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raleighcarrera · 3 years

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best of me

ride or die | logan x mc (ellie wheeler)

a picture of logan and ellie in their thirties for @rodappreciationweek and the time capsule challenge 🌼

tags: @choicesarehard ; @lovehugsandcandy ; @pixeljazzy ; @troublemakerinspace ; @zigtheeortega ; @jaxmatsuo

~2.3k words | T

“mr. wheeler!”

logan looked around the parking lot, squinting into the sun. one of his students was running at him full speed, holding his cell phone aloft and waving it around excitedly. “what’s up, alex?”

alex drew to a stop in front of him breathlessly. “i got in,” he said, lips splitting into a big grin. “cal tech, i got in.”

“hey, that’s awesome!” logan said, reaching out to clap the student on the shoulder. “congrats, alex. that’s a huge accomplishment.”

“dude, thank you so much for your recommendation,” alex said, nodding enthusiastically. “you’re honestly the best teacher i’ve ever had.”

“give yourself some credit,” he smiled, “you worked hard, and cal tech is lucky to have you. just don’t forget to come back and visit, yeah?”

“for sure,” alex agreed. with one last grin, he was gone, and logan finished getting his things in the car so he could head home, the rest of the students and faculty in the parking lot of mar vista high well used to the roar his devore’s engine made by now, after three years of teaching.

ellie’s car was already in the driveway when he arrived back at the house, and logan frowned when he parked on the street and jogged up the walk to their front door. it was early for her to be home; usually his day ended well before hers. as he walked inside, he wondered absently if the fact that she’d had an early afternoon meant she’d started dinner, and if he was possibly lucky enough that she was making that noodle thing he liked so much.

“ellie?” his keys landed in the bowl by the door with a familiar clink, his shoes kicked off one by one on the mat. “babe?”

“in here!” the stressed-out voice of his wife filtered in from the spare room. as soon as logan took a step towards the hallway, there was a sudden and aggressive rapid tap-tap-tap on the hardwood floor, and their dog ran at him at full speed, jumping up onto his legs with an excited bark.

“hey, clark,” he said gently, bending down to scratch the dog behind his floppy ears, “everything okay in there?”

the pointed silence that followed seemed to speak for itself. he followed the hallway down to the spare bedroom and found ellie sitting on the floor, surrounded by ripped-open cardboard boxes and indistinguishable small plastic pieces.

before logan could ask what she was doing, she frowned up at him and said, “i’ve been trying to put this baby carrier together for three hours.”

he arched his eyebrows at her, looking over the small mess she’d created in the middle of the room. “you’ve been here for three hours?”

ellie pulled a face at him, her lips twisted into a grimace. “morning sickness that lasts all day again,” she explained, scrunching up her nose. “jack caught me coming out of the bathroom and sent me home after lunch.”

“oh, no,” logan said sympathetically, dropping down onto his knees on the one free space of carpet. “i was hoping that’d’ve gone away by now.”

“you and me both,” ellie sighed, puckering her lips at him for a quick kiss. “i guess it was too much to hope for a baby without a rebellious streak a mile wide.”

“i’m still holding out for your dimples,” he grinned, “and that laugh. as long as the baby gets both of those, they’ll be set for life.”

“the baby is five minutes away from sleeping on the floor. i’m about to trash all of this and go take a nap.” the downtrodden expression on ellie’s face tugged at his heart in a way her cute little sighs always seemed to manage to. logan was already smiling when she squinted up at him hopefully and asked, “will you help me try to put it together?”

as if there was ever a chance he’d say no. “’course,” logan answered, “two heads are better than one, right? although you are an engineer...”

“believe me, graco is going to be hearing from me,” ellie grumbled, rolling gingerly to the side to shuffle awkwardly out of the way of the pile of pieces she’d already started putting together. she was just a few months along but already starting to show and moving about differently for it, unaccustomed to her new shape. “there is no reason these instructions should be more complicated than my master’s thesis.”

logan laughed, leaning over to take a peek at the paper spread out between her legs. “hey, they’re not so bad.” he easily snapped two pieces into place, forming the base of the carrier. “there we go.”

“show off.” ellie rolled her eyes, pushing another piece his way with a disdainful sniff. “i’m still calling them to complain.”

“and you totally should,” he said easily, “because they suck and you’re brilliant.”

“exactly,” she agreed. without looking up he could tell that her eyes were narrowed, her lip curling further with every piece he added onto the carrier, the methodic click of each settling into place ringing out loudly in the silent room. finally, ellie groaned, “god, i hate you. i knew this would be so easy for you.”

“okay, but that’s what i’m here for,” he reminded her with another soft smile, reaching out with his free hand to squeeze her knee. ellie huffed when he continued to turn a plastic screw one-handed. “to handle all this shit for you so you can relax. i know you have the hardest job, here.”

“you are the most annoying person i’ve ever met.” ellie’s sigh sounded wistful. when logan lifted his gaze he found her staring at him adoringly, her eyes wet. “i love you.”

“i love you too, baby. any idea what you want for dinner?” he looked away to concentrate on lining two tiny pieces up, frowning when they wouldn’t stick quite right. “come here for a sec, yeah? need some tiny fingers.”

ellie shot him a look, but leaned over anyway, wiggling her hand in the tight space he indicated until the two pieces sealed together with a pop. “maybe i don’t need a refund on my degree after all.”

“they should’ve paid you to take it,” logan agreed indulgently, nudging his shoulder gently against hers. “dinner?” he prompted again.

his wife groaned theatrically, flopping back onto the carpet. her arms and legs spread out like she was making a snow angel, disturbing the bubble wrap and cardboard that littered the room. “i want sushi,” ellie said sadly, “and a wine spritzer.”

“what about apple cider?” he asked gently, eyes still on the baby carrier even as one hand felt blindly for her calf and dug its thumb into her muscle for a massage. “it’s almost the same thing.”

“it’s not even close,” she sighed. “but fine. thank you.”

“you got it. why don’t i finish up in here, and you see what we have in the kitchen? it’ll just be a few more minutes.”

“rub it in,” ellie muttered, rolling slowly to sit up. “okay. i feel like i should do something nice for you. maybe i can make that noodle thing you like.”

logan beamed at her, leaning in to steal a kiss. “that’s sweet of you, babe. thank you.”

ellie laughed, kissing him back before she asked, “why do i feel like this was all an elaborate set up to get me to make your favorite dinner?”

“because you’re a naturally suspicious person?” he guessed, lifting his hand to smooth her hair back off her face. “i don’t know.”

“i think it’s because you’re too charming for your own damn good.” but ellie was smiling when he pulled away, and that was all that mattered. it was the only goal he ever had.

“no such thing,” logan smiled back, gently nudging her away. “i’m right behind you.”

“yeah, yeah,” she said, waving dismissively, “show off.”

he watched her walk away, staring until she disappeared around the corner, and then turned back to the mass of plastic and screws that was slowly starting to resemble an actual baby carrier. squinting down at the instructions, it was only a matter of minutes before he had the rest of it assembled, and then a few more while he backtracked, checking over his work to find where he’d missed the one remaining piece that had been left over.

he took the time to clean up in what was eventually going to be their nursery, eyes sweeping over the boxes and gifts that cluttered their spare room. there was a ways to go before they were anything even close to ready for the baby, and he knew ellie’s due date would be here in the blink of an eye.

would he ever really feel ready? it seemed insane, when he sat and thought about it -- he and ellie were going to be parents. more than home or dog owners or two people with jobs and bills, it seemed like a responsibility he felt no where near prepared for or equipped to deal with. sometimes he still felt like a stupid kid himself.

though he had absolutely no doubts about ellie. ellie took to every kid she met like a natural -- his students adored her, riya’s twins thought she was the greatest thing in the world and were still only lukewarm where he was concerned. the kids in the program they volunteered with couldn’t get enough of her.

she kept their house running and all their plants alive. she kept him so happy he was delirious with it, in a way that had felt utterly foreign at first but now seemed so common.

enviously, he knew she’d be mother of the year without even having to try.

the rest of the room was tidied on autopilot as logan remained lost in his thoughts, and when he finally made his way into the kitchen it was, to his delight, to the tune of ellie in the middle of making his favorite dinner, the room smelling as amazing as the sight of her rushing around so domestically looked.

his heart gave a weak lurch as he stepped up behind her at the counter and wound his arms around her waist. his nose pressed into the dip at her shoulder with a sigh. “all done. next stop... crib.”

“don’t remind me,” ellie groaned, “my dad has been on my ass for weeks.”

logan winced. if there was one thing he knew about detective wheeler, it was that he was just as opinionated as his beautiful daughter. “maybe he could come with us to pick it out.”

“maybe he could mind his own business,” she suggested instead, stirring the boiling pot of pasta on the stove. “he acts like he knows everything there is to know about babies.”

“well,” logan said, nosing at the hair at the nape of her neck, “he did raise the most amazing person in the entire world. maybe we should give him some credit.”

“okay, kiss ass,” ellie laughed, “he can’t hear you. but fine. if you really want, we’ll all go next weekend.”

he shrugged. it was personally something he felt indifferent towards, but a few extra points with ellie’s dad never hurt. most of the time he was pretty certain detective wheeler still wanted him dead. “i think that’d be nice.”

“i bet you do,” she murmured, twisting around to hold the spoon she was holding out. “taste.”

he did, chewing and swallowing slowly. “it’s done,” logan said sadly, knowing the words meant he’d have to move away. ellie laughed as he pulled his arms back and went to set the table instead.

he headed to the fridge for the bottle of sparkling cider, making a show of popping the cork like champagne and pouring ellie a generous amount into the giant wine glass she hadn’t been able to use in awhile. she rolled her eyes at him as she put the serving bowl on the table. “it’s not the same.”

“it’s pretty close,” he argued, lifting his own glass up and swirling it like he’d seen many pretentious people at restaurants that made him uncomfortable do. “it’s a beautiful vintage,” he declared, as though he had any idea what that was supposed to mean, “with notes of... apples.”

gratifyingly, ellie dissolved into giggles, shaking her head. “i can’t stand you,” she said fondly, all smiles. he grinned back at her, lifting his glass to his lips.

“to the baby,” ellie said suddenly, lifting her glass, too, and bumping it into his.

“to you,” logan corrected her, clinking his glass into hers a second time.

ellie narrowed her eyes at him. “to you.” their glasses knocked again.

“nuh uh,” he countered childishly, “you’re the baby’s mom.”

“you’re the baby’s dad,” she laughed, bouncing up on her toes to try to get at his glass even as he lifted it above his head and twisted out of her way.

“this is ridiculous,” logan grinned, “just let me toast you, oh my god.”

“no, it was my toast,” she said, jumping up and splashing apple cider out of her glass and onto the floor, “stop trying to hijack it!”

“okay, okay.” he held his hand out to concede, backing away to drop into his seat at the table. ellie followed suit, smirking triumphantly at him. she still loved to win. “to all of us, jeez. me and you and the baby.”

“to all of us,” ellie repeated, and this time, their glasses touched gently, the sound barely audible over the giggles that were building up in her throat again.

he flashed her a goofy grin before he tipped his head back and drained all his cider in one go.

sure, it might’ve been nice to have had something stronger, but --

“mmm,” ellie sighed, smacking her lips as she set her glass down, “you were right. this is so much better.”

