumped up idea of me in your head and you’re trying to live out some fucking fantasy with a me that doesn’t even exist anymore.”

“Bucky, what- “

“Get it through your goddamn head, doll,” he sneered, “I’m not that Bucky Barnes. I will never be him again. We will never live out your little domestic fantasy where Emma and Bucky live happily ever after. I don’t want anyone, I don’t need anyone, especially not you. Move on already. Thought you would’ve got the hint by now.”

Emma knew she wasn’t going to be able to keep the tears from falling. She had always kept her heart firmly on her sleeve, but she’d be damned if she let him get in another dig.

“Fuck you, James Buchanan Barnes,” she said quietly, making Bucky’s blood run a little cold. She didn’t yell. She just took a step closer to him and dropped her voice.

“Fuck you. I never wanted you to be that Bucky. I never asked anything from you. Not once. But you can get off your high horse right now, because I don’t recall ever saying that I was in love with you, you arrogant prick,” she took a breath as her voice caught “ and you should count your lucky stars that I don’t toss your dumbass out the window right now because we both know damn well I could. And I’m pretty sure only one of us can fly, James.”

Emma looked into his eyes one more time, so he could see the tears and hurt on her face before she turned on one heel and headed back to the bar where Pepper was waiting with a drink. Natasha gave Bucky one more look before she followed Emma and Steve just watched her go. Sam strode over to Bucky and grabbed his arm, yanking him in close.

“I told you to let her down easy, not break her goddamn heart,” he seethed.

“It had to be done,” Bucky looked at him, “she can’t think there’s a chance. Not ever.”

Sam scoffed and pushed him away, giving him one more look of disgust before walking to find Emma. Steve walked over to his best friend, setting a hand on his shoulder.

“Buck,” Steve began, “what was all that?”

“Leave it, Steve,” Bucky spat out, slamming the rest of his drink and walking away, losing himself in the crowd. Steve watched him walk away, baffled. He started to follow him when he got a glimpse of Emma at the bar with Pepper, Sam, and Tony. His chest tightened like a fist around his heart when he realized she was crying. Before he knew it, he had walked halfway over to her.

Emma downed the three fingers of scotch Pepper had ready for her, relishing the burn. She had heard the raised voices and just knew what would be needed, because she was Pepper Potts. Emma placed the glass down harder than she meant to on the bar, cracking the glass.

“Sorry Tony,” she sighed, “I’ll get you a new set.”

“Don’t worry about it honey,” Pepper reassured her, “It isn’t that important. You are.”

Emma smiled weakly at her and sighed. This was not how she had hoped her night would go, but this even went past her worst-case scenario.

“I guess I completely underestimated what an absolute asshat Bucky Barnes could be,” she sniffled. Nat appeared at her side, seeing red.

“Want me to kill him?” she crooned at her friend. Emma just gave her a watery smile and motioned for the bartender to give her another drink.

“How many people heard?” she asked.

“Well….” Nat began.

“The team, basically,” Clint answered, popping up by Tony, “some lab techs, that weird security guard that smells like peppers, a gaggle of models and a few randos, Ow!” Nat had clipped him in the head.

“Cool, cool,” Emma mumbled, “Hey Tony, can you see if Fury has any openings in like, Antarctica? Anywhere he can use someone with super strength that can fly and is also an absolute dumbass?”

“You’re not going anywhere, kiddo,” Tony reassured her, “And you’re not a dumbass. Literally nobody saw that coming. I don’t know what his problem is, but you did nothing wrong.”

“I agree,” came a deep voice behind Emma. She turned to see Steve, standing a few feet away and looking very sheepish.

“I’m so sorry, Emma, for what he said,” he murmured, “I don’t know where any of it came from. You light up the entire room and any other guy here would be honored to have you on their arm.”

He relaxed a bit when Emma smiled up at him.

“Thank you for that Steve, but you don’t need to apologize for Bucky. You’re not his keeper.”

“I know that, I do,” Steve sighed, “Just, please don’t let his words ruin your night.”

Emma smiled and took one of Steve’s hands in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. Nat smiled at Steve and looked back to Emma.

“Honey, remember the back up plan?” Nat said, laughing when Emma barked out a small laugh.

“I don’t think the whole plan is going to go the way you want,” Emma replied.

Nat just smiled at her. Emma turned back to the bar and leaned into Pepper, not noticing Steve and Nat having a very quiet whispered argument behind them. Tony didn’t miss a thing and was highly amused when it appeared Cap lost the argument and Nat just grinned, smug smile and all. She stalked off to find the DJ. Steve looked back over to Emma to find her laughing again, courtesy of Sam and his incessant, harmless flirting.

“Feeling a little better sweetheart?” Steve asked, placing his hand on her lower back.

“You know, I kind of am,” she answered, “it still hurts that he even thought that about me and I’ll probably cry about it tomorrow, but he can’t ruin tonight any more than he already has, right?”

“No, I don’t see how he could,” Steve admitted, “but I’d like to try and make it a little bit better.” He held out a hand as a slower song began to play. Emma bit back a smile and placed her hand in his, letting him lead her to the dance floor. Pepper and Tony followed while Sam leaned on the bar next to Nat.

“Did your night go as planned?” he asked her.

“Somewhat,” she replied, “I did not expect that reaction from Barnes, but it’s nice to see it end on a better note.”

“How long have you known he has a thing for her?” he prodded.

“Who, our fearless leader? Long enough to do something about it,” she smugly replied. They both turned to look out at the dance floor just in time to see Steve spin Emma out and turn her back into his arms.

“They do look good together,” Sam murmured. Nat hummed in reply. Their peace was broken, however, by Wanda and Clint rushing toward them. The anxiety was coming off Wanda in waves. Nat and Sam looked at each other and headed toward them.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked Clint.

“Get Emma on to the balcony or somewhere else less central, NOW,” he pushed, motioning for the team to do something.

“She can’t see it; you have to move her!” Wanda looked to Nat. Nat looked at her friend, crease in her brows.

“Can’t see what?” Nat asked.

“Too late,” Clint interrupted, looking to the dance floor. Emma stood, frozen next to Steve, both looking off the dance floor over toward the tables in the corner. There, in a chair was Bucky, heavily making out with a tall, curvy blonde model on his lap that had come with somebody’s entourage. Nat quickly looked back to Emma, who hadn’t moved. Nat met Steve’s eye and he nodded, taking a few steps closer to Emma, murmuring something softly to her. Her eyes narrowed and she took a few steps toward him, fists balling and muscles cording in her arms only to stop short, the color draining from her face.

Emma felt her stomach drop at the sound of Bucky’s voice. He was speaking soft, sweet words into that woman’s ear.

“So soft, baby,” he whispered between kisses, “You’re so soft. Like a real woman. Look at these curves.” He was running his hands all over her while Emma was frozen in place.

“James,” the blonde giggled, “you’re so sweet.”

Emma was rooted to the spot until the giggle shocked her out of the fog. Narrowing her eyes at Bucky, she whipped around and stalked back to Steve. Honestly, she was more pissed off at crying again, but this time it cut her to the core. Steve met her halfway and wrapped her in his arms, holding her tight and leading her away from Bucky. He’d deal with his friend later, right now Emma needed him.

“I’m going to kill him,” Nat snarled.

“Get in line,” Sam growled.

Clint watched, silent. Sam and Nat moved to follow Steve as he steered Emma toward the doors, but Clint stood like a sentry with Wanda behind him and watched Bucky. They watched him until Bucky stopped kissing the blonde and they watched Bucky as he spoke to her softly and helped her off his lap. They watched as Bucky walked over to the balcony doors and went outside. Clint turned to Wanda and nodded, heading to find Nat. Wanda went off toward Bucky.

Emma and Steve were far enough away that he could slow down, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. Emma was quiet and Steve’s heart was breaking with every silent tear that dropped from her eyes.

She was lost in her own thoughts. It was as if he knew exactly what to say to hurt her the most. Like he knew, deep down, what she hated most about herself. He knew, no matter what she said differently that sometimes she hated how muscular her arms and shoulders were. That even though she had curves and was feminine, they were harder than other women. That her legs were solid muscle. That her shoulders were broader than Wanda’s or Pepper’s. Sometimes she’d forget that she could fly and lift a truck overhead and that she was a goddamn Avenger. She was back to being that 15-year-old girl in High School that didn’t fit in. She spent all that time learning to love who she was and love her life, and for what? To have a handful of words from a boy tear it all down again.

Emma wasn’t even sure who she was leaning on any more or where they were taking her, all she could feel was the ice in her stomach. She ran her fingers over her stomach and remembered the dress she was wearing and suddenly she not only felt sick again, she felt foolish. He made a fool of her in front of her friends and strangers. She spent all that time getting ready with the girls, laughing and smiling, getting excited over a dress only to have it come crashing down over her head. Emma choked back a sob and let her legs give out for a minute.

Steve just lifted her up bridal style when he felt her legs give out and held her close, getting through to the elevators.

“It’s ok Emma, I’ve got you. Just stay with me, ok?”

Emma nodded and looked up at Steve, finally registering who she was with. She was grateful it was Steve and not Natasha. As much as she loved her friend, she didn’t need to vent or answer questions right now. She just needed silence and the chance to regroup and Steve would give her that.

“Do you want to go back to your room or do you just want to get away from everyone as quick as possible?” Steve murmured in her ear.

“Away, quickly,” she whispered. Steve nodded and turned the corner, leading Emma into his suite, much closer than hers was. He shut the door behind them after he set her down and asked Friday to lock his door, not to let anyone in without Emma’s or his verbal authorization.

Once Emma realized they were alone, and away from the crowd she broke down. She gripped Steve’s arms as she fell to her knees, him sliding down with her while sobs wracked her body. She felt foolish because of Bucky, foolish over how she looked, and foolish that she was crying this much but when someone does something specifically to hurt you twice in one night, it’s bound to sting.

Steve knelt on the floor of his living room with one arm around Emma and the other cradling her head to his chest.

“Shh, sweetheart, it’ll be alright,” he crooned to her, “I’m here, I’m not leaving you. It’ll be alright.”

They sat there on his floor for the better part of an hour before Emma turned her head to look at Steve.

“Thank you,” she croaked.

“You never have to thank me for something like this,” Steve assured her, “I’ll always be here when you need me.”

Emma smiled at him and rested her forehead on his chest for a minute.

“Steve?” she whispered.

“Yes Emma?”

“Can I lay down somewhere?”

Steve stood up slowly, helping Emma up. He waited until she was steady on her feet before he scooped her up bridal style again and carried her to his bedroom. His heartbeat just a bit faster when her arms went around his neck and she curled into him, so he tightened his hold, just a little.

Emma felt Steve tighten his grip on her. She gripped him just as tightly, knowing he would keep her safe. Once they got to his room, he softly laid her down on the bed and then sat at her feet, watching her curl in on herself.

“Emma,” he spoke softly, “I’ll be right out here, ok? I won’t leave the apartment.”

The silence in the room broke his heart for her yet again, because it was killing him to see the strongest woman he knows reduced to tears because of the words of his idiot best friend. Steve stood, and turned toward the door.

“Wait.”

He turned back to her, seeing her pleading eyes look up at him.

“Will you stay with me for a while?”

“I’ll stay as long as you need me,” he replied. Steve crossed the room and climbed into his bed behind Emma. She half turned and grabbed his hand, weaving her fingers with his and wrapping his arm around her. She listened to Steve’s calm breathing and he listened to her berate herself for being the way she was.

And so Emma lay on his bed, curled up and holding in her tears. She was sick of sobbing, sick of feeling the skin on her cheeks dry from the salt in her tears. Her dress crinkled with every movement, almost as a reminder of how foolish she felt.

“Stupid,” Emma muttered under her breath, “you’re so stupid.”

Strong, warm arms curled around her again, holding her without comment. She could feel his breath on her shoulder, slow and calm.

Sleep finally came, heavy and swift and blessing her with a dreamless night. Emma woke the next morning to sunlight streaming in the windows and rolled over, only to find Steve still in the bed with her, loosely holding her hand. He must have gotten up at some point, because her phone was on his nightstand, plugged into a charger and he was only in his suit pants and dress shirt. She remembered it falling from her pocket in his living room, but she just didn’t care at the time. Emma sat up, looking down and realizing she was still in her party dress. Sighing again she glanced over at Steve only to realize he was awake.

“Hi,” she said softly.

“Hi,” he replied, “Are you alright?”

“Yes?” She answered, “I mean, I’ll be alright. That was just a lot to handle at once, in one night.”

Steve hummed in agreement and lifted himself up on his elbows.

“Natasha dropped off pajamas and clothes for you last night, if you want to shower here. She wasn’t sure what you would feel like doing today. We can always have Friday help sneak you back to your room if you don’t want to…people.”

“I can shower here,” Emma smiled, “and no peopling sounds nice. Could we just hang here, like we did after the mission in Scotland?”

“Absolutely,” Steve sat up, “you get in the shower and I’ll start on breakfast. No wait, we ordered everything the whole day then, didn’t we?”

Emma smiled, remembering how much they ate and how little they did.

“Yes we did, but you don’t have to order coffee this time. It was cold by the time it got here, and your coffee maker is much better now,” she volunteered. Emma stood up off the bed and stretched and Steve couldn’t help but stare at the way her muscles moved in her back. It took all he had not to walk over and place his lips on her shoulders. He wanted to kiss her pain away, but this was no where near the right time. Emma smiled at him over her shoulder and headed to his bathroom.

“Clothes will be on the bed!” he called as he walked out. He heard a faint “thank you!” from his bathroom just before he shut the door. He grabbed the stuff from Nat out of his living room and after dropping it off his bed & grabbing a quick change of clothes for himself, he walked back out to the living room to order the food.

Minutes after the order was placed and Emma was still in the shower, Steve had a soft knock on his door.

“Captain Rogers, Mr. Wilson is requesting entry,” Friday chimed.

“Let him in, Friday,” Steve replied. Sam walked right in as soon as the lock disengaged.

“How is she?”

“She’s in the shower. She slept the whole night and woke up in a better mood than I thought she would. I think we’re going to hole up here all day,” Steve answered.

“Good, she needs that. Nothing coming down the pipe, but I’ll try and see if I can divert any mission where you two aren’t a necessity for the next few days.”

“Thanks, Sam. Heard from Buck?” Steve asked.

“I haven’t but Wanda spoke to him and then went to her room pretty upset last night. And then Nat ripped him a new one this morning over coffee. Surprised you didn’t hear it.”