#rodaw #rod logan #logan rod #logan x mc #choices rod #ellie wheeler #logan x ellie #rodtimecapsule #myfic #long post #hope you guys like this one !! 💕

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write-orflight · 4 years

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Like Real People Do. Chapter 3

*Gif not mine*

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Rating: M, eventually will be smut.

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: Sexual themes, talk about sex (not NSFW though),

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

A.N Y’all are really benefiting from my insomnia rn. I do have a plan to go back to my regular posting schedule but for right now enjoy the things starting to happen. Much love, Cia

Chapter 3: The bugs and the dirt

You’ve been on the team for about 6 months now, and you were loving it. Sure it was long hours, constant danger, and mounds of paperwork but you couldn’t be happier. You felt like you were doing what you were meant to do. The team had fully accepted you in the family around month 2. You and Morgan had become close after your “personal day” in October. He expressed that he knew what it was like to lose a parent and though he’d never understand losing both so quickly he offered you condolences and free drinks with him and Prentiss that night. Since then, the 3 of you have become good friends.

There was always the occasional girls night with Emily, JJ, and Garcia, Dinner at Rossi’s and afternoon picnics with Hotch and Jack(which eventually just turned into you babysitting Jack while Aaron took a deserved nap). Your favorite however, was Saturday’s with Spencer.

The two of you had fallen asleep that Friday night him and Garcia came over to watch Doctor Who. You woke up laid on top of him, legs tangled while your head was resting on his chest tucked under his chin. His arms were wrapped around you, hand resting heavily on the small of your back. You try to get up without waking him but of course you do, he startles awake in turn startling you causing you to fall off the couch.

“Oh, Y/N,I’m so sorry--” He starts, immediately flushing. He stands to immediately help you up.

“No worries, Spen. Not made of glass.” You laugh.

He blushes more at the new nickname. “Spen?” he asks.

“Uh, yea.” You say. “Do you not like it?”

“No-no, I like it.” He says.

“Ok then.” You smile. “Do you have plans today?” He shakes his head. “Well, Saturday’s when I usually get coffee and work on homework at a cafe down the street, do you maybe wanna tag along?” you ask. He nods furiously.

And every Saturday you guys had free since Spencer would meet you in the small cafe near your apartment. He would order an Americano with an ungodly amount of sugar and you would get a cold brew, despite it being winter still and you would sit and talk while you did work. Often he would help you with your thesis, telling you things you should add or consider. Sometimes you would just sit and talk about books you’ve both read or often you would explain the plots to various reality shows you know Spencer would never watch but he would sit and listen intently just like he did with everything you said. He treated every word that came out of your mouth like it was the most important thing in the world, treated every minuscule fact he learned about you, like it was treasured information to solving the mystery in front of him. You had become his personal cryptid.

Of course the rest of the team had caught on to your Saturdays together, you worked with profilers and a very gossipy tech analyst. The amount of times you two had walked in together from being called in for a case last minute was enough to give you away. You thought back to a very uncomfortable conversation you had with Hotch one morning. You had come to drop off files JJ just pawned off to you to take upstairs. You held up your hand in a small wave walking into the office door. You put the files on his desk, starting to walk out when he stops you.

“Y/N, we need to talk for a second. Close the door.” Hotch says. You nodded closing the door. You immediately tried to rattle off everything you’d done wrong to Hotch that could possibly warrant a talk. I forgot his coffee order that one time it was my turn, I missed Jack’s birthday once, I took a nap in the file room. You thought, all weren’t good but none warranted a closed door talk.

“Yes, sir?” you ask, he gives you a weird look before it dissipates into his usual scowl, neither of you used to the professional formalities still.

“I’m sure you’re aware of the FBI’s fraternization policy.” He says.

“Yes, sir…?” You say, not knowing where he was going with this. You weren’t fraternizing with anyone and no one knew that more than you except maybe your right hand.

“Now there’s things I’d be willing to overlook as long as you don’t let it affect your work. But you would have to tell me and you would have to fill out an office relationship form--”

“Whoa-wait a second.” you say. “What’re we talking about?”

“If there’s something going on between you and Spencer you would have--”

“Hotch! There’s nothing going on between me an--What?” You say, you knew you had to be beet red right now. God this is humiliating. You thought.

“Really?” he said.

“Yes! There’s nothing going on.”

“But you guys have been together every week--”

God, how did he even know that. “He’s helping me with my thesis, Hotch!” you exclaim, if this conversation continued you were going to be the same shade of red as the shirt you were wearing. “Why do you even know about that?”

“Garcia.” he says, matter-of-factly.

Of course, Garcia.

“Well, there’s nothing going on so now you can save the fraternization speech for someone else.” You move to stand.

“You want there to be.” He points out. “Something going on, I mean.”

“Oh my god. Aaron, I have a deep amount of respect for you and I revere you very much as a role model.” you say. “That being said, I will not be discussing my nonexistent love life with my boss! Jesus!” You exclaim. You see the smile ghosting his lips. He always enjoyed embarrassing you. “Can I leave now?” you asked.

He nodded, waving his hand to dismiss you. You walk out of the office back to your desk, conveniently across from Spencer’s.

“What did Hotch need?” He asked you.

“Nothing!” You say instantly. Spencer just shrugged, returning to the file he had been reading.

---------------------------------------

Now you were here in the present, at a bar with the team celebrating the final results you had gotten back on your doctoral thesis. The Diploma hasn't come in the mail yet but it was official, you were officially Dr. Y/N Y/L/N.

“To Dr. Y/N.” Garcia said, raising the shots Prentiss had just handed to you, Morgan and JJ. Rossi and Hotch raised their beers and Spencer clinked his water he’d been nursing to your shot glass. You smiled at her, before taking the shot quickly grimacing at the harshness of the alcohol.

“Thanks, you guys.” You say, smiling widely. Your plan before to celebrate your doctorate had been to draw a bubble bath and try not to think of the student loans you’d accumulated. But of course Garcia being the genius and snoop that she was found out your results and insisted on a night out.

“Y/N.” Emily said, getting your attention. “I think you should get the next round of drinks because that guy at the bar has been staring at you all night.” She said, leaning close to you to point at him. You look up to see a fairly built, tan man, with brown eyes and a well-maintenanced beard. Due to the amount of drinks you had and your inhibitions lowered, you smile at him automatically. He smiles back, lifting his drink to his mouth still looking at you. You look back down.

“I don’t know, Emily.” You say, looking down at your mixed drink.

“Come on, Y/N. We both know it’s been a while and you said you weren’t going to focus on that until you finished your doctorate.” Emily smirks, nudging you. “Now you’re finished so, come on, write him a prescription, Doc.” She laughs, inducing a few giggles from the rest of the group. Except for Rossi and Hotch who weren’t paying attention and Spencer, who seemed bothered but you didn’t know by what.

“Hold on, mama, I have to know what a while means.” Derek says, laughing.

“It means a while~” Emily says, exaggerating the last word so that it was extra long.

“Yea, a long~ while.” Garcia says, joining in, giggling all the while.

“Ok, didn’t know you guys were moonlighting as comedians.” You say sarcastically, rolling your eyes. You turn towards Derek, the alcohol clearly lowered your inhibitions enough to answer his question. “I mean, I went through the phase everyone went through in the first couple years of college. Partying, drinking, and unfortunately ending up in a frat guys bed, but after a while I realized that I had different goals then most of my peers so I put all my focus on getting my degrees. I’d say that was when I was what? 19?” You said, recalling.

Morgan almost did a spit take, “6 years?”

“Don’t make it sound so incredulous!” You say, drinking your mixed drink. “I was busy!”

“Sounds like you and Pretty boy can start your own celibacy club!” Morgan says, patting Spencer back, laughing.

“I’m not celibate, Morgan.” Reid says, rolling his eyes.

“Pfft,” you blow a raspberry, incredulously. “When’s the last time you’ve gotten any?” Whoa, you had to have been drunk because you never would’ve asked anything like that sober.

“It certainly hasn’t been 6 years.” He says back to you, smirking over his glass of water.

“Whatever.” You roll your eyes. “Seriously, When?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You would.

You would very much like to know.

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter because I’ll still be the last one after I go get that guy’s number.” You say, downing your drink for liquid courage before standing to go to the bar, towards the guy who had been looking at you before. Sure, your game was a little rusty but you were a profiler and now a doctor of psychology, men were...simple.

Reid watched you go, your hips swaying way more as they usually do as you sauntered towards the man her and Prentiss had been talking about before. He saw you smiling at the guy who had just purchased you another drink. You trailed a hand down the man’s chest, as he moved closer into your space. Spencer looked away, he was going to be sick if he kept watching that.

“Hey, Emily, do you see that?” Garcia said.

“No, Penelope what is it?” She said indulging her.

“It’s our friend, slowly turning into the green eyed monster.” Garcia said looking back to Reid, the table erupting in laughter.

Reid leaned back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, you don’t.” Emily says, rolling her eyes. “Look Spence, If you like her you should say something and if you don’t, you can’t get upset about her looking for something else out there.” Spencer didn’t say anything to that, opting to turn his attention back to you. He watched you laugh at something the guy had said and a smile crossed his face. That wasn’t your laugh, he knew your laugh. Your real laugh, and thanks to his eidetic memory he could (and did) replay it whenever he wanted. He knew your laugh and that wasn’t it.

He watched as you sauntered back up to the group. He already had trouble focusing on anything that wasn’t your body most of the time and the dress you wore tonight didn’t make it any better. A simple, deep blue dress that held your curves perfectly with a large slit up the leg that was probably to make it easier to walk in though right now all it was doing was distracting Spencer. You slid into the both back next to Prentiss.

“So…” Emily said, smiling. “How’d it go?”

“Oh, I got his number.” You say, nonchalantly. You knew you would, it’s not like regular men were a challenge to you. Every man wanted 2 things; to think they’re funny and to think they’re smart.

“Nice!” She says, holding her hand out you instantly slap it with your own. “Are you going to call him?”

“Probably not.” You shrug. “We’ll see if I get bored this week.”

That causes all the girls in the group to giggle. The night continued, more drinks being put in your system by your friends who want you to truly celebrate. Eventually Rossi and Hotch leave, both hugging you tightly, Hotch whispering a quick “I’m proud of you” in your ear. You smile brightly back at him.

Towards closing time you all leave, you’re a little more sober than before but you’re definitely still tipsy. You all say your goodbyes, promises to see each other at work then Spencer stretches an arm around your waist, ushering you to his car as he agreed to be your DD before.

He slides you into the seat before climbing in on the drivers side.

“Thanks Spen, I know you hate driving.” You say, patting Spencer on the leg.

“No problem, Y/N” He smiles back at you, before turning his attention back to the road. You notice your hands still on his leg. He hasn’t tried to move it or move away from it so the alcohol in your system decides to take a risk and inch your hand up his thigh. One of his hands leaves the steering wheel immediately grasping your hand.

“Stop.” He says, not sounding entirely convinced that’s what he wants himself. So you ask.

“Do you want me to stop?” You say, innocently.

“Obviously, I don’t want you to stop but you’re not sober so you have to.” He says, moving your hand back to your own lap. You decide it’s probably best to concede and lean your head against the cool glass of the window as street lamps roll by.

Eventually, you make it back to your house. You sigh before turning to Spencer.