“I soundproofed the room during that particular argument, Captain Rogers. I didn’t want to cause Miss Carver any further stress,” Friday chimed.

“Thanks Friday,” Steve answered, “Was it bad, Sam?”

“He just sat there and took it. Didn’t argue, just stared at the counter in front of him and then went to the gym as soon as she finished,” Sam noted.

“Alright,” Steve mused, “keep an eye on him. That seems odd and I don’t want him backsliding. Ask Clint to keep an eye on her and you should check on Wanda.”

“Think he said something to her too?”

“I honestly don’t know anymore, but you know how much of an empath she can be. Somebody should check on her so she isn’t beating herself up about any of this. She helped Emma get ready, she’s probably trying to take some of the blame, not that there is any to begin with.”

“Got it, I’ll check in later,” Sam gave Steve a quick nod and left the apartment.

Not long after, Steve was setting out the breakfast order on his table and waiting for the coffee to finish brewing when Emma walked out of his bedroom in her sushi-print leggings and her favorite shirt. Steve groaned when he saw it.

“Really, that’s the shirt Nat dropped off?”

“Of course she did! It’s my favorite shirt!” Emma grinned, looking down at the giant red white and blue popsicle on her shirt, holding a shield exactly like Steve’s. The word ‘Capsicle’ was written across the bottom in a script font.

“Of course it is,” Steve grumbled. He looked back over to her to see the smile start to slip, just a bit.

“Hey, sweetheart, come here,” he stood and held his arms out. Emma walked over and buried her face in his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“This sucks, Steve,” she mumbled into his shirt.

“I know, honey, I know,” he replied. They stood like that for a minute until the rumble from Emma’s stomach got too loud and they both laughed. They gathered their food and headed over his couch and sat down.

“Plan for today?” she asked Steve.

“Eat and do nothing,” he replied.

“Perfect,” she nodded, turning on the TV.

After a long discussion where Emma seriously mentioned transferring somewhere else and Steve rejected that idea multiple times, they decided to utilize Friday so Emma could avoid Bucky for a while. Steve convinced her not to run from the whole situation, but he agreed that confronting it right away would do more damage than not. Emma ended up sleeping in Steve’s bed again that night, it was just easier. He didn’t complain and was happy to just wake up holding her hand again. Emma ended up sleeping in Steve’s bed so often that she kept a spare toothbrush in his bathroom. She felt safe there, waking up next to him, knowing he was there in the middle of the night. It made her start to wonder if her idea of what love was had been wrong all along.

***** ***** *****

Wanda and Sam sat in the café, both nursing a latte. Sam mulled over what Wanda had told him and what she had picked up.

“You’re sure?” he asked.

“I am certain. Bucky didn’t mean any of the things he said, for the most part. He twisted the meanings so it was truth but not truth. He thinks Emma deserves better than him and she should not be ‘stuck’ with his problems.”

Sam sipped his coffee and looked over at Wanda.

“And what did you feel? I know you pick up things occasionally, if we’re broadcasting loud enough.”

“He believes it, he was telling the truth. But I do not think he felt a deep, true love for our Emma. He cares for her, but he was afraid for it to progress further, for either of them. He pushes love away because he believes he will destroy it.”

“Jesus,” Sam muttered.

***** ***** *****

It was slow going, but eventually everyone could be in the same room at the same time without Steve wondering if Emma was gonna make good on that threat to launch Bucky through a window. Things were slowly back to normal and Emma had her spark back. She challenged Steve to weight-lifting contests, she flew around with Tony and Sam. She even began to speak to Bucky again, if only to be civil. Emma felt like she was herself again and couldn’t be happier until Steve knocked on her door one Thursday afternoon.

“Steve, Hi! I was just thinking about you,” Emma smiled.

“Emma I- wait, you were?” he stuttered.

“Yeah! I found a documentary you might like, and I was going to have Friday add it to your queue.”

“Thanks, Emma, that’s really thoughtful,” Steve blushed a little and smiled.

“What’s going on though, do you need me for something?” she asked.

“Well, yes actually, I do,” he took a deep breath, ok Rogers, you can do this. You’ve punched Hitler in the face over 200 times.

“Emma Carver, can I take you out to dinner?”

“I would absolutely love that,” she beamed.

“Oh, thank god because then this next part would be really awkward,” Steve grinned.

“What partmmph!” Emma cut off as Steve leaned in and kissed her. She smiled against his lips and just knew, this was it. Everything was going to be alright. Love wasn’t cold like winter; it was warm like summer.

#gabs1kwritingchallenge #steve x ofc #bucky x ofc #bit of angst #bit of fluff #writing challenge #i'm really rusty

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nothingeverlost · 5 years

Note

Thanksgiving prompt Storybrooke Verse. Their first thanksgiving with their baby. Does Moe show up?

This takes place almost a year after anything I’ve written in this verse. I wrote one small drabble with her finding out she’s pregnant. I still want to write his reaction and her pregnancy.

Ayla, the baby’s name, is Scottish and translates to mean "from a strong and resilient place"

_________________________-

“Do you hear that, sweetheart? Our first guests have arrived.” Belle leaned over the cradle and checked the diaper before picking up her daughter. It only took a minute to put her in something dry and slip on the dark blue dress with the turkey on the skirt. A soft blue headband and blue booties finished the outfit. “You look so beautiful, my Ayla.”

Belle took her time walking down the stairs, her daughter nestled to her chest, and listened for signs of who had arrived. With the sound of clinking glasses she had a pretty good idea.

“Happy Thanksgiving Mal.” Her husband and his best friend each had a finger of scotch in a tumblr. Nick set his down when she came in and reached out for her.

“There’s the two most beautiful women in the world.”

“Trying not to feel insulted over here, Nicodemus.” Mal rolled her eyes. “Lucky for you my godchild is here to distract me. Pass her over, dear, we have some catching up to do.”

“Of course.” When they’d discussed godparents for their child Belle hadn’t been sure Mal would be interested. Ruby was enthusiastic from the moment she’d learned that Belle was pregnant. Archie was a natural with children. She’d never seen Mal with a child younger than thirteen. It had surprised her when Mal had asked about the theme for the nursery and had proceeded to spend a month of weekends painting a mural of dragons and castles and an enchanted forest on the walls. It was so real it looked as if one should be able to walk into the trees and feel the fire from the dragon’s breath. While no one would mistakenly call her ‘cuddly’ Mal took her godmother role very seriously. She’d shown up at the hospital an hour after the birth and had visited at least once a week since then. “Is there anything I need to check on the kitchen, Nick?”

“Nothing, love. I have a handle on everything and your pies remain untouched like I promised even if a slice would have made a nice breakfast.” This year, he’d insisted, he was in charge of dinner. It was barely a month since she’d given birth and she needed to rest when she could. She, of course, insisted that she was fine but let him have his way. He had worried and fretted through her pregnancy and delivery, and felt better when he had something to distract him.

“I’ll get the door, then.” The three short rings meant that Ruby had arrived. Belle smiled when she heard Nick saying something about ‘supporting the head’ and Mal snarking back that she knew how to hold a baby, thank you very much.

“Hello my favorite mother.” Ruby didn’t wait for anyone to answer the door, but was letting herself in. Archie was more hesitant, but that might have been the loaf of bread in one hand and platter of cookies in the other. “Where’s the baby?”

“Mal beat you to her.” Belle hugged her friend before taking the bread from Archie. The ring on Ruby’s finger was still new enough that it was a pleasant reminder each time she saw it. Now if only she and Archie would set a date.

“You know it took me forever to get used to saying Nick instead of Mr. Gold. I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to saying Mal.” Unlike Belle who’d never taken any classes for Mal, Ruby had taken art classes all four years in high school. “If you start inviting Principal Mills over I’m done, Bells. I can’t take it.”

“You’re safe there.” She thought of the many times she’d heard Nick grumble about the principal. There were probably few people that were less likely to be invited over. She looked at the door. Despite the invitation she’d given her father he was probably as likely to show up as Mills. In the two and a half years since she’d moved in with Nick he hadn’t visited, not for a holiday dinner and not for her wedding.

“Are we expecting someone else?” Archie asked. Belle paused for a moment and shook her head.

“No, it’s the five of us plus Ayla, though she won’t be eating anything.” Or rather she’d be having her own version of leftovers second hand. She had only set the table for five, though she had an extra place setting ready on the sideboard just in case. She hoped no one would notice. It was futile to hope that Nick wouldn’t see and understand, though. “Let me show you where that can go, Archie.”

“Thanks.” He followed her into the kitchen. Setting down the cookies and pulling a bottle of wine out of his coat pocket. “How are you feeling? Are you sure it’s not too much to have people here? We would have understood if you’d wanted Ayla’s first Thanksgiving to be just the family.”

“Her Thanksgiving is just the family.” She stood up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He was unlike anyone Ruby had ever dated and Belle was grateful both for his friendship and his love for her best friend. “And I’m feeling fine, if not a little sleep deprived.”

“A coworker had a baby last year. She said it was like going through residency again, and I remember how little sleep I got then.” He shook his head. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You can explain to Nick that I’m perfectly healthy and he doesn’t need to worry, but you probably mean help with dinner and everything’s taken care of.” She had thought that once Ayla was born her husband would be able to relax a little. He’d been so tense throughout most of her pregnancy, an overreaction to their first loss and his general overprotective nature going into overdrive. But the delivery had gone smoothe and they were both healthy. She wanted him to relax and enjoy himself more.

“I see it in the parents of some of my patients when they come for follow ups. The kids are fine, they’re acting like normal healthy children. But the parents are still in that place that we go when we love someone so much that the idea of loss is crippling. I think maybe subconsciously it’s the idea that if they let themselves relax and believe that everything is safe now they won’t be prepared if something does happen.” Archie fussed with the end of his scarf. “Sometimes when you’ve been alone for a long time and you let someone in the idea of them not being there someday is terrifying.”

“Ruby’s not going anywhere.” She squeezed his hand and tucked away his observations to think about later. He could be silent for hours, but when he spoke it was always clear that he listened to everything around him. Sometimes he seemed more psychologist than neurologist.

“Ruby’s going to McDonalds if there isn’t food soon. I’m starving.” Ruby had apparently braved the idea of calling her former art teacher by name; she came into the kitchen carrying Ayla.

“Nick has some bacon wrapped scallops in the oven, they should be out in a few minutes. Archie, let me have your coat.” She took the coat and scarf to hang them up in the closet, leaving Archie and Ruby alone with the baby. She wouldn’t complain if holding the infant made them want one of their own.

“Anyone need more wine?” Nick made the offer. Mal and Ruby were the ones to accept.

“I’d love a glass but Ayla would not,” she teased, looking at the sleeping infant in her arms. She’d be hungry soon. Belle, on the other hand, was stuffed from the meal. It was a good thing breastfeeding burned so many calories.

“We should go. We’re leaving early in the morning for Boston.” Though Archie had moved to be closer to Ruby he still spent a week each month in Boston for surgeries and consultations. Ruby usually went with him.

“I believe I’m ready to leave as well.” Mal sipped her wine unhurriedly. Within minutes there was a flurry of good-byes and Ayla being passed around for cuddles. While Nick was the one to close and lock the front door it was Belle who lingered over the light switch for the porch light.

“Sweetheart?” His arms wrapped around him from behind as she looked out the window. Even the light didn’t penetrate more than a few feet of the darkness.

“I thought he might come this time.” She had invited him in person, showing up to the flower shop days ago. Nick had been watching Ayla, so he hadn’t yet seen his grandchild. She thought that might have been enough to get him to come.

“I’m sorry, love.” His arms tightened around her a little. Their daughter stirred in her arms.

“She’s perfect, Nick.” She pulled away from him just enough to turn around, the baby cocooned between them. Belle reached up to rest a hand on his face. “Nothing’s ever made me as happy as loving the both of you. I wanted him to see that, maybe to understand it.”

“You could take him some leftovers, visit him at the shop.” His lips brushed her forehead. She knew what it took for him to make the suggestion.

“No.” She shook her head. “Ayla is half yours and you’re all of mine. He doesn’t get to accept pieces of us. I’m not going to hide what matters and if he ever wants a relationship with his granddaughter he can’t pretend you’re not part of it.”

“Maybe someday.” Nick’s hand tightened on her arm for a moment. She knew he would do anything if it made her happy, even tolerate her father, but he had no love for the man. They’d only met twice, that she knew of, but the air around both of them might as well have been filled with daggers.

“Maybe someday,” she repeated with a sigh. She reached out and turned off the porch light. Between them Ayla started making suckling motions with her tiny rosebud lips. “I think someone’s hungry.”

“Go on up, I’m going to make sure everything’s put away.”

“You’ll be up soon?” He could get lost in his brooding thoughts sometimes, when she wasn’t there to tease him out of them.

“In time to put Ayla in her bassinet,” he promised.

Belle changed her daughter into a sleep sack and fed her while sitting on their bed. True to his word she was just finishing up when he came up the stairs. There was a nursery directly across the hall, but for the first months they’d decided to keep their daughter closer, and the bassinet was at the foot of their bed.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Once Ayla was settled and the lights were out they curled up together in bed, his front to her back and his arm around her waist. Feeling him so close reminded her of how much she missed making love with him, and how glad she’d be when she was ready. “I’ve never had so much to be thankful for.”

“You’re the one that did all the work this year and made magic happen, Belle. I’m the one that’s thankful.” His voice was low, and slower than usual as it was when he was trying to keep the sound from breaking.

“Do you think even one minute of that would have been possible without you, sweetheart? Everything I did this year was possible because I had you.” She pulled his arm tighter around her. “You’re everything I need, Nick, and everything I want.”

#rumbelle fic #verse: storybrooke high #my fic #red cricket #Anonymous darling #thanksgiving fic

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luciana-galvez · 5 years

Text

rockstars & runaways | part 1

Nikki and Kat go way back, but with his issues and her family history, finding their way back together is a long and rocky road. And with the rockstar life, what’s the hurry anyway?

Fandom: The Dirt

Words: 2.1k

Pairing: Nikki Sixx x OC

Warnings: Nothing, as of now. Angst maybe?

Note: I’m basing this on the fictionalized version of the characters. This is an ongoing story. This is also my first OC story on tumblr, which is exciting! Feedback is always welcome!

1984

It had been over two years since she had last seen Nikki. Two years, eight months, and fifteen days to be exact, not that she was counting. She remembered the last time better than she liked, and there was still that small pang of guilt that gnawed at her whenever she thought about it.

Not that she hadn’t had valid reason to leave. She had been in LA for too long already, but when she met the broken boy that was almost as angry at the world as she was, the part of her that was longing for connection convinced her that it was okay to stay for just a little longer. Just a couple of weeks.

And the weeks turned into months. It would have turned into years if she wouldn’t have had that close call that almost rendered all her years of running irrelevant, so when she eventually left, she did it in the most cowardly way possible, and the only way she knew how — she ran.

She did leave a note, but she knew it didn’t make up for sneaking out while Nikki was passed out after a long night jamming with the boys and an even longer night partying.

So when she saw the poster for Mötley Crüe playing in Boston a couple of weeks ago, she was shell-shocked. She hadn’t seen their faces for so long that she even doubted her own sanity for a brief second, but even back then she had known they were good. She had known they would become big. She just hadn’t expected it so soon.

She also knew that she had to go, no matter how bad an idea it was.

So she went.

She stood in the back during the concert, watching them go wild on stage with a feeling that was half pride and half jealousy. She longed for their familiarity and it felt like the weight of knowing she missed out on everything that happened wouldn’t leave her anytime soon.

After the show she had lingered outside for long enough to overhear one of the roadies mention which club the band was headed, and she was on her way there not long after. Now she was skimming though the crowd of people that all wanted to party with Mötley Crüe and cursed under her breath whenever someone would bump into her.

But the longer she looked, the more she realized they might not actually be here. The roadie could have mixed up the name of the club, the band might have gotten distracted by the nearest strip club, or they might have just as well taken the bus straight to their next stop instead.

She had gone into this night knowing it was a bad idea, but realizing that it might not be in her hands if she actually got to see him was so crushing that she needed a moment to steady herself. Leaning against the nearest wall, she closed her eyes and went through her mental checklist, as she always did when she got anxiety.

Breathing in. She was in Boston. Breathing out. Her name was Charlene. Breathing in. At least that’s what her current ID said. Breathing out. She was 23 years old. Breathing in. Nothing had happened in 2 years, 8 months and 16 days. Breathing out. She was safe, she was safe, she was safe.

She was pulled from her thoughts when a crowd of girls started screaming so loudly that she felt the roof must be coming down, and it didn’t take long for her to find the source of the commotion. Across the room, which was so clouded with cigarette smoke that it was surprising there was any visibility at all, the band had just walked in through the front door, and the crowd was going wild.

She watched as Vince locked arms with the closest girl that threw herself at him and Mick beelined past him straight to the bar. Tommy came in next, and his expression was so full of pure joy and excitement that it was hard to combine the picture with the out-of-control-rockstar that she saw on stage just an hour earlier.

And then she saw Nikki.

Instead of his glamourous stage outfit he was now wearing a plain black tank top, and the horizontal black paint under his eyes was smudged. There was a smile playing on his lips as well, but he wasn’t glowing nearly as much as Tommy. He grabbed the drink of someone standing close to him, downed it in one go, haphazardly threw the empty glass at someone else, and continued walking to the bar as well.

For a moment she felt frozen. She had been so nervous about seeing Nikki, about seeing all of them really, that she hadn’t thought about what would actually happen when she found them. What would she say? What could she even say in this situation?

She forced herself to put one foot in front of the other and slowly approached the bar, where the whole band was now lined up, thirstily finishing their first drinks. Each of them had at least one girl next to them, and she watched with an even bigger twist in her stomach as Nikki readily and happily flirted back with the blonde next to him.

She eventually came to a stop ten feet away from the bar when the lump in her throat became too big and she had to press her palms against her thighs to stop them from shaking. She felt utterly lost. The thought to just turn around and leave crossed her mind. She had seen them now, seen Nikki and seen that he’s doing alright. That should be enough, right?

She was just about to turn on her heels when she locked eyes with Tommy. It took a moment, but when he realized who he was looking at, the grin disappeared out of his face instantly. It took him even longer to break through the daze and move, stretching his long arm past Vince to tap Nikki on the shoulder. Before she could prepare herself, Tommy had Nikki’s attention and pointed towards her.

When Nikki’s eyes found her, his expression vanished from his face right away. He simply stared at her for a moment, but before she could think about what to say, he turned away and headed straight for the exit, his posture so tense that it felt like he might bend and snap any second. She released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and hurriedly followed him outside.

She moved out the door just in time to see his black mop of hair disappearing into a side alley and jogged after him. When she turned the corner, she found Nikki bent over, his palms pressed against the stone wall.

“What the fuck?” he exclaimed when he saw her, straightening up and facing her. The expression in his face had turned to pure rage.

“Nikki,” she started, but he wasn’t done.

“No, don’t ‘Nikki’ me! Three sentences,” he snapped. “You left with three sentences on a goddamn napkin! He found me. I had to leave. I’m sorry. I thought you were dead in a fucking ditch.”

“Not yet,” she said softly, with a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Nikki simply stared at her, disbelievingly. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You knew it would happen eventually,” she said, her voice still soft.

“Then why show up again now? Saw that we were getting rich and famous and wanted a piece of it?”

He might as well have slapped her. In fact, slapping her would have hurt less.

“You’re right,” she managed to say eventually. “This was a bad idea.” And with that, she turned around and walked away.

As she walked, she balled her hand into fists so violently that she felt her nails digging into her skin. She didn’t know what she had expected, but she knew it wasn’t this kind of rage, and it was hard to swallow the disappointment she felt. She managed to get halfway down the street before she heard him call after her.

“Kat,” he shouted, and when she didn’t stop, followed it up with another, “Kat!”

She finally stopped but needed a moment to compose herself before turning around. Nikki was slowly walking up to where she was, and the anger had been replaced by an expression Kat couldn’t quite identify.

He eventually came to a halt right in front of her. “Nikki,” she started, but he interrupted her right away.

“Shut up,” he said, and for the first time there was no malice in his voice. He almost sounded like the Nikki she knew a couple of years ago.

And before she knew it, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, one hand on her back and one gently pressing against the back of her head. It took her a moment before she managed to reciprocate the movement, and when she did she didn’t know if she would be able to let him go again.

Nikki was strong and warm and familiar, and she instantly regretted showing up tonight because now it would be so much harder to leave again. She wrapped her arms around him a little tighter, holding on for as long as she could.

“I thought you were dead,” he repeated, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

1980

The Starwood was a shabby place. The floor was constantly sticky no matter how often it was mopped, the air was stagnant, it was constantly dark, and let’s not even start about the bathrooms.

Kat loved every bit of it.

She had managed to talk the owner into giving her an off-the-books cleaning job a couple of weeks earlier. Most of the customers were rude or too drunk to care when she stayed until the shows, and the other employees didn’t pay her any mind. Kat relished being there.

At night, when the live music turned out all the other noises around, she felt more alive than she had in a long time, maybe ever.

She was currently unsuccessfully mopping the floor of the concert room, trying to avoid thinking about how many bodily fluids and alcohol had mixed up to create this particular kind of superglue. Moving backwards across the room, the was taken aback when she bumped into someone and jumped in surprise.

It was one of the other guys working here, currently picking up stray trash, but it was the first time she got a closer look at him. He was skinny and tall, and his messy dark black hair was almost bigger than his head itself.

“Relax,” he uttered at her reaction, and made to turn away.

“Aren’t you the guy from the band yesterday?” Kat asked, furrowing her eyebrows. She hadn’t made the connection before, but looking at him closely, she noticed the familiarity. When he didn’t answer, she added “London?”

“Yeah,” he answered offhandedly, continuing to pick up trash. Kat’s task, however, was forgotten. She leaned on her mop and watched him, noticing that he was ever so slightly hunching, and his eyes were smaller than they should be. Hungover, she bet.

“Why are you working at the club your band plays at?” she prodded.

“Believe it or not, I have bills to pay.” He didn’t even try to mask his annoyance.

Kat grinned. “Okay, Rockstar.”

When she didn’t seem to get back to work, he eventually stopped as well and properly looked up, his eyes moving from her small face over her hair down to her body.

“You’re new,” he said eventually. It wasn’t a question.

“Observant.”

For the first time, a small smirk played on his face, and he looked a little less hungover and a little more pretty.

“I’m Nikki,” he said after a moment.

“Okay, Rockstar,” Kat repeated, and then she turned around and went back to mopping the floor.

“That’s where you introduce yourself.”

“Is it?” she asked without turning back to him. She hoped he couldn’t hear the grin in her voice.

But before Nikki could say anything else, the manager of Starwood appeared in the doorway. “Kat!” he bellowed, and Kat cringed.

“I’ll be right there,” she told Gary before eventually turning back to Nikki with a resigned expression.

“Kat, huh?” he grinned.

“Well,” she shrugged, “I tried.”

Without waiting for a reply, she turned around and headed to the door. “So long, Rockstar.”

Before she turned the corner into the hallway, she allowed herself on last glance back. Nikki had gone back to cleaning up, and his back was turned to her. She grinned.

Oh, this would be interesting.

#the dirt #the dirt imagine #the dirt fanfiction #nikki sixx #nikki sixx imagine #nikki sixx x reader #legit no idea what to tag this #fanfiction #imagine

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misssophiachase · 5 years

Note

if you're still taking song prompts for klaroline, how about shawn mendes "if i can't have you"?

Yesssss anon, love this song!

Singer/Songwriter Klaus Mikaelson can’t stop thinking about his ex-girlfriend and childhood best friend Caroline Forbes. His behavior leads his frustrated manager to take drastic action.

If I Can’t Have You

I can’t write one song that’s not about you

“I don’t know who you are anymore.”

Her words still haunted him, even three months later.

Klaus had returned home to Los Angeles ready to throw himself into writing and determined to try and block out all distractions.

But then it started.

It wasn’t a matter of not writing, in fact he’d penned a whole album within six weeks. Klaus thought it was good. It was probably the most honest writing he’d ever done. Unfortunately his manager and record label didn’t agree. They even had the audacity to call him obsessive like some crazed stalker.

His insomnia was profound after that meeting. On one of those sleepless nights Klaus found himself in his expansive attic at 3am trawling through the numerous cardboard boxes – also known as his past - deciding that for some crazy reason revisiting his childhood would help kickstart the creative process.

It did at first, the multitude of photos acting as the perfect narration of his high school journey. Kol making goofy faces, Elijah staring at him in the background with disdain, Katherine flashing her bloomers mid-cheer at Homecoming much to Rebekah’s shock and Bonnie lazily reading Ulysses under her favourite tree.

Then he happened on the next picture. One he knew all too well. Caroline Forbes, his best friend and former girlfriend, dressed as a sexy nurse on Halloween and poking out her tongue. It had been her initial response when he’d asked her to give him mouth-to-mouth. Granted she did later, albeit after much persuasion.

God he loved her, he probably always would. He decided this revisiting of memory lane was a very bad idea and not at all going to help his current predicament.

It was at that point as the sun began to peek above the horizon he knew exactly what he had to do. Purge her memory including wiping their most recent conversation from his mind and then maybe he could write.

Easier said than done.

3 months earlier…

Can’t drink without thinkin’ about you

“Barman, another whiskey please?” He asked, shaking his glass for extra effect. He needed the liquid courage as everything was unfolding around him. Klaus had missed Boston and his family and best friends but having them come together all at once was slightly confronting.

Probably his fault for deciding to attend this wedding last minute. His last album had just gone platinum and rather than basking in his success Klaus was already anxious about how he was going to top it.

“Did you ever think our little Kol would get married?” Katherine’s arm was around his shoulder before he could process it completely. He still hated Katherine because she told Caroline he cried during ET when they were thirteen.

“No one ever thought he’d ever be mature enough to marry,” he joked. “But apparently Esther sent him off to Bonnie with care instructions.”

“Now those I would pay to see,” she teased. “You know seeing your brother married is almost as surprising as seeing his superstar big brother grace us with his presence.”

“It’s not like that Kat and you know it,” he replied gruffly. “But you did marry Elijah and take his grumpy ass off my hands so I won’t hold it against you.”

She poked out her tongue before replying. “If I was truly an evil sister-in-law I’d tell you just how good Elijah is in bed with his….”

“Yuck, seriously Kat,” he growled, hoping the dozen or so whiskeys he’d consumed wouldn’t make a repeat appearance. “You truly are the devil incarnate.”

“And just like that we’re back in high school again,” a soothing and familiar voice offered. “Stop playing with him Kitty Kat, he’s out of practice.”

“But it’s just so much fun,” she argued before sending him a knowing wink then gesturing in Caroline’s direction. So not obvious.

It was no secret that his siblings and most people in his hometown held out hope that the prom king and queen would live happily ever after. Unfortunately it wasn’t a realistic scenario, they’d grown apart not only in terms of distance.

“Always the diplomat, love,” he smiled, probably against his better judgment. He’d felt completely out of place but when she’d floated effortlessly down the aisle of the church in nude silk Klaus felt like he was home again.

“Have you met your family?”

“Touché,” he chuckled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass and trying to ignore just how good she still smelled, a mixture of strawberries and freshly pouring rain. “If I get too drunk later, and forget to say, you truly are the perfect bridesmaid.”

“Why, because I know how to keep the peace between many competing egos? Your sister was especially difficult; anyone would think she was the bride.”

“Nothing ever changes around here,” he mused, not unfamiliar with his little sister’s antics. “No, it’s because you outshone them all, even the bride, just don’t tell Bonnie I said that.”

“So, I’m actually surprised you’re here. I was told you were too busy to come home for the wedding.” Klaus could sense the resentment in her voice.

“I moved a few things around.”

“Well, given it’s your own brother I’m glad you were able to be so flexible.”

“Wow, tell me what you really think, Caroline.”

“Fine, I will,” she offered, before taking a breath obviously about to give him a piece of her mind.

“It was a rhetorical statement,” he growled. “I don’t need a lecture, we’re not teenagers anymore.”

“Well, you could have fooled me,” she huffed. “I’m so proud of you and what you’re doing Klaus but coming back to visit your relatives shouldn’t be just an annual event.”

“I’m sure Esther, Kol, Elijah and Rebekah barely notice my absence, love.”

“You’d be surprised, Kol wasn’t his usual joking-self when he found out his big brother might not be at his wedding.”

“Well, I’m here now.”

“For how long for exactly?

“I, uh, leave tomorrow,” he faltered, his gaze now downcast his drink suddenly very interesting.