“Thanks again, Spen.” You say, moving to grab your bag and the door handle. “I’ll see you at work.” Before you can move fully, Long fingers are circling your wrist.

“You shouldn’t call him.” He says.

“What?” You say, dazed by the close contact between you two.

“The guy from the bar. You shouldn’t call him.” He says.

“Why not?” You ask. You know the answer, or you think you know the answer but you have to hear him say it. You need to hear him say it.

“Because I-” He cuts himself off. “I don’t know.” he says, looking down very dejected.

“Well…” You say. You lean close to him. You guys are close, so close if you wanted you could kiss him and you know he would let you by the way his eyes flutter, pupils dilating instantly when you do. “Will you tell me when you figure it out?” You ask.

He nods, letting go of the wrist you forgot he was holding.

“Well then.” You say, getting out of the car and leaning through the open window. “Goodnight, Dr. Reid.” You smile.

“Goodnight, Dr. Y/L/N.” He smiles back, before driving into the night.

Taglist: @haylaansmi @yoruebeautiful @kianagilder-blog @l0ve-0f-my-life @bihoeofmanyfandoms @dreamer7black @baby-banana @drreidshands

#spencer reid x reader smut #spencer x reader smut #bau x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid x you #spencer x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader

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fedeipox · 3 years

Text

The Way of Time (Rdr2 fanfic) - Chapter 3 (1/2)

I don’t think you actually care about it, but I’ve chosen to write my Bachelor’s Degree Thesis about “Anglo-American Travel and Travel Writing in Italy”. Anglo-American folks, do you see? This is how much I love you guys!

Previously on TWoT: The thaw finally gives the VdL gang the possibility to move from Colter. Emily jumps on a wagon and enjoys the ride southward. In the meantime she gets the chance to know some of the members better. She finds more about their past, about their personalities, she is more and more interested in Arthur, the grumpy cowboy with the fairytale name, and she starts to appreciate them despite the fact that they are criminals. Now it is time to understand how things in their camp work.

Chapter 3 (1/2) - On the road

Words: 3k

On the road to Valentine, Emily found more than her love for the country, she found out she had new friends, some new kind of family, an uncommon family, a crazy family, a family of outlaws. She didn’t see it in these terms, of course, but we all know how it works with the Van der Linde gang: once you start getting attached, you’ll never let them go.

Anyway, at that moment, she couldn’t believe her own feelings. She had alway despised criminals: she believed laws were made for a reason, which is being followed, she hated thieves because she thought they took away the product of honest people’s work, not to mention murderers, who were nothing more than the worst kind of thieves, because they stole our most precious thing, our life.

So, how could she feel that way? She felt pity for them, for their stories, she felt emotionally attached to Hosea, who talked to her like a father, even better than her real father actually, she had to admit shamefully, because she had never had that kind of talk with him and he had never made her feel that way. In her house, her mother was the backbone of the family.

And then there was that Mr. Arthur, with his sarcasm and “tough and rough”way to do things, and handsome, again she had to admit that too. And Mary-Beth, she looked like the perfect friend, when she would open up a little - she probably was a little shy. And little Jack, she liked that kid too.

So, on the road to Valentine, Emily found more than her love for the country, she found out that people are people, no matter what they’ve done in their life, and that good and evil sometimes overlap.

“What’s this place called again?” asked Arthur.

“Horseshoe Overlook” answered Hosea.

“It’s a good place to lie low?”

“It’ll do for now. And how long do you think Dutch is going to lie low?”

“W-wait, I though you said we were going to Valentine” Emily stepped in.

“It’s a place near Valentine, yes” replied Hosea.

“But… we won’t stay in the city?”

“How do you think we can make twenty people stay in the city?” asked Mr. Morgan.

“And we have to hide, the law is still looking for us, we can’t risk to catch too much attention” added Hosea.

“I don’t understand, why are they looking for you?” she asked.

“On the left here, Arthur. Up the hill” Hosea said pointing at the left path at the crossroad. Then, he sighed and made a little pause before he explained her their situation.

We all know about the ferry job in Blackwater, how it all went to hell and how Dutch killed an innocent girl “in a bad way”, how Javier tells it. And we know how they had to flee from Blackwater because of the Pinkertons, and how some of them didn’t make it.

Emily remained silent after Hosea told her all this. She was thinking not about the fact that they had stolen a lot of money from that ferry, but about the amount of people who died for that theft. That girl on the ferry, that Davey and that Jenny in the mountains, not to mention all the people they had to shoot to get out of Blackwater. And from the way Hosea was talking about it, she could tell he wasn’t proud of how things had gone.

“Why you do that? Why are you criminals? Can’t you just… change your life?” she asked.

“That’s what we’re trying to do. Make enough money so we can buy some land out in the West and start a new life” answered Hosea.

“But why you have to steal it, can’t you take a loan from the bank or something like that?”

Hosea and Arthur chuckled.

“You’ll soon learn Dutch isn’t fond of the American government, and the bankers, and the industrialists, and everybody else who has just a little power on this land.”

Emily couldn’t understand what Hosea was telling her, she couldn’t understand what Dutch really wanted. He wanted a new life? He wanted to be a criminal? He wanted to fight the government? He reminded her of Robin Hood, but instead of taking from the rich to give to the poor, he took from everybody to give to his family.

After the climb up the hill, they found themselves in a plain ground where the path was surrounded by trees, and the more they followed it the thicker the trees became, until Arthur pulled the reins and made the wagon stop.

“There you are brother.”

Emily raised her head and looked at the man who had spoken, the one with the parted mustache and bowler hat, laying his back on a big rock at the edge of the road.

“Head in there and follow the track for a bit” he said pointing to a little side path among the trees.

Then, he reached the back of the wagon and hopped in.

“Okay, let’s go” he said with a gesture of his hand.

Emily looked at him and smiled. From close up, she could perfectly tell he came from some place in the South, like Colombia, or Mexico, or maybe Brazil. He also had a strange accent when he spoke, so she was pretty sure he wasn’t from there.

“Where do you come from, Mr…?”

“Javier, Escuella. Mexico.”

“Oh, I would’ve said something like Cuba. Do you like in here?”

“Yeah, I do. It’s a good country.”

“Are you gonna ask everybody about their lives?” said Mr. Morgan with annoyance.

Again, Emily couldn’t understand why he had to be so grumpy. She was just trying to have a conversation, know better the people she was gonna spent some time with.

“Why do you care, Mr. Morgan?” she laughed.

“I’m just afraid you’ll start make me insistent and annoying questions” he replied.

“Don’t worry, from now on I’ll avoid you like the plague” she joked.

Both him and Hosea chuckled.

“So, any trouble getting in here, Javier?” asked the latter.

“No, it went well. This is a good spot” he replied.

“Excellent. I think this will work for us, for now anyway.”

“Were are we going to sleep?” asked Emily as the thought of another night on the ground was starting to worry her.

“We got tents. It’s not like sleeping in the best hotel in town, I know, but it’s not the worst, either. You’ll get used to it” answered Hosea.

“Tents like… like camping?”

In that moment she understood what Dutch meant by “camp” when they had rescued her the day before. And yes, her fear had just been confirmed: she had to sleep on the ground, again.

“See for yourself. Here we are, home sweet home” Hosea said and at the same time the path into the woods ended and a clearing opened at their sight.

Mr. Arthur made the wagon stop again and Emily took a deep breath before standing up.

Javier was waiting for her, with his hand ready to be taken to help her getting down. It was the most courteous thing anybody had ever done for her and she looked at him with surprise for a moment before taking it.

“You weren’t wrong, Hosea. This place is perfect!” she heard the loud and thundering voice of Dutch saying.

“I hope so” replied Hosea.

“Hey, were have you been?”

She had just jumped down the wagon and she turned around to meet Mary-Beth’s eyes: she had removed the heavy coat and headscarf and she was wearing a pink shirt on a mauve long skirt.

Actually, the weather there was way better, the temperature warmer, and Emily didn’t felt anymore in need to wear that bottle-green woolen coat.

“I stayed behind with Hosea. You’ve already settled the camp” she stated looking at the tents around her.

“There’s still a lot to do. Come, I’ll show you around” said Mary-Beth taking one of the crates from the wagon and leading the way.

...

They walked through the tents, passing right in front of Abigail, who was bringing another carpet inside of hers.

“Hi Abigail!” Emily exclaimed.

Abigail answered with a smile before entering her tent, where she opened and left the carpet among the others on the ground next to John, sleeping on the cot thanks to the reverend’s morphine.

“We’ll sleep here” said Mary-Beth showing her their place, with the four bedrolls on the two big carpets.

“What, here?” she heard Emily ask as she left the crate under the tent.

“Yes.”

“We don’t have a tent?”

Mary-Beth looked at her and then pointed at the large piece of cloth above their heads.

“This is our tent.”

“I mean a real tent. Like that one” Emily said pointing at John’s tent.

“Only Dutch and John have those.”

“Why?”

“Because they are… they are…”

Emily and Mary-Beth looked at each other in the eye, exchanging a meaningful look. They both knew it wasn’t exactly right to leave the women sleep on the ground and out in the open air while they had all the privacy and comfortable cots they wished, but there were rules.

“So there is some kind of hierarchy here, like… they are on the top and all of us down here?”

“No, Dutch is the leader, and then Hosea, Arthur and John, then the men, then Miss Grimshaw and then us.”

“So it’s a patriarchal totalitarianism?”

Mary-Beth frowned, not understanding what she wanted to say with those big words.

“Never mind. There is a place I can wash?” Emily asked taking off the coat she had given her.

“If you want to have a bath, we have to go to town, or if you aren’t squeamish you can wash in the stream, but you won’t have much privacy there.”

Emily opened her mouth in astonishment and Mary-Beth was pretty sure she was about to say something outraged, but right at that moment Dutch called them all.

“Come it’s time for the speech” she said to the new girl.

“The speech?”

“I know that things have been tough, but we are safe now and we are far too poor” was saying Dutch as they both reached his tent quickly, where the rest of the group had gathered.

The speech was the same as always: we all need to work, no more passengers, bring some food, share what you got with the gang, be careful, don’t catch too much attention.

They had almost finished with the usual bunch of encouraging words when Mary-Beth felt the sleeve of her shirt pulled and turning her head she saw Emily looking at her with an expression she couldn’t make out.

As the speech ended and the people scattered, going back to their works, trying to make that place livable, she turned to face the new girl.

“What?” she asked.

“I have to pee.”

...

She hadn’t drunk a single drop of water, and the extreme cold of the mountain had forced her body to keep all on the inside, but when she removed that coat it was like every single muscle relaxed and it came altogether. She needed a bathroom.

That speech was nothing more that a series of rules they apparently had to follow: go around, make some money - even though she had no idea how to do that - put some in the box, bring some food…

What the heck did “bring some food” mean? Couldn’t they go to the market and just buy things like all normal people do? It was 1899, so she supposed markets and stores already existed.

She couldn’t restrain herself anymore, so as soon as they finished with that dictatorial shit, Emily pulled Mary-Beth’s sleeve.

“What?”

“I have to pee.”

“Well then, go in the woods.”

Emily widened her eyes and for a moment she was about to laugh, but then she understood Mary-Beth wasn’t joking.