“Haven’t you just released your record? Surely they’d allow you some time off?”

“An artist’s work is never done.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” She asked, taking him by surprise and grazing his chin with her forefinger so his gaze returned to hers. Klaus suddenly felt dizzy and not just because of his alcohol consumption. “I really don’t know who you are anymore, Klaus.”

“I’m still me, sweetheart,” he bit back defensively, completely puzzled and annoyed at the same time. The hardest thing he’d ever done was leave Caroline Forbes.

“Well, how about staying and we can see if that’s true?”

“I’d love to, I would, but I really need to get back.” He pulled back his stool and left, worried that her hopeful expression might tempt him to stay and actually force him to have a real adult conversation about his feelings. Klaus really wasn’t ready for that.

Is it too late to tell you that everything means nothing if I can’t have you?

“What is with you, mate?” His manager Enzo offered between songs in the recording studio. “When you went home I thought it would get you out of your funk.”

“Apparently not.”

“You are extremely talented Klaus and as your manager I’m here to support you even when you’re being a total wanker.”

“Wow, tell me what you really think. You’re like the male version of my sister, completely unapologetic and scathing.”

“Mmmm, not sure what I think about being compared to your sister but that’s why you hired me,” Enzo shot back. “You’ve only been able to write about one subject and while I don’t begrudge you a muse there needs to be some variety.”

“I’m trying, believe me,” he promised.

“Not well enough,” he shot back, gesturing to the studio door and signalling a come here gesture with his fingers.

“Excuse me?”

“I thought that bringing your biggest distraction here might help.”

“My biggest distraction,” Klaus murmured, his brain working quickly to work out just what he meant. “You didn’t?”

“Well, how was I supposed to lift the spell?”

“You realise having her here will work in the complete opposite way, St John,” Klaus mumbled thinking, not for the first time, his manager wasn’t the smartest person.

“Calm down princess, she’s here to beat it out of you. Genius right?”

“What the hell Enzo? She has a really sharp tongue and a mean right hook.”

“Perfect then,” He wasn’t sure what this was until she appeared behind the glass wall in the studio looking even more beautiful than Klaus remembered. “And by the way, it took a lot to get her here given she thinks you’re an arrogant ass. Her words, not mine.”

“I get it Enzo, you are the best manager ever,” he groaned sarcastically. “Any chance we can talk in private?”

They all seemed to scatter, mostly scared that shouting would ensue and Caroline’s famed right hook might be put to the test.

“You are an arrogant ass,” she offered, propping her feet up on the desk and eyeing him through the glass. “I only say that because I worry about those poor fans of yours who should know better.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, love.”

“So, why the writer’s block exactly?”

“Straight to the point I see.”

“Well, some people have lives to save, Mikaelson,” she cocked her head slightly to the left, making Klaus lose all concentration momentarily.

“I’m fairly certain the night you decided to dress as a nurse for Halloween your future vocation was secured and given your caring nature it’s perfect,” he smiled knowingly. “Although I hope your outfit at Mass General isn’t as skimpy as the original version.”

“Why would that be so bad?”

“I’m thinking about heart attacks for the most part but not gonna lie it also makes me extremely jealous. Call me a caveman but I always hoped that outfit was for my eyes only.”

“And if it was?” She was now leaning closer towards the glass, her blue eyes seeking out his curiously.

“I saw that picture the other day,” he replied huskily. “You were in that same costume poking your tongue out at the camera. I didn’t think I’d ever felt so happy.”

“Funny that, I felt the same way. I’ll never forget your fireman suit, even if you were scared of fire.”

“Kol thought it would be a good choice.”

“And that says it all,” she laughed. “So, what exactly am I here for, Mikaelson? What’s this distraction you can’t shake?”

“Well, I have one huge stumbling block,” he admitted sheepishly. “It’s you.”

“Huh?”

“I can’t stop thinking or writing about you,” he admitted, his eyes finding hers through the glass and secretly hoping that telling the truth would somehow free him.

She was silent for the most part obviously processing his confession and weighing up whether or not to shout or kick his ass.

“My manager likes my songs but apparently pining after one person isn’t all that attractive to the general public,” he murmured.

“You don’t act like that at all,” she answered, “in fact you can barely bring yourself to visit Boston because you’re just too busy for your family and…”

“You’re the reason.”

“I’m sorry?”

“No I’m sorry,” he reiterated. “I’ve always loved you Caroline, probably since Katherine told you I cried during ET at Lucien’s party in the seventh grade, which by the way I so didn’t.”

“Now I feel like I’ve really been transported back in time,” she murmured.

“I was setting the scene,” he explained, moving closer and placing his hand on the glass just near her lips. “When you and I broke out those turkeys on old man Johnson’s farm prior to Thanksgiving because you decided being vegetarian was a great idea.”

“And it was.”

“For a day,” he grinned, “but I’m sure those turkeys we freed will always be thankful for your generosity.”

“You only liked it because we made out in the field afterwards.”

“Well, I am only human you know, love,” he joked, poking his tongue out through the glass. “But it was when you were named Queen at prom I honestly thought we’d be together forever.”

“But life had a way of intervening,” she murmured, her eyes dipping. “And I don’t regret that for a moment because I’m so proud of you Klaus…”

“But you just don’t know who I am anymore?” He recited, those words he knew so well that had killed him.

“Well, yes. You didn’t want anything to do with Boston, with your friends and family, with me.”

“I didn’t want to come home because of you, Caroline,” he admitted. “It was idiotic but the thought of seeing you in general but also happy with someone else was enough to stay away. I guess my family were collateral damage which wasn’t fair either.”

“Wow, he finally comes clean,” she teased. “I don’t want to stroke your ego but now you’ve admitted your undying love I could certainly help this writer’s block.”

“How, exactly?” Klaus asked, cocking his left eyebrow.

“How in the hell do I get in there?” She insisted, running her hands over the glass repeatedly.

“I have a weird feeling my sadistic manager thinks it would be fun to keep us apart to further the creative process.”

“We can kill him right?”

“Oh yeah, but it doesn’t mean we can’t have fun either,” he smiled. “In fact I have this great melody I’d like you to hear.”

It was at that point Klaus Mikaelson’s track “If I Can’t Have You” made its way to the top of the charts and given all his success he took some much needed time off with his finance and family in Boston.

#if i can't have you #klaroline drabbles #thanks anon #klaroline #misssophiachase #love this song #great prompt

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1dffchallenges · 5 years

Text

Pure Coincidence

Written By: @tinyfelthat

Characters: Katharine/Louis

Summary: Katharine (literally) runs into Louis while getting coffee on the morning she and two of her best friends are leaving town for a wedding. Little does she know, she'll be seeing him again, and sooner than expected.

Author’s Note: I threw this together at the very last minute, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Warnings: Some language

Pure Coincidence

On the day we left for Boston, it was raining and I’d run out of K-Cups for my coffee.

***

FRIDAY, ABOUT 8:45 AM, PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

I was supposed to meet Marnie and Niall at their apartment (after we graduated, they immediately moved in together, and I was so happy for them). I never minded being the third wheel, because they always made sure not to exclude me, except on their date nights, of course. Instead of heading straight to their place, I had to stop at Wawa for a cup of coffee, because I was doing all of the driving. We were taking my car, after all. As luck would have it, I walked straight into somebody while trying to open my umbrella when I was leaving Wawa, and I spilled my coffee all over both of us.

“Hey! Watch it!” he snarled at me.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t see you. Can I buy you a coffee to make it up to you? I have to replace mine anyway.” I gestured with the empty coffee cup in my hand.

“Yeah, okay,” he said as we walked in. “But watch where you’re going next time. I have to go home and change now. I’ve got a long drive ahead of me and I don’t want to spend the whole time sticky and smelling of coffee.”

“Me too! I’m headed to Boston for the weekend with my two best friends. We’re going to a wedding.”

“No way. I’m headed up the same way for my cousin’s wedding. Well, third cousin. Twice removed, maybe? I don’t really remember. He’s a really cool guy, though, from what I remember. But I haven’t seen him since we were in elementary school. I was really surprised he invited me. He even made me a groomsman.”

“Huh. Well, ours is a friend from college. She’s having a huge wedding, and the invitation said open bar, so I am ready for that, especially considering that the groom’s best man is my ex and I’m a bridesmaid.”

“Hmm, that really sucks.” The guy sipped his coffee. “Thanks for the coffee. I gotta go back and change otherwise I’ll get caught in traffic and won’t make it to the rehearsal dinner.”

“Okay,” I said. “Good luck with the wedding. I hope your cousin is as cool as you remember him being.”

FRIDAY, ABOUT 12:15 PM, SOMEWHERE ON I-95

“Ugh, I gotta pee,” Marnie complained. “Find the nearest rest stop.” I glared at her in the rearview mirror, and she reluctantly added, “Please.”

“The next rest stop is in two miles,” Niall said from the passenger seat as we passed a sign that said so. “Marn, can you make it two more miles?”

“Yeah, okay.”

There was a silence for a moment, so I said, “Did I tell you guys why I was late this morning?”

“Actually, you didn’t,” Marnie said.

“So, I was out of K-Cups.”

“As you often are,” noted Niall.

“Yeah, anyway, so I had to go to Wawa for coffee. And I was trying to get my umbrella to open as I left and I walked right into this really cute guy. Coffee all over both of us.”

“Mhm,” chorused my friends.

“Well, I offered to buy him his coffee to make up for the fact that I’d spilled mine all over the both of us, and we talked for a little while we were in line to pay for the coffees…”

“Coffees, plural?” Niall asked. “He had other people with him that you offered to buy coffee for?”

“No, dumbass, I’d spilled mine all over him, so I needed a new one too. Anyway, he’s going to Boston for a wedding this weekend also.”

“No way!” Niall said. “Did you get his number?”

“Nah, he was in a rush and I didn’t get a chance to ask him for it. I don’t think I even got his name.”

“That’s terrible, Katharine,” Marnie said. “Do better next time.”

I pulled into the rest stop and said, “Do you guys want anything to eat? It’s just about lunchtime.”

“Yeah, I could eat.” Niall answered, as Marnie said, “Sure, but I gotta pee first.”

“I gotta pee too,” I said. “But then we should get some slices of pizza. Are you guys good with that?”

They nodded, and Niall added, “I’ll get gas while you two use the bathroom and I’ll meet you in there.” We all got out of the car, and Niall got in the driver’s seat while Marnie handed me my purse. He leaned out the car window. “See you in a bit.”

He drove off, and as we walked in, I said to Marnie, “Whoever is done first should get in line for the pizza.” She looked over at the growing line and agreed.

A few minutes later, I was drying my hands on a paper towel, and walking out of the bathroom, when I spotted the guy I’d spilled coffee on that morning getting in line for coffee. I stopped, briefly, staring. Or at least I thought it was brief, because the next thing I knew, Marnie was standing next to me. “Earth to Katharine!” she said, waving her hands in front of my face. “Do you need more coffee?”

“Yeah, probably. You won’t believe this, but the guy I walked into this morning is here.”

“What?!” she exclaimed.

“Shhhh,” I quieted her. “You’re going to blow our cover.”

“Cover?”

“Yeah,” I said, “I don’t really want to make him think I’ve told you about him.”

“But you’re going to go talk to him, right?”

“Okay,” I said uncertainly, “What do I say though?”

“Fancy seeing you here? I don’t know! Just be yourself.”

“All right. I’ll see what I can do. I’ll meet you at a table.” I started walking away.

“And don’t forget to get his name!” Marnie whisper-shouted after me.

I got in line behind the guy, and feigned surprise. “Wow! Who’d’ve thought we’d end up at the same rest stop after this morning?”

He turned around, shock registering on his face. “Hmm, I think you’ve been following me.”

“I don’t even know your name, let alone what kind of car you’re driving,” I teased.

“Louis Tomlinson,” he extended his hand. “And you are?”

“Katharine Redwood,” I said, and we shook hands.

“Well, it’s nice to officially meet you Katharine,” Louis said.

“Likewise. I gotta get back to my friends though. I promised we’d get some pizza. I know it sucks at rest stops, don’t look at me like that,” I added as he made a grossed out face at me.

“At least get sandwiches instead. The pizza here is so sad.”

“Yeah, but it’s a tradition we’ve had since college, so…”

“Yeah, okay, I get it,” he said. “Go, get back to your friends.”

“I need one more thing from you before I go though,” I said, my voice surprisingly not wavering despite how nervous I was. “Your number.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure. Gimme your phone.”

I surrendered my phone to Louis and he punched in his number. He handed it back with a coffee emoji next to his name and I laughed. “Here, let me text you so you have mine.”

K: Katharine Redwood

Now you have my number too

L: Thanks. Saving you as a contact :)

I gave Louis a wave and returned to my friends, who, of course, had been watching us interact from afar with rapt interest. They also had gotten me pizza while I’d been talking to him, which I really appreciated.

“So?” they asked.

“His name’s Louis and I got his number.” They cheered and I shushed them. “Shut up! He’ll hear you.”

“What kind of name is Louis, though? Is he French or something?” Marnie asked.

“What? No. I think he’s probably from Philly, like us. Somewhere near there, anyway. I assume. I don’t actually know.”

“Sounds kind of pretentious if you ask me,” she said.

“He didn’t name himself,” I reminded her.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” Marnie agreed as we finished eating.

We got up, throwing away our trash, and walking back to my car. We climbed back into the vehicle and got back on the highway.

FRIDAY, ABOUT 2:00 PM, BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

“I don’t know why we decided to drive instead of flying,” I complained. “I can’t find a parking spot anywhere.”

“Just go to a parking garage, Katharine,” Niall chided. “Honestly.”

“But it’s for the whole weekend, and they’re so expensive.”

“We’re splitting the cost, remember? Let’s just find one and park in it,” Marnie agreed with her boyfriend.

“Okay, fine,” I conceded.

I drove into a parking garage, and found a spot. We got our suitcases out of the trunk, and walked the few blocks to the hotel where the wedding would be held. We got our room keys, and made our way to our separate rooms. When I got in mine, I set an alarm on my phone and collapsed into the bed for a short nap.

FRIDAY, ABOUT 5:45 PM, BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

I woke up suddenly to someone pounding on the door. Disoriented by my surroundings, I sat up slowly, and looked around, my eyes landing on the digital clock on the nightstand.

“KATHARINE ARE YOU ALIVE IN THERE?” Marnie shouted, her voice muffled by the door. I got up and threw the door open. “Shit,” she cursed. “You’re supposed to be ready by now! We have to be at the rehearsal dinner in half an hour!”

I looked down at myself, and looked back up at Marnie in her dress, made up perfectly, and let loose a stream of curses that would’ve made a sailor blush.

“We can do this,” she mumbled. “We can do this,” she repeated, more confidently. “Go take the fastest shower of your life, and I’ll get out your dress and your make up.

“Okay,” I mumbled, still half asleep.

“Get in while the water’s still cold,” she instructed me. “You need the shock to your system to wake you up.”

I nodded and gave a pseudo-salute.

FRIDAY, EXACTLY 6:11 PM, BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

Breathing hard, Marnie and I ran out of the elevator and into the ballroom. The rehearsal dinner was only for the bridesmaids, groomsmen, and close family of the bride and groom. We, thankfully, did not have to wear matching outfits for this, but Niall was not allowed to come, even though he was Marnie’s date, because there were ‘already too many people coming to the dinner.’

“We made it!” I choked out.

“Yes, and you’re actually on time,” Lily, the bride, said, sounding a little surprised.

“Actually, we’re four minutes early,” Marnie corrected her, looking at her watch.

“Hmm, so you are,” Lily agreed, and floated off to greet someone else.

Marnie and I found our seats at the table, and I looked around. I was glancing around the room, trying to gauge which of the younger men might be single, when I locked eyes with someone familiar. Rob, my ex and the best man, was standing across the room staring at me. I saw him making his way over so I turned and tried to make conversation with Marnie. Unfortunately, she was engrossed in a conversation with Lily’s sister.

“Shit,” I cursed under my breath. We’d had a messy breakup and I didn’t really want to talk to him. I’d broken up with him and I knew he was still in love with me. Every time we ran into each other, it was beyond awkward, and I was the one who had introduced him to his best friend, Oscar, the groom, which is how he ended up as the best man. Every day leading up to the wedding, post-breakup, I cursed myself for having made the introduction.

Before Rob reached the table, I pulled out my phone, desperate for a distraction and a way to ward him off. I ended up texting Louis, out of all the people in my phone, hoping that his rehearsal dinner wasn’t about to start, like mine.

K: Hey, hope your cousin hasn’t turned boring :P

L: Haven’t gotten the chance to say hi to him yet actually

Running late

K: To your own third (?) cousin’s rehearsal dinner??? Shame on you

L: Yeah I know

I’m one of the groomsmen too

K: How’d that happen?

I thought you said you hadn’t talked to him in forever

L: Idk

I think his fiancee wanted a huge wedding with a big bridal party

And he didn’t have enough friends or something

K: Oops

L: Anyway I gtg I’m about to get to the hotel restaurant where they’re having the dinner

Marnie shoved my shoulder. “Stop looking at your phone. They’re about to start serving the food. What’re you so smiley about anyway?”

“What?” I said, looking up. “I’m just texting Louis.”

“Oh, setting up a booty call for later?” she winked.

“God no! I was just trying to avoid having to talk to Rob.”

“Well, you’ve been successful. He’s over there talking up one of Oscar’s cousins. Looks like he’s trying to set up a post-dinner hook up.”

I snorted. “He’s not that smooth, I promise. Watch.”

As we spied on the interaction from afar, Oscar’s cousin slapped Rob across the face.

“Ooh,” Marnie cringed, “That’s going to leave a mark.”

“It’s what he deserves,” I laughed.

Just then, the door to the hotel restaurant burst open, revealing Louis. “Sorry I’m late!” He apologized to the room at large.

“You’re all right,” Oscar called to him. “They haven’t started serving the food yet. Just find your place card.”

Meanwhile, I’d gone wide-eyed. Marnie turned to me and asked, “Isn’t that your guy?”

“Mhm,” I squeaked.

Thankfully for me, I wasn’t seated anywhere near Louis and was able to avoid him for the rest of the evening, escaping to my hotel room as soon as it was acceptable.

SATURDAY, ABOUT 2:15 AM, BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

I was having trouble sleeping because I was worried about the Louis situation and the unfamiliar bed wasn’t helping. I was going to have big bags under my eyes in all of Lily and Oscar’s wedding photos. I got out of bed, and texted Marnie to see if she was awake. She was, so I grabbed my room key and padded over to her room down the hall. She’d told me Niall was snoring like a lion so I would have to knock loudly. I banged on the door and got no response, so I hit it a little harder. Finally, I heard some movement from the room. The door opened to reveal, not Marnie or Niall, but a disheveled and sleepy Louis.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry Louis. I was trying to find my friend’s room. She must’ve given me the wrong room number,” I said in a rush, backing away from the door slowly.

“Katharine?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I squeaked.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“I was looking for my friend Marnie’s room, but she gave me the wrong room number.”

“Oh. Okay. G’night.”

“Good night, Louis. See you around.” I went back to my room.

Somehow I knew that Marnie had found out Louis’ room number and given it to me in place of her own, but I was too tired to care. My trip down the hall had actually made me sleepy, so I got back into bed and fell asleep immediately.

SATURDAY, ABOUT 3:45 PM, BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

“So, Katharine, you’ll be walking down the aisle arm in arm with Oscar’s cousin Louis,” Lily told me. A weird look must’ve crossed my face because she added, “You know him?”

“Not really,” I said. “Only in passing.”

“Mhm,” she said, only half paying attention, as her hair was being done, and she was reading off a list of bridesmaid/groomsman pairings.

I was church-ready, as was Marnie, so we sat together amongst the five other bridesmaids, including the maid of honor, who were all gossiping about single men they were hoping would be at the wedding. Finally, after I couldn’t take it anymore, I turned to Marnie and asked her, “Did you give me Louis’ room number on purpose last night?”

“No!” she said. I glared at her. “I swear, I didn’t realize until you hadn’t shown up after ten minutes that I’d given you a wrong room number.”

“Then how did I end up at his room?” I asked angrily.

“Pure coincidence,” she said.

“There’s no way.”

“Face it Katharine, the universe is throwing the two of you together for some reason. And I think I know what it is,” she wiggled her eyebrows at me.

“Oh shut up,” I laughed.

SATURDAY, A LITTLE BEFORE 6:00 PM, BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

We were lining up to walk down the aisle when I caught sight of Louis looking pretty attractive in his tux. While I was staring, he looked up and I turned red, embarrassed to be caught in what I was doing. Shock registered on his face, and then he mouthed “Is that really you?” at me.

I nodded slightly, so as not to mess up my carefully done hair.

The music started, and we linked arms and walked down the aisle. He said something to me as we were walking, just before we separated and went to our separate sides of the altar, but I couldn’t hear him over the music.

We took our places, then the music swelled, and Lily floated down the aisle, arm in arm with her father. She looked radiant. I took a peek at Oscar and he was smiling and crying and looking like it was the best day of his life.

They had written their own vows. Oscar went first and his were touching and beautiful, but there were a few lines in Lily’s that stood out to me more than any other bit, despite its simplicity. “It was pure coincidence that we sat next to each other in that lecture hall on the first day of that semester. And it was pure coincidence that we were assigned as partners on the final project, given that we sat nowhere near each other for the rest of the semester. But it was no coincidence that we fell in love, because you really are my other half.”

By the end of the ceremony, all the bridesmaids and groomsmen were crying. We were given a few minutes with the makeup artists before we went outside to take the wedding photos. It was a chilly day in early October and it wasn’t long before I was shivering in my strapless dress. Louis sidled over and offered me his suit coat, which I accepted gratefully.

“I saw you crying during the ceremony,” he said.

“Your eyes weren’t dry either,” I noted.

Ignoring me, he continued. “You look beautiful in that dress. I tried to tell you in the church but I guess you couldn’t hear me over the music.”

I blushed and nodded. “Thank you.”

“Is that douche of a best man really your ex?”

“Unfortunately.”

“How long were you together?”

“Too long,” I said. “Oh, no. He’s coming over.”

“No, he’s not,” Louis said. “Oh, shit, never mind, he is definitely headed this way and he has murder in his eyes.”

As Rob approached, he bellowed, “WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH MY GIRL?”

“Um, I’m not your girl,” I said. “We broke up in January, in case you forgot.”

“Besides, Katharine’s not a girl, she’s a woman,” Marnie said. I hadn’t seen her come over and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“I’m Oscar’s distant cousin, Louis,” Louis said, calmly, “And I saw that Katharine was cold, so I offered her my suit coat. I didn’t even know her name until yesterday.”

Rob deflated a bit. “Doesn’t explain why… never mind. Fuck you Katharine. You too Marnie. And you too Louis. Or whatever the fuck your name is.” He stomped off.

“Thanks for helping me get rid of him, you guys,” I said.

SATURDAY, ABOUT 9:45 PM, BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

I was tipsy. Not enough to completely lose my inhibitions, but I was a little looser than usual. That had to explain why I was dancing with Louis the way I had all night. The wedding reception was drawing to a close. I’d had too much to drink closer to the beginning of the party, but for the most part, that had gotten out of my system due to the near-gallon of water that I had also had.

The night was bound to end with me in Louis’ bed or him in mine, but that’s not what I wanted. I mean, I kind of did, but I’d had way too much fun with him, dancing and talking and making fun of Rob striking out with every single woman he tried to hit on.

“Go on a date with me when we’re back in Philly,” I whispered to him during a slow dance.

“Okay,” he whispered back, then kissed me softly.

***

The night we danced together for the first time, it was cold and I’d run out of explanations for how we’d met.

#1dff #cliche challenge #louis

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omgjasminesimone · 5 years

Text

Homecoming Part 2

Bryce x MC

Previous Part: Part 1

Next Part: Part 3

Rating: Light NSFW

Summary: Bryce and Casey start their Hawaiian vacation by meeting the Lahelas for brunch. Things go as badly as Bryce expected.

Author’s Note: My head cannon is that Bryce’s father rejects his own Hawaiian culture due to self-hatred issues. This was alluded to in Tattoo. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future parts!

Word Count: 3700

Bryce awakens slowly as soft hands caress his bare chest, full lips pressing against his neck, and then his lips. He responds automatically, even though he’s half asleep, his hand rising from the sheets to tangle in her dark curls as he kisses her back.

She straddles his waist without breaking the kiss, her hands tangling in his hair. One of her hands trails down his chest, over his abs, lower.

She reaches inside his low riding pajama pants and grips him in her hand. He groans as he hardens. Casey chuckles. “Good morning to you too.”

Bryce’s eyes open, looking up at her with a grin. “What did I do to deserve this kind of wake-up call?”

Casey grins back at him. “You forgot to close the curtains last night. And the light was hitting you just right. You looked like-“

Bryce interrupts. “A Greek God?”

Casey rolls her eyes at his vanity, releasing his manhood. “You looked good. Really good.” She leans down and kisses him again.

His hands squeeze her rear end through her boy shorts. “What time is it baby?”

Casey pulls away to look at the clock. “5:30 in the morning.”

“You couldn’t have waited a few hours to jump me?” He jokes, pushing on the small of her back so she’ll let her hips fall against him.

“It’s 11:30 in the morning Boston time. And we went to bed Boston time, so it’s definitely time to get up.” After arriving at the hotel from the airport, they had eaten at the hotel restaurant, showered, and then fallen asleep almost immediately upon their heads hitting the luxurious down pillows.

“Well, even though it’s ungodly early Hawaii time, I can think of a few ways to pass the hours before we leave for the day.” He tugs her shorts off.

Two orgasms later they shower, separately because Bryce can never keep his hands to himself, before heading off to enjoy the resort pool. It’s still early, so they have the whole pool to themselves. Casey sits near the pool’s edge with a book she’s been reading for the last year. She’s still only halfway done. Reading for pleasure is a rare treat now a days, although she has read countless medical textbooks and journals over the last year. Her feet dangle in the cool clear water.

Bryce surfaces at her feet after swimming several laps at an athlete’s pace, tossing his hair to dry it somewhat. “Are you really not getting in?”

“Maybe later.” She says flippantly, not bothering to look up from her book.

Bryce takes her feet in his hands, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over the shooting star tattoo on her ankle. He waits a few seconds. “It’s later now.” He tugs her feet, and she barely has time to drop her book onto the dry pool edge before she’s under the water.

She comes up sputtering, glaring at her boyfriend.

He chuckles, releasing her feet and gripping the back of her thighs, pulling her to him and encouraging her to wrap her legs around him. “You look so good in that swimsuit.” She glances down at her dark green bikini. It is a good color on her. He kisses her, pressing her back against the wall of the infinity pool.

She bites his bottom lip roughly, following up by splashing him. He rubs the chlorine out of his eyes, releasing her in the process. “Hey!” He complains.

She splashes him again, lazily treading water. “That’s for pulling me in. You almost made me get the book I borrowed from Sienna wet.”

“I’m sorry. Can we kiss and make up now?”

Casey rolls her eyes, but indulges him anyway, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and kissing him deeply. They’re so absorbed in each other, they barely notice the rest of the hotel waking up and joining them at the pool.

“Cannon ball!” A red headed child yells, effectively breaking them from their spell when they’re drenched in water.

Casey runs a hand through her damp curls, and then lightly runs her thumb over his kiss swollen lips. “You couldn’t find an adults only resort?” She jokes.

Bryce smiles, kissing her thumb before speaking. “There are a few, but they were so much more expensive.”

“Does this place at least have complimentary breakfast?”

“It does, but my sister invited us to family brunch. Can you wait, or do you want to grab something before we head out?”

“I’ll wait. But let’s go back to the room so I can get ready. I want to make a good first impression.”

Bryce tightens his grip on her, hugging her to him. “It doesn’t matter what they think about you. I know exactly who you are, and I like everything about you Dr. Valentine.”

“I like you a lot too Dr. Lahela. But be that as it may, I’m still going to put some effort in.”

…

Bryce glances at Casey from the driver’s seat of their rented car as she finishes twisting her dark curls into a delicate updo, a few tendrils framing her face. His eyes scan over her outfit. She’s put on a pretty red and purple floral strapless dress, completing the look with white wedges. She’s even wearing some light make-up. He’s not used to seeing her with makeup. When you have to be at the hospital at 5:30 in the morning, the extra few minutes of sleep is much more important than some lipstick and eyeliner. He thinks he likes her natural look better, but she didn’t ask so he keeps his opinion to himself.

He has put no such effort into his own appearance. Simply sporting a white button down, comfortable beige capris, and sneakers.