“But…what about a toilet? Don’t you…” but she stopped halfway of her sentence.

How were toilets in 1899? Did they have them?

“If you have to go, go in the woods” repeated Mary-Beth.

“What about toilet paper?”

Mary-Beth raised her eyebrows and nodded.

“Yes, come” she said and leaded her back to her tent, their tent, how she had to call it from now on.

She went to the back of the wagon right behind the place they were going to sleep and opened a box from which she took a roll of paper very similar to the one they used in 2020, just a little different in color and consistency.

“Here, don’t use too much, this thing is expensive” said Mary-Beth as Emily took a couple of sheets.

“Are you sure you have no toilets?” she asked still full of hope.

“I have no idea what that means.”

Emily looked at her freckled face trying to find another word to make her understand, when it suddenly came to her mind.

“Restrooms” she exclaimed with a snap of her fingers.

“Restrooms?” asked a voice from behind her.

She turned around and met Karen’s bewildered expression.

“Where men go to make their things?”

“And women don’t?” asked Emily.

“I’m afraid not. Only men can use them” Mary-Beth informed her.

“And we don’t have one, you can find it…”

“In town. Yes, I got it” Emily said with a puff.

There was one reason why she never went camping with her friends: lack of bathrooms.

Sleeping on the ground for a couple of days, she could endure that. Cooking things on a campfire, that could be fun. Bugs and wild animals, unless it was something extremely disgusting like cockroaches, it was fine. But bathrooms… No place to wash properly, no private space to do her things, she couldn’t stand that, and yet there she was.

“I can’t believe I just did that” she murmured to herself walking out of the woods.

As the shadow casted by the trees ended and she stepped in the sunlight, Emily looked at the camp in front of her standing against the endless background of the Heartlands. She had heard of that place, one of the most beautiful of all the States, but she didn’t expect it to be like that, and the tents they had settled fitted perfectly with the general view. The rurality and simplicity of that sight made her feel like she was in some kind of movie, and made her curious to see how those people lived their everyday life.

She started wandering around: she exchanged a smile with Javier Escuella, asked to Mary-Beth what she was reading, peeked inside Dutch’s tent, the most articulate and comfortable of all the tents, which sight made her a little angry, then she stopped for a while to watch Charles Smith chopping the wood for the campfire, and in the end she approached a table, where Uncle and the big man with the long brown beard were seated.

“Hello” she said sitting next to them on one of the upside-down barrels, and noticing they both had a bottle of what seemed to be beer in their hands, she thought it was a little too early for drinking.

“Hello, dear. Oh! I got something for you” chuckled Uncle standing up and leaving.

“W-what…” she stuttered moving her eyes from Uncle’s back stumbling away to the other man, who shrugged.

“Isn’t it a little too early for that?” she asked pointing at his bottle.

“Mind your business!”

He had a growling angry voice that made her jump on her seat when he snapped in that way.

“Hey, I was just saying. Sorry if I offended you.”

“Your the one who says you come from the future, right?”

Emily sighed and looked away.

“Yes” she murmured.

“So you know how things will go? Like, what will become of the West?”

Emily fixed her eyes on the man’s face, asking herself what were his intentions, if he was just playing with her, or if the beer he was drinking had already gone way up to his head.

“I mean” he whispered leaning forward on the table and as a reflex Emily did the same so that now their faces were really close and she could smell the alcohol in his breath.

“Will it stay untamed?”

Emily considered what she had to reply to him: the truth, the hard truth, or a lie?

“We’ll we have the chance to live free?”

He looked like he was truly believing in the fact that she came from the future.

“For the first question: no, the West will be tamed in the end. For the second, I don’t know what to tell you, I’m not a fortune teller.”

The man withdrew from her, looking at her with wary eyes and the same did she, still not sure if he was drunk or anything else.

“Here, my dear.”

Emily turned to Uncle as he sat down again.

“You forgot these on the wagon this morning” he said giving her the oatcakes tin box. “What was Mr. Williamson here telling you?”

“I’m not sure” she replied narrowing her eyes to look at the big man, while he took a sip from his bottle.

“Anyway, thank you for these, Uncle” she said standing up.

“No big deal, no big deal at all.”

Emily headed to what she supposed to be the camp kitchen since Mr. Pearson the cook was there with a big pot on a table putting things inside it. She smiled as he noticed her, but she didn’t stop to talk and opened the tin box to take an oatcake from it.

Chewing happily for the recover of her source of nourishment she kept walking around the kitchen until she found something that took her smile away. There was a man, someone who she had never seen before, tied to a tree like he was some kind of prisoner. She walked closer, pushed both by the curiosity and the pity for that figure.

“Please, please, water” he whispered without looking at her and she immediately turned around looking left and right and asking herself where could she find water.

Then, she stopped, thinking about the reason why that man was tied, why he was a prisoner. Maybe he was a bad man, a dangerous man, and the fact that she was in a camp of criminals could only make her wonder how dangerous he had to be, if they were so scared by him that they had to tie him up. Emily decided that she didn’t want to find out and taking another bite from her oatcake she walked away as fast as she could.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption fanfiction #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female oc #hosea matthews #Charles Smith #javier escuella #dutch van der linde #mary-beth gaskill #abigail roberts #karen jones #bill williamson

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zombizombi · 5 years

Text

hummingbird heartbeat pt44

Nothing really changed, with Jeff and Kent. At least, it didn’t seem like it. Had Bitty expected things to change? Sort of. How was a more nebulous concept, it was just -- Kent and Jeff were boyfriends, now.

He thought.

He was like, 99% sure, anyway. Kent hadn’t given him many more details, even though an entire month had passed, and Jeff -- well, Jeff wasn’t interested in talking to Bitty about Kent. Bitty knew, at least, that they hadn’t been… intimate, knew that Kent hadn’t slept with Jeff yet. To hear Kent tell it, they barely touched each other. On Skype calls where Bitty saw them together, Jeff and Kent seemed the same as ever. They weren’t even sitting closer on the sofa or anything.

It was weird.

And honestly, Bitty didn’t even know why he cared so much, it was not his business. Moo Maw always said people ought to mind their own business. Except, well… Kent was Bitty’s business, so by extension, his relationship with Jeff was, too. Kind of. Right? Which meant minding it was a little more acceptable. Reasonable, even.

“I guess I thought something would happen?” Bitty said to Jack, curled up in bed one night. Their nights together were becoming more rare, would be rarer still. Jack’s season was upon them.

“Something happened. You said they talked.” Jack turned on his side a little more, tucked closer to Bitty. He ran hot fingers down Bitty’s side, tucking them up under the hem of his shirt. “Maybe they’re just still figuring things out.”

“I don’t even know if they’re dating,” said Bitty. He shivered.

“You know you have to be patient with Kent.” Jack pressed a kiss to Bitty’s neck. “Why is this bothering you so much?”

“I don’t know, I --” Bitty sucked in a quick breath as Jack’s teeth closed on his earlobe. Jack was right, he should worry about something else. It was just so hard to stop thinking. He’d never been good at that, not really, because Bitty’s mind was always sort of going, worrying about something. It was -- “Honey,” he said, as a little shiver ran down his spine.

“Maybe you need a distraction.” Pushing Bitty’s shirt up further, Jack pressed his hand flat against the small of Bitty’s back and brought his lips down to Bitty’s collarbone.

Bitty’s breath caught. “Oh?” This was probably going… good places.

“Mhm.” Jack’s breath was hot against the hollow of Bitty’s throat.

Jack was a very good distraction.

Bitty spent the rest of his time in Providence trying not to worry too much about Kent and Jeff. He had enough on his plate, anyway. It helped to pick Jack’s brain about captaining a hockey team -- the NHL season would be starting soon enough that if he wanted to really get Jack’s full laser focus, Bitty had to do it then. And he really, really wanted Jack’s full attention. Jack and Kent were different in a lot of ways, including the way they played hockey, and the advantages that could come from being able to talk to not just one, but two NHL players in leadership roles weren’t something Bitty could pass up. Advice from different perspectives and leadership styles would come in handy, was worth spending some precious boyfriend time on.

And it was apparent, several games in, that Bitty’s extra attention and work was paying off. Samwell’s season was going well -- really well, actually. A brand new first line meant big changes in play, new hurdles to overcome. The new guys were fast, good skaters, but sometimes lines took chemistry, and sometimes chemistry took a few months to build. They didn’t really have months, though, and if running drills on passing was what Samwell needed to make it to the Frozen Four, well.

Bitty spent extra time going over tape with the coaches. He worked with the boys on passing and drills, organized a couple of game nights for team bonding, tried to ensure that he was available to any of the guys if they needed him. It was great. The guys were really getting it together, and Whiskey was honestly amazing. He was really focused, really talented, and really… intense. He was the best player they’d had since Jack, and so far, they’d even managed to avoid any real injuries. Bitty allowed himself to hope for the Frozen Four.

Stirring the custard ingredients together, Bitty balanced his phone on his shoulder with his chin. “I think it might not be completely out of reach?”

Kent laughed. “Why did you say that like a question?”

“I don’t want to jinx it,” Bitty said. “You know, it’s like -- if you say too much about it, it’ll definitely end up not happening?”

“You guys are having a good season so far, though.”

Even though Kent couldn’t see him, Bitty nodded. “We are!”

“And you’re, like, working on your thesis, right?”

Bitty sighed. “Baby, that’s not until Spring. School’s barely started!” And his thesis was kind of not his highest priority at the moment. Or like, ever, but definitely not now.

“Well yeah,” Kent said, “but you’ve, like, thought about it. Right?”

Right. How did he end up dating two insane overachievers, again? Bitty poured the vanilla buttermilk custard filling into the blind-baked pie crust. “I’ll get it done! Worry about your own dang GPA!”

“Mine’s really good,” Kent said, smug and satisfied in a way that was both irritating and adorable at the same time.

“Yes, your brain is very sexy, dear,” said Bitty. “Isn’t it your bedtime?”

Kent gasped. “Not for another, like, two hours!”

Bitty opened the oven. “You are absolutely ridiculous, and I --”

“Oh my god, Eric, don’t you want to talk to me?” Kent’s voice sounded farther away, and the sound of running water filtered through the line. “What kind of pie are you making?”

“Mr. Parson,” Bitty said. “Am I on speaker phone?”

“Yes,” said Kent, after a small silence. Bitty heard the sound of a door shutting in the background.

“It’s chess pie,” Bitty said. “Who’s there?”

“What the fuck is a chess pie?” Jeff asked, and Bitty sighed. Why didn’t anyone know this?

“Y’all really need to come visit.”

“It’s good,” Kent supplied.

“All right, super chief. We play Boston on our first roadie, I think.” Jeff’s voice was closer. “Make one then.”

“We do,” Kent said. The water in the background shut off and, after a minute, Kent picked the phone back up. “I was gonna get you seats, if you wanted. And maybe you could, um.”

“Stay?” Bitty finished for him, smiling a little.

“Yeah,” Kent said. “And you can tell me all about your boys in person, so I can see how cute you look when you’re all focused.”

“Gross,” said Jeff, and Bitty laughed.

Those fuzzy, warm feelings of confidence about their season couldn’t last. Bitty should’ve known that, but everything was just going so well. The new lines were starting to gel, plays were making sense -- they could do it. They could totally do it.