He allows one of his hands to leave the wheel, intertwining their fingers so she’ll stop nervously drumming on her thighs. “You have nothing to be nervous about baby.”

“I just want them to like me.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She wishes he would say, “Don’t worry, they’ll love you.” But he doesn’t. Just keeps insisting that it makes no difference.

“You haven’t told me anyone’s names.” Casey realizes.

Bryce takes the freeway exit, nearing their destination. “My father’s name is Aoloa. My mother’s name is Kate. My brother’s name is Francis. And my sister is Abigail. But I call her Abs. Francis’ wife will probably be there too. Her name is Gabrielle. And my nephew, Haku.”

Casey nods, retaining the new information. “And how old are your siblings?”

Bryce merges into the left lane, taking the next turn. “Francis is 5 years older than me. So he’s 32…no wait he’s 33 his birthday was last month. Abs is almost three years younger than me. She’s 24, turning 25 next month.”

“And your nephew?”

“Haku is 8.”

Casey does the mental math in her head, realizing Abigail must have had him while still in high school.

Bryce sighs as he turns onto a residential street. “We’re here.”

Casey’s jaw drops as she takes in the monumental mansion they’re approaching. Bryce stops at a large ostentatious gold gate, opening his window and typing a passcode into the security system. The gate opens, swinging inward.

Bryce stops in the round driveway, full of cars much more expensive than the one they have rented. He looks at her nervously. “Say something.” He begs.

“Your parents are a lot more than comfortable Bryce.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He repeats, once again. “I don’t like to tell people because I feel like they assume I’m just some spoiled rich kid who never had to work for anything. And that’s just not how it is Casey. Sure, my dad paid for private school and summer immersion programs in Europe, but none of that was for me. It was for him.”

“Was the down payment really a loan? It looks like it wouldn’t set them back at all to just give it to you.”

“It wouldn’t, but they didn’t. It was definitely a loan.” He takes a moment to compose himself. “Are you ready?” He asks.

“Are you?”

He smiles, squeezing her hand. “No, but I’ll never be ready.” He takes a deep breath before getting out of the car.

They walk hand and hand to the door. She hears him give another dramatic sigh before ringing the doorbell.

The door opens, a tiny native Hawaiian woman with dark brown skin standing in front of them. Her face lights up as she spots Bryce. “Bryce!” She exclaims as she hugs his waist tightly, since that’s where she can reach on the much taller man.

Based on everything Casey knows about his family, she thinks this woman can’t be his mother.

“Kehlani, I missed you.” Bryce says softly, hugging her back.

“Then you should have come home! I haven’t seen you since Haku’s first birthday!”

“You know it’s hard to get back here from the mainland. But the mainland has been good to me in many ways. The most important one right here. Kehlani, this is Dr. Casey Valentine, my girlfriend. Casey, Kehlani, she basically raised me.”

Kehlani smiles. “Don’t let your mother hear you say that. I’m just the lowly maid now, with Haku moving out soon and no need for a nanny.” Kehlani turns to Casey. “She’s so beautiful Bryce! And a doctor too? How’d you get so lucky?”

Bryce wraps an arm around Casey, pulling her to his side. “Hey, she’s lucky too. I’m quite a catch.”

Casey smiles at Kehlani, offering her hand for a handshake. “Nice to meet you Kehlani.”

Kehlani ignores the offered hand, pulling Casey into a hug. “Nice to meet you too Casey!” She releases the doctor, locking the door behind them. “Everyone is in the dining room. Do you remember your way around here?” She asks.

Bryce shrugs. “I’ll manage.”

Kehlani heads back to the kitchen and Bryce tugs Casey towards an ornate hallway. She distractedly looks around the foyer, at the large chandelier, the obviously expensive art lining the walls, a large family portrait hanging over the double staircase. She picks out Bryce in the portrait right away. He’s wearing a suit, hair slicked back in an unfamiliar style, lips tight and unsmiling. He can’t be older than 12. A hand rests on his shoulder, behind him his mother staring at the camera with a small disingenuous smile.

Casey is surprised that his mother is white. He never mentioned that to her. Her blonde hair and blue eyes stand out amongst her varying shades of bronze skinned children and her husband, whose complexion reminds her of Jackie.

She loses sight of the portrait as they make it into the hallway, taking a sudden right and entering the dining room.

“Uncle Bryce!” Haku drops the toy car he was playing with, running into his uncle’s arms. Haku’s loud declaration draws the attention of everyone else in the room to their arrival.

Bryce smiles, the most genuine smile she’s seen out of him all day, rustling Haku’s dark hair. “When did you get so big young man?”

Haku grins, revealing missing front teeth. “I’m the 3rd tallest in my class!” He brags.

Abigail approaches next, throwing her arms around Bryce in a warm hug. “I’m so glad you’re home.” She breathes in his ear.

“Like I’d miss you wedding Abs. Even if you are marrying a douchebag.”

Abigail’s eyes narrow. “Bryce.” She warns.

“Sorry. I’ll try to keep my thoughts to myself.” He seems to suddenly remember that Casey is there. “Abs, Haku, this is my girlfriend Dr. Casey Valentine.”

Haku waves at her and Abigail gives her a handshake. “Nice to meet you Casey. Last time I skyped with Bryce when he wanted to give me a Boston house tour, he couldn’t shut up about you.” Abigail is very pretty. Bryce’s brown eyes, complexion a mocha color a little lighter than his, and her hair a deeper brown that flows down to her waist.

Francis approaches. All the Lahelas are so pretty. He looks a lot like Bryce, but hair cut shorter and slicked back. His face is more severe, with stronger cheekbones and a more pronounced nose. “Well, I haven’t had the pleasure of hearing about you Dr. Valentine. Nice to meet you.” He kisses her hand, and she can’t help but blush a little.

Bryce glowers behind her. “Francis.” He greets coldly.

Francis nods. “Bryce.” He returns with the same indifference.

Bryce’s eyes fall on his sister-in-law, who’s gotten up to stand beside her husband. “Gabby.” This greeting is warmer, polite.

Gabrielle smiles. “Good to see you Bryce. And nice to meet you Casey.” Gabrielle looks a lot like Bryce’s mom when she was younger. Blonde hair, blue eyes, that ‘all American’ girl next door look. She’s more voluptuous than Kate was in her day though. And Gabrielle seems to be flaunting this in her too tight red dress. She seems to be at least ten years younger than her husband.

Bryce’s father is the next to leave his seat and approach the newcomers. He shakes Bryce’s hand, which Casey thinks is a strange way to greet one’s own son. His hair has greyed since the portrait was taken, and he’s gained some weight, but he’s still a very attractive older man.

“Casey, this is my Dad, Aoloa.” Bryce introduces, releasing his father’s hand and placing his hand on the small of her back.

“Everyone calls me Al.” He corrects, shaking Casey’s hand. He squeezes just a little too tight.

Bryce’s mother doesn’t stand, continuing to enjoy her mimosa at the table. “Come say hi to me dearest.” She slurs her words slightly, and Casey tries to pretend not to notice.

“Mom.” Bryce greets shortly, not moving from his current position.

Casey walks over, Bryce’s hand falling from her back. “Nice to meet you Mrs. Lahela.” She offers a handshake.

“Kate is fine.” She claims as she reaches for Casey’s hand, missing at first, her blue eyes looking glassy. Casey moves her hand to grip Kate’s, shaking softly. Casey can see some grey at Kate’s roots, but the rest of her hair is dyed the same platinum blonde from the portrait. Unlike her husband, and despite all the drinking, she has managed to maintain her figure. Appearances seem to be very important to the Lahelas. Although this is just a family brunch, they are all dressed in expensive labels that Casey recognizes from goofing around in Nordstrom’s with her roommates, trying to find the most overpriced items.

Bryce pulls out a chair beside his sister. “Honey, have a seat.”

She raises an eyebrow, he’s never called her honey before. It’s always babe or baby (lover sometimes when he’s trying to annoy her since he knows she hates that word). It’s like he’s putting on a show for some reason. She takes the offered chair, allowing Bryce to push it in.

He takes a seat between her and his mother, allowing Kate to place a sloppy kiss on his cheek. Her deep red lipstick that seems inappropriate for family brunch stains his cheek.

The rest of the Lahelas return to their seats just as Kehlani and another maid enter the room with the first course.

A decadent parfait is placed in front of Casey, an expensive golden spoon as well. Casey worries that maybe the spoon is for decorative purposes, and waits until she sees Aoloa use the spoon from across the table before she dares to.

“So where’s your future husband Abs?” Bryce asks, breaking the silence that has descended around the table.

“Ryan had to work. Some important business deal.” Abigail replies, waving her hand dismissively.

“Dad says Ryan is a workaholic. And that a real man spends time with his family.” Haku interrupts, messily eating his own parfait, using his fingers instead of the spoon.

“Hank.” Al says sharply, glaring at his grandson. “No one wants to hear what your no-good father has to say about any of this.”

“Dad.” Abigail’s tone is icy and her eyes have narrowed. “Don’t talk about Kahoni like that in front of his son.”

Bryce eye’s narrow as well. “Hank?” He repeats.

“Yes, Haku has decided to go by Hank now. It’s more American, more respectable.” Al reports.

“What’s unrespectable about a traditional Hawaiian name?” Bryce challenges.

“Bryce.” Francis warns, glaring at him from across the table.

“Haku, honey, do you want to eat in the living room where you can watch TV?” Abigail offers to get her son out of the room. Haku nods gleefully, scrapping his chair across the floor loudly before running out.

Casey watches Haku leave, feeling like he is the safest thing to look at in the tense room.

“So Casey Valentine,” Al starts, changing the topic. “Valentine is English, or Scottish, but you look……exotic. What are you exactly?”

Casey winces at ‘exotic’. Surprisingly, she’s been asked this rude question before. Usually, she just answers ‘human’ and leaves, but she’s less inclined to be rude to her boyfriend’s father, even if he’s being rude to her.

Bryce looks like he’s about to say something, so she places a hand on his knee and squeezes in a manner she hopes is reassuring.

“Valentine is Scottish. My father’s grandfather immigrated to the Dominican Republic from Scotland. So my dad is Dominican, mostly. And my mom is African American and Mexican. So I’m a little bit of everything.” She answers.

“So if you guys have kids, they’ll really be mutts, huh?” Al asks with a smile.

Casey’s eyes narrow. Sometimes, she does refer to herself as a mutt when she’s talking about her genealogy, but she says it in an endearing way. The way Al said it was lacking any of that warmth.

“We don’t all share your obsession with whitening the Lahela bloodline Dad.” Bryce says sharply.

“Bryce.” His mother warns this time, pausing for the first time in her consumption of the champagne and orange juice.

“What?” Bryce insists. “We all know it’s true. That’s why he spent so much time poisoning Abby’s relationship with Kahoni.”

Al snorts angrily. “Kahoni is a no-good Hula performer with no prospects who knocked up my sixteen year old daughter. Abigail finally came to her senses when she left him.”

“And now she just happens to be marrying the son of an important business prospect, who just happens to have blue eyes and blonde hair. I’m sure you had nothing to do with that.” Bryce retorts.

Al’s eyes narrow at his middle child. “I’m not sure I like where you’re going with this.”

Kehlani returns just then with the second course, waffles with fresh fruit. She pauses as she takes in the tension in the room. “Do you guys need anything?”

“More champagne would be great.” Kate slurs.

“Oh my god Mom it’s not even noon.” Bryce exclaims, standing from the table. “I need a minute.” He mutters before storming out of the room.

Casey stays and eats her waffles in silence, all the Lahelas attempts at small talk with each other quickly sputtering out. Bryce doesn’t return.

“I’m going to go check on him.” She finally decides after 15 minutes have passed. “Does anyone know where he might have gone?”

“Probably his room, go back out to the staircase, take the right one, and then it’s the second door to your left.” Abigail reveals.

Casey nods, thanking her as she stands.

“Casey.” Al interrupts before she leaves. “I wasn’t trying to offend you, and I’m sorry if I did. You’re very beautiful, and clearly smart too if you’re a doctor. I guess I was just surprised. Back in high school, Bryce used to bring home girls that looked just like his mother. Maybe his standards have changed out on the mainland.”

Casey nods tightly, that spiel doing nothing to endear Bryce’s father more to her. She follows Abigail’s instructions and knocks on Bryce’s door. “Bryce?” She calls out softly.

“It’s open.” She hears.

She walks into his childhood room. It’s sparsely decorated. Some sports equipment in the corner, photos of him and friends on his desk. And face down in his pillow on his queen size bed lies Bryce.

“You don’t lock your door after you storm off dramatically?” Casey asks.

He rolls over onto his back, meeting her gaze. “I knew you were the only one who would come after me.”

She joins him in bed, cuddling into his side. He drops a kiss on her forehead. “I’m sorry about them.” He apologizes.

“You don’t have to apologize for your family.” Casey insists.

He shakes his head. “I do though. Because they bring out the worst in me. I shouldn’t have just left you down there. I shouldn’t have let them push my buttons like that. I don’t want to mess us up over them.”

“I wouldn’t let you mess us up. Not when my roommates have already replaced me for when our lease is up so I have to move in with you.” Casey jokes.

Bryce chuckles. “I’m serious though baby. You’re the best thing in my life.” He tilts her chin up to look at him. “And I love you.”

Casey’s eyes widen. He’s never said that before. His eyes scan her’s frantically as she remains silent.

He runs a hand through his hair nervously. “You don’t have to say it back right now. We’ll get there when we get there…”

She interrupts him with a tender kiss. “We’re there. I love you too Bryce.”

He grins, looking happier than she’s ever seen him. His lips claim her’s, and it quickly becomes heated. She rolls on top of him, straddling his hips.

“How many girls did you sneak up here in high school?” she questions as he rubs her thighs.

“None anywhere near as beautiful as you.” He answers immediately.

She smiles, “Good answer.” He tries to kiss her again, but she stands. “Let’s get back down there. I could smell some amazing dessert and I don’t want to miss it.”

Bryce sighs. “Do we have to?”

Casey nods. “But afterwards, we can go back to the hotel and then you don’t have to see them again until the wedding.”

Bryce scoffs. “As if I could be so lucky. There are countless wedding events that I’m required to be at. With those people.”

…

Taglist: @octobereighth @sibella-plays-choices @hazah @akrenich @lovehugsandcandy @professorortegasstudent @regina-and-happiness @brightpinkpeppercorn @choicesarehard @lizeboredom @desiree-0816 @hellooliviaolivia @dreaming-of-movies @friedherringclodthing @weaving-in-words @fairydustandsarcasm

#open heart #bryce lahela x mc #bryce x mc #choices #choices fanfiction #playchoices #bryce lahela

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badcowboy69 · 5 years

Text

Unexpected part 4

Gosh, it’s been a REALLY long time for this poor chapter to be coming out. I have been distracted with many things, good and bad, but it seems as if I’m finally back on track. Hopefully that means I’ll be able to crank out stories again like I used to. That being said, this is the latest installment of my little saga. Hope you like it. As always comments and asks are welcomed and reblogs are the bests.

Oh and just in case you would like to read the previous chapters if it’s your first time or simply needing a refresher, here’s the links.

Part One Part Two Part 3

Story begins under the cut due to the length. Enjoy!

It was evident Travis could barely contain the excitement that was surging through him. Giving Riley a crooked grin, he quickly loped back into the bedroom and practically tripped over the doorway threshold. Picking up on the enthusiasm, Rex bounded eagerly along at his side while yipping and yapping playfully. “Got an extra wardrobe in here so it’s the perfect place for you to put all your stuff!” Travis called out over the happy, chirpy barks of his cyberdog.

However, Riley had paused his pursuit, suddenly distracted by the trail of discarded clothing scattered along the hallway. A gentle smile curled his lips as his mind flitted back to last night where a wonderful event started in the elevator then led to the bedroom where it continued for hours. Even though he was half-serious when mentioning about the fantasy of getting a blowjob inside of an elevator, it came as no surprise that Travis would actually comply.

While bending to gather up the clothes, Riley happily reminisced about their reunion. Suddenly, his wonderful recollection was interrupted by a stark naked Travis standing in front of him. Although he’s seen Travis naked plenty of times, Riley still found his cheeks warm with a blush at the unexpected, but very pleasant sight. “Hell, Travis, you keep enticing me like this I doubt we’ll be making tracks to the Fort anytime soon,” he jested while adjusting his glasses as his eyes began to wander up and down his boyfriend’s slender frame.

“Huh? Oh! Well...maybe...when we get back I can make it all up to you. I know you can’t resist this bod,” Travis purred while he ran his hands seductively over his sides only to get shoved playfully by Riley. “Anyhoo, is everything ok, Riles? Been talking to you and you ain’t answering.”

“Oh, sorry about that, but yes, that wardrobe sounds great, thank you. By the way, I can’t seem to find my pack. I could have sworn we brought it up here with us last night.”

Giving a quick scan around the now cleaned up hall, Travis got a hunch and pushed the call button for the elevator. The silver doors slid open and there on the floor was not only Riley’s pack and Gauss rifle, but Travis’ own rifle and cowboy hat as well. “Ah, Hell, looks like someone was in an awful hurry to get out of there to leave all this stuff behind,” Travis jested while he retrieved their items.

Reaching for the weapons, Riley randomly noticed Travis’ motorcycle was leaning close to the wall. He wondered how he missed it earlier, but there were plenty of other things distracting him since he arrived. Travis tended to do unusual things from time to time, but having a vehicle in the living quarters seemed a bit out of the ordinary, even for Travis. “Looks like someone forgot where the parking garage was,” Riley teased back.

“Ain’t forgot,” the courier replied while rubbing the back of his neck, mild embarrassment in his voice. “I only got back here a few days ago and was too tired to screw around unpacking downstairs then make like twenty trips back and forth to the elevator. Figured it was easier to bring the bike up here so’s I could unpack and put stuff away in one shot. I was planning on taking it back downstairs eventually, but some hot redhead dropping in from Boston sort of interrupted that. Besides, had too much going on in my mind to really want to deal with chores...or much else.”

“Understandable,” Riley said softly as he knew exactly what Travis must have gone through. His own world was quite setback and lost when Travis left Boston only a few weeks ago. He got through his lonely days by drinking or being with friends, but barely.

Following Travis into the bedroom, Riley set the weapons against the couch then stood silently in the doorway. Travis made his way towards a large, dark wood wardrobe to choose an outfit for the day’s outing. Riley still couldn’t tear his eyes away from admiring the finely shaped, naked form of his partner. His gaze abruptly halted seeing bright red scratch marks on Travis’ back. A demure smile curled his lips as memories of last night’s passions flooded his mind and made him long to repeat them soon.

Forcing his eyes to look elsewhere, Riley turned to his left and let out a soft gasp of surprise. His eyes suddenly widened behind his glasses and he found himself gravitating towards a large bookshelf behind a desk. He felt an excited jolt go through him while he read aloud the titles of the books. “Las Vegas: A History. How to Succeed at Hacking. Cats. Guns, Your God-given Right. Building a Robot. Motorcycle Mechanics. Sparky and the Flying Securitron. Texas Red. Damn, Travis, you certainly have quite the mix of genres,” he chuckled as he took out the Vegas book and began flipping through its pristine pages.

“Shucks, got plenty of books in the other rooms and there's a ton more upstairs in the penthouse.” He snickered hearing the soft gasp escape his partner. “You’ll see everything, don't you worry none about that. Shit, there’s so much to see in the casino alone to probably last us all day. Umm...wanna get the ten cent tour of the apartment before we head to the Fort?” “Oh! Yes, right, the Fort. As anxious as I am to see your suite, I know you’re in a hurry to head out. It’s ok, Travis, we can do what you needed first and you can show me around here when we get back.” Riley set the book carefully on the shelf as not to damage the delicate paper dust cover and gave his partner a supportive smile.

“You sure? I mean I don’t mind showing you around first, but I’ll do whatever you want to do. This is your vacation after all,” Travis replied while pulling out his traditional red plaid shirt and blue jeans from the wardrobe and tossed them on the bed. “Besides, I’m only going to the Fort today to drop off my semi-weekly donations and show you around. Figured I could introduce you to Arcade while we’re there. It ain’t really crucial we go today. I can always drop off donations tomorrow. Ain't like they're expecting me or anything.”

Riley sat on the bed next to his pack and looked up at his broadly smiling lover. “You’re something else, you know that? Then that settles it. I’d love to have a quick tour of your place before we leave.”

Travis grinned more and leaned down to deliver a quick kiss on Riley’s cheek. “Great! Gonna go and get washed up first, though. Feel free to use the other wardrobe for your stuff if you wanna and make yourself at home. My casa is your casa,” he declared making Riley chuckle at his attempt of a Spanish phrase.

“It’s me casa es su casa,” he corrected with a gentle smile. “But thank you just the same.”

As Travis walked out room, Riley caught himself once more staring after the naked vision. He sighed wistfully and suddenly noticed he was becoming aroused. Knowing it was best to stifle his urges, at least for now, Riley bit his lower lip and distracted himself by unpacking. “Well, this won’t take long,” he muttered to himself realizing he had nowhere near as many clothes as he would need for a prolonged stay. Past experience taught him things could go wrong very quickly with an unexpected visit. He prepared for the worst, but did hope for the best. Packing light was a precaution even though deep down he knew wasn’t necessary.

Gathering up the meager armload of clothes, Riley headed to the wardrobe on the opposite side of the bed. It was identical as the one Travis was using right down to the almost pristine condition. Resting atop of it was some sort of helmet with ruby colored eye lenses. Next to it was a skull from some kind of animal that Riley could only guess was a brahmin. To his surprise a small Sentry bot action figure he had given Travis back on the day they first met was also there. A pleasant warmth spread through him as he remembered that day with tender fondness.

Opening the double doors Riley was mildly surprised to find a small assortment of clothes already neatly arranged inside on hangers. Riley set his things down and curiously began to sift through the impeccable assortment of slacks, polos, and solid colored button down shirts. He pulled out a baby blue colored polo and absently held it against himself to check the size.

“Don’t mind the clothes.” Travis had silently padded into the bedroom and was already pulling on his jeans. “Grabbed ‘em out of the dressers up in the penthouse where Mister House used to live. I was hoping they’d fit me, but they’re all a bit too big. If they fit you, you can have them and hell...you can probably have all of what’s still up there. House sure as hell don't need ‘em. All sorts of suits and ties and stuff up there ...stuff you would probably really like.”

Grinning broadly Riley turned back to the wardrobe and began examining the garments with more interest. He put the blue shirt back and pulled out a black polo with a wide green stripe around the middle. “Travis, these are all in such amazing condition,” Riley said in disbelief. Taking it off the hanger, Riley pulled the shirt over his head. Much to his joy it fit him perfectly. “Travis, this...this is wonderful! Are you really sure I can have these?” he asked as his partner sauntered up to him.

“A’yup. What am I gonna do with a bunch of clothes that don’t fit me? I was originally gonna take them to camps around the Mojave and donate them, but never had the chance. Reckon it’s a good thing. Shirt looks really great on you, Riles. Cain’t wait to see you out of it later either,” Travis purred while nuzzling against the freckled skin of Riley’s neck. Sliding his arms around Riley’s waist, Travis pressed close to him and sighed. “I still cain’t believe you’re here and I cain’t wait to get back after the donation run. Maybe we can take a swim in my pool before heading out for dinner.”

“Swimming and dinner? Man, Travis, you’re going to spoil me. You really don’t have to take me anywhere tonight. In all honesty it might be more enjoyable to stay in and relax with you. I’m sure there’s plenty here for you to show me,” Riley softly replied as he leaned against his partner with a contented sigh. “I'm not going anywhere anytime soon and right now I just want to enjoy being back in your company.”

“Whatever you'd like to do is fine with me! Reckon we’ll play it by ear.” Travis gave Riley a few tender kisses which quickly became heated. Fighting his own eager urges Travis reluctantly pulled back. “We best get going afore I find something better for us to do,” he panted with a smirk. Riley nodded in agreement and they separated to continue getting dressed.

Afterwards, with his arms open wide and welcoming, Travis walked around the room. “Well then, as you can see, this here is the master bedroom. I keep lots of my personal and most treasured things in here. Ain't all I got, though.” He then motioned for Riley to follow him and led him towards a room that was between the master bedroom and dining area.

“Reckon this is more my collection and game room. Got all kinds of cool stuff I found in my travels,” he proudly announced while placing his hands on his hips.

Riley slowly wandered around the room which was considerably larger than the master bedroom. In the center of the room was a pool table with way too many balls scattered on top of it. A Sunset Sarsaparilla soda vending machine was against one wall next to an almost perfect Nuka Cola machine. Next to those was a fantastic jukebox, it’s glowing colored lights and bubbles instantly drew Riley to it. As he flipped through the selection markers he asked,”Does this thing really have these tunes and does it really work?”

Travis couldn’t help but give a toothy grin. “A’yup! Sure does! Hell, pick a song and push the button, I sure don’t mind. I really lucked out with this find up in Black Mountain. They got a big storage building that was untouched in probably forever ‘cause of the Super Mutants that used to guard the place. Plus there's a buttload of radiation there that'll get ya if precautions ain't took. Gotta tell you that story someday.”

Arching an eyebrow, Riley picked a random song by Frank Sinatra and pressed the white button. The machine made a series of clicks and other sounds while Riley watched in anticipation as the record he chose moved into place and the player’s arm dropped down onto it. After a few pops and static sounds, All of Me began to play much to Riley’s delight. Overcome with the pure joy of hearing a long forgotten song again, Riley pulled Travis into his arms and did a quick, impromptu dance with him around the room.

Seeing the two humans engaged in what he thought looked like fun, Rex began to loudly bark and jump up and down vying for their attention hoping they’d dance with him too. Travis began to laugh at his cyberdog’s antics as well as the handsome redhead’s sudden burst of enthusiasm.

Riley stole a quick kiss and released Travis with a laugh. “Shit, it’s been far too long since I’ve heard that song! Oh, Travis…” he sighed and trailed off realizing that he danced them all the way to the other end of the room. Adjusting his glasses, Riley gave Travis a wink and directed his gaze towards the tall shelf unit that seemed to be screaming for his attention.

On each shelf was a different sort of collection all neatly arranged to show off each coveted piece. Much to Riley’s delight, one shelf was dedicated to more books. These ones all were various novels, mostly westerns and science fiction. Knowing he’d have a chance to look over them more thoroughly later, he bypassed them, setting his sights on a different shelf.

The bottom most one had a selection of pre-war toys. There was a baseball and glove, a few tin cars, a checkerboard, and a few different style teddy bears and dolls. Most of the toys were in pretty rough condition, but they were still in great shape considering their age. Riley spotted a baseball bat and golf club leaning against the shelf as well as what appeared to be a half of a bowling ball. It was a perfect, smooth cut and Riley made a mental note to ask Travis how it got that way at another time.

Right now he was distracted by what dominated over two of the remaining shelves. Travis loved collecting Nuka Cola merchandise and had voiced that quite often while he was in Boston. One shelf was glowing brightly with a variety of Quartz and Quantum while the other shelf had bottles of Victory. Riley looked them over and gave a low whistle. “Looks like you’ve been rather busy scouring the Mojave to get this kind of collection,” he commented while picking up a small sheriff badge made out of tin. “Now I understand why you were so excited to get those rocket shaped bottles in Boston.”

Travis grinned while crossing his arms in front of his chest, obviously proud of his little collection. “A’yup. I still got them in the bedroom, though. Like I said I wasn’t too keen on unpacking when I got back the other day. Maybe I’ll put them up later tonight.” “Glad to see they’ve gone to a good home,” Riley chuckled as he carefully picked up a large, metal toy Nuka Cola delivery truck complete with tiny soda bottles. “Man, this stuff is amazing! I know a few people back east who would be rather envious of your collection. Maybe not so much the bottles, but these cool premiums like your trucks and pin-up girl figures would really drive folks wild to possess.”

“I’m sure this ain’t nothing compared to what I heard some people got, but considering Sunset Sarsaparilla is the dominate drink out this way I am pretty lucky I got what I got,” Travis replied while pulling a small chain hanging from a neon Nuka sign that looked like he ripped it directly off a store front. The glass tubes flickered a few times before lighting completely. “Got this at a pawn shop in Freeside a while back. It was tucked behind some old washing machines, but I somehow spotted it. Traded for a few shot guns and ammo. The owner thought I was nuts, but I had to have it. Didn’t work, but I talked to a buddy of mine and he helped me get what I needed to get it to light up. I think it’s my fave of all my collection, well, besides the glowy bottles.”