At least, that’s what Bitty thought until Derek Nurse gave himself the most idiotic hockey injury ever. The game was beautiful otherwise, honestly. Everyone was playing gorgeous hockey, and Bitty was really, really proud of their progress.

In the third, Nursey slapped the puck on a rebound, sending it careening into the net over the unprepared goalie’s shoulder. It was a filthy goal. Grinning, he returned to the bench, bumping gloves with the guys as he came within reach.

“Nice goal!”

“Top shelf, Nurse!”

“Fuckin’ s’wawes--”

“Hey, thanks for the assist, Poindexter!” Nursey grinned over his shoulder.

Dex rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck crashing across the boards like that, Nursey.”

“Jeez, Dex,” Nursey said, “I’ll interpret that as ‘you’re welcome, keep it u--’” the door clicked open just as Nurse was about to swing over, and somehow, despite literal years of playing hockey, he fell. As luck would have it, he broke a bone with that foolishness, which would not only screw up everything about their game but also serve as the catalyst for the Haus becoming ground zero in a not so cold war.

Honestly, this was the universe’s way of paying Bitty back for thinking that they were doing well that season when it came to injuries. He should’ve knocked on wood.

Dex and Nursey were absolutely ridiculous -- everything one of them did irritated the other, and they weren’t, apparently, able to be reasonable in any way whatsoever. Bitty probably should’ve anticipated it, as they’d always nitpicked each other, but after the injury their feuding was on a completely different level. Slytherin and Gryffindor level, even. Everyone had assumed there’d be some nonsense with them moving in to the Haus, of course they had, it was just -- it was so, so much worse than anyone imagined. Complaining about a lack of privacy, Dex attempted to turn his bunk bed into a private oasis. When that didn’t work, he vanished into the basement, accompanied by some power tools. Bitty wasn’t sure what was going on down there. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, truth be told.

When Shitty invited Bitty and Jack to come up to Cambridge to see their new place, Bitty leapt at the chance to escape the Haus for a visit with old friends. It would be great to get away from the world’s most annoying d-pair, and it’d be good for Jack to take a quick trip before his season really got going. It was their last chance.

“Welcome,” said Lardo. “To Haus 2.0.”

“This is interesting,” Bitty said, looking around the house. It definitely had the same feel the Haus used to have. Messy, lived in, vaguely gross. Rent had to be insane.

“Right on,” Jack said, accepting a beer from Shitty as he looked around. “Samwell after Samwell. I’m jealous.”

“Ahem! Allow me to give you a tour of our buckwild best friend abode,” said Shitty. He waved an arm. “It’s several degrees of dece!”

“And pancakes every Saturday,” Ransom added.

“You guys have another roommate?” Jack asked, talking around a mouthful of pie.

“Yeah,” Holster said. “She hates us.”

“Like legitimately wants us to die,” Ransom added.

“Hey, not our fault!” Shitty shoved his shades up on the bridge of his nose. “The Craigslist ad said, and I quote: must be motherfucking down to motherfucking clown.”

“That’s kind of a big ask,” said Jack.

“Oh yeah, how’s my old room at the Haus, Bits?” Lardo asked.

Bitty sighed. “Well, Dex now lives in the basement. So.”

Lardo raised a single brow.

“It’s a long story,” Bitty said.

“To rooming situations from haus to shining haus!” Shitty raised his beer, and everyone else followed suit.

“Hear, hear!”

Hanging out in Cambridge felt like old times, complete with Lardo slaughtering them all in Mario Kart. She was gracious enough to let Bitty be Peach, but the niceties ended there. They were taking a break from the game, Shitty and Rans and Holster and Jack all occupied with a board game, when Lardo leaned over a bit, bumping shoulders with Bitty.

“How’s Kent?” Lardo asked. “Are you guys still…?”

“Yes, we are.” Bitty drained the last of his beer. “He’s doing really well. Season starts soon, so he’s just been busy.”

Lardo nodded. “How many years is it, now?”

“Oh my Lord,” said Bitty. “It’s -- I don’t know. Three? Isn’t that crazy?”

“Yes,” Lardo said, passing him another beer. “Being in an LDR that long is pretty intense, bro.”

“It’s almost over,” Bitty said.

Lardo glanced at Jack, laughing about something with Shitty. “Is it?”

Ah. “Well -- no. I guess it isn’t.” Bitty rubbed the back of his neck. “But I’m going to Vegas after I graduate so it’ll just be… different.”

Lardo nodded. “Been planning that a while,” she said.

Bitty chewed his lower lip. He had been. He’d been thinking about it for a long time, actually, worried about logistics and appearances. Kent’s coming out had helped a little, but there was still no telling how the Bittles would handle their baby boy moving to Vegas to live with his boyfriend.

His boyfriend and his boyfriend, really.

Bitty spent his last night with Jack in Jack’s apartment, both of them snuggled up on the sofa with television and Jack’s favorite pie. Bitty ran fingers through Jack’s hair, smiled a little. “I’ll miss you, honey,” he said.

“I’ll miss you, too,” said Jack, curving gentle fingers around the back of Bitty’s neck.

“Yeah?” Pressing a hand to Jack’s chest, Bitty pushed up off the sofa a little. “Wanna give me something to remember you by?”

Jack laughed.

Kent put a new video up, and Bitty waited to watch it until he was home in his room, able to give it his full attention. Kent was in Jeff’s living room, sitting on the sofa wearing a faded Boston University hoodie that Bitty didn’t remember seeing before. Kent still didn’t put his face into the view of the camera, even though with Bitty out, it was truly only a matter of time before someone found the channel for real. There were a smattering of jumbled comments, a few coherently asking “IS THIS KENT PARSON?!?!?!!?!?!”, but nothing concrete. Yet.

In the video, golden sunlight streamed through the window behind Kent and Kevin curled up next to his side, her head resting on a little toy teddy bear. He scrubbed behind her ears with one hand before he began to play. The melody was sweet and familiar.

It was Rainbow Connection, the song from the Muppets.

Behind him, Jeff walked by, pausing for a moment. He laid a hand on Kent’s shoulder, for a moment, bent down, the ends of his dark hair falling into view, but the rest of him wasn’t visible on camera. His voice could be heard, just barely, murmuring something quiet — but Bitty couldn’t understand what he said. After pressing a kiss to the top of Kent’s head, Jeff wandered out of view of the camera. Kent played and sang without interruption, though Kevin had shifted, wagging her tail and staring up. Halfway through the song she laid her head back down, using the teddy bear as a pillow.

It was a serene little video, everything about it warm and soft. Domestic. Bitty’s stomach hurt a bit looking at it, and he took a deep breath. It was okay to be a little jealous, right? Surely Kent was a little jealous sometimes. Bitty was just used to having Kent all to himself, but it wasn’t bad for Kent to be with Jeff, too. He’d kind of been with Jeff the whole time they’d been together anyway, hadn’t he? And they’d had such a great summer.

It made him feel a tiny bit better to see a couple of comments asking where Sweetie’s boyfriend was, several of them decrying the lack of “cute baker” in the video.

When Bitty called on Skype that night, Kent answered from his own bedroom.

“Oh,” Bitty said. “You’re not at Jeff’s?”

Kent blinked. “No? Why would I be?”

“Well, I saw your video today and just thought --” Bitty squeezed Señor Bun. “It was really good, sweetie.”

Kent shrugged one shoulder. “You know I like to sleep in our bed.” Kit crawled into his lap and he buried one hand in soft fur. The purring was loud enough that Bitty could hear it through the computer. “Jeff’s downstairs, though.”

Of course he was. Jeff practically lived at Kent’s house. Bitty nodded.

Kent frowned. “Babe,” he said, after a moment. “Are you okay?”

“I just miss you,” Bitty said.

Kent softened all over, eyes warm and gold in the lamplight. “I miss you too, Eric,” he said. “I miss you all the time.”

“Even with Jeff there?” Bitty asked, hating how small his voice sounded.

“Yeah.” Kent slid his tongue along his lower lip before sucking it in under his teeth for a minute. His eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “Eric,” he said. “Are you sure you’re okay with this --” he waved a hand -- “whole thing?”

“Yes,” said Bitty.

Kent tilted his head, and the light flashed on the lenses of his glasses. “We don’t have to do this,” he said, after a bit of quiet. “Me and Jeff, I mean.”

“Yes, you do,” said Bitty. Even if Kent thought they could go back, they couldn’t. Shouldn’t. “You belong together. Just like you and me.”

“Eric.” Kent rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away from the camera. “C’mon.”

“It’s fine,” Bitty said. “I mean, it’s different. I’m getting used to it. But it’s -- it isn’t bad, honey.”

“Really? ’Cause you don’t seem, like, thrilled about it,” Kent said. “You’re being weird.”

“It’s fine,” Bitty said, again. Because honestly, it was fine. And he’d be there when school was over, he’d already been looking at the job market in Vegas. “I’m not being weird. I want you to be together. Besides, it’s not like --” he cut himself off, shutting his mouth before he finished that sentence. What Jeff and Kent did was only marginally Bitty’s business, even if he could not stop thinking about it.

“It’s not like what?”

“It’s not like it’s a whole lot different from how you’ve been the entire time I’ve known you,” Bitty said, voice soft, “is what I was gonna say. Is it?”

Kent flushed. “It’s different,” he said.

Holy shit. Bitty sat up straighter, ignoring the twist in his stomach. “Kent Valeray Parson,” he said. “Did you sleep with him?”

Kent’s blush deepened. “I --”

“Oh my god,” said Bitty.

“Not yet,” Kent said.

“Oh my god,” said Bitty. But it had been so long! And Jeff was so, so hot. “Why not?”

Kent rubbed his face with both hands. “Just -- because, okay? We just haven’t.”

“If it’s because of me,” Bitty said, “I --”

“It’s not.” Kent stared down at his hands for a minute. “It’s not you.”

Bitty frowned. Did -- did Jeff not want to, or something? Oh, Lord. Maybe it was some kind of like, ‘I love you but I don’t want to sleep with you’ thing. Jeff was kind of known for fucking around. With women, granted, but still. Surely it wasn’t that Kent didn’t want to. “Honey,” he said. “Do you not want to?”

“Oh my god, Eric,” Kent said, “you have eyes, are you serious? It’s just not -- we’re not there yet, okay? Fuck.”

“Well --”

“Can we not do this?” Kent pushed Kit off his lap. “I don’t ask you about Jack, do I?”

Oh. “Okay,” said Bitty, squeezing Señor Bun. Kent was right, of course. He didn’t ask for details about Jack like that, never had. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked, it’s not really my business --”

Kent was quiet for a minute, picking at a thread on his comforter. “I just don’t know if he, like. Wants to?” he said.

“Sweetie,” Bitty said. “It’s Jeff.” Jeff Troy’s reputation was well-deserved, he was pretty sure. The way he looked at Kent? Bitty was pretty sure that wasn’t the case.

“I know,” said Kent.

“He’s, um.” Bitty rubbed the back of his neck, trying to think of the word. He was not going to call Jeff a fuckboy. Even though he was, according to internet message boards. “He, like, you know.” Liked to fuck. Oh, Lord. That meant -- surely Kent would ask Jeff to get tested. Bitty didn’t need to worry about that, too, did he?

“But I don’t think he’s picked up in a while?” Kent said. He chewed on his lower lip. “So, like. Maybe he’s not?”

“Or maybe he’s just saving himself for you?” Bitty countered.

That sentence was too ridiculous to bear, and after a moment, both of them laughed.

“So,” said Kent, “how ’bout them Dodgers?”

“Smooth,” Bitty said. “Real smooth.”

He missed Kent more than ever over the following few days. It wasn’t that he didn’t have enough to do. Bitty had more than enough to do, and he worried, going to bed at night, about not having enough energy to do it all. Kent sounded relaxed on the phone. Happy. Their calls were the same as ever, sweet and warm and faithful. Bitty could almost forget, sometimes, that Jeff was there -- except that Jeff was always there, always had been, and it was… hard, maybe, to think about him watching Bitty and Kent together all that time.

There was so much Bitty wanted to ask him, so much he knew Jeff wouldn’t say.

Bitty couldn’t really devote his time to cross-examining Jeff, anyway. At the Haus, Dex living in the basement was turning out not to be so bad. He was handy enough to fix the place up himself, and Bitty was certainly not going to complain about someone doing work. It needed it, and having Dex fix things kind of took some financial pressure off of everyone else -- as well as giving him something to do. It kept a little peace.

The Haus wasn’t entirely harmonious, though. Whiskey still hadn’t come around, Bitty noticed, preferring to spend most of his time elsewhere with other friends. He wasn’t being team. And as Captain, it felt like Bitty’s job to make sure all the boys were team.

All of his efforts to do so, however, fell flat. Repeatedly. On Skype with Kent, Bitty sighed a little, flopping down on his bed.

“What is wrong?”

“It’s nothing, Kent. It’s just been on my mind,” Bitty said. It was probably stupid to be so uptight about it, anyway. Kent wasn’t the most popular guy in his dressing room, either, and he did fine. Right?

“So it’s something, then,” Kent said, voice about as placid as Kent’s voice ever got.

“At the end of the day,” Bitty said, “I don’t care. I just can’t stop thinking about it and it bothers me.” Kent would know what he meant. They’d talked about it before.

“That’s, like, the definition of caring, Eric,” said Kent, voice warm.

“His high school girlfriend came into town and he didn’t even show her the Haus --”

“You mean he didn’t introduce her to you.” Kent’s voice was a little softer. “Eric --”

Bitty sighed. “That is what I meant,” he admitted. “It hurts. What am I doing wrong?”

“Not everybody is going to like you, babe,” Kent said. “Doesn’t matter what you do. I mean, I know you hate that, but Brian says that’s life or whatever.”

“I know that.” Bitty sighed again. It didn’t make him feel better, though, knowing. It didn’t help at all.

What was he going to do? He’d tried basically everything he could think of, and Whiskey still spent more time with the lacrosse team than he did at the Haus.

“It’s okay if he doesn’t want to, like, experience college the way you do,” said Kent, slowly, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with one finger. “You know that.”

“But I’m his Captain,” Bitty said. “And I can’t seem to get him involved in the team, you know? Team spirit?”

“Some dudes just, like, aren’t into that,” said Kent. He shrugged. “There’s always one or two in a room. It’s no big deal, guy’s good at hockey. You’ll be fine.”

“I just want --” Bitty chewed his lower lip. What did he want? A perfect senior year? Harmony across the Haus and the best team Samwell ever had?

Jeff pushed Kent’s door open. “Your phone’s ringing,” he said.

“Aw, fuck,” said Kent, “that’s the GM’s ringtone. I gotta take this, here --” he traded the laptop for his phone, leaving Jeff on screen. “Talk amongst yourselves.”

“I --”

Kent was gone before Bitty or Jeff could protest, and Bitty rubbed the back of his neck as Jeff chewed his lower lip.

“So,” said Jeff.

“So,” Bitty said. “You, uh. Y’all --”

“What did you say you wanted there, bro?” Jeff asked, interrupting Bitty’s question.

“Nothing,” Bitty said. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair as Jeff raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. “I don’t know. There’s just one guy on my team, y’know, I just. He’s not like, a part of the team?”

“Ah,” said Jeff. He sat, then, just quietly waiting. After a few minutes, Bitty somehow ended up ranting to him, too. When he paused to breathe, Jeff cleared his throat.

“Why don’t you go ahead and take about twenty percent off ’er there, bud,” Jeff said. “Nobody’s perfect, fuck.”

“But --”

“Some guys just don’t wanna do the whole, like, thing,” said Jeff. “It’s fine. If it’s not on the ice, it’s not important. I mean, like. You said he’s playing well. So stop trying to force everybody to be all Happy Days with you.”

Bitty sighed. “I am not,” he said, “forcing anybody to --”

“Just let the guy live, damn,” said Jeff.

What sucked was that Jeff was right, and Bitty knew it. He was trying to think of a decent comeback when Kent returned, the sound of the door interrupting Bitty’s train of thought.

“Jeff, stop antagonizing Eric,” Kent said.

“Oh my god,” said Jeff, “I wasn’t even doing anythi--”

“Yeah,” Bitty said, “stop antagonizing your boyfriend’s boyfriend.”

“Hey!” Jeff ran a hand through his hair, pulling it out of his face. “I’m just being honest, man!”

“Horizontal violence,” said Bitty, and Jeff rolled his eyes.

Climbing back into bed, Kent had to crawl over Jeff. They paused for a moment, Kent half in Jeff’s lap, and Jeff leaned in to press a kiss to Kent’s mouth. When they parted he was grinning, and Kent swatted at him before pushing away to settle on the bed again.

“I miss you,” Bitty said, and he felt it with his whole heart, wasn’t sure if he meant just Kent or both of them. Watching them, Bitty realized that together they felt like home.

His chest felt tight. He missed the warmth of their Canadian summer, laughing in a rental house and sharing ice cream. Leaning his cheek in one hand, Bitty smiled softly, just looking at them on camera.

Looking back, something in Jeff’s face softened a little, and he turned to look at Kent.

“I miss you, too,” Kent said, and when Jeff reached out to run his thumb over Kent’s cheekbone, he closed his eyes for a moment. “Wish you were here.”

“Soon,” said Jeff. He glanced at Bitty on the screen, smiled softly.

“Soon,” Bitty agreed. Soon they wouldn’t have to rely on Skype at all.

( the whole fic is here on AO3 )

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saltyfilmmajor · 5 years

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FROM RECKLESS MEN TO EMOTIONAL DISASTERS

AN ANALYTICAL EVALUATION OF THE AESTHETIC QUALITIES OF A FEW FAMOUS TOM CRUSE CHARACTERS

To start off, yes, I’m doing another essay on this. (Mel, this doesn’t change the fact that we are fighting because you know I’m right. So, write a paper or admit that I’m right.) This was requested by @sweetbouquetartisane because she wants to hear my thoughts on why I find Mr. Tom Cruise attractive, on a physical level anyway. And I am very inclined to write this first in the series of essays that will come out soon. But I digress, the main point is that Tom Cruise is a very good-looking man and that characters he plays from movie to movie bring out very different responses from me. So let’s dive head first on the characters of Barry Seal, Jack Harper, Ethan Hunt, and Danny Kaffee. This order corresponds from least favorite to most favorite. I don’t hate any of these characters. In fact, I love them. A little too much. But l Digress.

American Made, for me as a film, was something I wished to watch for the historical nature of it, given that it sort of documents the situation surrounding the Iran-Contra affair (look forward to that essay soon). And so when I watched it the very first time this week, I was excited. I had never watched a film that directly talks about this stuff, especially with such a big-name star like Tom Cruise. He plays Barry Seal, a very crazy man irl who worked for the CIA and The Medellín Cartel and ultimately died before the Iran Contra Scandal went public. Now I’m supposed to hate this character very much cause of his involvement with said cartel and CIA, but from his very first words, he grabbed my heart and never let go. GOD, he’s so fucking charming it is insane. He speaks in a slight southern accent, he flies like a mad man. HE SPEAKS FUCKIN SPANISH, I JUST.

So, a bit of context about why that is important. Before I watched this film I was away in Guatemala visiting family for two weeks. Because of that, I was limited to Spanish only conversation. It got me thinking. Mel and I had a discussion on this about how great it would be if Ethan Hunt would speak Spanish on screen. We never get to hear it in a movie, and it was a very fun conversation. So I watched American Made the day I returned home, not knowing that Tom would be speaking Spanish. I FUCKIN LOST MY SHIT. I just couldn’t FUNCTION. And he starts off with very limited Spanish and over the course of the movie he gets a bit better. MEL AND I JUST LOST IT. I showed it to her the second time I watched (but she does not like Barry, she likes Schafer and she hasn’t watched to the end of the film.)

The outfits they put Barry in this movie, like in every scene almost, he has the Sleeves™ and Mel and I LOVE THE SLEEVES. Tom Cruise with rolled up sleeves, very good yes. Also, Mel, I know you appreciate when Tom is wearing a uniform and he wears a pilot uniform for a good portion of the beginning of the movie.

HE LOVES HIS WIFE SO DAMN MUCH. AND WHEN SHIT HITS THE FAN THAT’S THE ONLY THING HE CARES ABOUT, HIS FAMILY’S WELLBEING. THE VOICE KINK IS STRONG IN THIS MOVIE FOR ME. (yes Tumblr I have a voice kink, the least Extra™ of any kink I’ve ever admitted to, shut up. Well, that and the Sleeves™.) Also, he fucks his wife in a plane and it just stresses me the fuck out but also makes me feel things. I’m very conflicted about it.

Jack Harper, The Softest™ Man. I can’t thirst over him, it breaks my heart too much. BUT THAT WON’T STOP ME. Look, he just wants to live a peaceful life away from this bullshit. And HE JUST LOVES THE EARTH SO FUCKIN MUCH. AND VIKA IS JUST A STICKLER FOR THE RULES. LET HIM KEEP HIS FLOWER FOR FUCK’S SAKE. PLEASE DON’T HURT HIM HE JUST WANTS TO BE HAPPY AND LIVE LIFE ON EARTH. (also, he does have that scene where he’s restrained and its…. fuck)

Ethan Hunt. Ethan Fucking Hunt. THIS MAN DRINKS RESPECT WOMEN JUICE FOR BREAKFAST LUNCH AND DINNER. He is such a badass and he cares so much about his loved ones it’s crazy. He just wants to protect the world and he fights his government to do the greater good. He clings of a plane, free climbs the side of mountains, marries Julia in the hospital before the mission (and then proceed to fuck in the medical supplies…JULIA YOU ARE A NURSE WHAT THE FUCK.) He looks damn good wearing a tux and riding a bike. He has the sleeves in fallout. I just love him a lot.

Like ok look, not to go too in depth about Ethan’s character (Look forward to that essay as well) but he is an Extra Spy who cares too much and risks his life because ultimately he cannot let anyone die. He won’t allow it. The mission is all he has left, he has no life outside of that because he learned early on that the risk is too much for his loved ones. He’s always ready to die for the sake of a mission, and he speaks French and Russian. So, in turn, he dedicates himself to being the best agent, not for the sake of his government, however, (because the government is shown to be very sketchy.) It’s the embodiment of the thesis posited by James Bond in Skyfall. In Skyfall, when Bond is meeting Q for the first time they have this conversation of Technology vs Old-school Tradecraft

Bond: Oh, so why do you need me?