“It’s really something else, Travis. I can’t wait to hear some of the stories behind your collections.” Giving the shelf a final look and making sure nothing was on the floor for him to accidentally step on, Riley wandered towards a marvelous display unit near the room’s door. It was similar to something one would find in a gift shop as it showcased all kinds of snow globes. They all featured Vault Boy in some sort of scene depicting where the globes might have originated from. “Hoover Dam, Goodsprings, The New Vegas Strip....how did you even come across these?” Riley asked while picking one up and giving it a shake, amused at the white plastic flakes inside the water swirling about like a mini snowstorm.

“Eh, some were actually in this place and a few came from general stores out and about. Got some from Vault 21 as well. You might like that place a lot. Used to be a real pre-war vault, but it's a hotel and small casino now. It’s all set up to what I think your time might have looked like. They’re really big on that nostalgia! They even got tons of pre-war stuff stored in a few of the rooms. I've done a lot of trading with the folks there for a few things I liked. The manager wanted any Vault suits I might find in my travels. I found lots and exchanged them for some of the metal signs I got hanging around here and other parts of my casino.”

“Sounds like an extremely good system you got going. Bartering is so much better than using caps I think.”

“Okies I got one last room to show you then we can get a move on to the Fort!” Taking Riley by the hand, Travis eagerly led him down the hall and to the room across from the bathroom. “I don’t give this room much mind, but I reckon it has its uses.”

The room was obviously once a guest bedroom with two neatly made full sized beds complete with satin sheets, comforters and throw pillows. One even had a few teddy bears resting on it. However, that’s where the bedroom look stopped and instead seemed more like a storage area. A makeshift gun rack was against the wall with about ten metal ammo boxes stacked next to it. The rack had everything ranging from shotguns to rifles of all different calibers. A small footlocker rested next to the rack, its lid open, revealing the contents of various explosives like mines and hand grenades.

Riley smirked at the small arsenal and shook his head surprised there wasn’t more. “Your supply of these are a little low,” he jested while giving a nod to the explosives.

“Nah, got more down in my workshop. Didn’t want to keep that kind of stuff up here in big piles, you know?” Travis casually replied as he bent to pick up some casings that were scattered on the floor and tossed them in one of the ammo boxes.

“Yes, that uhhh... makes sense.” Riley paled, suddenly feeling nervous thinking of the entire casino blowing up because of of Travis’ passion for explosives and fires.

A few metal cases stacked against the wall housed flamethrowers as well as a grenade launcher. The weapons looked like they were used quite often and Riley could only imagine the mischief his partner got into with them. Riley was thankful not seeing anything that launched mini nukes or the like. Even Travis must have his limits when it came to destruction.

However, there was one weapon that got Riley’s curiosity and he tugged at Travis’ sleeve to get his attention. “What in the world is that thing?” he asked, pointing to what looked like a motorcycle gas tank with an iron sword attached to it by a cable.

Travis twitched his moustache and grinned broadly while picking up the sword. “This is what’s called a shishkebab. One of my fave pyro weapons. The sword flames up. I’ll have to take you out later and show you it in action! Some of the trees out in the desert are dry as dust and man you should see them burn up when I slash ‘em with this!”

Riley inwardly groaned seeing Travis’ crystal blue eyes light up with excitement while showing off the sword. “I’d love to see, as long as you are careful. I’m sure more than just trees catch fire easily here.” “Oh man, you ain’t kidding!” Travis excitedly responded while putting the shishkebab back down and went back to his task of picking up the casings. He heard a soft groan come from his partner over his comment and he quickly added, “But don’t worry, I only set shit on fire in secluded areas where they won’t go out of control and cause more trouble.”

“Great,” Riley grunted as he glanced at the single wardrobe in the room. Its door was ajar revealing some articles of clothing that looked like military uniforms and dusters. More guns were leaning against the furniture along with more ammo boxes. Off in a far corner of the room was a small metal platform and on it Travis’ robot ED-E was resting on it. No doubt it was a charging station of sorts.

However, like in the previous rooms, what really captured Riley’s attention was yet another large bookshelf stocked not only with books, but interesting items such as a space helmet, globe of the world, and what appeared to be some kind of blaster from a science fiction movie.

“Interesting choice of books you have here, Travis. I didn’t expect you to read these sort of things,” the redhead remarked as he looked over the book titles that ranged from business operations and government to mathematics and science.

Travis snorted and shook his head. “Nah, ain’t read those. I glanced through them and they’re boring and filled with words I can’t even understand. Some got nice pictures at least. I got them there for looks and maybe give to someone if they’re interested. Hell, if you like them by all means please read them”

“I was anticipating some history books, actually. Do you have any of those?” Riley asked hopefully as he carefully flipped through the pages of an astronomy book, marveling at how bright and crisp the photos inside were after all the centuries.

“Oh, sure! Got plenty of those upstairs in the penthouse!” Travis couldn’t help but laugh seeing Riley’s face light up hearing the news about history books. Slipping his arms around Riley’s waist, Travis leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. “Trust me, Riles, my apartment is only the beginning of shit for you to see in this place. Anyways, was this a good enough tour for now? You ready to mosey on outta here?”

“Yes, the tour was perfect and I look forward to exploring and experiencing it more as the days go by. Thank you, Travis.”

“Great! Let’s make tracks then!” Stealing another quick kiss, Travis entwined their fingers together and briskly led him towards the elevator. “Gotta stop and pick up some supplies for the Fort first. Can't exactly make a donation run without donations.”

Right as the metal doors began to slide shut, Rex decided at the last moment to join the couple. He gave a startled yelp as the doors closed, barely touching him. “Dumb dog!” Travis groaned as the doors re-opened to allow the cyberdog entry. “Hit the button with a T,” Travis directed to Riley while he pushed his dog into the back of the elevator and out of the way.

Riley searched over the panel of buttons and realized the vast majority of them weren’t numbered properly or numbers for that matter. Furrowing his brow as he looked for the T button, he asked, “Ummm...Travis, what’s with these numbers and...letters? They’re all so... randomly placed.”

“Well, it helps make things easier to remember where things are. Six is me, so my suite’s button is six as you found out last night. C is for casino. P is for Penthouse. L is for Lounge. T is for Treasure. W is for workroom. B is for basement. S is for Sub Basement…”

“Ok Ok I get it,” Riley chuckled and pushed the T button. “It’s a good method as long as you understand it. Do you do anything with the other floors not designated to a specific number or letter?”

“Nothing really. They’re there for whatever. Storage I reckon. All still got nice beds, sheets, furniture, clothes...almost like Mister House had this place gussied up and evacuated afore the bombs hit. It's also why I have an endless supply of sheets and clothes...got lots of liquor too,” he snickered.

“Sounds perfect,” Riley grinned. “I can’t wait to see all of your special floors, but this one we’re going to...T for Treasure, really sounds interesting.” “Ain’t no big deal for me, but for the folks I help out...well...you’ll see. Used to be one of the business suites or some shit,” Travis said with a dismissive shrug right as the elevator came to a halt at its designated floor.

The doors slid open and an over enthused cyberdog bolted out. “Ain’t never seen him this excited, but I reckon he’s picking up on my feelings,” Travis drawled as he followed the dog leaving Riley to stand blushing in the elevator over Travis’ compliment. Realizing Riley wasn’t at his side, Travis halted and turned around. “You coming?”

Riley cleared his throat and nodded. “Yes, yes of course.” He stepped out of the elevator and gazed up and down the hallway. The carpet had a checkered pattern of different shades of reds and still looked as it might have 200 years ago. Various pictures were on the wall showcasing scenes of the pre-war New Vegas and Mojave areas. Other than that the hall was completely barren and disinteresting. One lone door was at the far end to their right and that was where Travis was headed.

“Got all sorts of crap in this place,” Travis casually remarked while they walked. “Plus during my travels I find lots of stuff and salvage it. Been in this place almost seven years and pretty much went through all the floors. I gathered up certain things and organized them for later distribution. I sure don’t need it, but plenty of folks out there do.”

Opening the door, Travis beckoned for Riley to follow him inside. Entering the suite Riley was taken aback by what he saw. The entire suite reminded him of what pre-war shopping mega-centers or warehouse type of stores looked like. Tall metal and wooden racks lined the walls stocked with various goods while large boxes were on the floor and filled with things too bulky to store on shelves.

As Riley gazed around the room he eventually realized that everything was sorted and organized according to purpose. One shelf had small boxes filled with syringes with labels marked stimpack or med-x. Piles of rad-away along with bottles of rad-x occupied another shelf. Piles of crutches and canes were stacked in a corner, propped against the shelf. Boxes of gauze and bandages were lined on the bottom shelf according to size. Various other medical supplies were scattered on a wooden table where some brown doctor bags were resting.

Where the medical supplies ended, linens began. Riley wasn’t sure how many or what size, but there was plenty of nicely folded bedding materials stacked neatly on their shelf. Stacks of towels were also on the shelf along with what looked like cloth napkins and tablecloths. After that a row of boxes filled with teddy bears, dolls, cars, and other various toys were set on the floor in front of the shelf. A smaller display case, almost similar to the one Travis had his snow globes on, had a variety of carved wooden figures.

The remaining shelves were stocked with varieties of food preserved in jars as well as candles, ropes, lighters, electronic parts, and many other things. All necessary supplies, but not so vast where they needed their own separate area. Three large wardrobes with their doors removed were also lined against the wall. Inside were various clothes for men, women, and children, but it looked as though those supplies were rapidly being depleted.

Giving out a low whistle, Riley slowly browsed through the supplies, amazed how much was actually gathered here. “You have quite the hoard, Travis. Are you sure you aren’t secretly a dragon with all this wonderful treasure?” Travis snorted as he grabbed a brown medical bag and began hastily stuffing random supplies into it. “Ain’t no hoarder...but what’s a dragon?” he asked, suddenly pausing from his task, tilting his head to the side like a curious puppy.

“Well...a dragon is a mythical beast that was found in many cultures around the world. Generally they were depicted as a large lizard or reptile, usually with wings, and quite often were known to have vast hoards of treasure like gems and gold. It also wasn’t uncommon for them to breathe fire.”

“Oh! We got dragons here in the Mojave then!” Travis exclaimed excitedly and turned to face Riley, his blue eyes shining. “We call them Fire Geckos, though. They’re about as tall as you and they breathe fire! No wings, though, but they do run awfully fast. I wonder if they have treasures?”

Riley paled slightly hearing about the beasts and frowned as his body instinctively tensed over Travis’ last remark. “Please don’t tell me you want to go finding that out?”

“Nah, I don’t make a point out of going after critters for no reason other than for food. If we happen to find them and they attack, yeah, different story. Don’t worry, your man ain’t no ruthless killer bent on mowing anything down that moves especially over material goods.”

“This I know,” Riley gently replied as he stepped over to Travis, watching him gather supplies. “Honestly, I’m surprised you even still have this big of an inventory. I mean, I wouldn’t think there’d be so much good and salvageable stuff out there in the wastes. I also would think you’d run out of supplies in time, especially since you’ve been doing things for what...like...seven years now you said?”

“Yeah, everything’s pretty much picked over in the Mojave,” Travis said with a dismissive shrug. “But shit’s never-ending for the most part here in the casino. I also don’t send out donations every day or even every week. If I didn’t ration things I’d run out of supplies right quick and then probably’ll get bitched at for not helping anymore. It’s so stupid that the folks you sometimes help take advantage of ya or ain’t thankful for what ya do give them and they want more.” Travis snorted as if remembering such a case while he began to add empty syringes inside of the bag. Riley smirked knowing about thankless individuals all to well. He witnessed first hand and personally experienced that behavior many, many times in Boston where the more help you offer to people the more that is demanded. You would think people would be more grateful especially in these hard times. He sighed and gave Travis a pat on the shoulder. “You’re a good guy, Travis. Do you need any help packing supplies?” “Sure,” Travis replied as he began gathering up a few handfuls of bandages. “Grab an empty sack and round up five teddy bears, some cars and dolls, and maybe a few of the wooden animal carvings. Might as well give the younger residents at the Fort something during this visit.”

Nodding, Riley walked over to the toy area and began filling the sack with Travis’ request. “Did you make these figures by any chance?” he asked seeming to recall a time when Travis mentioned he liked to carve things in his spare time. The wooden carvings were very well made and he was impressed with the variety of dogs, yao guai, and deathclaws as well as some animals he didn’t recognize, but figured they were typical to the Mojave.

“Yeah,” Travis replied as he shoved a final handful of Rad-X in the bag and zipped it up. “One of the little talents I discovered I had a few years ago. Don’t know where it came from, but I reckon it’s probably some kind of long forgotten memory.”

Riley nodded solemnly while he looked over a carving of a deathclaw which was quite different in looks compared to what was in Boston. He remembered Travis talking about the differences, but that didn’t make the beasts any less threatening. Putting the figure in the bag, Riley began to meander around the suite amazed at Travis’ accomplishment. “It’s nice to see you also have books to offer to people,” he commented while looking over a small selection of literature lined neatly on a shelf. “I’m glad to see that you pass out written works like this. Some of these sound pretty interesting and I might have to borrow some one day.”

“You keep finding the books, don’t ‘cha?” Travis snickered as he closed up the medical bag and made his way towards the door to leave. “The Boomers really like books. They can be next on the donation drop-off list if you’d wanna pay them a visit with me. Gotta take the motorcycle, though. It’s a ways off past Hoover Dam.”

“The Boomers, eh? I seem to recall you mentioning them. They’re the folks with the functioning war planes, right?” Riley asked as hoisted the bag full of toys over his shoulder and joined Travis and who were waiting patiently in the doorway.

“Yeah, they’re really self-sufficient and got crops and stuff. I usually only take them things like scrap and weapons, but they also really like tech books. Maybe when we go I can convince them to take us for a ride in the B-29 they got. Barter with ‘em...books for a bomber ride. Maybe they can fly us to that Mile High Club you mentioned last night if it ain’t too far. I know I’d sure love to check it out if you remember how to get there.”

Bending to set the bag down on the floor of the elevator, Riley paused hearing what Travis said and bit his lower lip as he felt his cheeks warm with a blush. “Umm...well...that might not be the best thing to ask them, babe. You see, it’s kind of like a private club. I’ll explain it all to you on the way down to the casino,” Riley said with an alluring tone to his voice and gave a wink as the elevator doors slid shut.

To be continued...

#travis blackfox #riley white #courier six #sole survivor #fallout new vegas #fallout oc #writings

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