Q: Every now and then a trigger has to be pulled.

Bond: Or not pulled. It's hard to know which in your pajamas.

Ethan Hunt is the embodiment of the critical thinking in the espionage trade. By that I mean, after his first mission gone wrong, he thinks about the decisions he makes. And it’s nice that people consider the consequences of their actions and don’t go shooting everyone who crosses their path. Ethan Hunt Certified Badass and Respecter of women. (also he has the scene in with the pole). He has an engineering degree and he was in the army. He DOUBLE MAJORED IN ENGINEERING AND INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS! HE’S A SMART BOI AND I LOVE AND RESPECT HIM VERY MUCH! JUST LET HIM LIVE A HAPPY AND NORMAL LIFE. (also he has those scenes...)

And lastly our last candidate for evaluation. You know who it is, THAT’S RIGHT. LT. DANIEL ALLISTER KAFFEE SMARTEST SMARTASS TO EVER SMARTASS IN THE HISTORY OF SMARTASSERY. (Did I ever mention I have a thing for lawyers?) This is different from all the others I’ve mentioned here. Like Kaffee is not the Tom Cruise Action Hero™ he is a quietly intense drama boi. He’s insecure and masks it with a layer of cockiness because he is afraid of the shadow of his father’s legacy. It’s just so sad. He’s a very smart Boi who doesn’t apply himself because he understands that litigation is an artwork to itself and he’s trying to make sure his clients get the best deal possible. He knows that if his case goes to trial he cannot control the outcome, he can present his case but at the end of the day, it is up to the jury to decide whether his clients are guilty or not. I could discuss Kaffee, my actual husband, all day. He has some certifiable looks in this movie.

HE HAS HIS REGULAR NAVY UNIFORM.

HIS SOFTBALL OUTFIT

THE JOCK OUTFIT

THE WHITE NAVY UNIFORM

And my absolute favorite HIS CLASS A UNIFORM.

HE HAS EVERYTHING I LIKE. ROLLED UP SLEEVES? CHECK! TOM CRUISE IN JEANS? CHECK! SMARTASSERY? DOUBLE CHECK! UNIFORMS? CHECK FROM HERE TO COLOMBIA! ISSUES WITH AUTHORITY? CHECKAMUNDO! (also his reluctantly subbish tendencies, but not everyone is into that. BUT FUCK YOU MEL, I’M RIGHT JUST ADMIT IT)

LOOK MY ACTUAL HUSBAND DANIEL KAFFEE

This man is such a disaster, he doesn’t know how to eat apples, he gets sick on boats (Jesus Christ Kaffee, You’re in the Navy.) All he has in his house is Yoohoo and Coco Puffs, He has a baseball bat fetish (not the sexual definition, the witchcraft one.) He fuckin walked in the rain drunk af and then proceeded to drive a few blocks looking for Joanne, while still drunk (Sam WHAT THE FUCK, WHY DID YOU LET HIM DRIVE???) When he tells Jessup to return to the stand and he drinks water, he’s fuckin shaking. He swears when he’s frustrated. His voice, oh my fuck, HIS VOICE. He gesticulates a lot in court as well (I’m thinking about his cross-examination of the doctor specifically) I don’t know why but I find that endearing. The way he speaks in court is so smart, and when he whispers, It just. IT’S Like ASMR but I like it instead of being creeped out. He just, GOD HIS VOICE. I LOVE IT. He never has a pen on his person, like Danny, sweetheart, please. He just. GOD I THINK I’M IN LOVE.

So that’s essentially my Deep Dive™ on Tom Cruise characters that I’ve watched this week. He’s just so charming in all these roles and they all have something different to offer. All are distinct people: Barry Seal, the most fucking reckless man ever. Jack Harper, the softest soul who just loves earth please just let him keep his flower. Ethan Hunt, the most badass Extra™ spy who consumes gallons of respect women juice. Daniel Kaffee, my Harvard educated smartass who is very fucking stupid. Each of them just provides me with a very different experience emotionally, but they all have their merits and I love them all.

(Mel, fuck you. I’m Right.)

#tom cruise #a few good men #tom thirst #or Tomrst™#ethan hunt #american made #jack harper #deep dives #supergeekytoon #essays #my essays

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donttelluswhattodo · 5 years

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Artist Profile - Chelsea Dunn, Photographer

Personal friend, photographer, and complete weirdo, Chelsea Dunn is an artist based out of Louisiana. I met Chelsea when we were both teachers living and traveling in Asia and we’ve managed to stay friends despite how odd we both are. She agrees with me that honest weirdness is the secret sauce to any good relationship.

Chelsea constantly inspires me with her remarkable photos. She has an eye and the reflexes to catch the most intimate moments of her subjects. All her shots are natural and never posed, finding perfection in those still seconds. Somehow, Chelsea is able to draw your attention towards the small things people do that no one notices, asking us to appreciate those moments between the moments.

Chelsea was kind enough to answer some questions for me, and even make one of her own.

Chelsea Dunn: First question, would you rather pick your nose everyday forever in public or pick someone’s else’s nose once?

Me: That’s going in the interview. What’s your answer?!

Dunn: So glad I didn’t go with the eating boogers question. I guess I’ll pick someone else’s once. Get it over with.

Me: It’s happening.

Dunn: Glad I could help with at least one.

Me: Give me your life story.

Dunn: Boring stuff first. I’m 31 years old. I was born and raised in a very small country town in central Louisiana. I graduated from the University of Lafayette in Louisiana with a degree in Fine Arts, but my focus was on photography.

Me: Any financial debt?

Dunn: So much.

Me: How long have you been taking photos.

Dunn: The past 12 years.

Me: Why did you start?

Dunn: I started doing photography because I’ve always wanted to go on tour with bands and do tour diaries. I mostly wanted to focus on the travel aspect of musicians. I never learned any instruments growing up, so photography seemed like a way in or a way out.

(photo: Sam Beam, Iron and Wine - by Chelsea Dunn)

Me: How’d that work?

Dunn: I’d go to clubs and mostly worked freelance as well as volunteer gigs after college. It’s super competitive and I had trouble making good first impressions, so I wasn’t able to make a breakthrough. I’m still searching for a band to follow around and call my own and I do make art for myself and small shows around Louisiana.

---

Me: So what are you working on now?

Dunn: I have a problem where I help other people accomplish their goals during the day and then try and talk myself into working on my own at night. However, last month I started working on a new project, but the ideas are still formulating.

Me: You’ve been called passive aggressive. How do you respond to that criticism?

Dunn: That’s not what I meant by that comment!

Me: Hey, I just ask the questions here.

Dunn: I’d respond with a gentle “You can shove it.”

Me: Tell me more about this project idea?

Dunn: This new project I’m working on is more of an experiment where I’m incorporating drawing into my photography. I have always loved drawing and did more of that in the last two years and had a friend recently beg me to add more into my work. So I’m really just granting her wish. It’s been fun so far and a new experience for myself.

Dunn: I have some untitled, experimental pieces I have that I took with a pinhole camera that I made myself out of a matchbox. Experimentation is an excellent way to start new projects and get the creative juices flowing.

(4 photos: untitled - by Chelsea Dunn)

Me: Wow, these look like they’re from a horror movie.

Dunn: These were actually film and I had to develop them myself. It was fun.

"I Got Soul" is my most recent work. It will also be used in my new project that will incorporate some of my drawings. I took this shot at Seoul Fashion week. The subjects individuality and unawareness of the camera and others around her make this an interesting piece in my opinion.

(”I Got Soul” - Photo at Seoul Fashion Week by Chelsea Dunn)

Me: Knowing what you know now, if you could go back in time 10 years, what would you tell yourself?

Dunn: I would tell myself not to be friends with people who ask so many questions.

Me: Some people still claim you are too passive aggressive to nice people...

Dunn: (gently) They can shove it.

Me: Any sexual preference for photo subjects?

Dunn: Doesn’t matter. I have more photos of males, but only because some of my favorite musicians are males, but there are some amazing female musicians out there.

Me: What’s something about yourself you’d like to change?

Dunn: I would create more. We probably all have that problem. I have all these ideas in my head I just need the motivation. I get that from my friends and family mostly. My friends have a tendency to push me to create more.

Art is how I wanted to make my living and it can get hard hearing “no” and all this negativity about something I love. So when someone appreciates my work, it gives me that extra push to get creative. Put more out into the world.

Me: Imagine you became world famous, what would you want to be remembered for?

Dunn: That is a tough one. I would want to be famous for my work with musicians. So let’s say I’ll be remembered for my excellent taste in music and my photography.

Me: Any specific shot of yours? Or a dream photo?

Dunn: I have a couple of photos that I have taken that I do love, but my dream work is capturing intimate moments while the musicians are creating something they love. I just love the thought of being there when something great comes to life. I just like watching people enjoy what they do.

(The Black Keys at The Jazz and Heritage Festival - by Chelsea Dunn)

Me: What artists inspire you?

Dunn: Some of my favorite photographers are women. I have a deep love for Autumn de Wilde and Lauren Dukoff. They have both done work with musicians and actors. They do more commercial work now, but it is still very raw. Autumn worked with Elliot Smith before his death and Lauren worked with Devendra Banhart. The photography that came out of those relationships with those musicians is intense and dark and loving and everything I want to create.

Me: Any photo you can show me?

Dunn: This is one of Lauren Dukoff’s photos that I love!

(Photo by Lauren Dukoff)

Me: Where has your art been featured?

Dunn: I have shown my work in a few locations around Lafayette and New Orleans area in Louisiana but nothing recent other than an alumni show at my college. My goal for this year is to show and create more of my work.

"Act Naturally" was included in one of my first art projects. It was in my thesis for college in 2012, but it is still one of my favorite pieces. The band is a local Louisiana band, Royal Teeth. I love capturing images of the parts of shows that others don't think about, such as set lists or the comfort of the musicians.

(”Act Naturally” - Photo of the band Royal Teeth - by Chelsea Dunn)

This one is called Lazaretto. I have been fortunate enough to work with a music blog called My Spilt Milk in the past and one of the assignments I was sent on was for Jack White. I was so excited to photograph for him this night. Definitely an artist I will work with again one day.

(” Lazaretto” - Photo ofJack White - by Chelsea Dunn)

---

Me: What advice would you give to young people who want to improve their art, whether professionally or just as a hobby?

Dunn: Work all the time. It’s easy to tell yourself “maybe later” but we have to keep pushing ourselves. I work with younger kids right now and they can be so hard on themselves. I have to keep telling them it doesn’t happen right away. You have to keep practicing.

I heard this great advice from someone once about photography, always be the first person at a show and the last one to leave. And never be afraid to get to close. I’ve crawled on the floors of clubs in order to get closer to bands. Some of my best pieces are after I pushed my way through or climbed on top of bars.

Me: What do you hope to capture by taking photos?

Dunn: I hate posing people. I was never good at wedding photography or baby photos.

I love just stumbling upon something. People watching is one of my favorite things. Capturing images of people just doing life is the best.

(Bela Fleck & Abigail Washburn, photo is of Abigail and her banjo - by Chelsea Dunn )

Me: Why are you so weird?

Dunn: My family probably. I grew up in a huge family and we were all raised to be ourselves. No matter what others thought of us. People tend to tell me I have more confidence than necessary, that’s probably why I’m so “weird.” I truly don’t care what people think of me. Unless you are family or close friends, those are the only people who I care about what they think.

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suchthingbutnever · 7 years

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Weird Time Travel Sends 21st Century Hipster Jon To The Wall (a.k.a., what I did at 3 A.M. last month)

So, this was an idea I had in the middle of the fucking night and I literally sat up and wrote five pages before I went back to sleep. It's Hipster!Jon navigating Westeros , maybe with Robb somehwere in there. Ahem.

It was absolutely fucking freezing when he woke up.

For a couple moments Jon remained where he was, refusing to open his eyes. He had one hell of a headache pounding away viciously at his temples, echoing the base of the pretentious minimalist techno they had played at the second flat party.

“Fuuuck,” he said with a croaky voice, laughing a little bit at himself. How was it so effin’ cold?

The heating had been broken for maybe a month now, and Jon had been too busy and, admittedly, also too lazy, to have someone come fix it. It was always easier to pile on layers and retreat into the cavern he called his bed, Netflix at the ready for another five episodes of Breaking Bad.

It wasn’t like any of his flat-mates were keen on the job, either. Leah had even said something along the lines of the seven degrees Celsius in their kitchen being romantic. She was crazy, that one.

“It’s fucking freezing,” he said to himself out loud, and sweet mother Mary’s G-string, his joints felt stiff. London wasn’t supposed to get this cold – foggy, yes, wet and uncomfortable as fuck, yes. He was born and bred in Yorkshire, for that he had been more than prepared.

But not this unforgiving, semi-arctic cold.

He opened his eyes, and blinked a few times. Then he closed them again, squeezing them shut and counting until nine and three-quarters.

Then he sat up abruptly, taking in the… the, room? Was it a room? Or a dingy cupboard? It seemed like he hadn’t made it home yesterday after all. Damn Haz and his fucking penchant for cocktails. Jon was usually more than good at holding his alcohol – hmm, so maybe he had overestimated himself. Too much booze could really mess with a lad.

“Oh fuckity fuck, it’s cold.”

He was sitting on a narrow single bed, with a really shitty mattress, and the blankets that had covered him appeared to be fur. Real animal fur, maybe like, from a bear? Or something else brown and shiny. They smelled really musky, which, ew.

Now that was just absolutely disgusting. Jon knew for sure that most of the people he ran with were at least flexible vegetarians.

He stared at the rest of the room in disbelief – housing in London was godawful, alright, but this was just way below acceptable. Jon wouldn’t rent the room even if they gave it to him for free, with a flat-screen TV on top.

Well, he’d say no after thinking about it really hard, at least. Living space was damned expensive, you could hardly blame him.

However he got here, wherever this godforsaken place was (probably way in the outskirts, so he’d have to get a bus to get to the tube), he needed to hightail it back to his own flat, because his thesis was still sitting in his laptop, waiting to be written, re-written and deleted. He really shouldn’t have gotten so drunk, fucking Haz and his uncontrollable dance-drive after three pints.

Jon started patting around for his clothes, especially his jeans. He really needed to find his phone and call Haz and maybe Ian, so he could find out where the fuck they had ended up. Also, Robb had texted him last night, at three in the morning, and Jon had almost flipped and texted him right back.

“Are you mad, ey? When was it ever a good idea to text your straight-boy crush back drunk off yer arse?” Ian, in his violet leotard and his scary going-out-tonight heels had stolen his phone away, laughing when Jon tripped over a beer bottle trying to get it back. Of course, now he was really thankful that his friends had prevented him from destroying the weird, tentative thing he had with pretty straight-boy Robb, as they all started calling him.

“PSBR”, for short.

Jon let out a frustrated growl, because his clothes from last night – a dark blue shirt, his favorite black jeans that made his arse “a subject of worship”, quote Ian, and whatever the hell he had bothered to put on underneath, all of it was gone. Instead, he was wearing a really scratchy linen top that looked way beyond the usual levels of organic.

And it was still really, really awfully cold.

He padded towards the rustic wooden door, complete with iron hinges, noting how rough the stone beneath his feet was. Pushing it open with difficulty, he found himself in yet another way-too-dark room, this one larger and stuffed with scrolls and old-looking leather-bound books, the type Leah used for her expensive medieval fantasy Cosplay. A fire was burning in one corner, a real fucking fire built from logs of wood and twigs that made cracking noises.

“I see you are feeling well again, my boy?”

“Holy fuckin’ Jesus Christ!” Jon jumped so high he might have crashed against the narrow ceiling of the strange place. Behind him stood a man, an old man so crinkled and wizened he was a whole head smaller than Jon. He was wearing a fur robe, long and jet-black, while around his neck hung a weird chain, each link a subtle, different colour. It actually looked really cool. Nice one, Grandpa.

“Hi, sir. I’m… uh, I’m terribly sorry to disturb you. I’m just looking for my phone. And my trousers, to be honest.” Jon put on his best polite face, cringing and dying a thousand deaths inside.

The old man remained silent, his wrinkly face quite blank. Then Jon got a closer look at his eyes, and realized they were an unfocussed, milky blue. The man was not only old, but blind as well.

“Hey, uhm. Sir? I’ll be on my way in a second, no worries, I just really need to find my phone. It’s an iPhone 6 with a grey case… oh, never mind.” Jon felt like smacking himself against the head. The man couldn’t see jack-shit, and here he stood describing his phone-case. With an uncomfortable jolt, he realized that he needed to find his keys and wallet as well. This was just getting better and better.

“Jon, why won’t you lie down again? I shall have Chett prepare some milk of the poppy, it seems that you need it.”

He froze at that. First off, why did this strange man know his name? Second, why was he using such a gentle tone with Jon, as if he was speaking to an emotionally unstable child? And third – “What the fuck is poppy milk?!”

Jon immediately felt bad for the outburst. The old man was probably just as confused as he was, yelling really helped no one. His mum had not driven him to expensive therapy sessions twice a week for nothing.

God, his mum. He really needed to call her back. She had left a voice message yesterday morning, all “How is my favorite gay son? When will you come back to Leeeeeds and visit me with your gay partner? Surely we won’t need to wait til gay Christmas?”

Her enthusiastic approval was well-meant, yeah, he got that.

Jon shook his head, toes slowly going blue from the icy floor. He needed to tail it, ASAP. He turned towards gothic grandpa, and found that he had tottered closer, reaching out as if to touch Jon’s forehead.

“Milk of the poppy is the most commonly used anesthetic in the Known World, with pain easing properties. It shall give you swift dreams, and ease your fever.” What a strange accent the old man had – and weird grammar, too. But then again, he seemed positively ancient.

“You want to give me opium?” Jon shook his head no, laughing. “And I’m definitely not running a fever, I really just need my stuff…”

A door to their left opened, and a gust of wind blew in, so terribly cold that Jon thought his ears and nose might fall off from the sudden, blazing pain. It was fucking snowing outside – and it had barely been below ten degrees these past few days. Global warming really was a bitch.

“Jon! You have woken, at last!”

A large teenager with a round face and a ridiculously furry black coat stepped in. He beamed a happy smile, in his hands a tray covered but smelling strongly of hot grease. It sort of turned his stomach, but Jon was really more focused on remembering where all these people knew him from.

Was it the drugs? He had only popped the usual E last night, courtesy of Haz and his dodgy contacts that sold them A-class weed every other month. Had someone slipped him something? Was it the super horny blonde guy with the silver eye-shadow who had mouthed at his neck? Was it… was it…

Instead of attempting to appear normal, Jon decided to try the direct route: “I’m sorry, where do I know you from?”

It was disconcerting, to say the least.

Brothers on way with their duty stopped and stared as Jon stood bare-footed in the court yard and gaped at the Wall, a mighty presence towering above them, as it did every day.

Sam had set down Maester Aemon’s meal and hurried out after him, only to see him fall down the stairs leading towards the Rookery in an undignified half-slide. Jon, who was the most collected and capable of all the recruits, who wielded a sword better than anyone Sam knew.

“What. The. Fuck.” Jon bellowed, hands reaching up to wipe at his eyes, “What. The. Actual. Fuck.”

Sam approached him gently, laying a hand on his shoulder: “Jon? Jon, come inside, will you? Maester Aemon…”

“I should’ve never tried shrooms, alright?! It was summer and everyone was doing them, and they are like, plants, natural plants! I’m literally so fucked right now.” Jon had turned to him, his eyes wild and desperate. “I’m seeing things.”

“Jon, what is it you speak of? Please come inside, you’ll freeze. Maester Aemon will give you sweetsleep, to calm you…” Sam hesitated briefly before steering Jon towards the stout timber maester’s quarters with added force. A quick glance around told him that more of the black brothers had gathered, some grinning and japing at the utterly disgraced, confused bastard of Winterfell.

Sam shot them dark looks.

“Where do I know you from? Like, really, was it last night? Did we have sex? You can just tell me, it’s fine – wait, are you even sixteen?” Jon was now looking at him once again, face drawn and pale, teeth chattering with the cold. “I mean you usually aren’t my type, but I literally remember nada, so…”

Sam quickly shut the doors, leading Jon towards the fire, gathering woolen blankets and heavy furs to pile on top of him. He made to stir the fire, adding a few logs. It wouldn’t do if Jon became seriously ill. If he was not already.

“I am Sam, … Samwell of House Tarly, Jon, you must know me. I… you’re my friend.” He gestured helplessly, reading the bewilderment in Jon’s gaze. “You took a hard fall while training at arms last morn, you were out of sorts, but Maester Aemon said you merely needed to rest, exhaustion, he said. Do you truly recall nothing?”

“We were to take our vows,” he added in a small voice, and for a moment dread filled his guts. Jon had been his first true friend, not only at Castle Black, but in all his life. Well, at Horn Hill he’d had his mother and sisters. He missed them desperately still, the small affections, the way his sisters would crowd around him for stories. Though not having to face Father, still soaked in deer’s blood before his mind’s eye, was a true blessing.

“What vows?” Jon asked, eyes squinted and gazing into the fire. He had, at least, ceased to shiver so violently. “Sam, it’s Sam, right? Can you please tell me where the hell I am,” he gulped down a shuddering breath, “and how I can get back to Brixton?”

Sam looked Jon straight in the eye, searching for a glint of recognition. Yet the man sitting before him was so utterly, completely at odds with the person Jon had been only yesterday. His voice had changed, ever so slightly, and the words he used were strange and foreign. Mayhaps Sam was going quite mad as well, but kneeling close to the fire, gazing steadily at his best friend, he seemed queerly… off.

“We are at Castle Black, Jon. Where is it that you want to go?”

“Home?” Jon laughed manically, gripping the furs covering his shoulder and pushing them away. “I’ve no recollection whatsoever of how I got here, yeah? I am fucking trippin’, to tell you the truth. Someone must’ve drugged me, whatever. I just need my phone.”

Sam was quite speechless at that. A “phone”? His “phone”? What did he mean? What was he missing? Then Sam perked up, and he scrambled to his feet, grabbing the furs to pile on top of Jon, once again.

He needed to find Ghost.

#asoiaf #fanfiction #jon snow #hipster #time travel #idea in the middle of the night #samwell tarly #maester aemon #cold as fuck #snippet #i just needed to post this #robb stark #pretty straight boy #gay

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